#(besides them being incredible on the field together)

[cementcornfield]

Ja’Marr were you impressed by the love given to Joe tonight? 

…He was kinda tearing up. I was trying to mess with him, saying you better not cry.

[a-leg-without-fear]

No Fucking Way (pt.1)

have some absolutely adorable interactions with you and the students at the mansion (and a surprise guest)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: cursing, mentions of animals neglecting their babies, and a story so sweet my teeth hurt

Inspiration: This scene from X2: X-Men United

Series: No Fucking Way

Your feet pounded against the gravel path beneath you. Small rocks and dirt were kicked up by your well-worn sneakers. Warm sweat dampened the cloth of your sweatshirt around your arms and chest. The sun beat down on your flushed face as a cold breeze bit across your nose. 

It was an absolutely gorgeous, autumn day. Occasional spotted clouds glided at a snail’s pace across a great blue sky. Soft breezes made the great trees surrounding the mansion dance like sheets of amber linen. Red and orange leaves skittered across the yellowing grass fields.

You saw a handful of students out on the lawn enjoying the early morning air. Sybil, a brunette with the ability to see through others’ eyes, sat beneath a large willow by the fish pond with a notepad in her hands. Vienna sat beside her. A strawberry blonde, bright eyed girl who could channel electricity into the palms of her hands. The two exchanged ideas about whatever Sybil was jotting down in her notepad.

Yuna sat not too far from the whispering pair, fingers twirling above a quickly constructed tower of stones and blades of grass. Her usual deep brown eyes now glowed a subtle violet. The maroon hijab she wore wrapped around her neck matched the crimson hues of the changing leaves in the trees around her. 

Jane, a kind-eyed tracker, Matt, a red glasses-wearing fighter, and Mads, a short-haired plant bender, sat in a circle, enjoying their morning coffee and tea together. You gave Mads a quick wave as you jogged past, receiving a warm smile and a shower of flower petals left in your wake.

The gravel path led along the left side of the mansion. Emerald ivy crawled up the brick walls like arms reaching from the earth. An occasional window broke up the light colored bricks. Most had their curtains drawn, which you attributed to a large portion of the students being late risers. One or two had the curtains open to allow fresh sunlight into the shared rooms.

You caught a glimpse of Sapph through one of the windows. Her bright smile and blue eyes were almost radiant as she basked in the streams of sunlight. Vases of sunflowers sat on the windowsill in front of her. The light seemed to bend, refracting from Sapph’s palms and hitting the sunflowers’ leaves.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The students were happy, the day was beautiful, and you only had one more lap of the mansion to jog before you’d call it a day.

“MAAAOOOWWW!”

You stopped just short of the empty basketball court. The crimson asphalt was covered in crunchy leaves and green brush from the nearby bushes. Corded nets hanging from the steel hoops swayed in the breeze. You looked around you, trying to find the source of the noise.

“MaaooOOW?”

There it was again. Closer than before. It sounded like it came from an incredibly small source, whatever it was. Your sneakers crossed onto the asphalt, toes kicking at leaves and twigs. You let your eyes scan the area around you. The court was surrounded by a wall of hedges. About waist high to you, it helped keep the court clear of too much debris from the trees. 

The mansion sat against the hedges. Large, bay windows looked into a sitting area. Hira, a telepath, sat in one of the plush leather armchairs with a novel in her hands. A white hijab wrapped around her head, glasses peeking out over light brown eyes. Daniel, a light-haired strongman, and Jacob, a bearded speedster, sat on the green-clothed couch across from Hira. Dice and rulebooks laid on the coffee table in front of them.

A rustle in the hedges to your left drew your focus from the students inside. The lowest branches shuddered, small green leaves shaken off and falling to the ground below. You knelt on the asphalt and strained your eyes to see through the dense foliage.

“MoowwWOAAOW!”

That was the only warning you got before a tiny gray and white fur ball burst out of the hedge and landed five feet in front of you. Pointed ears folded back, blue eyes widened, arched back covered in long fuzz.

A kitten. A small, angry, fluffy kitten. No more than a few weeks old. 

You remained where you kneeled on the asphalt, palms upturned and resting on your thighs. You kept a neutral expression on your face as you blinked slowly at the small creature.

After a few moments the kitten relaxed. Its ears faced forward, tail sticking straight up as it approached you. You gingerly extended a hand for it to sniff. Its tiny, pink nose ran across the tips of your fingers as it grew acclimated to your presence.

“Hi, little one,” you said through a barely subdued, ecstatic grin. You had always wanted a cat. Ever since you were a kid, you dreamed of a tiny ball of purrs curled up in your lap and effortlessly improving your mood. Not to mention they were ridiculously easy to take care of.

The kitten took a few more moments to sniff at your fingers. Its tiny eyes squinted as it seemed to devote its entire being to assessing your threat level. Once it seemed satisfied, it rubbed its chin across your thumb. You could already feel the purrs rumbling in its throat.

It took everything in you to not explode from the cuteness overload. This little thing, this tiny itty bitty little thing, chose you. You could feel a swell of pure adoration overtake your chest, the gentle warmth spreading from head to toe.

The cat continued to rub on your hand, occasionally nibbling on your fingers with the sides of its mouth. You lifted your free hand in an attempt to pet the kitten. Moving slowly to not startle it, you gently ran your fingers across its fluffy back. An explosion of purrs, like a hive of angry bees, met your affection. The cat dug its little head into the palm of your hand. You took the hint, giving it gentle scratches on the soft spots by its ears.

“You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life,” you breathed in astonishment. The cat seemed to enjoy the compliment, pawing at your hands and attempting to climb closer to your face. You scooped its tiny body in your hands and lifted it to your chest.

Tiny paws kneaded at the fabric of your sweatshirt. Little needle-like claws pulled at the threads. The kitten looked up at you with squinted eyes. You carefully rose to your feet, doing your best to not jostle the miniature creature cradled to your chest.

The cat nestled into the crook of your neck. Its tiny nose puffed against your skin while a category-5 purricane buzzed in your hands.

You would die for this cat and you just met it a minute ago.

Mentally saying “fuck it” to the rest of your jog, you began to gingerly walk back inside. You avoided walking on the gravel to make as little noise and sudden movements as possible. The cat seemed to appreciate the gesture, with what miniscule amount its tiny brain could comprehend, as a small lick from its rough tongue passed over your neck.

You garnered a few sideways looks from the students on the lawn as you walked by again. Mads cocked her head, fairy themed earrings jingling, at the gentleness in your step and the backtracking in your path.

“You alright, ma’am?” she called out. Jane and Matt perked up at Mads’s exclamation. Jane looked up at you with curiosity written in her features while Matt’s dark brows furrowed.

A quick gesture to the buzzing fur ball in your hands was all the trio needed. Their expressions quickly shifted from confusion to utter joy. They whispered among themselves about the newest addition to the mansion as you passed by.

That method is how you seamlessly moved through the bustling early-risers inside the foyer. One perplexed look was met with a nod to the kitten in your hands and the students parted like the Red Sea. Excited murmurs spread through the students like wildfire. “Is that a cat?” “Oh my god, kitty!” “It’s so cute!” “I hope we can keep it!”

The last student you passed before reaching your destination was Bella, a time manipulator. She was just on her way out of the professor’s study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. A kind smile met yours when she looked in your direction. 

“Morning, ma’am. Need to see the- Wait, is that a cat?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Shhh. Yes, it is. Could you open the door for me?” you whispered. Bella lifted her first finger to her mouth, winking to indicate she understood, then twisted the brass knob and swung the door open before you.

“Good luck,” she whisper-yelled after you.

A grand office stood before you. Comfortable leather settees were positioned in front of a solid, mahogany desk. Rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brim lined the walls. Trinkets and remembrances decorated available surfaces and empty wall space.

The professor, or Charles Xavier as you knew him, sat in his motorized wheelchair behind the large desk. His hairless head was lowered, blue eyes darting across the pages of a copy of House of Leaves. A single finger raised next to his aged face to acknowledge your presence.

“One moment, please. From both you and your new friend,” he said. A minute passed, seconds counted by the paws kneading into your shoulder, before Charles closed the book and met your gaze. A warm smile matched your enthusiastic one, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I found this little guy outside,” you began. The cat perked up at the mention of itself, eyes blinking up at you then looking at the professor. You ran a finger under the kitten’s chin as you continued, “He was an angry little fella, all bushy tailed, but he warmed right up to me. He was hiding in the hedges by the basketball court.”

“Ah, I see,” Charles replied. He lowered a hand to maneuver his wheelchair. The low buzz of the machinery heralded his movement as he rounded the desk to sit in front of you and the cat.

“I didn’t see any other cats around, but the good news is he seems to be old enough for solid food,” you said. The cat blinked slowly at the professor, its little nose sniffing the air in front of it.

“It seems his mother abandoned him. Weaned him off her too quickly and left him stunted. Poor thing,” Charles said, head tilting and lips pulling into a slight frown. You gawked at him.

“You can read the cat’s mind, too?” you asked. The abilities of the mutants around you never ceased to amaze. Especially one as powerful as Charles Xavier.

He smiled at the kitten, oblivious to your gawking, stretching out his hands to you, “May I?”

You gently lifted the cat off your chest, prying the tiny talons from your sweatshirt, and placed the furball in the professor’s hands. Charles lifted the cat to his chest and ran a gentle hand down its back.

“You’ll need to wake Rogue and Bobby, have them run to the pet store down the road. This one will need plenty of love and nourishment if he’s to thrive,” he said. You stared at him, dumbstruck.

“We can keep him?”

“He can stay, as long as he likes. Much is the same with the rest of those who live here,” Charles clarified. The little gray kitten nuzzled against Charles’s chin, the professor’s smile growing.

“Okay. Okay! Yes! I’ll go get Rogue and Bobby,” you said, absolute jubilation filling your lungs. 

You left Charles and the cat to continue their telepathic conversation as you raced up the giant, double staircase. Ornately carved wooden banisters ran along the edges of the stairs, polish shining in yellow circles from the chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. When the stairs divided into two sets, running opposite directions, you cut to the right. Your feet skipped over carpeted steps in your haste to reach your destination.

Once your sneakers landed on the second floor, you broke into a jog down the hallway. Door after wooden door flew by you on both sides of the hall. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and glowing sconces lined the wooden walls. A large window sat in the white wall at the end of the hall. Daylight streamed in and cast golden spots on the wood floors.

You stopped at the last door on the left. Rapping three quick knocks on the door, you bounced on your toes. There was a cat in the mansion. A cat! One that would live with you! You silently thanked whatever god it was that decided for you to be next in the cat distribution system.

It took another set of knocks on the door for you to hear movement on the other side. Bleary groans and rustling sheets leaked through the cracks in the door. You bit your lip in an attempt to quell your excitement.

The doorknob turned and a ruffled-looking Rogue appeared in the doorway. Dark hair just barely smoothed down, eyes squinted, robe hastily thrown over a nightgown.

“Vampire? Shit, what time is it?” she asked, grogginess laced in her tone.

“Doesn’t matter. We have a cat,” you said. Your smile widened as you waited for her response. Rogue eyed you, up and down, as she assessed her living alarm clock.

“Logan’s not a cat. We’ve been over this,” she said. She exhaled a puff of air through her lips to blow at the white bangs that fell over her eyes. You rolled your eyes playfully at the jab.

“Not Logan this time. An actual cat. A kitten,” you explained. Rogue’s eyebrows rose as her eyes widened.

“Wait, there’s a cat?” Bobby called from beyond the door. His blonde head popped up beside Rogue’s. The couple seemed to be much more awake now.

“Yup,” you said, annunciating the p. Bobby and Rogue looked at each other, smiles growing, before looking back to you. 

“Where is it? Can we see it?” Rogue asked.

“Charles needs the two of you to run and get cat stuff first. Like food, litter, toys. Anything you can think of,” you replied. At the first sign of them objecting, you continued, “You guys can get literally anything you want. Treats, cat towers, little obstacle courses. Just make sure it’s safe for a younger kitten.”

“We’re on it, boss!” Bobby said, happiness palpable and blue eyes sparkling, as his hand clapped on Rogue’s clothed shoulder.

“100%. This cat will be spoiled rotten,” Rogue confirmed. With that situation squared away, you gave the pair a quick nod, beaming at them, then took off back down the hallway.

The run back to the professor’s office was an even shorter journey due to you jumping down several steps at a time. A few students looked gravely concerned at your acrobatics. Especially Ash, who helped Jean with patching students up by being a walking pain-reliever.

Your hand caught on the doorframe of Charles’s office and you swung into the doorway, breathless. He and the cat were much like how you had left them. Tiny gray body tucked against his neck, both having their eyes closed.

“Bobby and Rogue are on their way out,” you said. Charles hummed in response, eyes falling open.

“This one’s taken a shine to you, my dear. Says you’re the first to treat him kindly,” he said, a proud smile painted across his face. You let out an incredulous laugh.

“Guess he really is one of us, huh?”

“More than you know,” Charles said through an amused chuckle. You approached the professor and ball of cuddles carefully, attempting to not disturb the little creature.

“Mrrpp?” the cat trilled. It squinted at you from beneath Charles’s chin, paws kneading into the back of the professor’s hands. You could almost hear its purrs from where you stood.

“Does he have a name?” you asked. You scratched beneath its furry chin as the cat stretched out its jaw into your hand. 

“I was hoping you might know one,” Charles said. He pressed the cat into your hands and you gladly scooped the little ball of love into your arms. You could feel the purrs emanating from the cat’s belly vibrate against your chest. Tiny, thin whiskers tickled along the underside of your jaw.

“Jeez, uh. I don’t know. Let me think on it,” you responded. It was hard to think when all of your focus was drawn to the fluffy creature cradled in your hands. Charles chuckled at your indecision.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, our newest student will happily respond to it,” he assured. He used his now free hands to dust cat hair off his crisp, navy blue suit. As you turned to walk out, Charles said, “Make sure to give him a bath. This young one’s lived outside for far too long.”

“Will do,” you said. You shifted your arms so you could better support the cat on your chest, then set a course for the upstairs bathroom closest to your and Logan’s room.

It seemed the news of a cat on campus had spread throughout the student body. A large crowd had gathered outside of Charles’s study. Students, an array of ages and stages of dress, craned their necks over their peers to try and catch a glimpse. 

“I wanna see!” Addie, a platinum blonde seven-year-old who could speak any language, called up from the space next to your hip. Your legs were framed by her and Ryan, a nine-year-old brunet with impenetrable skin. 

“Guys, the cat is very small. He needs quiet!” you said, voice coming out as a stage whisper. A hush fell over the group in front of you. Wide, hopeful eyes blinked up at you. You sighed, untucking the cat from the crook of your neck and holding him in front of you. At the sight of the small bundle of fur in your hands, a buzz of excited whispers passed from ear to ear. 

“Does he have a name?” Ryan asked. An echo of agreement sounded around the crowd.

“Not yet, so everyone start brainstorming!” you said. A renewed vigor filled the conversation as names were debated back and forth between students. You used the distraction to slip away, climbing back up the stairs and baring left this time.

This hallway was nearly identical to the one on the opposite side of the stairs. Wooden paneling covered the walls, patterned red carpet stretched down the middle of the floor, potted plants sat here and there. You knocked once on the first door to the right. Receiving no answer, you pushed it open.

Inside was a full bathroom. White tiles lined the walls and floor, the grout a cool gray. Warm patterned shower curtains hung from a steel rod suspended between two walls. A vanity mirror hung on the wall opposite the door. You flicked on the light switch, making the three globes above the mirror glow and send dancing reflections throughout the bathroom.

“Alright, fella. Let’s get you clean,” you said as you sat the cat in the sink. His little, furry body looked like a small sponge sitting in the white porcelain. A confused face looked up at you through squinted eyes.

“Mraow?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not gonna like this part,” you responded. You leaned over, opening the white cabinets below the sink, and pulled out the unscented shampoo Logan liked to use. Straightening up, you noticed the cat had remained where you sat it. Prim, proper, posture like a little gentleman.

You smirked, scritching the top of his head between his ears. His face tilted up into your touch. 

“Such a sweet little guy,” you cooed. You gave him a few more well deserved pets before scooping his little body and turning on the faucet. You made sure the handle was turned to a warm, not hot, setting and the pressure was nice and low. 

The cat startled a bit in your palm at the sudden rush of water. A little paw raised, batting in the air between him and the running water. You dipped a finger in the water and brought it to his nose for proper inspection. A few sniffs, a couple licks, then his chin was rubbing on your fingertip again.

You took it as a good sign, dipping the same hand back under the faucet and letting the water coat your skin. Once enough water had gathered in your hand you lifted it to the cat’s back. He tracked your movement. Small, squinted eyes followed your hand as you placed your palm on his back. You felt the water droplets sink into the fluffy, gray fur and soak into his skin.

“This ok?” you asked, like the cat could give you an answer. The small creature blinked up at you. He seemed unbothered by the moisture. You gave him another palm-full of water to get him adjusted to the temperature, the sensation. Not a peep from this little sir.

You set the cat back in the sink, just the tail end of his back beneath the running faucet. He hunkered down into the smallest loaf you’d ever seen. Front feet tucked under his fuzzy chest, tail curled around his side, eyes blinking slowly up at you. You cupped water in your palm and let it run through his fur. Before too long you had a drenched, buzzing kitten in the sink.

“You are the strangest creature…” you wondered aloud. You popped the lid open on Logan’s shampoo and lathered up your hands. Thankfully, you didn’t spot any fleas or other parasites hopping on the kitten’s body. Washing out the dirt and grime shouldn’t take too long.

“Why are you hunched over the sink with my soap?” a gruff voice said from behind you. You smiled, looking over your shoulder.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted. Logan leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He wore his trademarked white tank top and loose jeans buckled with a brown belt. His dark hair was fluffy and unstyled, long strands hanging in front of his wrinkled eyebrows.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. He pushed off the wall and stepped up next to you, his boots clipping on the tiles.

“Right. So, funny story,” you began. You ran your soapy fingers through the cat’s soaked fur. Logan’s hip leaned on the counter as he continued to stare at you. Jutting your chin down at the sudsy feline, you continued, “I found this guy outside and he made me think of you.”

“Made you think of…” Logan trailed off when his hazel eyes landed on the kitten.

“You know, with his cat ears,” you explained. You scrubbed at the kitten’s purring body while Logan spluttered next to you.

“Cat ears?!” 

“Yeah. Those hair floofs you get when you style your hair. They look like cat ears,” you said. You pretended to ignore the pure indignation spouting from the man next to you. A knowing smirk stretched across your lips.

“I do not have cat ears,” Logan argued.

“Yes you do!” Rogue shouted, voice echoing down the hall.

Your indifferent mask broke as you doubled over, cackling. The cat’s head tilted as it watched your face disappear below the counter. Logan huffed, arms folding over his chest again.

It took you a few moments to regain your composure. Giggles bubbled up your throat everytime you glanced back at Logan next to you. He rolled his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he grumbled. But, because you knew him so well, you could see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to rinse off the cat sitting patiently in the sink. Warm water trailed through your fingers and washed away the suds gathered on the kitten’s body. Squinted eyes watched you, blinking slowly and serenely, purrs vibrating against your hands.

“Happy little fuzzball, isn’t he?” Logan said. The kitten turned its head to peer at Logan. You ran a wet finger between its ears, smoothing the fur back and washing soap away.

“He certainly is,” you hummed. When an idea popped in your head, you felt your grin widen and your gaze slip over to Logan next to you, “You know, he still needs a name.”

“So name him,” Logan replied instantly. A tentative, large hand reached into the sink and ran two fingers down the cat’s soaked back. The kind and delicate gesture only further solidified your idea.

“Actually… I was hoping you could name him.”

Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, relaxed expression melting into pure confusion.

“What?” he asked.

this short story is kind of a tribute to the lovely, lovely folks in the murdock tuna team. i have nothing but love and an endless stream of thanks to give to them. you all have inspired me to be a better artist, a better author, a better person. love you, blob blob 🐟

Want to be on the taglist? Fill out this form!

[vivwritesfics]

Double Podium Baby!

Lando and Oscar get a double podium -their girlfriend has to celebrate

Lando x reader x Oscar

"Oh my god, Osc! That was incredible!" Cried Y/N as she went to greet one of her boyfriends after the Qatar grand prix. "You're incredible!" She shouted, pulling him into her arms.

Oscar kissed her slow before showing off his trophy. "You've got to be the greatest rookie ever," Y/N said softly as she kissed him again.

And then she turned around, going to find her other boyfriend. She congratulated Max on his title as she went to find Lando.

Lando, of course, was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't celebrating as he usually did, by kissing Y/N and holding Oscar close (which took some time to happen, the three weren't too sure on telling the world about them before).

Y/N travelled through the McLaren garage, heading towards her boyfriends drivers room. "Lando," she called softly as she knocked. "Baby, are you in there?"

When there was no answer, she pushed her way in.

There Lando sat, his third place trophy in his hand. He looked at Y/N as she entered but quickly returned his gaze to his trophy. "Lando, baby, honey, what's the matter?" She asked, crouching down beside him, one hand on his knee.

There was a moment of silence between them, but Y/N kept staring up at him, concern written on her face.

"I should have done better," he confessed. "I should have come second, or even first." Lando put the trophy down on the sofa next to him, but there was a part of him that wanted to throw it across the room.

Pushing her way between his legs, Y/N grabbed her face and kissed him. Trying to snap him out of this moment of stupidity. But, when she pulled away, Lando still looked like a kicked puppy. "You drove so well out there, Lan. I'm so proud of you. Oscar is, too! You were overtaking like a champion. A future world champion," she said, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair.

Lando wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up and into his chest. "It was a really tough race," he said through a sob. "How is Oscar doing?" Lando asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

"Come and find out," Y/N said and pulled him to his feet.

Landos legs were shaking as he and Y/N walked to find Oscar. After Max's podcast, Lando had completely disappeared. He had walked away before Oscar could get a word with him.

Oscar, who was now waiting outside of the McLaren garage. Oscar, who's face was red and face was shiny with sweat. Oscar, who launched himself at Lando the moment he saw him.

Y/N stood back as they hugged. Her boys. They were her boys. Lando ran his hands through Oscars hair, knocking the hat from his head. "Well done, Osc," he whispered and kissed the top of his head. "That was such a rough race."

"I know, Lan. But you drove so well. I love being on the podium with you."

"I love seeing the both of you up there," said Y/N as she walked towards them and pushed her way between them. Oscar and Lando kissed the top of her head and walked away with her tucked in the middle of them. They walked out of the paddock and into the car, making their way back to the hotel room.

Y/N did a lot of talking with Lando when they got back to the hotel room. While Oscar showered and got ready for bed, Y/N had a chat with Lando. She reminded him of where he was now compared to the year before, how many podiums he had stepped on compared to the year before.

She reminded him that, in the last year he'd gone from the mid field to being a real competitor in the sport, that he'd met the loves of his life and he was getting to compete alongside them. She reminded Lando of a lot of things before he finally got onto his social media to post something.

It was a sweet picture, he, Oscar and Max together before he had run off. Lando posted it with a short and sweet celebratory caption. "There you go, Lan," whispered Y/N as she pulled him closer and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Once Oscar was done in the shower, it was his turn. Lando took his sweet time in the shower, washing away the sweat and worries of the day. As he showered, Oscar and Y/N cuddled. Even in the heat they held each other closer, unable to stay away from each other.

"You're amazing, you know that?" She whispered to him as she laid against his chest. "I'm obsessed with you, Osc." Y/N kissed his jaw and shut her eyes as she leaned against him.

Oscar kissed the top of her head. This was one of his favourite positions to be in, with his girl snuggled against him. The only thing that would have made it better would be if Lando was on the other side of her, his chest pressed against her back, his arm around her middle.

When Lando emerged from the shower, he had just his towel wrapped around his waist. Y/N let out a whistle when she saw him, pulling her lip between her teeth. "I can't believe we get you," she said and pulled him closer, letting the towel dropped to the floor.

That was how the three of them spent the night, cuddled up to one another, wrapped around each other, bodies entwined.

[rauspberries]

Climbing Higher

aaron hotchner x bau!reader.

summary: since your sudden introduction to the bau, you've never felt like you've been on the good side of aaron hotchner. over time, your relationship has only gotten worse and worse, especially with your mission to annoy him and his mission to completely ignore you. when the two of you are put into a situation where you're forced to come to terms with your relationship, you're also forced to face feelings undiscovered.

tags: forced proximity, workplace rivals, no use of y/n, afab reader, comfort [just a tad], reader is afraid of elevators but not intimidating men, haley doesn’t exist, no kissing sorry ;/

word count: 2.9k

notes: told my friends to give me a trope, a relationship & a character. this is what my brain came up with. also; reminder that my requests r open if u have any ideas :]

Aaron Hotchner hates you.

You’ve known it since the second you stepped through the glass doors of Quantico. Since you were hired by the Section Chief, Erin Strauss, and not himself, your place inside of the BAU had been tainted before they had even seen your face. While the majority of the team has warmed up to you, you have never ended up on his good side. You were forced to watch from the sidelines as he was stoically sweet to everybody else but yourself.

That was not to say you didn’t try. At first, you tried to prove your knowledge. Talking his ear off about profiles, being proactive in the field during cases, bonding with the team. None of it had worked. All of his responses had just been soft grunts, terse nods or short answers. At some point, you had realized that nothing you said or did would change his opinion about you.

So, you decided to hate him back. If he wanted to brandish his negative opinion like a badge, you would simply return the favor. Respectfully, of course, since he was still your boss, but returning the favor all the same. 

Although his attitude towards you tended to be silent and stiff, you had settled for a more passive-aggressive approach, filled with bittersweet smiles and malicious compliance. You answered all of his commands with a smile that made your cheeks hurt, you slightly adjusted the stapler on his desk every time you went in there, you took the last bit of coffee in the pot right before he stepped up to the small kitchenette in the office. Your favorite was bringing in baked goods that you purposefully left one ingredient out of, asking him to try one and leaning on the idea that he wouldn’t be bluntly honest about them not tasting good.

Even though you tried your best to make Hotch’s life just a tiny bit harder, you were very aware of the fact that you weren’t blind. Truth be told, Aaron Hotchner was a handsome man, tall and muscular, to the point that made you have not-so-professional thoughts about him. Boss or not, the way he looked in a button down and his FBI vest had to be illegal. In some twisted truth, even his phlegmatic demeanor added to his allure.

As you stare at the back of his head while following him into Quantico, you start to conjure up the ways you could annoy him today. There were a few files on his desk that you could accidentally send flying to the ground in an accidental trip, or you could get Spencer started on a tangent during the case briefing to drag it on longer. Bonus points if it was something inappropriate, like BDSM and its effects on the human psyche.

The creativity of your own deviousness has a ghost of a smile dancing across your lips as you watch him step up to the elevators, pressing the button to call it down to the lobby. You sidle up beside him, pulling your bag up higher on your shoulder and giving him a sickly sweet smile. “Agent Hotchner.”

For a moment, you think about just how criminal it is for someone to look so good while being so incredibly irritating. His perfectly tailored dark suit brought out all of the features that made you sweat, so perfectly put together that it made you want to rip it apart with your hands. Even his hair is perfect after facing the brutal winds of Virginia, falling onto his forehead and making him look just the tiniest bit undone, even if there’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll fix it as soon as he’s in the office.

He greets you with a dip of his head, your last name falling off of his lips so quietly you almost miss it. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to speak, his eyes immediately turning back to the doors in front of you just as soon as they peel open with a metallic whir.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you follow Hotch into the elevator, staying near the doors as he situates himself near the back wall. You press the button for the sixteenth floor, watching as it lights up and taking a deep breath as the elevator jolts to life. 

Despite the gruesome things you see every single day, every reason you’re given to be scared, there is only one thing that you are fully scared of; elevators. They’re too unpredictable for your taste. The idea of the whole thing being held up by only a few cables, trusted with the maximum capacity of twenty to thirty people? Forget it. Just an accident waiting to happen. Plus, the gap between the floor and the actual elevator was a death trap for any small items you might own, and you were notoriously clumsy.

Since you either have to walk up sixteen flights of stairs or use the elevator to get to your shift, you’ve figured out the best way to manage your fear is to disassociate. Usually, you can disappear into your own mind long enough to zone out for the entire minute-long ride, not to worry about the elevator plummeting multiple floors to your untimely death at your young age.

You can feel Hotch’s eyes on your back as you take another deep breath, closing your eyes as you try to think happy thoughts, keeping yourself relaxed until you reach the floor you need to be on. The intensity of his focus on your back has the hair on the back of your neck raising, completely aware that he was profiling you at that moment. In fact, if you thought about it hard enough, you were able to imagine his face, all hard lines and tight frowns.

You’re blissfully distracted by the mental image of Hotch’s focused face until the elevator suddenly stops, emergency lights flickering on while everything else ceases to function correctly.

You take a sharp intake of breath at the unexpected jolt, looking around as if the answer would be painted across the walls. Your heart starts to thud a bit harder against your ribcage as you turn to look at Hotch, your cheeks dusting a light shade of pink in embarrassment at being so thrown off by the situation. “What’s happening?”

“Elevator shut down.” He responds blankly, his shoulder brushing against yours as he shuffles around you, his fingers jamming at the floor buttons. Much to your dismay, they don’t light up anymore, only useful for the soft clicking noise they make when his fingers poke at them. He copies your disappointed sigh as he presses the emergency button, crossing his arms over his chest as he awaits an answer from emergency services.

Stepping back to let him handle the situation, you lean your back against the far wall, covering your thrumming heart with one flat hand and digging the heel of your palm into your sternum in an attempt to stop it. Your eyelids flutter closed as you tilt your chin up towards the ceiling, the blinding bright lights helping to bring you down from the swirling worst-case-scenarios in your head. The sound of Hotch communicating with the building personnel and the other members of the BAU falls on muted ears. 

Finally, when he’s done taking necessary phone calls, he turns to you, the line between his brow deepening as he takes in the state of you. “They said they can be here in forty-five minutes. I’ve already let everyone know we’re running a little bit late.” His tone is so professional that it crawls beneath your skin, turning the bad situation even worse. 

You let out a dry laugh as you sink down towards the floor, pulling your knees closer to your chest. “Great. Forty-five minutes in this metal death trap. With you.” The irony of the situation makes you laugh again, fingers threading into your hair as you tug at your roots. “I am going to die in an elevator with my boss. My boss that hates me. This is my actual nightmare.”

As you speak, your breathing picks up noticeably, your chest tightening with the strain it takes to inhale so much air without exhaling. Your eyes shut tightly as you try to change the subject in your mind, but you can’t. You can’t feel anything but panic, running through all of the worst scenarios in your head like a fucked up Powerpoint. “Majority of the reason that elevators stop working is because of mechanical issues. Worn-out cables and malfunctioning motors. A cable could snap and we could plum -”

“Hey.” Hotch speaks, his stern voice cutting through the buzz in your ears and stopping your senseless rambling.

You are deathly aware of his presence as he crouches beside you, the sound of his jacket rustling almost deafening in the confined space you were sharing. Realizing the gravity of your panic, his hand finds your shoulder, the warmth of it burning through your blazer in a way that has you jolting beneath his touch. 

He pulls his hand away quickly as you flinch, letting it hover in the air as he sighs. “Put your head between your legs,” he instructs.

His tone is demanding enough that you’re immediately following his instruction, letting your butt hit the cold floor as you part your legs just enough to slide your head between them. With the help of your new position and softer instructions from Hotch to take deep breaths, you gulp in air like you had just been underwater, in through your nose and out through your mouth, just as he told you quietly.

Unfortunately, Hotch is right, your breathing settling slowly until you’re able to lean your head back against the wall. Peeling open your watery eyes, you’re met with his deep chocolate eyes, still stoic despite the slight care he had shown during your mini freakout. “I’m not going to die, sir,” you dryly tease, just wanting his focus off of you at this extremely embarrassing moment.

“I don’t think you’re going to die, Agent.” He responds coolly, standing up and adjusting his suit jacket. Usually, Hotch is hard to profile, good at keeping his face clear and his body relaxed, other than anger. It had become a fun little challenge to you to try and figure out what he was feeling at any given moment.

However, right now, that wasn’t the case. Despite his attempt to seem nonchalant, his eyes keep flickering over to you on the floor, his body language giving away his worry. His jaw was still clenched even as he stared forward, his fingers twitching as he fought the urge to clench his fists. It was almost too easy to read, causing you to roll your eyes.

Before you have the chance to mock him for it, he speaks, still refusing to look at you. “You’re scared of elevators?”

Huffing, you pull yourself to your feet, still keeping your back against the wall. “You’re the best profiler here. You’ve never noticed?” It was a challenge, falling off your tongue tauntingly as you purposefully stared directly at the side of his face, noting the clench of his jaw and the soft twitch of his lip.

That asshole. He was holding back a smile. 

Instead of answering your question, he finally turns towards you, his arms crossing over his chest. Your eyes flutter down to admire the way his muscular arms pushed against the sleeves of his suit jacket, only to immediately remind yourself that the man standing in front of you was not only a profiler, but your boss. “You think I’m the best profiler?”

“They didn’t give you Unit Chief for your sparkling humor,” you deadpan. You follow it up with a bittersweet smile, keen eyes noticing another twitch of his lips as you turn your body to face him, chin tilting up to look at him. Standing at six foot two, he easily towers over you, but that’s never scared you before. There is a certain power to looking up at someone that many people don’t see.

Hotch lets out a huff in place of a laugh, arms still crossed as he stares back down at you, the tilt of his lips slowly dissipating. A silence stretches over you, the only sound being a soft buzz from the emergency light ahead of you. He’s the one to break the silence again. “Do you really think I hate you?”

The question takes you by surprise, blinking up at him as you take a step back. “What?”

The man doesn’t show any evidence of being phased other than the tensing of his fingers next to his elbow. “Earlier. You said that your boss hates me. Do you think I hate you?” He repeats the question, his voice still just as calm and collected. You notice how his head dips down a bit farther towards you, slightly tilting towards the right, his body giving away his curiosity.

“Do you not?” You scoff, crossing your arms defensively over your chest, copying his stance. “You’re constantly dismissing me, facing away from me. I come up with ideas and you find a way not to do them, even when they’re good ideas. I also have a running theory that you purposefully set me up to look at the crime scene each time we fly out for a case because you’re always going to the police station first.”

It sounds stupid, saying it out loud, how much you’ve noticed about how Hotch treats you. You’re aware that you sound like a whiny brat that isn’t receiving enough attention, that there are so many things that you could focus your attention on other than your boss’ appreciation of you. There’s another side of your brain that justifies all of your actions. He was your boss, someone above you, the same guy that did your annual reviews and decided if you got your raise. He was close enough to every other agent, saying yes to “family” dinner and inviting them to watch him run his marathons.

You wanted the same treatment as everyone. You wanted to know Hotch personally, wanted to be able to invite him out for drinks, talk about your personal life and everything that troubled you. It was criminal to sit around and watch him laugh and smile with your coworkers from the sidelines, wishing that his opinion of you wasn’t so skewed that it totally ruined his perception of you.

As you mentally run through everything, the truth hits you like a freight train.

You like Hotch. Despite his composed demeanor and the cold shoulder you had received since you stepped into the bullpen of the BAU, the small bits and pieces you had seen from watching from afar had given you just enough of a glimpse of the real him that you had somehow ended up a scorned schoolgirl, giggling about the slightest things and whining when they weren’t fruitful.

Hotch’s brow furrows as he watches you closely. “What?” When you narrow your eyes back at him in confusion, he sighs. “Your face changed. You realized something. What is it?”

Rolling your lips into your mouth, you wish for the thousandth time that none of this was happening and it was just a dream. Instead of directly answering his question, you tilt your head to the side. “Do you want to get drinks sometime?”

“What?” He repeats, still staring at you like you’re having a mental breakdown. For the first time since you had met him, Hotch seems flustered, arms uncrossing to pull at the bottom of his jacket. “Uhm…”

You shake your head, a laugh bubbling in your chest. “Never mind. Forget it. Sorry. Stupid. I’m gonna stare at the wall until we’re out of here.” Following your promise, you turn around until your back is facing him, fist clenching at your side as you fight the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

Following a soft sigh, your name falls off of Hotch’s lips. You don’t react until his warm hand is on your shoulder, the touch burning through the fabric of your blazer as you turn around to face him.

To your surprise, a smile is on his face, the laugh lines you rarely see around his eyes deepening. “I’m sorry. I was taken aback.” He apologizes, his voice shockingly sincere. “I don’t hate you. And I’d love to get a drink with you. Seems we have a lot to learn about each other. Like the origin behind your fear for elevators,” he teases.

Rather than shoot something back, you’re too starstruck by just what had happened that you just stare up at him, your lips parted as you fight for the words to say. You’re only brought out of your daze by the thrum of the elevator starting back up, blinking as Hotch moves to talk to emergency services through the intercom again.

You are still silent as the elevator door opens to reveal the BAU bullpen, Hotch turning to give you a slight smirk. “See you during the case briefing, Agent.”

[elikajinnie]

The Goblet Of Hate And Suffering - P.S

P: Durmstrang!Sunghoon X Fem!Reader

Requested by: @rustymoons <3 (hope you like it!)

Warnings: Angst, Ex-Lovers, Hurt/No Comfort.

Synopsis: The Triwizard Tournament should be thrilling, but not when it means facing your ex, Sunghoon—the boy who vanished from your life without a word years ago.

a/n: okay this really took everything out of me xD i had the movie on replay besides me to keep up xD some things are different though as i had to adapt and not take it fully from the movie.

see request here -- hogwarts au masterlist

--

Hogwarts was, in your opinion, one of the best wizarding schools in the world. How could it not be? You loved everything about it. Being there was like living in a dream, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

This year, though? This year felt special. It wasn’t just any ordinary year—it was the year. The Triwizard Tournament was set to begin, a once-in-a-lifetime event that brought wizards and witches from other schools right into Hogwarts' walls. And if that wasn’t enough to set your heart racing, there was the Yule Ball.

So before the start of the year when your friends invited you to the Quidditch World Cup, you didn’t hesitate for a second to accept the invite. How could you possibly say no?

The moment you stepped into the enormous stadium, your heart had practically leapt out of your chest. It was massive—larger than anything you could have ever imagined, with stands that stretched so high it felt like you could reach out and touch the clouds. And now, as you sat among the sea of cheering fans, the colors of Ireland’s emerald green and Bulgaria’s crimson red swirling together in a chaotic, dazzling display, you could hardly contain your excitement.

The Irish team soared onto the field first, their green robes shimmering in the stadium’s enchanted lights. The leprechaun mascots darted above them, leaving trails of gold sparks in their wake, and you cheered with all your might, your voice nearly getting lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. It didn’t matter, though—you could feel the energy buzzing through you, as if you were part of something monumental.

"Did you see that entrance?" one of your friends shouted over the noise, nudging your shoulder. You grinned, unable to tear your eyes away from the players looping gracefully in formation.

"Brilliant!" you yelled back, clapping so hard your palms stung. "They’re going to destroy Bulgaria!"

“Don’t count Viktor Krum out just yet!” another friend argued, their voice full of competitive glee. “He’s the best Seeker in the world for a reason.” You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing the Bulgarian team take to the skies moments later. Krum himself was a force of nature, cutting through the air with effortless precision. A part of you couldn’t help but admire his skill, though you weren’t about to admit it out loud.

But just as your attention shifted back to the Irish Chasers speeding across the pitch, something else caught your eye—a blur of red robes twisting and flipping through the air in a dazzling display of skill.

You squinted, leaning forward in your seat as the figure effortlessly flipped on their broomstick, narrowly dodging a Bludger before sending it hurtling back across the pitch. The force behind the hit was incredible, and the crowd erupted into cheers as it nearly unseated one of the Irish Chasers. Whoever that was, they were good—too good.

“Who’s that?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the roar of the stadium.

One of your friends leaned in, grinning as they pointed toward the player. “That’s Park Sunghoon! Bulgaria’s star Beater. Isn’t he incredible?”

Your heart stopped.

Park Sunghoon?

No, it couldn’t be.

The name echoed in your mind, dragging you back to memories you had buried long ago. Childhood laughter, stolen glances, the warmth of holding hands under the winter sky—those memories had once meant everything to you. But they’d been shattered just as easily as they were made.

You stared at the figure in the sky, your heart pounding as if it were trying to break free from your chest. Even from this distance, you could make out the sharp features of his face, the way his dark hair was pushed back by the wind, the familiar confidence in every move he made. It was him.

The boy who had left you.

The boy who had broken your heart.

Your hands tightened around the edge of your seat as you tried to steady your breathing. He hadn’t just left—he’d vanished, disappeared from your life without a trace. No goodbye, no letter, no explanation. One day he was there, the next he was gone, and you were left wondering what you’d done wrong.

And now here he was, soaring through the air like he hadn’t once meant the world to you and then destroyed it.

“Are you okay?” your friend asked, nudging you gently.

You forced yourself to nod, though your heart felt like it was lodged in your throat. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely steady. “Just surprised, that’s all. I… I didn’t know he played for Bulgaria.”

Your friend chuckled. “He’s been their Beater for a few years now. A real prodigy, apparently.”

You bit your lip, your gaze never leaving him as he soared through the air, completely unaware of your presence in the crowd. A prodigy. Of course he was. He’d always been talented—good at everything he did. But that didn’t change what he’d done to you.

As the game continued, you tried to focus on the match, on the thrill of the Quaffle being passed and the Bludgers ricocheting through the air. But no matter how hard you tried, your eyes kept drifting back to him.

Park Sunghoon.

The boy you’d once loved. The boy you now hated.

The game went on, but your excitement had dulled, replaced by a heavy weight in your chest. So this was where Sunghoon had been all these years, living a life that seemed as untouchable. You couldn’t help but feel bitter. While you had spent so long trying to pick up the pieces of what he left behind, he had been here, chasing glory.

Your gaze flicked back to him, even though you wished it wouldn’t. You watched as he hit bludger after bludger with perfect precision, his every move calculated and controlled. The way he maneuvered his broom was flawless, almost effortless, as if he were born to be up there.

The crowd roared when he sent a Bludger careening toward one of Ireland’s Chasers, nearly knocking them clean off their broom. Sunghoon didn’t even look back to see if it landed. He just smirked—smirked—like he already knew the damage was done.

That same smirk used to make your heart flutter. Now, it made your stomach churn.

“He’s unbelievable,” your friend said beside you, shaking their head in awe. “You can tell he’s got nerves of steel. Never seen anyone handle a Bludger like that.”

You forced a tight smile, nodding just enough to seem engaged, but your thoughts were elsewhere. It was strange, seeing him again after all this time, yet not entirely surprising. Of course, Sunghoon would end up here, in front of a massive crowd, basking in the spotlight. He’d always been good at standing out, at making people notice him. You just wished you weren’t one of them.

“Why do you look like you’re about to hex someone?” your other friend teased, nudging you with their elbow.

You blinked, realizing you’d been gripping the edge of your seat so tightly that your knuckles had turned white. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though your voice betrayed the lie.

But you weren’t fine. You couldn’t shake the memories of his laugh, his promises, the way he’d told you once—so sincerely—that he’d never leave you. And yet, he had. Without warning, without explanation, he’d vanished from your life like you’d meant nothing to him.

The game’s pace quickened, but you couldn’t focus. Your attention kept returning to him, to the way he moved, so confident and sure of himself. You wondered if he even thought of you anymore. Did he remember the promises he’d made? The summers you’d spent together? Did he ever regret what he’d done, or had he left it all behind as easily as he’d left you?

When the final whistle blew and the game ended with Ireland’s victory, the stadium erupted into cheers. Your friends jumped up, clapping and hollering, but you stayed rooted to your seat, staring blankly at the field as the players descended from the sky.

Sunghoon landed with the rest of the Bulgarian team, his broom slung casually over his shoulder as he laughed at something one of his teammates said. He looked so… unbothered. Like he hadn’t shattered someone’s heart all those years ago. Like he didn’t even know you were there, watching him from the stands.

And maybe he didn’t. Maybe you didn’t matter to him anymore.

After the match, you followed your friends out of the stadium, their excited chatter filling the air around you. They were still buzzing from the game, reenacting their favorite moments and arguing about who had played the best. You forced yourself to smile, to nod along and laugh at the right moments, but your mind was miles away.

By the time you reached the tent you were all sharing, the exhaustion from the day was starting to catch up with you—not just from the excitement of the World Cup, but from seeing him. You pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on keeping your friends from noticing that anything was wrong. They didn’t know about Sunghoon. They didn’t know what he’d meant to you—or what he’d done to you.

And you weren’t about to tell them.

“Can you believe that Bludger hit in the second half?” one of your friends exclaimed as they flopped onto their cot, still brimming with energy. “That was insane! I swear, Park Sunghoon almost took that guy’s head off!”

You froze for a moment, but quickly forced yourself to shrug as you started unpacking your things. “Yeah, it was pretty impressive,” you said, keeping your tone light.

“Pretty impressive? That was legendary!” another friend chimed in, throwing their arms up dramatically. “No wonder everyone’s obsessed with him. He’s a total star.”

You laughed softly, though it felt hollow. “Sure, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re not!” they teased, pointing at you with mock disbelief. “Come on, even you have to admit he’s incredible.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to focus on unrolling your sleeping bag. “Yeah, yeah, he’s talented. Can we move on now?”

Your friends laughed, and thankfully, the conversation shifted to other parts of the game. But even as you listened to them, nodding and adding a comment here or there, your mind kept drifting back to Sunghoon.

What were the odds that he’d be here, of all places? That you’d see him after so many years, so many unanswered questions? You hated how easily he’d managed to worm his way back into your thoughts, how the sight of him had unraveled the carefully built walls you’d constructed around those memories.

“Hey, you okay?” one of your friends asked suddenly, breaking through your haze.

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring blankly at your hands. “Yeah,” you said quickly, offering them a small smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Fair enough,” they said, stretching out on their cot with a yawn. “That match was exhausting to watch, let alone live through.”

You nodded, grateful for the excuse as you turned away and crawled into your sleeping bag. You faced the side of the tent, your back to your friends, and let out a quiet breath.

It wasn’t like you to dwell on the past. You’d worked so hard to leave all of that behind, to move on. But now, with Sunghoon’s name echoing in your head and the memory of his smirk burned into your mind, you weren’t so sure you could.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to fall asleep. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be. Because no matter how much your heart ached, you couldn’t let yourself go back to that place. Not after everything.

But one simple thought lingered in your mind: What would you do if you saw him again?

The distant sound of fireworks pulled you from your restless thoughts. At first, you thought it might just be the crowd outside celebrating the World Cup—parties like this often went late into the night. But the noises grew louder, more chaotic, and the muffled sounds of shouting sent a chill down your spine.

You sat up in your sleeping bag, your heart already starting to race. Your friends were still talking and laughing, oblivious to the growing commotion outside. Without saying a word, you crawled out of the bag, brushed past them, and unzipped the tent flap.

The sight that greeted you made your blood run cold.

People were running, their faces pale with terror. Screams echoed through the night, and the sky was lit not with celebratory fireworks but with harsh flashes of green and red. And then you saw them—dark figures in masks and robes, moving through the chaos like shadows of death.

Death Eaters.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were frozen, rooted to the spot as the realization sank in. This wasn’t just some drunken brawl or post-match celebration gone wrong. This was an attack.

You turned back into the tent, your voice urgent and trembling. “We need to go. Now.”

Your friends stopped mid-conversation, confusion flashing across their faces. “What are you talking about?” one of them asked.

“Death Eaters,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “They’re here. Outside. We have to leave!”

The panic in your tone must have convinced them because they scrambled to their feet without another word. The tent was abandoned in seconds as you all spilled out into the chaos.

The campsite was a mess of panic and fear. Tents were collapsing as people fled in every direction. Fires blazed, casting flickering shadows across the ground, and the masked figures moved through the crowd, sending spells haphazardly into the air.

“Stay together!” one of your friends shouted, but it was easier said than done. The crowd was a tidal wave, and you could barely keep track of where anyone was.

You ran as fast as you could, weaving through the mass of people, your heart pounding with every step. You tried to stay close to your friends, but the crowd pushed and pulled at you, dragging you further away.

“Wait!” you called out, but your voice was lost in the din of screams and crackling spells.

A sudden explosion nearby sent you sprawling to the ground, dirt and debris flying into your face. You scrambled to your feet, coughing as you wiped the dust from your eyes. Your friends were nowhere to be seen now—just the chaos of the crowd and the ominous figures of Death Eaters looming in the distance.

Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to move. You couldn’t stop, couldn’t freeze. The only thing that mattered now was getting out, finding safety, and praying that your friends had done the same.

--

You, of course, loved when new things happened at Hogwarts. That was why you made sure you had a perfect view of the grand arrivals. You craned your neck along with the rest of the gathered students, excitement buzzing around you.

First came the Beauxbatons carriage, a massive, sky-blue structure that seemed almost too grand to be airborne. Yet there it was, floating gracefully through the sky, pulled by enormous, snow-white horses with wings. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as it descended, landing smoothly on the lawn with an elegance that seemed fitting for the French wizarding school.

You couldn’t help but smile as the Beauxbatons students emerged, their blue silk uniforms shimmering in the light. They moved in perfect synchronization, their grace and poise commanding attention. Even their Headmistress, Madame Maxime, who towered over everyone, carried herself with an air of refined dignity.

But before you could fully admire the carriage’s arrival, the lake began to ripple, the surface breaking apart in shimmering waves.

“The Durmstrang ship!” someone whispered beside you, and all eyes turned toward the water.

The ship emerged slowly, like a great beast rising from the depths, its dark, weathered hull dripping with lake water. It was both eerie and magnificent, its towering masts piercing the sky, flags billowing in the breeze.

Durmstrang students filed out next, their crimson and black uniforms stark against the gray sky. They looked formidable, each of them tall, sharp, and exuding an intimidating confidence. And among them, you noticed Viktor Krum, the Quidditch star, standing out even in the midst of his peers. His presence sent a ripple of whispers through the crowd, but your focus wavered when your gaze caught someone else.

Your breath hitched.

Park Sunghoon.

There he was, standing with the Durmstrang group, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the Hogwarts grounds. His robes fit him perfectly, the deep crimson accentuating his sharp features, and his dark hair was slicked back just like it had been at the Quidditch World Cup.

You froze, every emotion you’d felt at the World Cup flooding back all at once. Shock, anger, and something far more complicated swirled in your chest as you stared at him. He didn’t look your way—of course he didn’t. He probably didn’t even know you were here.

But that didn’t matter. He was here now, at Hogwarts, and there was no escaping it.

“Isn’t this exciting?” one of your friends said beside you, nudging you with a grin. “We’re finally going to meet all these international students!”

You forced a nod, tearing your eyes away from Sunghoon and back to the grand arrivals. But the excitement you’d felt earlier was gone, replaced by a sinking feeling in your stomach.

This was supposed to be your year.

The chatter in the Great Hall was electric as you slipped into your usual spot at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your robe. You tried to focus on the hum of conversations around you, but it was impossible to ignore the nervous flutter in your chest.

Sunghoon was here. He was actually here, walking the same halls you called home.

You tugged at the fabric in your hands, trying to steady your breathing as the hall quieted. Dumbledore rose from his seat, his warm smile spreading across the room as he raised his hands to speak.

“Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts,” he began, his voice carrying easily through the enchanted hall. You leaned back slightly, listening but not fully absorbing the words.

Just as he was finishing his introduction, the doors creaked open, and the sound of hurried footsteps drew everyone’s attention. You stifled a laugh as you saw Filch rushing toward Dumbledore, clutching at his robes like the world was ending.

The two of them whispered hurriedly, and though you couldn’t catch the words, the way Filch waved his arms animatedly made it hard to keep a straight face. After another moment, Filch nodded and scurried back toward the entrance, leaving Dumbledore to clear his throat and return his focus to the students.

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore continued, his eyes twinkling as he looked out over the gathered students, “Please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their Headmistress, Madame Maxime!”

With a flourish, Dumbledore gestured toward the doors, and they swung open once again. A quiet gasp swept through the hall as the Beauxbatons students entered,they moved in perfect harmony, a vision of elegance and grace, their soft blue uniforms shimmering as butterflies seemed to materialize and flit around them.

Madame Maxime followed, her towering frame commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

But then Dumbledore spoke again.

“And now, our friends from the north, please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang! And their Highmaster Igor Karkaroff.”

You felt your pulse quicken as the Durmstrang students made their entrance.

Their movements were sharp and precise, their staffs sparking with flashes of fire and light as they marched in perfect unison. The rhythmic stomp of their boots echoed through the hall, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

And then, at the end of their group, Viktor Krum appeared. His presence sent a wave of murmurs through the crowd, and for a moment, all eyes were on the famous Seeker.

But yours weren’t.

Because walking beside him, just besides Igor Karkaroff, was Sunghoon.

Your heart dropped as your gaze locked on him, even for just a second. He looked composed, his expression calm and unreadable as always, but there was something about seeing him here, in the Great Hall, that made everything feel far too real.

Panic surged through you, and you quickly turned your head away. You couldn’t let him see you. Not now. Not ever.

Your hands clenched into fists under the table, your nails digging into your palms as you fought to steady yourself. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but you kept your head low, praying he wouldn’t notice you in the crowd.

The Durmstrang students reached the front of the hall, and Karkaroff stepped forward to greet Dumbledore, but you barely registered the words.

Sunghoon was here.

Luckily, you found yourself seated far away from Sunghoon, who was sitting with the Durmstrang students. Your focus remained on your plate, keeping your head down, eyes fixed on the food in front of you as you tried to ignore the turmoil churning in your stomach. You couldn’t help but steal quick glances at the table near the front where Sunghoon was sitting. His presence seemed to hang in the air, like an unresolved knot that you couldn’t untangle. You turned your head quickly whenever you thought he might notice, trying to appear casual, but your heart was racing.

The chatter around you died down as Dumbledore stood up, his presence commanding attention.

“Your attention, please,” Dumbledore called, his voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd. You straightened slightly, curiosity piqued.

He raised his hands, pausing for a moment, allowing the silence to settle in the Great Hall. His voice, when it came again, was full of gravitas.

“I would like to say a few words," he looked around. "Eternal glory,” his words was slow and deliberate, “that is what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to do this, that student must survive. Three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks.”

A murmur rippled through the students at the mention of the danger involved.

“For this reason,” Dumbledore continued, his gaze sweeping the room, “the Ministry has seen fit to set a new rule.”

At that moment, the doors at the back of the hall opened, and a tall, thin man entered—Mr. Bartemius Crouch. He was ushered to the front, where he stood beside Dumbledore.

Mr. Crouch cleared his throat and began to speak. “After much consideration,” he said, “the Ministry has decided that no student under the age of seventeen shall be allowed to enter the Triwizard Tournament.”

A murmur of surprise and disappointment spread through the hall. Students exchanged glances, some groaning in frustration, others whispering indignantly among themselves. You could see the disappointment on the faces of younger students, especially those who had hoped to be chosen for the Tournament.

The murmurs grew louder, voices rising in protest as the students reacted. You felt a small frown tug at your lips.

But before the murmuring could escalate into full-blown chaos, Dumbledore’s voice rang out, louder and more commanding than ever.

“SILENCE!” he shouted, his tone firm and authoritative.

The hall went quiet in an instant, the only sound now the echo of Dumbledore’s command hanging in the air. Every student seemed to hold their breath, awaiting the next word from the Headmaster. His blue eyes sparkled as he surveyed the room, ensuring no one would dare speak again.

With a swift motion, Dumbledore raised his hand, and there, at the front of the Hall, the Goblet of Fire appeared. A blue flame flickered to life inside it, casting an glow.

“It is from this very Goblet,” Dumbledore said, his voice softer now but no less commanding, “that the champions of the Triwizard Tournament will be selected. If a student wishes to participate, all they must do is write their name on a piece of parchment and throw it into the fire. The Goblet will then choose the most worthy candidates, and their names will be revealed.”

Dumbledore stepped back slightly, and with a flourish, he announced, “And so, I declare that the Triwizard Tournament has begun!”

The next day, after classes, the Great Hall was buzzing with chatter. The Goblet of Fire sat on its pedestal, as students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang gathered around it, their faces alight with excitement as they stepped forward to submit their names.

One by one, students dropped their parchment slips into the Goblet, their expressions a mix of confidence and nerves. You lingered at the edge of the crowd, watching as some strutted forward with exaggerated bravado while others hesitated before tossing their names in.

You had hesitated at first. Surely there was no chance the Goblet would choose you—not when so many others had entered, each with their own skills, talents, and dreams of glory. But something inside you had nudged you forward. You didn’t expect much, but you’d decided to try.

So, slipping through the crowd, you had carefully written your name on a piece of parchment, folded it neatly, and tossed it into the fire. The flames had flared briefly, consuming your name in an instant, before returning to their steady flicker. It was done.

You had just rejoined a group of students who were chatting excitedly about their chances when a wave of murmurs spread through the hall. The sound of heavy boots echoed against the stone floor, and you turned your head toward the commotion.

In came Viktor Krum and Sunghoon, walking side by side, flanked by two other Durmstrang boys you didn’t recognize.

Krum approached the Goblet first, his expression stoic as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment, and dropped it into the flames without hesitation.

Then, with a smirk, Krum turned to Sunghoon, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a gentle shove toward the Goblet. You watched as Sunghoon stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

He pulled out his parchment and stared at it for a moment before tossing it into the flames. The Goblet roared briefly, swallowing his name, and just as he turned to step back, his gaze shifted.

Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked onto yours.

For a moment, it felt as though the world had slowed down. His eyes widened slightly, recognition flashing across his face. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out.

You felt your stomach tighten, heat rising to your cheeks. You quickly huffed, turning away before he could say anything—or worse, before you let your emotions show.

The voices around you blurred as you focused on anything else, anywhere else, willing yourself to calm the storm of emotions threatening to rise.

“Everything okay?” one of your friends asked, nudging you gently.

You forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Just... thinking about the tournament,” you lied, keeping your voice steady.

After some significant time the Great Hall was filled with students as everyone gathered around the Goblet of Fire. You sat down with your friends at the long table, your heart pounding in anticipation. The conversations around you buzzed with excitement, but you found yourself tuning them out, stealing glances at the Goblet instead.

You avoided looking at Sunghoon, though that was easier said than done. He wasn’t sitting far, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. Every time you caught yourself glancing in his direction, your eyes snapped back to your hands, pretending to fiddle with your robes.

"Now," Dumbledore’s voice suddenly boomed, capturing everyone’s attention, "the moment you have all been waiting for—" he paused for effect, "the champion selection."

The hall fell silent, so quiet you could hear the crackle of the Goblet's flames. Dumbledore raised a hand, and as he approached the Goblet, the flames dimmed slightly, casting a faint glow over the room.

Atmosphere. Nice, you thought to yourself, though your stomach churned nervously.

Finally, he touched the Goblet, and with a dramatic flare, the blue fire turned red, roaring upward before spitting out a small piece of parchment. The paper fluttered through the air, and Dumbledore caught it with ease.

He glanced at the name written there, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "The Beauxbatons champion is... Kim Seon-mi!"

Applause erupted as Seon-mi, a graceful girl with striking features, rose from her seat at the Beauxbatons table. She walked toward the champion area with the poise of someone who had been preparing for this moment her entire life.

The Goblet flared red again, the fire roaring before another parchment was ejected. Dumbledore caught it as effortlessly as before. "The Durmstrang champion is... Park Sunghoon."

Your breath hitched as you watched Sunghoon stand. He walked confidently up to Dumbledore, shaking his hand before moving to the champion area.

You clenched your fists in your lap, focusing hard on anything but him, willing the moment to pass.

The Goblet flared for the third time, the red flames licking upward and spitting out one last piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it and unfolded it carefully.

"The Hogwarts champion is..." A pause, then your name rang through the hall.

Time seemed to stop. Your name echoed in your ears as your friends erupted into cheers around you, patting your back and shouting their congratulations. You sat frozen for a moment, your heart pounding, unsure if you had heard correctly.

"Go on!" one of your friends urged, nudging you toward the aisle.

Slowly, you rose from your seat, your legs trembling beneath you. The eyes of the entire Great Hall were on you, and you felt their weight like never before. The cheering, the clapping, the sheer noise of it all—it was almost overwhelming.

You walked up to Dumbledore, his warm smile offering a sense of reassurance. He extended his hand, and you shook it firmly, though your own hand felt clammy.

"Congratulations," he said softly, and you nodded, unable to form words.

With that, you walked toward the champions’ area, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. As you joined Seon-mi and Sunghoon, you couldn’t help but feel the intensity of Sunghoon’s gaze again, though you refused to meet his eyes.

You were the Hogwarts champion.

Why should you look at him? Why should you give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence after everything he’d done—or rather, everything he hadn’t done?

He had left you. Without a word, without an explanation, without a single ounce of consideration for how much it would hurt. And for years, he had acted like you didn’t exist. No letters. No effort to stay in touch. Nothing.

So, as far as you were concerned, he didn’t deserve even a glance.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift slightly, as if debating whether to say something. But you kept your expression neutral, your posture strong, pretending that the walls was more captivating than his presence mere feet away.

"Congratulations," Seon-mi said, her voice warm and genuine, breaking the silence as she offered you a small smile.

"Thank you," you replied, returning her smile and grateful for the distraction.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything, but you could feel him still looking at you. You clenched your fists subtly, willing yourself to focus on anything but him.

The next day, you found yourself standing awkwardly alongside Sunghoon and Seon-mi in a small corner of the castle grounds. The autumn breeze was crisp, rustling the leaves of the nearby trees and tugging at the edges of your robes. The morning had started off normally enough, but now you were here, lined up like trophies in front of a camera.

The woman in charge of the commotion was someone who had introduced herself with an exaggerated flourish as Rita Skeeter, a reporter for the Daily Prophet. Her bright green robes shimmered in the sunlight, and her perfectly styled hair didn’t move an inch despite the wind. She was, in a word, dramatic.

The camera clicked rapidly as a wiry man darted around you, capturing shots at every angle. Rita stood off to the side, eyeing the three of you with a shark-like smile, her quill floating in mid-air beside her, scratching furiously on a piece of parchment.

“Lovely, just lovely,” Rita cooed, clapping her hands together. “Our three champions, so young, so promising! This will make an excellent story, I can already tell.”

She turned her attention first to Seon-mi, her gaze sweeping over the Beauxbatons champion. “Tell me, darling,” she purred, stepping closer. “What hides in those large, expressive eyes of yours? Is it determination? Fear? Or perhaps… a secret?”

Seon-mi blinked, looking startled by the question but managing to keep her composure. “I’m simply honored to represent my school,” she replied politely, though the corners of her mouth twitched in what might’ve been discomfort.

Rita didn’t linger long on her, however, before turning to you. Her piercing eyes raked over your face, and you felt like you were being dissected under her gaze. She tilted her head slightly, her quill poised mid-scratch as if it too were studying you.

“And you,” Rita said, her voice almost sing-song. “What thoughts swirl behind that composed face of yours? Hmm? Are you confident in your abilities, or is there a storm brewing within you?”

You stiffened slightly, trying not to let her get under your skin. “I’m focused on the tasks ahead,” you said curtly, refusing to give her the drama she was clearly fishing for.

“Oh, how mysterious,” Rita said, her smile widening. “A picture of resolve, aren’t you? Let’s see if we can crack that facade in time.”

Before you could respond, she had already turned to Sunghoon. Her gaze shifted, lingering on him longer than was comfortable. Her eyes sparkled with a kind of glee as she took in his tall frame and broad shoulders.

“And you, my dear boy,” she said, stepping closer and dramatically gesturing to him. “What lies beneath all those muscles, hmm? Confidence? Strength? Or perhaps… vulnerability?”

Sunghoon didn’t flinch under her gaze, but his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “I’m here to compete,” he said simply, his voice even and detached.

Rita clapped her hands together again, clearly delighted by the responses—or lack thereof—from the three of you. “Oh, I love this group already,” she said with a sly grin. “So much potential, so many untold stories. I’m sure the wizarding world will adore reading about you all.”

You exchanged a glance with Seon-mi, who gave you a subtle shrug as if to say, Just go with it.

Rita gestured for the three of you to stand closer together, her quill darting across the parchment as she continued to scribble furiously. “Now, darlings, one last photo—let’s make it dramatic! Look determined, fierce, ready to take on the world!”

The three of you exchanged awkward looks but complied, standing stiffly as the camera flashed.

As soon as the photo session was over, you were quick to step away, eager to put as much distance between yourself and Rita Skeeter as possible.

As you walked away from the chaotic photo session, it wasn`t long before you and Seon-mi started talking.

“She’s absolutely mad, isn’t she?” Seon-mi said, her soft accent lilting with amusement as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “The way she kept digging for drama—it was like she’s writing a novel, not an article.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “What was that about ‘what hides in your eyes’? I thought she was going to suggest some tragic backstory for you on the spot.”

Seon-mi giggled, shaking her head. “And you—‘a storm brewing behind your composure’? Very ominous.”

“She probably thinks I’m secretly plotting world domination,” you replied dryly, rolling your eyes.

However, the sound of footsteps close behind made you aware that you weren’t entirely alone. A glance over your shoulder confirmed it: Sunghoon was trailing behind, just a step or two away, his expression unreadable.

Seon-mi noticed him too, and her laughter faltered slightly as she gave you a questioning look. You didn’t say anything, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your robes.

It was clear he wanted to say something. You could feel it in the way he hovered, the occasional shuffling of his feet or the way he opened his mouth slightly, only to close it again without speaking.

You and Seon-mi exchanged another glance, and she arched a delicate brow at you as if asking, What’s this about?

But you weren’t about to indulge Sunghoon, not after everything. If he wanted to say something, he’d have to figure out how to do it himself.

“So,” you said, turning back to Seon-mi and pointedly ignoring Sunghoon’s presence. “How long do you think it’ll take before that article comes out? My guess is tomorrow, and it’ll be something ridiculous like, ‘The Champions: Secrets, Strengths, and Scandals.’”

Seon-mi laughed again, picking up on your determination to brush off Sunghoon. “Oh, definitely. And she’ll probably exaggerate everything we said. I wouldn’t be surprised if she claims one of us is cursed or something.”

“That sounds exactly like her,” you said with a grin.

Sunghoon cleared his throat softly behind you, and for a split second, you almost turned around. Almost. But you stopped yourself, forcing your attention to stay on Seon-mi.

Seon-mi glanced back at him briefly, then looked at you again, clearly curious but not pressing the matter.

Sunghoon shifted awkwardly, his hand brushing through his hair as though he was trying to think of what to say. But you didn’t give him the chance, quickly filling the silence with another comment to Seon-mi.

“She’s probably going to make it worse by adding some dramatic headline about our ‘secrets,’” you said, smirking. “She’ll make it sound like we’re all hiding something dark and mysterious.”

Seon-mi chuckled, though her eyes flickered back toward Sunghoon once more. “Well, I guess we’ll see soon enough. Let’s just hope she doesn’t turn us into some love triangle nonsense. You know how those types of stories go.”

You tensed slightly at her words but quickly masked it with a laugh. “That would be a disaster.”

The day of the first challenge arrived with a chill in the air that seemed to seep into your bones. The castle was alive with an electric buzz, students whispering excitedly in the corridors, the tension palpable. You tried your best to keep calm, but the knot in your stomach was relentless.

You had barely slept the night before, lying awake in your dormitory, imagining all the ways the challenge could go wrong. The uncertainty of what awaited you was maddening. None of the champions had been told what they’d face, only that it would test their courage, skill, and quick thinking.

As you made your way to the champions' tent on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, you could feel the weight of every stare from your fellow students. Your friends offered you encouraging smiles and pats on the back, but their optimism felt distant compared to the unease bubbling inside you.

Inside the tent, you were greeted by Seon-mi and Sunghoon. Seon-mi looked nervous but determined, smoothing down her pale blue robes as she offered you a small, reassuring smile. Sunghoon stood off to the side, leaning against the tent pole with his arms crossed, his usual confidence replaced by a subtle tension.

“Good luck,” Seon-mi said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

“Same to you,” you replied, managing a faint smile.

Sunghoon glanced at you, his lips parting slightly as though he wanted to say something. But you quickly looked away, focusing on the commotion outside as the crowd’s cheers grew louder.

The officials entered, holding three small, crystalline spheres that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

“Champions,” one of them began, their voice steady but commanding. “Your first challenge is a test of wits and resilience. Hidden deep within the Forbidden Forest lies the Labyrinth of Whispers. Each of you must navigate its paths, to retrieve magical relics hidden.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Seon-mi, who looked intrigued but tense. Sunghoon, meanwhile, straightened up, his expression unreadable but his shoulders tense.

The official held up the glowing spheres. “Each of these will serve as your guide and key. They will light your path but will also test your worthiness as a champion. You must keep it with you at all times. If you lose it, you forfeit the task.”

Your fingers brushed the cool surface of the sphere as it was handed to you. It pulsed faintly in your hand, like a heartbeat, and for a moment, you could swear you heard a faint whisper coming from it.

“The Labyrinth is alive,” the official continued. “It will attempt to mislead you, confuse you, and perhaps even turn you against yourself. Stay focused, champions. This task will test not only your stamina but your mind.”

As the crowd roared outside, each of you was led to separate entrances of the labyrinth, its towering hedges twisting and pulsing as though they had a mind of their own.

Standing at the threshold, you glanced down at the sphere, which began to glow softly, casting an eerie blue light over your face.

“Champions, you may enter” the voice announced, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

The air grew colder the moment you entered, the sounds of the cheering crowd muffled by the dense walls of the maze. The sphere in your hand pulsed gently, its light flickering to guide you forward.

But the labyrinth was nothing like you expected. The paths shifted beneath your feet, the hedges curling and uncurling as if they were alive. Whispers filled the air, faint and unsettling, their words indecipherable but laced with a strange pull that made you want to stop and listen.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus as the sphere brightened, leading you down a path.

The first obstacle came quickly—a swirling mist rose from the ground, obscuring your vision. It shimmered unnaturally, and as you stepped closer, figures began to emerge from the haze.

They were familiar.

Your friends, their faces twisted in fear and accusation. They called out to you, their voices blending with the whispers of the maze. “Why did you leave us? Why didn’t you help us?”

It was an illusion, you told yourself firmly, gripping your wand. But the longer you stood there, the harder it became to move.

The sphere in your hand pulsed sharply, breaking the spell. The mist dissolved, and the figures vanished, leaving you shaken but determined.

Further into the maze, the challenges grew more complex—a riddle spoken by a disembodied voice that demanded an answer before a path would open, a series of enchanted vines that tried to trap you until you cast the right spell to sever them, and a pool of shimmering water that you had to cross without touching it.

And then, just as you thought you were making progress, the maze shifted violently. The path behind you closed, and the hedges ahead twisted into a new formation. You stumbled, clutching the sphere tightly as its glow flickered uncertainly.

You grumbled under your breath, frustration bubbling up as the maze twisted yet again. The hedges seemed to have a mind of their own, changing direction as if to toy with you.

But you didn’t give up. You kept pushing forward, focusing on the gentle pulse of the sphere in your hand. Its glow flickered faintly, as if it was trying to reassure you.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you saw it—there, nestled among the twisting branches of the maze, was a glowing relic. It was an ornate, silver chalice, encrusted with gemstones that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

Your breath caught in your throat. This was it—the relic you were sent to find.

You picked it up carefully, feeling its weight in your hand. The moment your fingers touched the cool surface of the chalice, the sphere in your hand pulsed brightly, its light turning a brilliant white. The hedges around you seemed to tremble, and with a sudden, sharp crack, the labyrinth opened up a clear path before you.

A pathway leading directly to the exit.

You couldn’t help but smile as you started walking briskly, the pressure of the maze’s tricks slowly fading away. The light from the sphere illuminated the way, guiding you confidently.

And then, in the distance, you saw it. The edge of the labyrinth. The exit.

You broke into a sprint, heart racing with a mixture of triumph and relief. You burst through the final stretch and out into the open air, the sound of sudden loud applause brusted in the air.

As you caught your breath, basking in the glory, you realized something.

You were the first to make it out of the labyrinth.

“You did it!”

Before you could react, your friends rushed at you, nearly knocking you off your feet as they wrapped you in a tangle of hugs and cheers.

“You were amazing!” one of them exclaimed, shaking your shoulders in giddy excitement.

“First one out? Are you kidding me? That was brilliant! You’re going to crush this tournament!”

You couldn’t help but smile as their words of encouragement washed over you, the sound of their cheers louder than the crowd’s applause.

But then your eyes flickered toward the labyrinth’s exit.

And there he was.

Sunghoon stepped out of the maze, his sphere still glowing faintly in his hand. His dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his chest rose and fell as he caught his breath.

Your smile faltered.

He scanned the crowd quickly, his eyes landing on you almost immediately. His gaze was sharp, and it made your chest tighten in a way you hated. You could see the faintest trace of something in his expression—surprise, pride, maybe even regret—but you looked away before you could decipher it.

“You okay?” one of your friends asked, noticing your sudden silence.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile back onto your face. “Just tired, that’s all.”

But your heart wasn’t in it anymore.

Even as your friends continued to celebrate around you, patting your back and shouting about how you were destined to win, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Sunghoon’s eyes still lingering on you.

The labyrinth's exit shifted again, and you turned just in time to see Seon-mi stumble out, her sphere glowing faintly as she clutched an ornate relic in her hands. Her face was flushed, her hair slightly disheveled.

“Seon-mi!” you yelled, breaking away from your friends and running toward her.

Her head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and when she saw you running toward her, her lips curled into a tired but radiant smile.

“You did it!” you cheered, throwing your arms around her in an enthusiastic hug. She let out a surprised laugh, nearly dropping her relic as she hugged you back.

“You too!” she said, her voice breathless with exertion. “First place, huh? Absolutely crushing it!”

“Barely,” you teased, stepping back to look her over. “But look at you! That was amazing!”

She let out a small laugh, holding up her relic. “I thought I was done for at least three times in there. That maze is evil.”

“Tell me about it,” you said, shaking your head. “But you made it out—and with style, might I add.”

But then, as the sound of the crowd swelled again, you felt a presence nearby. You glanced over your shoulder and saw Sunghoon standing off to the side, watching the two of you.

His expression was hard to read—somewhere between reserved and contemplative—but his gaze lingered on you just a little too long.

Seon-mi seemed to notice as well, her laughter trailing off as she followed your line of sight. She arched an eyebrow at you, leaning in slightly. “So… what’s the deal with him?”

You shook your head quickly, pulling your attention back to her. “Nothing,” you said, forcing a casual tone. “Let’s just focus on celebrating this, okay?”

Seon-mi gave you a curious look but didn’t press further. Instead, she slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning. “Fine, fine. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily! Later, I’m getting the full story.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but you couldn’t help but smile.

--

The cool breeze of the courtyard did little to calm the storm of thoughts in your mind as you sat on the stone bench, books and notes spread out before you. You were determined to be as prepared as possible for the next challenge. Your quill scratched furiously against the parchment as you jotted down strategies and possible spells to master.

You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until a shadow fell over your notes.

“Uhm.. hi” came a familiar voice, soft but hesitant.

You froze for a moment before slowly looking up. Sunghoon stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his Durmstrang coat, his expression unreadable.

“What do you want?” you asked curtly, frowning as you set your quill down.

“I just… thought I’d check on you,” he said, his voice steady but tentative. His dark eyes scanned your face, searching for something. “You look good.”

You blinked at him, taken aback for a split second before your frown deepened.

“I look good?” you repeated, scoffing. “That’s what you’re starting with?”

Sunghoon shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s been a long time. I just—wanted to see how you’ve been.”

“How I’ve been?” you echoed, your tone sharp. You leaned back slightly, crossing your arms as you fixed him with a glare. “You disappear for years, act like I don’t exist, and now you suddenly care about how I’ve been?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was struggling to find the right words. “I—”

“Save it,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “I don’t have time for whatever this is. I’m busy.”

You turned your attention back to your notes, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. But instead, Sunghoon stayed where he was, his presence looming over you like an unwelcome shadow.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something that sounded like regret.

You let out a bitter laugh, not bothering to look up at him. “Well, congratulations anyways, Sunghoon. You did a fantastic job of it.”

There was a long pause, the silence between you heavy and uncomfortable. You could feel his gaze on you, but you refused to meet it.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance.

You exhaled sharply, your chest tight with emotions you didn’t want to name. Shaking your head, you forced yourself to focus on your studies again. You didn’t have time to dwell on the past.

--

You sat at the long table with your housemates, absently picking at your food as they chattered excitedly about the upcoming Yule Ball. The air was full of laughter and bright energy, but you couldn’t shake the distant feeling that seemed to cling to you.

The news had spread like wildfire—people were already planning who they would ask to be their dates. You watched with a faint sense of detachment as a group of boys at the far end of the table gathered their courage, each nervously approaching the girls they had set their sights on. One by one, the proposals were made, and you noticed how the girls blushed, some laughing, others squealing in excitement.

The laughter echoed around you, but you were strangely unaffected. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go—of course, you did—but the thought of asking someone, or even being asked, felt… far away. Maybe it was the pressure of the tournament, or maybe it was something else.

“Are you going to the ball?” someone asked, pulling you back into the conversation.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Uh, yeah, probably,” you answered, your voice a little more distant than you intended.

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound too excited about it.”

You shrugged, not quite knowing how to explain. “I just… have other things to focus on right now.”

Your housemates, seemingly unfazed by your answer, continued on with their talk of dresses and tuxedos, and who they thought would be the first to ask who. You couldn’t help but feel a little out of place in the midst of all their enthusiasm.

Later in the day you stepped out of the classroom, still absorbed in your thoughts, when a sudden voice pulled you from your reverie. You turned, slightly startled, to see a Durmstrang boy standing there, his posture straight, a confident but friendly smile on his face.

"Excuse me," he said, his accent thick but clear.

You didn't recognize him immediately, but something about his presence stood out—he had an air of quiet confidence that seemed to command attention. He looked at you intently for a moment before extending his hand in a polite gesture.

"I'm Park Jisung," he introduced himself smoothly. "I was wondering... would you be my date to the Yule Ball?"

You blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. Your first instinct was to look around, as though checking for any signs of teasing or mockery, but there was none. The confidence with which he spoke was genuine, and something about his demeanor made you feel less like a spectacle and more like someone he'd truly wanted to ask.

You hesitated for a moment, before realizing you hadn’t even considered asking anyone to the ball.

"Well..." you began, your voice trailing off as you looked him over once more. He was undoubtedly handsome, and you had to admit, there was something refreshing about his approach. It wasn’t shy or hesitant like some others, nor was it awkward. He had simply asked.

You exhaled slowly, smiling faintly. "I’ll admit… you’re the first one to ask me," you said, your tone a little more playful than you intended. "And I guess I like that you’re confident enough to actually do it."

Jisung’s smile widened, clearly pleased by your response. "So, does that mean I have a yes?"

You paused again, just for a second, but the weight of everything else made it hard to focus on anything else. But here was someone who seemed genuine, without baggage.

"Yeah," you said, finally nodding. "I’ll go with you."

Jisung grinned, looking pleased, his expression softening a little. "Great. I’ll make sure you have a good time, then."

You smiled back, feeling a little lighter than before.

--

You stood before the mirror, taking one last look at yourself. The gown you wore was a beautiful shade of deep blue, with delicate silver embroidery that caught the light every time you moved. Your hair was styled elegantly, with soft waves that framed your face, and a delicate sparkle of jewelry adorned your neck and wrists. Despite the reflection staring back at you, a feeling of unease lingered in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t look good—no, you felt pretty, even confident in the gown. But your mind was elsewhere.

Sighing, you turned away from the mirror and took a deep breath, pushing those thoughts aside. Tonight was supposed to be fun. You didn’t want to ruin it by overthinking.

As you made your way to the Grand Hall, your steps quickened, a sense of anticipation growing within you. The music and chatter filled the air as you approached, and just as you were about to enter, you were suddenly ushered inside by none other than Professor McGonagall.

“Ah, there you are,” she said with a kind smile, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You look stunning tonight. Enjoy yourself.”

You nodded, smiling in return, and walked into the hall, where the grand spectacle awaited. The chandeliers glittered above, casting a warm glow on the swirling dancers below, their laughter and joy filling the room.

There, standing near the edge of the floor, was Jisung. He was dressed impeccably, looking every bit the gentleman in his sleek suit. When he saw you, his face brightened, and he gave you a warm smile. He took a step toward you, bowing deeply with a flourish.

“You look absolutely breathtaking,” he said, his voice genuine and kind. He reached out a hand, and you placed yours in his, letting him gently lead you onto the dance floor.

As the music swelled, Jisung guided you gracefully, his movements smooth and practiced. You couldn’t help but be impressed by how well he moved—he was a good dancer, relaxed, and seemed to know exactly how to hold you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to be swept away, forgetting everything else.

But then, you caught sight of him.

Sunghoon.

And with him was Wonyoung.

Your heart skipped, a flutter of nerves taking over as you saw the two of them talking, laughing together. Wonyoung, the elegant Beauxbatons student you’d gotten to know a little through Seon-mi, was standing so gracefully beside him, laughing at something he had said. She was every bit the picture of poise and beauty. Her long, shiny hair cascaded down her back, and her eyes sparkled with charm as she spoke. It was hard not to admire her—she was one of the most beautiful girls you’d met, and she carried herself with such effortless grace. You had nothing but kindness for her, but seeing them together made your stomach twist in a way you hadn’t expected.

Wonyoung's family was one of the wealthiest in France, and it showed in the way she carried herself—refined, composed, and effortlessly elegant. Everything about her seemed so perfect, and in comparison, you felt almost... ordinary.

You had always tried not to let those insecurities show, but seeing Sunghoon with her, so at ease, made you wonder if you'd ever really meant anything to him at all. You quickly looked away, focusing instead on Jisung, who was still guiding you through the dance with ease.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sensing your change in demeanor. His eyes softened with concern.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just a little distracted, I guess.”

Jisung gave you a knowing smile. “It’s a big night. I can’t say I blame you for having a lot on your mind.”

You let out a breath, grateful for his understanding.

As the night wore on, you allowed yourself to enjoy the dance, the music, and the lighthearted conversation with Jisung. His presence was calming, and his gentleness made it easy for you to forget about the stress that had been gnawing at you. He was attentive without being overbearing, asking questions, and making sure you were comfortable. He never pushed, never rushed. It was a kindness that was rare, and you couldn't help but be grateful for it.

You weren’t thinking about the pressure or the heartbreak—you were just here, in the moment, dancing with someone who genuinely cared.

As the night continued, you found yourself smiling without restraint. Jisung's soft laughter filled the air as he spun you around with grace. And when the song ended, he pulled you gently to a stop, holding your hand as he looked at you, his eyes soft.

"You've got the best smile," he said, his voice low but warm, "It's nice to see you so... carefree."

You blushed, a soft warmth spreading across your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. "Thank you," you said, smiling back at him.

"Anytime," Jisung replied, and his eyes sparkled with genuine kindness.

--

The day of the second challenge had arrived, and despite the tension in the air, you and Seon-mi couldn’t help but find small moments of humor. The two of you sat together, sharing sweets from a small pouch she had brought along.

“These are amazing,” you mumbled, popping another sugary treat into your mouth.

“Right? My mom sends them from home,” Seon-mi said with a proud grin. “I swear they’re the only thing keeping me sane during all this madness.”

You both started snickering as she nudged you with her shoulder, and you nudged her right back. The lightheartedness between the two of you felt like a much-needed reprieve from the stress of the tournament.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Sunghoon standing a short distance away with Krum and a couple of Durmstrang students. They were speaking in low tones, their expressions serious as they seemed to discuss strategy.

But Sunghoon wasn’t paying attention to Krum.

Every so often, his gaze flickered over to where you and Seon-mi were laughing, his brow furrowing slightly as though he was trying to figure out what was so funny.

Seon-mi caught on and leaned closer to you. “He’s staring again,” she whispered, her voice laced with teasing.

You glanced over briefly, meeting Sunghoon’s eyes for half a second before quickly looking away. “Let him,” you said nonchalantly, shrugging as you reached for another sweet.

“Are you sure there’s nothing going on there?” Seon-mi asked, her grin mischievous.

“Absolutely nothing,” you said firmly, though the slight edge in your tone made Seon-mi raise an eyebrow.

“Alright, alright,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “But if he keeps looking at you like that, I might start thinking he’s got something to say.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing her off. “He can keep whatever he wants to say to himself.”

Just then, a whistle blew, signaling that the champions should gather at the starting line. The lighthearted atmosphere shifted as the reality of the challenge set in, and you exchanged a quick look with Seon-mi.

“Let’s do this,” she said, offering you a fist bump.

You knocked your fist against hers, giving her a small smile. “Let’s.”

The crowd gathered around the edge of the massive lake, buzzing with anticipation as the cold morning air nipped at your skin. You stood with Seon-mi and Sunghoon on the raised platform overlooking the water, your nerves bubbling beneath the surface, though you tried to appear calm.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his long silver beard glinting faintly in the pale sunlight. The murmurs in the crowd quieted as his voice, amplified by magic, rang out clearly across the grounds.

“Champions!” he began, a warm yet commanding tone in his voice. “For your second challenge, you will face one of the most formidable and ancient tests: navigating the depths of the Black Lake.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you could hear a collective gasp ripple through the students behind you. Even Seon-mi shifted nervously beside you.

Dumbledore continued, “Hidden beneath these waters are treasures most precious to you—each chosen specifically for this challenge. Your task is to retrieve these treasures and return them safely to the surface. But beware… the lake holds many secrets, and its creatures are not known for their kindness.”

The mention of creatures sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your face neutral.

“The time limit is one hour,” Dumbledore added, his gaze sweeping across the champions. “Failure to return within this time will result in… unfortunate consequences for what you leave behind.”

The cryptic phrasing made your stomach turn, and you couldn’t help but glance at the still, dark surface of the lake. The Black Lake had always seemed mysterious, but now it felt downright menacing.

“Your wands will, of course, be allowed,” Dumbledore added. “You may use any spell, charm, or potion you’ve prepared to aid you. The challenge begins shortly—champions, prepare yourselves.”

As the crowd broke into excited murmurs, Ludo Bagman stepped up to add his usual theatrical flair. “Ladies and gentlemen! Gather around and make your bets—oh, er, I mean—place your predictions! Who will prevail in this challenge of skill, bravery, and a touch of aquatic ingenuity?”

You barely paid attention to him as you turned to Seon-mi, who gave you a slightly nervous smile. “What do you think they mean by ‘most precious to you’?” she asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your mind racing with possibilities.

Before either of you could speculate further, Igor Karkaroff approached Sunghoon, muttering instructions in his ear. You noticed Sunghoon glance at you briefly before nodding, his jaw tightening.

“You’ll be fine,” Seon-mi whispered, nudging you gently. “We’ve got this.”

You nodded, giving her a small, determined smile. “Yeah, we do.”

The sound of the starting gunshot echoed, and without hesitation, you dove forward. As you leapt off the platform, you muttered the Bubble-Head Charm under your breath, feeling the familiar sensation of the magical air bubble forming around your face just as you hit the freezing surface of the Black Lake.

The cold water wrapped around you like an icy embrace, sending a shiver through your entire body. You pushed through it, forcing yourself to focus. The world beneath the lake was murky, dark, and eerily quiet, broken only by the distant swaying of underwater plants and the occasional darting shadow of a fish.

You kicked your legs hard, propelling yourself deeper into the water. The sunlight above barely penetrated the lake’s depths, leaving everything shrouded in an unsettling gloom. You gripped your wand tightly, its faint luminescent tip acting as your only reliable guide.

Your breath echoed softly within the bubble charm as you swam forward, eyes scanning the seemingly endless expanse of water for any clue to what you were looking for.

The silence was suddenly broken by a ripple of movement far ahead. You squinted, trying to make sense of the shifting shapes in the distance. Were they merpeople? Grindylows? Or worse?

As you swam closer, you felt the water begin to stir unnaturally around you, currents pushing against your path as if trying to steer you away. Ignoring the resistance, you pressed onward, following a faint glow that seemed to pulse ahead of you.

The glow of the archway cast an eerie light on the scene before you, and your heart nearly stopped when you saw the frozen, lifeless forms suspended in the water. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized one of them—Jeongseob. His eyes were closed, his body eerily still, tethered to the rocky floor by a thick strap around his ankle.

Without hesitation, you swam toward him, your heart pounding as you reached for the strap holding him in place.

Out of the corner of your eye, movement caught your attention. Turning your head sharply, you spotted a cluster of merpeople circling nearby, their sharp eyes fixed on you. Their expressions were unreadable, but their tridents glinted threateningly in the dim light.

You huffed, pushing away the unease crawling up your spine, and focused on the strap. Your fingers fumbled with the knot as you tried to release him, but it was tighter than you anticipated. Pulling out your wand, you muttered a quick Diffindo, and the strap snapped cleanly apart.

Grabbing Jeongseob under his arms, you began to lift him when a figure suddenly darted past you, cutting through the water with precision.

Sunghoon.

You froze for a moment, watching as he swam toward another frozen figure—you recognized immediately as Wonyoung. His movements were swift, almost practiced, as he reached her side and inspected the strap binding her.

Sunghoon released her with practiced ease, and with one strong kick, he began swimming upward, her unconscious form in tow.

You snapped back to reality, your grip tightening around Jeongseob as you adjusted his weight. With one last glance at the merpeople, who thankfully didn’t move to stop you, you started your ascent toward the surface.

The water seemed heavier now, the glow from the archway fading the farther you swam. You pushed yourself harder, focusing on Jeongseob’s still form and the faint light of the surface above. Your lungs burned, your muscles ached, but you refused to stop.

When you broke through the surface, gasping for air, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You swam toward the platform as quickly as you could, hauling Jeongseob out of the water with the help of a few officials.

Turning your head, you caught sight of Sunghoon already on the platform, placing Wonyoung gently on the ground.

The way he looked at her made something twist uncomfortably in your chest, though you couldn’t quite name the feeling. His soaked hair stuck to his forehead, droplets trailing down his face.

You quickly averted your eyes, focusing entirely on Jeongseob, who was coughing and spluttering as he tried to sit upright.

"Hey, take it slow," you murmured, brushing his damp hair out of his face. Relief coursed through you as his breaths steadied. "You're okay now."

Jeongseob gave you a weak smile, his voice hoarse. "I knew you'd save me."

You helped him to his feet, steadying him as one of the mediwizards approached to check on him.

The crowd roared again as Seon-mi broke through the surface, dragging her younger brother along with her. She looked utterly exhausted, but a triumphant grin spread across her face as she hauled him onto the platform. You cheered for her, clapping as she waved in your direction, her relief evident.

"You did amazing!" you called, and she laughed breathlessly, collapsing onto the platform beside her brother.

You could only smile at her.

After that, it seemed like the universe had decided to work against you. Everywhere you turned, Sunghoon and Wonyoung seemed to be there—together.

At breakfast in the Great Hall, you’d glance up from your toast only to see him leaning slightly toward her, talking quietly while she smiled, twirling a strand of her dark hair between her fingers. In the corridors, you’d catch them walking side by side, Wonyoung’s melodic laugh ringing in the air as Sunghoon’s eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement.

Even during the rare moments you found peace in the library, they’d somehow find their way to a table not too far from you. Wonyoung would whisper something, her delicate hand brushing against Sunghoon’s arm, and he’d lean closer, murmuring back with a small smile that made your stomach churn.

Wonyoung wasn’t the problem, you reminded yourself.

But knowing she wasn’t the problem didn’t make it hurt any less.

Every time you saw them together, it was like a thorn pressing deeper into your chest. You’d tell yourself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t care what Sunghoon did or who he spent his time with. He wasn’t your problem anymore.

Yet, the memories of your shared past refused to fade. The way he used to look at you like that, the way he used to make you laugh until your sides hurt—it all lingered in the back of your mind, taunting you.

"You're staring again," Seon-mi teased you, nudging you with her elbow.

You snapped your gaze away from the corner of the courtyard where Sunghoon and Wonyoung were talking. He was holding something out to her—a book, maybe—and she took it with a grateful smile.

"I wasn’t staring," you lied, biting into the apple in your hand with more force than necessary.

Seon-mi raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Sure, and I’m secretly the Minister of Magic."

You rolled your eyes, refusing to engage further.

But even as you tried to brush it off, the frustration bubbled under your skin. It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself. It was annoyance. Annoyance that he had the audacity to walk back into your life and act like nothing had happened. Annoyance that he was suddenly everywhere, an unavoidable presence that reminded you of things you’d tried so hard to forget.

You bit down harder on your apple, you silently vowed to keep your focus on the tournament and nothing else. Sunghoon could do whatever—or whoever—he wanted. You had more important things to worry about.

The day of the third challenge arrived, and the anticipation in the air was palpable. The weight of the past challenges hung heavy, and with every passing moment, the dread of what lay ahead only grew. You stood there, in the cold, feeling the slight tremor in your hands as you clasped them together, trying to steady yourself.

The arena was unlike anything you’d seen before—towering stone walls, an eerie silence that almost seemed to press in on you, and the unnatural stillness of the sky overhead. The crowd’s murmurs were distant, but your mind was too focused on the task ahead to truly hear them.

You could feel your heart thundering in your chest, the adrenaline starting to kick in. The previous challenges had been difficult, but this one? This one was unlike anything you had ever prepared for. There was no room for hesitation or second-guessing.

“Competitors, step forward,” a booming voice called, pulling you from your thoughts.

You took a deep breath and walked forward with purpose, fighting the nerves that clawed at your insides. This was it. The final challenge.

The stands were packed with eager faces, eyes fixed on you and the other competitors.

Ahead of you stood the final challenge—a labyrinth of twisting hedges, rising walls of thorns that reached high above your head. You could feel the weight of the crowd's gaze, but you focused on the task ahead.

"Your task is simple," the voice of the Headmaster rang out again, "Navigate the maze, retrieve the Triwizard Cup at the center, and return. The maze will change as you progress. Be alert. Be ready."

With a final glance around at your fellow competitors you took a steadying breath, stepping toward the entrance of the maze. The world seemed to fall silent as your footsteps echoed, each one leading you deeper into the unknown.

The first few moments were calm, and you felt your nerves settle as you moved swiftly through the narrow paths. But then, as you rounded a corner, a sudden shift in the maze occurred. The path behind you collapsed, leaving no way to retrace your steps.

You gritted your teeth. No turning back now.

The wind howled through the labyrinth, whistling past your ears as if the very maze itself was trying to disorient you. Every step felt like it led you in circles, the twisting paths all blending together in a maddening blur. Frustration bubbled up inside you, and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to stay focused.

You clutched your wand tighter, the familiar weight grounding you. With every turn, you muttered spells under your breath, trying to manipulate the maze, hoping to find some way to make it easier, but the labyrinth seemed to grow more chaotic with each passing second. The walls shifted again, and you cursed under your breath as the path you’d just taken disappeared behind you, leaving you with only a narrowing tunnel ahead.

A flicker of light suddenly caught your attention. You turned, heart skipping a beat as you saw the glow of something ahead, faint but undeniable. The Triwizard Cup.

Without thinking, you sprinted toward it, adrenaline pushing you to the limit. But the wind picked up again, this time more violent, the trees around you creaking under the pressure. The air grew heavier, and you had to shield your face against the sharp sting of the gusts.

Just as you thought you were getting closer, a new barrier rose in front of you—a wall of thick, thorned vines, their sharp tips glinting like daggers. You skidded to a halt, barely able to avoid running into them.

Your heart raced as you glanced around, trying to find another way. You reached for your wand, but before you could cast another spell, something in the corner of your eye caught your attention.

Movement. A shadow darting through the maze. You narrowed your eyes, instinctively reaching for your wand again, but when you looked closer, you realized it wasn’t an enemy.

It was Sunghoon.

You froze for a moment, but there was no time to waste. You had your goal: the Triwizard Cup. You couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now, not when you were so close.

You pushed forward, every muscle in your body screaming, but you couldn’t afford to slow down.

Sunghoon was right behind you now, running just as fast, his dark silhouette cutting through the chaos of the maze. The wind howled, fiercely whipping around you both.

You could hear his footsteps, closer now, like a shadow trailing in your wake. With the wind pushing against you, it felt like an invisible hand was trying to drag you back, but you fought it, forcing your legs to move faster, your heart pounding in your ears. You couldn’t let him win.

The thorns of the maze lashed out like wild creatures, scraping your arms as you rushed past. You barely noticed the pain. All you could focus on was the glowing cup just ahead.

You shot a glance over your shoulder. Sunghoon was gaining on you, his pace matching yours with frightening precision. You swallowed hard, feeling the competitive drive surge through your veins. There was no way you’d let him get there first.

In that instant, the wind picked up again, stronger this time, pushing against both of you with brutal force. It felt like the very maze itself was trying to separate you, to tear you both apart. The gusts howled louder, as if the maze itself had come alive to stop you from reaching the prize.

You pushed through the wind, the air sharp in your lungs, heart hammering against your ribs.

But just as you thought you had gained an edge, the wind howled even harder, and a massive gust swept across the maze. You stumbled, feet slipping beneath you, and you heard Sunghoon’s sharp breath as he took advantage of the opening.

You were neck and neck now, the cup within both of your grasps, but who would get there first?

Your hand reached out, fingers brushing against the golden edges of the cup...

And just like that, it was over.

In a flash, Sunghoon's hand shot out, quicker than you could react, and he snatched the Triwizard Cup from right before you. Your heart sank as you watched him grasp it tightly, his fingers curling around its surface, his expression set in triumph.

For a moment, the wind seemed to quiet, almost as if it too had paused to watch the final moment unfold. You froze, chest heaving, the adrenaline crashing through your body like a wave.

He had won. He had beaten you.

--

You stood there, surrounded by your friends’ supportive words, each one trying to lift your spirits. It helped, in a way. You had made it this far. You had survived the Triwizard Tournament’s challenges, something that not everyone could say. You had won the first challenge, and that counted for something.

But as the cheers echoed around you, you couldn’t help but feel a lingering disappointment. You had been so close, so close to finishing it all. You had fought hard, but in the end, Sunghoon had been the one to claim victory.

You glanced over at him, watching as he was surrounded by his fellow Durmstrang students. Their excitement was palpable, and it stung to see him raised up on a pedestal, holding the cup aloft like a hero. He posed for pictures, a small smile on his face, as if everything had gone exactly according to plan.

Your gaze shifted to Igor Karkaroff, who was grinning from ear to ear, his greedy eyes never leaving the cup. As Sunghoon handed it over to him, Karkaroff’s hand clapped firmly on Sunghoon’s back, a gesture that seemed more like a possessive claim than a congratulatory pat.

You swallowed hard, that familiar bitterness rising in your chest.

It wasn’t just the victory that stung—it was everything that came with it. The attention, the admiration, and the way people seemed to bend around Sunghoon like he was the center of their world.

You shook the thoughts away, reminding yourself that you had made it through. You had done your best.

--

The courtyard was alive with activity as students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang prepared to depart.

You stood with Seon-mi, your heart heavy. Despite everything, she had become a true friend to you.

“You better write to me,” she said, her voice tinged with emotion as she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Only if you write back,” you teased, your voice wavering slightly.

Seon-mi laughed, stepping back to look at you. “I will. I promise. And maybe I’ll convince my parents to let me visit Hogwarts sometime.”

“Please do,” you said, smiling despite the ache in your chest.

With one final hug, Seon-mi stepped onto the carriage, giving you a cheerful wave before disappearing inside. You stood there for a moment, before turning to leave.

That’s when you saw him.

Sunghoon stood by Krum, speaking quietly. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to his expression that you couldn’t quite place.

Your heart was pounding as you approached Sunghoon. With every step closer, you felt the weight of everything unsaid between you. This was it. If you didn’t confront him now, you never would.

Taking a deep breath, you reached out and grabbed his arm. He turned to you, startled, his eyes wide.

“Come with me,” you said firmly, dragging him away from the group and toward a quiet corner near the castle walls.

“Wait—what are you doing?” he asked, but he didn’t resist.

When you stopped, you let go of his arm, crossing yours tightly over your chest. “I need to know something, Sunghoon. I need to know why you left.”

His expression faltered, the usual confidence in his gaze replaced with unease. “Why I left?” he echoed, as if he didn’t understand the question.

“Yes,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Why you left me. You just disappeared without a word, Sunghoon. I deserve to know the truth.”

He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse to answer. But then, he finally spoke.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low. “I… I liked you when we were kids, alright? I did. But then… I don’t know, I guess I just… fell out of love.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your heart stopped, and for a moment, all you could hear was the rushing of blood in your ears.

“You’re lying,” you said, your voice trembling.

“I’m not—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “That’s not the truth. Tell me the real reason, Sunghoon. I deserve that much.”

He sighed again, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the conversation was finally catching up to him. His brows furrowed, and he looked away from you, his jaw clenching.

“Fine,” he muttered, his tone sharper now. “You want the truth? My parents didn’t like you.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“They didn’t like you,” he repeated, looking at you now. His eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite place—regret, anger, guilt, maybe all three. “Your family… you’re not pureblood. My parents didn’t think you were good enough for me. And when they decided to send me to Durmstrang, I had the chance to leave everything behind. So I did.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. You just stared at him, the truth sinking in like ice water in your veins.

“So, what?” you finally managed, your voice shaking. “You just… left because they told you to? Because you couldn’t be bothered to fight for me? For us?”

He flinched at your words, his jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that,” he said quietly. “I was a kid, okay? I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the cold air. “Well, you did. You hurt me more than you’ll ever know.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, his shoulders tense and his expression unreadable.

You shook your head, stepping back. “You don’t get to decide what hurts me, Sunghoon. And you don’t get to justify what you did. You could’ve told me the truth back then. You could’ve given me the chance to understand. But you didn’t. You just… left.”

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but you didn’t want to hear it. Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there alone.

It wasn’t the answer you wanted, but it was the answer you needed. And now, at least, you could finally start moving on.

a/n: my angst is a bit rusty... LUCKILY I GOT MORE ANGST COMING!

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[paladin--strait]

family skate - luke hughes

here's the oneshot from the poll! hope you all enjoy! 🫶

-

it felt like a scene from a movie, but in the best possible way. luke and i were standing at the edge of an outdoor stadium, the cool winter air biting at my cheeks, but somehow it felt perfect. we were in new jersey and the entire field had been transformed. a full hockey rink sat in the middle of the football field, with the bright stadium lights casting an almost surreal glow over the ice.

there were no fans, no cameras, just the team, their families, and a few close friends, all out here to skate before the big stadium series game tomorrow. it was intimate, private, and it felt like we were part of something special.

i could feel the excitement buzzing in luke beside me as we walked through the halls and made our way toward the rink. the lights above cast long shadows on the ice, and i could hear the faint sound of skates cutting through the frozen surface, mixed with the occasional laughter and shouts from the players and their families.

it was a completely different vibe than a normal game night. there was no pressure, no crowd to impress, just the team having fun before the real action started.

luke’s hand was warm in mine as we walked closer to the ice, and i could tell he was in his element. even though he was always calm, always collected, i could see how much this kind of moment meant to him. it was a break from the madness, a chance to just be himself with the people who mattered.

“you ready for this?” luke asked, glancing down at me with a soft smile, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“definitely,” i said, squeezing his hand. “this is so cool.”

we reached the rink, and it was incredible. big enough for the team to practice or skate around, but still small enough that it felt like we were in our own little bubble, isolated from the world. the ice glistened under the lights, and i could see the other guys skating around, already warming up.

there were no fans, no cameras snapping photos, it was just them, their families, and the people closest to them. it was as if they were in a world of their own, and i was lucky enough to be a part of it.

luke led me toward the ice where a few players were already skating around, taking laps and chatting. the air smelled like fresh snow, and the sound of skates slicing through the ice was oddly soothing. as we approached, a few of his teammates noticed us and waved over. jack hughes, his brother, was the first to spot us.

“hey! there she is,” jack called, skating over with that mischievous grin of his. “the girl that's got my brother smiling more than i’ve ever seen.”

“don’t listen to him,” luke said, rolling his eyes but clearly amused. “he’s just trying to make me look soft.”

jack smirked but turned to me with a friendly grin. “it’s okay, we all know he’s whipped.”

i laughed, feeling my cheeks warm a little. “you guys don’t waste any time, huh?”

“nah,” jack said, shaking his head like it was the most normal thing in the world. “we just like to mess with him. but seriously, nice to finally meet you.”

“you too!” i said, smiling back with a wave.

jack skated off, giving luke a playful shove as he passed. luke just shook his head, but i could tell he was enjoying himself. it was clear these guys were all close, their teasing and jokes so natural and effortless.

it made me feel like i was seeing a side of luke that wasn’t just the guy on the ice for the devils. here, he was just another guy messing around with his teammates, and i loved it.

as we made our way further onto the ice, luke grinned at me, like he was genuinely excited to have me join in. we skated a few laps together, and even though i wasn’t the best skater, i felt comfortable just being out there with him. it didn’t matter if i stumbled or wobbled on the ice, luke was right there to catch me every time. he made it look so effortless, gliding across the ice with that natural flow of his, but to me, it felt magical, like he was doing something special just for me.

“you okay?” luke asked, skating backward in front of me, his arms out to steady me as i tried to keep up.

“yeah, just trying not to fall on my ass...” i laughed, feeling a little clumsy.

“you’re doing great,” he said, his voice warm, making me feel a little more confident with each step.

we skated together for a while, looping around the rink, taking in the quiet of the night. it was amazing how peaceful it felt out here. no crowds, no noise, just the sound of our skates on the ice and the occasional laugh from one of the other players.

i loved the way luke’s face lit up when he was skating, how focused and relaxed he looked at the same time. it made me feel like i was seeing him in his element, but not the athlete that everyone else saw, the serious guy in front of thousands of fans. here he was just my boyfriend, enjoying a night on the ice with the people he cared about.

after a while, we slowed down and skated over to the edge of the rink, where some of the other players were taking a break. i felt a little nervous meeting more of his teammates, but luke was right there, making me feel like i belonged.

“this is so much fun,” i said, resting my hand on his arm as we sat on the boards.

“i’m glad you’re enjoying it,” luke said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “this is one of my favorite things we do before a big game. no pressure, no fans, just the guys and their families.”

“i can see why,” i said, smiling up at him. “it’s nice to see you all just...being yourselves.”

“yeah, it’s good to take a break before the big day,” he said, glancing around at his teammates, who were chatting and laughing. “it’s not all about the game. it’s about moments like this.”

i leaned into him, feeling the cold air on my face but wrapped in the warmth of him next to me. the ice gleamed under the lights, and it felt like the perfect little pocket of time. just us and his teammates, no distractions, no expectations. the world outside the stadium didn’t exist for a little while, and i could see how much it meant to him to have these moments.

as the night went on, we skated a few more laps, and with each one, i felt more and more at ease. it wasn’t just about the game or the players, it was about the quiet moments between the chaos, about getting to know him and his teammates in a way i hadn’t before.

“you ready for tomorrow?” i asked, looking up at him as the night wound down.

“always,” luke said with a grin. “but tonight? i’m just happy you’re here.”

“me too,” i whispered back, leaning into him. the night was perfect, and no matter what happened tomorrow or the day after, nothing could take away this moment, this night with him, in this quiet, magical space, just us and his world.

[chloe6994]

Hii :)

Can you do headcanons about Caitlyn being really protective over her gf!reader (or wife!reader) ?

yea I got it

protective caitlyn x reader

Here are some headcanons about Caitlyn being fiercely protective of her girlfriend or wife (reader):

Overprotective During Dangerous Situations: Caitlyn can be incredibly protective when it comes to any kind of danger. If you're in a risky situation—whether it's being in the middle of a fight, walking through an unsafe area, or even just encountering someone suspicious—Caitlyn is immediately on high alert. She'll subtly position herself between you and the threat, always ready to shield you from any harm. If someone tries to challenge or intimidate you, she'll step up, her tone calm but deadly, ready to make sure no one lays a finger on you.

Constant Checking in: Caitlyn doesn’t like to let you out of her sight for long, especially in unfamiliar or dangerous situations. She’ll often send you a quick message, or check in through the comms, asking how you’re doing or if you need anything. Even when she's away from you, you can expect a few "Are you okay?" or "Let me know when you’re home." She’s just ensuring you're safe, even if she doesn’t say it out loud.

Clinginess After Danger: After you’ve been in any dangerous situation, Caitlyn will cling to you more than usual. It’s her way of making sure you’re okay. She’ll wrap her arms around you, needing the reassurance that you're still here and safe. The once calm and collected Caitlyn will soften, and there’s a sense of vulnerability to her as she’s afraid of losing you, even if she doesn’t always show it.

Always Preparing for the Worst: Caitlyn, always the tactician, is prepared for any worst-case scenario when it comes to your safety. She’ll have your back covered with a small arsenal of weapons, even if they’re hidden. Whether it’s a hidden blade, a smoke grenade, or something more discreet, Caitlyn has a way of ensuring you’re never truly unprotected. She’ll also keep tabs on any person who might pose a threat to you, investigating them and their connections, just in case.

Extreme Loyalty: Caitlyn's loyalty to you is unwavering. If anyone insults you or threatens you, she’ll immediately stand up for you in a way that’s calm, but fierce. She knows how to handle herself in confrontational situations without resorting to violence, but she’s always ready to protect you—whether verbally or physically. If anyone tries to harm you emotionally or mentally, Caitlyn won’t hesitate to step in and shut them down with sharp words or a piercing glare.

Nurturing When You’re Hurt: Caitlyn is soft and gentle when you’re injured. Whether it's a minor scrape or a more serious wound, she’ll tend to your injuries with extreme care. It’s her way of taking care of you and showing how much she loves you. She’s very thorough when bandaging wounds, making sure every injury is properly treated and checking up on you for any signs of further distress or pain. If you're feeling overwhelmed or hurt, Caitlyn is the first one to offer comfort, whether it's cuddling on the couch, making your favorite meal, or just sitting silently beside you.

Defending Your Honor: Caitlyn won’t let anyone insult you, even in a playful or offhand way. If she hears anyone talk badly about you or make a comment that she deems disrespectful, she’ll step in and handle it without a second thought. She’s quick with a sharp remark to shut them down, or a threat that makes them think twice before crossing you again. If it's a serious situation, she might even take the conversation elsewhere, so they understand not to mess with you again.

Intense Protective Instincts in the Field: Caitlyn’s protective nature comes out in full force when you’re on missions together. If there’s even a hint that you're in danger, she’ll take point in the field. Her ability to assess a situation quickly is heightened when it comes to your safety, and she’ll make sure you're always covered. If a fight breaks out, she’ll make sure you’re never cornered and will always be there to pull you out if things get too dangerous.

Jealousy and the Need to Protect Your Heart: While Caitlyn doesn’t like to show jealousy, if she feels someone is trying to get too close to you or flirt with you in a way that makes you uncomfortable, she’ll step in immediately. Whether it’s giving a curt but polite warning or physically standing between you and the person, Caitlyn’s jealousy doesn’t come from insecurity—it’s simply that she wants to protect you from any harm, physical or emotional.

Constantly Checking You’re Okay After Stressful Days: After a particularly tough day or emotionally draining situation, Caitlyn will check in on you. If she senses you're not okay, she'll take you to your favorite place—a quiet café, your shared home, or anywhere where you both can unwind. She’ll make you tea, offer a soft shoulder to lean on, or simply stay with you while you process everything. Her way of showing her love is in these quiet, intimate moments where she focuses solely on making sure you feel safe and loved.

Handling Threats to Your Life with Calm Precision: If someone dares to directly threaten your life, Caitlyn won’t react with rage or aggression—instead, she’ll handle the situation with unnerving calm. She’ll take it all in stride, always keeping a cool head. But once the threat is neutralized, there’s no doubt that she’ll make sure you’re far away from danger and reassured that she’ll always be by your side.

The Ultimate Bodyguard: When you go out in public, Caitlyn’s always a few steps ahead of you. Whether it’s a fancy event or just walking through the city, she’s not only protective but always keeping an eye on the crowd. Her military training and instinct as an enforcer give her the ability to notice any small detail that might hint at danger. If she senses something off, she’ll immediately guide you to safety, making sure you don’t even notice the threat.

Caitlyn is truly the epitome of loyalty, kindness, and protection. She’ll always put your safety and well-being first, doing everything in her power to keep you out of harm’s way. Whether it's a quiet night in or a dangerous mission, Caitlyn will always make sure you know that you're her top priority.

[innerfare]

Mihawk Fluff // Angst Compilation 

Summary: A compilation of Mihawk angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Type of Date, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, Kisses, Cuddling, You're Sick).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Sees to your wound without a word, making sure it’s disinfected and bandaged and receives proper care until its healed. Places a soft, quiet kiss atop your head, doesn’t say a word. Makes a mental plan to avoid similar situations in the future. 

Type of Date: 

He’ll take you on a private tour of a winery. You’ll sample expensive wines together and debate various flavors and aging processes (he’ll definitely judge you by your taste in wine). When you’re not in a heated debate, you’ll share light conversation, and after the sun sets, you’ll walk the fields together. He’ll steal a few kisses off you, too, and kiss your hand at the end of the night.  

Paradise 1: 

Waking up to fresh powder blanketing the ground and jumping out of bed, barely getting your boots and one of his coats on before you’re outside, romping through the snow. Falling into a snow bank with your arms out, giggling as you make a snow angel, grinning even wider when he surprises you by laying down beside you and doing the same, letting his inner child show through for a brief moment. 

Paradise 2: 

Waiting until late evening to meet beneath a peach tree, speaking at first in hushed tones, worrying someone is on to the two of you, eventually forgetting about all of that and settling into easy conversation about nothing and everything simultaneously, him jumping up to pick a peach for you to have as an evening snack, you taking advantage of the last bit of light to carve both of your initials into the tree trunk. 

Nightmares: 

He sent you away for your own good. He had a premonition the Navy would be coming for him, and with them, a slew of bounty hunters that would have no qualms about using you against him. And yet, you remained in his dreams, though the hot and heavy ones he once had were replaced by cold fear. Every time he went to sleep, a different scenario, though the crux of it the same: you were being used as a pawn to get to him, a pawn in a lot of pain. And every time he woke up, the same: your side of the bed was empty, the shape of your body tangled in those satin sheets now but a memory. For your own good, he kept reminding himself, though he believed it less every time.  

I Love You: 

He doesn’t tell you when he feels it, however overwhelming the feeling may be, so you’ll definitely be the one to say it first. This man is the king of unspoken affection. He’d sooner die than draw his sword and cut through all the tension that seems to follow him. That being said, he does say it in other, more subtle ways, primarily referring to you as, “my love,” and leaving it at that. When you finally tell him you love him, he doesn’t even say it back, simply burying his face in your hair and saying, “I’m glad to hear it, my love.” He shocks you by saying it back a few months later, though you don’t say it back, instead pulling him in for a kiss. And it continues like that, only one of you ever saying it, the other responding with affection. 

Kisses: 

So sensual when he kisses you. Mihawk is an incredible kisser, thanks to a lot of practice in his youth, though these days he’s far more picky about who he chooses to kiss. Almost always has his hands on your face when he does it. Often runs his tongue across your lips before pushing it into your mouth. Will talk to you between kisses, telling you how much he missed you and calling you, “my love,” or, “my little bird.” Very into hickies, particularly in private places. Goes a little crazy if you kiss his hands, especially if you play with them first (foreplay is important). 

Cuddling: 

He’s not clingy, but he’s also not one to withhold affection. When he feels like showing it, he does. Sometimes this is putting a hand on your hip and placing a kiss on your cheek while you’re cooking, and other times it’s pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head while you’re asleep but he’s still awake contemplating life. Any sort of cuddles are always accompanied by a kiss of some kind. 

You’re Sick: 

It’s easy to think he’s not taking care of you. You don’t see him at your side the entire time you have a fever, but as you fade in and out of consciousness, you’re aware of a presence, and the times you wake, you find a hot meal or some fresh flowers on your bedside table. When you finally have the strength to rise, you’ll find him in his chair reading the newspaper as if nothing happened. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

I'll Crawl Home To Her

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Summary: Simon is away on a mission and you are on his mind. Having to extend his stay, he is going to miss Valentine's day, but coming across a recent trend on TikTok, he may have a way to say just how much you mean to him.

***So, this came from the TikTok trend I came across of military guys posting pics of their girlfriends/wives/fiancees/etc. to the song Work Song by Hozier and I wanted Simon to do it too for you. So here it is! Just a little something extra***

***Pictures are made by me***

Simon can’t sleep, again. 

It’s been a while that his team has been in the field on their current mission and though he knows he should focus on the task at hand, there is so much on his mind tonight. Even though he is tired, he cannot seem to get himself to drift off. There is something missing, or more like someone, that he wishes to be beside right now and that is you.

He feels guilty about still being gone as he should be in by now, just in time for Valentine's day, but that isn’t happening anymore. Things on this latest mission are taking longer than expected and instead of packing up to come home to you, he had to have that hard phone call to tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. In that call he heard it there in your voice: that twinge of sadness that you always try to mask through hopeful and kind words, holding back the crackle in your voice as you choke back the tears in hopes that he won't hear it, but he does. He always does.

As much as he loves his job he is ready to be back with you again and hearing that does not make it any easier. 

The dark surrounds him as Simon lays in his cot, trying to numb his mind with his phone propped up in his hand, hopeful that with enough distraction sleep will eventually take him. He knows there is no better way to keep his mind from wandering back to those things he cannot change than by idly watching short content videos and he knows just where to go for that. He clicks on the TikTok app and begins to watch. 

Scrolling through the drivel and waste, past people spewing their nonsense, a video comes across his feed that instantly brings you right back to the forefront of his thoughts. The first slide is a picture of a young man in his fatigues and tactical gear smiling at the camera. He is clearly in the field on active duty and there is text across him that repeats the lyrics of the song playing. His picture is followed by a slide with what Simon assumes is his wife with the next bit of lyrics over her. It looks like a new trend amongst military personnel on the app, a tribute to the ones they are going to come home to in the future: children, pets, significant others, family. 

The song tugs at his heartstrings from the moment it begins; it's one he hasn't heard before, but the lyrics make his heart ache and his arms feel so incredibly empty without the weight of your body filling them as the singer speaks about how even in death they would find their way home to the one they love.

And fuck if that isn't something he thinks about a lot. 

It is a burden of this type of job, leaving all part of his heart behind back home every time he has to go out. He knows this lifestyle isn’t easy on either of you, that even though you’ve been together for a couple years now, having him constantly be pulled across the world and away from you still has a certain bite to it. Yet with all that stacked against your relationship, not once have you ever been anything other than supportive. Standing beside him through it all, constantly choosing to give him your heart no matter how hard this gets, loving him through the all the shit that gets thrown his way; if there is anyone his soul would seek out even in death, it would be you. 

He clicks on the sound at the bottom of the screen with a lump welling in his throat and starts to watch more videos of the same. One video turns into two and then three and now his heart is aching something fierce, like a physical burning in the center of his hardened chest that he tries to rub away with his hand, but he knows it's not going to go until he's near you again.

This longing is worse than it has ever been before. He misses your touch, all that soft, warm skin under his hardened hands; he misses your laugh, that sweet sound that can make the sunshine come out even on a rainy day; he yearns for your mouth, those full lips that he can lose himself in. It's almost too much to bear being away from you at that moment.

Simon was never one for big displays of sentimentality. No one ever seemed worth breaking down those walls that he had built up to allow himself to be vulnerable in such a public way like that. It never seemed worth the sacrifice. And for a long time, no matter who he met, that was true…until you.

You broke the mold when you came into his life. Now his heart can't help but burst at the seams whenever you pop into his head. He could be a thousand miles away from you, stuck in some hot, miserable shithole in the middle of nowhere, like he is right now, and yet the moment he thinks of you it doesn't seem quite so bad. 

Because he knows there is a piece of heaven waiting for him, something wonderful that is all his that the struggle of his other life will not touch, not if he has anything to do with it.

Simon may have to miss being there on the day when people show their loved ones how much they care, but that doesn’t mean he can do nothing. As the videos continue to play, he gets an idea, one that will hopefully show you just how much he really does care. 

As much as you go on the app, he is sure you have seen a video or two like this come across your scrolling. You have probably sat there and watched just as he did, thinking about him being so far away, missing him something terrible. Maybe you would like to see him make a video like that for you. Either way, this is something he wants to do, needs to do.

Simon has no pictures of just himself on his phone, none without you in them, and so that’s his first order if he wants to do this right. He tries to do the easy thing the next day and take a selfie, but he can’t get one that looks good enough for him to keep. The more he takes, the worse he thinks they look and that means he is going to have to get help whether he wants to or not, otherwise he is going to back out of doing this and he’s not going to let that happen. 

This is for you after all, he needs it to be perfect. You deserve that.

He decides his best bet is wrangling Soap into doing this for him; at least he is the most comfortable asking the sergeant. “Johnny, I need ya to do somethin’ for me,” Simon says as the team stands around awaiting transport into the designated location. “Don’t ask any fuckin’ questions, but I need ya to take a picture a me real quick.”

“Wanna do a beauty shoot here, L.T.? Seems a bit of a strange location,” Johnny jokes as Simon pulls out his phone from his pocket and shoves it into the sergeant’s open hand. Johnny watches him for a moment, taking a guess at what this is all really about. “Or is it for yer lass back home? Gonna send her somethin’ nice?”

Shaking his head, Simon laughs sarcastically. “Just take the damn picture, yeah? An’ make it look good. I want it ta look natural.”

This isn’t something the masked officer has much experience in and so posing is out; he instead goes for something where it looks like he is caught unaware that he’s being photographed. He’s looking off in the distance, his hand wrapped around his gun so they don’t just hang awkwardly at his side. Johnny quickly snaps the pic and hands the phone back to Simon to check. 

“That’ll do,” he says under his breath, satisfied enough with how it looks.

That night as he lays down for bed, he quickly pieces the video together: first his photo and then he needs one of you. He opens his camera roll and it is absurd how many different ones he has saved. There are so many to choose from that he has a hard time picking the perfect one, but settles on something recent. 

It’s one of you in the bathroom of your apartment, all cozy in the striped jumper he got you for your birthday. Your hair is pulled down out of the bun you keep it in for work, a bit messy from just getting in after you got off. Never has he seen someone more beautiful in such a simple state; you always could look like a dream without even trying. And even through your exhaustion you still give the camera and him the biggest, brightest smile. 

Yeah, it has to be this one. This is the beauty he does all this for.

Luckily it is a rather simple video to put together, he doesn’t have too much trouble getting it to look exactly like the others. He has to watch and rewatch it several times just to be sure he is happy with the product before he hits upload to his followers only. Being that you are the only person that follows him, that is exactly what he wants; he may have to be a bit secretive for work, but that doesn’t mean he can’t try and give you some normalcy.

To him you deserve the world and fuck if he isn’t going to try and give it to you.

He presses the button, the uploading dial in the upper hand corner spinning until it reaches 100%, and waits to see if you get it, hoping that it has the effect he wants in saying all he needs to for you to know how special you are to him.

Across the country, your phone buzzes with a random notification as you lay in bed. It's from Simon's account on TikTok saying he's made a new post. You can’t help how strange you think it is… He never posts anything on his account because he really only made one for you to send him stupid videos to watch whenever he needs to unwind and so it takes you by surprise to see that he has posted something. Opening the app curiously you go straight to check out what it is.

You are not prepared for the emotion that hits you the moment the video starts to play. It’s one of those military posts you have come across a couple of times while scrolling late at night, the ones that you have to quickly scroll past or risk crying at how sweet they are and how much they make you miss Simon. Now the heartfelt Hozier song is blasting through the speakers and it is for you.  

The sentiment behind the lyrics of the song mixed with the picture of him on his latest mission is almost too much. And of course he has picked the picture of you looking all natural, it’s like he can’t get enough of you when you don’t even try at all. You know better than anyone how Simon despises having his picture taken if it isn’t with you, so this a huge sign of just how deeply he cares. Instantly there is a stinging around the rims of your eyes as your vision shimmers. You let the video replay several times as the stray tears are let loose and stream heavily down your face.

Simon did this all for you.

Quickly you pull up your texting app and send him a message, hoping he’s still up to at least answer. You have to rub your eyes with the back of your hand to see the screen, but you type out your message as best you can.

I want you to know I'm crying right now because of you. Is that what you wanted? Make me something that has me crying?

A few minutes pass before your phone buzzes with a text from him, just as you finish wiping away more of the tears collecting on your cheeks. 

Guess you saw the video, yeah? I hope I did it right, sweetheart. Cause I fucking mean it.

You chuckle, swallowing down the lump of feelings that have lodged themselves in your throat, struggling not to start sobbing at how his sweet affection. Of all the things that could be said about Simon Riley, one that could never was that he didn't try his hardest when it came to loving you.

The emotion makes your hands quiver, but you text him back.

It is perfect, Simon. I love it. Really, you did so good.

Simon smiles to himself, glad that your deep connection allows him to share things like this with you. There is no one else that can see him like this, that he can allow his guard down around, and it feels nice to be this tender for the first time in his life. He truly feels as if he can be vulnerable, let himself love with his whole heart, and it is all because of you.

Maybe I'm going soft, but I wanted you to know that I am missing you like mad and that I hate I’m not there with you right now. Fuck, it's getting hard. Can't wait till you're back in my arms again, darling.

You close your eyes and press your lips to the screen as if he can feel your kiss through the screen.

Love you.

Not even a minute passes and the phone vibrates.

Love you too, my beautiful girl. I promise I'll be home soon.

[radioactiverats]

thoughts on seekers locking landing gears and spiraling in the sky as a gesture of trust, similar to how eagles do that courtship spiral :3c or even just twirling in the air together a little too close. yes its probably really dangerous, but nothing beats being in total sync in the air

OH >:3c Absolutely in love with this. THE RITUALS ARE INTRICATE. I'm gnawing on this from various angles. Firstly thinking about this being a seeker-specific aspect of Conjunx Ritus (mutual Act of Devotion??) and it would honestly be so beautiful :,)

My mind jumped to this,, (angst warn)

---

In early stages of the war, when the exhilaration of following Megatron had worn off and bots were starting to realise their sparks weren't worth his doomed-to-fail commands (not enough experience yet..). When he was mostly relying on fear to keep his troops in order before he'd gained their full loyalty, there had been an Incident. You remember it like it was yesterday, because Starscream had looked ashen when he came back that night, and you'd never, ever seen that expression on his faceplate before.

You sit up, shuffling over to make room on the berth as Starscream plunks himself heavily down. After a few cycles of increasingly uneasy silence, he finally manages to speak.

"Two seekers have offlined."

His iron grip on the edge of the berth tell you the circumstances of their deaths were not straightforward.

"What do you know of Conjunx Ritus?"

You actually take a nanoklik to think about it, which Starscream appreciates given the solemnity of the situation.

"I know there's four acts?" You finally say, suddenly embarrassed about your naivety. To be fair, you'd never really had a chance to consider the possibility. Thankfully, Starscream just nods briefly.

"Correct. The fourth and final stage is called an Act of Devotion. Back on Vos, we seekers had a different way of performing it."

Starscream takes a klik to collect himself. You can't help but wonder if he has a Conjunx. If he does, he's certainly never talked about them.

"It's called a Death Spiral," Starscream finally says, voice horse. "Two seekers soar to the very fringes of the atmosphere and there, before the eyes of the universe itself, lock their servos and their landing gears before free falling back to planetside."

Beside him, you're enthralled to learn about this aspect of your own culture that you'd never had a chance to become familiar with. At the same time, you're picking up on a strange emotion that clogs his vocaliser and the faraway look in his optics, so you remain quiet as he resets his vocaliser.

"At the very last second," Starscream continues softly, "the two seekers pull up immediately before making contact with the ground."

It sounds incredibly dangerous, but you're enraptured by the idea. You know this because Starscream has made you practice something similar in the past, and there were a few times you genuinely thought you wouldn't make it through training in one piece even with landing gears. It undoubtedly took a lot of skill to harness the winds without the aid of thrusters, and even more courage and trust. You supposed that was where the love came in.

"It's... exquisite." Starscream offlines his optics, shakes his helm before turning to look at you, a ragged sort of pain spiking jaggedly through his EM field.

"I can imagine," You murmur quietly. It sounded like he was telling a story, back then. One from experience.

"Earlier today, two seekers engaged in a Death Spiral. But they didn't pull up." Starscream ex-vents raggedly, tilting his helm up to stare at the ceiling. "It was a pact."

For a klik you just sit there, frozen in silent horror. When he speaks again, it's through gritted denta. "Megatron has now enforced a ban against Conjunx Ritus between seekers."

You had a few guesses as to why. Seekers' valuable frame types to the Decepticon cause meant that Megatron couldn't afford to lose them. However, as increasing numbers of troops grew discontent with his leadership, Megatron as usual had decided to silence them through cruelty. It seemed that today's incident had been the last straw.

---

Outside the context of courtship rituals though, I see twirling together as a show of trust that anyone can do, from sires/carriers/sparklings to amica endura, cos flying and the skies are so deeply entwined with the seeker identity. Imagine just flying with your bro and the exhilaration of doing a complicated spin together, so close you can feel the heat of each other's engines on your plates before zooming apart again, the sound of your laughter carried on the winds. Must be so good to be in sync like that fr.

That being said, I think Starscream's determined to make sure cadet never feels alone in the skies, which is meant to be your home. Maybe in better times, I can see him joining cadet for training - the moves are a breeze for him, but it warms his spark to see you so happy while in the air. Not sure they get the luxury of the Autobots' "wanna go for a drive?", especially since his interactions with you must be under the guise of training - so Megatron won't see you as a target. Still, one must imagine Starscream happy.

Thank you for the lovely ask!!!!!!! Another yap... but in the process I have learned so much about eagles... I will put some sofas in my inbox so asks are received comfortably

[newobsessionweekly]

Family Ties

Main masterlist | 9-1-1 Masterlist

Eddie Diaz x firefighter!reader Fandom: 911

Summary: You and Eddie have been dating for a few months now, but your older brother, Buck, don’t know until you get hurt on a call and he puts all the pieces together.

Angst/Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of fire, injuries.

Requested: No

Words: 1.9k Requests are open for Eddie / Buck! Gif not mine, credits to the owner.

Standing in front of the firehouse, you adjust your helmet and gear and feel the adrenaline rush that comes with being a firefighter. You were proud to become a paramedic at Station 118 in LA, following in your older brother Buck's footsteps. You have always admired Buck's courage and strength in leaving home, building a career, and saving lives. This job is perfect for him since he saved your life back then. You own everything you are in that moment to Buck.

You greeted everyone at the firehouse, eager for a new day. Hen and Chim checked supplies, Bobby inspected trucks, and Buck ate his breakfast undisturbed. Everyone turned theirs heads and smiled, wishing you a “Good Morning” in response.

“I hope you choke on that food. I'll let your lazy ass die anytime.” you greet your brother, still angry about him ditching you up last night and not giving you a ride in the morning.

“Love you too, munchkin!" Buck yelled with a full mouth of milk and cereals.

“Stop calling me that, I'm not five anymore!” you said firmly, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. Eddie laughed, making his way up on the stairs. “Morning to you too!” you greeted him. “Something funny?”

You brightened Station 118 for all to see. Upon entering, the room radiates warmth and light wavily pours down on everyone. You are that magnet of happiness that could cheer up any bad day. Who wouldn't love you?

You watch Eddie enter the kitchen, patting Buck's shoulder on his way to the fridge. He winked and handed you the milk, a sudden burst of warmth covering your cheeks.

Eddie is both Buck's best friend and your secret boyfriend. Well, not that secret, everyone knows except Buck. And everyone is hiding you both until you're ready to tell you big brother.

You and Eddie bonded immediately upon joining Unit 118. All the laugher and deep conversations held in Buck's living room, slowly turned into small electric touches and stolen kisses.

Eddie made excuses for Buck to babysit Christopher while he took you on little dates, most of them between the walls of his home. But you didn't care as long as you were together.

Eddie is the most amazing man you've ever met. Strong, brave, and incredibly smart. All the stories about the war and you still can't believe the man in front of you was some years ago on the open field. He's handsome, all worked up and as cheerful as you every single day. Though, the signs of the war are painted on his skin, he exudes a mature aura that masks his traumas. He's also a perfect father.

Some girls dream of men like this, even fantasies about them being a father, but all you gotta do is open your eyes and admire the view. And it's only yours.

"You're right, Y/n. You're not five. You both are five and acting like idiots.” Eddie poured himself a cup of coffee while Buck's gaze was pointed at you. His face twisted comically in confusion. How did Eddie know you need milk for your coffee without you asking for it?

Eddie is more than thankful to have beside him a woman just as perfect as an angel. You spread love, exhibits passion, demonstrates bravery in saving people, and look stunning while doing so.

However, you still hesitate to reveal your relationship with Eddie, knowing that it could complicate things with your overprotective brother.

As soon as the alarm went off calling a car crash with multiple injuries, you placed your cup on the table and run off to the truck with Eddie by your side while Buck analysing your every move and how the distance between you and Eddie closes day by day. He smells something's going on.

Throughout the day, you and Eddie teamed up seamless and efficient together. Buck, on the other hand, noticed your chemistry and couldn't help but feel a little suspicious. He first lost his partner, but could also lose his best friend and sister ? Buck brushed it off as he hurriedly approached the cars holding captive civilians, ignoring any doubts.

The quiet afternoon allowed your for reflection while washing off the blood under the hot water pouring over your bloody-covered body, then silently enjoyed Bobby's delicious lunch.

“Uh-huh, Buckley siblings aren't talking." "Something's off," Bobby quipped, eyeing the people standing around the table.

Chuckling, you searched for Eddie's sight before the alarm blared once more.

Unit 118 was dispatched to a high-rise building fire. You raced to the scene, adrenaline pumping. The team surrounded Bobby, listening to his command. “Buck, you're coming with me to the back, we need to secure an exit and search for survivors. Eddie, Y/n, Chim and Hen, search the first two floors, pull out the fire, and search for survivors, ten at number.” everyone nodded as he explained to never split up, but if needed, you stay close to a wall and never let go of the hose. “Be safe out there!” Buck nodded to you and Eddie, silently urging caution and a safe return.

As you entered the building, Eddie's firefighter instincts kicked in, and he took charge of the situation. He led the team through the thick smoke and intense heat, searching for survivors and extinguishing the flames.

But as you were making your way out of the building, a sudden explosion rocked the structure, causing debris to collapse around you. You shielded Eddie out of the way just in time, but you were struck by falling debris. Your trapped leg caused a painful mix of blood and agony.

Eddie rushed to your side, his heart pounding with fear. He checked for other injuries with shaky hands.

"Calling for help, ok? Hen and Chim will be back, and you'll be okay!” Eddie comforted, cupping your cheeks, forcing you look at him. You were conscious and likely only suffered a sprained ankle while the blood that flood around was coming from a cut above your knee.

“I'm fine, just a sprained ankle. We should go search for survivors," you suggested, gazing at the ashes of the once-mischievous flames that nearly engulfed the entire building.

Eddie looked at you in disbelief. You and Buck were remarkably alike. Or maybe the gene of recklessness run deep in both you DNA's. He's worried about the leg, despite your pleading to go search for the people stuck in that building, you can't move fast enough. It will only slow down the operation and cause any other damage.

“Here the captain, the building is clear.” Bobby radioed. You breathe easily now, the survivors were out of any harm. “Find your way back safely, the fire spreading quickly to the roof."

“Come on, we have to go.” Eddie said, pushing aside with all his strength the debris that was pinning you down. "Copy that, cap!" Eddie spoke into his radio.

“Y/n, do you copy?" Buck's voice crackled through Eddie's radio. Yours was broken in the fall. Buck searched the perimeter with worry in his eyes.

“Don't tell Buck, please.” you pleaded, afraid your brother wouldn't keep his feet at place, rushing recklessly into the burning building to save you. Eddie nodded, thinking of what he could tell his best friend.

"Y/n's radio broke, but she's en route to the hospital doing CPR.” Eddie fibbed. Bobby nodded at the words and told everyone to go back to the station as Unit 146 could handle the fire themselves. They got every other unit off duty. “Bobby, take Buck and Chim with you. I'm coming right back, Hen can give me a ride. We'll go after Y/n at the hospital.”

“Copy that. On our way now!” Bobby and Buck left, cap confident that the remaining men could handle as the fire was slowly being extinguished.

Buck obeyed Bobby's orders for your sake, though he didn’t really bite that.

As Eddie carried you out of the building with you laying on him, slowly walking to the paramedic truck, you saw Hen's eyes widening. “You said she was on her way to the hospital!" she scolded Eddie, shaking her head in a disapproving gesture. “You hurt?” she checked for injuries on your body.

“Just small bruises and a scars, a spread ankle. "Nothing serious," you report.

Eddie hugged you tight, now clear-minded. He was relieved you both returned from that building in one piece. He admired your courage and dedication. Your kindness towards the injured made him fall in love with you all over again seeing you giving all the injured people a soft smile and help they needed, without a single doubt. You hugged him back, seeking comfort in his arms, preparing your patience for when will Buck find out.

“Ok, Eddie ride with her in the back. We going to the hospital.”

Back at the firehouse, Buck was anxiously waiting for news on the fire. He waited at the station for an hour, pacing through the kitchen, eager for you to get back. His thoughts buzzed with all the worst-case scenarios. Buck rushed towards you as soon as he saw the truck reversing into the station. His eyes turned red when Eddie helped you hop up from the back of the paramedic truck, your leg all bandaged and bruises painted all over you, from your beautiful face to the arms. Slowly limping to him, Buck rushed over to you, his concern evident.

"What the hell happened?" Buck asked, his voice filled with worry.

Y/n got hit by falling debris, but she insisted on continuing to help with evacuation," Eddie explained, casting a proud glance at you. “She's fine now, just a few scratches, but she managed to clear the building.

“Screw about that building. "Why did you do that?" Buck looked at his sister, his protective instincts kicking in. "Why didn't you tell me you got hurt?" he scolded you gently.

"I didn't want to worry you," you replied, giving your brother a weak smile. "I guess you passed to me the recklessness gene," you laughed, trying to ease the tension. “I'm fine, Buck, really."

But Buck's attention shifted to Eddie, and he noticed the concerned look in the firefighter's eyes as he tended to your injury. Buck's suspicions were confirmed as he realized the truth.

"You two are dating, aren't you?" Buck asked, surprised and a little taken aback.

You and Eddie exchanged nervous glances before nodding. Buck's initial surprise turned into a mix of emotions - surprise, worry, protectiveness - but also saw the love and happiness in you both.

"I care about her, Buck," Eddie begins earnestly, looking Buck straight in the eye. "I promise to take care of her." Eddie locked his hand in yours, both of them helping you up the stairs and have a seat on the couch.

Buck couldn't deny the sincerity in Eddie's words, and he knew that you are a capable firefighter who could take care of herself. Reluctantly, he nodded and pulled you both into a tight hug. Buck knows Eddie's a great guy, he also knows about the baggage you're both dealing with, hope you'll both manage to heal each other.

"Just be careful with her," Buck said, his voice filled with emotion. "She's my little sister, and I know how a pain in the ass she could be.” he joked, passing you a glass of water.

Well, maybe all the bad did something good after all.

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us — chapter thirty five. in the rain cw. light breakdown wc. 1k + 2 ss

How long have you been sitting here? Curled up on a slab of concrete next to the vast field of the park. It’s too much. Your fears, your insecurities, there’s a looming darkness hovering over you, ready to strike when you’re weak. Why now? You had been having so much fun with them, finally lowering your walls and trying to let them in. But you could still hear your brothers voice in the back of your head, poisoning you slowly.

Seeing all of them today had just cemented the fact that you had fallen in love with these boys. You hadn’t even been on all of your solo dates yet, but you knew that it was inevitable and it scared the shit out of you. Blunt fingernails dig into the flesh of your upper arms, trying to pull yourself together but nothing had seemed to work. You were spiraling fast.

You had promised though, that when it was getting bad you’d text someone. So you had messaged the one who’d understand the most.

By the time Jisung finally shows up it’s already started to sprinkle just a little but it doesn’t bother him. You are far more important than a little rain. He feels like his heart might shatter at the sight of you, looking so small as you bundle into yourself. Jisung doesn’t want to frighten you so he just sits down next to you quietly, not touching you even though he just wants to scoop you up into a hug and shield you from the world that had hurt you so much.

“Hi…” You’re able to mumble out but you don’t look at him.

“Hi baby. Do you want to talk about it?” You shrug. “Was it today? Were we too much? I was a little scared we were pushing it a bit,” Just hearing his voice is soothing, instantly comforting you and you peak up at him from your safe little ball.

“No. It’s..not that. I just. I don’t know…I’m just so scared,”

“Mm, scared of what baby?” You’re trying to find the right words to say and Jisung is nothing but patient, letting you take all the time you need. He’s been so incredible to you, so understanding and sweet that you find yourself being honest. All your emotions spilling out at once before you can stop it.

“I’m- I’m so scared because I know I’m falling so in love with you guys and I’m scared that the more you get to know me the more you’ll realize that you were just in love with the idea of me. That you’ll realize you could never love someone like me,” You curl yourself back up, voice wavering with tears you’re so desperately not trying to shed.

Jisung is suddenly in front of you, tugging your arms to pull them away from you. Once he’s untangled you, he’s cupping your cheeks and pushing your chin up so you can stare at him.

“Silly girl. Don’t you know that we’re all already so in love with you? We have been before we even knew you were really our soulmate. We love all of you. Both the good and the bad. I know we’re still learning about you but I can promise there’s nothing you could tell us that would make us love you less. We love how strong you are, how willing you are to let us all in. We know how difficult this is for you and it’s something we all struggled with. But I hope you know that we’re in this for the long run. Sorry but you can’t get rid of us. Thirty day return policy. Besides, you could tell us you committed murder and we’d all say they probably deserved it. Pretty sure Minho knows where to hide a body. Hell, Seungmin would probably commit murder FOR you. Wouldn’t even have to lift a finger baby,” This gets a snort out of you and he beams down at you.

“There’s that cute laugh,” He hums, tucking some hair behind your ear. “It’s okay to not be okay sometimes. We all have those days and we’re always gonna be here for you when you’re down but please don’t ever doubt our feelings for you,” All you can do is nod your head.

By this point, it’s raining pretty hard, effectively soaking both of you but neither of you seem to care all that much.

“Now come on, lets get you out of the rain and into a warm shower. If you catch a cold it’s gonna be me that we bury next because Minho will kill me. Will you tell them I slayed at my funeral?”

“Ha, don’t worry I’ll let them all know you served cunt baby girl. But that won’t happen, I’m sure I can work some magic against Minho,” Jisung laughs.

“Ah, my savior,” He helps you up off the concrete and moves to guide you back towards his car. You stop in your steps though and it makes Jisung pause, turning back to look at you. “What’s up?”

You don’t know if it’s because your emotions are still running haywire or Jisung’s speech but you just can’t hold yourself back anymore. You reach out to wrap your fingers around the collar of his hoodie and pull him down to you, gently placing your lips against his.

He seems for frozen for a second before melting against you, arms coming to wrap around your middle to pull you even closer. You’re a little clumsy with your lips but Jisung makes up for it as he guides you through it, his lips moving rather expertly. When you pull away you’re panting softly, having forgotten to breathe. Jisung can’t help but place a few more kisses against your lips and it has you blushing. Mostly because you can’t believe you just did that.

“Was….that your first?” You look away, unable to look him in the eyes as you nod. If possible his smile gets even bigger. “You are so adorable,” Jisung hums, slipping his hands into yours. He’s back to pulling you to the car. “Ok but seriously, you’re soaked. We need to get you out of the rain asap. You can have more kisses later,”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying. Can I take it back?”

“Nope. Hyunjin bragged about you kissing his cheek. I cannot WAIT to rub it in his face that I was your first kiss,”

“You guys are about to be unbearable aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah,”

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[valkyrieromanoff]

Hii dear. 😊

I had also another request.

Hope you don't mind.

I just love the idea of Hayden, Evan, and reader being like a trio like during the shooting of the prequels, from their meetings, interactions and all.

They become really close and Hayden and Evan grow really protective of the reader. 😍

Please share your thoughts with me.

Love ❤️

🎀 Ewan, Hayden and you as a trio 🎀

Hello there, I absolutely love the idea of them being a close-knit trio. Hayden and Ewan have always come across as genuinely kind, polite, and down-to-earth, so it's easy to imagine them building a strong and supportive friendship with the reader over time. From their first meetings on set to their growing interactions, you can really picture the bond forming naturally.

As their friendship deepens, I think Hayden and Ewan would not only become protective but also incredibly caring and attentive. They seem like the type to notice if you're feeling off and go out of their way to cheer you up or lend a listening ear. I imagine they'd create a safe, warm space where you could just be yourself, which makes the idea of their protectiveness even more touching.

And, of course, their chemistry and playful energy would add so much fun to the dynamic. You'd probably find yourself caught between Ewan's charming wit and Hayden's more subtle but equally endearing sense of humor, making for some unforgettable moments together. It's such a heartwarming ideia!

I wrote a little piece for you about them, hope you like ❤️🥰

Ewan, Hayden, and you were the inseparable trio. Whether on set or off, the three of you gravitated toward each other naturally, forming a bond that felt as though it had always existed. During filming, even if one of you wasn’t in the scene, the others would still linger on set, offering support, cracking jokes, or simply being present. It was a quiet sort of loyalty that came to define your friendship—a comforting constant in the chaos of production.

You and Hayden were in the middle of filming the meadow scene on Naboo. The warm sun beat down on the flower-covered field, your yellow floral dress fanning out across the grass as you followed the choreography of the scene. With a playful laugh, you lightly smacked Hayden’s chest after he rolled over and pinned you beneath him.

He chuckled in response, his boyish grin lighting up his face, and for a moment, it was easy to forget you were filming at all. The chemistry between you felt effortless, and as you sank deeper into your characters, it was almost as if the rest of the world disappeared.

Under one of the large umbrellas set up on the edge of the field, Ewan sat watching. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed casually as he observed the way you and Hayden moved through the scene. The connection between you two was impossible to miss.

As a friend to both of you, Ewan couldn’t help but feel happy to see how well you worked together. But a flicker of concern crossed his mind, too. If things ever went wrong, it could complicate everything. Still, he trusted you both—and, besides, the way you made each other laugh was something he couldn’t bring himself to worry too much about.

Long hours later, as the final take wrapped, you let out an exhausted sigh, your body sinking into the grass. Hayden offered his hand to help you up, his fingers curling around yours firmly yet gently. He steadied you with one hand on your back as you dusted yourself off, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“Let’s get out of this heat,” Hayden said, his voice warm and teasing as he gestured toward the row of chairs under the shade.

Ewan, already seated, grabbed a couple of water bottles from the cooler beside him and tossed them your way. “Here,” he said, watching you both settle into the chairs next to him. “You two look like you’ve been baking out there.”

You laughed, unscrewing the cap of the water bottle and taking a long sip. “I feel like I’m melting,” you replied, fanning yourself with your hand.

“And yet somehow, you still look like you just stepped off a runway,” Hayden quipped with an easy grin, earning a playful eye roll from you.

Ewan snorted, shaking his head. “Careful, mate. Keep laying it on that thick, and you’ll scare her off.”

“Oh, please,” you said, nudging Ewan’s shoulder lightly. “I’m pretty sure you two are stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

“Stuck?” Hayden raised a brow, pretending to be offended. “I think you’ve got it the other way around—we’re the lucky ones.”

The three of you fell into laughter, the kind that came easily and without hesitation. It was moments like this—when the pressures of filming and the weight of expectation fell away—that solidified your bond. Ewan’s wit and big-brother protectiveness, Hayden’s warm humor and sincerity, and your ability to balance them both made you the kind of trio people couldn’t help but notice.

And though none of you ever said it outright, there was something special in the way you supported each other, both in front of the camera and behind it. You had your own rhythm, your own language, and somehow, in this whirlwind of production, you had all become each other’s home away from home.

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon "Ghost Riley Pt. 22

Word count: 3611

Warnings: minors dni, angst, military setting, explicit language, depictions of violence.

I’m not supposed to be here. Quiet beeping fills the room. Soft sunlight drifts in through the windows and skylight. The atmosphere of the infirmary is surprisingly uplifting, almost like an escape from the rest of the compound. If Ghost or Price found out, they’d probably send me back to my quarters, lock the door, and throw away the key. But there are a few people who’ve taken sympathy on me recently. Konig being one of them.

He was only supposed to fill in for Soap by taking me to breakfast. Yet, he was suspiciously early. The cafeteria had barely opened and almost no one was around. I was cautiously silent the whole time, but after we finished filling our trays and before we sat down to eat, the towering man leaned down and asked if I wanted to eat with Soap instead.

A spark of hope flickered behind my eyes. I knew he could see it. Konig didn’t say anything else, but gestured with his head toward the door.

Now we sit in the infirmary together beside Soap’s bed. It’s a long, large room and the beds are only separated by curtains to provide a miniscule amount of privacy. But it's still more welcoming than all the other spaces on the compound.

Soap is in rough shape, but at least he’s alive. Bandages wrap around his chest and his arm is back in the sling. One of Soap’s eyes is completely bloodshot from an impact to the head. The eerie red is a harsh contrast against the stormy blue of his irises. He had internal bleeding at some point, but during the surgery, they were able to stop it. His skin is painfully painted in large black and purple bruises from head to toe.

However, the explosion didn’t touch his smile, which tugs at the corner of his mouth as I tell him how Konig snuck me in here. The skin around his eyes crinkles, but he winces as he laughs. The pain he’s in is still fresh. Soap will be in here for days. He’ll be off the field for even longer.

“I’m glad you’re still here lass,” the smile is evident in his voice, yet his words allude to something more. How much did he know about the plan? What was supposed to happen to me? I can’t ask him that. Not with Konig here and not with only curtains for privacy.

I need to know what 141’s real plans were. Who shot first? Who’s to blame for the people who died that day? What the hell really happened?

All I can do now is revel in the small moments of our friendship. Because even if he did know, I can’t hold it against him. I don’t think I could ever be angry at Soap.

“You should’ve seen their faces when they realized we destroyed their main base,” pride laces Soap’s voice as he speaks to Konig. “They didn’t know what hit them.”

“You blew it up?” I ask.

Soap’s eyes light up as they connect with mine. I can almost see the flames in their reflection. “to smithereens,” I can picture it in my head, feel the explosion ripple through the air with such an immense power it flattens the trees. There’d be nothing left of their base after Soap’s team was done with it. They definitely sent a message.

Konig begins asking him another question when I see a shadow move behind the cream curtains. Ghost steps into the room and the atmosphere immediately shifts. I haven’t seen him since the exchange. Now I can’t take my eyes off him. Every feeling I have for him is so incredibly conflicting.

“Who authorized this?” Ghost demands, already knowing the answer.

“I – uh,” Konig stumbles over his words. Guilt twists inside my chest. I don’t want him to get in trouble for being nice to me. “No one, sir,”

Sometimes I forget the power he has within the task force. Nothing happens without Ghost knowing and approving of it. Especially when it comes to me. My fear for Konig grows.

“It’s my fault,” I lie. Ghost’s eyes flicker to me. “I said you’d let me see Soap,” the urgency in my voice mixes with a false sense of confidence well enough that the average person might just believe what I’m saying. Ghost, however, is far from the average person.

The air is tense. He turns his attention back to Konig. “That true?”

“Negative, sir,” my fists clench in my lap when he responds. Damn him for being honest.

“Head back to your station, we’ll discuss this later,” his voice is cold. I wish I could see more of his face to gauge how angry he is.

“Come on Ghost, it isn’t that serious,” Soap interjects as Konig gets up to leave. I feel ashamed, like we were caught with our hands in the cookie jar at our grandparent’s place. Unease also weaves its way into my mind. I’m not sure where I stand with Ghost. He could’ve changed his entire attitude towards me altogether.

“Don’t start, Soap,” says Ghost. His narrowed eyes are back on me. “You. Follow me. No questions.”

My mouth is dry as I force myself to swallow. Ghost has already left the room when Soap grabs my hand and gives it a quick, reassuring squeeze. He smiles half-heartedly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Thanks for visiting,” he whispers.

I smile in response, but can’t find the words to tell him how much his friendship means to me.

My heart thrums in my chest as I catch up to Ghost. He leads me down a dark hallway I haven’t taken before. Something tells me we aren’t going back to his or my quarters. Maybe he doesn’t trust them anymore. Someone could be recording us.

Ghost walks faster than normal, as though his irritation fuels him. His broad frame stands out against the mute background. I feel small trailing behind him. I wonder how long it’d take him to notice if I stopped walking.

The corridor is smaller than the main hallways that take you to the cafeteria and sleeping quarters. The ceiling is shorter too, and the overhead lights are spaced out to the extent that the hall almost fades to complete darkness between them. There aren’t any rooms or offices and it doesn’t seem to intersect with any other passages. It truly feels like we’re walking in a liminal space with no beginning or end. Anxiety builds at the bottom of my lungs, slowly but surely pushing out the available air.

The anticipation of what’s about to happen tears me apart inside. What will he say? What will he do? After finding out 141 had my mom all along and was waiting to use her as a backup strategy, I feel even more betrayed than before. Ghost said he couldn’t tell me things, but how can he justify keeping information about my life hidden from me? He wasn’t protecting me, he was making sure I wouldn’t turn on them.

Now what? Maybe Bennet was right, that 141 doesn’t need an excuse to keep me around now that they have my father. Will Ghost take me out back and put a bullet in my head? Will they do the same to my parents? There’s no way they can possibly return me to my old life. Such a thing doesn’t exist anymore.

A glowing red exit sign hangs in the air above a door that is almost impossible to spot. The light menacingly reflects off the skull mask as he waits for me to come closer. Ghost shoves the door open and waits for me to enter the staircase first.

Everything is metal and cement and only lit up by emergency lights that are once again spaced too far apart. I feel his demanding presence behind me as the door latches and locks behind us. The sound echos off the walls. Not another soul is here. Nor do they know of our presence. We are truly, completely, alone.

“Simon,” I hesitate. He said no questions, but after everything, how does he expect me to blindly follow him? “What are we doing here?”

“I lied to you,” just like that, his words trigger something in me. Like a fuse that was just waiting for someone to stumble across the wire. Ghost’s foot just snagged that very wire. My demeanour completely changes.

“That’s a fucking understatement,” I whip around to face him. Ghost stands on the cement landing space with his back to the dark grey door. Staircases with metal railings connect to each end of the platform leading to the upper and lower floors. Every sound lightly echoes off the brick, windowless walls that look like someone forgot to paint them. His arms fold across his chest at my harsh accusation. He stiffens. The Lieutenant isn’t used to being addressed in this way. My tone is blatantly disrespectful. But I don’t care. “You’ve done so much more than just lie to me.”

“Y/n-” I cut him off.

“No. I’m talking,” I interrupt. “I won’t even bring up how you fucking drugged and kidnapped me to get me here. You have done so much shit to me, Simon, so much. I don’t even know where the hell to start, but since you mentioned it, the lying. The fucking lying. Every single time I think we’re finally on the same page, you turn around and fucking lie and hide information about me from me. You don’t get to do that! Not when it’s my life being affected. You don’t get to pretend to be God, Simon,” I step towards him with an accusatory finger pointed at his chest. “And it’s not like you’re lying just about anything. It’s about my mom, Simon, my fucking mom! Do you have any idea what that’s done to me? How scared I am for her? You and Price and whoever else have no right to do that to her. None. And don’t you dare tell me that she was safe that entire time and you wouldn’t have hurt her. I don’t believe for a second that Price wouldn’t have killed her.”

“You’re right,” Ghost states. I feel myself resisting his attempt.  His arms fall from his chest and he dares to take a small step closer.

“I can’t trust you, Simon. Every time I think I can, there’s always more to the story you’re hiding from me. You’re always hiding. Always. Every time we talk. Every time we see each other. It’s always one-sided. I don’t even get to see you, Simon. You’ve touched every inch of me and yet I don’t even know what you look like. How can I ever genuinely trust you?” my feelings are constantly exacerbated after every interaction we have. Especially recently.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just close them,” his voice is low and stern, yet unmistakably tender. I listen to Ghost’s orders and reluctantly close my eyes.

The stair well is utterly silent except for our light breaths. Then, my ears pick up on something else. It’s the quiet rustle of fabric against skin. Then, the sound of uncertain footsteps coming closer. Ghost’s breath is shakey as he slowly exhales.

His large hands encase mine as he brings them up past his chest and gently places them on the sides of his defined jaw. The warmth of Simon’s skin immediately sinks into my hands. My heart skips a beat. He isn’t wearing his mask.

A fearful moment of hesitancy passes between us. Neither quite sure how to proceed. This is uncharted territory. He is taking a giant leap of faith right now. Even after everything, after I said I can’t trust him, he does this. I’m not sure I completely understand his train of thought, but I know this gesture is far from the faint of heart. 

“I’ll tell you everything, no hiding, just promise me you’ll keep your eyes closed,” his voice is low and cautious. I trace my thumbs back and forth along his jaw. His skin is smooth under the pads of my fingers and I get a brief hint of his woodsy aftershave.

“You don’t have to do this,” the whisper brushes across my lips, yet I can’t hide the hope behind my words. I need to know. The harrowing lies have eaten away at me for weeks. My stomach twists and growls like a starved, feral animal. I struggle to stifle the growing hunger pains.

“I want to,” yet, I’m not sure he’s fully convinced himself. This is his last chance to catch me as I’m falling through his calloused fingers. Simon knows this.

My hands leave his jaw and lightly trace upwards, just barely brushing over Simon’s face. His skin is surprisingly soft. Heat pools in his cheeks and as I move upward, I notice a rough patch of skin along his one cheekbone. Something akin to a long, jagged scar. Simon’s breathing hitches as I pause. A painful memory passes.

“What was the original plan? What was going to happen to me?” I ask, hands still on his face. Simon shifts closer. I feel the heat radiating from his body. We can’t be more than a few inches apart.

“Do you know about the second attack?” he asks.

“Bits and pieces.”

“While the exchange was happening, the demolitions unit was rigging the Ultranationalist’s nearby base. The explosion was set to go off ten minutes after they had you. It didn’t, something went wrong and the base went down early. That’s how Soap was injured. That’s what tipped the Ultranationalists off and why they started fighting in the bushes,” my hands still as he speaks. “Ideally your father would’ve taken you and left, then their base would detonate on the way back. They’d have nowhere to go and we would take control of their vehicles and capture the targets,” he finishes.

“What about everyone else?” I ask.

“Anyone caught on sight would be killed,” he replies bluntly. The gravity of his words weighs heavily on me. There were a lot of men there. Imagining their bodies lying in the snow sends a shiver down my spine. I feel his eyes on me, reading every microexpression, understanding every judgement. “That’s how it is.”

“It’s cruel.”

“Not in comparison to what they do,” I remember his visible hatred for the Ultranationalists from our night at the cabin. Clips of the videos flash in my mind. The innocent people they killed, all in the name of political power. Everything Ghost feels for them is completely justified. Killing them means saving so many more. It’s for the greater good.

My hands skim across his face. They pass over Simon’s forehead then down past his thick brows. Long eyelashes flutter under my hands. Like his other features, his nose is strong. There’s a bump along the bridge that indicates it’s been broken at least once. No doubt from his service.

“Is my mother an Ultranationalist?” The seed was planted when I learned what my father is. She had to at least know. Although making assumptions like that is dangerous, I had no idea. And look at me now.

“She’s affiliated.”

“Is that your way of being polite?”

“No,” he says. “She knew who your father was when they immigrated to America, but she was never personally involved,” Simon’s cool breath fans against my face as he speaks.

“Until now,” because of them. Because of 141.

“Until now,” he confirms.

I resent how they’ve dragged us into this. I had a life before all of this. I was happy. Now I’ll never be able to go back. I’ll never be with my family again. I’ll never be loved by them again.

“Would Price have killed her?” the words are barely above a whisper. I feel my pulse pick up and realize I’m scared to hear his answer.

“Affirmative,” he confirms and I feel my heart clench under his fist. “But not on American soil. The guns that day were loaded with blanks.”

My hands still on top of his face and I fight the urge to open my eyes. My throat tightens and I know if I speak, my voice will crack. I can almost hear his next words: she knew what she signed up for. That doesn’t change how much his answer hurts.

I inch back and start to pull away when two large hands gently wrap around my wrists.

“Stay,” Simon murmurs. That one word has more influence on me than I care to admit. It’s not a request or an order. It’s almost a plea.

I wordlessly nod and feel as Simon places my hands back on top of his face. He steps forward, closing the remaining space between us with a silent promise. I move my right hand over his full lips and trace the outline of them. My mind flickers to all the places they’ve touched, the marks they’ve decorated my skin with. The smooth feeling of them as they glided between my own. The welcoming taste of them. The feeling of his flesh between my teeth. The lies they’ve told. The promises they hold.

“One more,” I hesitate. My mouth runs dry. This could be the defining moment of my life. Everything – every damn thing - relies on his answer. “Does Price consider me to be affiliated with the Ultranationalists?”

My eyes squint tight with anticipation. Beneath my fingers, Simon wets his lips. I feel his words form against my skin before they reach my ears. “Negative,” the word is a sigh of relief between us.

I visibly relax against his strong body. Simon takes this opportunity to grab a strand of my hair and twist it between his fingers. “I was going to kill your father when he held that gun to your head,” there’s nothing bitter about his confession. The low words are a matter of fact in his mind. I’m less surprised by his confession than I thought. My hands travel back down to his jaw and trace along the length of it. I wish he did. I would have.

“Why didn’t you?” I ask.

“It’s not my choice to make,” I think about his words for a moment. Is it that simple in his mind? Their orders are capture or kill. It was his choice to make.

Unless…

Unless that isn’t what he’s referring to. My breathing falters and my mind draws a blank. I don’t know what to say. Surely he isn’t alluding to what I think he is?

I want to open my eyes. To search his face. To try and read his facial expressions.

“Simon I-” I draw a blank. How do you respond to that?

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” but I do. I already do. Even if I shouldn’t. Even if it’ll only get me hurt in the end. “But I will always tell you the truth,” his hand wraps around the outside of my own. He brings it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the pads of my fingers.

He releases me only to cup the sides of my face. Simon gently pulls me in. My concentration on keeping my eyes closed, slips, as his lips lightly skim across mine.

I don’t hesitate when I press my full body weight against his. He’s warm and sturdy and safe. Nothing else matters as his strong hands wrap around my body and wind through my hair, pulling me even closer. I don’t want to lose him. Yet I know this can’t last. There’s nothing sustainable about Ghost and I.

“Will you do something for me?” I whisper against his lips. He pauses, just for a moment, just long enough to consider all of the different things I might ask.

“What?”

“I want to see him,” I say, resting my head against the nape of his neck. “Alone.”

“There’s nothing he’ll say that will make you feel any better, y/n,” Simon brushes a gentle hand along the top of my hair. “Trust me,” There’s an unsaid “believe me, I know” after his last words. My mind flickers back to the brief mentions of his father. Of how horribly he treated his family. I can’t help but reject that comparison. Our fathers are two completely different monsters.

“I need to try,” I say. I feel him stiffen. He can’t protect me the way he wants to if I’m there alone, but I need this. I won’t have another chance. Soon they’ll ship him off to a remote location that doesn’t officially exist, never to be seen again. My window is closing.

“Okay,” he sighs. It’s barely a confirmation. Yet, his words are enough. I wonder if Ghost will run this by Price? Or will I truly be alone with my father tomorrow?

That night, after Ghost drops me off, I think of all the things I’ve wanted to say to my father in the last few weeks. Of all the things I’ve wanted to do.

I visualize a list of everything on my mind as I lie in bed. I shift and slip my hand under my pillow. My fingertips brush against the sharp tip of the cold, compact switchblade Ghost gave me that night in the cabin. It fits against my palm like it was forged specifically for my hand.

Ghost gave it to me for protection against him. Trained me how to use it with the Ultranationalist rat in mind. Never would I have ever dreamed of doing what my mind conjures up now.

I fall asleep with my hand securely wrapped around the knife.

[j2hoes]

A Twisted Romantic Fairytale (Wally Clark x Reader

Word Count: 3K

A tragic tale of two star-crossed lovers.

Warnings: Death

The homecoming game of 1983 was a tragic tale of two star crossed lovers perishing beside one another. It’s a story for the history books and one Split River High would remember in the years going forward. One that students remember as a devastating if not twisted romantic fairytale. Two young lovers bound together for eternity.

Homecoming Game - 1983.

Excitement runs rampant through the air as everybody floods into the stadium, eager chattering of students combined with the cheerful melodies of the marching band fill me with joy. It’s not as if I haven’t been here before, I’m no stranger to the blinding lights of Split River football stadium. In fact I’ve been cheering on the sidelines at every football game for the past four years or so, but tonight is different. I’m unsure of whether the electricity I can feel within the air has always been there and I have simply never noticed, or if it has something to do with the fact that this is my last homecoming game of my high school career. It’s the one night that counts. After all, it’s hard to miss the countless recruiters already situated within the stands.

“There you are! God, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Upon hearing the familiar voice, I can’t help but smile. Turning my attention away from the water fountain where I had previously been filling my water bottle, to see the dark haired jock that makes my heart race.

Wally Clark. Where do I even begin to describe this boy? 

I first met Wally on the second day of senior year. My family had just moved to Split River from Amber, Nevada, following my father’s transfer within the police department. Having accepted a promotion, despite the fact it meant we had to uproot our entire lives and move almost two thousand miles away.

It’s fair to say that I had been a complete mess, struggling to find my feet in a town that was the complete opposite to everything I had been used to. Not to mention the constant arguing between my parents caused by the stress of the move. Feeling so overwhelmed by my entire life changing so quickly, I couldn’t bring myself to attend first period and instead found myself tucked away in the bleachers, smoking a cigarette with shaky hands.

It was at that moment that Wally had found me, with a warm smile on his face, he comforted me. Welcomed me to the strange new town of Split River. Offered to sit with me in the cafeteria at lunch despite being a total stranger. However, something about the way things took place felt incredibly natural. As though this was the way things were meant to be.

Wally and I became inseparable from that moment forward, he encouraged me to join the cheerleading team. Insisting that it was only because he knew it was a passion of mine and not because it meant I would be forced to go to the football games that he just so happened to play. And how could I say no to that charming grin?

Throughout the years, we both learnt a lot about one another. He listened and supported me as I discussed my turbulent homelife, detailing how my parents seemed to be getting closer and closer to divorce by the day and how in turn I became practically invisible to them. I was there for him following every argument he had with his mother, reminding him that his sole purpose in life was not just football. Ensuring he knew that he had other talents and qualities that were just as good if not better than his football skills.

We weren’t best friends, we were each other’s rock through thick and thin. So when he kissed me on the field, following yet another win for the team, I felt like I was floating on air. Unearthing all of the feelings I harbored for the jock, even if I had spent all that time trying to bury them.

Wally’s heart is so pure and full of love. Being on the receiving end of that love to the fullest extent is the greatest joy I will ever be able to experience. To have someone be such a bright light in your life is truly a blessing.

So if I had to describe Wally Clark? I’d say he was an angel brought down from heaven just for me.

“Excited for the big game my love?” Wally asks as he finally reaches me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and placing a soft kiss on my temple.

“More nervous than excited. Kristine’s had us practicing a new move and with all the recruiters, I’m just scared I’m going to let the nerves get to me and mess up.” I admit, reaching my own hand up to hold his that remains over my shoulder as we begin to stroll through the crowds towards the locker rooms.

“You’re a superstar!” Wally exclaims, to which I’m unable to contain my laughter. “I mean it! You’re gonna smash it, honestly. I’ve never seen someone make cheerleading look as mesmerizing as you do. It’s borderline hypnotic, I’m telling you.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever you say.” I reply, tone sarcastic, yet his words of encouragement do make me feel ten times better. “Anyway, what about my favorite player? Are you feeling okay?”

I don’t miss the pained look that flashes briefly crosses his face before returning to his usual winning beam. I’m sure he’s just ready to get the game over with, wanting to return to some sense of normality and let loose at the dance. No longer having to deal with the overwhelming amount of pressure that his mom places on him to be the best.

“I guess I’m a little worried. My knee has been playing up for the past few days and coach said I needed to rest it, which is what I’ve been trying to do. I don’t know, I just don’t want to let anyone down, especially not my mom. Or you.”

As Wally finishes speaking we reach the doors of the locker room and I remove myself from his embrace to stand in front of him. Taking his hands gently in mine as I gaze up at the sweet boy. Noticing the slight gleam of worry and shame hidden deep within his coffee brown eyes.

“Whatever happens out there, you won’t be letting anyone down, I promise.” My voice is soft as I speak to him, wanting him to truly understand how little his performance matters. “Your mom may be disappointed but she’ll get over it. As long as you’re happy, healthy and alive, that’s the most important thing. Just don’t push yourself too hard, I know how important it is to you that you make your mom proud but she’ll be proud of you no matter what. I mean, how could she not be? You’re amazing Wally Clark.”

The footballer smiles, wrapping his arms around me before pulling me into his body tightly. Resting my head against his chest, I close my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to relax in his embrace and breathing in deeply to take in the deep oaky scent that is Wally. He rests his head atop of mine and I can feel him squeeze me gently, hands scrunching up the fabric of my t-shirt as he does so.

“Wally Clark, better get yourself in that locker room right now! It’s almost showtime!” I hear the coach yell and my boyfriend sighs, slowly releasing me from his tight hold.

“Now go show everybody just how amazing you are.” I whisper, lovingly gazing up at him.

He nods as though in confirmation with my previous statement, before taking my face in his hands and slowly leaning down to interlock his lips with mine. Delicately and with the remaining hint of nerves racing through his body, his lips move gently with mine. My cheeks feel burning hot compared to the brisk coldness of his hands, caused by the icy fall winds, though I don’t seem to mind. Embracing the sweetness of Wally’s mouth and the tenderness of every move he makes.

It’s with much reluctance that we pull away from one another, however, after catching a glimpse of the coach’s disapproving look, I know the moment is over. Sending the jock to get himself ready with a swift peck to the cheek, him offering me a cheeky wink in return as we both slink off to our respective locker rooms.

The next time I see Wally is when the team makes their grand entrance onto the field. A big cheesy grin rests on my face as I hear the crowds' screams of support, waving flags and homemade banners to cheer on the team. With a few cheers of my own, a couple of the girls and I begin to hype up the crowd even more, jumping wildly and encouraging their yells.

As I shoot a quick glance over to the field, I’m able to spot my boyfriend easily, even with his helmet on. Smiling brightly at me even as he runs towards his team to discuss their play. My heart flutters knowing that he still makes an effort to look for me even as the game is about to begin.

“Alright girls, you know what to do!” Kristina shouts, alerting us to take up our positions and prepare for the first routine of the night.

Noticing the game is about to commence, I feel myself worrying less about messing up the performance, focusing solely on Wally and his uplifting words from moments earlier. Sharing gleeful smiles with my fellow cheerleaders, I can’t help but feel a sense of excitement as the music roars through the stadium.

The next few minutes pass by in a blur, with the Split River football team taking an early victory and our routine flowing perfectly without a single fault or mistake. It’s almost too good to be true.

With our final move only seconds away, I feel the nerves return once more as I boost myself into the hands of the other girls. Their hands wrapped around my ankles and calves to ensure my safety and support whilst in the air. It’s only when I’m hoisted into the air that my stomach twists. Something doesn’t feel right but I’m unable to do anything. Everything happens in slow motion and as I catch sight of the ground looming towards me, I’m hit instantly by the fact that I’m not going to make my mark. I’m not going to land firmly in the hands of the girls beneath me.

I suppose the one good thing about all of this is that I only have a split second to panic before my body plummets to the hard asphalt below my feet. The thump my body makes as it slams against the ground is enough to make anybody squeal.

Cheerleaders scream. Music cuts off.

Then I simply feel nothing.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wally’s the first to notice the chaos unfolding at the side of the field. Distracted by whatever seems to be taking place, he doesn’t notice the opposing team's player bolting towards him. He lands with a grunt, knee buckling and sending a sharp shooting pain through the length of his leg.

As he rises to his feet, he hears the whistle blowing repeatedly, noticing the chaos begin to grow larger. With furrowed brows he finds himself jogging towards the crowd, even if it does cause him a significant amount of pain that he tries desperately to hide.

Pushing through the screaming group of footballers and cheerleaders, it’s at that moment that he sees her. Lay unmoving against the concrete, his heart stops momentarily. Feeling sick to his stomach at the sight of his beautiful girl lifeless, body contorted in ways he didn’t know physically possible. 

Wally drops to his knees, students stepping away from him as he does so. Not knowing how to comfort the poor boy in this time of need. The physical pain he is feeling in his leg is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil he is going through right now. Dragging her body on to his knees and cradling her delicately, in fear of breaking her anymore.

With clouded vision, he stares down at his love, body releasing wails and sobs he had never once made in his life. Blood stains his hands, his jersey, his trousers and yet he doesn’t care. Overwhelmed by his grief, watching the color drain from her skin. He doesn’t think anything could be more painful, nothing in his life could compare to the trauma of his girlfriend sprawled out in his arms.

Wally struggles with the ambulance crew as they begin to remove her body, his coach restraining him as they place her in the back of an ambulance. The jock barely acknowledges his coach telling him that he’s been benched as he watches with heartbreak as the ambulance drives away and in his distress all he can do is cry on the sidelines.

With his mom standing behind him, badgering him about winning a scholarship and needing him in the game, Wally feels nothing but rage. All his life, he’d done right by his mom, wanting her to be proud of him, wanting her to acknowledge his successes but right now, he wanted nothing more than to tell her to close her mouth.

Instead, he finds himself marching over to the coach, begging to be put back into the game, arguing that he needs something to take his mind off what he just witnessed and that he is in fact in the correct headspace to win. And somehow, his efforts pay off much to his surprise. Back in the game, Wally has more strength than ever. Fuelled by his rage and his grief.

Whilst he finds it distasteful and disrespectful that the game continues despite his sweet girl losing her life only moments before, he plays with the knowledge that she’d want him to win. She would want him to succeed and so he tries. He tries for her because if not for her, then he has no other reason to keep going. She was the one good thing in his life that kept him from going off the deep and without her, he doesn’t know how he will continue. So for now, he simply focuses on the game.

The sharp pain in his knee grows stronger and with every passing minute he struggles more and more. Trying desperately to ignore it, he claims the ball, running at full speed towards the touchline and yet as he runs directly towards an opposing player, he makes no effort to slow down. Not thinking about the potential consequences of his actions.

He hits the ground with a devastating blow. World shrouded in darkness almost immediately. However, he feels more at peace than he ever has.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I watch with bated breath as Wally tumbles aggressively to the floor, the crack ripples throughout the stadium and I can’t help but gasp. Throwing my hands across my mouth as I fixate on the footballers rushing to his aid. My mind races at one million thoughts per minute, why did he go back out onto the field? Why didn’t he move out of the way? How could he be so reckless?

I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I almost miss the tall jock standing watching over his own body as people hopelessly attempt to resuscitate his cold body. Before I can even react, I’m slowly walking towards him, even with his back towards me I can tell he’s in pain. Hands in his hair, tugging slightly as he comes to the realization of what has happened.

My hands are shaking the closer I get, breath caught in my throat as I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not entirely sure why I’m scared, perhaps simply afraid of what this means for us now?

“Wally.” My voice is small, timid. Hands clasped together over my chest as I anxiously await his reaction.

As though he doesn’t believe it, Wally’s body goes stiff. When he finally faces me, his mouth falls open in shock, eyes holding the same softness that they did in life and I smile hesitantly. He’s the first to break the tension, scooping me up in his arms and holding me tighter than he ever has before.

“I’m sorry Wally, I’m so sorry, I promise I didn’t mean for this to happen.” My voice breaks as I speak, tears staining my cheeks. “I should’ve tried harder and then this would never have happened. You’d still be alive. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Darling it’s okay. We’re together now, yeah?” Wally states, placing his arms on my shoulders as he fully takes me in, holding me at arm’s length as if he’s checking I’m okay. Not that it really matters now.

“What were you thinking? Going back out was so stupid and irresponsible and reck-”

“I didn’t want to let you down.” Wally whispers, eyes falling to his feet in shame. “I wanted to make it all worth it, I wanted you to be proud of me because I knew you’d be looking down on me.”

“Wally, I-”

“I don’t think I could live without you sweetheart. I don’t think I’d want to.” He admits, bringing one hand to my face, thumb stroking my cheek softly. “Seeing you there, all limp and lifeless, I didn’t just lose you. I lost something within myself too.”

“I’m so sorry.” I sob, allowing myself to release all the emotions built up inside of me.

“I still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.” Wally confesses, smiling adoringly at me. “I still do.”

A quiet giggle escapes my mouth, pulling the tall boy towards me and pressing my lips roughly to his. Wanting, no, needing to feel him against me. To feel the way his mouth dances with mine and the way his hands tenderly caress my waist. I just need him.

“So where do we go from here?” The jock questions, our foreheads restings against one another as we catch our breath

“I don’t know, but as long as you’re with me, I don’t really care.”

[pasukiyo]

SWINGS AND MISSES

mlb player!steve harrington x f!reader word count: 6288 words warnings: angst and smut notes: i don't know if i made it super clear in the story but steve plays for the phillies in this au summary: with steve's record-breaking walk-off home run, it should've been an extraordinary night. but steve's wife can't help her longing for hawkins, and when she hears from one of his teammates a rumor that steve may have received an offer from a team even farther away from home, she finally meets her breaking point.

AUGUST, 1994;

“I’ve never seen a home run in real life before! It was incredible!”

 Steve’s lips curled into a smile as he held the baseball close to his stomach with his left hand, a marker in his right, printing his signature on the ball. “Well, I’m glad I was able to make a good first impression, bud,” he chuckled, leaning further into the wall separating the stands from the field to hand the ball back over before taking another from the other young boy beside him. 

 “Yeah. The announcer even said it broke a record! That was such a cool way to end the game,” the boy said as Steve handed him his newly autographed ball, capping the marker and stuffing it in the back pocket of his baseball pants. “I’ve never seen a homer hit that far! And it was a walk-off!”

 “Yeah, I think it even went out of the park!” The other younger boy exclaimed and Steve laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wanna hit like you one day!”

 “Yeah, how do we learn to hit like you?”

 Steve laughed again at the rapid fire questions, uncrossing his arms to lift his baseball cap off his head and run his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. “It’s all about the effort you put into the game. It’s all pointless if you don’t take the time to practice, right?” he replied, glancing away when out of the corner of his eye, he could make out a figure making its way down the stairs, heading in their direction.

 A very familiar figure. 

 “Yeah! I practice all the time!” One of the younger boys responded, a wide grin on his face. “Sometimes, my mom brings her video camera to record me at batting practice. I love going to the cages!”

 Steve was trying his best to keep his attention focused on the two children in front of him, he really was, but how could he possibly focus on anything else when his wife was coming his way looking like that? His muscles ached with fatigue and his stomach growled, and all he really wanted was to get some food in his system, clean himself up, and maybe even make a little love to his wife before getting a good night’s sleep. The closer she got, the harder he found it to maintain his patience. 

 The young boys in front of him continued to babble on about the practice they do outside of games as Steve’s wife approached in one of his jerseys— which was a few sizes too big for her— tucked into denim shorts, a Phillies baseball cap fit snug to her head. Steve’s grin widened as she approached and he gave her upper arm a squeeze before turning back to the children. 

 “I really hate to have to go but I’m sure your parents would hate me if I kept you boys up too late anyways,” Steve chuckled, raising a hand to the crown of his head to give the boys a little salute as he helped his wife climb over the wall and step onto the field. “Keep practicing!” He called over his shoulder as he threw his arm around his wife’s shoulders, giving her arm a squeeze. “And respect your parents!”

 Her face pulled into a smile and her chest heaved with a laugh as she glanced up at him, scrunching her face when he met her gaze. “Look at you being so good with kids,” she giggled, lacing her fingers together with the ones dangling from her shoulders. “Almost like we’re back in Hawkins.”

 Steve rolled his eyes at this comment, pulling her in closer so that he could press a kiss against her temple as he led them towards the dugout where only a few of his fellow teammates remained. “At least these kids don’t drive me up the fuckin’ wall,” he snorted. “You know Henderson called the other day just to make fun of the way I run bases?”

 She tried to suppress her laugh as he pulled away from her to gather his equipment and he turned to cock an eyebrow at her as he snatched his helmet, tossing his batting gloves and fielding glove inside it when she let a giggle slip through the cracks of her lips. “What?” He watched as she crossed an arm over her chest and propped her opposite elbow against it, hiding her smile behind her knuckles. She shook her head, “nothing, nothing.”

 Steve pressed his lips together in a pout and stood back up, a hand on his hip. “You think the way I run bases is funny too, don’t you?” He used his helmet to gesture over to where she stood, scoffing in disbelief when she broke into laughter, trying her best to hide it behind her hand. “I can’t believe you.”

 One of his teammates strolled up, reaching past Steve to grab his bat, using his other hand to clasp his shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better buddy, we all think you run bases funny,” he spoke with a grin and she erupted in laughter again as Steve used his glove to smack him against his shoulder. 

 “Oh, fuck off Kev,” he grumbled as he plopped down on the bench, prying his cleats off his feet. She giggled as she shuffled between his legs, cupping his face and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s okay, babe. On the bright side, your ass still looks ridiculously good in those pants,” she tittered and he rolled his eyes, playfully pushing her face away as he slipped on his slides. 

 “Whatever. You can talk to me once you’ve stopped taking Henderson’s side,” Steve rolled his eyes as he gathered the rest of his things and she followed him down the steps leading into the locker room, her hands in her back pockets. She gazed down at her feet, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating what she said next. 

 “You know… kinda miss that kid,” she said softly and Steve furrowed a brow, peeking at her from over his shoulder. “Are we talking about the same Henderson right now?” He asked and she chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s just… you know, it’s been awhile since we’ve seen him. And everybody. And… Hawkins…”

 “We went back for Christmas, remember?” She pressed her lips together and felt her face fell, wrapping her arms around herself, shrugging. “Yeah, I know but I mean… it was just an overnight trip and that was months ago…” She trailed off, stopping in her tracks when Steve’s name permeated the corridor and she turned to face the source of the voice. 

 “Coach,” Steve acknowledged the Head Coach of the Phillies, taking the older man’s hand when he outstretched it for him to shake. “The man of the hour!” Coach exclaimed before glancing behind Steve where she stood, nodding his head in acknowledgment. “Always good to see you, Mrs. Harrington,” he greeted and she nodded back, a shy smile on her face as she weakly waved. “You wouldn’t mind if I stole your husband for a quick minute, would you?”

 Steve blinked back at her, a slight furrow still in his brow but she waved him off anyway. “As long as you promise to bring him back,” her laugh came out as more of a breath, but the coach chuckled anyway, leading Steve away towards his office. She stood alone in the empty hallway leading to the Phillies locker room, arms wrapped around herself, her heart pounding and mind racing. 

 She wasn’t sure what she was hoping would come out of confessing to Steve how homesick she felt. It wasn’t his fault they hardly ever had the time to visit— Major League Baseball was his career, traveling and moving one place to another was just part of it. 

 But still, she couldn’t resist the yearn she felt for something more… stable. For a place she could call home, for a place she could stay. Hawkins was home to her— it always, always was. Even after all the strange things she and Steve had experienced in the small town in Indiana, she still felt connected to the place, still had threads tying her down in its roots. It was where she grew up, where she had friends, where she had family. 

 But she wasn’t sure how Steve would feel about that. 

 “Harrington leave you all alone?”

 She turned to the source of the voice and there stood Matt, one of Steve’s teammates, big and burly as ever with his arms crossed and his baseball bag hanging from one of his shoulders. She forced a smile, “Coach needed to see him in his office. Maybe he’s in trouble.”

 Matt rolled his eyes at this, “yeah right, like Star Boy is gonna get in trouble,” he scoffed. “You know, rumor has it Boston’s interested in him.”

 She blinked. “Boston?” Steve had never mentioned this to her before, of course she knew his contract with the Phillies was about to expire, but surely he would’ve told her if he’d gotten any other calls? Was he keeping this from her?

 Matt lifted his baseball cap to scratch at his scalp, his brow furrowed, lips turned in confusion. “You didn’t know?” He asked, and she shook her head. “No… No, I didn’t.”

 As if her mind wasn’t already racing before, it was practically a typhoon now. Surely this was all a misunderstanding? Perhaps he was in the Head Coach’s office right now working out a new deal to renew his contract, maybe there was nothing to worry about after all. Because Steve would’ve told her about something like this, right?

 “Anyway, surely you have nothing to worry about,” Matt tittered as he sauntered past. “No matter where he ends up, he’ll be making a shit ton of more money than I’ll ever make in a lifetime, so what the hell do I care where he goes?”

 She blinked as Matt said his goodbyes and disappeared into the locker room, once again leaving her alone to her thoughts. It wasn’t long after that Steve finally reemerged from the Coach’s office, laughing at whatever had been said moments before. The sound of the door closing echoed through the hallway and Steve turned back to face her where she stood, gesturing with his head to the locker room. 

 “I’m gonna go get changed, be back in a minute,” he said, turning around before she had the chance to even open her mouth, disappearing inside the locker room. And the whole time she stood in that empty hallway alone, all she could think of was Boston and how much further away from home— Hawkins— it was. 

 She told him when he got drafted in the major leagues that she’d follow him anywhere he went— and she still stood by that. But was it so wrong for her to long for home, to miss her family, her friends? Was it so wrong to just wish for a week, even a weekend to go back and visit her loved ones? 

 And why was she so nervous to ask Steve about it?

 Steve had never been too fond of Hawkins. Perhaps, years of dealing with alternate reality monsters and scary Russian men will do that for you. But she knew Steve loathed Hawkins for another reason— his parents. His parents that were never there, his parents that never cared to show up to a high school basketball game, baseball games, even his own graduation. His parents that never even bothered to be there, who always had something better to do than be at home with their son. 

 Hawkins was where he grew up, Hawkins was a constant reminder of how unwanted he used to be. So of course he’d gotten out of there the first chance he got, of course he’d brush her off every time she wanted to go back, of course their time to visit was reduced down to a simple overnight stay over Christmas. 

 Hawkins would never be home to Steve Harrington, and sometimes she feared he failed to acknowledge that it was quite the opposite for her. 

 “Ready to go?” His voice broke her thoughts and she blinked up at him, now wearing sweats and a plain white tee, his hair messy and unkempt atop his head. He spun the keys to his old BMW around his pinky finger, pinching his lip between his teeth as he approached, using his free arm to sling around her shoulders. “Everything okay?” He asked, giving her a fleeting squeeze and pressing a kiss to her hair. 

 She wanted nothing more than to question him, ask him what the quick little meeting with his coach was about, ask him what she was hearing about being traded to the Red Sox, whether or not he’d been hiding it from her, and if he was considering taking them up on whatever they offered him. But not here— it could wait for the car. 

 “Yeah, yeah,” she nodded, letting him lead her towards the exit. The night air in Philadelphia had a bit of a chill and she shivered when Steve opened the door leading to the players’ parking lot, the old BMW he’s had since high school waiting for them beneath the lamppost light. She clutched the strap of her purse as they made their way towards the car, worrying her lip between her teeth.

 Steve glanced up at her over the top of his car as she circled around to the passenger’s side, swinging open the door and slipping inside. He watched as she buckled in her seat belt while he turned the keys in the ignition, her fingers dropping in her lap as she stared out the window. 

 “You sure everything’s okay?” He asked again, reaching over to brush his fingers against her knuckles. She turned to face him, face void of expression as their eyes surged into one another. Something was wrong, Steve could feel it. 

 “What was all that about?” She questioned. “You know, with your coach and all that.” Steve pulled his fingers away and leaned back into his seat, searching the steering wheel as he tried to string together what to say next. She watched as he scratched at his chin, outstretching his palm, “he wanted to discuss my contract,” he replied. “Since it’s expiring soon.”

 She nodded, pressing her lips together in an attempt to still her beating heart. Steve rolled his tongue against his cheek, unsure of what to say next, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate any further, she drew in a shaky breath, gazing out the windshield. “I heard from Matt that Boston is interested in you.”

 Steve blinked, his lips pressed in a firm, thin line as he grew silent, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and turning the keys in the ignition with the other. The car roared to life and Steve said nothing as he turned to gaze out the back windshield to pull out of his parking space. Silence was thick in the air as he drove out of the parking lot, a lump forming in her throat and the tension was hot, a heavy weight on either of their chests. 

 “Why are you not talking to me?” She finally asked, glancing over to where he sat, jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping it. “Why didn’t you tell me about Boston?” She questioned, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. Steve ran a hand through his hair, “the call only came in a few days ago.”

 Her stomach flipped at the admission and she turned, brow furrowed in disbelief. “You got the call a few days ago and didn’t think to tell me about it?” It was hard to hide her agitation now. “What happened to… to talking to each other, Steve? Don’t you think I would’ve liked to have known about something like this?”

 Steve tapped the pad of his thumb against the top of the steering wheel, propping his other arm against the window, cupping his chin in his palm. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” he replied. “I know how much you hate traveling and I didn’t know how to bring it up and—“

 “Steve, I… don’t hate traveling,” she interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest, scoffing as if it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “I told you early on that I have no issue following you anywhere you go, and I still stand by that. What I have an issue with is you, number one: not telling me any of this crap and number two: brushing me off when I tell you that I want to go home. Why can’t we go somewhere for me for once? You have off days, but we spend them doing what you want, never what I want.” Her words were pouring out of her but at this point, she couldn’t make them stop. 

 Months upon months of her frustrations that had been pushed to the side to rest were now forcing their way to the frontlines, and she realized now that she wanted to be heard. She didn’t want to be pushed to the sidelines anymore, she didn’t want to keep everything to herself anymore, she just wanted to be seen. She wanted everything she’d spent energy burying to be recognized, she wanted Steve to acknowledge her. 

 “Can we… not do this tonight?” Steve said at last, wiping his brow in vexation and gripping the steering wheel with a two hand feel. “I’m tired, you’re tired, so can we please just chill out and talk about this in the morning?” She gnawed at the flesh of the inside of his cheek, “no, Steve,” she spoke firmly, her tone as stern as it could get to let him know that she wouldn’t be cowering away this time. “I’m not tired. Don’t tell me to chill out whenever you don’t feel like listening. I’m not going to let you push me to the side this time,” she said just as the car rolled to a halt in front of a stoplight. 

 “I’m not pushing you to the side!” His voice has raised this time, but still, she had no intention of backing down. “Honestly, you’re sounding so selfish right now,” he muttered, shaking his head and gazing out the window to his side, keen on looking anywhere but at her.

 She blinked, clearly taken aback. “I’m being the selfish one?” She scoffed, pointing a finger to her chest. “You won’t even listen to me. You won’t even talk to me.” Steve didn’t reply as the light turned green, making it clear he didn’t want to argue any further, only adding more coal to her fire.

 She dropped her head, feeling the bitter sting of tears in her eyes that she desperately tried to lock away, sinking her teeth further into the plush of her lip to help keep them from falling. Feeling unheard was probably the worst feeling she’d ever felt in the world, it felt as if she were drowning, meters below the ocean, her screams falling onto deaf ears. All she could see for miles was darkness and she was falling deeper and deeper into an abyss of black. 

 Steve was usually her lifeline but now, he was further and further away, and she was sinking deeper and deeper…

 “So what is it then?” She said at last, turning her head to glimpse over to where he sat, her voice cutting through her throat like a knife. “We’re just gonna move to Boston— which is even further away from Hawkins, by the way— and everything will just be okay? We’re just gonna forget about our friends and family and throw away everything I want to do just so I can be King Steve’s good, obedient little wife?” She hissed, and Steve turned to face her now as he pulled into the parking lot of their luxury apartment building, eyebrows knit together in frustration. 

 “We spend all your off days doing whatever the hell you want, why can’t we take a weekend or something to go back home and see everyone?” She pressed further. “I miss them. I miss Nancy, Jonathan, Dustin, Max, El, Robin— Robin’s your fucking best friend and you’ve only seen her once in the past year. You can’t even stay on the phone with her for more than ten minutes now.”

 “Because I’m fucking busy trying to give us a future!” Steve practically roared, his voice like a crack of thunder, even making her tremble where she sat. She recoiled and pressed her lips together, blinking. “I’ve been working almost every single fucking day to provide for us, to provide for you. You tell me you understand that this is my career, that traveling and press conferences and practices and brand deals and all that other shit is just a part of it. But then you sit here and bitch at me for it, complaining that I’m not listening, that I’m being selfish when all I fucking do everyday is work so you can be comfortable!” 

 Her vision glossed over with the haze of tears again and she blinked, sniffing. “You’re missing the point, Steve. I never asked for you to give up your career. I never asked for you to take time off for me. I asked you to hear me. I asked that we use the time that you’re off to go back home,” she replied softly, her tone void of the firmness she held before. Steve didn’t dare look at her, eyes narrowed as he stared straight ahead through the windshield, hands still tight around the steering wheel. 

 “Then what the hell’s stopping you from just leaving?” He asked, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, and she blinked, sure that tears were falling now. “So that’s your answer?” She grimaced at her own voice, watery and threatening to break. “You’re just going to push me away? Tell me to leave?”

 Steve closed his eyes, his chest heaving with a sigh as he leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the headrest. A moment of silence dangled between the two, neither seeming to know how to break it. One hand dropped to his lap and the other rose to his forehead, the bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. She sniffed and wiped the tears from her wet and sticky cheeks, pressing her lips together as she shook her head, gazing at the parking lot outside the window. The city was alive and noisy at this time of night, its light polluting the night sky and ceiling away the stars. 

 This wasn’t what she had grown up to know. Even still, the city was still foreign to her. She missed the quiet of a small town, missed looking up at the night sky and seeing the stars twinkling down at her. She just missed home. 

 But what was Hawkins without Steve in it too?

 “I don’t…” Steve began, blinking up at the ceiling of his car. “…I don’t know what to do.”

 She glanced over at him, her arms crossed over her stomach, her fingernails scratching lines into her skin. She looked at Steve now and saw someone she hadn’t seen in awhile, not since they lived in Hawkins. 

 Steve looked lost. 

 “I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore,” he breathed a laugh at himself, flattening his palm against his eyes and shaking his head again. “I just feel like I’m letting you down no matter what I do.”

 She furrowed her brows together and turned in her seat until her back was against the door, her left leg bent and leaning against the back of her seat. “Steve, you’re not… you’re not letting me down,” she replied in a soft murmur. “But it hurts me when you don’t listen to me. I never try to push you too hard or stop you from doing what you love to do,” her lips curved into a small smile. “And it makes me so happy to watch you play baseball. Because you just look so… peaceful. You look happy. Even if you do look funny running the bases.”

 Steve snorted at this, turning his head to the side to face her. “For awhile there, you weren’t happy,” she could feel her voice begin to crack, more tears glossing her vision, her voice thick with emotion. “I know you weren’t happy back in Hawkins,” she continued. “Just like you know I used to not be happy back then either.”

 Steve sniffed, his eyes dropping to her fingers where they rested in her lap, and he watched as she leaned closer towards him, her fingers finding his. He shuddered when their skin met, already melting into her touch, squeezing her fingers tighter when they laced together with his. His molars sunk down into the flesh of the inside of his cheek, trying to maintain his own composure. 

 “But Hawkins is home to me,” she murmured. “Hawkins is where our story began. It’s where we both grew up, it’s where we found each other. And I’ll always be grateful to Hawkins for that.”

 Steve let his fleeting gaze linger on their hands for a moment before her other hand pushed against his chin, leading his eyes back home, back to her. “Even with everything we went through there, we made so many memories,” she chuckled. “Like the first time you took me on a date and you pulled up to my house and my dad…”

 Steve’s lips curved into a smile and parted in a laugh, “he grilled me.” She laughed along, nodding. “I still remember how nervous you were to even hold hands with me, like my dad was waiting around the corner or something.”

 “He can be really intimidating.”

 “No shit,” she chuckled, leaning the side of her head into the passenger seat’s headrest. “And I remember our first kiss…” 

 Steve let the pad of his thumb soothe over the smooth skin on the back of her hand as he recalled the memory, the image of her standing in front of him, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes he fell in love with, wearing that ridiculously pretty baby blue dress he still secretly wished she would wear more often. He could remember how nervous he was, how he felt like his heart was going to either burst out of his chest or he was going to shit it out. He remembered wondering how a girl so perfect could ever want to be with him, how insecure he felt about himself, whether or not he was a shitty boyfriend. 

 All of it melted away when she fluttered her eyes closed and began to lean in and he, too, began to fall in closer…

 “Yeah,” Steve sighed his reply, and she smiled warmly. “So you see now why I want to go back so bad?” She asked. “Hawkins was where our story started. Hawkins will always be home to me.”

 Steve drew in a deep breath and nodded, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah,” he said. “But I still don’t know what to do about Boston.”

 She glanced down to their joined hands, her free hand soothing up and down his arm. When she looked back up, Steve’s face was contorted in thought, eyebrows knit together, eyes unfocused and lips pressed together. She gave his hand a squeeze, “do you want to go to Boston?”

 He blinked and peered over at her where she sat, waiting for a reply. Her face was void of all frustration from before, expression warm, inviting. How could he have ever taken her for granted?

 Steve gave a short nod, “I think so.” 

 Her lips grew into a grin, “then we’re going to Boston.”

 Steve’s face softened but a wrinkle in his brow still remained. “And you’re… okay with that?” He asked, and she nodded. “As long as we can do things I want too. I just want to dedicate some off time to going back home. I want to see everybody. I miss all our friends. I miss my dad.”

 Steve nodded, giving her hand a squeeze, “okay.”

 She nodded back and pushed herself from her sitting position, leaning over the console until their faces were close, their lips a whisper away from one another. “Okay,” she whispered against his lips and Steve gazed up at her, his deep, brown irises melting into hers. His gaze fleeted down to her lips as he reached a hand around to cup the back of her head, pulling her mouth down onto his. 

 His lips were soft and she melted into them as if they were a pillow. Steve kissed her with an urgent, tender need, like his tongue was telling her a million sorrys he couldn’t relay in words. She moaned into his mouth when he squeezed her hip with the hand not tangled in her hair and she climbed her way over the console and onto his lap, her hands on either of his cheeks, the firestorm on her skin erupting into a volcano, hot magma pouring over her and pooling onto him. 

 His kisses trailed down her chin to the underside of her jaw, her fingers inching their way to his hair, giving the roots a tug when he sucked a mark there. Her lips fell apart in a gasp at the feeling of his teeth ghosting over her flesh, teasing a bite on the sensitive part of her neck. “Steve,” she mewled as his hands felt up her waist, to her stomach, and around to the buttons of her jersey. 

 “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured against her lips when his kisses found their way back to her mouth, his fingers working at the buttons of her jersey. “I’m an asshole,” he mumbled as he pushed her now fully opened shirt down her arms, his mouth hot when they found her one of her erect nipples and she threw her head back, squeezing the roots of his tendrils tighter. 

 “Mm mm,” she shook her head as he swirled his tongue around her peaked bud, staring up at her through a hooded gaze as he sucked. “You’re… not!” She arched her back and moaned when he released her breast with a pop, trailing kisses between the valley of her tits to ravage the other. “Not an… asshole.”

 His smile was a crescent against her skin as he worked at the other and she pressed her lips together in a whimper, feeling heat pool between her legs, her core clenching when she ground her hips down into his erection. “Stevie,” she panted when he released her breast, kissing her collarbone until he could make out dark marks in her skin. “Hmm?” He hummed against her flesh, glancing up at her. 

 She ground her hips down into him once again, causing him to groan and buck his own up into her. She gasped at this, feeling tears sting her eyes before streaming down her cheeks. “I just… I just wanna feel you,” she managed to breathe out, her teeth pinching her bottom lip hard enough that she nearly drew blood. “Just want you inside me.”

 Steve probably could’ve come from just her voice alone. His cock was aching and throbbing in his sweats and he tapped the underside of her thighs to tell her to sit up. She mewled as she rose off his lap, allowing them both to strip themselves from their pants and underwear. 

 Their eyes surged into one another as Steve’s middle and pointer finger traced a line down her center, his palm flush with her clit, her lids fluttering closed and a cry erupting from her throat and permeating the small space of his car. “You’re dripping for me, baby,” Steve purred, using his other hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, the pad of his thumb soothing over her closed eyelids. “You always get so wet for me,” he praised, drawing her face closer to his to pepper kisses all over her cheeks. “You’re always such a good girl for me. Always make me so proud.”

 “Stevie,” she mewled, voice dripping with need from his words. His fingers still worked back and forth over her slit, the tips teasing her clit and every so often, her entrance. “Yeah baby?” He cooed, nuzzling the bridge of his nose against the underside of her jaw. She whimpered again, “just need you inside. Please.”

 Neither of them could care any less that anyone could easily be watching them right now, all they cared about was each other. All Steve wanted to do right now was take care of his girl, to make sure she felt wanted, needed, heard. 

 So he wasted no time in grabbing a hold of the base of his cock, hissing between his teeth at the sight of her cunt just dripping, aching to be filled. He gazed back up at her and reached for her face, cupping her cheek with one hand and kneading the flesh of her hip with the other. “Look at me,” he whispered, waiting until her eyelids fluttered back open and he could stare into his gorgeous irises of hers. “You ready?” He asked with a little nod, and when she nodded back almost immediately, he guided her down into his lap with the hand on her hip, his lips falling agape, a deep, guttural groan bellowing from his throat. 

 She cried as he slowly pushed himself all the way in until she was fully seated in his lap, crystals of tears resting on her eyelashes. Even after all these years, she couldn’t believe how big he was, how every inch seemed to fill her up in the most perfect way, leaving no part of her untouched. 

 And Steve couldn’t believe how tight she still was. She always squeezed him in just the right way, her pussy always seeming eager to milk him, and he always seemed to be near spent even when they had just started. 

 “Ready to move?” He murmured close to her ear and she nodded, lifting her hips gently before setting her pace, either of his hands now on her waist, guiding her up and down his cock. The windows had since fogged up, the lights outside nothing more than white and orange dots, like watercolors. She managed to peel her eyes open enough to peer down at him, her lips finding his, their moans muffled against each other. 

 “I love you,” Steve purred against her mouth, his breath hot and making liquid of her insides. She felt her heart skip a beat when he said this, as if it were the first time she’d ever heard him say it. It was like this with everything with Steve. He made every touch, every kiss, every ‘I love you,’ every everything feel like the first time. 

 And that’s what she loved most about him. 

 “I…” she gasped at a particular deep thrust, rivers of tears streaming down her cheeks. “…oh God! I love you too!”

 Her palms ventured down the chest of his t-shirt until they reached the hem, tugging at it to signal that she wanted it off. Steve wasted no time in reaching down to pull it up and over his head, her hips still rocking back and forth on his cock as he discarded it somewhere behind him, his hands cupping either of her elbows and drawing her mouth back onto his. 

 She was so dangerously close to the edge, Steve was so dangerously close to the edge. It was enough to make her cry out, to wrap her arms around Steve’s head and hug him close to her chest. “Gonna… fuck! Gonna come baby?” Steve groaned as he thrusted up into her, meeting her hips in rhythm with her rocking. She nodded, unable to speak as a spark trailed down her stomach until it erupted in flame at her center, white light flashing behind her eyelids as she exploded, a blissful heat ripping through her. 

 Steve’s hands cradled the small of her back as she struggled to catch her breath, letting him pound her through her orgasm until he too let himself go, spurts of his seed spilling somewhere deep inside her, painting her cervix like it was his canvas. 

 He held her tighter as she trembled, panting and chasing air back into her lungs, aftershocks rumbling through her as he slowed his hips before pulling out altogether, making sure his hands were there to catch her before she fell. 

 His palm cracked the back of her head to his chest, their pants slowly dwindling down to soft breaths, their skin melting into each other until they became one. His thumb soothed over her shoulder blade, his other arm wrapped around her waist, ensuring neither he nor she were going anywhere. 

 “I’ve got you,” he whispered close to her ear, his breath hot as it rolled over her skin. “And I’m sorry. I promise I’ll hear you out from now on. You shouldn’t feel like you’re being silenced around me.”

 He could feel her smile against the curve of his shoulder, her lips pressing a soft kiss to his skin. His lips curled into their own smile. “Thank you,” she murmured against his flesh. “Can we just stay here like this for a minute?”

 He hummed into her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Mhm,” he hummed, resting his cheek against their head and letting his eyelids flutter closed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

a/n; i have literally been wanting to write an mlb player steve au for the longest time and i just never have gotten around to it 😭 i'm not sure if any of you know this, but i used to play softball, started playing when i was 8 years old all the way up until my senior year of high school, so softball/baseball has pretty much always been a big part of my life and LAWD can you just imagine steve as a major leaguer 😍 anyways, its been awhile since i've posted anything steve related and i'm so sorry for that! but i hope you all enjoy this one! it turned out to be a lot longer than i initially expected it to lol (ps, i definitely wouldn’t mind writing more for major leaguer steve in the future 👀)

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