#I don’t know why I thought of this but I did so enjoy

[jinxificada]

stress to relieve, need to fulfill.

jinx x fem!reader

summary: what’s there to do when your friend keeps pushing your boundaries after a long, tiring week? only wrong answers.

notes: nsfw, modern au. jinx and reader smokes both nicotine and weed. stoner reader. high sex. u know mee, self indulgent asf. if you see first person pronouns, no you didn’t. 2,8k wc.

ཻུ۪۪ ༄࿐༉⁎ ⁺

you see her leaning against the railing, shoulders pushed behind and back straight, smiling smugly and flirty as her head tilted to the side.

isn’t she stunning? breathtaking?

but all that attitude was directed to ekko, who had her almost trapped as both of his hands also rested on the railing, each one next to her waist.

“jinx, hurry!” you groaned from your spot on the sidewalk, throwing your head back in annoyance. you had finished your cigarette two minutes ago, growing impatient by the second.

the wind brushes against her hair and she tucks a piece behind her ear. god, the way ekko’s body towers over hers makes you want to be sick. it's a disgusting feeling, seeing her flirting so easily.

"I'm comiiiiing!" she calls out in annoyance, ekko lets out a light chuckled as she brushes past him with a playful roll of her eyes. she always knows how to make those boys crazy. "jesus, did I take that long? you’re so impatient." she teased, stopping right in front of you and resting a hand on her hip.

you rolled your eyes, lighting another cigarette. “yes, i wanna get home already.”

"geez, impatient and bitchy today." she muttered under her breath, smirking as you both started to walk, she kept in stride beside you, occasionally bumping your shoulders together. she could see the agitation in your eyes, even as you refused to look at her. It was honestly comical.

you were looking forward to today for two weeks now. finals were done, you had only another week of pointless classes before graduating and leaving this shitty town behind. the smoke session was very much needed, and luckily you had the house all to yourself.

"don’t worry." she teased after a moment. "no more ekko attention. i’m all yours today, you needy baby." she pinched your cheek, causing you to gently slap her hand away, huffing at her mocking. “i swear to god— i’ve had a stressful week, jinx, i don’t know where you get all that energy from.” you mumbled, handing her the cig. "stressful week, or you just need to get laid?" jinx joked, her eyes sparkled in a playful mischief as she took the cigarette and raised it to her lips, taking a short puff before exhaling the smoke through her lips.

she was clearly enjoying her teasing, and your grumpy face only encouraged her. "ohhh, your poor baby." she stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “knock it off,” you muttered, though you wrapped an arm around her shoulders as you grab the cig back, taking a long drag.

jinx chuckled, clearly pleased with herself as she leaned into you. the cigarette continued to pass between you, her body was soft against yours.

"you are adorable when you're all grumpy and pouty." she teased, running her other hand through your hair. she turned her head slightly to the side and nipped at your earlobe, an amused huff escaping her lips, her breath against your ear was driving me insane. “i want to see how far this pouty mood goes." she whispered before pressing a kiss just below your ear.

“jinx—“ you gasped, trying to hide your blush. “we’re passing by a playground.”

"and?" she laughed, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at her. she feigned an innocent pout, her bottom lip slightly jutting out. "no one is around. we’re the only ones walking."

you look down at her mouth, your own watering at the thought of nibbling her pouty lip. would she yelp? sigh? would she flinch away or kiss you back?

you and jinx were friends, strictly. for years now. she was flirty, always pushing boundaries but then she would play dumb, as if leading people on was her favorite hobby. and you had a big fat crush on her. that’s why you didn’t want to risk it.

so you ended up pinching her nose and continuing walking, finishing the cigarette.

she let out a small squeak, a pout returning to her lips. she gently punched your shoulder in retaliation before sticking out her tongue. “mean." she teased, her arm still wrapped around your waist as you continued to walk. "you’re no fun today."

“i’ll let you choose the movie.” you say as if to apologize, pulling her into that side hug you were locked in previously.

soon enough you reach to your house, she settles on the couch and scrolls through the streaming services to find something to watch as you get the snacks you bought days before, quickly going back to bump your hips against hers to make space for you to sit down.

she smirked at the pile of snacks you had set down on the coffee table. "geez, you really went all out for our movie night, didn't you?"

you shrugged, a small smile appearing on your face. you weren’t about to admit that you picked out her favorites purposefully. “mhm… did you choose something yet?”

jinx looked down from the screen and watched as you began to roll the blunt, the sight bringing a smirk to her face. "hmm, not yet," she said. "nothing looks interesting enough."

“don’t be picky, we’ll be way too out of it to care about it.” you chuckled. "you’re right, the plot won't even make sense to us anyway." she huffed a chuckle.

her eyes tracing the movements of your hands, continuing to watch you finish rolling the blunt, "hurry upppp," she whined, poking your thigh impatiently. "i wanna get high already."

a small chuckle left your mouth, amused by her eagerness. “here,” you hand her the blunt and light it up for her. "finally…" she groaned happily, bringing the joint to her lips and taking a deep inhale.

holding the smoke in her lungs for a few moments, she exhaled slowly before turning to smirk at me.

"your turn, slowpoke.”

"I was taking my time, you impatient brat." you brought the joint to your lips and inhaled a deep puff, the taste of herbs filling your mouth, you felt your entire body release tension already.

you exhaled slowly, the familiar feeling of relaxation settling in your bones. as you passed the joint back to her, your eyes flicked toward jinx, who was already looking at you, eyes already a little dazed, her smirk was lazy and her cheeks a hint of pink as the weed started to cloud your minds.

"you look wrecked already.” you teased, poking her shoulder. she let out a small huff and rolled her eyes before taking another deep drag of the blunt.

"says the one who practically moans every time they get high."

your face flushed with embarrassment at her words. "I do not moan every time." you protested, although you couldn't keep the chuckle out of your voice. jinx let out a scoff, amused by your denial. "please, i’ve seen you high enough times to know you're a total needy whiner when stoned." she teased, taking another drag of the joint as her eyes scanned up and down your body.

her gaze felt like a physical touch, you were growing warmer as you forced yourself to look away. "I am not a needy whiner when stoned."

half an hour later the weed had fully settled into your systems. you barely paid attention to the movie playing, the only thing on your mind was her body pressed against yours, the warmth of it making you want to melt against her.

she was leaning into you, her head resting on your shoulder as she laughed at the crappy jokes, completely oblivious to the effect she was having on you.

you felt dizzy, shifting to nuzzle your nose into the crook of her neck. “i love this perfume,” you slurred quietly, making her smile and huff amusedly. "i know, you say that every time I wear it." she said, lifting a hand to play with a strand of your hair. you hummed, taking in the sweet smell of her perfume, it was intoxicating.

"It's so good,” you mumbled, nuzzling further into her neck, inhaling deeply.

jinx chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. her fingers traced lightly down you jaw before they reached your chin and gently forced you to look at her.

"how high are you, pretty baby?" she teased, her voice lower now as her fingers continued to explore your face. you looked up at her, eyes glassy and unfocused. it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the way her fingers felt against your skin. “very," you mumbled, the words slurring in your mouth. "very high. i feel kinda floaty."

jinx’s eyes darkened, the gleam of mischief appearing in them. "you are so high." she teased, her thumb tracing your bottom lip. “just how i like you."

you hummed faintly, pretending to bite on her finger. jinx let out a low, dark chuckle, her thumb now pressing against your tongue. "naughty girl."

her words sent a shiver down your spine, your heart raced in your chest. the way she was looking at you sent waves of heat through your body.

your lips closed around her finger, a low whimper vibrating down your throat at the sensation, soon suctioning without breaking eye contact. her eyes darkened even further, the sound of your whimper making her breath hitch. a low, primal sound left her lips as her gaze fixated on your.

"you’re getting bold, baby," she purred, her thumb pushing further into your mouth. you hummed around her finger, the feeling making your head spin even further. the combination of the weed and her scent was overwhelming, it was turning your brain to mush. your eyes fluttered, your tongue swirling around her thumb. you didn’t know where this audacity was coming from, but it just felt so good.

jinx chuckled darkly, her eyes scanning your face as her thumb gently caressed your lips. "you just can't help yourself, can you?" her tone was low and teasing, but you could hear the hint of restraint in it. “so needy…"

you gently pulled away from her thumb, a trail of saliva connecting both of you. her gaze darkened even further at the sight, her eyes scanning over your face with a mix of hunger and restraint. her breath hitched as your lips touched her jaw. she tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her skin to your mouth.

“you’re being such a good girl for me right now." she whispered, her free hand finding the nape of your neck. her words causing a shiver run down your spine, eagerly pushing her down to lay on her back as you kept savoring her skin, her body laid beneath yours without resistance.

she hummed, her hand in your hair. she gently tugged on the strands. you were too focused to respond to her teasing. she tilted her head back as your lips traveled down her neck, hands roaming around her form shamelessly. she felt warm beneath your body, your fingertips sneaking down her shirt and feeling her smooth skin. her pulse quickened under your lips as your body pressed flush against her. a moan left her throat, her grip on your hair tightening. her hips bucked against yours, the movement was subtle but definitely deliberate. you were doing such a good job at working her up.

jinx’s breath hitched as your fingers moved to the buttons of her jeans, the action seeming to catch her off guard. she wasn’t complaining, but she wasn’t expecting it. “you’re getting awfully handsy,” she rasped.

“i just wanna taste you…” you almost whined into her neck, too drunk with desire to stop and question your own actions.

“taste me, huh?” jinx chuckled, her hand in your hair gripping harder. her voice was still teasing but now laced with a hint of lust. “can you even handle it, pretty baby?”

you looked up at her, eyes glassy and lips slightly swollen. you knew you looked wrecked right now, a needy mess of a girl yearning for more. but you didn’t care.

"i can handle it." you huffed, your fingers struggling a bit with the last button. "i need to taste you, please.”

you couldn’t handle it.

your fuzzy senses made you move sloppily, munching on her pussy like she was your last meal, muffling your whimpers and moans against her as you humped the edge of the couch like a dog in heat. the way you lapped her folds made her groan loudly, rocking her hips against your face and pulling your hair aggressively.

“so pathetic,” she chuckled hoarsely, the view of you between her legs was making it hard for her to keep her composure. “you’re so desperate for me, such a needy—“ pathetic girl she was about to say, but the words dissolved in her throat as a loud moan escaped her lips when you sucked hard on her clit. she tightened her grip on your hair, guiding your movements. “hmmyeah…that’s it. good girl.”

your heart raced at the praise, she was intoxicating. a goddess you’d want to live and die for, to go against your own convictions just for a little bit of her.

her thighs closed around your head, holding you in place as you continued to slurp her fluids. the sounds and smell of sex will definitely linger in the fabric of the sofa, yet again, that was the last of your concerns. in fact, who says you won’t be sniffing on it days later just hoping to catch a taste of her again.

her moans rasped her throat, getting impossibly louder as she edged her high. her legs around my head was making you feel dizzy, the taste of her on your tongue, her noises in your ear, her scent in your nose. it was like your own version of heaven.

she was gripping your hair so hard it was almost painful, but you didn't mind. you wanted to hear her come undone, “please," you whimpered, barely able to get the word out. you kept begging between sloppy kisses on her folds. “please, please, please..let me make you come, please.” you whined desperately.

she pulled at your hair to meet your eyes, both of you had them glossy, red and wide pupils. jinx bit her lip so hard that it drew blood at some point, staining her cracked lips in a dark red shade.

“you’re really gonna make me lose it.” she choked out.

your tongue was relentless, switching between pressing and swirling around her clit and pumping inside her hole, her creamy juices dripping down your chin. “please cum, i wanna taste you, hm, jinx,” the words fell out of your mouth like a prayer, you hands gripping her thighs to the point of leaving marks on her pale skin.

“can’t— don’t stop!” she trembled, babbling and babbling incoherences, “i-i’m—“ a loud, guttural moan broke her sentence. her slim body tensed up before quivering and eyes shut as she rode out her peak. she was mesmerizing, you couldn’t stop even when your jaw was aching so bad. “f-fuck, stop, stop.” she pleaded, flinching away from your greedy mouth.

the intensity left you both panting heavily, she covered her face with her forearm and you shifted to rest on her stomach, fingertip drawing random patterns over her cloudy tattoos. jinx was wrecked, trying to even her breath.

“c’mere.” she mumbled, petting your head with her free hand. she doesn’t have to ask twice for you to crawl up to her, resting your head on her chest. youf mind was still dizzy from everything that just happened.

she was running her hand through your hair, when she broke the silence "you’re such a good girl," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

heat rushed to your face at her words. even just her voice sounded wrecked, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at knowing you were the one who did that to her.

you nuzzled yourself further into her chest, your body was starting to feel heavy. she chuckled faintly, her hand still running through your hair. "and now you're a sleepy, stoned mess."

after a beat, she added, "not that that's any differently from how you usually are, though."

“stop babbling,” you mumbled, pecking the top of her breast. “let’s nap.” she groaned softly, shifting slightly to fix her underwear and lay comfortably. “you’re still no fun.” she murmured, cuddling you back.

bonus !

having jinx on your lap as you hung out with the group wasn’t something new. but only a fool wouldn’t realize the change of dynamic between you and her. as one of your hands was busy holding your drink, the other gripped possessively to her hip, pulling her back in place whenever she slipped for squirming too much, babygirl couldn’t sit still as she told her fabulous stories.

“jinx,” ekko’s voice interrupted as he approached with a confident smile. “i have a blunt to share, ya wanna head upstairs?”

“oop— nah, thanks man.” she chuckled, leaning back against your chest as she held your hand to her stomach. “i only smoke my girlfriend’s weed.”

[darkbluekies]

Christmas tendencies

Yandere!king x fem!reader

Summary: spending Christmas with Edmund can't go wrong<3 can it?

Warnings: Edmund not being nice, in fact being quite naughty, jealousy

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: i thought it'd be a waste to not post this when it was so near completion! So please enjoy and have a merry Christmas if you do celebrate it♡

As if on purpose, the snow has graced the earth for Christmas after not showing itself for the entirety of december. But now, a thick layer of snow covers everything that was once dead and grey. You can’t help but feel excitement. Maybe Christmas with Edmund won’t be hell after all? 

You’re standing in one of the gigantic windows, looking out over the castle grounds—the very same you’re not allowed out in. The castle’s gardeners have decorated every bush, every tree, with lights and decorations. 

“You’ve been standing here for a good forty five minutes now, my jewel”, Edmund says as he walks over to you, fixing his golden cufflinks. “How much more interesting can it get after ten?” 

“You don’t get it”, you reply over your shoulder. “The gardeners have spent a lot of time decorating the grounds, shouldn’t one get to admire their hard work?”

You feel how Edmund comes up behind you, sneaks his arms around your waist and buries his chin into your shoulder. 

“The staff has put a great detail into the interior too”, he mumbles. “Why don’t you stare at that for an hour or two?”

You scoff. 

“I think it’s pretty”, you reply and turn your eyes out the window again. “With the snow and everything. Besides, I’ve already inspected every decoration inside, I helped hang them up.”

“You did, and it’s very pretty. Just like you. I like your dress.”

It’s a red velvet dress reaching down to the floor with long, cape sleeves. 

You turn around to get a look at him. He's wearing a black suit with loose white pieces that puff out. Golden cufflinks and a white bow. His fluffy dark hair has been brushed back, face newly shaven—although there never was anything to shave to begin with.

“You look like you've been tortured”, you joke.

“Haha, funny”, he replies sarcastically, clearly not impressed. “I've told them time and time again that I have an extremely sensitive scalp but no one listens, they force me to do silly hairstyles like this. I think I must have lost at least half of my hair.”

You reach to fix a strand of hair that escaped his hairstyle. You can feel him shudder under your fingertips.

“You’ll live”, you say. “Besides, you look more grown this way.”

“Do I?” Edmund smirks proudly. “Do I look manly?”

“Don’t push it.”

He scoffs. 

Weirdly enough, Edmund has agreed on letting you out of the castle today. Just because it's a special day. The townsfolk are having a market that you have begged to visit and who is Edmund to deny your Christmas wish?

“Are you ready, my love?” he asks and takes your hand. “The carriage it out on the front yard. Let’s get this over with.”

“Can’t you at least pretend to be excited?” you ask with a sad pout. 

He sighs and rolls his eyes before nodding. 

“I’ll have to take a long, scolding bath right after coming back”, he mutters. “Who knows what kind of diseases they can carry? Oh, you’re taking that bath with me, by the way. My Christmas wish.”

He’s like a child when it comes to your bare body, getting eyes wide as moons when he gets to see the most vulnerable parts of you. It confuses you. In his past he has allowed himself to a majority of women and their bodies, so why does he look at you as if he’s never seen it before? 

It’s one of the few times you see him without his cocky exterior. He looks at you with eyes of gratitude, as if showing yourself to him is the greatest gift of mankind. 

Edmund holds your hand tightly as you walk out to the royal carriage. The driver holds the door open for you, but Edmund insists on helping you up in it. He sits down in front of you. The carriage is decorated with golden details and small cherubs.

“You don’t have to look like you’re being driven to your execution”, you say and raise your eyebrows. 

“I’m not happy about this”, he says. “This is something you want.”

“Can’t you be happy for me, then? Please, Eddie?”

His cheeks take on a red tone. The nickname has only been used by you, ever. You gave it to him, you’re the only one that is allowed to say it. The firs time you had said it, he hadn’t known how to react. He had been staring at you with large eyes, wondering what prompted you to give him a nickname when no one else had ever imagined to do such a thing. At first, he was unsure what he thought of the name. He was king Edmund. Had once been prince Edmund. Rarely Edmund. Never Eddie. 

“Fine”, he says and clears his throat, trying to play it off. “I’ll try. But don’t call me that when we’re there.”

“Are you scared that the townsfolk will lose respect for you if they hear that you have a cute, little nickname?” you giggle. 

Edmund rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward. 

“No”, he says, smirking devilishly. “Because I don’t want other people to know what you call out in bed.”

Your jaw hangs open in shock and you grab the pillow behind your back, hitting him. Edmund covers himself with his arms, laughing. 

“Watch the hair!” he shouts. 

“You didn’t like the hair anyway”, you remind him. 

“It’s Christmas, you’re supposed to be nice. Don’t be naughty!”

“Naughty? Who the hell started talking about naughty stuff? You started it!”

Edmund laughed. His blue eyes glittered. 

The carriage rolls into the town. You turn your eyes out the window to look at what you’ve been watching from afar. You get out together, Edmund holding onto you so that you don’t fall. The townsfolk keep a distance, knowing that the knights will go to attack if they come to close. Their bright eyes watch on as if they’ve seen something extraordinary. And maybe, you think, for them this is something extraordinary. 

Their eyes follow you to the christmas market. 

“All eyes are making me shy”, you whisper to Edmund. 

“Drink it all in, darling”, Edmund replies quietly. “They worship you, but not as much as I do … and if they try I’m going to kill them.”

“Be quiet!” you hiss. 

Edmund scoffs and rubs your back with his hand. You walk through the streets to the town’s square where multiple small sheds are put up, full of candy, baked bread, knitted goods and alcohol. While you walk around chit-chatting with the vendors, Edmund stands close behind you, a hand on you always. A warning, to everyone around you. You are his, and no one is going to forget that—absolutely not you. 

You buy something from every stand and insist of carrying it yourself. Edmund can’t understand why you want such … cheap crap. He can give you the same things but done well, made by professionals who cost him a fortune. He doesn’t let you eat anything and keeps a constant, watchful eyes around. 

“Smile a bit more, why don’t you?” he mutters in your ear. 

His jealousy is like a wildfire, spreading through him quickly and dangerously. With no easy way to stop it. 

“Edmund”, you whisper quietly. “Stop it.”

“You bought so much from that man”, he continued. “What did you hope to achieve?”

“Edmund!”

He stays silent the rest of the Christmas market. As soon as you get back to the carriage, he can’t keep quiet anymore. 

“Those are so fucking ugly”, says as the door to the carriage closes. 

“That is so unnecessarily mean”, you hiss back at him. “They don’t have what you have. They do their best. And, for having as little as they do, I think they look great.”

You hold your new treasures in your lap closely. 

“I don’t want to spend more time with you if you’re going to be like this”, you mumble without looking at him. 

You’re happy for your new things. But he doesn’t understand. Edmund sighs heavily, clenches his jaw and nods. 

“Okay”, he mutters and takes your hands in his. “I’m sorry … but I could have given you so much better things. If you wanted new mittens, I could have given you them. These things … who knows what could actually be in them?”

You put on the hand knitted mittens. 

“Take them off”, Edmund says, but he doesn’t sound angry or demanding like before. “Darling, my jewel, I’m serious. I don’t want you getting a rash, or something.”

“We’re taking a bath when we get back, don’t we?”

Edmund sighs and gives up. You hold up your hands.

“Aren’t they kind of cute?” you ask. “A little?”

“Fuck no.”

“What if I had made them?”

“You wouldn’t have. If you had knitted mittens, they’d be a thousand times better.”

“You are so mean.” You keep your eyes on your hands. “You were jealous out there too.”

“Of them? Of those filthy peasants?”

“Of those men.”

Edmund leans back in his seat, jaw tightening. 

“Men”, he scoffs and turns his head towards the window. “I wouldn’t call them ‘men’.”

“Childish jealousy doesn’t look good on a king”, you point out.

“You like it when I’m childish though. You laugh, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“You don’t need to be jealous over them. I don’t know them.”

“Everyone wants you. And it makes me sick.”

“Everyone wants you too.”

“They want to be me. But they want you. And I will never let that happen. You are mine.”

“I know. You’re the last person to let me forget that.”

When you get back to the castle, the two of you walk straight to the bathroom where the maids have poured a hot bubble bath that is burning to the touch. Edmund holds you close to him in his arms. 

The rest of the day is spent in the big living room, in front of the gigantic christmas tree that needed a dozen workers to decorate. Edmund wanted the entire town to be able to see the lights from his tree. 

“Merry Christmas, my love”, he says and holds out a red box.

You remove the wrapping smd open the box, finding a necklace with large, round pearls. It's heavy in your hands, and even heavier around your neck.

“These pears cost me quite a lot”, Edmund says and touches the pearls carefully. “But they're cheap in comparison to what my love for you is worth.”

And he means it. He really does.

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 1)

@lanfear-is-my-darkmistress

You are a profiler for the FBI when you get called to help catch a serial killer in Westview. (Killing Eve/Hannibal AU)

Word count: 4200

Warnings: descriptions of violence, fear

The phone rings at 7:30 in the morning on your day off and you want to throw it against the wall. 

You had been sleeping – having a very good dream, actually – when the harsh ringtone roughly jolts you out of your slumber. 

“Hello?” you answer groggily, rubbing your face with your hand. If it’s a spam call, you think you might lose your mind. 

“Is this Agent Y/L/N?” A gruff voice asks and you shoot up out of bed into the sitting position. 

You clear your throat and try to sound professional. “Um, yes, this is she. Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Director Hayward,” the man says, and your eyes widen. The head of the FBI is calling you. “Have you heard of the town of Westview?” 

Your forehead wrinkles while you rack your brain for anything that sounds familiar. “No, sir, I don’t think so.” 

There’s muffled sounds from the other side of the phone and then you can hear Director Hayward clearly. “It’s a small town in New Jersey. Nothing special, nothing too out of the ordinary.” He pauses like you’re supposed to recognize it, but after a moment of silence he sighs and continues. “About seven months ago, we believe a pair of serial killers moved into town. Bodies started piling up, seemingly no rhyme or reason to who was killed, only that the victims were all female.” 

“Okay,” you say slowly, trying to wrap your head around all this. If it’s been going on for this long, why haven’t you heard about it? “Are we sure they’re connected if there’s no pattern of victim? Usually men have a type when they do this kind of thing; the women usually look like an ex-lover who broke their heart, or their mom.” 

You can practically hear him roll his eyes through the phone. “They were all killed the same way: poison to sedate them and then their hearts were carved out. And there was a purple azalea left in every single one of the victims’ chest cavities. So we’re pretty sure they’re connected.” Sarcasm drips copiously from his tone and you wince. Way to make a good first impression on the director of the FBI. “And it’s not a man. It’s a woman.” 

This makes you perk up with interest. “Oh?” As a profiler for a branch of the FBI in Miami, you’ve handled your fair share of serial killers. It may make you sound insensitive, but you were only really interested in the female ones. Men were so boring and predictable. Women knew how to make it a challenge, and there was always some deep, underlying motive for why they did it. There was nothing you enjoyed more than piecing together that puzzle. 

“They’re calling her The Witch. The poison used on the victims is like nothing we’ve ever seen before, so we think she must be making it herself. But since female serial killers are kind of your thing–” 

You cut him off before you can think twice, thoughts whirling through your head. “How do you know it’s a woman? Cutting out a heart, that takes a lot of strength. Most female serial killers tend to use gentler methods, like poison, so it makes sense that there’s at least one woman involved. Are you sure she isn’t working with someone though? Lavinia Fisher would poison her victims and then her husband would finish the job.” 

“How quickly can you get to Westview?” He asks, completely ignoring your question. 

“Oh, you want me to go there?” 

He scoffs. “Yes, Agent, we want you to go there. I’ve already informed your boss and he’s given his approval. No one has been better at catching the female killers than you, so we really need you on this. You can take the Miami jet as soon as you’re ready, but they want you there as soon as possible.” 

“Will I be working with the Trenton branch?” 

“Just the Westview PD for now. They’ve assured us that they have their best detectives on the case. But if you need backup, let us know and we can send in some more profilers. Whatever it takes to bring this woman to justice.” He hangs up without another word and you grab your to-go suitcase that you keep packed for times like these. You throw in a few extra sets of clothes just in case it takes longer than expected, and then you’re out the door, driving to Headquarters. 

You walk into your boss’s office and knock on the door. The director of the Miami branch, Tony Stark, looks up at you. “Hope you packed some warm clothes,” he says and you chuckle. You definitely did not.

“Hayward said I could take the jet?”

Tony nods. “It’s out back and already fueled up. Good luck, kid. Be careful, okay?” 

You scoff. “Careful? I’m always careful.” He fixes you with a stern look and you acquiesce. “I promise.” 

“I don’t need to remind you what happened last time you worked on a case like this, do I?” 

It hits you like a punch to the gut and you shake your head. “No, sir, you do not.” But you know he’s going to tell you anyway. 

“That woman destroyed you,” he hisses. “You got so focused on finding her that you stopped eating and sleeping. The obsession completely consumed you.” 

“I caught her, didn’t I?” You mutter, knowing full well that isn’t his point. He slams his hands down on his desk and you jump. 

“She almost killed you,” he almost yells and your face twists at the memory. 

The Scarlet Killer terrorized Miami about three years ago before you finally brought her down. At first, she would sneak into houses of families with twins and slit the parents’ throats and kidnap the kids, but the twins would always resist so she would end up killing them too. 

After a while, she stopped caring about the twin aspect and started killing anyone with children. 

You had spent days in the office, pacing and pouring over the evidence board, trying to make sense of it. There was no DNA anywhere, but there was also no sign of forced entry, so you figured that she was invited into the house somehow. The hunt for children made you think she had lost her own, or had some sort of abusive childhood that made her want to protect kids. She was possibly a twin as well, and very amicable if people were having her over willingly. 

It took two months before you figured out the perimeter of her murders. She was making a hexagon shape with the houses of the victims. Hexagons can represent balance, so you figured she felt as if she was balancing out some score with the universe for something that had happened to her. 

And then one fateful night, you realized where her next target was. A family had just moved into a house perfectly on the border of the hex, as people around the office started calling it, and they had twins. 

You spent almost an entire week camped out in front of their house waiting for the Scarlet Killer to strike. You think during that time, you slept a total of ten hours. Hallucinations plagued you and you would doze off and then wake up babbling something about catching her. Agents would bring food by your car and beg you to take a break, but you kept your eyes strained on the house, determined that you wouldn’t let her get away with it again, determined to prove that you were right about where she’d be.

And you were. 

Except the knocking that should’ve been on the front door of the house, the knocking that would inevitably lead to more death, was on your car window. 

You had jolted awake to find a redheaded woman standing there, looking worried. You opened the door and got out to help her when she had pulled a knife out and stabbed you in the stomach. 

Thank god she didn’t go for her usual M.O. of slitting throats. 

You were able to weakly unholster your gun and take a shot at her as she was running away and by the yelp, you knew you had hit her. A consolation prize as your vision faded to black. 

Somehow, you woke up two days later in a hospital room, Director Tony Stark by your bedside. They had caught the killer a block away thanks to the appendix your bullet had ruptured that rendered her unconscious, a woman named Wanda Maximoff, who had lost her twins in a horrible house fire, and made it a mission to try and replace them.

And her knife had missed anything important, and all you had was a nasty scar and the weariness from everyone else whenever there was a new female serial killer to catch. 

“She didn’t kill me though,” you tell Tony, who rolls his eyes. “I’ll be careful. I won’t get too involved this time.”

He slides open a drawer and takes out a file and a business card that he holds out to you. You reach across the desk to grab the two and you scan the card. 

Rio Vidal, Therapist, Westview. With an email and phone number. 

You hold it up and raise an eyebrow. “You want me to see a shrink?” You already completed your mandated fifteen hours of therapy after the Maximoff incident and you weren’t eager to go back. 

“You don’t have to, it’s just so you have an option. In case you feel yourself becoming too ‘involved.’” 

You purse your lips but you slip it into your pocket and tighten your grip on the file. “Guess I’ll see you whenever we catch her.” 

He salutes you and you make your way to the jet out back. 

It’s a three hour flight and you spend your entire time pouring over the case file. You know there’s still some information that you’ll have to get from the Westview PD, like witness statements and exclusive photos that haven’t been released yet, but what you do have is brutal. 

Photos of shriveled up bodies with barely any skin still on their bones, their cheeks hollowed out, like something sucked the life out of them. Not to be sexist, but you can tell why Director Hayward thought it was a woman. 

Although there’s a gaping hole in their chests where a heart used to be, the cuts are neat, precise. And the blood has been completely cleaned up. What should be the bloodiest crime scene you’ve ever seen is void of any fluid, like the killer methodically mopped and bleached and cleansed the scene of everything. But this also means that the victims are dead before the heart is cut out, from the poison. 

The most chilling thing is the singular, perfect flower placed in the cavity of their chest.

You flip through the toxicology reports but can’t really make sense of anything. One report says one chemical was the cause of death, another report says another. The levels of chemicals in the bloodstream are also different from victim to victim. 

It reminds you of Jolly Jane Toppan, who would experiment with different medicines and chemicals to murder patients at hospitals. 

Is the killer a nurse? A chemist? You’re able to figure out why she’s called The Witch, because it’s like she’s brewing up potions of sorts, but you have no idea why she would bother cutting their hearts out if she’s killing them with poison. 

The precision of the blade also means that her hands are steady. Another reason she could be a nurse. 

You flip through the pictures of all the victims – eleven, so far – and the first victim’s cut is just as accurate as the last victim. This woman is either a natural, or this isn’t the first time she’s killed. 

Pulling out your computer, you search the database for any serial killer cases that match this same type of crime, male or female. You’re still not entirely convinced she’s working alone. 

But there’s nothing. No cold cases, no open cases. She has truly shown up out of nowhere. 

You tap your fingers to the tray table, your mind trying to make sense of the details for the rest of the flight. 

When the plane lands, you’re ushered into an uber and taken to the motel where you’ll be staying. Your rental car is already in the parking lot. Even though Westview is a small town, it means a lot that they’re giving you all these accommodations. 

Your room is complete with a kitchenette, a queen sized bed, and a good sized bathroom. You drop the files on the table, throw your suitcase in the bedroom, and grab your work bag before locking the door behind you. 

The rental car is a small sedan that has a strange smell, but it does the job and you drive through the quaint twisting roads to get to the police station. You park up front, take a deep breath, and walk in. 

No one stops you or asks what you’re doing here (no wonder this case hasn’t been solved yet) so you make your way to the back where you find the Chief’s office. 

He’s a skinny man with a mustache, spots of something that looks like mustard on his shirt, talking to a woman with her back to you. All you can tell is that she has long, dark hair that flows down your back.

“Hi, excuse me?” You say, knocking on the glass door. The Chief stops and the woman turns around to face you and you’re momentarily struck by how attractive she is. “I’m Agent Y/N? The, uh, criminal profiler from Miami? The FBI sent me to help with The Witch case.” 

“Oh, shoot, that’s right,” the man says, wiping his hands on his jacket before standing up. “Chief Phil Jones. This is Detective Agatha Harkness–” He motions to the woman standing there who smiles knowingly, raking her eyes up and down your body. “– our best. She’s been working this case day and night.” 

“Any leads so far?” You ask her. 

“Why don’t I show you what we have so far?” She offers and you nod, following her out of the office and trying not to look at her ass. She takes you into  a different room with a bulletin board filled with pictures and string and post-it notes. You squint at it, trying to take everything in, while you hear more people enter the room behind you. 

“So, Miami, what do you think?” A man taunts and a few others snicker at him. You ignore him, you’ve been used to this your entire career. 

You’re still scanning the board when something catches your eye. The witness statements. They don’t corroborate with each other. From the six people that have seen something, they all agree that the killer had dark hair. But some say it was long, others say just past her shoulders. Some think she was taller and lean, others say shorter and just a little more filled out. There’s a detail from two witnesses that gives you pause though: they say the woman had a mask of sorts on the bottom of her face, almost like a skeleton. The other witnesses make no mention of not being able to see the killer’s entire face. 

You tap the papers. “Why don’t the statements line up?” 

“Surely you know how unreliable eyewitness testimony is,” Agatha drawls, and when you turn around, she’s watching you carefully. 

You frown. “I do know, but it seems like there’s two different people here. So either we have a copycat, which would be unlikely due to there being no change in the level of detailedness from murder to murder, or–” You trail off, chewing on your lip. You’re waiting for someone, Agatha maybe, to finish the sentence, or to tell you you’re being crazy. 

“Or?” She prompts like she’s daring you to go on. There’s a look in her eyes, a look you don’t quite recognize. 

You give the men in the room a glance. Will they laugh? “I really think we’re dealing with two killers here. Working together. One poisons the victims, the other cuts out the heart. I thought it was a man and a woman, but it seems like two women. They’re obviously very close to each other, and they’ve got it down to an easy routine.” 

“Why hasn’t anyone seen two women then?” Agatha asks, but you feel like she’s just guiding you to a realization, rather than criticizing your theory. 

You hum, tossing the question around in your head. “Maybe…maybe because they want us to think there’s only one killer? They’ve fooled everyone, even the FBI. Easy to chalk it up to faulty witness statements.” 

“Why wouldn’t they try to look alike then?” Agatha presses, and your brow furrows. It’s a good point. 

The pictures of the mutilated victims on the board stare back at you while you look for anything you could’ve missed. “Are they toying with us? Do they want us confused? The poison, the cut-out heart, the flower left behind, the different descriptions, it’s like this is a game to them. They’re cocky, they feel confident that they can’t get caught. Maybe both of them are narcissists, but definitely are on the Antisocial Personality Disorder spectrum.” 

“Why do you think they do it?” Agatha says in a hushed voice. You can’t help but notice that she seems excited. 

Is that because she finally might be getting a break in her case? 

“I don’t know,” you admit and she looks disappointed. You spin to face the board again. “There’s no obvious connection or pattern between the victims, so it doesn’t seem like there’s a personal vendetta against them. Nothing stands out about the locations either. It seems like they’re just killing for fun, right now.” 

“That’s pretty dangerous,” she says, and you can feel the front of her body brush against your back. You’ve been so entranced that you didn’t even hear her notice her coming over. “That means anyone could be next.” 

Goosebumps spread over your body at her hot breath on your neck, but her words sober you up. She’s right. You’re not able to rule out potential victims based on how many kids they have or don’t have, like with Wanda, or what they look like or don’t look like. 

“Okay,” you say, nodding your head. “We need to send out a BOLO for two women with dark hair now. Put these descriptions out, tell them to keep an eye out for a skeleton mask? Hopefully we can get some tips and put a stop to this before anyone else gets hurt.” 

“What should we call the other woman?” One of the male officers speaks up and you’re surprised that it’s an actual question. 

Agatha watches you with interest while you think about it. “How about…Lady Death?” You offer and she gives a nod of approval. “Put a BOLO out for Lady Death and The Witch.” 

You make copies of everything that’s on the board and paper clip them together to put in your bag. As you’re packing everything up to go back and leave to the motel (Tony would be proud of you for leaving the station at an acceptable time), Agatha comes over and leans on the table. 

“What do you think their relationship is? Lady Death and The Witch,” she says, amusement lacing her tone when she says their nicknames. 

You shrug. “Sisters, friends, wives? Maybe they’re just two crazy people who met each other and want to kill people.” She chuckles and studies you curiously. 

“You know, we’ve had some other profilers come in, but none of them have been like you. You know your stuff.” 

“Female serial killers are kind of my thing,” you say. “There’s just something about untangling the mystery that’s so much sweeter. Makes me feel…alive. Which I know sounds bad, because so many people have died, and I’m sorry.” 

Agatha looks like she knows exactly what you’re talking about. “No, don’t apologize. It’s exciting, isn’t it? The exhilaration, the moment when you finally get what you want, what you’ve been working toward.” Her voice is low and you nod, leaning in before you can realize what you’re doing. Your gaze drops down to her smirk and then back to her blown-out pupils. “Do you think you’ll be able to find them?” 

“Yeah, I do,” you breathe, and she looks positively delighted. Out of nowhere, the scar on your stomach stings and you grimace. Agatha looks at you, concerned but you brush it off. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You ask, standing up and slinging your bag onto your shoulder. 

“See you then, superstar,” she says with a grin and watches you leave. 

When you get back to the motel, you spread all the pictures and notes out, trying to connect some dots. You scribble down Friends? Sisters? Lovers? on a sticky note and press it to the wall. 

Why do you think they do it? Agatha’s question still haunts you. You don’t want to believe that it’s just for fun, there has to be some meaning, some motive for poisoning and then physically removing hearts. There has to be some significance to the flower left behind. 

But what is it? 

Your stomach grumbles so you decide to take a step back and go pick up food from a restaurant in town. As you’re pulling out of the parking lot to come back to the motel with wings and french fries, you get a call from Tony Stark. You accept it, taking a sip from your cup quickly. 

“Hey, Director,” you say. 

“There she is! How’s it going?” 

You shrug even though he can’t see you. “Not too bad. Just went and got dinner. See, I’m taking care of myself.” 

He laughs like it’s the funniest joke he’s heard. “Glad to hear it. Any new leads in the case?” 

“There’s two women, not one. They’re working together.” There’s silence on his end of the line for a second and you wonder if he heard you. “Did you–?

“Yeah, I got that. Shit, so you think you’re looking for partners? I don’t like this,” he says. 

“I’m okay, I promise. What happened with Wanda won’t happen this time,” you reassure him as you turn back into the motel lot. “I’ll check in with you whenever you want. I’ll go see that shrink. I’ll be careful.” You’re worried that he’ll pull you off the case if he thinks you’re too obsessed. Your hyperfixation tendencies almost cost you your life, and you know Tony doesn’t want that to happen to you again. He’s become somewhat of a father figure to you since you started working there, and it’s touching how much he cares.

He hums in satisfaction. “I expect you to eat three meals a day and get at least five hours of sleep.” Before you can protest, he continues. “And I want you to make an appointment with that therapist. Just get ahead of your spiral, maybe talking about the case with someone removed will help you be more level-headed.” 

“I will,” you vow. “Okay, just got back to the motel, I’ll talk to you later.” He says goodbye and hangs up. When you get out of the car with your food, the hair on the back of your neck stands up and your scar tingles. 

Something feels off. 

You get to your door to find it slightly ajar and you frown. You remember locking it. Maybe room service cleans at night? 

“Hello?” You call, pushing it open. Taking a few cautious steps into the room, you scan from wall to wall looking for anything or anyone.

There’s no one there, nothing seems out of place except for your suitcase that is now on your bed. You tentatively walk over to it and unzip it, jumping back like you’re expecting something to pop out. Inside, you find all the clothes you packed gone, and entirely replaced by a new wardrobe. Pulling them out, you gasp when you find cashmere sweaters and silky blouses and comfortable but professional looking pants. There’s a bottle of perfume with the word “Thanatos” printed in perfect calligraphy and you take a whiff. It smells like flowers and wood at the same time and it makes you think of a forest. 

So someone broke into your motel room just to give you some new clothes and perfume? You rustle through the rest of the suitcase and a piece of paper flutters to the floor. 

Heart pounding, you lean down to pick it up. It’s the same sticky note that you put on your wall before you left to get food. 

Friends? Sisters? Lovers? 

Only now, the word ‘lovers’ is circled, with a small heart drawn. You drop the paper like you’ve been burned and run over to where all your case information is and you feel nauseous. 

Nothing has been touched. Nothing is out of place. 

Except for the single purple azalea resting on the middle of the table. 

They were here. 

[777heavengirl]

the one with the picture

sirius black x reader ! - 2,084 words masterlist bags masterlist A/N: IM BACK IM BACK IM BACK also sorry its so late at night hectic day xoxo i hope you enjoy!! don't forget to drop a little reblog or even just comment guys!! it is so very appreciated and it lets me know y'all want more!

“Ready to become uncles?” You asked, a yawn following your words. 

Remus smiled at you, soft and sleepy from the couch facing yours. His cane rested on the arm of the couch, abandoned for the comfort of the shitty hospital seat. Remus nodded wordlessly.

“I reckon I’ll be a terrible uncle,” Peter gruffed as he shook the box of candies into his mouth, emptying it “I have nothing to teach this bloody baby-”

“I don’t think anyone expects you to teach him anything Wormtail-” Sirius pipped up with a laugh from the corner where he paced in circles, head swiveling towards the room James and Lily were in as a nurse hurried out of it.

You ignored the bustling of nurses, you had long learned by now that unless you saw James, it probably didn’t mean anything.

“Why on Merlin’s green earth did they decide to give birth in a muggle hospital-” Peter groaned into his hands, the hours of waiting bearing down on him.

“Lily refused to do a home birth remember? St Mungo’s doesn't exactly do the whole birth thing- ” Remus muttered from the small beige sofa he had curled up in, long legs spilling from the edge of the cushions. You wondered if he was comfortable, but his eyes were closed and he had barely moved in the past two hours so you assumed on some level he probably was. Well, between his cardigan and long pants, he was at least doing better than you. You could feel your skin start erupting in goosebumps from the cold.

It had been a blur really, the furious knocking at your door at the hands of Peter, and haphazardly putting on the first thing you found after basically clawing off the stuffy funeral dress. You didn’t even have enough time to grab a jacket, barely putting on shoes as Remus and Peter swept you off to the muggle hospital. A shiver ran down your spine as you cursed the pajama shorts and stupid t-shirt you had thrown on. 

You could feel Sirius’s grey eyes on you, staring straight into the side of your head. But you refused to look, instead burying your face further into your hands. You didn’t notice he had moved until he was right next to you- 

“Take it-” Sirius handed you his suit’s jacket, basically shoving it into your arms so you couldn't say no. “You’re going to get sick,” You stared at it, fingers softly squeezing the soft material. He sat next to you. 

The small, beige couch you had chosen to sit on was much like the one you had when you were freshly moved in. It lived in your home for a measly two weeks before Euphemia decreed that no child of hers would have such a stiff abomination in her watch. It was hard and restricting. The two of you might as well have been sitting on a wooden bench. But neither of you dared to move, so you sat, silently, both wishing Euphemia could save you from the clutches of the rigid couch.

Sirius thought of the sofa. And when you first moved in. Together and bright-eyed, he had been so in love with you then. He reckons he still was. But now he knew there was no hope of you loving him back.

He cursed the couch silently.

“Put it on,” he sighed as he leaned back, his white button-up shifting as he threw his arm over the backrest. “Don’t be stubborn-”

You huffed as you put it on, “thanks…”

“Don’t mention it,” you leaned back too, the back of your neck close to his arm, almost touching but quite. “Did you bring my camera?” you nodded, but he didn't answer back. 

You couldn’t stand the distance between you, a thick jelly of silence that was anything but peaceful. You dreaded going home, you dreaded having to face that your best friend, the boy you so dearly loved was upset with you.

Especially over something so petty. What did he care that you had a job? Your own life? Something to do that wasn’t shared with him? It was rather selfish of him, wasn’t it? You could almost hear your father spew that sentence from the darkest pits of your mind. 

You stared at the small bag in Sirius’s hand. You didn’t know why you hadn’t taken notice of it before. He clutched the small velvet bag tightly. Did it have an extension charm? You wondered if it was his things then, had he carried that to the funeral? You thought you would’ve noticed. Had he been planning on staying at James’s? Had he cleared his things at some point without you noticing? 

You rubbed circles into the palm of your hand and chewed at your lip worryingly. 

If your father knew he’d call you stupid. Stupid for not looking for an apartment to move out, stupid for not being the first to leave, irresponsible, too trusting, so stupid.

You decided you maybe didn’t want to know if he was indeed planning to leave. 

“Hey-” he shifted uncomfortably “do you think we can talk about... you know, everything”

“Sirius I don’t know if it's the time-” You refused to even take a peek at him, even though you knew he was staring right at you now. 

“Well, Merlin knows how much longer we’re going to be here-” he was right, you had all been here for ages waiting for the baby to come “so yeah it might be the time,” 

You sighed, finally turning to look at him. His stupid shiny grey eyes, and his stupid porcelain skin. His stupid stupid frowning lip. He’d deny he was sporting one if you called him out on it. 

He had always been a pouty one.

You were mad. At least you wanted to be, but when you looked at him, in all his disheveled glory, the hair he had run his hand through a thousand times, the white button-up with the top buttons undone and that had been unconsciously untucked from his slacks. You just couldn’t be genuinely mad.

So you softened, finally moving to face him. Your knee knocked against his, his warmth transferring from his leg onto your skin.

“I’m sorry, for being so petty earlier- it was unfair and-” Sirius sighed, staring at your hand on your lap. His fingers twitched with the need to hold yours, to feel your no doubt freezing fingers between his warm ones.

He thought of your first week of living together again.

He grabbed your hand. You stared at the bag in his other hand again.

Like if you stared at it hard enough it would tell you its contents. But your thoughts drifted as your soft fingers were enveloped in his. Yet, you didn’t say anything, you didn’t dare. You squeezed his hand and he finally looked up, back from whatever thought he had briefly gotten lost in. 

“I’m really sorry about the past few weeks-”

“I’m sorry too,”

“I just wish you could trust me enough to let me take care of you- there’s no one else in the world I’d rather spend my days with…” You swallowed thickly as he spoke “I love you-”

“My baby’s here!” James burst through a door down the hallway, cheering at the top of his lungs without caring about the nurse shushing him. “He’s here and he’s beautiful come on you lot- come on!”

Sirius quickly scrambled to his feet, the other two boys following in the chaos of unsticking themselves from their respective sofas. You tried to ignore it, the sting in your heart. You loved him too of course. But did he love you the way you loved him? 

There simply wasn't any time for that right now.

Sirius didn’t let go of your hand; he simply pulled, pulled until you came up with him. His hand grabbed tightly onto yours and as you ran down the hall, straight for the door to Lily’s room. 

He never once let go of you.

The room was lowly lit, and Lily looked exhausted, but a smile graced her features nonetheless. Sirius tossed the small velvet bag to James with his free hand. The worry of it left your head as quickly as it had come.

Sirius dragged you by your hand all the way up to the bed, his face turning in wonder as he looked at the small baby in Lily’s arms. 

“He’s so small” Peter called out from the foot of the bed,

“He’s so bloody pink-” Sirius glanced at James’s darker skin, a beaming smile nevertheless decorating his face. “Do you reckon he’ll stay like that? Or did he get the redhead’s genes?”

“Oi is that the first thing you have to say about your godson?” James couldn't help but laugh

“My godson?” Sirius stared blankly at James, briefly flickering between Lily’s equally beaming smile and the baby’s little pink face.

“I meant to ask but-” James smiled sheepishly as Lily glared, 

“Merlin he’s my godson”

“Do you want to hold him?” Lily whispered as Sirius’s face broke into a smile as well, 

“Of course, I want to hold my bloody godson Evans- he’s my godson”

Remus chuckled as he patted James on the back. You couldn’t help but wrap your hand around the camera that hung from your wrist.

 You snapped a picture. 

You knew what Sirius would write on the back of it later.

My godson. July 31, 1980

Just simple, and small, in his fancy, loopy cursive and black ink. But monumental in itself. He had done it. He had a family, he had always had one but now he was properly part of it. He was not just a stray taken in, but he now had a part in it. He’d love that baby until his body gave out. 

He knew it, you knew it, James and Lily knew it. From the second he was born, this baby would be the most loved baby on the planet. 

“I can’t believe he’s mine-”

“You don’t get to take him home mate”

“Hush Prongs- I’m going to be his favorite I know it” Sirius smiled, a playful smirk exchanged between friends. James couldn’t help but quip back

“Right after Uncle Moony-” 

“Ah that’s for sure,” Remus laughed 

“I meant his favorite parent but I reckon Wormtail will be the preferred uncle, with all the candy pouring from his pockets the kid is gonna love him no doubt-” You all couldn’t help but laugh-

“Do you want to hold him too?” Lily asked, her gaze shifting onto your face. “I reckon the godmother also deserves to hold baby Harry-”

“Are you serious? 

“Obviously-” 

“Lily are you being serious-”

“Yes! Black hand her the baby- god-” Sirius chuckled as he passed the small bundle into your arms, placing the camera at the foot of the bed. He was heavier than you expected, and the tears gathered in your eyes as you looked at his little face. Harry was small and definitely pink. He was a quiet little thing, undisturbed by the exchange of hands he was going through. Sirius leaned his chin on top of your shoulder, his cheek borderline pressed against yours. 

“Isn’t he the ugliest most precious thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Oi!”

“He’s so ugly it's cute-” His words tickled your ear

“I don’t think babies are supposed to be all that cute straight after birth Sirius-”

“I know love,”

“Alright, picture time idiots-” Remus said, leaning on his cane as he grabbed the camera with his free hand. James sitting on the side of Lily’s bed as you and Sirius also approached, baby Harry still in your arms.

“I look like shit-” You huffed as you sat on the bed with Lily

“I do too”

“Yeah, but you have a reason to Lils” Lily laughed. Sirius’s hand never left your back. 

“Well- he won’t remember anyway-”

“The picture will-”

“Say godparents!” Sirius had basically wrapped himself to your side, his face pressed against yours, his arm around your waist as he leaned down for the picture.

The flash made your eyes sting, a wide smile on your face. 

It was fitting, the disheveled state of the lot of you, even in the picture the nurse would take for you all later. A family sewed together like a mismatched quilt. 

Sirius smiled all night.

“Seriously though why is he so pink? Is this some sort of condition? Bloody baby doesn’t look anything like Prongs-”

“-Yet” James beamed.

My family, July 31, 1980

taglist ; @thatlittlered @giuli-in-earth @notsolong-pause @niceonejames7 @caspiankingofnarnia @ilovejamespottersomuch @bmyva1entine @lanadelreykt @froggiedragon @stanzie

LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED U OR IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED (i was gone for like a month and some change so i may have not been able to properly keep up with the tag list but i did my best)

[tkwrites]

Soft Launch; Hard Launch - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif from @kawhh

Title: Soft Launch; Hard Launch: A 500 Follower Celly

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (ofc) 

Warnings: Though most of this is fluff, there is a really nasty comment left on a social media post and mentions of poor self body image.

Summary: 4 times Quinn soft launched his relationship with Sarah, and one time he did it for real.

Word Count: 2,900

Comments: The idea of writing a 4+1 fic for my 500 mark has been rolling around my head for a while, so when I hit 500 followers about a week ago, I thought I'd try my hand at it. Many thanks to @aloragrace and @captainlexaproluvr for looking over this piece and calming my fears about doing new things. I’ve never written in this format before, but I quite like the way this turned out.  I’d love to know what you think!

I'm just bowled over and so excited! Thank you all so much. Knowing people enjoy my writing has been so fulfilling to me. I’ve wanted to write since I was about thirteen, but never had the guts to publish anything for people other than my friends to read. Now that I have and know that people like it, it feels a bit like I’m giving my little inner awkward teenager the best gift she could ever ask for. Thank you for your encouragement, kindness, and support! I can’t tell you how much it means to me.  

If you did enjoy this Snapshot, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

Soft Launch; Hard Launch: A 500 Follower Celly

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot 

1.

The first time Quinn put Sarah on his social media was after they got home from the family reunion. The Monday after she left, he was looking back through his photos while he waited for her to get off work. He found one from their beach day he’d completely forgotten he’d taken. Sarah was kneeling over a tide pool with a few of his cousins, pointing to something in the water, while they looked into her face with rapt attention.

Even though her face was mostly hidden from view, she looked beautiful in that casual way he loved so much. Her hair was up in a bun, and she was wearing a pair of denim shorts along with her orange swim top.

Do you mind if I put this on my stories? he asked later that night, once she'd texted that she’d arrived home safely and would call as soon as she changed.

“I don’t mind,” she told him after they said their initial hellos, caught up on each other's day, and he asked again. “I’m a little surprised this is the first photo you want to go with,” she admitted. 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d want to go with something more…” she trailed off, unsure exactly how to phrase what she was thinking. She’d only glanced at it, but from what she remembered, the photo wasn’t anything special. It was from the tide pools, and though it fulfilled the mission of showing her without showing her whole face, she didn’t look excessively beautiful or anything. In fact, the first thing she’d zeroed in on were her stomach rolls. Echoes of girls calling her too fat to be with NHL superstar Quinn Hughes rang in her mind. 

“I like it,” he defended before she could find the right words or slide down the slippery slope of body image woes. “You’re doing what you love.” 

It melted something in her that he looked at that photo and saw her passion. “That’s really sweet, Quinn.” 

“So it’s okay?” 

How could she say no now? “Yeah. It’s okay.”  She reminded herself she wouldn’t see any of the things people were saying about her unless she sought them out, which she had no intention of doing.

He put it up with nothing more than an orange heart in the corner as soon as they hung up from the FaceTime call.

Less than a minute later, Eunice raced into Sarah's room. She was so overly excited, she ran into the door jam, bouncing off of it before regaining her balance. She thrust her phone into Sarah's face. “Quinn put you on his stories!” 

Glancing at the screen, Sarah smiled. “Yeah, he just asked me if he could put that photo up.”

“Oh my god. This is so dreamy,” she gushed, turning the phone back around to look at the picture again. “You look so pretty.” 

2.

The second soft launch was on his main feed at the end of the summer, though he still didn’t show her face.

It wasn’t until they got home from Hawaii and all shared their photos that Quinn realized just how many pictures his mom had taken. He was used to her snapping pictures of them - it was a very common occurrence to look around at any given moment, especially on vacation, to find her brandishing a camera to document everything she could.

He’d never appreciated it more until he was looking through the shared album and saw all the moments his mom caught. There were photos of him and his brothers and him and Sarah once she got there. There was even a video of his and Luke’s shock at their girlfriends’ arrival.  

His favorite picture she took was from the beach outside of their vacation rental. Anxious for a quiet moment together, Sarah pulled him outside to watch the sun set.

The rest of the family was inside, debating something about dinner. They had been on a kayak and hiking tour that day, and he was so tired, he was beyond caring. As long as some kind of food was provided, he’d be fine.  

His mom must have walked out onto the back porch to snap the photo. 

 The sun, sinking into the ocean in front of them, turned them into shadow as Sarah leaned her head on his shoulder. It was the kind of photo people put in vacation advertisements, and when he’d seen it, he knew it had to be included in his end of summer review.

He uploaded it with a carousel of six other photos before captioning the post, One for the books. 

After receiving sixty notifications in the first five minutes, most of them from people he didn’t know asking who the girl in the 5th photo was, he muted the app.

It wasn’t until he looked at the comments that evening and saw, I think this must be that fat bitch he was dating during the season. I was hoping they’d broken up since he didn’t stay in Vancouver this summer and she did, that he disabled comments all together.

He’d been so angry that someone who didn’t know either of them would say anything like that, he had drafted a reply before realizing he was about to engage in a reactionary argument with someone he didn't even know or have any emotional ties to. He wanted to correct them, but knew he should really get PR help to do that. 

When they talked about social media for the first time in their relationship, Sarah explained how the comments from these so-called fans made her feel. Even though she knew they didn’t know her as a person and didn’t have any place in their relationship or lives, it was difficult not to let them get to her. 

He knew the feeling well. He’d gone through the same thing when he accepted the captaincy. The pressure to perform had been so immense, it had turned him into a snappy, short-fused, irritable person until, at the advice of some other captains in the league, he started putting his phone down regularly. 

3. 

The third came when it was his turn to sit for a 32 Thoughts podcast episode with Elliott and Kyle, and they were shooting the breeze before the actual interview began. 

“We missed you at dinner,” Elliott said, referencing a banquet that the league had hosted the night before for all players and press on site for the whirlwind pre-season media tour.

Without really thinking about it, Quinn found himself explaining, “my girlfriend's family lives here, so Jack and I had dinner with them last night.”

“She's not here?” Elliott asked. 

“No, she has stuff going on back home so she couldn't be, but it was nice to see them.” Some players brought family to the media tour, but not many. It was a short stint, shorter than most road trips during the season, so most didn’t bother.

Their producer, Shanna, flashed a red light, letting them know it was time to start the formal interview. Kyle counted down, “three two and one,” before introducing Quinn and starting with the questions. 

At the end of the recording, both Elliott and Shanna asked if he wanted them to cut his talk about his girlfriend and her family from the episode. Usually, they left those anecdotal conversations in, especially on the youtube videos, but this one was a bit more nuanced. 

“I think it should be fine, but can I talk to her about it and get back to you?” 

“Of course,” Shanna said, smiling. “It’s not slated to go up for a few weeks, so just let us know by the 17th.”

When he'd asked Sarah about it that night after arriving home, she seemed unconcerned. 

“I think that's kind of up to you.” She knew from their FaceTime conversation the night before that Quinn, Jack and their agent had eaten at Rachel's house, so there was no risk of someone posting photos and making the connection they were with her family.  

“I mean, people have been speculating you have a girlfriend, right?” she asked. 

“Yeah.” It was more than speculation at this point - most people knew he had someone. They just didn’t know who she was. 

“And people who found my instagram already know I’m from Nevada, so I don’t really see what the worry is.” 

He’d expected her to be more worried about it, but now that she was responding to him with cool logic, he had to admit she had a point. 

The next day, he messaged Elliott along with his agent to let them know they could keep the anecdote in the recording. 

When it hit the airwaves, Sarah purposefully didn’t check any of the messages Eunice sent her for a few days. Eunice had taken it upon herself, and continued at Sarah’s request, to report big gossip to her so Sarah wasn’t tempted to go on the blogs or fan accounts. 

Most responses were sort of victorious bragging, posting about connections with Sarah’s instagram “about me” section where she talked about being from Nevada, feeling that this interview proved them right. 

4. 

The fourth time wasn’t planned. 

When Quinn got home from their first regular season road trip, the apartment was dark. It was past two in the morning, and Sarah had a therapy appointment at eight, so she hadn't waited up for him. 

In his trek through the apartment, he paused by the dining room table. Until Sarah moved in, walking into the apartment after a road trip was often the worst part of the whole thing. He was always glad to be back in his own bed, but nothing seemed to exasperate his singleness more than coming home. Not only was he going from being surrounded by the team to being totally alone, he was coming home to an empty house. The combination of the two felt stiflingly lonely.

The mess of textbooks, highlighters, and notebooks left out on the dining room table was such proof of someone else living in the house, it made his chest feel full. 

In a spur of the moment act, he snapped a picture of the dimly lit chaos and posted it to his Instagram stories. No caption, no explanation. Just the simple proof that he wasn't alone.  

“Why did you put a picture of my books on your instagram?” she asked the next day after getting home from her appointment. 

He shrugged, “I liked it.”

The season before, anytime she would study at his house, she would clean everything up, organizing it all back into her bag before going home or coming to bed. 

Now, her books often stayed out on the dining room table on weekends. He offered to convert one of the spare bedrooms into an office for her, or let her use the office he had a computer in now, but she turned him down. 

“I like studying out here,” she'd said, glancing up to look out of the windows. “If it bothers you, I can put everything away.” 

“It doesn't bother me,” he'd said, leaning down to kiss her temple. “I just want you to be comfortable here.” 

She had beamed at him and turned her head to brush her mouth over his. 

5. 

Quinn waited until the one year anniversary of the day he and Sarah met to officially announce their relationship. 

He knew by that time that they could go the distance. He'd seen her through every month and every season and saw no major red flags. Not to mention the fact that everyone in his life liked her, and her family and friends seemed to like him.

Over the course of the year, he'd moved pictures he liked of Sarah and pictures he liked of them together into a favorites album he simply called S. So, in late January, he put together a post and sent it to his PR rep to look over. After they sent it back with some edits, he showed it to Sarah. 

Sarah, who for her part, knew this was coming but wasn’t quite sure what to expect, was taken a bit off guard. She knew Quinn read a lot and was thoughtful with his words, but reading his simple summary of their relationship made her melt. 

He’d included 5 pictures of her that were interspersed with 5 pictures of them together. The first photo was that perfect, golden hour sunset selfie. The rest were all photos she knew he loved. She’d seen some of them, and some of them, she hadn’t. There was a candid shot of her laughing with Jack and Luke that she hadn’t seen before as well as a picture she never knew he’d taken of her sitting at the dining room table with her laptop, looking pensively at the screen, fingers poised to type. There was the photo of them in front of their Christmas tree, and one of them laughing so hard, they were falling all over each other on a beach in Hawaii.

Under the photos, he’d simply written, The best year. and tagged her in the final photo - the dreamy picture Kaitlyn had taken of them under the mistletoe. 

“Quinn,” she breathed, looking up to find him smiling expectantly at her.

“You like it?” he asked. 

“I really like it,” she said, fighting back the tears that pushed at her eyes. 

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

He was ready for the world to know that not only was he taken, he was taken with her, and not afraid to say it, but he knew it would likely open up another door of criticism she’d never been exposed to before. 

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I’m ready.” 

The fact that Quinn wanted the world to know, without a doubt, that she was the one he was with made her heart race. 

They didn’t have to hide anymore. To her, it was the last, final cementing block in their relationship. It spoke of his faith in their future and his dedication to staying with her. He wouldn't put it out for the world to see if he had any doubts. 

He posted it right before practice two days later so he could work the anxiety of it off. 

When he got back to his locker an hour and a half later, he had 1,654 likes and over 200 comments. At first glance, they all seemed positive. Not that what random strangers thought of him meant much, but it was nice to know his fans were happy he was happy. 

Bonus scene: 

On the afternoon of the anniversary of their one year of meeting, Reece stopped Sarah as she walked into the building after work.

“I’ve got a delivery for you, Ms. Roberts,” he said, walking with her over to the security desk. 

Before he’d even picked them up, Sarah knew it must be the large bouquet of flowers that were an absolute riot of color - purple and yellow, red and pink, white and green. 

Quinn was out of town - playing in Toronto at that very moment, in fact - and she knew he must have sent them in place of being there in person. 

“Thank you, Reece,” she said, accepting the flowers and a card from him before heading upstairs. 

Trying to manage the vase, card, and her school bag, as well as press the button in the elevator, resulted in her accidentally slopping a large amount of water down her front. Thankfully, the large bouquet hid the spill from anyone else in the elevator, and she was the only one to get off on the top floor. Upon entering the apartment, she set the vase and card on the bar and went straight up to change. 

It wasn’t until she wandered down to make dinner during the second intermission and saw the bright flowers that she remembered the card. 

Her full name was on the envelope in someone else’s writing, and the front of the card was completely blank, so when she flipped it open, she was surprised to find Quinn’s handwriting filling most of it. 

It’s been one year since I took refuge in the aquarium, only to stumble upon a beautiful woman giving a talk about octopus and took the chance to ask her out. Back then, I just thought she was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen. Now I know that not only is she beautiful, she’s smart, kind, supportive and so driven she inspires me to do better. I don’t like to think what my life would be like if she’d turned down my offer for lunch, or I didn’t get up the guts to talk to her. This time with her has been a whirlwind and the best year of my life. 

I wrote this for the caption of the post that went up today, then realized the only person I really wanted to read it was you. 

Happy one year of meeting, Sarah. I’m so glad you took a chance and went out with me even though I was more than a little awkward. 

I love you. 

Love, 

Quinn 

Moved to tears by his thoughtful words, Sarah snapped a picture of the flowers to put up on her stories, adding the caption, Love you, @_quinnhughes, before texting him.

I love you. I can’t believe it’s been a year. Here’s to a million more.

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

A Love that Burns

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

A/n: You don’t understand the chokehold this man has on me ughhhhh. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy, I wrote this very fast!

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x wife character (I usually do x reader but I really like the name Aurelia so I used that!)

Warnings: fluff, angst, arranged marriage, Curse words, mention of fire, minor injuries, burns. A bit of suicidal ideation. Allusion to smut hehe. 18+ to be safe please. No minors!!

Summary: General Marcus Acacius’s new bride is troublesome, he doesn’t seem to mind though. After an incident occurs she pulls away from him and he can’t figure out why.

****************************************************

“He’s going to be furious…”

“Such a shame…do you think he’ll throw her out?”

“He might… we always knew she was trouble but this time she’s gone too far…”

“Poor dear, I doubt even her father will take her back…”

The roaring flames had long since died down, leaving now only crackling embers and dark clouds of smoke. How much time had passed you didn’t know. You hadn’t moved from the ground, knees planted on the hard stone, eyes glued to the scene before you.

What was once a grand structure, beautifully carved and molded for someone equally as impressive was now nothing more than a pile on the ground and it was completely your fault.

How had wanting to get a book out of your husband’s study and lighting a candle to see had gone so wrong?

You should’ve listened to your conscious, it told you that you shouldn’t go into your husbands private building but you knew he had an extensive selection and while you were newly married, barely even a few months he was your husband and you didn’t really think he would mind.

In the short time you were married the general had been accommodating and civil, more than civil actually, he had been doing his best to make you feel comfortable. That being said you did barely see him at times due to his duties and when you did it seemed all you did was cause him trouble.

Like that time you accidentally visited the animals one early morning when you were bored and didn’t shut the door behind you. Acacius had been abruptly woken up by the clucking of chickens ascending the staircase and running around the halls like it was a party. You had been redder than a pomegranate when you realized your mistake.

Or that time you lost your wedding necklace and spent hours wading in the lake where the laundry was washed thinking it fell there. You’d never forget the feeling when Acacius strode through the gates in tow with fellow commanders for a meeting but everyone froze seeing the comical sight of you, a highborn lady dress pulled up and soaking wet. That time made you want to drown yourself right then and there.

Oh and how could you forget the time you wanted to show your appreciation by baking his favorite dessert according to the maids and thought adding some cinnamon you’d bought in town was a good idea. Not even bothering to wonder why the kitchens didn’t have cinnamon in the first place… turns out the reason was a good one, the general had an allergy.

This time it was his face that was redder than yours… you didn’t face him for days after that..

There were so many moments like that but somehow each time he didn’t get angry like you expected. He didn’t yell or scold you.

When you bit your fingers nervously watching the servants try to catch the chickens he slowly walked out, surveyed the scene in what you could guess was mild disbelief and perhaps a bit of amusement, looked at you then turned back to go back to sleep.

When you were soaked in the lake he quickly regained the men’s attention, led them inside then a few minutes later reappeared with some haste. You didn’t get a chance to protest when he stepped in and pulled you out by your arm. Still he didn’t yell, he did start to scold a bit though because you were shivering, but when you suddenly yelped and squirmed reaching in your dress and pulled revealing a flopping fish with your necklace around it he lost all his words. You celebrated while he just started in disbelief.

And when you literally poisoned him you sobbed beside him as the healer frantically gave him several mixtures and an injection of some sort. You apologized over and over like a parrot. When he could finally breathe again, he closed his eyes exhausted but said, “Don’t cry, it tasted great..”

All those times he was so kind, unlike any other man you’d met before. To think you had been so afraid of the arranged marriage and now all you could think was how he deserved someone so much better.

He was older and saw you as a child you were sure of it. You wished you could act like the other wives, but you just couldn’t.

Your eyes glazed watched the flickers before you as if in a trance.

You’d burned his favorite place in the villa. A building constructed years ago that served as his study, his place of comfort, his safe space. He’d showed it to you when you first got married. You’d been amazed at how beautiful it was on the inside.

You could see on his face how this place made him relaxed compared to the rest of the villa.

And now it was gone..

The whispers of the servants were muffled around you but you caught them all the same.

You couldn’t find the strength to move, maybe you should have at least moved back, away from the falling ash and debris but you couldn’t.

You ruined everything, just like always…

There was some more muffling amongst the crackling, some sounds you didn’t register, couldn’t register… then a sharp yell. A tone you didn’t recognize.

“Why is she-!”

There was pressure on your shoulders but still you couldn’t look away.

All gone… all your fault…

You think you heard something loud but couldn’t understand it.

The pressure increased… so did the shouting but still you couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t until you saw the burnt pile get smaller that you realized you were being pulled- no carried away.

You felt so disoriented, everything in your vision jerking and you realized whoever was moving you was running.

The scene was still in view but further away, your eyes not daring to look away. You did however register that you abruptly stopped moving and were sat on something upright. The pressure returned to your head then arms then body.

Yelling, someone was yelling in your ear but it wasn’t until the pressure reached your face and you were forced to look away from the scene.

Eyes, wide and frantic, searched yours. Lips opened and shouted something you still could not understand. But the face you knew all too well. The one you wronged, the one you did a horrible misdeed to. Acacius.

You inhaled loudly, more of a gasp then coughed. Suddenly you felt everything crash into you at once, from when you were numb a moment ago now you burned in pain, lungs on fire, skin itchy and stinging, eyes feeling like the sun itself were upon them. You coughed and sputtered uncontrollably, breathing a foreign concept to you.

His strong hands at your back and arm. Almost cradling you was a strong contrast to his shouts that you could now hear louder than ever.

“Breathe, easy, easy- Dammit why did no one move her! Call the healer now!” He barked behind him.

Angry he was angry. Of course he was, even gentle and kind men like him had limits, limits that you’d crossed by battlefields.

Hot tears came, still you coughed, you wondered how long you could continue like that before losing consciousness, there were already spots in your vision. The sobbing now made it worse.

“Shh shh breathe it’s alright, just breathe for me wife, all is well, shh look I’m here, you’re safe” he pulled you into his lap holding you firmly in the hopes you’d calm down. He kept whispering to you, pleading and eventually the coughing stopped. You wondered how much more smoke it would’ve taken to kill you…

“That’s it, you’re safe, shh just breathe, I’m here” more tears emerged as you registered his words for the first time. How horrible you felt to have this angel of a man cradling you and comforting you when you just burned down his sanctuary.

It would have been easier on your heart had he yelled and thrown you aside.

“The healer is here!” Someone called out, your eyes were closed on his chest but you heard everything around you.

Swiftly you were lifted in his arms and carried to his chambers. The healer immediately got to work peeling back the fabric you only now noticed was dark as ash and singed in many places. Acacius stood behind her as close as he could without getting in her way. You watched as his eyes scanned your form, concern etched as he took in all the burns and scrapes. Your heart couldn’t handle it, he deserved a woman 100times better than you. You shut your eyes of the heartache ignoring the healer telling you to stay awake, moments later you were unconscious.

**************************************************

Stinging pain roused you, you wanted to cry out because your body was screaming at you. You were alone in the room, but by the moonlight shining through and how exausted you felt you didn’t think you had been unconscious long. Fresh tears escaped and you didn’t bother to wipe them.

You sat up in raw agony realizing just how many injures you sustained. Your skin was covered in loose bandages and shiny from salve. Sitting so close at the time you didn’t feel anything but clearly you were affected.

Shouting from below had your head whipping to the window.

With great effort and pain you stood on shaky legs and approached the opening peeking your head outside, you squinted and saw figured in the yard.

You choked out a sob when you realized what was happening. Acacius was yelling… yelling at the servants and guards for not moving you. Yes they put out most of the fire but didn’t bother with you. You hardly blamed them, you were a burden, an embarrassment of a lady to the great house hold. Perhaps they wanted you to die, actually it would have been easier if you did.

You couldn’t bare to listen to it anymore, guilt eating you alive. For some reason you had to see it again. To confirm what you had done…

You ignored all the pain and like a ghost descended the staircase.

When you reached the bottom you sucked in a breathe before walking forward where the smell of smoke was still heavy and thick.

And there it was, like a brand on your heart the scene of your crime. There were no more embers, just wood and ash. You walked closer until you stepped on something.

You moved your sandal revealing a silver medal covered in soot. You remembered how proudly it hung on one of the walls. And now it was beneath rubble and dirt.

Two hands found your mouth as you let out a cry.

“Heavens What have I done?” The strangled voice sounded stranger to you.

“What have I done, what have I done” you whispered achingly.

“Aurelia!”

You choked again hearing his voice, you couldn’t bring your self to look just yet.

“Aurelia what are you doing!? Why are you up!?” He rounded you hands finding your shoulders.

Acacius waited for your answer but you had none, only fresh tears. He barely hesitated before reaching down and scooping you up.

“I can walk-“ you tried to say but it was unintelligible through your tears, you didn’t want to burden this man ever again, not for anything.

He glanced at you for a moment but continued his quick pace to the bedroom. He laid you gently on the bed, his concern growing at the endless tears.

“Are you in pain? Let me call the healer back-“ he was already halfway out again.

“No-! no I’m fine I’m fine don’t call I’m fine!” You cried out but tried to collect yourself to not worry him more. The truth is your body was on fire but you would never burden this man again.

He hesitated but listened and approached you again, “Then what is it? Are you afraid? Everything’s alright now, your safe”.

You bit your lip to keep in the cry. How could he be so kind?

“Aurelia? Tell me please, what is it?” He kneeled beside you a helpless expression on his face.

“I-I I’m so- im so sorry, I’m sorry- I don’t know how- I was in there for a b-book and lit some candles I don’t even know how it h-happened I-I-“

Your breathing was becoming erratic again but once you started apologizing you couldn’t stop

“I’m so s-sorry Acacius I’m so sorry” you buried your face in your hands.

“Aurelia shh it’s alright, don’t cry, it’s nothing that can’t be replaced, don’t apologize, you need to breathe alright?”

You barely heard him, but you needed him to know how sorry you were, even if you didn’t deserve forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry” you continued.

“Aurelia-“

“I’m s-sorry”

“Aurelia stop you’ll hurt yourself more!” He kneeled on the bed pulling you closer to him, worried that if you didn’t calm down you would go into another coughing fit.

“Shh it’s alright, I’m not angry, all that matters is you’re safe. Please calm down, can you breathe slowly for me? Look, follow my breathe…”

“That’s it, breathe in and out just like that, good girl…” he held you close and you felt your eyes begin to droop, exhaustion taking its toll. He sighed when your last words were a whispered apology.

***************************************************

The next day you were miserable, the burns although mostly shallow still caused great pain. Mentally you were a wreck, replaying the events over and over.

The healer told you you needed to rest for several days so that’s what Acacius made sure you did. He visited often but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak hardly a thing out of shame. Most times you just pretended you were asleep.

A week passed and you were allowed to get up as normal just to take it easy. Acacius had gone out for some business luckily because you didn’t think you had the strength to face him.

As you descended the stairs you tried to ignore the whispers of the servants. They all thought the same thing you were repeating in your mind.

Burden

Shameful

Useless

You sighed shakily nearing the now cleaned land where the structure once stood. His kindness made you feel horrible. You wish he would yell and scream at you, for you deserved all the bad words

You spent the day aimlessly wandering and thinking until you tired yourself out and retired to your chambers.

A jar of salve was left by your bed from the healer for the pain but you didn’t open it. You deserved every single sting and ache.

The next day you hardly felt like getting up so you didn’t. Food was brought, you didn’t bother eating it, instead you gave it to the birds outside the window.

In your solitude you came to a resolve. You would resist every urge, every inkling of your old reckless self. Acacius deserved someone who was 100 times the woman you were but since you were bound all you could do was at least not give him any more trouble. Another week passed, Acacius had been gone for some military business and it was easier that way.

It had been a whole nother week when Acacius finally arrived back to the villa. He dismounted his horse with a sigh. He did not want to be gone so long but he could hardly deny the emperors requests.

Tiredly he walked through the gates, scanning for signs of you. It was unusual to not see you flitting about.

A servant approached and helped him remove his cape.

“The Lady, how is she?”

The servant frowned a bit, “My Lady has been… resting these past weeks. We’ve not seen much of her.”

He frowned at that. Her wounds were not so terrible to have her bedridden so long. So what was wrong with his wife?

He nodded to the servant and made way directly to her chambers.

He knocked on the door listening for her voice.

“Come in” you called expecting a servant with food.

You were sat on the bench by the window staring out.

“My Lady..” he said almost hesitant.

Your head whipped to the side, eyes widened seeing your husband.

“A-Acacius… I didn’t know you were back…”

He walked inside and shut the door behind him.

“Are you well? The servants tell me you haven’t left the room much..” he stepped closer taking you in. Your sunken face, the way your eyes weren’t lit up with that sparkle he loved.

“I’m alright, thank you..” he frowned, not quite satisfied with the answer.

“Your wounds are healed?”

You nodded quickly.

He nodded then cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed, “Then why haven’t you been out?”

You thought of what to say for a moment, “I… no reason, just resting I suppose”

Another answer that didn’t satisfy him but he decided not to pry. If you didn’t want to speak he wouldn’t make you uncomfortable.

“Well I’ll be in my chambers should you need anything…”

“Thank you..” and with that he left shutting the door behind him. You bit your lip forcing the tears not to come. How dare you cry when he’s the one who should be upset. Get it together.

Several more days pass and Acacius was growing frustrated. You barely left the room, choosing to take your meals inside even when he was home. He only caught glimpses of you here or there on the occasional walk around the garden but even that was becoming rare. Where was his wife who was always flitting around singing something off tune or getting into trouble. He recalled the time he awoke to clucking outside his door, and the time he found you skirts tied comically splashing in the lake, then of course when you so happily baked for him flour marks on your face. He smiled fondly at the memories, then frowned.

Why had you suddenly changed so much? Had he done something? He knew the fire shook you up but perhaps he said something unintentional? Did you overhear him yelling at the staff and resented him for it? He was going mad.

It took another few days before his patience finally ran out and he all but burst into your room.

“A-Acacius?! What-“ you startled dropping the book in your hands.

“Tell me what it is” he demanded a bit out of breathe.

“W-what?”

“Tell me what’s wrong or what I’ve done to upset you into seclusion”

“Acacius you’ve done nothing wrong I swear…”

“Then what is it? Why have you been avoiding me? What has upset you so much that you’ve locked yourself away?”

You didn’t expect this, so you really didn’t know what to say.

“I… I think it’s better this way…”

His eyebrows furrowed a bit trying to make sense of what you just said. “I don’t understand, what’s better?”

You fiddled with your hands and had a hard time making eye contact so you chose a lovely spot on the floor instead.

“It’s better that I don’t…. cause problems..” heavens was that a lot harder to say out loud than you thought.

This definitely took him aback.

“What?”

Oh no was he upset now? He surely looked it.. maybe you should have explained better.

“I-I mean… I’m always causing you trouble and getting into situations that I shouldn’t… I figured it would be better if I spent more time here….”

He was quiet for a while, his face undeniably confused and upset.

“And you decided this all on your own?” He said in a tone that you were a bit nervous about. Calm but hidden anger.

“I-I… yes..”

“So your plan is to live out the rest of your days between these four walls?” He couldn’t hold back a scoff. His annoyance seeping through his usually calm demeanor with you.

“….It’s better-”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance “Better? Better for who exactly?”

“Acacius all I do is cause you trouble! I’ve been embarrassing you since we wed, the entire household thinks I’m a burden and they’re right, I cannot-I will not burden you anymore especially after-…” you couldn’t bring yourself to mention the fire. With a shakey breath you gathered yourself and continued.

“I just don’t want to upset you anymore…” you confessed.

The silence was deafening, your heart squeezing so much you were afraid it was going to burst.

“You know out of everything that’s happened between us I think this is the only time I’ve been truly upset.”

You eyed him swallowing dryly taking in his clenched jaw and crossed arms.

“Acacius…”

“You don’t get to decide this all on your own, and you especially don’t get to decide how I feel.”

“…”

“Have I ever been cross with you? Made you feel as if you’ve shamed me?”

“Well no but-“

“Then why?” In two strides he was upon you looking down.

“Why did you suddenly decide that I would like it more if you hid yourself away?”

“Because if I’m here not causing you problems then wouldn’t it be easier for you…?” You wrung your hands together, anxiety heightening with every moment.

“Fuck that”

You jumped a bit startled that those words came out of his mouth.

“W-what?”

“Cause me problems”

“Acacius-“

“Break things, scream shout, bring the whole villa down if you wish it but you will not lock yourself up like a prisoner. You’re my wife, I’d like to actually have you around.”

“You… you’re just saying that because you’re too kind Acacius… but my heart can’t take it anymore. I did something so awful and I know you must be upset…”

“Is this about the fire then?”

“…”

“Things can be replaced, nothing that burned cannot be bought again or rebuilt.”

“B-but you loved that place. It was your sanctuary”

“I did love it, but it’s gone now and I hardly think about it, it’ll be rebuilt soon enough not that it really matters. What matters is that you’re safe and sound.”

“How can you be so kind? So patient so-so perfect” he scoffed at the last one in mild amusement.

“Acacius it’s true! I’ve never met someone so gentle and sweet”

“Gentle and sweet..I’ll be sure to add that to my title right after general or Rome”

“You joke but it’s the truth…” you look down at your sandals.

He sighed before lifting your chin up with his warm fingers then caressing your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

“Tell me something wife, have you seen me act that way with anyone else?”

“Well…” you thought about it. He was civil with everyone.. stern a lot, with servants and his men and well everyone else…

“And why do you think that is hm?”

“Well… I assume it’s because you see me more as a child…”

“A child.” He repeated.

You nodded.

“Aurelia you are never allowed to assume anything ever again”

“What?”

“You truly think that’s how I see you? That I treat you kindly because I pity you?”

“Well…then why?” You asked genuinely confused.

“Why treat my wife with care? Why worry for her? Why speak gentle words? Why shower her with gifts? Tell me Aurelia why does a man do those things for a woman?”

“I… I assumed-um well I believed that you were just..”

“Just what? Doing that out of duty? Is it so impossible to imagine that I love my wife and want her to be happy?”

“….” Your eyes widened larger than the sun. You hardly believed the words. So you asked him in a whisper.

“W-what did you s-say?”

Instead of answering he leaned forward closing the distance with a soft kiss.

“Does that answer your question?” He breathed in the few inches between your lips.

You shook your head no and leaned in. You felt the smirk against his lips. After several moments you pulled back to regard him.

“I never imagined you’d feel the same way…I still don’t think I believe it…”

“Like I said, you’re forbidden to assume things from now on wife”

“I… I’m sorry…” his hands settled at your waist, his smell flooding your senses.

“Make it up to me…”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks but didn’t want to disappoint. You wrapped your arms around him pulling him into a deeper kiss full of emotion.

“Never allow such thoughts in your mind again, and you’re wrong, you’re not a burden. Yes I’ll admit you have a habit of getting into unique situations but I don’t mind, in fact I look forward to what surprises await me each day.”

“Do you really mean it? Even if I do awful things…? “

“Yes I mean it.. although I will draw the line at one thing, never do anything to put yourself in danger. When I saw you by the flames I-“ he paused sucking in a breathe.

And that moment you heart finally caught up with your head because no man could fake the emotions on his face like that.

You hugged him whispering an apology into his shoulder.

“You’ve apologized enough for a lifetime, come, dine with me, you’ve lost weight…” you nod letting him pull you by the hand out the door.

You heard some voices and frowned, anxiety creeping up again.

Ever the perfect man he caught on immediately.

“What is it?”

“The servants… it’s been hard to be around them… you might accept me for who I am but they haven’t…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it”

You cocked your head a bit at his amused tone, “why?”

“Because I fired them all”.

“Acacius!”

“Don’t protest, it’s done. I blame myself for not realizing what heartless people resided in my home. Besides I think you’ll like the new staff a lot better..”

You descended the staircase still confused why he seemed so smug until you heard voices you hadn’t heard in months.

“My Lady!”

“My Lady we’re here!”

“Oh how we’ve missed you!”

You couldn’t contain the loud gasp when your eyes landed on the familiar faces below. The staff that practically raised you was beaming up at you with joy.

“Oh my- Marika! Cicero! Diana! Felix! Ahh you’re all here!” You practically jumped from the staircase onto the group of your favorite people in the world.

Acacius couldn’t help but chuckle as the group enveloped you pulling you in, hugging and kissing you. Hardly the kind of servants he was used to but now he understood why you were so saddened to leave them behind. After your embraces you pulled back.

“What are you doing here? Is Father here?”

“You mean you don’t know?” The words would have worried you had everyone not been smiling ear to ear.

“Know what?” The general has employed us all here.

“W-what?!” You snapped your head to your grinning husband.

“B-but how did you- father must’ve been- h-how!?”

He laughed and descended the last couple steps, “I can be very persuasive if I need to be dear wife.”

“Oh- oh I don’t believe this!” you couldn’t contain your joy and parted from the group to jump on your husband who stumbled a bit but caught you of course. You kissed him then and there not caring who was watching- well in fact you didn’t care because everyone in the room were people you loved and felt safe with.

He was a bit surprised but when you pulled back his face was quickly morphed into fondness and satisfaction that the gleam in your eye was back.

“There she is..” you sighed happily hugging him once more then ran back to the awaiting group.

Well actually you made it halfway before pausing, turning around with an unsure look, and walking slowly back to him.

He tilted his head curious, “Acacius… will you… will you allow me to properly thank you… tonight? If that’s- if that’s something you’d like… or-“ your face that lovely shade of red he’d come to admire.

“Something I’d like?” He scoffed and for a moment you were afraid until you saw the expression in his eyes.

“Well I didn’t want to assume… you’ve forbidden it remember.” He smirked leaning down by your ear so only you could hear him.

“Listen well wife. This is the only exception you may always assume...” You shivered feeling his breathe caress your ear.

Gentle and sweet and now you had a new word to add, although you couldn���t quite find the right one just yet. But oh were you ever so eager to find out…

***************************************************

Is it getting hot in here guys?? No? Just me? Anywayyyy hope you enjoyed. I threw this up in one sitting so forgive all the mistakes. I finally saw the movie and wow, who knew they could fit so many hot men on one screen.

Also can anyone think of a better title lol😅

[katsu28]

operation mistletoe

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: all it takes is one meddling lando norris and some mistletoe at the mclaren holiday party for oscar and yourself to admit your true feelings for each other. (2.2k)

a/n: day two with osc! enjoy <3

“I don’t know why you won’t just tell him.” 

Lando is currently laying spread eagle on your kitchen floor, tossing a padel ball above his head while you shove a packet of popcorn into the microwave for your movie night. 

His question is out of the blue, but you know what he's talking about. Lando is wondering why you won’t tell a certain Aussie you both work with that you have feelings for him.

He’s been wondering for a while now, bordering on a year since you’d accidentally let it slip to him—almost half the time said Aussie has been part of McLaren. 

You scoff. “Have you sent it into the barriers too many times? That’s literally the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“But why?” He presses, sounding exasperated. You can’t see him around the island counter, but you can imagine that squinty eyed, scrunchy nosed look he always gets when he doesn’t understand something. You’ve seen it almost overwhelmingly often in the few years you’ve been friends. 

“First of all, we work together. If I tell Oscar that I like him and he doesn’t like me back, I’d never be able to show my face at MTC ever again,” You reason, searching for a bowl to put the popcorn in once it's done. 

It’s actually something you’ve put quite a bit of thought into when weighing the pros and cons of telling Oscar about your feelings. 

“I’d have to find a new job, but that might take forever, so I’d have to move back in with my parents until I find one—if I find one—and I’m pretty sure my mum turned my bedroom into a yoga space the moment I’d left for uni, so I’d have to move into the basement. And then the job I find might not even be around here, so I’d have to move back out of my parents’ place and find another place to live, and you know how expensive things are in some cities! I’d have to find roommates, and I don’t really fancy living with strangers somewhere I don’t know.” 

Lando has taken a seat at the counter when you turn back around with the bowl in your hands, staring at you with the most unimpressed look you’ve ever seen gracing his dumb face. 

“I reckon you’re overthinking things just a smidge,” He says flatly. He thinks you’re being dramatic. You’d call it brainstorming possible worst scenarios. 

You scowl, dumping the freshly popped kernels into said bowl before shoving it towards him. “You don’t know that.” 

He shovels a mouthful of it into his mouth on your way to the couch, sprawling out the length of it with his socked feet in your lap. “I’m pretty sure he fancies you too.” 

“Did he tell you that?” You raise a brow, swatting his feet off you. 

“Well, no, but I’m very perceptive.” 

“I saw you once say excuse me to a mannequin in a race suit at MTC because you weren’t paying attention to where you were going.” 

“Oi, fuck you!” Lando huffs, donkey kicking you lightly in the thigh. “You promised you’d never bring that up again. All I’m saying is that you should just man up and tell him flat out.” 

“I should what?” 

“Shit, I mean—well. Woman up? I guess?” He wonders, squinting one eye shut. “I dunno, really, but still. You never know how he’ll react. Could turn out mint.” 

“Can we not talk about it anymore? Please?” You groan, letting your head tip back against the cushions. “I just feel a little pathetic right now.” You feel Lando pat your head. 

“You’re not pathetic. Love just sucks,” He says sympathetically. “But sure, we don’t have to talk about it right now.” 

-------

True to his word, Lando doesn’t bring it up for weeks. In hindsight, you should’ve taken it as a sign of him planning something, but you’ve been busy with other things. 

Nothing happens until the McLaren holiday party, right after the FIA awards in Rwanda. Someone yells your name from afar as you’re going for a second drink, and when you turn to see who it is, you spot Lando waving wildly at you, gesturing for you to come over. 

Before you can even say anything when you approach, he grabs your hand, dragging you down the corridor. He walks and walks and walks, still not saying a word despite your constant badgering. 

Finally, he stops and takes you by the shoulders, maneuvering you a few steps to one side, forward a few steps. Then he nods once, backing up with his hands out in front of him. “Do me a favor, just wait right here for a second.” 

“What? Lando, what’re you—”

“No, no, no, this is important, I promise. Just stay there. Maybe close your eyes too if you could, that’d be mint.” 

Despite your confusion, you oblige, squeezing your eyes shut. You hear his footsteps retreat, but then nothing for a suspiciously long time. Had he just stuck you here and run off like an absolute wanker? 

A shoulder bumps yours before you can jump to any more conclusions, and it startles you. 

“What the hell is going on?” You question, frowning. Nothing but silence. “Lando? Are you there?” 

“Erm, nope. Not Lando.” 

Fuck. You know that voice. That voice makes your heart do a stupid tap dance against your rib cage every time you hear it.

Your eyes fly open to meet an extremely familiar pair of brown ones. Oscar’s eyes. Oscar is standing right in front of you, looking just as confused as you feel. 

“Oscar!” You exclaim, feeling your face flame hot. 

You can’t help the surprise seeping into your voice. To see him there isn’t something you were expecting at all, and it certainly doesn’t help that he looks extremely handsome, almost glowing with happiness fresh off the end of a successful season for the team. The blue suit he has on clings to him in just the right ways, and his cheeks have a pink flush to them.

“Hi,” He says awkwardly. You aren’t quite certain what to do at the moment, or what even is happening right now. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

“I don’t, actually. Lando just told me to stay here and that he’d be right back,” You admit.

Oscar lets out a noise of acknowledgement from the back of his throat. “Yeah, same, he told me it was something important. I’m not sure where he went, though.” 

He brings up a good point. Where had Lando gone?

Your phone buzzes in your hand at that moment, Lando’s name flashing across the screen when you glance at it. “Hang on, he’s just texted me,” You inform Oscar, angling your phone towards him as if whatever the message says will explain everything. 

Lando: Look up. 

Both of you look up at the same time, and what you see makes your heart drop into your ass. 

A sprig of mistletoe dangles from a haphazardly tied piece of string attached to the beam above. 

That fucker. You’re going to kill him. You’re actually going to kill Lando Norris. 

“Is that—that’s not mistletoe, is it?” Oscar squints up at the tiny plant, tilting his head. 

“It is,” You sigh, fighting the urge to go find Lando and strangle him with your bare hands. “I want you to know I’ve had absolutely nothing to do with this. It was all your idiot teammate.” 

Oscar laughs a little bit, shoulders shaking. “No, I know it’s all him. He thinks he’s hilarious.” 

“He sure does.” 

“I don’t think anyone’s ever told him he’s not,” He replies. Then he shifts on his feet, reaching up to run a nervous hand through his hair. “You look really nice, by the way. Been meaning to tell you that all night, but there’s so many people here I couldn’t find you. Until now, it seems.” 

All night. Oscar has been looking for you all night, just to tell you that you look nice. He’s making it really hard not to fall for him a little bit more. 

“Thank you, Oscar. You clean up well too.” 

He looks down at himself, rocking back and forth on his heels a little. “You think so? I didn’t know if the two shades of blue were too much.” 

“No, they look great. Really.” 

A sudden silence blankets the two of you, and you hate it. You wish you were better at holding conversation, but with Oscar, all your thoughts seem to go right out the window. 

“We should go—” 

“D’you want to—” 

“Sorry, sorry, you first,” You insist, pressing your lips together. 

“Sure, yeah. I was just, uh, asking if you’d maybe want to…y’know.” He glances up at the mistletoe, then back to you, and if you aren’t mistaken, he looks a little hopeful. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. I’m not—I wouldn’t force you or anything. I just…yeah, we could, if that’s something you’d be into.” 

“Oh!” You blink at him owlishly, completely caught off guard by his suggestion. Oscar wants to kiss you. Is this real life, or has Lando just played the ultimate cruelest prank on you?

“Tradition-wise, and all. I heard you’re cursed with bad luck for years if you break it,” He adds hastily, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Definitely wouldn’t want that.” 

“Definitely not,” He echoes, bobbing his head. What comes out of his mouth next is entirely out of the blue. “Did you know the word mistletoe comes from two Anglo Saxon words? Mistel, which means dung, and tan, which basically means branch.” 

“No, I did not know that! That’s…very interesting,” You say enthusiastically, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell the laugh threatening to spill out. If it were anyone else, you’d think it was quite weird, but Oscar’s word vomit is strangely endearing. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. It’s disgusting, and you didn’t ask. Erm, wow, I’m—” 

“Oscar.” 

“Yeah?” He squeaks, pale cheeks rosy with embarrassment. 

You push forward instead of saying anything else, pressing your lips against his briefly. It’s a split second kiss, but it’s all you can manage without feeling like you’re doing something monumentally stupid. Still, it’s enough to send a zip of something thrilling through your veins. 

When you pull back, Oscar’s eyes are wide, and immediately you think you’ve made a mistake. You open your mouth to blurt an excuse, an apology, anything, but he speaks before you can.

“Will you go out with me?” You falter at the sudden question, totally caught off guard, and it seems to make him panic. “Oh. Oh no. Did I get this completely wrong?” 

“No! No, you didn’t,” You say quickly, reaching out to take his hand. His shoulders slump in relief, fingers already tightening around yours. “I’d love to go out with you, Osc.” 

“Thank god, or this would’ve been really awkward,” He sighs. “Looks like Lando did something right today.” 

“For the first time in his life, probably.” 

“In all fairness, I don’t think I would’ve had the balls to ask you out otherwise,” Oscar admits sheepishly. You hum your agreement. It turns out Lando being a nosy meddler of a friend has its benefits sometimes. “Think we should thank him or something?” 

“Definitely not. His ego would get way too big.” 

Lando looks entirely too smug when the two of you return to the party, eyes immediately zeroing in on your joined hands. “I take it the mistletoe went over well?” 

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” You shrug casually, glancing over at Oscar to see him do the same. 

“Alright, fine. Be like that. You’re welcome, by the way. I expect a mad good Christmas present from both of you this year, I hope you know that.”

Oscar blinks. “But I already got you a set of tea towels.” 

“Ugh, spoiler!” Lando huffs, shoulders slumping. “Also, what are we—fifty? I mean, tea towels! Really, Osc?” 

“You said yours were ugly!” 

You make an offended noise from the back of your throat, furrowing your eyebrows. “I got you those towels for secret santa two years ago, you asshole.” 

“You did? Jesus, you two really are meant for each other,” Lando snorts, shaking his head. 

Oscar just grins over at you, giving a little tilt of his head as if to say great minds think alike. 

“By the way, we’ve got to get onstage soon, so if you’d stop making goo goo eyes at each other so we could get a move on, that’d be great.” 

“Oh. Alright.” Oscar’s smile fades as his gaze flicks back to you, seemingly displeased that he has to leave you so soon. “D’you mind if I…” 

“Go on, bring out the trophy. I’ll be right here,” You assure him, stepping in to drop a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Once they’re onstage little while later, Oscar’s already found you in the crowd, and as they lift the impressive trophy high in the air, he’s only looking at you, beaming so unbelievably bright it might just rival the sun. You smile right back at him, the pride you have both for this team and the two boys onstage just barely contained. 

This night marks the start of new beginnings, both for McLaren and for your relationship with a certain Aussie. And just like the 2025 season, you’re excited to see what next year will hold. 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new writing :)

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 14

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

I'm still writing I promise. My great grandma is okay so I'm not going back to where I grew up for now. I am having to work everyday until Christmas at the moment but managed to finish this chapter today after I had taken some time getting my thoughts for another story out. Sometimes starting on another fic that I have in my head helps me with my writers block for my original fics so look forward to a new one eventually after I have finished this.

Enjoy this long waited chapter

Chapter 14

“Alright baby girl.” Chan holds Y/n’s hand as they walk down the street of shops. “Let’s get you some swimsuits.”

Seungmin grabs the door of one of the shops and holds it open for the two as they walk in. The omega looks around seeing it’s specifically a swimsuit shop and immediately becomes a bit overwhelmed at all the options. Of course most of them are bikinis which she frowns at being unsure about showing off so much skin. 

“You okay?” Seungmin grabs her other hand, having smelled her scent sour a little.

“Yeah.” She whispers with a small nod still looking around her.

“Baby.” Seungmin frowns and steps directly in front of her so she would look at him. “You get whatever suits you are comfortable with.”

“It is why we’re the ones taking you.” Chan squeezes her hand. “We’re the two that won't try and convince you to get a bikini if you don’t wanna.”

“Thank you.” She whispers again smiling at both of them before letting go of their hands to start looking around the store.

She starts off looking at some of the one pieces as well as tankinis and grabs a few of them to try on. She also grabs a few pairs of some female swim trunks. 

“I’m gonna try these on.” Y/n walks away from them to the dressing room and they follow to sit in the waiting area outside of the rooms.

Chan sighs as they sit down in the chairs. “She doesn’t like this.”

“Shopping in general or for swimsuits?” Seungmin asks.

“I think for swimsuits.” The alpha looks at his younger mate. “Felix said she doesn’t really know how to swim meaning she probably didn’t go to the beach or pool much.”

“I can understand if she’s uncomfortable showing so much skin around us.” Seungmin thinks about it but shakes his head. “But Hyunjin said she went skinny dipping with Lix last night.”

Chan looks at the beta a bit shocked but then thinks about it for a second. “It makes sense actually.”

“How?” Seungmin furrows his brows. 

“Lixie is the most omega-like beta any of us has ever met.” Chan sighs. “She’s the most comfortable with him because of it, has been since the moment we met her. It was him she asked to sit in the bathroom with her during her bath after her dry heat. I honestly think if our pack didn’t have any alphas she would have wanted him to claim her first.”

“Well he was the first of the rest of us to do so.” Seungmin gives a small smile and Chan looks shocked again as he didn’t know about this. “Lix and I shared a room last night. I noticed the new bite mark on his neck. And I confirmed it when I saw Y/n this morning.”

“I’m just glad they have each other.” The alpha sits back in the chair. “I don’t know if you had noticed but Lixie hadn’t seem quite like himself before we found Y/n”

“I did.” Seungmin mumbles. “I think we all noticed.” He glances back towards the dressing rooms to see if there's any sign of the omega coming back out again and sighs when there isn’t. “He’s really perked up with her around. Jisung too.”

“All of you have.” Chan looks at him lovingly and reaches over, placing a hand on his thigh. “I know you and Hyunjin were against her at first but the moment her dry heat kicked in you stepped up more than I ever would have thought. I haven’t seen you like that with anyone other than Lixie and Ji.”

Before the beta could say anything else Y/n walks out of one of the rooms, placing most of the swimsuits on the rack of put backs but holds a few as she joins them. “I’m done.”

“Great.” Chan stands up taking the items from the girl. “I’ll take these and check them out then we can go get ice cream or something. Why don’t you two look up what's nearby.”

After Chan walks away Seungmin gently grabs her chin to look at him. “What’s wrong pup?”

“Nothing.” She tries to brush him off but he doesn’t let her.

“I’m not going to ask again, Y/n.” He gets stern. 

The omega looks down sad and he pulls her to his chest as she mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

“What's wrong Y/n?”

“A lot.” She whispers into his shoulder causing him to turn his head a bit to hear her better. “I’ve just had a feeling since this morning that somethings gonna happen. Something bad.”

“It’s probably just your anxiety, baby.” He whispers back to her, rubbing her back. “You’re in a new place, doing things that you aren’t used to so you’re on edge.”

“Maybe.” She sighs into his neck taking in his scent. 

“What else is bothering you?” Seungmin asks and he feels her huff against him for how he’s so observant. “It isn’t just today, yesterday too, after we had gotten to the house. You seemed so happy and excited at first but it changed after Min and Lixie went to the store.”

“It’s stupid.” She tries to pull away but he doesn’t let her. “Minnie.”

“Your feelings aren’t stupid.” He reassures her. “Tell me.”

Y/n sighs again. “Innie told me that everyone shared rooms while here which you all think helps the pack bonding and strengthens your relationship. But…”

“We get here and place you in your own room.” He sighs. “You feel excluded.”

She nods her head and feels him tighten his hold on her. “I get that at home I had mostly been sleeping in my room but the night before we left I slept in Minho’s bed with him and Jisung and I really enjoyed it.”

“So when Innie told you we all shared, you were looking forward to it.” He lays his head against hers. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why didn’t you ask if you could sleep with two of us?” He hates her feeling like this. “Or ask one of us to sleep in your room with you? I would have. And you know Lix would in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t know.” She grabs the back of his shirt. 

“You were scared we would deny you? Especially after putting you in your own room.” Seungmin quickly realizes and his heart breaks. “Baby, I promise you we would never.”

“I know, I’m trying to get used to that.” She pulls away to look up at him.

“You’re just so used to it that your brain isn’t letting you.” He pokes her head a little, making her give a small smile. “But we’ll fix that. Starting with me sleeping in your room tonight.”

“You don’t have to Minnie.”

“I want to.”

After checking out, Chan notices his mates embracing, causing him to smile. But he quickly realizes that something is wrong based on how Seungmin is holding Y/n and gets worried. 

“What happened?” He asks once he walks over to them and they both turn to look at their alpha as he tries to assess the situation. 

The beta looks at Y/n for a second before turning Chan. “Everything’s okay, just some anxiety.”

Chan looks at both of them for a moment and accepts that answer and rubs both of their arms. “Okay. Do you want to continue and go get something sweet or head back to the house?”

“No, we can go wherever.” The omega doesn’t want to ruin their date. “Minnie helped.”

“You sure?” He checks to make sure there wasn’t any doubt and that she’s okay. When he doesn’t see sign of any and she nods he takes her hand. “Alright, let's go find what's around that has something sweet to eat.”

“I’m sure the ice cream and pastry shop is still here from last time.” Seungmin takes his phone out of his pocket to double check. “Yup, it’s still there.”

“Then let’s go.” 

Chan leads the two along behind him, still holding the shopping bag as they walk out of the store and head towards the little dessert shop. The smell of fresh baked goods hits them the moment they walk in making Y/n eyes widen at the amount of options to choose from.

“Well we know you like chocolate since you enjoyed Felix’s brownies.” Seungmin grabbed her hand. “Do you want ice cream or do you want a pastry?”

“Or both?” The alpha chimes in.

“I think just ice cream.” She mumbles and they bring her over to the glass of all the ice cream flavors. 

The amount of flavors to choose from overwhelms her as she looks at all of it, shocked to see so many. Y/n’s been used to only chocolate or vanilla. 

“What flavor are you thinking?” Seungmin squeezes her hand. 

“Just chocolate.” 

The two males glance at each other in concern by her mood. 

Chan looks around and the little parlor is pretty much empty. 

“Why don’t you grab us a table and we’ll order.” He smiles at her and she tenses up. “It’s okay baby, there’s practically no one in here and we can see everything so you aren’t exactly alone. We won’t let anything happen.” 

She nods before letting go of their hands and goes to grab a table while they wait for the worker to finish the persons in front of them order before it’s their turn. 

“What’s going on Minnie?” Chan finally asks the beta after Y/n is out of hearing range, wrapping an arm around the younger to bring him into his side. 

Seungmin's sighs before look up at the older male. “She feels she’s being excluded being in her own room. And didn’t want to ask to sleep with any of us last night or have any of us with her because she was scared of being denied.” 

“We would never deny her like that.” 

“I know.” Seungmin reassures. “And I think deep down she does too. She's just so used to it that she still fears it.”

“Eventually she’ll no longer be afraid.”

The two ordered once it was their turn. Y/n sits at a table nearby watching the two when she notices someone walking past the shop outside. She didn’t fully get to see them but she could have sworn it was her cousin. She tries not to freak out as she had always gotten along with her cousins fairly well and just assumes that maybe he has a tournament on the island this week. 

“One chocolate ice cream.” Chan sets the cup in front of her, making her turn back to them and smile as they too sit down at the table. 

She scoops up a small bite on her spoon before licking it and her eyes widen. “Oh my god, this is so good.” 

The two males smile and give a small chuckle at her. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Lix has already fallen asleep between Changbin and Hyunjin in one of the beds so I don’t have to worry about him sleeping alone.” Seungmin walks into the omega’s temporary room seeing her on her phone. “I’m all yours tonight.” 

“Wanna watch a movie?” She puts her phone down and he grabs the remote off the dresser below the tv. 

“What movie were you thinking?” He joins her on the bed, putting a little bit of distance between them wanting her to move closer when she’s ready. 

“You pick.”

He gives her a bit of an evil smirk before searching for a horror movie deciding on The Conjuring and turns it on. He smiles more as she scoots closer to him and he wraps an arm around her shoulders so she can rest her head on his chest and protect her when she gets scared. 

He’s shocked when halfway through the movie instead of jumping at the jump scares or hiding farther into his chest during some of the scary parts, she’s laughing or just relaxed against him. 

“Are you not scared?” Seungmin looks down at her and she gazes up at him shaking her head. 

“No, not really a scary movie.” He gaps at her, making her laugh. “I’ve seen a lot of horror movies, Minnie, this doesn’t scare me.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t be scared of horror movies.” The beta laughs pulling her closer to him. “Ruining my plans of trying to have you cuddle up to me scared.”

“I’m still cuddled up to you.” She rests her chin on his chest to look up at him. “I’m just not scared.”

Seungmin gazes down at his omega for a moment before leaning down, kissing her forehead then they both turn back to the movie. Once the credits roll he realizes that Y/n has fallen asleep and can’t help but to laugh that she’s even able to fall asleep during a horror movie. 

“She asleep?” Chan asks, causing Seungmin to look up at the doorway to see the two oldest alphas. 

“Yeah, fell asleep a bit ago.” 

They both turn to look at the tv to see what they were watching as it goes back to the choosing menu. 

“Did you seriously make her watch The Conjuring?” Chan gives the beta a bit of a disappointing look. 

“Hey, she wasn’t even scared, in fact she laughed during it.” 

“And she fell asleep during it?” Minho looks at Y/n with a smile. “That’s my girl.” 

“Only we would end up with an omega who isn’t scared during horror movies like Minho.” Seungmin jokes. 

“You’re just grouchy that your plan backfired on you.” Minho winks at him before walking away.

Chan shakes his head with a sigh before looking at the two once again. “Night Minnie.”

“Night hyung.” 

______________________________________________________________

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[evajzcks]

shattering control ── tom riddle x reader

summary: tom gets in a fight for you for the first time and you help him clean his wounds

warnings: none? grumpy tom x sunshine reader

word count: idk but it is short

everything happened so fast. one moment, he was standing in the hallway, and the next, he was throwing punches at the guy who was trying to get your attention.

tom wasn’t an impulsive man. he never acted on impulse. everything he did was calculated, controlled, and with the intention of achieving something. but the moment he saw the discomfort on your face and the way the ravenclaw was grabbing your arm, he lost it.

“hey, I’m trying to talk to you,” you said when you noticed tom wasn’t listening to you.

“i’m listening,” tom muttered, still lost in his thoughts.

his hands were still shaking from adrenaline. when he closed his eyes, he could still see the red that blinded him the moment he lost control.

“you’re clearly not. otherwise, you would’ve sat on the bed already,” you said, rolling your eyes. “you’re just standing there like a creep.”

after tom finally came back to his senses, you brought him to your room and tried to clean his knuckles. but he just stood there, staring at his bloodied hands.

your relationship with tom wasn’t a secret to anyone. most of the time, the two of you were together after being paired up in defense against the dark arts class. it all started with silent study sessions in the library, both of you enjoying the other’s presence. then came lingering looks, followed by little touches here and there.

while you were energetic, bright, and talkative, tom was calm, controlled, and dark. yet somehow, your contrasting personalities seemed to complement each other perfectly.

“i was just thinking,” tom finally said after a moment, sitting on your bed and watching as you grabbed what looked like a first-aid kit.

“care to share your thoughts?” you asked, softly taking his hands and beginning to clean his wounds with care.

“i don’t know what happened to me,” he admitted quietly. the way you were tending to his hands, the fight, the blur in his head—it all felt too overwhelming.

tom hadn’t been raised with a family, nor had he ever cared about anyone but himself. that was, until you came into his life. now, the rage that consumed him when he saw the guy with you felt like it was tearing down the control he’d spent years mastering, along with the walls he’d built around his emotions.

“why don’t you use magic?” tom asked, watching you with a soft but puzzled expression. “it’s more efficient.”

“but it’s less caring,” you replied, kissing his hands gently. “and clearly, you feel something very strong for me, considering you just got into your first fight over a girl and almost killed a classmate.”

“if i acted with control, i probably would’ve done worse,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he noticed the smile tugging at your lips.

“oh yes, you would’ve hexed him!”

“worse…” he murmured, disgusted with his actions. if he’d waited, he might have ended up tossing a body into the black lake by now.

“he was bothering me, but you know you can’t just kill everyone, right?” you teased, starting to clean the small bruise on his lip. “i’ll kiss it better.”

“you’re mine, and people should know that,” tom said, pretending to be annoyed by the care you were giving him. “you’ve grown too soft.”

“and you’re grumpy,” you replied, placing a soft kiss on his lips and smiling slightly. “also, you can’t say I’m yours when you won’t even let me call you boyfriend.”

“don’t play with that, Y/N,” he said, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you into his lap, his earlier worries long forgotten. “that term is too mundane. you know we’re past that.”

a/n: this is my first fanfic here on tumblr so let me know if you liked!!!!!!!! i might do a part two but this time longer 😞

[look-at-the-soul]

Hi, Mar!! Following your idea, I'm sending you a question too, to celebrate this anniversary! 🔟❤️

You have the chance to give Tommy one (1) gift. But this gift is from this century, something that not existed back in 1900. What would you like to give him? 🤔

Flor I’ve to start this apologizing for taking forever to reply I’m so sorry!

At first you caught me off guard and I didn’t know what to give him because he already has it all, or he has an easy access to everything (almost) and then time flew but suddenly I had an ide of something that would touch his heart ♥️ Thank you a million times for sending in this ask!

I finally found the perfect gift for Tommy and I turned it into a little story 🎄I got the inspiration from a one shot I did back in the day so this would be like “their present day” “The Photoshoot”

****

It’s not about the gifts under the tree

Y/N stood in a corner next to the fireplace whilst everyone focused on their Christmas presents. They had full house, Ada had her Spotify playlist on, the kids enjoying the moment thrilled about the last adventure of the elf on the shelf and Santa’s presents.

And of course there was the empty chairs, the people who had passed away. And Y/N noticed that ever since Polly wasn’t around anymore it was taking a toll on Tommy, they were one, their bond was so profound, at another level… they understood each other completely.

“I think there was a present missing under the tree.” Y/N whispered presenting her boyfriend a box.

That caught Tommy’s attention, he hadn’t seen that box before, it was wrapped in a delicate deep red fancy paper with reindeers silhouettes as pattern.

“Love you didn’t have to give me anything.” It was strange for him the feeling of getting presents, when he was just a boy his parents didn’t have a lot of money to spend on gifts so he grew up with that feeling that it wasn’t necessary spend money on him, all the contrary because he went above and beyond for everyone.

“I know, but I wanted you to have this, so why don’t you hurry up and open it?” She encouraged softly, eager to see his reaction.

It was a big box with several boxes inside, there was a frown in Tommy’s forehead. Y/N bit her lower lip in an attempt to conceal her excitement.

As he ripped the white and gold paper, Tommy found a portrait that when he turned it around, he found a photograph in color of his beloved mother.

Time froze and his heart returned to normal as his fingers touched his mother’s features.

“How…” a million questions crossed his mind just as tears blurred his vision.

Y/N came around to circle him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Months before passing away, Polly gave me a few boxes of photographs, she thought I’d know what to do with it.

“I remember this photo, but it was damaged and it was in black and white.” Tommy choked, taking a deep breath to try to keep his emotions at bay.

“I edited it love, deleted the stains and colored the photo.” Y/N explained.

“Thank you.” He was fighting hard the lump installed in his throat.

Because as he took another box, he found a small album filled with Polaroids of pictures he had never seen before. His mother appeared in a couple dressed in a light blue dress in what seemed like her birthday celebration.

And before he could even ask Y/N how or when she got those, she whispered with a smile. “Found them in one of the boxes, then I learned how to convert film negatives into digital photos.”

Tommy couldn’t find the words to thank her for her thoughtful gift. Those photographs held memories of his loved ones, the only link he had to his keen and his past, and somehow she brought it back to life.

One by one, he revisited his past, his background through each Polaroid. And that was priceless.”There’s something else at the bottom.” Y/N pointed out when she noticed Tommy’s eyes were fixed on his mother portrait.

He blinked and looked at her in confusion. More? As if this wasn’t enough?

To his surprise, there was something else, a frame.

But it wasn’t any frame, Y/N plugged it and it came to life, showing Tommy a digital image of him and his mother.

“I might have used Photoshop a bit.” She explained nervously because of his silence.

The edited image showed him next to his mother and a blurred background, and making it look as if they got their picture taken together. His heart skipped a beat and suddenly another image appeared. It was Polly this time, a fabulous photo of her on her wedding day.

And so on many more images he had never seen filled the screen. He was mesmerized and shocked at the same time.

“This is the best present you could ever get me.” His words were full of gratitude. How could he ever top this?”How did you do that?”

Tommy asked so emotional when he saw an animated version of his mother, she was smiling at the camera, then looked away and finally she looked up in the sky laughing.

“I put together the series of photos I found, turned it into a video and looks like she’s moving.”

“Come here.” He pleaded, not finding the right words to thank her.

This wasn’t their first Christmas together, but it was definitely different. After been living together for almost a year, Y/N deserved the world, she had been so supportive after the sudden passing of his beloved aunt, she had been a wonderful step mother to Charlie, she practically took charge of everything to make this gathering for his family for Christmas to try to make it smoother for everyone specially the children.

Taking her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, his eyes saying more than his lips could.

Over the course of their relationship, she had been in charge of immortalizing several family portraits and important events like birthdays, holidays, school milestones… she loved it and to have a piece from his past as well captured in digital photographs was so important to her.

“Rose sent the Christmas card earlier.” Y/N added in an attempt to lighten the emotions he was going through.

“How could I miss it if you left it on my desk?” It was a family photograph Y/N took of her best friend Rose, her fiancé Alfie and their dog Cyril.

A soft giggle escaped her lips, their teasing would never end.

“I also happen to have another present for you.” Tommy added after a minute.

“Dad, Y/N look here.” Charlie interrupted their conversation, he was waving the instant camera she gave him and the kid had been snapping Polaroids of everyone.

“Charlie bring me my phone please.” Tommy asked pointing at the other side of the room. While his son skipped happily moving up and down the photo he took, he returned with a smile and handed the phone. “Show Y/N the wallet app.”

“What’s this?” Y/N was trying to process what she found on the screen.

“We’re going to Scotland tomorrow love, to spend New Year with your grandmother.” Tommy explained running his hand up and down Y/N’s back.

Now it was her turn to feel emotional over the gift she just got. Her grandma couldn’t travel anymore and she wasn’t in position to host a big party, but Tommy organized everything to spend a few days with her.

Leaning on his shoulder, she wrapped an arm around his neck, her free hand inviting Charlie as well. To them it wasn’t about the presents under the Christmas tree, but the people around it.

Thank you again so much for reading! Remember your feedback is the best gift you could give 🎄♥️✨🥰

Blurbs

Master list

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[yooniivrse]

hating you, craving you | ksj

summary. you don't exactly remember how the man you hate most ended up between your legs, but you're not complaining.

pairing: seokjin x afab reader

genre: co-workers to ??, implied enemies with benefits, smut

word count: 1.1k

warnings: cursing, explicit sexual content, pussy eating, petnames (princess), oc gives seokjin blue balls lol

notes: this has been in my drafts since the day jin's office concept pics dropped :3 comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333

────

main masterlist

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Seokjin is a very unlikeable man.

He's arrogant, lazy, overconfident, selfish, and oh — did you mention arrogant? He wears that stupid smirk on his face constantly, using it as a leverage to get everything he wants. It was a pathetic sight, watching your co-workers stutter and stumble over their words in front of him while their skin grew deeper in the familiar shade of embarrassment.

You've always been the one person exempt from his charms — you're pride refusing to let you kneel to him like everyone else.

Which is why he’s the one with his knees digging against the hard, wooden floorboards, and his head between your thighs.

How you ended up in this position, you honestly have no idea. But none of that matters right now because fuck, did Seokjin’s mouth feel heavenly against your pussy.

His lips suck and lick at your cunt softly, his tongue delving in and out, exploring all of you. The fabric of your tight, pencil skirt is hastily bundled up at your waist — both of you had been too impatient and too worried about the lack of time you had to properly strip.

Seokjin’s fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping your shaking legs steady on the ground.

Your hands tug at his hair every time a shiver of ecstatic pleasure courses through you, followed by a lazy attempt at muffling a moan by pressing the back of your hand against your mouth. You can practically feel his lips curl into a smirk against your pussy when your actions go in vain.

“That good, huh princess?”

You look down to meet his eyes — pupils completely glazed over either lust.

“Sh-shut up.”

A muffled chuckle vibrates through your cunt and the feeling has you pressing his head closer into you. Your throbbing in his mouth, your back arching up as you feel your orgasm build up.

A plethora of curses fall from your lips; sinful pleads and lewd slurps filling the air of the almost-abandoned storage room. Any moment, the door could open to expose your little rendezvous. More arousal than worry fills you at the thought, and your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Seokjin seems to be drawing out the alphabet with his tongue all over, taking his time to bring you over the edge — time that you were pretty sure neither of you could afford. But you were so fucking addicted to his mouth on you that you couldn’t bring yourself to protest.

“Shitshitshit. ‘m so close.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and one of your hands move from Seokjin’s hair to grip on to the side of the table, the pads of your fingers turning white from the force. His lips latch and lock against your folds, coaxing the knot in your stomach to come undone.

“C’mon, princess. Wanna taste you.”

Your orgasm washes over you like a strong tide, making your walls clench around nothing in steady waves. Seokjin eases on his pace, letting you ride out your orgasm in his tongue.

Your chest rises falls rapidly, small pants dropping from your lips. He licks a long strip along your cunt, collecting your juices on his tongue. Your hand snakes its way to the nape of his neck and you pull him up for a messy, sloppy kiss.

You clean the wet arousal that coats his chin and mouth, tasting a mixture of you and his saliva. His hands wrap around your waist securely, and you ease your weight off your buckling knees.

“When do you have to get back?” you ask, your voice breathless and your mind still fuzzy from the pleasure.

A kiss. “Don’t know.” Then another. “Don’t care.”

You giggle. “Wow, so professional of you.”

“Mhm. Don’t act like the idea of being caught doesn’t turn you.”

You’re rolling your eyes when three sharp knocks rap against the door. The two of you are blocked from view by the rusty shelves, but you still try to make yourself as small as possible.

The door doesn't open, but Jungkook's voice is unmistakable from the other side. “Hyung, you better hurry up. Namjoon’s gonna throw a fit if you don’t find him the file in the next five minutes.”

You keep your eyes on Seokjin, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he lets out a sigh of annoyance. “Tell him that I’ll be there in a bit, Kook.”

“You better.”

Jungkook's footsteps trail off, and you finally let out the breath you were holding.

“Yeah, no. We’re never doing this in here, ever again.”

Seokjin lets out a sigh. “My bad. That kid’s always ruining something,” he groans, pressing his lips to yours again.

“Keep it in your pants, Seokjin.”

He scoffs. “You cannot be saying that right now.”

“You heard him,” you say with a shrug. “You can’t stay in here any longer.” You step away from him, pulling down the fabric of your skirt roughly. Despite the shivers of ecstasy that still faintly ran between your legs, the events that had just transpired had began weighing down on you; you let Seokjin eat you out during work hours in the file room, and he was never going to let you live it down.

Fuck.

Seokjin runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh — one clearly laced with annoyance. "Fine."

You smoothen down your shirt and quickly fix your hair as he steps off to the side. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his dark pants and leans his head against the wall.

"You coming?" you ask.

"Give me a minute. You go on."

You can't stop the teasing smirk that tugs at your lips and Seokjin avoids your gaze. At least you know that your not the only one affected by his charms.

Your walk off but come to a stop after a few steps. You turn around and his eyes meet yours. The words lie on the tip of your tongue, but you're pride tries to stop you from letting them tumble from your lips.

Fuck it.

"Want me to make it up to you tomorrow?"

A beat of silence passes, and regret instantly starts bubbling in your chest. But before you take back your offer, Seokjin lets out a small laughing breath and nods.

"Sure. Text me whenever you want, princess."

[xetlynn]

an artists muse- a viktor fic.

eleven.

[ten] [eleven] [twelve]

faithful to its nature, its power never diminished.

Arms wrap around you sweetly, you lean into it. Wanting nothing more but to stay in the moment. “you’re so pretty.” And you look over to see Viktor. You smile, going in to place a kiss on his lips. It was perfect. The room was dark, only dimly lit by the laptop screen that played…

That played um… What is it playing? You pull away from the kiss, to look over at the device that was beginning to look weird. “What the-” “[Name]?” You look back over to Viktor who was now replaced by Powder. Your best friend. You furrow your eyebrows, slightly in disgust. You blink a few times.

“What?” You rasp and you hear Powder laugh, her arm rested on your waist as the two of you lay together on your bed watching a show. “Dude, you passed out.” She announces. “We’ve only watched one episode.” She tells you and you scrunch your face. Trying to register what was happening. “Sorry.” 

She raises a brow at you. “Have a nightmare or something?” Powder sits up, her arm going back to her own side. You frown momentarily at the loss of her warmth. “No, I- it was stupid.” You shrug your shoulders, sitting up as well. Staring down at your fingers as your face grows flustered. “Tell me about it.” 

You think back to the short, painfully short dream. “It was about Viktor. For the hundredth time.” You sigh, annoyed with your own brain. Creating such imagery in your own head that you now have to think about when you’re conscious. “Mm, not surprised.” Powder huffs out a laugh, leaning into you as she also pauses the show. “Thanks.” You scoff, sliding off the bed to stretch out your limbs. 

“No problem, but seriously I have a question.” Your best friend follows suit, jumping on the ground. Surely to give you guys another complaint by the people underneath you. “What?” You ask, heading over to your desk, plopping down on the rolly chair.

“Do you love him or something?” The question catches you off guard and your eyes almost pop out of your own head. “Love?” You repeat.

“Yeah, if I’m wrong you can tell me but I only ask because this is like a heartbreak [Name]. I’ve never seen you this… disheveled over any break ups you’ve had.” Powder explains her reasoning. 

And thinking back to it, she’s right. With your past relationships, that was official, you’ve never really given it another thought when it ended. It was over and yeah you were sad for a little bit but this is different.

Your chest ached with the mention of Viktor. In most dreams there he existed, holding and loving you, and each time you pleaded it was real when you wake up. Only to be left with the harsh reality that you ruined that chance of being tangible.

You beat yourself up every second you're alone. 

“I don’t know. It had only been two-three weeks of getting to know one another. I feel love is a strong word for that.” You tell her truthfully. “Did you love him when he was your online friend?” She inquires and your eyes travel over to your phone. “I had love for him. He was a close friend but can you fall in love with someone you technically never met?” You question, it was something you asked yourself quite a lot. Did you love Ma? Could you fall for someone you never saw face to face. Was that possible? And if it was, is it pathetic? 

“I think so, I mean you know who he is now. Is the feeling the same for both?” 

“Why are you interrogating me?” You ignore the last sentence, now feeling on edge on how deep this was getting. “Just curious.” She hums. “I don’t know the answer.” And truthfully you didn’t. 

Love? You don’t even know if you’ve ever truly loved someone. As time passed you believed you weren’t capable of loving someone more than a friend. With your exes it never felt right. In those relationships you were honestly miserable. No motivation, putting on a mask, and not being true to yourself. 

You couldn’t enjoy your interests. Your art is forgotten about.

With Ma… or Viktor. Both. That never happened. If anything you were more motivated.

In high school you stayed up until ungodly hours, painting, sketching out sculptures based on the sound of Ma’s voice. The colors you saw, the feelings you felt all put into your art. 

Specifically the crowd paintings you created. Crowds of people. Crowds of familiar faces but not the one you wanted to see. A face that you hadn’t gotten the chance to meet blurred out but facing you in each painting. Only one figure that stood there, staring back at you. No features attainable to recognize.

And you hated it. You wanted to know who it was.

“Wonderful ideas, wonderful models. I don’t think I’ve had such intelligent and creative students as I do this year. Take this time to inspect others' projects and mingle with one another.” Your biology professor tells the class, everyone of you standing up to his directions. 

Viktor and you stick together, unintentionally throughout the room. No words said between either of you.

You admire your fellow classmates' work, clicking through the slides on each laptop. Reading thoroughly through their slides. Silently gushing at the way they decorated their boards. Viktor observes you the entire time. 

The words of his friends stick in his mind. You don’t entirely seem upset? But if they had seen it themselves, surely they’re not lying to him. His eyes scanned your face closely. A hardened gaze, his jaw clenching subconsciously.

Did he want to see you upset? Why would he want that? To know you’re hurting just as much as he is? Would he wish that pain on someone he lo- he respects? 

No, he wouldn’t.

You look back at him with a polite smile. “Right?” His eyebrows furrow, confused. “What?” He asks hesitantly, his cheeks fell warm as he is put on the spot by you. You snicker. “I said, their work is so organized, maybe the two of you would hit it off.” You repeat, your breath now caught in your throat. Wondering if that was too friendly too soon. He glances over to the people’s work. 

It had no color, monotonous and tidy. Is that what you think of him? Bland, tasteless and… boring? 

His head bows down, a ghost of a nod. “Sure.” He dryly replies, unfortunately feeding into your worries. “Did I say something wrong?” You quietly inquire as you guys head to the next board. A clique of students pushing past you. 

“No?” He averts your eye contact. Was he actually upset that you think of him like that? 

“Oh.” You puff out your cheeks, not knowing what else to say.

The voices of others cover the awkward beats of silence between the two of you.

“Am I that mundane to you?” He was almost inaudible when he asked the sudden question. You cock your head to the side. Your mouth opens to answer but he lets out a scoff shaking his head.

“Don’t answer that.” He walks ahead of you. 

Mundane? Why would he think that? You pointed out the person’s tidiness because of how put together Viktor is. You admired that.

He preferred things a certain way, his room showed that. He still had a personality outside of that. His energy drew you in. The way he held himself, the enigmatic essence but also the familiarity you felt.

And now you know the familiarity was Ma. They were the same person.

Ma used to tell you about the moon and constellations for hours. He enjoyed star gazing. He enjoyed reading and learning about living beings. Their struggles. But also their potential to be more than who they were raised to be. 

He was far from mundane. Viktor was more than who he thought himself to be. In your eyes he was far better than perfect. There wasn’t a word for how you perceived him. Because every word seemed minimal in comparison to what you felt.  

“You found your muse?” You hear your professor behind you. You glare down at your paper then up to them. “What? No, look at this.” You express, lifting up the sketch and shaking it dramatically. “I am. It seems you found it.” They place a gentle hand upon your shoulder. 

You drew a crowd. Just like your millions upon millions of paintings posted on your instagram. How is a crowd of people your muse? Your eyebrows knit together and you look up to Dr. Shoola once more. “This is just a random sketch?” You say in more of a question. You were confused. You drew this often, but it’s not your muse. 

“You’re a silly one, [Name].” They pat your shoulder, moving onto Ekko’s sketch in front of you. Your eyes land back at the sheet of paper. Found your muse? Where?

You observed your own drawing. What are you not seeing?

This is short, I did it on purpose because twelve and thirteen are going to be longer. :) And honestly I do have a concussion and this took me hours. I probably shouldn't have been on my laptop the way I was but I had to post thisssss.

Two more chapters left.

Taglist: @policedeer @ang3lz-lov3 @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @confusedgemposts @corpsepies @almostdrowningdown @obittwo @ren-ni @xx-siren-sings-xx @donnie-is-here @urmommt

[aboutcustardcreams]

So it's true, a Door appears

Hiii, I’m back from the dead! As I mentioned before, life’s gotten much busier than it used to be, and I’m truly sorry it’s taken me so long to wrap up this chapter. But I haven’t forgotten about this story, so no worries—there’s still more to come! Let me know which trails you’d like to explore from here. As I’ve said, I’ll be stepping away from the series’ main trajectory, so if you have any preferences: Agatha’s trial, reader’s journey, or anything else, you name it, and I’ll be here to shape it <3

Summary: The path through the Witches' Road begins, defying all odds.

previous chapter

“Uhm a little more to the left, no, no right–”  you instructed, your head tilting as you followed the festoon Teen was trying to hang above the chimney in your lounge room.

“Does it look centered?” He asked, glancing back at you.

You studied it for a moment, then nodded, “I s’pose.” as if drawn by instinct, your gaze shifted to Agatha, standing quietly behind you. Perhaps too quietly. “What do you say?” 

The witch did her best to stifle an eye roll at your question. Why you were indulging the kid was beyond her, in all honesty. You even set out a few snacks on the table, as if this was supposed to be some kind of party. She sighed, her tongue peeking out as she walked up to the festoon. “Let me see…” Agatha’s nerves weren’t about snacks or decorations, though. Time was running out. In a few hours, the sun would set, meaning that if Rio was right, the Salem Seven would pay her a visit. And not a courtesy one. 

Before either you or the boy could stop her, she made a swift, deliberate movement, tearing the paper off the wall with precision. “There. Much better,” she grinned, stepping back satisfied.  

The boy snorted, opening his mouth as if to protest, but quickly thought better of it. Arguing with someone like Agatha was a losing battle. You dropped your hands, with a weary sigh, offering the boy a sympathetic glance.  

Turning back to Agatha, you gave her a playful but exasperated look. “Did it bother you so much you couldn’t hold yourself?” 

She nodded, “it was giving me hives.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“You should’ve left it up.” You three turned at once and found Jennifer Kale roaming in the lounge room. “It made the environment look less… gloomy.” 

“Jennifer! You made it–” Teen’s face lit up. “Please, take a seat.” 

“He acts like he owns the house,” Agatha drew closer to you, her sweeping coat touching your legs as she did. 

You leaned into her, an amused twinkle flashed in your eyes. “Only a couple of hours ago, you were ready to give it away, so.” 

“Please–” She scoffed and pulled you closer by wrapping an arm around your middle. “You know, I didn’t mean it.” 

“Did you?” You asked sarcastically, fingers moving softly, tracing delicate, flowing patterns across her arm. 

She huffed, as she buried you deeper against her chest, “don’t push it, my love.”

“You’re bound, aren’t you?” It was Lilia to speak. 

Both you and Agatha looked between Jen and Lilia. 

It was clearly an awkward question to ask, and not much appreciated by the potion witch, who gave her a fake smile in return. “Woah, aren’t you clear-sighted?”

The older one nodded proudly, missing the sourness in Jen’s tone. “Lilia Calderu. Divination. Nice to meet you,” she bowed her head in a form of courtesy that wasn’t exactly reciprocated. 

“Jennifer Kale. Potions,” she began. The corners of her lips turned up, when she added, “by the way, you need a chemical peel.”

Agatha whistled, clearly enjoying it, “witches being witches, huh?” she mused, as fingers rubbing at your hips, absentmindedly. You couldn’t help the grin crossing your lips. “Well, at least one is easy to rile up,” you tumbled, referring to Jen. 

Agatha’s eyes drifted off to the open window to her left. The sun was setting. “It’s almost time…”

“Yeah,” you swallowed and tried to hide the slight worry manifesting in your eyes. 

“This is never going to work…” Alice commented, as she stepped in the living room at a careful pace, as if she was walking on eggshells. Or.. on a battlefield. 

You were surprised, and so was Agatha. Three witches joined the meeting! It was going better than you expected in all honesty. 

“Alice! You made it!” Teen exclaimed, his excitement pulling him forward. The younger witch tensed up when he opened his arms to hug her. It was brief and awkward. “Sorry, I-I got carried away. I’m just glad you all showed up.”

She stepped back, with a tight smile. “No worries,” she waved him off, then turned, looking at you and the others. “Hi everyone–”

You gave her a nod of your head and so did Agatha. Jen and Lilia introduced themselves, second. 

“How did you find the house?” Teen asked. “I didn’t give you any address.”

Alice shrugged with her hands tucked in the back pockets of her black jeans. “I’m an ex-cop, kid. I’ve got some experience up my sleeve.” 

It made sense, so he nodded. “Right. Cool.” 

You witches exchanged a glance, then. It struck you that, against all the odds, a Coven had been formed. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to entertain the fantasy that those witches could really become yours and Agatha’s sisters. A family, perhaps? No hate, no deception, no manipulation. Just pure, unbroken sisterhood. But the reality of the situation soon hit you, because you and Agatha gathered them with a purpose, to suck away part of their magic and allow Agatha to get back on top. It was very unlikely that they would have stuck around after figuring out the truth. 

“Well, the gang's here,” Agatha announced in thrill anticipation. “Let’s hit the Road, shall we?” 

“Wait, wait,” Jen interjected, with a frown. If an eyeroll could make a sound, Agatha’s would scream. “Where’s our Green Witch?” She inquired. 

You winced. Of course, that know-it-all witch would notice. 

Agatha scoffed, playing naive. “Oh, do we really need one of those?” 

“Of course we do,” Lilia pointed out, supporting Jen on this. 

How nice, they were already picking sides, you thought.

Alice remained silent, likely deep in thought. She was the skeptical one, though her reasons were different from Lilia’s and Jen’s. Part of her doubted the Witches’ Road even existed, dismissing it as nothing more than a myth—a clever con. By extension, she saw you and Agatha as little more than liars. And yet, curiosity had won out in the end. That’s why she was here. She had nothing to lose, only something to gain. 

“I assure you, we don’t, Lilia,” you moved from Agatha’s grip, much to her displeasure, and walked up to the other witches. “We can manage just fine.”

“The Ballad clearly says wake thy power, earthly and divine,” Agatha’s eyes clenched for a moment at Jen’s lofty tone. 

If you were to make a ranking, you’d put Jennifer on top, as the most irritating of the three. Alice was your favorite for now. 

“I’m willing to take over,” you said confidently. 

Lilia, Jennifer and even Alice faced you with their eyes squinted. Teen was the only one showing a bit of trust, apart from Agatha obviously. 

You sighed. “You’ll agree with me when I say that I am a kind of Green Witch, after all.” 

Jen licked the inside of her cheek. You could sense her question before she had time to spill it out. “From which perspective are you saying that, exactly?” 

Yes, she was definitely the most annoying of the three. 

 You stepped closer, trying to keep your frustration at bay. “Are you for real? I can create life.”

“You can reverse death, yes,” Jen corrected you. “There’s a difference.” 

You rolled your eyes, an amused scoff slipped from your lips. “No, there isn’t. And, with all due respect, what would you know about my skill?”  

“Everyone knows what a necromancer witch can and cannot do,” she argued stubbornly. 

“Ugh!” You groaned. The nerve. “Well, everyone’s knowledge is a bit sketchy, I dare to say. Nobody knows what I’m capable of better than myself.”

Jen puffed her cheek skeptically. “You can’t make anything from scratch, can you?” 

Your nostrils flared, then. What did she know about you? About the life you had painstakingly pieced together from nothing? The life that truly mattered—now gone. Agatha, Rio, and you had created something beautiful together: your son. But they couldn’t see that. They were blind, clueless in their ignorance.

Agatha’s sharp eyes caught the tension in your jaw. She walked up to you and touched your shoulder, in a both comforting and firm way. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, you dolt. Because she can. She did that once–” she began, her voice trembling a bit. Your brows furrowed as you faced her, eyes dimming in concern at the memories she was conjuring up. Those being the same as yours. 

The potion witch sighed. “I’m just saying that Earth magic is the most important skill set for an attempt at the Road, that’s all.”

“And I’m telling you I possess that,” you insisted. 

Agatha ignored Jen’s mumbling after that. “If you’re sure.” 

You nodded, searching for her eyes, “I am. You can trust me,” your voice came out gentler. 

It wasn’t hard to understand their skepticism toward you. Agatha wasn’t the only one carrying the weight of a reputation. Yours was there too, etched into you, much harder to explain. You had been marked by the deities of vengeance, after all. But the truth as to why that happened was known only by Agatha and Rio. 

“Her power is unlike any other. It doesn’t fit neatly into your categories of ‘earthly’ or ‘divine.’ It transcends both. So please—” Agatha intruded, “unless you truly understand what you're talking about, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself.”

No one dared to argue after that. 

You ran your tongue over your lips, a slow smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The surge of emotion rising within you was impossible to ignore—a potent mix of gratitude and something deeper, something more primal. Desire, perhaps. There was no denying it: Agatha was undeniably sexy when she acted all protective towards you. 

“Thanks, Aggies,” you whispered. 

Her eyes softened as she took in your features. 

“But, wait-” Teen tumbled out, brows furrowed, “I’m not saying she can’t take over but there was one more name on the list, wasn’t it?” 

You didn’t say whereas Agatha preceded you with a lie. “There really wasn’t.”

He didn’t buy it. His eyes darted from her to you, his expression begging for a more honest answer, but you kept quiet, unable to say that name. 

He glanced at Lilia, then. “What was the last name?” 

She pursed her lips, in thought. “Uhm.. I think it was Spanish or maybe Catalan, I’m not sure–” she began, as she gathered her thoughts. It was really on the tip of her tongue. “Rio, perhaps?”

You clenched your eyes, letting out a deep sigh through your nose. Teen’s smirk grew as recognition flashed across his face. The name said it all. He remembered it. Remembered her. No wonder you and Agatha had been so reluctant to include her in the trip. She wasn’t just anyone—she was the ex. And not just any ex, but the kind who, on top of everything else, wished you dead. Who in their right mind would willingly sign up for a journey with someone like that? 

“Ah– Rio, yes. She’s out of town,” Agatha hurried to say. 

Liar, Teen thought, but he kept it to himself. 

“She’d be more trouble than anything, honestly,” you explained, looking at each of them alternately. 

“She is telling the truth,” Teen replied. 

“Okay so everything is settled,” Agatha rubbed her hands, and swept her tongue over her lips. She was dying to feel her power flowing back in her body. “Teen, be a dear and be sure Señor Scratchy has enough lettuce. Sammy tends to eat it all.” 

You scoffed at that. “Again with this story? Stop assuming my turtle is a thief, Agatha.” 

“I’m not assuming,” she quipped. “I’m certain of it.” 

Teen gave you and Agatha an uncertain smile. “With all due respect, I don’t think it’s relevant that I do that. Shouldn't we get going?” 

“Teen, the Road is conjured,” you explained calmly, placing a hand over his shoulder. How cute and naive could he be? “We don’t physically go there by car, broom or something.”

“Oh,” he nodded, a tad flustered to have assumed it the wrong way. “Haven't thought of that.” 

Agatha’s head lolled to the side, her bottom lip popped out kinda mockingly. “Isn’t he the cutest pet we have ever had, love?”

You giggled. “Agatha, he isn’t our pet. Quit calling him that.” 

“Such a spoilsport you are,” she fake pouted, flapping at your arm playfully. Her eyes darted to the boy after. “Let us just do our thing, okay? We will call you once we’re done.” 

“Fine,” he muttered with a nod, before walking up the stairs. 

“So, just to be clear,” Alice interjected. “We can still walk the Witches’ Road without a Green Witch.”

You nodded, “correct.”

“We will summon one on the Road, if it’s really really necessary,” Agatha added, eager to get started. 

“‘kay, but you never said–”, Alice began. “What’s the rush?” 

You kinda preferred her when she was quiet and indifferent. 

Agatha was doing her best to maintain her composure. There wasn’t much else she could do, so for now, feigning cordiality was her only option. “Uhm.. well, you see-” Her voice was laced with that falsely sweet tone that made it hard for you to keep from laughing. She gestured toward you, and when her palm met the small of your back, you glanced at her with suspicion. What was she cooking up now? “Her parents are visiting and I really can’t be bothered with that, if you catch my drift.” 

What a low blow. Undoubtedly a good excuse, but still. 

“Fair enough,” Lilia commented. The others seemed convinced, too. 

“I can’t believe you said that,” you pointed out.  

She leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “You know, in extremis…”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and before you could say another word, you felt her lips—plump and soft—press gently against your cheek. The warmth of the touch silenced any objections that lingered on the tip of your tongue. Oh, she knew she had you wrapped around her little finger. 

“Come on now, let’s hit the Road!”  

*

“It cannot be–” you stuttered, voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes were locked on the carved outline of a door embedded in the basement floor. It hadn’t been there before. You were certain of it, absolutely certain. So… how?

The others didn’t notice, too caught up in their heated argument to see what had just appeared. But it couldn’t be, could it? The Road wasn’t real. The Ballad was just a song, you, Agatha and your son made up once upon a time. So what was that? 

Agatha let out an exasperated growl. “I really don’t have time for this–” 

She didn’t even glance in your direction, oblivious to your fingertips brushing over the strange, impossible surface of the door. 

“Just blast me, you bitches!”

“Enough!” You snapped, finally catching everyone’s attention. Your magic vibrated like a sudden summer breeze, it swayed your hair and turned your eyes silver for a moment. Choked gasps slipped from the others, their gazes dropped over the floor, where now there was a door. The same door you’d thought couldn’t exist, let alone be summoned. 

Agatha was speechless, as she drew in a breath with wide eyes. 

“Are you seeing this too?” If this was another cruel trick played by the Furies, you weren’t sure your mind could withstand the torment again. “Tell me you are,” your voice came out almost as a plea. 

“Yes–” Alice breathed out. “We did it.”

“So it would seem,” Lilia chuckled nervously. 

Jen’s brow furrowed, eyes drifting to Agatha’s. “Why does she look so shocked?” 

When Agatha didn’t respond, you did, “It’s been a while, can you really blame her?” 

When she lowered herself beside you, her lips pressed into a tight line, a clear sign of her inner turmoil. Knowing her, she was probably spiraling into a quiet panic. Without hesitation, you reached out, your hand gently rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Hey,” you murmured softly, your voice laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Agatha gave you a faint nod of her head. “I’ll admit,” she began, her gaze drifting off to Jen. “I’m surprised you’re not the hopeless bunch of rejects I thought you were.”

“You’re the worst,” Jen groaned, in an accusatory tone. 

You sighed. “Will you cut it out? Help me–” You gritted your teeth as you gripped and tugged at the door’s handles, straining against its resistance. Jen shot Agatha one last glare, which Agatha met with a smirk, before they both finally stepped forward. Along with Lilia and Alice. 

With a sharp, resonating creak, the door burst open. Your eyes fixed on a flight of stairs leading further down the floor. Where precisely you didn’t know. A greenish blow came from it, illuminating the path to the… Witches’ Road. 

“Agatha!” Teen’s voice came in a panicked squeal, as he rushed down the basement exactly where you were standing, “is that it? Cause we should really get going. Like right now!” 

You heard an explosion, coming from upstairs and sensed magic. It was ancient, angry and just for a change, very powerful. 

“The Salem Seven…” you whispered, eyes widening a bit. 

The other witches didn’t need to be told twice and hurriedly took to the stairs, leaving you and Agatha behind. You stalled, before half yelling, “What the heck is this?” 

Agatha waved her hands and stuttered out. “It looks like a door to me.” 

You scoffed incredulously, “well, obviously it’s a door. But I meant–”

Before you could say another word, one of the Salem Seven began crawling down the stairs toward you and Agatha. Each movement sent an unsettling chorus of pops and creaks through her bones, as though her very body was possessed by a demoniac force. 

You used your magic to shove the woman away. The witch let out an ear-piercing shriek, her lips curling to reveal jagged teeth. Your stomach twisted as you stumbled back, unsure if you were facing a witch or some feral, inhuman creature.

 “Go, go, go, go!” Your eyes widened as you prompted Agatha to take the stairs. 

Agatha grasped your hand, pulling you with her, “you don’t have to tell me twice, my love.”

[watarfallar]

Is it bad that when I was walking down the street one day and saw a poppy growing out of a patch of weeds, my brain short circuited? Is that bad? Oh well, have some crumbs for your troubles.

Grian: It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks! Scar: Why would I do that? Grian: It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s free!

Scar, texting Grian: Text me when you’re home safely. Grian: I’m home dangerously. Scar: Stop it. Grian: I’m home lethally.

Scar, trying their first ever cup of coffee: I am ENERGY! Grian, an avid coffee drinker, on their twelfth cup of the day: Someone slap me awake or I am literally going to fall into a coma in ten seconds.

Scar: Ugh, there’s always that weak bitch in the group who isn’t down with murder. Scar: glares at Grian Grian: Well, sorry I have morals!

Grian: I'm gonna need a human skull but you can't ask why. Scar: Only if you also don't ask why. Scar: pulls four pristine human skulls out of their bag Grian: … Grian, grabbing a skull: This one will do.

Grian: What is the one thing I told you not to do? Scar: Burn the house down. Grian: And what did you do? Scar: I made dinner. Grian: Scar: Grian: Scar: And burnt the house down.

Grian: Love makes people do stupid things. Scar: I love everything! Grian: That explains a lot.

Scar: What am I supposed to do? Grian: If I were you? I’d try and make peace with whatever deity, pantheon, or Divine Other you believe in. Scar: I’m an atheist. Grian: Then just get ready to die I guess.

Grian: You know what your problem is? Scar: I only have one?

Scar: Present your best argument for eating bacon. Grian: If animals don’t want to be eaten, then why are they made of food?

Scar: Isn’t it a bit dangerous? Grian: Scar, please. We’ve in a lot of unexpected predicaments before and we always escape unhurt. Scar: … Grian: Okay, we sometimes escape unhurt. Scar: … Grian: Alright, we escaped unhurt once… Then we hurt ourselves on the way home.

Scar: Hey, Grian, when you wake up you're legally obligated to agree with me. Grian: But I don't….. Scar: I don't see why that should be my problem??

Grian: There’s no “I” in team, but there is one in pizza. Scar: So, you’re not going to share? Grian: I’m not going to share.

Scar: I'm trash. Grian: As someone who's environmentally conscious, it's my duty to pick you up. Does 7 work for you? Scar: Scar: You smooth motherfucker. Scar: And yes it does.

Grian: on the phone Just snap his kneecaps and he’ll talk, I’m at a parent teacher conference. Grian: Anyways, you said Scar is enjoying finger painting! That's great.

Scar: A-are you sure this is safe?! Grian: Oh, quit being such a baby. It’s perfectly safe! …For me!

Grian: I’m Grian. I’m an accountant. Scar: I’m Scar. I have a knife.

Scar: I can’t do this, it’s against my moral compass. Grian: YOUR MORAL COMPASS IS A ROULETTE WHEEL! Scar: …Your point?

Grian: Scar, no. Scar: Scar, yes.

Scar: Do you have ANY idea what’s going on outside?! Grian: Judging by your outrage, I’d guess someone’s having fun?

Scar: Shut up, you’re messing with my train of thought! Grian: I thought you didn’t have a brain and now you say you have thoughts?

Scar: Two wrongs don’t make a right. Grian: sighs That’s true… Grian: But to negatives make a positive!!!

Grian: Have I ever told you that I love you with my whole heart? Scar: For the love of all that is holy, I am not taking you to McDonalds. It’s 2am! Grian: Mean.

Grian: Hey, about that love letter you sent me- Scar: blushes What are your thoughts? Grian: The fourth sentence- Scar: Yeah, that’s where I got really emotional and I- Grian: It’s “you’re” not “your”.

[vanillarosekiss]

Hi lovie! May i request something? Can you write angst to comfort with simon or john? Love me some ex to lover or just like another chance romance where the boys are grovelling teehee

Of course I can, angel!♡ I hope you like this, I'm so sorry that it's late. I really wanted to make it more angsty at the beginning and sweet at the end so enjoy.

What Remains ₊˚⊹♡

Warnings: angsty, simon being a bit of a prick tbh, fluff at the end.

The dreaded knock came late—sharp and deliberate, breaking the silence of your small apartment. You weren’t expecting anyone at this time, but the minute you opened the door and saw him standing there, everything froze.

Simon.

He looked the same, but so different. The mask was gone, but his darkening aura stayed the same. He didn’t say anything; he stared at you like he wasn’t sure you’d let him speak.

“What do you want?” you said, voice harsher than you expected.

“I came to talk,” he muttered, his voice low, almost hesitant, “To apologise.”

You let out a harsh laugh and crossed your arms.

“Talk? Now? After you walked out of my life without a word? Months, Simon. Months. And now you want to talk?”

“I know,” he said quickly, his tone defensive, as if bracing for impact.

“I know I fucked up.”

“Fucked up?” You stepped back, gesturing wildly, “No, Simon. You didn’t just ‘fuck up.’ You destroyed me. Do you even get that?”

He winced, his lips pressing into a hard line. “I left to keep you safe. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” you snapped. “You always have a choice. You just didn’t want to deal with me, so you made the easiest one. Don’t pretend you did it for me.”

His head snapped up at that, and for the first time, you saw something crack in him.

“You think it was easy? Leaving you? That it didn’t tear me apart every time i thought about it?”

“Sure looked easy from where I was standing,” you fired back. You knew it wasn’t like that, but you had lost it with him now.

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, voice harder now, colder. It was like he went back to who he was in the field, merciless and cruel.

“Do you have any idea the kind of shit that follows me? The kind of danger I drag around? I left because I didn’t want you caught in the crossfire. You know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you.”

“Protect me?” You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich, Simon. Did you ever stop to think about how it felt on my end? Not knowing if you were dead, alive, or just done with me? You didn’t protect me. You abandoned me.”

That word hit him like a slap. His jaw clenched, and something in his expression shifted, turning darker. “You think I wanted to do that? That it didn’t fucking kill me to walk away? I was trying to do the right thing.”

“Yeah, well, you failed,” you shot back. “Congratulations. All you did was prove I meant nothing to you.”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You think you meant nothing? Christ, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I thought about you every fucking day. Do you know how many times I wanted to pick up the phone? To come back? But I couldn’t.”

“Why? Why couldn’t you?” you demanded, your voice breaking. You didn’t want to get emotional with him but you couldn’t help it.

“What stopped you? What could possibly be worse than what you did to me?”

Simon’s voice dropped, “Because I was scared, alright? Scared I’d lose you for good. Scared you’d get hurt because of me.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words hitting you like a tidal wave. For a small moment, neither of you said anything, just stood there in the wreckage of everything unsaid.

“You broke me, Simon. You left me with nothing. And now you just show up, expecting me to forgive you?”

“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” he said, his tone softer now, the fight draining out of him. “I just… I couldn’t stay away anymore. I had to try. Even if you want to slam the door in my face, I’ll take it, but I needed you to know I’m sorry. For all of it.”

You felt your resolve cracking, the anger giving way to something else—something just as painful.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whispered. “You don’t get to come back like this and try to undo everything I’ve been through.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But I can’t let you go without a fight. Just because I left doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore.”

Your arms hung limp at your sides, the weight of his words crushing you. You couldn’t tell if you were angry at him or just upset.

“I know I’ve been a prick, baby, trust me I know. And I hate myself for ever doing this to you. I wasn’t thinking properly. Fuck, I just- ”. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

He looked… lost? Like he didn’t know how to fix this, and it tugged at something deep inside you, even through the anger.

“Simon,” you said quietly, your voice softer now.

His hand dropped, and he looked at you, the raw emotion in his eyes catching you off guard. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you if you let me,” he whispered. “I just want you back. Please.”

The sincerity in his voice broke you, and you couldn’t even get a moment to second-guess yourself.

“One chance, Simon. That’s all you’re getting.”

Guys i fear this is one of the best things i’ve written (my favourite). And it’s actually proof-read because i could be asked to get the grammar correct!! So proud. Thank you anon for this lovely, lovely request `౨ৎ~

Tag list: @soapisgod @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @goldie-221 @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnee777 @caro-line19  @decaffeinateddelusionbread @poohkie90 @senoritaleeda @xoxoxoaspen @i-ship-stony-and-superfamily @simonrileysdarling @angelica456

Please lmk if you’d like to be removed or added to the tag list, I won’t take any offence!

[kingofbodyrolls]

REMMY—😭😭😭When you told me to check Tumblr because you’d left a review, I was NOT prepared for this emotional ambush 😭 The fact that you took the time to write something so thoughtful? For me?? ME??? 😭 Days have passed, and I’m still sitting here sniffling into my tea.

I’m absolutely over the moon that you’re enjoying your birthday gift so far! (Though my ignorant European ass did forget about those pesky Freedom Units again… 😂). It’s cozy without feeling cramped, right? ✨ And the way you called it a WHOLE ASS WORLD? 😭 I’m sobbing. I didn’t even think I did that much world-building for this one—I purposefully kept it light because I didn’t want to bog down the story with scene explanations and accidentally double its length. (Though let’s be real, you know I love doing that).

And yes! I normally don’t write Yoongi like this, but I decided to mix it up this time. He’s quieter, more reserved, but his actions? Oh, his actions. They’re practically shouting with love and warmth! He’s going to be there for Y/N in ways that feel so steady and genuine (don’t worry—no big bad angst! The only backstory drama is Jimin’s past, which… maybe was a spoiler? Whoops 😬).

His daughter? Adorable. Sweet, polite, playful—she’s everything 🥹 You’ll see (or should I say read). And oh, the location details! As I told you on Discord, this place is pretty far out—like five hours from the big city by car (even longer by public transport). It’s a poorer neighborhood, which is why everything is so affordable—Y/N’s house is dirt cheap compared to her city apartment.

AND JIMIN—😭😭😭 I’m actually tearing up again because this Jimin owns my entire heart. I’ve never met the man (obviously), but I poured so much of what I imagine him to be into this story. He feels so authentic to me, and I hope that comes across for you too! He’s warm, welcoming, and OH, you’re going to get so much more of him 😏

As for Y/N—YOU are Y/N! (Or not—you do you. Personally, I dissociate completely 😂 I write Y/N as someone totally different from myself.) But yes, the tea she’s drinking? Absolutely your favorite 🥰

THE BEST PRESENT YOU’VE EVER HAD??? 🥹 Now I’m straight-up bawling. I hope that’s just a sweet exaggeration, though, because surely you’ve received something better than this silly little story! Either way, I’m over the moon that it made you so happy. I was low-key terrified you might not like it 🫣Thank you so much for reading and leaving that incredible review, @remmykinsff 🫂 You know I absolutely adore you. And for the love of Jimin, don’t forget to eat! (Did you enjoy them, by the way?) Sending you all my love and a billion hugs 💜

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 1: rebirth

Having just settled into a small house on the outskirts of the bustling city, you’re drawn into the haunting melodies of your neighbor’s sad love songs, echoing through the quiet walls day after day. Concerned, you finally gather the courage to knock on his door, unsure of what to expect—only to be face-to-face with Park Jimin, the renowned singer-songwriter whose voice has touched millions. What begins as a simple gesture of kindness soon unravels into something far more complex, as the melodies of his heart beckon you closer.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 5.6k → Warnings + triggers: nothing much, just heartache and small misunderstandings 🤭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: Hi!!! How are you doing?? 😄 I hope you’re as excited about this new series as I am (and I really, truly mean it when I say this might be my last series for a long while… so buckle up, it’s going to be a ride!). Now, before you go thinking I’m just setting myself up for failure, let me be real with you: my last Jimin series didn’t exactly set the world on fire—sigh. But I adore it, like, adore it. (I know, I’m biased, but can you blame me?) Soooo, this time, we’re going for a more “mainstream” vibe. Think heavily inspired by Jimin’s album Muse (seriously, his whole vibe in that is chef’s kiss), sprinkled with some Face flavor, and, honestly, just Jimin being Jimin. Because, let’s face it—he’s my bias, and I’m OBSESSED. Like, full-on crush mode. So, yeah, it’s basically me writing about my ultimate crush 😳 Now, let’s clear the air about the smut—I’m not going all-out with it here (though there will be some spicy moments, don’t worry 😉). Why? Well, I have a sneaky feeling this series is going to do okay (I mean, I adore these characters so much already 🥹, but engagement might be a different story). So, I’m going to save my energy for what really matters to me—the heart and soul of the story, instead of focusing too much on the smut (which, honestly, I’m not as into writing as I used to be). Okay, okay—back on track. I’m super excited to share this story with you, and I really, really hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Don’t forget to tell me your thoughts—whether you love it, hate it, or just want to fangirl over Jimin with me ✨ This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

“Why the hell do you have so many boxes?” Yoongi groans, his voice slicing through the quiet winter air as he hefts a particularly heavy one—something he clearly should have let Namjoon handle. His breath fogs up like ghostly clouds, a silent testament to the biting cold.

You stand by the moving truck, arms crossed, the chill curling around you like an unwelcome scarf. The streetlamp above flickers weakly, casting long shadows over the small gathering of your life in boxes. You shiver, not just from the cold but from the weight of this moment—watching your brother Yoongi and your best friend Namjoon haul the sum of your memories into the truck, piece by piece, bound for a new beginning.

It wasn’t your choice to leave; the landlord had pulled the rug out from under you with a sudden hike in rent you couldn’t possibly manage. But this wasn’t just an ending. There was a glimmer of hope in the move—a small house on the outskirts of the city with a garden that you could already see yourself tending, sunlight warming your face. Perfect wasn’t something you’d often dared to dream of, but this felt close enough to touch.

Namjoon heaves the final box into the truck and straightens with a satisfied grin. “That’s the last of it. We managed to fit everything,” he says, his breath visible in the frost-tipped air.

Yoongi, less triumphant, leans against the truck, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened by exhaustion. “Not a lot of stuff, huh? Then why does everything weigh as much as a small planet?”

You roll your eyes at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Tiny apartments don’t leave room for a lot of stuff,” you murmur, thinking of your now-abandoned shoebox of a home. What you own might not fill much space, but every piece carries its own story, its own weight. To them, it’s just heavy. To you, it’s everything.

“Yoon, you should really hit the gym more,” you tease, your voice laced with playful scorn, though the grin on your face betrays your fondness. The sibling bond—a language of its own, fluent in jabs and unspoken affection.

“Are you calling me weak?” Yoongi snaps, his tone sharp, but the flicker of indignation in his eyes is almost theatrical. He knows the answer. You know he knows. It’s part of the game.

You laugh, the sound light and unbothered, a knowing glint in your eyes as you glance at his slender arms. “I don’t have to say it, do I?”

Before the exchange can escalate, Namjoon steps between you with a calm authority that feels as solid as the ground beneath your feet. “Alright, easy, you two. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting. Yoongi, you drive.”

Yoongi scoffs, letting your remark go as he shoots you a withering look that doesn’t quite land. He climbs into the driver’s seat with a practiced air of resignation, his fingers brushing over the steering wheel as Namjoon closes the back of the truck with a satisfying clunk.

The three of you settle inside the truck, and silence slips in, gentle and familiar, as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. The radio crackles to life, filling the space with the soft strains of a slow love song. The melody spills out like liquid silver, sad yet hopeful, and the singer’s voice—a perfect blend of sweetness and longing—wraps around you like a blanket against the cold.

Your chest tightens as the words begin to take root, burrowing into the quiet corners of your heart: “Even though I was pitch black, I can’t stop thinking about you all day long. Without you knowing, I want to take one step, then another, closer to you. Stay with you. I will be your reason. I hope this feeling reaches you.”

You stare out the frosted window, the aching beauty of the lyrics mingling with the soft glow of the late afternoon light. The world outside shifts and transforms as Yoongi steers the truck with steady hands, the city’s sprawling chaos giving way to the calm, snow-dusted edges of the outskirts. Frost clings to the barren trees and lonely streetlamps, their icy shimmer catching the fading sunlight like quiet promises.

There it is—your new beginning, cradled in the quiet of the outskirts. The small house stands modestly, embraced by a low, whispering hedge that frames its quaint charm. A tiny terrace juts out at the front, its stone surface dappled with the faint traces of winter frost. You remember the cozy backyard from the last time you visited—a patch of earth waiting patiently for spring to bring it to life.

Yoongi eases the truck to a stop in front of the house, the engine humming briefly before falling silent. The three of you step out, boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted gravel. Your heart thuds louder with each step as you approach the door. It’s a humble thing—made of frosted glass that blurs the world on the other side, catching the dim afternoon light and casting it gently inside. You know that when the sun graces it, the whole entrance will glow like a promise.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you fit the key into the lock, turning it with a satisfying click. The door creaks open, and you step over the threshold into your new home. It greets you with its smallness—barely 80 square meters—but it feels vast compared to the cramped city apartment you left behind. Here, there’s space to breathe, to begin again. And the rent, blissfully lower than what the city demanded, makes it all the sweeter.

You glance at the neighboring house—a touch larger, its lot sprawling wider—but you don’t feel envy. This space is yours. Yours to fill with laughter, with quiet mornings, with life.

Flipping the light switch, the warm glow floods the entranceway. The layout unfolds before you in inviting simplicity. The entrance flows seamlessly into a snug living room, its openness spilling into the compact kitchen. The single bedroom feels intimate but holds a delightful surprise: a small walk-in closet that sets your heart alight with possibility. The bathroom, unexpectedly spacious, feels almost indulgent—a small luxury you hadn’t dared to imagine.

You stand in the quiet warmth of the space, letting it envelop you. Yes, it’s small. Yes, it’s simple. But it’s yours. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not just standing in a house. You’re home.

Namjoon brushes past you with a box in hand, his footsteps purposeful. “Where should I put this?” he asks, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of settling dust.

“In the bedroom, please,” you reply, recognizing your own messy scrawl on the side of the box. He nods, disappearing down the short hallway. Moments later, Yoongi follows, arms burdened with lighter boxes this time, his silent stare speaking louder than words. You’re not sure if it’s disapproval or exhaustion—or maybe a mix of both.

Together, the three of you move with practiced rhythm, unloading the truck, the occasional grunt of effort punctuating the soft winter stillness. One by one, your belongings find their way inside, until finally, after an hour and a half, the truck stands empty. Inside, your life now lies in disarray—boxes scattered like misplaced puzzle pieces across the small living room. Thankfully, the heavier furniture already sits snug in its designated spots, thanks to Namjoon’s methodical eye for order.

You all collapse onto the sofa, a symphony of sighs and tired exhales filling the room. The cushions envelop you like a long-awaited embrace, and you lean back, the ache in your muscles giving way to a fleeting moment of peace.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Yoongi asks, his tone more dutiful than eager. You catch the subtext immediately: he’s ready to leave, and who could blame him?

“No, I’m good,” you reply with a grateful smile, sinking further into the plush comfort of your sofa.

But Namjoon isn’t done yet. “Can we make dinner for you before we go?” he offers, sitting up straight as if a second wind has just hit him. You wave him off, declining politely, but he shakes his head, determined. “I saw a grocery store just down the street. Yoongi and I will grab a few things, and then he’ll cook for you.” He’s already on his feet, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.

Yoongi remains rooted to the sofa, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between incredulous and annoyed. “You think I’m going to cook for my baby sister?” he scoffs, throwing you a pointed look.

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat, rolling his eyes like an exasperated parent. “What, are you planning to let your family starve?”

Yoongi’s brows twitch as he fires back, “She’s over thirty. She’s a grown-ass adult. She can take care of herself.”

Your lips part, ready to volley something back, but before you can, Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s arm, hauling him to his feet with an ease that speaks of strength and familiarity. “Come on, Mr. Grown-Ass-Adult,” he says dryly, shoving Yoongi’s coat into his hands while slipping into his own.

Yoongi grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t fight it. As Namjoon steers him toward the door, he casts a helpless glance back at you, like a cat begrudgingly herded.

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Namjoon calls over his shoulder, his voice brimming with cheerful authority. “Relax. Or unpack. Your choice.”

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you in the stillness of your new home, the faint scent of winter air lingering. You let out a soft laugh, your heart warm despite the cold. Family might be exhausting, but they’re also everything.

Then the door closes, and for the first time today, you’re alone. The silence wraps around you like a fragile shell, amplifying the creak of settling walls and the faint hum of distant life. You sink into the sofa, letting the stillness settle, until your ears catch something unexpected—a faint thread of melody, a guitar’s quiet murmur drifting through the air.

Curiosity tugs you upright, your steps soft against the floor as you follow the sound. In your new bedroom, you pause, pressing your hand to the wall. The music is clearer now, gentle and raw, strings bending under someone’s practiced fingers. Your new neighbor, perhaps? The thought lingers as you drift back to the kitchen, the faint melody becoming a backdrop to the rustle of cardboard and clinking pans. You begin to unpack—the pans your brother will use to cook, the utensils that clatter together like an impromptu percussion. Cooking has always been his way of showing love, and you can’t wait to taste the comfort it brings.

As you move through the small kitchen, time slips through your fingers like grains of sand. You make progress—each box emptied feels like a small triumph. The living room is next, and though you didn’t bring much, your touch begins to transform the space into something warm, something yours.

The sharp chill of winter sweeps in as the front door swings open, announcing Namjoon and Yoongi’s return. Cold air rushes past them, carrying the earthy scent of snow and fresh groceries. Shoes and coats are shed in a flurry of motion, and Namjoon drags his bags to the counter, while Yoongi mumbles something under his breath—his version of commentary that you’ve long learned to ignore. Yoongi grumbles as he hauls two bags into the kitchen, while Namjoon shoulders four with ease, a playful smirk on his face as he shakes the cold from his hair. Your brother dives into the kitchen, already rifling through drawers to find the pans you just unpacked.

As you help Namjoon sort the groceries, you note their choices: fresh greens, vibrant vegetables, sturdy staples like rice, beans, and coconut milk. Practical and thoughtful, as always. Your brother doesn’t waste time, snapping orders your way to chop this and rinse that. Namjoon, wisely, steers clear of the chaos and retreats to the sofa, knowing better than to tempt fate near a knife.

You and Yoongi move seamlessly, a practiced rhythm born of years of shared meals and unspoken communication. The kitchen fills with the sizzling symphony of cooking: onions crackling, garlic blooming in fragrant waves, and the gentle stir of sauces melding together. The aroma wraps itself around you, warm and grounding, a promise of the meal to come.

When the food is done, the three of you gather at your small round dining table. The plates are filled with comfort—steaming rice, perfectly cooked vegetables, and savory flavors that speak of home. Yoongi hums faintly in approval as he eats, his silence a language of contentment. Namjoon, ever the conversationalist, smiles wide as he asks about the neighborhood. You don’t know much yet, but his enthusiasm fills the gaps.

The meal lingers, rich and satisfying, until the plates are empty and the room carries only the faint scent of what was. They stand to leave, hugs exchanged at the door, their warmth momentarily shielding you from the cold creeping back in. As they drive off, the truck rattling softly into the night, the quiet returns. But this time, it feels different. Not empty.

Your home, though still half-full of boxes, feels alive now, touched by their presence. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Silence settles again, fragile and heavy—except for that faint sound of a guitar, now joined by a man’s voice. It drifts through the stillness, soft and haunting, the kind of melody that reaches into places you didn’t know were aching. From the little you can hear, his voice holds a quiet sorrow, tinged with a beauty that seems almost too fragile for this world. Wrapped in the haze of a full belly and the gentle pull of exhaustion, you sink deeper into the cushions of your couch. The music lulls you, and before you know it, sleep claims you.

When you wake, it’s to the sharp protest of stiff muscles, your body groaning in rebellion. You stretch, long and languid, wincing as you ease into movement. The living room light is still on, casting a warm but tired glow across the scattered boxes. Reaching for your phone, you blink at the screen: Saturday morning.

A sigh escapes you, accompanied by another stretch, your bones clicking softly in protest. As you yawn, the faint strands of music that lulled you to sleep the night before have grown bolder, louder, weaving through the quiet morning air. It’s coming from next door, a melody more insistent now, rising and falling like a tide against your walls.

You pause, half-annoyed, half-curious. Who plays music so loudly on a Saturday morning? Still, it isn’t unpleasant. The sound curls around you, melancholy and mesmerizing, coaxing goosebumps to bloom along your arms.

Shaking off the morning grogginess, you shuffle into the kitchen to make tea, the faint chill of the floor against your bare feet grounding you. As the kettle hums and hisses to life, your attention drifts back to the music. This song, like the one before, carries a sadness that pierces through its beauty, the kind of sorrow that feels personal yet strangely universal.

You sip your tea slowly, the warmth unfurling through your chest, and let the notes wrap around you. The lyrics, muffled but achingly tender, float into your thoughts. A sad love song, you think—heartache distilled into sound.

And then, for a fleeting moment, your mind wanders. Who is your neighbor, and what might they be feeling? It’s hard not to wonder. To play songs like this on a quiet Saturday morning—it speaks of longing, of loss, of someone trying to untangle the knots of their heart.

Exhaustion anchors you to the couch, your body heavy with the weight of weeks spent unpacking, working, and simply trying to adjust. The hours blur together as you let yourself drift, half-lost in the steady stream of music flowing from your neighbor’s house. Sad love songs, one after another, their melodies curling through the air like smoke, filling the silence with their ache. At least your neighbor has good taste; the voice is mesmerizing, familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory. And then it clicks: you’ve heard it before, floating from car radios or playing softly in cafes.  

Nearly two weeks slip by, the days stacked like unopened letters. Despite the proximity, you’ve yet to meet your enigmatic neighbor, though their music has become an unintentional soundtrack to your life. Namjoon, ever the social butterfly, has nudged you more than once to pay them a visit. “Just say hi,” he urged, grinning. But socializing hasn’t exactly been high on your list, not when there are boxes to unpack, deadlines to meet, and your energy drained to its dregs.  

Still, a seed of worry takes root. The songs haven’t changed—still steeped in longing, still carrying that unshakable sadness. Day after day, it’s as if the house next door is exhaling heartbreak. Maybe Namjoon’s right. Maybe you should go introduce yourself, ask about the neighborhood, and gently check if everything’s okay.  

Which is how you find yourself walking up the snow-dusted path to your neighbor’s door, nerves prickling like the winter air against your skin. Their house looms larger than yours, its quiet elegance a subtle reminder of its age and stature. Even the door, frosted glass like your own, feels imposing—a pale barrier between curiosity and the answers waiting behind it.  

Your footsteps crunch softly on the frozen ground as you approach. You hesitate, your breath clouding in the cold, before raising a hand to knock. For good measure, you press the doorbell too, its chime echoing faintly into the stillness.  

And then you wait, heart thrumming in quiet anticipation.  

The music drifts out from the house, faint yet achingly persistent, wrapping around you like the winter chill. You shift on your feet, blowing warmth into your hands, impatient as the cold nips at your nose and fingers. Just as the thought of retreating crosses your mind, the door creaks open.

Your gaze lowers, meeting a pair of wide, brown curious eyes belonging to a little girl. She’s impossibly small, bundled in a sweater too big for her, her dark hair a gentle mess. Her smile, shy but sweet, carries a warmth that momentarily pushes back the frost.

“Hi,” she says, her voice as soft as a whisper of wind through snow-covered trees. She studies you carefully, her head tilting as though trying to puzzle you out.

You return her smile, bending slightly to her level. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I just moved in next door.” A pause, then a gentle laugh. “I was getting a little worried with all the sad music coming from here. Are your parents home?”

Her smile falters, her gaze flickering downward before rising to meet yours again. There’s something heavy in her small expression, far too much for a child her age. “It’s just me and my dad,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite name.

Your heart clenches at her words, though you don’t fully understand why. She’s so young, so sweet, and yet there’s a fragility to her presence that stirs something protective in you. For a moment, you wonder about her mother, where she might be, what might have happened.

“Is your dad home?” you ask gently, your tone as soft as your smile.

She nods, stepping back into the warm glow of the house. “I’ll go get him. Please wait here,” she says, her words so polite they make you smile again. She scurries off, leaving you at the threshold with the frosty air swirling in around your feet.

As you stand there, you catch glimpses of the house’s interior: the dim light casting long shadows, the faint smell of wood and something floral, and always that music—a bittersweet tune that seeps into every corner.

When she returns, she isn’t alone. A man follows her, his presence filling the doorway.

Your breath catches, your jaw slack as your mind struggles to process the sight before you. You’d expected the father of the sweet little girl to be ordinary, unassuming. But this? This man? He’s a vision pulled straight from the realm of angels.

The first thing you notice is his presence—tall, confident, yet carrying a quiet weariness that tugs at the edges of his posture. He’s dressed simply, but somehow that makes him all the more striking. A plain white t-shirt stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled just enough to bare sinewy arms, and on his wrist, a faint tattoo peeks out like a secret. His black dress pants sit high on his impossibly small waist, falling loosely down his legs in elegant folds, a sharp contrast to the effortless way he carries himself.

And then there’s his face—soft yet devastatingly sharp, a contradiction of beauty. His jawline is so defined, it looks as if it could carve through stone, and yet his full lips, slightly parted as if mid-thought, ground him in warmth. His eyes—soft brown, tender, and framed by glasses and sleeplessness—pull you in, speaking of long nights and untold stories.

His hair, warm blonde kissed with streaks of brown at the roots, falls in uneven waves, longer in the back. It looks as if it was tousled by the wind or restless fingers, and you can’t help but wonder if he even knows how effortlessly beautiful he is. A few faint birthmarks dot his skin, adding something human to a face that feels otherworldly. As he steps closer, his features soften even more, and your pulse quickens.

“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, soothing melody that sinks into your bones. It’s angelic yet grounded, the kind of sound that lingers, reverberating long after the words are spoken. “What can I do for you?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak, how to breathe, how to exist. All your intentions, your purpose, your very reason for knocking on his door dissolve under the weight of his gaze. You can only stare, unmoored, helplessly captivated.

“This lady said she’s our new neighbor,” the girl chirps beside him, her bright voice cutting through your daze like sunlight through clouds. She looks up at her father with a grin, and he nods, clearing his throat.

He steps closer, extending a hand toward you, the motion deliberate and polite. His hand is warm when it meets yours, soft in a way that belies the calluses at his fingertips—marks of labor, of skill, of a life lived. 

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he says with a gentle smile, and you realize your heart is racing, thundering in your chest like it’s trying to escape.

“My name is Jimin, and this is my daughter, Hwa-Young,” he says, his voice soft yet resonant, like the distant hum of a melody that refuses to be forgotten. It’s only then that you realize—mortifyingly—that you’re still holding his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you far too much. With a jolt, you release it, your cheeks burning like embers, the sting of your foolishness wrapping itself around you. This is why you don’t talk to people, you scold yourself silently. You’re a mess. A fool.

The moment blurs, and you barely register Jimin’s words as he politely repeats something—was it your name? Before you can respond, Hwa-Young steps in, her voice clear and chiming with youthful certainty. “Her name is Y/N,” she declares with the pride of someone who’s solved a puzzle.

Jimin smiles, his expression warm enough to melt the frost clinging to your thoughts, and opens the door wider. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea, Y/N?”

You nod mutely, words lodged somewhere between your heart and throat. Speaking feels too dangerous; your silence, you hope, can’t betray how tangled your thoughts have become.

Inside, the house welcomes you with a kind of quiet charm. You peel off your coat and shoes, swapping them for a pair of slippers left by the entryway. The hallway leads you into a living room bathed in soft, creamy tones, its minimalist style broken only by the unmistakable fingerprint of family. Children’s drawings hang on the walls in uneven rows, their vibrant colors a stark but beautiful contrast to the muted decor. A small clay sculpture, wobbling slightly on its base, sits proudly on a side table. It feels like stepping into a story—a place where every corner holds a piece of life lived and loved.

Jimin gestures toward the sofa, and you sink into its inviting cushions, the fabric soft against your fingers. Hwa-Young follows, nestling beside you with a quiet familiarity, her presence grounding. From the nearby kitchen, the faint clatter of porcelain and the rustling of tea packets signal Jimin’s quiet movements.

The room feels alive with warmth, not just from the home itself but from the gentle energy of its inhabitants. You take it all in—the way the light filters through the curtains in golden streaks, the faint scent of lavender mingling with the hum of boiling water, and the soft chatter of a child’s imagination as Hwa-Young shows you a paper star she made.

You glance toward the kitchen, where Jimin moves with unhurried grace, and a strange calm settles over you. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected meeting wasn’t such a mistake after all.

“Are you from the city?” Hwa-Young asks, her voice bright with curiosity, her smile tugging at the corners of her youthful face. You nod, mirroring her smile with one of your own.

“Yes, I just moved in about two weeks ago,” you reply, the words tumbling out like snowflakes in the quiet. “How old are you?”

“I just turned ten!” she exclaims, her voice brimming with pride, her grin wide and unrestrained. Somehow, the innocence in her joy stirs something deep within you, a warmth that begins to thaw the cold edges of your weary heart.

“Congratulations,” you say softly, folding your hands in your lap as if to hold the fragile moment still.

Jimin enters the room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He sets them gently on the coffee table, the soft clink of ceramic against wood breaking the silence. With effortless grace, he disappears briefly, returning with a glass of water for his daughter. As he takes his seat in a plush chair opposite you, his presence feels both calming and grounding, like the steady rhythm of a familiar song.

“How are you liking the town so far?” he asks, his voice carrying a soothing cadence, as if he’s accustomed to drawing out answers with kindness alone.

Lifting the mug to your lips, you blow softly on the surface of the tea, the fragrant steam curling upward like a wisp of memory. “I like it so far,” you say, your tone reflective, as though you’re still making sense of this new chapter in your life.

The faintest flicker of realization ignites, and you remember the reason for your visit. You set the mug down, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t seen much of it yet. Between work and unpacking, I’ve barely had a chance to explore. But, actually…”

He takes another sip of his tea, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger. The delicate curve of his lashes, impossibly long and casting soft shadows on his cheekbones, draws your attention. His lips—pink, full, and unassuming—meet the edge of the mug, and for a brief, absurd moment, you find yourself wondering how something so simple could be so captivating.

What are you even thinking? You shake off the thought, clearing your throat.

“Ah, yes,” you stammer, a little too loudly. “I couldn’t help but notice…” You trail off, grappling for the right words. “I’ve heard a lot of sad songs coming from your house since I moved in, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Like, not…heartbroken or anything?”

Your words hang in the air, an awkward tangle of concern and curiosity, and you silently curse yourself for blurting them out. Was that a question or a statement? Even you aren’t sure.

But then he smiles—a real, genuine smile—and for a split second, his eyes vanish into crescents of warmth. His teeth peek out, slightly crooked, but so charming it nearly takes your breath away. Running a hand through his tousled blonde hair, he chuckles softly, his laugh like a melody in itself.

“Oh, that’s me. I’m the one guilty of all the sad music,” he admits, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that makes you feel at ease despite your earlier awkwardness.

Your brow furrows in thought as you tap your pointer finger against your lips, the name of the voice eluding you. “What’s the name of the artist? I know I’ve heard him on the radio, but I just can’t place it…”

His smile blooms, radiant and unrestrained, his eyes crinkling into crescents of pure light. “That’s me,” he says, a giggle escaping his lips, soft and melodic like the hum of a lullaby.

You blink at him, utterly perplexed, your mind spinning as you try to piece together what he could mean. “Sorry?” you venture hesitantly, hoping for clarity, your confusion painted plainly across your face.

“The artist,” he explains, his voice effortlessly calm and sure, “is Park Jimin. And I’m Park Jimin.”

The name lands in your ears, but it takes a second longer for the meaning to sink in. His daughter bursts into delighted laughter, while you sit frozen, your expression surely something straight out of a cartoon—wide eyes, jaw unhinged, disbelief written all over you.

Your thoughts race, chasing one another in circles. His voice, angelic and hauntingly beautiful, had felt familiar from the moment you heard it. And suddenly, the puzzle clicks into place. The songs—the ones that wrapped around you like a bittersweet embrace—were his. His.

Your eyes dart toward one of the rooms down the hall, where the music had been flowing endlessly up until the moment he greeted you. But now, the silence is palpable, a stillness that confirms your dawning realization. It wasn’t the stereo at all. It was him.

“Daddy, show her a song!” Hwa-Young pipes up, her small voice brimming with excitement as she hops off the couch and scampers toward a room. The door is ajar, revealing a glimpse of equipment and scattered papers.

Jimin’s smile softens, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle invitation. Without a word, he rises and gestures for you to follow. And as though caught in a spell, you do, your curiosity pulling you forward.

His studio is a world unto itself—a symphony of black and white, sleek lines, and personal chaos. Guitars in all shapes and sizes line the walls, their polished bodies gleaming under soft light. A microphone stands at attention, its cable curling like a lifeline to the scattered pages of sheet music littering the desk and floor.

It’s not just a room; it’s a glimpse into his soul, a sanctuary of sound and vulnerability. You can’t help but let your gaze linger, taking in the effortless beauty of it all.

Hwa-Young leaps onto the couch with a boundless energy that only a child can muster, the cushions bouncing under her weight. She pats the spot beside her, a silent invitation laced with an innocent warmth. You accept, settling in as Jimin crosses the room with a quiet confidence, his every movement purposeful yet unassuming. He retrieves an acoustic guitar, its wood glowing faintly under the soft overhead light, and perches on a nearby stool.

“Play her that new song, dad,” Hwa-Young beams, her voice lilting with pride and affection. She leans back into the couch, her tiny frame dwarfed by its embrace, but her presence fills the room.

Jimin nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips, and then his fingers meet the strings. A single strum reverberates, low and tender, a sound that seems to dissolve the walls and pull you into a different world. 

And then he sings.

His voice flows like a stream over smooth stones—gentle, searching, yet laced with a fragile ache. Feather-light and haunting, it brushes against you, delicate as a whisper yet powerful enough to root you in place. “We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world,And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?If every day I think about her,Yeah, every day of my life.Then tell me why I haven’t found her.”

Each note hangs in the air like a secret meant only for this moment, for you, for the stillness that has settled over the room. Your mind empties, swept clean by the sheer beauty of his voice, each syllable carrying raw emotion that you can’t help but feel, though it’s not your story to claim.

You watch him, this man who pours his heart so freely before a stranger, as if vulnerability were as natural as breathing. His fingers dance over the strings with practiced ease, but it’s the weight in his voice—the yearning, the quiet pain—that lingers in your chest.

A flicker of a question rises, unbidden, as you take in the scene—a renowned singer-songwriter, his talent unmistakable, living humbly in this crappy and cheap neighborhood. Why here? Why this place, when his voice alone could carry him anywhere? But the question dissipates as quickly as it forms, lost in the tide of his music. At this moment, none of it matters.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: soooo?? Tell me everything! What do you think about Jimin? Is he stealing your heart yet, or is it his adorable daughter who’s totally got you wrapped around her tiny finger? 👀💜 And don’t even get me started on what’s coming next... are you excited? Nervous? Ready to cry?? Because trust me, the next chapter has all the feels™. Let’s hear your thoughts—I’m dying to know!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰