#I fell into a burning ring of fire I went down down down and the flames climbed higher

[drizzledrawings]

Go listen to some Johnny cash,, it’ll make you feel better

[prythiansprincess]

shut up kiss me.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

song inspiration: shut up kiss me by angel olsen.

author's note: everyone say thank you to my love @writingsbychlo for fueling my delusions. constantly spamming her with my ideas because i have no self control when it comes to this man. there’s just something about theo fighting that makes me absolutely feral but i’ll hush now before i spoil it 🤭

Theodore. Fucking. Nott. 

Those three words fueled your rampage as you marched across the quidditch pitch. The audacity of that cocky, arrogant, silver tongued Slytherin knew no bounds. For years, you tolerated the pompous prick and the rivalry between you, but today he had finally gone too far. 

You cleared the field in less than a minute, passing by confused players as you angrily seethed. You spotted a shock of familiar platinum blonde hair and walked right up to Draco Malfoy. 

“Where the hell is he?”

He chuckled, perfectly aware of your longstanding enmity with his closest friend. “What’s he done this time?”

“Where. Is. He?” you repeated through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me ask again, Malfoy.” 

The blonde paled several shades when he saw the fire burning in your gaze. “Locker rooms. I wouldn’t go in there, Y/N. They’re still shower—“ Draco sighed as you brushed past him. “Whatever, it’s your funeral.”

The locker rooms were steamy, the heat and humidity clinging to your school uniform as you stalked through the aisles. The Slytherin players startled when they spotted you amongst their midst. 

“Well, well, well,” Mattheo drawled as he leaned against the wall. A towel hung dangerously low on his hips and he smirked when your eyes flickered over his body. “What do we have here? A sweet little Hufflepuff marching straight into the viper’s den.”

“Where the fuck is he, Riddle?”

Mattheo grinned lazily. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, sweetheart.” 

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. Your arrogant prick of a friend who sent my fucking date to the hospital wing!” 

Before you went to sleep last night, you had done so with a grin on your face after a wonderful date with Alec Stone at the Three Broomsticks, but then you arrived at breakfast this morning with no Alec in sight and the rumor mill rampant with talks of Theo pummeling some poor Ravenclaw in the courtyard. 

You were going to kill him. 

“Sorry, love. Doesn’t ring a bell.” 

You frowned, purposely bumping against Mattheo as you walked further down the dimly lit aisle. In your trail for vengeance, you ran into a very flustered looking Enzo who yelped as he sought to cover his very naked torso. 

“Y/N,” Enzo said, hastily wrapping a towel around his waist. “What are you doing in the locker rooms?”

Behind him, the sound of the shower running echoed against the marble tiles. “Is he in there?”

Berkshire’s face fell. “You heard about the fight?” 

“It wasn’t a fight,” you said angrily. “He pummeled Alec so badly that he’s currently in the hospital wing with a concussion and several broken bones.”

“Just hear him out, okay?” 

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. “Hear him out? Your precious Theodore beat the absolute shit out of my date and you want me to hear him out? For what? What reason could Theo possibly have for doing what he did to Alec? He couldn’t stand to see me have fun for two fucking seconds? This is low even for him and you know it, Enzo.”

“You don’t know the whole story, Y/N.” 

“Well then please point me in the right direction so I can hear from the arsehole himself.” 

“He’s in there,” Enzo said, pointing to the shower stalls. “But I’m warning you, Y/N. He’s in a proper foul mood.” 

You huffed. “That makes two of us.” 

The steam from the showers rose up like a malevolent fog, curling around your feet as you stormed through the stalls. You found him in the farthest corner, water trickling down his back as he faced the tiled wall. His body language was tense, like a serpent preparing to strike. A crimson trail swirled against the marble as blood dripped from Theo’s bruised knuckles. The sight of it incensed you. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

Theo whipped his head towards your direction, his dark curls plastered against his cheek. Those watercolor eyes were stormy, the blues and greens flickering with anger as he met your gaze. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said dismissively. 

“Bullshit!” You countered, stepping further into the stall. The steam barely covered Theo’s naked form, but you weren’t about to let that deter you from demanding answers. “You owe me a fucking explanation.”

“For what?” 

“For what?” you repeated incredulously. “You beat Alec within an inch of his life and that’s all you have to say for yourself? Honestly Theodore, have you gone absolutely mental?” 

“He deserved it.” 

“Why? Because he took me out on a date? Because you couldn’t stand to let me have this one thing? You absolutely loathe the idea of me being even remotely happy, don’t you?” 

Theo clenched his fists as his jaw twitched in anger. “No. I loathe the idea of that miserable excuse of a human being breathing the same air as you.” 

“So you beat him to a bloody pulp?” 

His voice was cold and icy, cutting through you like glass. “He’s lucky I didn’t do worse.”

“What do you have against Alec?” You moved closer to Theo, closing the gap as you poked his chest. The shower streamed over the both of you, blurring your vision. The water was hot against your skin, but it paled against the heat of your own anger. “What did he ever do to you, Theo?” 

Theo gripped your wrist. You were vaguely aware of his nakedness, but he made no move to hide it and you were too furious to even care. “Don’t say his name. I can’t bear to hear you say it after what he said about you this morning.” 

You stepped backward, flinching. “What—what are you talking about?” 

When you met his gaze, you startled. You’d never seen Theo this angry before. His eyes, which were usually dead and expressionless, burned with a cold sort of fury. 

“I heard him in the courtyard, bragging to his stupid friends. I thought he was just chatting shit, so I kept back. I only came down for a smoke, but then he said your name.” 

The pit in your stomach grew. “What did he say?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. Not if he was this angry over it.

“The stupid fucking prick was talking about your date. The dress you wore. The smiles you gave him. The hand holding through Hogsmeade. Then one of his gormless mates asked if he got lucky.” 

You froze at his words as a horrible feeling washed over you. Theo loosened his grip on your wrist, but didn’t let go. 

“Do you know what that sodding idiot said? I will, soon enough. I can tell she’s raring to go.” 

Tears pricked at your eyes. You felt like you were going to be violently sick. 

“And his friends—those miserable fucking wankers started betting on how long it would take. Two dates. Three. A month.” Theo’s hands were shaking, violence spilling over into his veins. “That smug tosser smirked and said he could’ve had you out in the hallway. That’s how eager you were.”

“I barely even touched him!” you said angrily. “I kissed his cheek good night and that was it.” 

“I know,” Theo said, his voice low and rough. “I know you. I knew he was lying, so I fucking lost it. I walked over there and just punched and punched until my knuckles were bloody and bruised and all I could see was red. I wanted to wipe that stupid fucking smirk off his mouth.” 

You could picture Theo putting out his cigarette ever so calmly before walking over to throw the first punch. You’d seen him fight before. He was relentless. Where Mattheo was pure fire and rage, Theo was as cold as ice. There was nothing but lethal calm in those dead eyes as he delivered blow after blow in absolute silence. 

“Eventually, Blaise and Enzo pulled me off of that prick.” He averted his gaze as if remembering the moment. “When his idiot friends finally peeled him off the floor, I spit on the fucker. I told him to consider it a warning. That I’d do a lot worse if I ever heard your name come out of his mouth again. I promised him that a concussion would be the least of his worries if he didn’t stay the fuck away from you.”

The tears fell down your cheeks despite your efforts to keep them in. The anger all but faded from Theo’s eyes as soon as he realized that you were crying. You were so, so stupid. For thinking Alec was a nice guy. For being so giddy after your date only for him to turn around and spit vile lies about you. 

For crying in front of your worst enemy.

The color drained from Theo’s face as you cried into your hands. You felt him shift beside you, debating whether or not to come closer. 

“Don’t,” you said through a broken sob. “Don’t come near me.” 

Theo flinched at your words, looking visibly pained. His voice was soft and soothing when he spoke again. “Tell me how to fix it. Do you want to yell at me? Punch me? Go ahead, love. I can take it.” He sounded desperate. “Just please, please don’t cry.” 

You hugged your arms around your waist and glared at him. “Why do you even care?” 

He paused, fingers flexing at his side as he fought the urge to reach out and comfort you. 

“Because I care about you!” The exasperation in his voice made your chest tighten. “I care that you let that stupid idiot take you on a date to the Three Broomsticks. I care that you fucking smiled at him when he gave you roses even though I know you prefer sunflowers. I care that you kissed him on the cheek when he dropped you off at your dorm.”

You sniffled, utterly perplexed at his words. “I don’t understand. We hate each other!” 

Theo visibly softened, the tension leaving his body. “I could never hate you, Y/N.” He reached for your hand. Your first instinct was to pull away, but you let him trace soothing circles on your skin. “I may tease you. Prank you. Annoy you. But I’ve never hated you.” 

Theo wiped the dried up tears from your cheeks. No fresh tears, which he took as a good sign. “I don’t even think you remember this, but I tried asking you to the Yule Ball in fourth year.” 

The memory surfaced. You were reading by the Black Lake and Theo had asked if you had a date. You said no, to which he promptly asked if he could take you. You left in a huff, thinking that it was just another way to rile you up. 

“I thought you were just trying to get a rise out of me. If I would’ve known…” 

Theo paused. “How could you not know? How could you not see?” 

The rage crashed against you like an errant wave. You didn’t know if you were angry at Theo or yourself, but you exploded either way, unable to keep your emotions under control. 

“Because you never told me, you idiot!”

“I never told you, but I showed you.” He smiled crookedly. “I'm not good with words, obviously. Every time I open my mouth it’s like I say the perfect combination of words to piss you off. So I learned to tell you how I felt through my actions.” 

“Haven’t you ever wondered why your favorite study spot in the library is always free? That’s because I threatened anyone who came near it. Or how you never seem to run out of quills despite the fact that you manage to break one every day from how hard you write? I always replaced them when you weren’t looking.” Your heart clenched at his words. “I even bribed first years to bring you hot chocolate when I knew you were pulling all nighters.” 

You stood there, staring at him. This wasn’t the cocky, arrogant Theo that you knew. He was looking at you so earnestly that it physically hurt how endearing it all was. 

“Why would you let me think that you were an inconsiderate jerk this whole time?” 

Those hypnotizing eyes pierced right through you, filled with a sadness so heavy that you felt it weighing on your chest. 

“Because at least you were thinking of me.”

You swayed gently. The water had long seeped into your bones, making you shiver as all of your clothes stuck to your skin like paper. You were convinced that your body had gone into shock. The range of emotions you were currently experiencing was turbulent to say the least. You stood in stunned silence, just taking it all in. Then the impact of his words hit you all at once. 

Theo watched as your bottom lip trembled. Panic seized him as you began crying again, this time not bothering to hide it from him. “Fuck I’m sorry, Y/N. Please don’t cry.” 

He didn’t know what to do. Should he comfort you? Should he keep his distance? Theo felt like he was doing a rather exceptional job of mucking things up. 

“Why are you saying sorry?” You said between hiccups. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

Theo caressed your cheek. So gently. Like he half-expected you to recoil. That only set a fresh wave of tears to spill onto your cheeks. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, love.” 

“Of course I do!” you nearly wailed. “I’ve been horrible to you. I’ve thought the worst of you, but all this time you were doing all these sweet, considerate things and I never even noticed. You should’ve told me, Theo.” 

“I—I didn’t think you’d ever see me that way,” Theo said softly. “It was better to have you hate me and still be part of my life than risking not having you in it at all.” 

Because at least you were thinking of me. 

It was the saddest thing that you’ve ever heard. For years, Theo settled for being your enemy because he’d rather have your hatred and loathing than indifference. He sustained himself on the bare minimum because he thought that was all he deserved. 

“I’m sorry, Theo. I’m so so fucking sorry.” 

Theo was absolutely distressed. “Fuck, look Y/N. Let me just finish up here and get my towel and when I’m dry and slightly less naked then we can talk, okay?” 

You sniffled, wiping your tears away. There was no way you could wait. Not after everything Theo had just told you. Not after everything that he’s been telling you all these years. Theo had literally and figuratively laid himself bare before you. The least you could do was to even the playing field. 

So you unlaced the gold and black tie around your neck. Unbuttoned your blouse and threw it somewhere behind you. Stepped out of your skirt and stared at Theo head on. 

“Oh—Merlin’s beard, what in the hell are you doing, Y/N? Are you trying to send me into cardiac arrest?” 

You shook your head, smiling slightly. Theo was determined to look everywhere but at your very exposed body. You were still in your bra and panties, but the black lace really didn’t leave much to the imagination. Especially when the water clung to every inch of your skin. 

“You were vulnerable with me,” you said simply. “So I’m returning the favor.” 

Theo felt like he was definitely headed for an early grave. He tried to think of something—anything—other than the girl he’s been head over heels for since third year standing naked in front of him.

“Theo,” you said softly. His name had never sounded half as good coming out of anyone else’s mouth. He wanted to bottle the sound. “Can I—can I hug you?” 

He could’ve sworn that his heart had stopped beating. The air had all but left his lungs, deflating his entire body as though he’d fallen off his broom and plummeted through the sky at breakneck speed. 

Theo didn’t recognize his own voice as he said, “Of course you can, Y/N.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before you dashed into his arms, nearly toppling him over from the force of it. You were a tiny little thing, but you were stronger than you looked. He smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes as you hugged him. For a minute you and Theo just stood there under the trickling water, holding each other as though you were the only two people alive. 

If this was all the affection you were willing to give him, Theo would’ve been content to hold onto you until you grew tired of him. His slender fingers traced down your spine, drawing soothing circles against your skin as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. You felt safe. Like nothing bad could ever happen as long as you were with him.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this. There was just this spark between you. Perhaps that was part of the reason why you had been so angry this morning. 

It hadn’t just been because Theo sent Alec to the hospital wing, which you were now thankful for after hearing all the disgusting things he said about you. It was also because you thought that he had ruined your chance of feeling that rush with someone else. The same rush you got when the two of you were arguing. The same rush that was noticeably missing when you kissed Alec last night. 

Things with Theo had always been electric. You attributed it to mutual loathing, but that wasn’t the full story. Sure he made your blood boil sometimes, but he also made you feel alive. You were terrified to admit it to yourself, which is probably why you said yes to Alec in the first place. 

You sighed as Theo’s fingers tangled through your hair. He gently pulled your head back and looked at you in the most heartbreaking way. 

“Y/N,” he said hoarsely. Theo’s gaze dipped to your mouth as his arm snaked around your waist. “I think I might die if I go one more second without kissing you. Will you please put me out of my misery, love?” 

You couldn’t help but smile. “Gladly.”

Theo held his breath as you pulled him down to you, lips brushing shyly at first. Then you leaned in and kissed him. And he truly and honestly thought that he had died. 

Your lips were soft against his, tasting of strawberries and mint toothpaste. He cupped the back of your head and tilted your chin to deepen the kiss. Before, Theo thought he could’ve sustained himself from a simple hug, but right now, he couldn’t even control himself as he gorged himself on your taste. 

He chuckled when you tried and failed to get on your tiptoes to offset the height difference between you. Theo caressed your cheek and smiled against your mouth. 

“Need some help, love?” 

You nodded before pulling him back down again. This time, the tender kisses turned more heated as he locked your legs around his waist and pressed your back against the wall. You gasped as the cold tile made contact with your bare skin and Theo took the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. 

Merlin’s beard. Theo kissed with his entire body. There wasn’t an inch of you that wasn’t touching him and the skin to skin contact set your body on fire. You’d kissed other boys before, but they paled in comparison. You couldn’t get enough of Theo. You ran your fingers through his hair. Wrapped your legs more tightly around his waist. Trailed kisses along his jaw and neck and throat. 

Then he fucking moaned. 

It was a low, rumbling sound that sent tremors over your body and shook every fiber of your being like a devastating earthquake. You wanted to hear him make that sound over and over again. 

“Y/N,” Theo said, his forehead dropping to yours. “Before I lose all sense of self, I want to—no—I need to tell you—”

“What is it, Theo?”

“If we do this, then you have to understand what it means to me,” Theo whispered. “I may be terrible with words, but it’s important for me that you hear me when I say this. I want you. Not just physically, but in every sense of the word. I wanted you in third year when you first told me off for being a dick to the first years and I want you now even though you came in here to defend a prick that definitely doesn’t deserve it.” 

“What are you saying, Theo?” 

“I want you to be mine, Y/N.” 

You beamed. “Like, your girlfriend?”

“I don’t think girlfriend is a strong enough word to express how I feel for you, but it’s a start.” He moved the hair out of your face and cradled your cheek. “So yes, I suppose I do want you to be my girlfriend. I want to hold hands with you in the hallways. I want to look up at the stands during my games and see you cheering me on. I want to take you up to the Astronomy Tower and kiss you under the stars.” 

“And you say you’re bad with words,” you teased. “I want to do all those things and more with you, Theodore Nott. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

“Good, cause you’re mine.” Theo said matter-of-factly, those adorable dimples making an appearance on each cheek. “You were mine even before you knew it.” 

He kissed you again, but this time it was soft and sweet and it filled your stomach with butterflies. Theo no longer felt the need to hoard as much of your affection as he could because you had just given him the ultimate reassurance that he would have plenty of you in the future. 

You sighed contently against him, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. He shifted, pressing kisses against your neck. Your fingers froze when you felt him stir underneath you. 

“Theo,” you said slowly, biting back a smirk. “Is that what I think it is pressing against my leg?” 

He groaned. “We’re half naked, in the shower, heavily making out, and you just agreed to be my girlfriend. Of course I’m hard.” 

You stifled a laugh. “Theodore Nott, is emotional intimacy turning you on?” 

“Everything about you turns me on.” 

“That’s helpful to know,” you said with a little smirk. “Especially when we're dueling and I’m losing.” 

“Merlin’s beard. My girlfriend’s downright evil.” 

You grinned so hard that your cheeks ached. Theo peppered kisses all over your face before setting you down. 

“I suppose we should head to dinner soon. My teammates watched you march in here in a fit of rage. They might think you’ve murdered me.” 

“There’s only one problem,” you said as you finally turned off the shower. “I’m soaking wet.” 

“I bet you are, darling.” 

You rolled your eyes. “From the shower, you wanker.” 

He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “It’s alright. I’ve got some extra clothes in my locker.”

Ten minutes later, the two of you walked out in the quidditch pitch hand in hand. Theo’s sweater completely enveloped you and he smiled a little at the sight. You received a few interesting stares as you made your way through the castle halls, but one look from Theo and they all quickly found something else to gawk at. Having a scary boyfriend was already paying off. 

On the way to dinner, you ran into Enzo. The git had the biggest smile on his face when he saw that you and Theo were holding hands. “So you heard him out after all, huh?” 

“Yeah, we sorted out our differences,” you said with a smile. “Coincidentally, I gained a boyfriend out of the whole ordeal. Happy now, Berkshire?” 

“Absolutely chuffed,” Enzo said with a grin. “See you lovebirds at dinner.” 

Theo rolled his eyes as his friend disappeared into the Great Hall. He turned, squeezing your fingers. “I should warn you. My friends can be a bit…much.” 

“Don’t worry, I think we all got fairly acquainted in the locker rooms. If they tease us, well I’ve got a perfectly scary boyfriend to fend them off.” 

He chuckled. “A scary boyfriend with an even more terrifying girlfriend.” 

You winked, kissing his bruised knuckles. “This school won’t know what hit them.” 

“Neither did Alec,” he said with a satisfied smirk. You gave him a reprimanding glare, but it was half-hearted. You didn’t actually feel sorry for the prick. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“You know you can’t punch everyone that says anything bad about me, right?”

“Of course not. I’m perfectly capable of kicking them too.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Shut up and kiss me, Theo.” 

“Yes ma'am.” 

taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468

please let me know if you'd like to be added.

[00venator]

RING OF FIRE

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[mind-intheclouds342]

Do it for them - Co-captain reader x Curly (Mouthwash)

Part 1

(This gonna be a mini serie)

"What do you mean I can't see him? It's my husband we're talking about."

You crossed your arms but tried to maintain a relaxed posture, you didn't want to get defensive, you knew well that Anya wasn't the one to blame, you were just too anxious after that crash.

Anya: "I'm so sorry (Y/n), but the captain himself has told me that he doesn't want you to see him... He doesn't feel capable of seeing you in the state he is"

"Oh, I understand now. But you know that if he is incapacitated to perform his tasks and give instructions, then that makes me the captain."

You said firmly, putting your hands on your waist and puffing your chest, making the woman feeling so little. 

Anya: "I know, but he... Give him time, please... He is in pain."

"Anya please- it's been a week already. I need to see him" 

You ran your hand over your face, pressing your brow for a few seconds, trying to relax. 

You had been working with Curly as her co-captain for years, and less than a year ago, you had even gotten married.

Many questioned your position since they said that in case you had to be promoted to captain if something happened to Curly, your judgment would be influenced by your husband. 

You weren't going to give them rigth to keep saying that. You worked too hard for that and you now that the situation has come up you will show them.

"You are right, the captain's last orders must be respected, but please, tell me if at any moment he feel ready to see me." 

You took the woman's hands firmly, almost pleadingly, to which she nodded. 

You needed to stay calm to keep everything in order on the ship. 

"The cockpit is completely destroyed... the corridor to it was automatically sealed with safety foam so that space wouldn't absorb us, we are floating aimlessly, and we don't have a radio to call for rescue..."

You murmured while attentively examining the ship's blueprints along with Swansea and Daisuke. 

"Are the suits still available?" 

Swansea: "The room where they are stored has foam that has sealed the door, but it is not a very thick layer."

"Then I'll use one and exit through the hatch to check the cockpit damage, maybe there's something that can still work."

Daisuke: "Woah... The covkpit was blown up... It's a miracle that the explosion allowed the captain to reach the corridor before it was sealed with foam, otherwise he would be floating in the-"

He fell silent when he saw Swansea's look, gesturing towards you. 

"Yes... the truth is that it was a miracle that he's still alive, I'm grateful for it... Let's stick to the plan."

You stood up, ready to go to the room where the spacesuits were.

At that moment, Swansea took the opportunity to hit Daisuke on the head. 

After managing to get in and take the suit, you headed to the exit room, equipped yourself before leaving through the hatch. 

You observed in detail the void around you, a dark sea full of stars and debris floating around you. 

You held on to the ship, trying to reach the cockpit.

Swansea: "(T/n), can you hear me? Can you see anything?"

You smiled upon realizing that the suit communicator was intact, happy to feel that you weren't alone on that walk. 

"Loud and clear Swansea, I'm approaching the cockpit, the foam has spread outside the ship, it seems that it has prevented the fire from spreading."

You responded and went down to the cockpit, there was almost nothing, the only thing found there was the floor and half of the control panel. 

You sighed in resignation upon seeing that there was nothing salvageable left, everything too broken and burned. 

Until you got scared when something hit your helmet. 

Swansea: "All good?? Your pulse has accelerated too much."

"Yeah... I'm sorry... Something scared me."

You mentioned seeing Curly's ring floating near you, and soon you took it before it drifted away and kept it. 

You returned to the ship and took off the suit, and upon seeing Swansea, you shook your head, assuring him that there was nothing there that you can use to get out of there.  

Daisuke: "How did it feel to be in space??"

Swansea: "Child!"

"No, no, it's fine Swansea," you raised your hand, interrupting the man before he could scold the boy. "You never get used to that feeling, I've gone out many times for different reasons but each one is unique."

Daisuke: "Did you see an alien?? Was that what scared you?"

"Oh yeah, it had enormous eyes and tentacles on its arms, giant and ponty teeth, ready to devour interns!"

You and Swansea started laughing when Daisuke hid behind the older one. 

When they stopped laughing, you looked at both of them with a smile. 

"We're going to find a way out of here, I promise you." 

Swansea: "Sure, captain," he nodded at your words. 

It felt so strange to finally be called that way, but you maintained your stance, nodding and leaving that place to head to the reserve depot. 

You started organizing the remaining food supplies, it seemed like they were going to have to ration a bit, so you began separating and counting everything to maintain an inventory. 

You locked the storage room with a key so there wouldn't be any food thefts. 

You rested your head against the door and sighed. 

You searched in your pocket and took out the ring you had found, noticing how it was slightly deformed by the heat and cold it had been exposed to, but it still retained its circular shape. 

You placed it on your ring finger, next to your wedding ring.

You were sure that his ring was way bigger than yours, but the explosion for sure make it smaller now for you to use it.

After looking at it for a while, you pressed your lips against the two rings. 

"We're going to get through this, no matter what it costs me."

[natalievoncatte]

Lena crouched down and carefully undid the buckle, pulling the watch from Lex’s limp wrist. His cold hand fell to the floor with a soft flopping sound and his eyes stared at nothing, unfocused and dull. Lena had once read that a dead man stared as if trying to solve a complex problem, but Lena did not see metaphor in her dead brother’s eyes. She saw only an absence that was a presence, a nothing that was somehow something.

Lex finally had his father’s eyes.

The gun was still heavy in her hand, her palm and wrist tingling from the force of recoil, ears still ringing from the blast. A single hole marked the center of her brother’s forehead; the meat of his genius was splattered across a bank of screens all playing surveillance footage of Kara performing inhuman feats.

(Two to the chest, one to the head, he had taught her, teaching her to repeat the mantra as he held her wrist to guide her aim as she took her very first shot)

The world was starting to come back, sweeping in. She couldn’t be here. She’d have to figure out what to do with the body and the evidence. She had to get out.

The interface on the watch was simple enough. The portal flashed open and she stepped through into her apartment. That could be convenient.

The watch crystal was dotted with her brother’s blood. She threw it and it skidded across the kitchen counter and it fell on the floor. She looked at the weapon in her hand. She would have powder burns.

Looking up, she spotted her reflection in the stainless steel of her fridge, blurred but real. There was red on her.

Lena never wore red.

There was more than she thought. She was covered in blood. In a panic, she ran for her bedroom and began shedding clothes on the tile floor of her bathrooms, wrapping the gun in a towel before throwing it on the bed. Stupid, stupid. That revolver was registered to her in Metropolis, and like all guns sold in-state, the police had a spent shell casing from it, fired and then stored for police records before it was sold.

Fuck.

Hot water blasted her skin. She let her hair fall down around her shoulders in wet locks like streaks of ink smeared across her pale skin.

(Why must you be so pale? You look like a dead fish.)

(That’s enough, mother. Leave Lena alone.)

She wasn’t sure when the tears started, or when she began to sob. She scrubbed at herself with a wash cloth and soap until her skin was raw and beet red. She was still sobbing when she stumbled out of the shower and threw on a robe, choking back tears as she sat on the edge of the bed.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand, but who to call?

Not long ago she’d have called Kara, or perhaps her sister. She could have called Nia or Brainy but they had all fucking lied to her. Even James. James knew while he was… while they…

It was Kara. Kara has asked her boyfriend to spy on her, questioned her motives.

Kara… Kara had lied most of all.

She stared at the phone. There was Sam, but Sam was away from all this madness, busy with her work and her daughter. Lena would just be a burden to her.

She stared at her list of contacts- the only people she knew outside of her employees and associates were in Kara’s circle, except for Sam…

…and Jack.

Lena jabbed the call button and waited.

It rang, rang, rang again.

Finally, he answered.

“Lena?”

“Hello, Jack.”

“I must say I’m surprised- it’s rather late, and we haven’t spoken in a while. What’s on your mind?”

“I shot Lex in the face,” Lena said, shocked by her own hollow, distant voice.

The line was silent for too long a beat.

“Dear God, you’re serious.”

Lena choked out a sob.

“I had to, Jack. She was never going to be safe while he was alive. He almost killed her this time. He would never let her live if he knew how I feel.”

“Lena, darling, please, you’re not making sense. Look- I’m booking a flight out there now, but please, stay calm and try to tell me what happened.”

She didn’t know where to start, so she went back to the beginning, when she had learned how to trace Lex’s portals and followed him back to his lair.

She stopped herself before she gave it away.

“He showed me Supergirl’s real identity. He had proof.”

“I see.”

“I… she…”

“It doesn’t matter who she is. It hurt you, I know that. Listen to me, Lena- I’ve charted a flight and I’ll be there in six hours. Where is the gun?”

“I have it here.”

“Unload it, please. Let me know when you’ve finished.”

Lena flicked open the cylinder and dumped the shells into her hand, three spent and two unfired, then closed it again.

“Now, lock it up.”

Once it was in the safe she said, “done.”

“Now I want you to lie down. Stay in the apartment and wait there for me, I’ll be there presently.”

For once in her life, Lena did as she was told. Somehow, she fell asleep and didn’t wake until she heard the intercom buzzing.

Without thinking she pulled on sweats and a Midvale High Mathletes sweatshirt.

Kara’s.

When she opened the door she found a haggard Jack Spheer on the other side. He was a little older, beard salted with gray, but he was still him.

He swept into the apartment without a word, found the liquor cabinet, and poured drinks.

“Talk to me.”

Lena sat down and downed her two fingers of scotch in one motion. He poured her another.

“Kara Danvers is Supergirl.”

“The Kara Danvers? Your reporter friend? Your best friend?”

He took a drink.

“Your crush?” he added.

Lena stared at him. He met her gaze levelly.

“What you said on the phone before I left. That he would never let her live if he knew how you felt.”

Lena’s throat felt like sandpaper. She took another drink. It didn’t help.

“She’s not… I’m not… I don’t…” The words would not take shape. “She lied to me,” Lena finally choked out. “She did something I shouldn’t forgive and she used her double life to play both side against me. I don’t know what part of our relationship was real now.”

Jack studied his drink for a long time. He picked up the bottle and pretended to read the label.

“The last time we spoke she seemed quite taken with you. I assume that Lex knew all of this, or most of it.”

“He knew the broad strokes, I’m sure. I think he hoped that if he showed me, I’d join him.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” Lena said, in a tiny whisper. “I killed him.”

“Your brother is dead.”

“Yes.”

He poured more drinks, another round for both of them.

“Tell me about him.”

“You’ve heard all the stories.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Lena considered that for a moment, then began talking, rattling off whatever popped into her head. She started with the first time she ever met her brother when he and Lionel had come to Ireland to take custody of her, then began jumping around in time from the treehouse he tried to build to the time he told Lillian he’d kill her if she hurt Lena to his college graduation to when he declared to her that he was going to kill Superman, as if it were the most obvious thing to do.

Eventfully she ran out of stories, and they were running out of scotch. There was enough for one more glass each.

It was The Next Day by now, and mid-morning sun filled the penthouse.

“Are you ready to tell me about her?”

She was. Lena began with the first time they met- the mousy little wannabe reporter who followed Superman into her office as he posed as a reporter, how the Man of Steel himself seemed unimportant compared to Kara, how even then her heart fluttered and she felt a hot pressure low in her hips and Kara seemed to feel spending too.

She told Jack all about it- not just Kara but Supergirl too, about the plane and the office full of flowers and the lunches and brunches and movie nights and how this woman had burrowed into her life and made a home there and gave a home in return, about all the times she had saved Lena’s life.

Again the words ran out.

“Do you want my advice?”

“Yes,” said Lena.

“Talk to her. The woman cares for you deeply, that much is clear. Talk to her and see where you stand.”

“But,”

He raised a hand. “I’m telling you this because I think you’ll listen to me. You want my real advice?”

Lena swallowed. “Yes.”

“Your psychopath brother is gone. You own and run a Fortune 50 company. You’re on a dozen lists, 30 under 30, most influential women… you have virtually unlimited wealth and, if I dare say so, a woman who loves you.”

Lena sucked in a breath.

“Take the money, take the girl,” said Jack, “and live your life.”

She looked down at the empty glass, feeling the cold austere minimalism of her stark penthouse around her, and the tears began to flow anew. She wrapped her arms around herself and didn’t flinch when Jack took her in a bear hug.

“I want what’s best for you, and right now I think what’s best for you is ignoring that little voice in your head that’s telling you to blow up your life because you think you can’t be happy.”

“I knew,” Lena finally admitted. “I knew the whole time. I knew she was Supergirl and I knew I was in love with her.”

Lena wept softly on his shoulder for a time. He ended up staying the day and slept on her couch before leaving to return to Metropolis.

She was still wearing Kara’s sweater when she made the call.

“Lena? Are you alright? I was worried about you,” Kara said.

“Please come over,” Lena whispered. “I need to see you, Kara. You can come in through the balcony. The door is open.”

There was a too-long pause, and then the double impact of Supergirl’s boot heels on the concrete.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

He Fell Harder - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

🌝🌝🌝🌝🌝

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 4.15k

series masterlist | main masterlist

The wall’s been staring at me for hours.

Or maybe I’ve been staring at it. Hard to tell.

It’s past midnight. House is quiet. The kind of quiet that rings in your ears like an accusation. I’ve been nursing the same drink long enough for the ice to melt and water it down to nothing. Doesn’t matter. Still burns. Still does the job.

Sort of.

My living room’s a mess, but not more than usual. Chair’s got a rip in it I keep meaning to fix. The books are crooked on the shelf. There’s a sock on the floor I swear I don’t remember owning. It’s all the same. Every night. Except lately—

Lately, everything’s felt off-kilter.

She’s in my head.

Y/N. Laughing like the whole world’s worth laughing at. Tossing insults over her shoulder like rose petals. Smiling at me like she doesn’t know better. Or maybe like she does.

I keep thinking about the damn couch. The way she curls into it like she owns the space. Like she belongs here. And the worst part—the part that keeps crawling under my skin—is that it doesn’t feel wrong. Doesn’t feel like an intrusion. It feels… easy.

Natural.

Comfortable.

And maybe I could’ve kept pretending it was nothing—just banter, just teasing, just a kid who didn’t know any better—but then she went and hurt herself.

Sprained ankle. Her dumbass tripped on a root.

When she went down, something in my chest—

God.

I carried her.

I didn’t think. Just picked her up and didn’t stop moving until she was safe and seated and being annoying about it like always.

And it felt different. Holding her like that.

It felt like something I wasn’t ready to name.

I’ve been over and over it in my head. The way she looked up at me. Like she trusted me. And maybe she does. Maybe she shouldn’t.

Because I’ve spent every night since trying to figure out when exactly I started wanting her near me all the time. When I started looking forward to her barging into my house. When I started making excuses to sit beside her instead of just next to her.

And worse—when I started looking at her like that.

She’s younger. Too young, maybe. Not a kid. But not someone I should be thinking about when I close my eyes.

Except I do.

I think about her laughing. I think about her tucking her hair behind her ear. I think about the way she looked at me that night when I said I wasn’t leaving. Like she believed me. Like she needed to believe me.

I thought I was just being nice. I thought I was just making her laugh because someone ought to. But now I’m sitting here trying to remember if I’ve actually been flirting with her this whole time and just didn’t realize it.

It hits me all at once. And it hits hard.

I like her.

God help me, I like her.

And I can’t. I shouldn’t.

Because there’s someone else who owns the pieces of me that are still good. Someone I already failed.

Lenore Dove.

Her name still feels like a prayer. Like a wound.

I can still see her face—lit up like the sun when she saw me. Still feel her hands in mine. Still hear her voice when she laughed and said she could finally eat the gumdrops I got her before The Reaping.

She’d stashed them at home, saved them like they meant something. I thought it was sweet. Thought it meant she still wanted me even after everything.

And then I realized too late.

And then she was gone.

I held her while she died.

I told her I loved her like all-fire.

And I meant it. I still mean it.

So how the hell can I feel like this about someone else?

How can I want to protect her, make her smile, make her laugh again and again just to see what it does to her face?

How can I look at her and feel something that feels a lot like hope?

I haven’t felt anything like this in twenty-five years.

And it terrifies me.

Because what if this is betrayal?

And worse—what if it’s not?

I press the heel of my hand against my eye socket and let my head tip back against the couch, trying to breathe around it. The ache. The sting behind my ribs.

Not even the drink numbs it tonight.

She’s probably asleep right now, in that creaky little bed in that quiet little house that’s started to smell like mint and cinnamon and summer. Probably dreaming about stars or flowers or whatever soft thing crawled into her bones and stayed there. Probably not thinking about me.

Good. That’s good.

I’m not what she needs. Never have been.

And still.

Still.

When she looked at me like I held the world in one cracked hand after I carried her to the couch—when she touches my arm and smiles like I’m something safe—

I felt it. Like a fuse catching. Like the slow burn of something waiting too long.

And that’s the part I can’t shake.

I look at the wall again like it’s gonna give me a damn answer.

But it’s just silence. Cold and flat.

I close my eyes and see her face—not Lenore Dove’s, but hers.

Y/N.

That stupid wide-eyed smile she gives me when I hand her tea. The way she blushes like it’s a crime. The way she said something ridiculous about me nursing her through fever dreams, and I just—

I pictured her in bed, pale and sick, me sitting beside her trying not to panic. Holding her hand. Stroking her hair. Whispering something stupid to keep her awake.

Why the hell would I think about that?

Why would I want that?

Why would I want—

My throat tightens.

I push off the couch fast like movement will fix it, like pacing will erase the thought, but it doesn’t. It just makes it worse.

Because I’ve been calling her honey for too long now. And maybe I told myself it was a joke. Maybe I thought it was just a word.

But I don’t think it is anymore.

She says sunshine like it’s a challenge. She says it like it’s mine.

And that’s the real problem, isn’t it?

I want her to keep saying it.

I want her to say it when she’s happy. When she’s scared. When she’s old and cranky and teasing me from the other end of a shared porch.

I want—

I press my palms to my eyes until I see stars.

No.

No, this can’t be that.

This can’t be anything.

Because Lenore Dove is dead.

And I promised her forever.

Even if forever got me nowhere.

Even if I’ve been alone since that day.

Even if I’m tired of an empty bed and hollow silences at night and flasks that don’t fix a damn thing.

Even if part of me wants to believe maybe—maybe—it could be different.

I sit back down on the couch like gravity finally won.

And I say it out loud, just to hear how it sounds in the dark.

“…Shit.”

Yeah.

That’s about right.

I drop my head into my hands, let out a breath that rattles in my chest.

I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with this—what I’m supposed to do with her.

And then, a knock.

Soft. Barely there.

I blink toward the door like I imagined it. But it comes again.

Quiet. Hesitant.

I drag myself up and open it.

And there she is.

Haymitch opens the door, and for a second, all you do is look at him.

His hair’s a mess, his shirt wrinkled. He smells like whiskey and sleep and something warm underneath, something familiar. His eyes flicker with something unreadable—surprise, maybe, or guilt, or just the heaviness of being seen at the wrong hour.

You swallow.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say.

It’s not a lie. Just not the whole truth.

Because you could’ve stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling like you’ve done a hundred times before. You could’ve fought it off. Let it rot in your chest.

But something pulled you here.

To him.

To this.

Haymitch doesn’t say anything at first. Just steps aside and lets you in.

You walk past him, into the dimness of his living room, still cold from whatever storm passed through him before you arrived.

And you realize, with a pang that settles somewhere low and soft in your ribs:

You don’t want to be anywhere else.

You settle into the spot on the couch you always seem to gravitate toward. The cushions dip under you with a familiar sigh, and for a few seconds, neither of you says anything.

Haymitch stands near the doorway like he’s forgotten what to do with his hands. Eventually, he crosses his arms. Then uncrosses them. Then scrubs a hand down his face like that might fix whatever’s going on behind his eyes.

You tilt your head. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t meet your gaze. Just grunts, “Yeah.”

You blink. Wait. Watch him pace three steps across the room before turning back.

“You sure?” you ask, more cautious this time. “You seem… I dunno. Weird.”

He flinches like you poked a bruise. “I’m fine.”

The way he says it? Too fast. Too flat.

You squint. “Okay…”

You start to stand. “I can go, if now’s not—”

“No.”

You freeze.

Haymitch’s voice is quiet but too quick, like he didn’t think before saying it. He runs a hand through his hair and mutters, “You don’t have to go.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “You just seem upset.”

“I’m not.”

You nod slowly. Weird.

He gives you a look, but it’s not sharp—just tired. Edged with something you can’t quite name.

Still, you don’t push. You just sit back down, legs curled beneath you, pulling one of the throw blankets over your lap like this is just another one of your many late nights.

A silence settles between you. Not heavy. Not yet.

Just enough to make you wonder what’s shifted.

You glance over at him after a beat. “You dying or something?”

He snorts. “No.”

“Possessed?”

“No.”

“Secret twin impersonating you while the real Haymitch is tied up in a closet?”

He shoots you a glare. “Wouldn’t be a very good impersonation, then.”

You grin. “True. That guy would’ve already made me tea, stolen said tea, then called me a menace.”

He sinks down into the armchair across from you and grabs his flask, even though there’s a glass on the coffee table. “You are a menace.”

“There it is,” you say, smiling. “I was starting to worry.”

Haymitch shakes his head but doesn’t hide the small twitch of his mouth. The room feels warmer now, like the storm is passing—like the strange weight between you is softening at the edges.

And still, in the back of your mind: weird.

But you don’t dwell on it.

You just lean back, blanket tucked around your knees, and ask, “So… are you gonna tell me what crawled into your head and died, or do I have to start guessing again?”

Haymitch doesn’t answer right away.

Just raises the flask halfway to his mouth, then pauses—eyes flicking toward you in the low light.

Something unreadable.

Something steady.

And just a little afraid.

Haymitch doesn’t speak for a few seconds. Just taps the side of the flask with his thumb like he’s weighing something in his head.

Then, with a sigh: “You ever just… think too hard and ruin your whole damn night?”

You blink. “Uh, every day?”

He huffs a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, and leans back in the chair. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to.”

You clutch your chest dramatically. “Was that an insult?”

“Observation,” he says, deadpan.

You narrow your eyes. “Careful. I bite.”

“I’m counting on it.”

The silence that follows is just long enough to make you question if he really said that or if your brain made it up to mess with you.

He doesn’t even flinch. Just takes a sip from his flask, all casual. Like he didn’t just drop a line that would’ve sent any sane person spiraling.

Your face is on fire.

“Okay,” you mutter, tugging your sleeves over your hands. “That was either the most casual threat of violence I’ve ever heard or… something else.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You gonna cry about it?”

“Only if you say something nice again.”

“Don’t worry, not planning to.”

You lower your hands slowly. “Is this your version of a love language? Being unbearable?”

He leans forward just enough to rest his elbows on his knees. “If it is, you’re fluent.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Point at him like he personally offended you. “I hate that that was clever.”

He smirks. “That’s the spirit.”

You grumble, but the tension has shifted—lighter now. Familiar. The kind of back-and-forth that’s always been safe ground between you two, even when neither of you would admit how much of it isn’t actually about the insults.

Haymitch tilts his head slightly. “Why’d you come?”

You blink. “I said I couldn’t sleep, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” he says. “You also show up here when you’re pretending not to need something.”

You hesitate, eyes flicking toward the window. “Maybe I just didn’t want to be alone with my brain tonight.”

He watches you for a beat, eyes narrowed in that way that usually means he’s trying to see more than you’re saying.

“You always show up when that happens?”

You shrug. “Only for people who make fun of my tea.”

He smirks. “Lucky me.”

And then, a pause. One of those ones where the words are still sitting between you, tangled and half-shaped, not quite ready to be said.

You speak first, because someone has to. “You’re acting weird tonight.”

His smirk fades a little. “Guess I’m just tired.”

“You’ve looked worse.”

“Thanks.”

“Just being honest.”

He glances at you, then looks away again like he’s afraid of what your face might say if he keeps looking too long. “You’re the one who’s weird,” he mutters finally.

Your mouth twitches. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Wow. Compelling argument. What are you, six?”

He shrugs. “Mentally? Probably.”

You laugh softly, and his eyes flick toward you again—so fast it’s almost nothing. But it’s not nothing.

You feel it.

You shift where you’re sitting, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Well. As long as we’re both being weird, I guess that’s balance.”

He adjusts in his chair, looking at you like he wants to say something else. But instead, he leans back, lifts the flask, and mutters, “Guess so.”

The room settles again. You stare at a patch of moonlight on the wall, soft and white where it filters through the curtain. You think about offering another joke, something to pull the air back toward comfortable again, but it doesn’t feel necessary right now.

Not everything needs fixing.

Sometimes just being here is enough.

And so you sit like that—the quiet stretching thin between you, but never snapping.

After a while, he shifts in his chair, finally glancing your way.

You don’t meet his eyes. Just offer a soft, “Thanks for letting me in.”

His voice is rough but gentle. “You don’t have to thank me, honey.”

You nod, once. A small smile pulling at your lips despite everything.

“Still,” you say, “it’s nice.”

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “It is.”

You stretch your legs out a little, the blanket slipping from your knees as you shift. “So,” you say, casually, “on a scale from one to cryptid, how weird am I for showing up in the middle of the night again?”

Haymitch lifts his brows. “Bold of you to assume I don’t prefer cryptids to people.”

You grin. “Flattered.”

“Shouldn’t be.”

You shrug. “Still am.”

He exhales through his nose, and it’s almost a laugh. He leans forward to set the flask on the table, then stands with a quiet groan and walks across the room, pretending to inspect something on the shelf like it’s of vital importance. You know that move by now—it’s his favorite when he’s trying to avoid saying something out loud.

“You pacing for fun now?” you ask, stretching your arms overhead.

He glances over his shoulder. “Just stretching my legs. You try sitting in that damn chair and see if your spine survives.”

“Then switch,” you offer, patting the empty space on the couch beside you. “I promise it won’t bite.”

He eyes the spot like it’s a trap. Which, fair.

You raise an eyebrow. “Scared?”

He rolls his eyes and crosses the room without a word, dropping down onto the cushion next to you. The couch dips under his weight, shifting you just enough that your knee brushes his.

Your heart stutters, but you keep your face neutral, your voice light. “See? Not so bad.”

Haymitch doesn’t answer right away. Just reaches for the throw blanket you kicked aside and tosses it back onto your lap without looking at you. “You’re cold,” he mutters.

You blink. “Are you… fussing?”

“I’m keeping you from whining later.”

“Wow,” you say. “So generous.”

“Tell the press.”

You bump your knee lightly against his. “This is peak hospitality.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t shut the door and lock it after you saw me.”

He snorts. “You’d break the window.”

“Not wrong.”

“Besides,” he adds, quieter, “you’re not exactly hard to make room for.”

That gives you pause. You blink, not sure how to respond, and your brain short-circuits just long enough for your foot to slide a little—closer than you meant. You catch yourself too late, your ankle brushing against his. Your whole body stiffens.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t flinch or shift or make a joke out of it. Just stays there, still and steady beside you.

You glance at him, expecting some kind of comment. A jab, a quip, anything.

But he’s looking at the wall again, quiet. Calm. And—if you didn’t know better—you’d think he looked… content.

Your stomach flips. You pretend it doesn’t.

You shift your focus back to the window, where the moonlight spills in pale and soft across the floorboards.

“Bet you’re regretting this decision now,” you say, voice light.

Haymitch doesn’t look at you, just lifts an eyebrow. “Letting you in?”

“Sitting next to me. You could’ve had your grumpy little chair and peace and quiet.”

He snorts. “You talk too much for peace and quiet.”

“You love it,” you say, bumping his leg again—just barely.

He hums like he’s considering it. “I tolerate it.”

“Which is Haymitch-speak for deep emotional affection.”

“That’s a stretch.”

You pretend to be deeply wounded. “I bare my soul to you every Tuesday and this is the thanks I get?”

“Bare your soul?” He glances at you now, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You came over last week just to complain that your strawberries didn’t taste ‘emotionally satisfying enough.’”

“They didn’t! They had weird vibes.”

“You have weird vibes.”

You gasp. “Wow.”

He just sips from the flask again, like your offense is routine at this point.

“Okay,” you say, shifting slightly to face him more, arms still wrapped in the blanket. “If we’re gonna hurl insults all night, I demand snacks.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It’s two in the morning.”

“So? You’ve definitely eaten worse things at worse hours.”

He opens his mouth, pauses, then shrugs. “Fair.”

You grin. “You got anything?”

“Kitchen’s a mess,” he mutters. “I think there’s bread.”

“Ooh. Stale or fresh?”

“Your standards are too low.”

“They have to be. Look who I hang out with.”

That gets a huff out of him, almost a laugh. He leans back, arm settling along the back of the couch—and you do not look at it. Not even a little. Definitely not.

You tilt your head, still watching him. “You gonna get up or am I supposed to hobble in there on one leg and risk death by loose floorboard?”

He smirks. “You’ll survive.”

“Rude. I’m injured.”

“You’ve been milking that ankle for days.”

You gasp again. “I sprained it!”

“You limped for sympathy.”

“It hurt!”

“It got you out of cleaning the pantry.”

“That was a coincidence.”

“Mm-hm.”

You jab him in the side with your elbow. He shifts, just slightly, and doesn’t move away.

“I’m going to tell Peeta you mocked my pain.”

“He already knows.”

“Katniss will destroy you.”

“She’ll help me alphabetize the herbs while you fake cry on the porch.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re lucky I like you.”

That makes him pause.

Just for a second.

He doesn’t reply with a quip. Doesn’t tease or deflect. Just breathes out slowly, eyes flicking toward the floor.

And you suddenly feel like maybe you said something too loud, too honest.

So you clear your throat, shifting again, trying to brush past it. “Anyway. Snacks. Come on, sunshine, let’s see what horrors your pantry holds.”

He rolls his eyes—thankfully back to banter. “You’re the horror.”

You grin. “You say that like it’s not your favorite genre.”

His mouth twitches.

And then, quietly, “You’re not that hard to like, you know.”

You blink.

But before you can say anything, he’s already pushing himself up off the couch with a muttered grumble and heading for the kitchen.

You sit there for a second, blinking at the spot he just left.

Your chest feels like it’s got too many heartbeats crammed into it.

And still—you follow him.

You end up with a package of half-stale crackers, a bowlful of walnuts, and what might be the last edible apple in his house. Haymitch claims it’s “plenty”.

Still, it’s enough to bring the two of you back to the couch, settling into your respective spots like you didn’t just spend the last five minutes arguing about whether the apple “smelled suspicious.”

Now the room is quiet again. Not uncomfortable—just soft around the edges. The kind of quiet that fills in between laughs.

You glance sideways.

Bad decision.

Haymitch is leaned back, snack bowl balanced on one hand while the other rests over his thigh—long fingers curled loosely, veins standing out under the skin in a way that should not be allowed. His shirt is wrinkled, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and the collar’s hanging just crooked enough to show the line of his neck, collarbone shadowed in the dim light.

You look away.

You look back.

Mistake.

You should not be thinking about his thighs. You should not be thinking about his hands. You should not be noticing how the apple looks ridiculously small in his palm or how he just cracked a walnut open with a twist of his wrist like it was nothing.

Your brain is melting.

You reach for a cracker and miss your mouth entirely.

Haymitch watches you do it. Doesn’t say a word.

You clear your throat and pop it into your mouth like nothing happened. “Bold of you to hoard all the decent snacks in your apocalypse pantry.”

He hums. “Better than your tea drawer.”

“You don’t deserve my tea stash.”

“Is that what you’re calling it now? That one drawer with four dusty bags and something that smells like soap?”

You gasp. “That soap is lavender and peace, thank you very much.”

“It smells like regret.”

“You smell like a crypt.”

“And you keep showing up here. Makes you the cryptkeeper.”

“I hope your next biscuit turns to dust in your mouth.”

He looks over, grinning slightly. “God, you’re dramatic.”

You shrug. “You bring it out in me.”

That shuts him up for a second.

He doesn’t look away this time. Just shifts his weight a little, shoulder brushing yours.

You very, very intentionally do not react.

Instead, you pluck a walnut out of the bowl and mutter, “This one better be good or I’m declaring war.”

“You declared war three snacks ago.”

“Well, now it’s personal.”

You crack it open and, of course, it’s perfect. You pretend it’s not.

Haymitch smirks. “Satisfied?”

“I’ll never admit it.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

He glances at you, quiet for a second. Then, “Yeah. I am.”

You freeze just a little. Bite the inside of your cheek. Try not to let it show.

Because he’s sitting too close, and he looks too good for someone who’s allegedly grumpy and emotionally constipated. And his hands are right there, and he’s warm, and the room smells like him and apples and something deeper and you are losing your mind quietly, internally, respectfully.

“I should go,” you say—too quickly, too unconvincingly.

He tilts his head. “No, you shouldn’t.”

You blink.

“Your ankle,” he adds, like it’s obvious. “Can’t have you hobbling home and falling into a ditch.”

“Wow. So noble.”

“I try.”

Next Part

[the-passenger-if]

Hey, gang. How is it going? It’s been a while since I last posted, and although at first it was because I was working on my new projects, as of late it had to do with a medical emergency regarding my partner. I don’t usually talk about him (I think I’ve mentioned him once or twice on my personal blog) but we’ve been together for a long time and last December I thought I was going to lose him.

It shook me hard, gang. And it’s only now that I feel more or less ready to open up about it, and take care of my socials while at it. The thing is, everything that went down has left us a bit uncertain about the future. So much so, I’ve been contemplating creating a Patreon.

It’s still too soon to tell, but I guess I wanted to let you all know in case someone is interested.

I’ve also written down a snapshot of December-January. Call it group therapy.

Hope everyone is doing fine, for my part I’m feeling better. Lots of hugs!

It’s 3 AM when I wake up. In the dark, something huge plummets from the sky like the blade of a guillotine falling in slow motion. A plane, I’m sure of it (I’m always sure of it) and it’s coming down to crash on my two-room home.

I stay motionless in bed, staring at the dark, my heart about to burst out of my chest, and I wait...

And I wait…

But the plane sails away, the baritone screaming of the blade following behind.

I don’t leave my bed until I can’t hear it anymore.

Later on, I tell my parents and grandma about it at lunch. “I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

“Something like what?”

“Dumbest answer? A plane is going to crash down on my house. Less dumb answer, el Flako is going to have a car accident.” A blade made out of a car roof or door, slashing the air, slicing through the tender flesh of his neck. His head flying out of the cabin of his truck, or falling on the passenger seat.

I laugh because at 1 PM it sounds stupid and I can almost wipe out the awful image of his headless body from my mind. My aphantasia is nowhere to be found whenever I picture the most horrific deaths of the people I love.

My mom gives me a blister pack of my grandma’s anxiolytics. “Take a quarter whenever those thoughts appear.”

When el Flako comes from work I tell him I can’t wait for December to end. When he asks me why that is, I tell him it’s a shit month and that everything bad always happens in December.

I take a quarter of a pill whenever I feel like bad news are around the corner. I’m jumpy. Car honks make my skin itch all over, a kid scream makes my heart race. It’s worse at dawn. Planes keep playing chicken with me.

It’s December 24 and el Flako and I spend christmas eve camping in front of the Río Talabera. We drink pear cider and beers while stargazing. No planes follow me here. I didn’t take my anxiolytics with me.

We travel back home. My dad is sitting out when we arrive. A single look at his face tells me something is very wrong. He looks old.

“What happened?” I ask.

“The water tank fell through your roof.”

It fell on grandma, I’m sure of it. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes.”

Then why do you look like it killed someone? I want to ask. Instead I push, “For real?”

“Yes.”

My muscles relax. Yeah, it sucks. It’s the third water tank that gets obliterated—the first one burned down before we could even install it, the second one flew off the roof in the storm of December 17, 2023. This one was full, and a faulty base couldn’t withstand one tonne of water. Death by fire, air, and water; this shit is really starting to look like the avatar of water tanks.

It’s fine I tell myself, nobody is hurt, it could’ve been so much worse. Sure, it broke a more or less small part of my very new roof, but I’m sure we can fix it.

Innerly, I let out a sigh of relief. This is it. This is why I’ve been fearing something falling down on me. Case closed.

December ends in a week from now.

My anxiety drops for exactly 5 days.

It’s 5 AM on December the 30th andI’ve just sat on the toilet when my phone starts ringing. It’s el Flako’s brother. “Don’t fret,” he begins, “[el Flako] passed out at work. Another trucker called an ambulance and is with him at the hospital. I’m about to go see him.”

“Could you pick me up first?” I ask. If he can’t, I’m taking an uber, but he can.

We spend the entire hour-long trip to the hospital assuring each other el Flako is fine; he never has breakfast before going to work, not even mate or mate cocido. It has to be that. We purposely avoid discussing what his coworker said about el Flako being unable to speak, or stand by himself. Or how he couldn’t follow the paramedic’s instructions while on the ambulance.

When we finally arrive, we zip through rows and rows of tired, scared looking people waiting for news of their own relatives in the Emergency wing.

“There he is,” says el Flako’s brother, and I spin my head around waiting to see my life partner. Instead I see a late thirties, early forties guy sitting on a metal chair. He is rubbing his eyes.

He is crying.

He is not crying.

He is crying because el Flako is dead.

He is a coworker, not even a close one.

He turns to see us approach, and my stomach drops. He looks like my dad before he told me the water tank had taken a piece of my roof with it.

He stands up.

I can’t feel my legs.

He is crying. His eyes are red.

I feel like I’m walking on stilts, or like all my joints have fused together.

“Hey,” he says. They give each other a dap, and when he tries the same with me, I go for a greeting kiss. I always accept daps, but there’s only one thing in my mind at the moment.

Is he dead? I want to ask. “Is he awake?” I ask instead.

“Yes,” he replies. I think I say something, I think I give thanks to something—the universe, god, the devil—I’m not sure. I’m not religious but I was born in a catholic country and that stuff is hard to shake off. “The doctor wants to talk to a relative.”

“I go,” I say, and el Flako’s brother gives me the go ahead. I’m not el Flako’s relative, I am his partner. Our anniversary is in 2 months: 17 years since I asked him to be my boyfriend. But we aren’t married. His brother doesn’t mind, though; he isn’t married to the mother of his children either and they’ve been together for almost 20 years.

The doctor tells me el Flako had a brain hemorrhage. He asks me if el Flako takes drugs. No, he doesn’t. Does he drink? We had some wine last night, I say. The doctor looks confused.

“How old is he?”

“34,” I reply, and, “What is the worst case scenario?” Because my anxiety is killing me, and I need to know there’s a roof to all of this, a limit, something. I’m drowning in the middle of the sea here.

“Worst case scenario, he slips into a coma,” the doctor tells me.

Not death, my mind takes a hold of that fact like it’s a rope ladder someone threw at me from a helicopter.

And maybe because the doctor realizes I haven’t understood the severity of the situation, he adds, “It’s a lot of blood pushing against his brain. It’s shifted his longitudinal fissure—the ‘crack’ of the brain between the two cerebral hemispheres.”

The doctor tell us “relatives” to go in and talk to him. El Flako is awake, and the moment I see him it feels like I can breath again after having my head underwater. He says he’s fine, but half of his body lacks strength, he’s speaking as if drunk, and so low I have to lean in really close to hear him. His brother tells him to stay calm and that everything is going to be OK before leaving.

“You were right,” my life partner mutters. “About your gut feeling. Something bad did happen.” We laugh. We kiss. Then he is crying.

El Flako is a sensitive guy, but I haven’t seen him cry since we were in our teens and would have dumb fights which culminated in both of us crying. He is doing it now in that silent, tears sliding-down-your-cheeks way. He is scared. I am too, but I hug him and kiss him over and over again. “You are here with me,” I tell him. “You are alive and being taken care off. They got you just in time, don’t fret.”

I have to go. I don’t want to go. I don’t feel like myself when we are apart. We were 17 when we met and started dating, the same span of time we’re about to celebrate in our next anniversary.

I sit in the waiting room feeling like a gutted fish, hollowed up inside, like a carcass, like half of my soul is locked away. It sounds so dramatic, and I’m never been particularly romantic, but I swear there isn’t another way to properly describe it. I’m half-empty.

That first night I return home at around midnight. My mom brings me food and checks on me. I haven’t cried the entire day. I don’t cry with her in the room, but I do cry in the shower, and I cry harder when I get into bed.

Why him? Why? He is one of the most good-natured people I know. He doesn’t deserve this.

But who does? Life doesn’t work that way.

I fall asleep, but I don’t dream.

On the next 3 days we learn El Flako has an arteriovenous malformation, and that it can be treated with a procedure called a brain embolization. It costs 20.000 dollars, and I’m already thinking about asking for donations on this blog, but I don’t need to; his obra social* takes care of it.

They transfer him to their sanatorium that same day. The ambulance trip is uneventful, and while they take him to the ICU, I stay down in the lobby to fill in forms.

He spends the next 10 days in that room before the medical supplies arrive, and he can’t be more done with the situation by this point: all of his roommates are comatose, two of them pass away of horrifying injuries while he’s placed in there, the urinary catheter hurts him, he can’t have his phone with him and obviously he can’t watch TV in there. They keep sedating him, so every day I visit someone that looks like my Flako but is maybe half of the person I know. He wants out. I want him out of there too.

His neurosurgeon asks to speak with a relative before the procedure and I’m half-way to the elevators when I look back at el Flako’s parents. “Go ahead,” his mom tells me. The surgeon is so young, and he says the procedure should go well, but there’s always the possibility of rupturing an artery and leaving el Flako in a worse state. He’s been getting better ever since; the strength in his muscles is coming back, and he doesn’t speak slurring his words anymore, although the slight stutter he’s always have has worsen. “Any more bleeding is bad news for him,” the neurosurgeon tells me, “But if we don’t do it, you can be sure his brain will bleed again.”

I sign the papers.

“You can talk to him before we bring him here.”

I do just that.

“It is what I want,” el Flako tells me. “I’m tired of being coop up here.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“No.” He thinks about it. “Can it go wrong?”

I wonder if I should lie, but only for a second. “Always. It’s a medical procedure. But if you don’t do it, then it will definitely bleed, and we will be back where we started.”

“Yeah.” He grabs my hand and I give it a tight squeeze.

They take him away. I’m incomplete again. I take half a pill.

I fall asleep in the waiting room. I don’t dream. I haven’t since December the 30th. I think the part that handles my dreaming sticks to him.

Four hours later, at half past 10 PM they call us up. I am waiting outside the operating room alongside el Flako’s dad. The neurosurgeon, steps out and offers both of us his hand to shake. “It was a success,” he says and I feel like I need a wider face just so I can smile a bigger smile. Then to me, he adds, “Everything I say could go wrong, didn’t. He’s just waking up from being under.”

He opens the door and I catch a glimpse of el Flako and the people in charge of keeping him alive and well. A group of five women and men get at the feet of his bed. “One, two, three,” they say before pushing it out of the room. I lost count of how many Thank yous I shoot their way, and they beam at me as they accept them.

El Flako is still dazed, but he holds up a hand when his dad and I wave enthusiastically at him. He doesn’t put it down even as the orderlies roll him into an elevator.

He is discharged from the sanatorium 2 days later. We get married a day after our 17th anniversary.

I’m dreaming again and I only take anxiolytics whenever it starts to feel too much like the last five minutes of a Nightmare on Elm Street movie. I guess that stuff won’t get magically fixed, but we’re taking it one day at a time.

*I can’t find the English translation for “the agency in your job that takes care of your hospital bills”. In Argentina it’s Obra Social, and every month they take a part of your payment so they can pay for your medical bills (and your partner’s and children’s) should you need it down the road.

[etherealeowyn]

"Will you be my queen?" - Annatar x Fem Reader

Annatar comes back early, and Y/n's in for a surprise.

THIS CONTAINS SMUT - MINORS DNI

Word Count: 682

My requests are always open, so feel free to message me if you have an idea! I'll write for any character from The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or The Rings of Power!

Raindrops endlessly fell from the sky, as a chill washed over Y/n’s bedroom chamber, making the woman pull her blankets closer to her body. A fire was flickering near the foot of the bed, but the warmth emitted did not compare to Annatar’s body heat.

He had left early to attend to some matters with Celebrimbor regarding forging the rings of power.

Naivety was not an attribute that Y/n possessed. She knew Annatar was not his true name; he was Sauron, the demi-god feared for ages. But this knowledge did not dissuade her love for him.

Even though logically, it should have.

But logic carried very little weight over matters of the heart.

Sitting up, Y/n pushed the covers off her body before swinging her legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the feeling of the cold stone beneath her bare feet. She walked over to the divider in the corner of the room designated as a changing space and began to slip on a thick velvet dress.

“There’s no need for you to put that on,” a man’s voice sounded, causing Y/n’s head to snap up from what she was doing.

A small blush crept onto her face as she recognized Annatar’s voice. She could see the silhouette of his frame, through the divider, illuminated by the burning fire.

She watched as his hand pushed the divider to the side, removing the barrier that separated the pair.

Looking up at him with anticipation prominent in her eyes, she felt her heart pound rapidly within her chest, wanting nothing more than for his skin to encounter hers. His fingers delicately pushed the garment from her shoulders, making it fall onto the ground in a heap. Annatar offered his hand to the woman, and she eagerly took it, stepping away and following him to the bed in the middle of the room.

“Sit,” he stated, his voice containing a well-balanced mixture of assertiveness and warmth.

She did as he said without hesitation, knowing everything he did for her was always in her best interest.

Using his calloused hands, Annatar spread open the woman’s legs, causing Y/n to fall back onto her elbows. The way that his long blond hair brushed the inside of her thighs before his mouth reached her clit, made her breath quicken, and she swore that she could feel electricity flowing through every part of her body.

There was no sorcery involved, but when he went down on her, it felt like time slowed down, and every touch, whether big or small, was amplified. He’d occasionally look up at her, eyes clouded, with a smirk playing on his lips as she squirmed in pleasure.

Her hair was sprawled out around her on the bed, slightly messy but perfect, nonetheless. He had hardly seen her like this, usually, in the public eye she was the epitome of put-together, making him feel mildly powerful that he was able to unravel her like this.

“S-Sauron,” she moaned his name as she finished, panting as beads of sweat adorned her forehead.

Y/n wasn’t expecting to let that name fall from her mouth, but she had a hard time calling him by his other names when this one seemed to fit him so well. Plus, her head felt like it was spinning, from the way that his tongue worked. Y/n knew that it was twisted to love someone like him, but at the same time, she felt so deeply connected to him that she couldn’t possibly run from him.

“I was not expecting you to say that, but I’m not surprised you figured it out, love. I always knew you were smart,” he spoke with a cocky smile.

Y/n sat up, struggling to form words, however, she let a smile brighten up her features.

“I could fill you in on everything later, but I just need to know, will you be my queen?” he asked, sloppily trailing kisses up her leg.

“Absolutely,” Y/n responded breathily, placing her finger underneath his chin and pointing it upwards so she could connect her lips to his.

[doritochoi]

pairing: king elf choi san X human!reader

genre: fantasy, smut, slow burn, dark romance, supernatural, royalty, forbidden desire

word count: 11,6k (42 minutes)

warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, blood and injury, dark themes (including fear and death), morally gray characters, power imbalances, explicit language, eventual explicit content (smut), themes of captivity, slow trust-building, mentions of magic and curses, and emotionally intense scenes.

A/n: Hey everyone! I’m so sorry it’s been such a long time since I last posted—I’ve been swamped with school and barely had time to write anything. Recently, I rewatched The Lord of the Rings, and it completely inspired me to create a story with a similar vibe. I hope you’ll love this twisty, magical world as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think! 💗

Your village sat on the edge of a dark forest, a place where sunlight rarely touched the ground. It was a simple life, full of chores and quiet days. People often told stories of the forest—how it was sacred, forbidden, alive in ways no one could explain. But you never believed those stories. To you, they were just warnings to scare children, until the night the creatures came. They arrived without sound, like shadows in the dark. Their glowing eyes and twisted forms were unlike anything you had ever seen. They destroyed homes, set fires, and dragged people screaming into the night. Your family begged you to run, to leave them behind and save yourself. You didn’t want to go. But when you saw one of the creatures tear through your neighbor’s door, you had no choice.

So you ran

The hills stretched endlessly before you, but you could feel it—their eyes on you. One of them was still following, its growl echoing in the distance. When you reached the edge of the forest, you stopped. The trees were massive, their trunks twisted and ancient. The stories of the elders whispered in your mind: “The Forest of Luthënar is no place for mortals. Those who enter are never seen again.” But the growl behind you grew louder, and you knew there was no other way. You stepped into the forest.

The air changed immediately. It was heavy, damp, and strangely silent. The only sound was the crunch of leaves beneath your feet as you pushed deeper into the woods. You could hear the creature behind you, crashing through the trees, and your heart pounded. The forest didn’t seem to want you there. Roots twisted up from the ground, trying to trip you. Branches reached out like claws. You dodged them as best you could, but you were already so tired. When you glanced back, the creature’s glowing eyes locked on yours. It was fast—too fast. You tried to push yourself harder, but the forest was too wild. Your foot caught on a thick root, and you fell. Pain exploded in your head as you hit the ground. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was the forest above you, the trees twisting together like they were closing in.

When you opened your eyes, it wasn’t the forest floor beneath you. You were lying on something soft, like a bed, and warm light streamed through the air. Slowly, you sat up, wincing at the ache in your body. The room around you was unlike anything you’d ever seen. The walls seemed to be made of living wood, with golden light shining through cracks in the branches. The carvings on the ceiling looked ancient and beautiful, full of strange symbols and patterns. You looked down at yourself. Your old, dirt-stained clothes were gone, replaced with a soft tunic. Before you could wonder what had happened, a voice cut through the silence. "She's awake". You turned your head to see a man standing by the door. He wore silver armor that gleamed in the light, and his sharp features were cold and unreadable.“Bring her to the king,” he said. Two other guards stepped forward, their expressions as blank as stone. They helped you to your feet, ignoring your protests, and led you out of the room. The halls were like a maze, carved from the trees themselves. The air was thick with magic, and the light seemed to shift and shimmer. But you didn’t have long to look before you were brought to a massive room. At its center was a throne made of twisting branches and silver, and sitting on it was the most striking figure you’d ever seen. Choi San, the king of this strange, hidden realm. His hair was short and dark red, a deep color that reminded you of embers. It framed his sharp features perfectly, his piercing eyes watching your every move. He was dressed in robes of dark green and black, lined with silver thread that shimmered as he moved. San sat with one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed but his presence overwhelming. He studied you carefully, his gaze moving from your face to your hands, as if searching for something. The longer he looked, the smaller you felt. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice low and cold. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “I… I didn’t mean to come here,” you said, your voice shaking. His gaze didn’t waver. “And yet, here you are.”, “I was being chased,” you said quickly. “By something… I didn’t know where else to go.” San tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t mean to—” ,“Silence,” he said sharply, and you froze. He rose from his throne, the movement so smooth it seemed unnatural. As he stepped closer, the light caught the silver embroidery on his robes, making it seem like he was glowing. “You entered the Forest of Luthënar, knowing nothing of its laws or its dangers,” he said, his voice calm but dangerous. “Do you have any idea what this place is?”. You shook your head, trembling. “This is no place for mortals,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “And yet… you’ve survived.” For a moment, he stood there, his expression unreadable. Then, without looking away from you, he spoke to the guards. “Take her to the dungeons,” he ordered.

The days in the dungeons bled into weeks. Weeks into months. Time became a haze of cold stone, fleeting dreams, and the weight of unspoken words. The guards came and went, wordless as always, their presence a fleeting shadow. Yet, despite the monotony, there was a shift in the air—a tension that hadn’t been there before. You noticed it in San’s visits. At first, he had come to question you, his cold eyes cutting through you as he demanded answers you couldn’t give. Over time, those visits grew less frequent. But when he did appear, something in his gaze lingered too long. His sharp features—too perfect to be mortal—softened ever so slightly, as though he were searching for something he could not name. You had long since stopped trying to understand him. Yet, even in the dim silence of the dungeons, you felt his presence looming, like the whisper of a storm on the horizon. That night, you were jolted awake by the sound of iron scraping against stone. The cell door swung open, and two guards stepped inside, their expressions as impassive as ever. “Up,” one of them barked. You blinked, groggy and disoriented. “What’s happening?” The guards didn’t answer. They seized your arms with unyielding force, pulling you to your feet. You struggled, fear clawing at your chest. “Where are you taking me?”, “Silence,” the other guard snapped. You had no choice but to comply as they dragged you through the winding corridors. The forest palace was silent, the usual hum of its magic muted as though it, too, were holding its breath. When they threw open the doors to the great hall, the sight before you stole the air from your lungs.

The room was vast, its walls carved from living trees that stretched impossibly high, their branches intertwining to form a ceiling of shimmering leaves. Light cascaded down in ethereal beams, casting the hall in a golden-green glow that felt both warm and foreboding. Intricate carvings adorned every surface—scenes of battles, feasts, and stories long forgotten by mortals. And at the center of it all, on a throne of twisting silver and ebony, sat him.

Choi San.

The Elven King.

His presence commanded the room, even as he sat in stillness. His dark red hair, like the embers of a dying fire, caught the light in a way that seemed otherworldly. His robes, deep green lined with silver, draped elegantly over his lean frame, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. He looked as though he had been sculpted by the gods themselves—beautiful, cold, and untouchable. Yet, his expression was far from serene. His jaw was tight, his piercing eyes fixed on you as though you were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. At his side was a long table, its surface littered with scrolls, maps, and what looked like an ancient goblet. The guards shoved you forward, and you stumbled, landing on the cold stone floor before the throne. You winced, the impact jarring your knees, but you barely had time to register the pain before something clattered onto the ground in front of you.

Your medallion.

The delicate chain glinted in the soft light, and the pendant, a green, pearlescent leaf. For a moment, you simply stared at it, your heart thudding in your chest. San rose from his throne with the grace of a predator. Every movement was calculated, his robes shifting like water around him. He descended the steps slowly, each step reverberating in the silence until he stood over you. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. You looked up at him, confusion and fear warring within you. “It—it’s mine.”

“Do not lie to me.” His tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “This medallion… it does not belong to you.” Your brows furrowed. “I’m not lying. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.” He crouched before you, his piercing eyes boring into yours. “You expect me to believe that a mere mortal stumbled into my realm, wearing this?”His fingers brushed the medallion, and you flinched at the sudden intensity in his gaze. He wasn’t just angry, he was shaken.“I don’t understand,” you whispered. “What does it mean to you?”San straightened, his expression unreadable. “This medallion,” he said slowly, “belonged to my queen.”His words struck you like a thunderclap. You stared at him, your mind reeling. “Your… queen?”San turned away, his posture rigid. “She is gone,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t place—pain, perhaps, or anger. “No one but her could have possessed this medallion.”

“I swear,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how I got it. I’ve had it since I was a child. My family said it’s always been mine.”He turned back to you, his expression unreadable. “You expect me to believe that this—this artifact—found its way to a mortal child by chance?”

“I don’t know!” you cried. “I’ve never understood what it was. It’s just… always been there.”His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he would lash out. Instead, he moved to the table beside his throne. With a sudden sweep of his arm, he sent everything on it crashing to the floor—scrolls, goblets, and maps scattering across the stone. The sound was deafening, echoing through the hall like a storm breaking.The guards shifted uncomfortably, but San ignored them. He leaned heavily on the table, his head bowed as though trying to gather his thoughts.When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained. “My queen,” he said, almost to himself, “was the only one who could wear this. It was bound to her.” You swallowed hard, unable to look away from him. “I don’t know why I have it,” you said softly. “I just… I’ve always had it.” San’s gaze snapped back to you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or even fear. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask he wore so well.“Take her back to the dungeons,” he ordered, his voice like ice. The guards moved to seize you, but you resisted, desperation bubbling to the surface. “Wait! Please, you have to believe me—”

“Enough!” San’s voice thundered, the power behind it shaking the very air. “Take her.” The guards dragged you away, your protests falling on deaf ears. As the doors to the great hall slammed shut behind you, you couldn’t shake the image of San’s face—the way he had looked at you, as though you were a ghost from his past.

A few years ago

The medallion had always been there, as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. From the moment you drew your first breath, it had hung around your neck—a delicate green leaf with a pearlescent glow, suspended from a fine silver chain. No one had ever told you where it came from. No stories, no whispered truths. Just silence.

Because the truth was, no one knew.

You had no parents. At least, not the ones who gave you life.

The family who raised you—the kind, hardworking couple who had taken you in—had always been honest about that. They told you how they’d found you on a stormy night, abandoned on the edge of a cliff overlooking the restless sea. You were swaddled in soft, unfamiliar fabrics, cradled in a small wicker basket that was damp from the rain. The medallion was clasped around your tiny neck, its glow faint but unyielding, as if it were alive. It had been your father, a woodsman by trade, who had spotted you. He was out hunting for game when he heard your cries, faint and fragile against the roar of the wind. At first, he thought it was the wail of some forest creature, perhaps an injured fawn or a lost bird. But as he approached the cliff’s edge, he saw the basket. His heart stopped. “What kind of monster would leave a child out here?” he had whispered, his voice shaking. The storm had been unforgiving that night. Rain lashed at the rocky cliffs, and the sea churned below, its waves crashing with a violence that seemed determined to swallow the earth whole. If he had arrived even moments later, the wind might have swept the basket into the abyss. Your mother had wept when he brought you home. “She’s so beautiful,” she had said, her voice thick with emotion as she gently cradled your tiny form. “Who could leave her out there like that?” You were a mystery to them. A miracle, perhaps, or a tragedy they would never understand. But one thing was certain—they couldn’t turn their backs on you. “We’ll keep her,” your mother had said firmly, wiping her tears. “She’s ours now.” And so, you grew up in a small, humble home at the edge of the village, surrounded by love and warmth. Your adoptive parents treated you as their own, raising you with care and devotion. They taught you how to tend the garden, mend clothes, and read stories by the firelight. They were simple people, but their love for you was boundless. But the medallion was another story. It hung around your neck every day, an unspoken part of your existence. No one in the village could make sense of it. The local blacksmith once examined it, running his calloused fingers over the smooth, pearly surface of the leaf. “It’s no metal I’ve ever seen,” he had muttered, his brow furrowed. “And this shimmer… it’s not natural. Almost looks alive.” The village elders, who prided themselves on their knowledge of lore and legend, had no answers either. They spoke of old magic, ancient forests, and forgotten kingdoms, but none could explain how such an artifact had come to be with a child like you.

Your parents had little interest in the medallion’s origins. To them, it was just another part of you—something they loved because it was yours. But to you, it was a question that lingered in the back of your mind. Who had left you on that cliff? Why had they given you this strange, beautiful thing? And why, no matter how far you wandered or how many years passed, did the medallion seem to hum faintly against your skin, as if it were alive?

As you grew older, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the medallion was more than it seemed. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the simple joys of village life. Helping your parents in the fields. Watching the sunset from the hills. Listening to the crackle of the fire as your mother sang soft lullabies. But the medallion was always there, a silent companion. Sometimes, when you were alone, you would take it in your hands and marvel at its intricate design. The leaf was perfectly formed, each vein etched with delicate precision. Its green surface shimmered with an otherworldly glow, shifting between shades of emerald and pearl. You never dared to take it off. It wasn’t just because of its beauty or its mystery—it was because, deep down, you felt that it belonged to you in a way that nothing else ever could. As though it were a part of your very being. The villagers sometimes whispered about you, though never within earshot. They didn’t mean to be cruel—it was simply human nature. The child with no past. The girl who wore a medallion of magic. The one who had survived against all odds. “She’s special,” some would say.“Or cursed,” others would mutter. Your parents shielded you from the worst of the gossip, reminding you daily that you were loved. But the whispers followed you, a quiet shadow you could never escape. And now, as you sat alone in the cold darkness of the dungeon, the weight of those whispers pressed down on you. The medallion, which had always been a source of comfort, now felt heavier than ever. San’s words echoed in your mind. “This medallion belonged to my queen.” How could that be possible? You had worn it for as long as you could remember. You had no memory of his queen, no connection to his world. And yet, the look in his eyes when he saw it… It was as though he had seen a ghost. Your fingers brushed the medallion’s smooth surface, the faint hum of its magic resonating against your skin. It was warm to the touch, a strange contrast to the chill of the dungeon air.

In the great hall, San stood by his throne, his fists clenched at his sides. The medallion haunted him. He could still see it gleaming in the faint light, just as it had all those years ago when his queen had worn it. His queen. The one he had loved beyond reason. The one he had failed to save. He turned toward the table, his mind swirling with questions he couldn’t answer. Who was this mortal girl? Why did she bear the queen’s medallion? And why… why did she feel so familiar?San’s fingers trembled as he brushed the edge of the throne. He had spent centuries burying the past, locking away his grief and guilt in the deepest corners of his soul. Yet, with one look at her—at that medallion—everything had come rushing back. The storm outside mirrored the one within him, lightning flashing across the forest as rain pounded the palace. He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “I will find the truth,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “No matter what it takes.”

The throne room was steeped in shadow, its once-grand walls shrouded in an oppressive gloom that mirrored the heavy silence within. The shimmering light that once filled the halls of the forest palace was absent, as if even the magic of Luthënar had withdrawn. The air itself seemed heavy, thick with a sorrow that no amount of time could dispel. Choi San sat on his throne, his posture regal yet tense, his fingers curled around the armrests as though they were the only thing anchoring him. His features—carved sharp as if by the hands of a master sculptor—were thrown into relief by the faint glow of a single enchanted lantern. The play of light and shadow etched every emotion onto his face, though his expression remained unreadable to all but himself. He was alone, as he had been for what felt like an eternity. The throne room was empty save for him, and his thoughts were loud enough to drown out even the faint whispers of the palace’s magic. His gaze wasn’t fixed on the doors, the floor, or even the medallion that lay on the table beside him, but somewhere far away—on a memory. Memories of her. In his mind, she was vivid. The soft curl of her smile, the warmth in her voice, the way her laughter could fill even the coldest corners of his heart. His queen. His beloved. She had been everything to him, a light in a life that had grown increasingly dark. He remembered the way she would stand beside him at this very throne, her presence a calming force even amidst the pressures of ruling. She had been wise, compassionate, and stubborn in the way only someone who truly cared could be. He had loved her strength, her kindness, her fire.

The sound of footsteps broke through his reverie, echoing softly in the vastness of the throne room. San didn’t look up; he didn’t need to. There was only one person who would dare to intrude on his solitude unannounced. “Wooyoung,” San said, his voice low but commanding. From the shadows stepped a figure, his presence lighter but no less commanding than San’s. Wooyoung was a king in his own right, ruling a distant realm that thrived on its trade and opulence. He was as charming as he was dangerous, his sharp smile often masking his sharper wit. His long, raven-black hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, and his deep crimson robes shimmered faintly as he moved. “You didn't move on, I see...,” his voice carrying a teasing lilt as he approached the throne. “It’s been centuries, San." Wooyoung continued, casually placing a hand on the edge of the table beside San. His gaze dropped to the medallion. He sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting across from San, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” he said. “The past is the past, my friend. You need to let her go. San’s hand twitched against the armrest, the first sign of movement since Wooyoung’s arrival. “Let her go?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of it filled the room. “You speak as though it’s a choice.” San’s gaze finally rose, meeting Wooyoung’s. His eyes were dark, haunted. “She was my life,” he said simply. “How do you let go of that?” Wooyoung leaned back, his expression softening for the first time. “You don’t,” he admitted. “Not completely. But you can’t keep drowning in it, either. It’s been centuries, San. Do you even know who you are without her?"San’s gaze shifted back to the medallion. Its faint glow was hypnotic, pulling him into memories he’d spent lifetimes trying to forget. But it wasn’t just the past that haunted him now—it was the girl.The mortal who had appeared in his realm wearing this.“She’s connected to her,” San said finally, his voice rough. “The girl. I don’t know how, but she is.” Wooyoung arched a brow. “The one you’re keeping in the dungeons?” He let out a low whistle. “I heard rumors, but I didn’t think they were true. What do you mean she’s connected?” San’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She wears the medallion.” Wooyoung’s casual demeanor faltered. He straightened in his seat, his playful smirk replaced by genuine curiosity. “The medallion? Her medallion?” He nodded. “She says she doesn’t know where it came from. That she’s had it since birth.”, “And you believe her?” Wooyoung asked, his tone skeptical. San didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the medallion. “She has the same look in her eyes,” he said quietly. “The same fire. I don’t know if it’s a trick of fate or something worse, but I can’t ignore it.” Wooyoung frowned, tapping his fingers against the table. “You’re playing with fire, San. You know that, don’t you? If she’s truly tied to your queen, then the answers you’re looking for might not be the ones you want.” San’s eyes darkened. “I don’t care what the answers are. I need to know.”

When Wooyoung left, the throne room fell silent once more. San remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the medallion. The memory of her face lingered in his mind, as vivid as it had been the day he lost her. And somewhere, in the cold darkness of the dungeons, you sat alone, the medallion around your neck glowing faintly against your skin. San leaned back in his throne, closing his eyes as the weight of everything settled over him. The medallion, the girl, the past—it all pointed the one truth.

The night was quiet, almost too quiet. You woke with a start, unsure what had disturbed your restless sleep. As you looked toward the heavy iron door of your cell, your heart stopped. It was open. The faint glow of magic that usually sealed it was gone. The air was still, but there was a strange feeling in your chest—a sense that this was your chance. You didn’t know why the door was open or how it had happened, but you weren’t going to waste it. Slowly, you crept toward the doorway, your bare feet silent against the cold stone floor. The corridor was dark, the flickering torches along the walls barely lighting the way. You hesitated for a moment, listening for any sign of guards, but the silence was complete. Taking a deep breath, you moved forward. The palace halls were a maze, and you had no idea where you were going. All you knew was that you needed to get out. The night air hit you as you stepped through the large wooden doors at the end of the hall. You were outside. Free.

The forest stretched out before you, endless and dark. The trees were massive, their twisted branches blocking out the moonlight. Shadows danced between the trunks, and the air was thick with damp earth and decay. Every step you took was a gamble—roots jutted out from the ground, and the uneven forest floor threatened to trip you. Your breath came in gasps as you ran, clutching the medallion at your neck. You didn’t know where you were going; you only knew you had to keep moving. Then, the sound you feared the most broke through the silence: a horn. The guards had discovered your escape. The sound echoed through the forest, a low, haunting note that made your chest tighten. You pushed yourself harder, your legs burning as you stumbled through the undergrowth. In the distance, a small, crooked cabin came into view. It looked abandoned, its roof sagging and the wooden walls blackened with age. But it was better than nothing. You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you as quietly as you could. The cabin was cold and smelled of mildew. Dust coated every surface, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. It was dark, the faint moonlight filtering in through cracks in the walls. You huddled in a corner, trying to catch your breath.

You were safe. For now.

The horn’s sound reached every corner of the palace, waking the guards and setting them into motion. They rushed through the halls, their armor clinking, until they reached the throne room. Choi San sat on his throne, his head bowed as he stared at the medallion in his hand. He had been holding it more and more often lately, unable to let it go. It was the last piece of her he had left. “My king,” a guard said, his voice shaking slightly. San didn’t look up. “What is it?”

“The girl,” the guard began nervously. “She’s escaped.” San froze, the medallion slipping from his fingers and landing on the floor with a soft clink. He lifted his head slowly, his sharp eyes fixing on the trembling guard. “What did you say?” His voice was quiet, but there was a deadly edge to it. “She’s gone, my lord,” the guard stammered. “We don’t know how. The dungeons were sealed, but she—”

“Enough,” San interrupted coldly, rising from his throne. Without another word, he strode toward the stables. The guards followed for a moment, unsure of what to do, until he raised a hand. “I will handle this myself,” he said firmly.

San’s horse was a massive black stallion, its coat gleaming like polished obsidian. The animal snorted, its breath clouding in the cool night air as its master approached. San mounted swiftly, his movements precise and controlled. He urged the horse forward, the forest swallowing them both. As the horse galloped through the dark woods, San’s mind was far from the present. His thoughts were filled with her—his queen. She had been his light, the one thing that made eternity bearable. Her laughter had warmed even the coldest corners of his heart, her touch grounding him in a way nothing else ever could. With her, the world had been full of color and life. Now, everything was dark. The palace, the forest, even his heart. He had tried to move on, to bury her memory deep, but it was impossible. The guilt, the loss, the weight of her absence—it consumed him. And now, this mortal girl, with her strange presence and the medallion, had brought it all back. “She’s connected to her,” he muttered to himself. San’s jaw tightened. He didn’t care about the risks. He needed answers.

The cabin was small and dimly lit, its wooden walls creaking softly as you leaned against them, trying to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell as you gasped for air, your legs trembling from the mad sprint through the forest. Outside, the sound of horns echoed faintly, the guards’ warning carrying through the trees. You had escaped—for now—but the fear still gripped your chest like a vice. You thought you were alone. But then, out of nowhere, a voice startled you. "Who are you, my dear?" It was soft but sharp, the kind of voice that made you freeze in place. Your heart skipped a beat, and your wide eyes scanned the room. A figure stepped forward from the shadows in the corner of the cabin. It was an elderly woman, hunched slightly with age but somehow commanding. Her silver hair was wild and long, framing a face lined with time. Her dark, piercing eyes locked onto you, making you feel as though she could see every secret you didn’t even know you had. Her clothes were patched and old, layers of earthy tones that seemed to blend with the forest outside. "I—I didn’t know anyone was here," you stammered, your hand gripping the door behind you as if preparing to run again. The old woman’s eyes dropped to your chest, and her breath hitched. "That medallion..." she whispered, her voice shaky. "How do you have that?" Your hand instinctively touched the necklace that hung from your neck, the one you had always worn. The smooth surface of the green, pearl-like pendant felt strangely cold beneath your fingers. "I—I’ve always had it. It’s mine," you replied. The woman stepped closer, her hands trembling slightly as though she wanted to touch it but stopped herself. Her face was pale, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—shock, disbelief, maybe even fear. "You look just like her," she murmured, almost too softly for you to hear. "Like... who?" you asked, your voice shaking. Something about her gaze made your stomach churn. She gestured to a chair by the fireplace. "Sit. There is much you don’t know." You hesitated but eventually sat, too tired and too confused to argue. The old woman lowered herself into a creaky chair across from you, her movements slow, as though the weight of her words was already too much. "That medallion," she began, "is no ordinary piece of jewelry. It was made long ago, in the heart of the Forest of Luthënar, from the bark of the Eldertree. The Eldertree is a sacred tree—older than memory itself. Its wood glimmers like moonlight, and its sap is said to hold the power of life and death. This medallion... it was crafted using that sap, along with the dust of rare stones found only on the darkest nights. It is unlike anything else in this world." Her voice was steady, but her words left you reeling. You glanced at the medallion in your hands, its soft glow catching the faint light of the fire. It had always been a part of you, but you’d never thought it was anything more than a family heirloom—or at least, that’s what you’d told yourself. She continued, her voice heavy with meaning. "The one who wears that medallion is bound to a powerful fate. It carries the blessing—and curse—of rebirth. Whoever wears it... their soul will return again and again, until their purpose is fulfilled."

"Rebirth?" you echoed, shaking your head. "That’s impossible. I’ve had this medallion since I was a baby. I was found with it."

Her sharp eyes bore into yours. "Yes. You were found. Left on the edge of a cliff, I’d wager. You were not abandoned by chance, my dear. That medallion belongs to a queen—a queen who lived long ago, a queen who ruled with strength and love. A queen who died... far too soon." You blinked at her, your mind struggling to process what she was saying. "A queen? No, that can’t be true. I’m not a queen. I’m just... me."

"You are her," the woman said firmly, her voice shaking slightly. "You are his queen. The medallion ensured your soul would return, though you may not remember. You may not know who you were, but the soul never forgets. It always remembers." You stared at her, your hands tightening around the medallion as if it might slip away. The words felt impossible, and yet... a strange uneasiness stirred within you. A faint flicker of something—like a memory just out of reach—tugged at the edge of your mind. "But... if that’s true, why don’t I remember?" you asked weakly. "Because memories fade with each new life," she explained, her voice soft now. "The mind forgets, but the soul holds on. That is why he could not destroy you, no matter how much anger he felt. Somewhere in his heart, he knows who you are, though he does not yet understand." You shook your head, leaning back in the chair as your world seemed to spin. This was too much. Too strange. Too... impossible. "You’re wrong. He doesn’t care about me. He threw me in the dungeons. He—he hates me." The old woman’s face softened, her eyes heavy with sorrow. "He does not hate you, my dear. He hates himself—for failing you. For not protecting you in your first life. His heart is broken, shattered by grief. And now, seeing you again... it terrifies him. He cannot face the past. But he cannot turn away from you, either. That is why he is searching for you now." Her words sent a chill through you. "Searching... for me?" you whispered. The woman nodded grimly. "He will not rest until he finds you. He cannot. His soul is as bound to yours as yours is to his." As if on cue, the distant sound of hooves reached your ears, faint but growing louder. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the door. The woman rose slowly, her gaze shifting to the window. "He’s here," she murmured. "You cannot run from him forever. The truth will follow you, no matter where you go."

The cabin door creaked as you stepped outside, the cold night air hitting your face like a warning. You didn’t dare look back. The old woman’s words still echoed in your mind, but you had no time to think about them. You ran, the medallion bouncing against your chest as your feet pounded against the forest floor. The woods were even darker now, the moon hidden behind thick clouds. The trees closed in around you, their twisted branches reaching out like claws. Sharp twigs scratched at your skin, and the uneven ground threatened to trip you with every step. You had no idea where you were going—only that you had to get away. And yet, no matter how fast you ran, you could feel it. Him. Choi San. His presence wasn’t just a shadow in your mind; it was something tangible, closing in like a storm. Then, the growl stopped you in your tracks. It came from somewhere in the darkness, low and guttural, sending a chill down your spine. Slowly, you turned toward the sound, your breath catching as your eyes adjusted to the gloom. A massive wolf stepped out of the shadows, but it wasn’t like any wolf you’d ever seen. Its fur was black, its body rippling with unnatural strength. But the most terrifying part was its three heads, each one snarling, each mouth lined with jagged, dripping teeth. Its glowing red eyes locked onto you, and all three heads tilted slightly, as though it were studying you. A low, menacing growl rumbled from its chest, vibrating through the ground beneath you. Your legs refused to move. Fear gripped you, freezing you in place as the creature came closer. The wolf growled louder, its heads snapping toward you in unison. Your heart raced, your mind screaming for you to run, but it was too late. The beast crouched, ready to pounce. Then, like a flash of lightning, something silver sliced through the air. A sword struck the wolf with deadly precision. In one clean motion, the blade severed all three heads from its body. The creature’s snarl turned into a wet, gurgling sound before it collapsed to the ground, lifeless. You stared, frozen in shock, as the three heads rolled away, their glowing red eyes dimming. The body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around it. For a moment, the world was still. Then, the sound of boots crunching through the leaves snapped you out of your daze.You turned, your wide eyes meeting his. Choi San stood there, his sword still dripping with the creature’s blood. He looked like something out of a legend, his sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of the moon. His black cloak shifted in the breeze, and his amber eyes burned as they met yours. He took a step closer, his gaze sweeping over you. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something intense, searching. "You..." he said softly, his voice rough but steady. "It’s you." You backed away instinctively, your pulse racing. "I-I don’t know what you mean." San sheathed his sword with a swift, practiced motion and took another step forward. "You don’t understand, do you?" he asked, his voice low. "But now... now I see it."

"See what?" you asked, your voice trembling.

San’s eyes flicked to the medallion around your neck. His expression shifted—confusion, pain, and something else you couldn’t name flashed across his face. "That medallion," he said, his tone almost accusing. "It belonged to her. To my queen." You instinctively clutched the medallion, shaking your head. "I’m not her," you said firmly, though your voice wavered. "I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not—"

"You are," he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He looked at you like you were a ghost, someone he thought he would never see again. "I didn’t want to see it before. I couldn’t. But it’s you. You’re her." You stared at him, your mind spinning. The old woman’s words echoed in your mind: You were his queen. Reborn. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "You’re wrong. I’m not—"

"I know what I see. You have her face, her soul. That medallion... It wouldn’t be with you unless-" He stopped, his hands curling into fists at his sides as if he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. Tears pricked your eyes. "I don’t know what you want from me," you said, your voice breaking. "I don’t know anything about a queen or a past life. I’m just me." San exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. He looked at you with a mix of frustration and anguish, like someone fighting a battle within himself. "You don’t remember," he said softly, almost to himself. "Of course you don’t." His words made your chest tighten. You wanted to argue, to deny everything, but deep down, something about his gaze, his voice, made you hesitate. San took one last step toward you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "Whether you remember or not," he said, his voice low, "you’re here. And you’re mine." The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you weren’t sure if it was fear, anger, or something else entirely. "I don’t belong to anyone," you managed to say, your voice trembling but defiant. San’s lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. "You always said that," he murmured, almost fondly. San moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking prey.

You instinctively backed away, your heart racing in your chest, but it was no use. The rough bark of a tree pressed into your back, halting your retreat. You were trapped. His imposing figure loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the faint light of the moon. The cool night air felt suffocating as his amber eyes locked onto yours, piercing through every layer of your resolve. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you thick and electric. San’s gaze flickered, his eyes traveling from yours to the medallion hanging around your neck. Then, slowly, they dropped lower, tracing the line of your jaw, lingering on your lips.He licked his lips, his hand moved upward, brushing against the medallion with a featherlight touch. The cool metal shifted against your skin, and his fingers followed, grazing your collarbone. "You still don’t understand, do you?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. "I..." You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. His presence was overwhelming, and your mind was a storm of confusion and unease. San leaned in, his face so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. His eyes searched yours, as though trying to find answers you couldn’t give him. His free hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing firmly but not harshly, grounding you to the moment. "Even if you don’t remember," he said, his voice softer now but no less intense, "your soul does. I can feel it." You stood frozen, your back pressed firmly against the tree. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your chest rising and falling with every labored inhale. His words left you shaken, but it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he looked at you, like you were something precious and fragile, yet completely untouchable. He leaned in further, the space between you vanishing until his body was almost flush against yours. His hand on your waist tightened slightly, and you felt the strength in his grip—not rough, but possessive, as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go. Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to break free, but your body refused to move. It wasn’t fear that rooted you in place; it was something far stranger. His presence, his touch, the raw intensity in his eyes—it all held you captive. "You’re afraid of me," San said quietly, his lips so close to your ear that the words sent a ripple of heat down your neck. "But you don’t have to be." Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, your thoughts a jumbled mess of defiance and confusion. "I’m not afraid," you whispered, though even you didn’t believe it. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Then why are you trembling?" You didn’t have an answer. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, but you couldn’t summon the strength to push him away. Instead, you looked up at him, your wide eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, the world around you seemed to fade. San's hand remained firm on your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your tunic, grounding you as the world seemed to tilt around you. His piercing gaze remained locked on yours, flickering with emotions you couldn’t name. It was as if he were searching for something—some hidden truth, some unspoken connection. His face was close now, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, steady and measured, yet carrying an intensity that made your heart race. Your back pressed harder against the rough bark of the tree as he leaned in, his presence overwhelming but strangely magnetic. "You don’t even realize it, do you?" he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "Realize what?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "That you’ve always been mine."

The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable, as if they carried the weight of lifetimes. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breath mingling with his as he drew even closer. His eyes lingered on your lips, and you felt the moment stretch, a taut thread about to snap. And then, it did. San’s lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. The touch was featherlight, sending a jolt of warmth through your entire body. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. But he didn’t stop there. The hesitation melted away as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. The kiss was slow yet filled with an intensity that made your knees weak, a mixture of longing and something deeper—something neither of you could name. You didn’t know why you didn’t push him away. Every rational thought told you to, but your body refused to obey. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, your hands instinctively gripping the front of his cloak for balance. When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his breathing was uneven, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. "Why don’t you stop me?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, your lips tingling from the kiss, your mind spinning. "I... I don’t know," you admitted, the words trembling as they left your mouth. San’s gaze softened, but his intensity didn’t waver. "You may not remember me," he said, his thumb brushing your cheek again, "but I’ll make you remember." His words sent another shiver through you, and you realized with a pang of confusion that you weren’t sure whether you wanted to run or let him consume you entirely.

San’s hand remained steady on your waist as his other brushed against your cheek, his amber eyes pulling you into their depths. His gaze softened, and for the first time, there was something almost tender in his expression, though it was tinged with hesitation. “Close your eyes,” he said quietly, his voice low but commanding. You hesitated, your breath catching in your chest. “Why?” He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Just trust me. Close your eyes.” Something about the way he said it left no room for argument. Slowly, you let your eyelids flutter shut, the tension in your shoulders still refusing to leave. You felt the faint warmth of his hand against your skin, grounding you, and the low hum of the medallion against your chest seemed to grow stronger.“Now open them,” he whispered, his voice brushing against your senses like a breeze. When you did, the world around you was transformed.

The dark, tangled woods were gone, replaced by a vibrant, sunlit forest. The trees stood tall and proud, their trunks wrapped in soft moss, and the air smelled of wildflowers and fresh rain. Birds chirped overhead, their songs mingling with the laughter of children. In the distance, you saw them—small, carefree figures running and playing among the trees, their joy infectious. The world here was alive in a way you had never seen before, every corner of it glowing with a warmth that made your chest ache. You turned to San, your eyes wide with awe. “What... what is this?”. “This,” he said, gesturing to the beauty around you, “is what it used to be. The forest before it was tainted by loss. Before... everything changed.” You couldn’t find the words to respond. It was breathtaking, magical, and yet there was a strange sense of familiarity in it all, like a distant memory stirring in the back of your mind. San reached for your hand, his touch firm but careful, and began leading you down a soft, well-worn path through the trees. You didn’t resist, too captivated by the scene unfolding before you. The laughter of children faded as you walked, replaced by a stillness that made your heart ache. The trees grew taller, their branches arching over the path like a natural cathedral. And then, through the gaps in the trees, you saw them.

There, standing in a sunlit clearing, was... you.

You gasped softly, your grip tightening on San’s hand as you took in the sight. The version of you from the past was radiant, dressed in a grand crimson gown that shimmered like liquid fire in the sunlight. The bodice hugged your form perfectly, while the skirt flared out in soft, sweeping folds, its intricate embroidery glinting faintly. Around your neck hung the medallion, its glow unmistakable even from a distance. You stood next to him—San. Or rather, the San of that time. He was dressed in dark armor, elegant yet strong, with intricate designs etched into the metal. His expression was softer than the San you knew now, his lips curved in a rare smile as he gazed at you. You both looked... perfect. A king and queen. Your throat tightened as you watched. “Is this...?”

"This is who we were", San said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. The memory played out before you like a dream. The two of you were speaking softly, though you couldn’t hear the words. San reached out, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from the past you’s face, his touch filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. But the peace didn’t last. The skies darkened, and the sound of distant horns broke the stillness. Shadows moved through the trees—soldiers, weapons drawn, marching toward the clearing. The air was heavy with the tension of an impending battle. You saw yourself arguing with San, your face set with determination, his with frustration. “You can’t fight,” the past San said sharply, his voice firm but desperate. “I won’t hide while my people suffer!” the past you shot back, her voice ringing with defiance. San grabbed your arm, his grip firm. “You are my queen. You’re meant to lead, not die on a battlefield!”

“And you’re my king,” you replied, your tone softer now but no less resolute. “If you’re fighting, then so am I.” The memory blurred as the battle began. Swords clashed, shouts filled the air, and the forest was soon alight with chaos. You could only watch as the scene unfolded, your past self moving through the battlefield with grace and courage, the medallion glowing faintly as if feeding off your resolve. Then, the focus shifted. You followed San as he was drawn away from the main battle, his opponents forcing him deeper into the forest. Their swords clashed, the sound sharp and violent, until he finally struck them down one by one. But you didn’t know that. The past you, frantic and desperate, ran after him, your gown torn and dirtied from the fight. You called his name, your voice trembling with worry, but the forest seemed to swallow the sound. When you finally stumbled into a small clearing, it was empty. Or so you thought. A figure stepped out of the shadows. You couldn’t make out their face, only the glint of the blade in their hand. You backed away, clutching at the medallion as if it could save you, but it was too late. The blade pierced your chest, cold and unyielding, and your breath left you in a ragged gasp. You fell to your knees, blood pooling beneath you, staining the earth red. You tried to speak, to cry out, but no sound came. And then, through the haze of pain, you saw him. San. His sword slipped from his hand as he stumbled forward, his face pale with horror. “No...” His voice broke, raw and filled with anguish. “What have I done?” You stared at him, confusion and betrayal etched into your features as you tried to understand. It was his blade. His hand. The person you trusted most had ended your life.The last thing you saw was his face—haunted, broken—as the world faded to black.

You gasped as your eyes flew open, your chest heaving as if the blade had struck you again. The forest of the past was gone, replaced by the cold, dark woods of the present. San stood before you, his face pale, his expression unreadable."You..." you choked out, your hand instinctively clutching the medallion. "You killed me." His jaw tightened, his eyes filled with something between guilt and desperation. "I didn’t mean to. You have to believe me—I never meant to hurt you." Tears burned in your eyes as you took a shaky step back. "How could you? I trusted you. I... I loved you."

"And I loved you," San said, his voice breaking. "More than anything. That’s why it destroyed me when I saw what I had done. Why I’ve spent centuries trying to atone for it. Why I couldn’t let you go." You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "You don’t get to decide my fate," you whispered. "Not then. Not now." San reached for you, his expression pleading. "Please, let me explain—" But you didn’t let him finish. You turned and ran, the forest swallowing you once again as the weight of the truth threatened to crush you. The forest seemed endless, its twisted shadows reaching for you like hands trying to drag you back. You didn’t care where your feet were taking you—you just needed to escape. His voice, his eyes, the memories of what he had done... it was all too much. Branches scratched at your arms, roots threatened to trip you, but you didn’t stop. Your legs burned, your chest ached, and yet you pushed forward. But then, out of nowhere, he was there. San stepped out of the shadows ahead of you, his tall frame bathed in faint moonlight. Your breath catching as you stared at him, frozen. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breathing ragged, and his dark hair fell loosely over his forehead, damp with sweat. His shirt hung open at the collar, revealing the faint sheen of his skin, the lines of his chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath. The way the moonlight hit his sharp features made him look impossibly beautiful, almost unreal, but the intensity in his amber eyes grounded you in the moment. “Don’t,” he said, his voice raw and desperate. “Don’t run from me.” Your throat tightened, and you instinctively took a step back, your body trembling. “How did you—” The words barely left your lips before they faltered. San didn’t answer, but his gaze burned into yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. His lips were slightly parted, his jaw clenched, and there was something in his expression—something between anguish and longing—that sent a shiver through you. You took another step back, then another, until your back hit the rough bark of a tree. The impact made you gasp, and you realized, too late, that there was nowhere left to go. San moved closer, his steps slow but deliberate, like he was giving you a chance to stop him—but you didn’t. You couldn’t. His broad shoulders seemed to block out the forest around you, his presence commanding every part of your attention. “I told you not to run,” he murmured, his voice strained, his eyes flicking down to the medallion around your neck before returning to your face. He lifted a hand, bracing it against the tree beside your head, trapping you without touching you. "Why can’t you just leave me alone?" you whispered, your voice trembling, though you didn’t know if it was from fear or something else entirely. San exhaled sharply, his free hand running through his messy hair, his frustration clear. “Because I can’t,” he said, his voice low and uneven. He leaned in slightly, the space between you growing smaller with every word. “Don’t you see? I can’t stop—I can’t stop being in love with you.” Your breath hitched, and your heart felt like it had stopped. His words hung in the air, heavy and raw, like they had been torn from the depths of his soul. “Even after all this time,” he continued, his voice soft but filled with a desperate edge, “even after everything I’ve done, I can’t stop. You’re in my blood, in my soul. You’re... you’re everything.” Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words crashed over you. “You don’t mean that,” you said weakly, your voice breaking. “You can’t mean that.” San’s hand moved, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently it sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was warm, grounding, but it only made your emotions swirl more chaotically. “You don’t believe me?” he asked, his eyes searching yours. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling just inches from you. “Then tell me to leave. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel it too. Tell me, and I’ll go.”

Your breath trembled as you stared at him, his amber eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to think straight. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his body inches from yours, yet he didn’t move any closer. He was giving you a choice. "You want to know what I want to tell you?" you whispered, your voice shaking as you fought the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. San didn’t speak, his lips parting slightly as he searched your face. His silence was answer enough. He was waiting, bracing himself for the words that might finally break him. Your heart thundered as you stepped forward, closing the small distance between you. His eyes widened slightly at your movement, his breath catching as your face came closer to his. “I want to tell you this,” you whispered. Before he could react, your hands reached up, gripping the edges of his cloak, and you pulled him down to you. Your lips crashed against his in a kiss so desperate, so consuming, that it left no room for hesitation. San froze for a heartbeat, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening, but then he melted into you. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss with a hunger that sent heat rushing through your entire body. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, clutching him as if you were afraid he might disappear. The world around you seemed to blur, the forest and its shadows fading into nothing as his warmth surrounded you. The kiss was fierce, filled with longing and pain and something else—something that felt like hope. San’s hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his lips moved against yours. He kissed you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered, like he was pouring centuries of heartbreak and love into this one moment. His breathing was still ragged, but now it was from the sheer intensity of it all. When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathless. His amber eyes searched yours, his expression torn between disbelief and something deeper—something that made your chest tighten. "You..." he started, his voice hoarse, his grip on your waist tightening as though he feared you might slip away. "Why—"

"Because I couldn’t lie to you," you interrupted, your voice still trembling. "No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you to go. I couldn’t stop myself. I can’t." San closed his eyes briefly, his hand tightening against your waist as his other stayed cradling your face. "You don’t know what you’re doing to me," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "Maybe I do," you replied softly, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

San’s breath was uneven as he held you close, his forehead still resting against yours. The space between you had vanished, replaced by something undeniable, something neither of you could fight anymore. Then, his lips brushed against your jaw. Your breath hitched, your fingers curling against the fabric of his cloak as warmth spread through your body. “San...” you whispered, unsure if it was meant to stop him or urge him on. He didn’t respond with words, only with actions. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your jaw before reaching the delicate skin of your neck. His lips fit there so perfectly, as if they had been meant for this. A shiver ran through you as he lingered, his hands tightening their hold on you as if anchoring himself. Each kiss was careful, like he was relearning something he had once known by heart. His nose brushed against your skin as he exhaled softly, the warmth of his breath sending a rush of sensation down your spine. “You taste the same,” he murmured against your throat, his voice low and laced with something dangerously close to need. You swallowed hard, tilting your head instinctively as his lips moved lower. Your mind was spinning, every nerve in your body awake under his touch. “San...” you tried again, your fingers gripping his shoulders. “We shouldn’t—” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his amber eyes dark and unreadable. "Then tell me to stop," he challenged softly. You opened your mouth, but the words never came. You couldn't say it. San's lips curled into a knowing smirk, his fingers reaching for the fabric draped around your shoulders—a soft, flowing cloak lined with delicate silver embroidery. With one slow, deliberate motion, he pushed it off, the fabric slipping from your body and pooling at your feet. The cool night air kissed your skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of him, of his hands sliding gently over your arms."You’re beautiful," he murmured, his gaze drinking you in as though committing the sight to memory. You shivered, though not from the cold. His lips found your neck again, this time pressing deeper, lingering longer. He kissed and nipped gently, his touch slow and teasing. Your breath came in soft gasps as he traveled lower, his lips brushing just above the lace of your bra, his fingers ghosting over your waist. Your hands found his hair, threading through the soft strands as you fought to stay silent. But when his lips pressed just above your collarbone, a quiet, shaky breath escaped you.

San's mouth paused, his lips still touching your skin, as he waited for your reaction. The sound of your shaky breath was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fire within him. His hands, already warm on your skin, seemed to burn with an inner heat as he slid them up your back, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of your bra. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you felt your nipples harden in response, straining against the fabric that confined them. His lips, still pressed against your collarbone, curved into a gentle smile, as if he knew the effect he was having on you. And then, with a slowness that was almost torturous, he began to kiss his way down, his mouth tracing the curve of your breast, his tongue darting out to tease the lace that covered your nipple. Your hands, still threaded through his hair, tightened, pulling him closer as you arched your back, offering yourself to him. The night air was cool around you, but you felt only heat, only the burning desire that seemed to emanate from San's very pores. His fingers found the clasp of your bra, and with a deft touch, he released it, the lace sliding away from your skin like a whispered promise. Your breasts, freed from their confinement, seemed to swell, the nipples hardening further as San's mouth closed around one, his tongue swirling in a maddening rhythm. You felt your breath catch, your body arching further, as he sucked, his lips pulling gently, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. And when he finally released you, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with a fierce inner fire, his voice low and husky as he whispered, "I've missed this, missed you, missed the way you respond to me" As San's eyes held yours, his hands began to move, the fingers that had so deftly undone your bra now working to release the buttons of his pants. The sound of the zipper lowering was like a promise, a hint of the pleasure that was to come. His eyes never left yours, his gaze burning with an intensity that seemed to sear itself into your very soul. The pants, once undone, slid down his hips, revealing the hard, muscular thighs that had been hidden beneath. And then, his hands moved to his underwear, the last barrier between you and the desire that had been building for so long. The fabric slid down, and San's erection sprang free, hard and proud, the head glistening with precum that seemed to bring you closer. Your breath caught, your heart racing with anticipation, as San's hands moved to your hips, the fabric was pushed up, bunched around your waist, and then his hands were on your thighs, his fingers tracing the curve of your legs before moving to the lace of your panties. The touch was like a spark, igniting a fire that seemed to burn away all reason, all thought, leaving only the desire that had been building between you for so long. "I want you," San whispered, his voice low and husky, his eyes burning with a fierce inner fire. "I want to be inside you, to feel you around me, to make you mine."

His hands grasp your hips, his erection pressing against your inner thighs. You feel the tip of his cock teasing your entrance, sending a rush of anticipation through your body. With a gentle thrust, he slides inside you, filling you completely. The sensation is almost overwhelming, his length stretching you to your limits. Your muscles clench around him, holding him tight as he begins to move, his strokes slow and deliberate at first, then growing faster and more intense. The friction builds, a burning heat that spreads through your core, threatening to consume you. His breath is hot against your skin, his lips tracing the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. One hand remains on your hip, holding you in place, while the other reaches down to find your clit. His thumb brushes against the sensitive nub, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. He begins to rub your clit in slow, gentle circles, the pressure building as he continues to move inside you. The combination of his cock sliding in and out of you and his thumb teasing your clit is almost too much to bear. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel yourself being pushed closer to the edge. His thumb moves faster, the circles tightening as he senses your impending climax. The sensation is intense, your body coiling tighter and tighter until you're not sure how much more you can take. 

The forest was quiet now, the air thick with the scent of earth and the lingering warmth of your bodies. The only sounds were your soft, uneven breaths, still tangled together in the aftermath of what had just happened. San held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as if afraid you might disappear. His skin was warm against yours, his chest rising and falling in time with your own. The rough bark of the tree pressed against your back, but you hardly noticed. The only thing you could focus on was him—his touch, his presence, the way his fingers traced gentle patterns along your spine.He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His amber gaze was softer now, no longer filled with the tension and desperation from before. Instead, there was something deeper—something that made your breath catch. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing delicately over your cheek. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles before he leaned in, kissing you again—slow, unhurried, savoring the moment. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I love you, my queen.” The words settled over you like a warm embrace, wrapping around your heart and holding it tight. You smiled, your fingers threading through his dark hair as you whispered back, “And I love you, my king.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Loss

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You lose

You wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

You wanted to take all your gloves and throw them into the fire and just watch them burn.

What use is a keeper that can't stop goals anyway?

Three goals went passed you today. Four if you count the one that was ruled offside.

Three balls shot passed you in the semifinal of the FA Cup. Arsenal would not be going to the final.

Faith had been put on you to carry the team through but you had fallen at the first hurdle.

A shot fired at you from point blank range in the first five minutes.

It skimmed your gloves and buried itself into your net.

The second came from a corner. A header that went just past your outstretched fingertips.

The third was during the second half. A cross into your box and a shot that zoomed past your body.

The fourth goal, the one called offside, had been whipped in just in front of you after you came out of your goal to collect.

It was a shocking performance from you and you fell face forward onto your bed to scream into your pillow.

Your phone keeps ringing and you know who it is.

You ignore it, turning your head so you can stare at your bedside table.

You watch your phone ring over and over again. The screen lights up and then goes dark again. It repeats again and again but all you can do is stare.

You don't want to think about the match. You want to crawl under your sheets and just die.

You've got to go out to get groceries tomorrow. You don't know how you're going to show your face in public.

Your performance was so embarrassing.

Your coach shouldn't have thought that putting an eighteen year old as keeper was a good idea. His faith in your ability was unfounded and you wonder briefly if it's too late to go back to school for something other than football.

You didn't think you needed a backup option. Football was everything to you. Football was your whole life.

You don't know what you're going to do without football.

Your phone rings again and you flip it over so you can't see the screen anymore.

Rocky looks back at you from his spot on your bedside table.

"Don't," You say to him," Don't look at me like that."

His blank googly eyes stare back at you.

"Stop it."

He keeps staring.

Your hand closes around him and your arm rears back in anger.

Rocky collides with your bedroom wall, clattering to the floor.

You scream into your pillow, forcing yourself not to cry.

You know everyone is going to be talking about your bad performance today. You knew you single-handedly sunk Arsenal's dream of the FA Cup this year.

Your phone rings again and again and you wish you had turned off your sound.

You never realised how annoying your ringtone was. If you remember when you wake up tomorrow, you'll have to change it.

The stupid jingle runs through your ears like how those goals run through your mind.

"I don't want to talk," You say when you finally gain the courage to answer your phone after watching it ring for at least an hour.

"Princesse-"

"No," You cut her off firmly," I don't want to talk. Stop calling me."

"No," Momma says," I watched the match-"

"I don't want to talk!" You insist," Why can't you leave me alone?!"

"Princ-"

"Stop it!" You say, tears running down your cheeks," Just stop!"

"It's not the end of the world." That's Morsa now.

"You weren't there! You don't know!"

"You think I haven't lost matches?" Comes Morsa's dry voice," I know all about losing, princesse. It's one match out of countless others. You'll get them next year."

"I don't want to get them next year!" You spit back," I wanted to get them this year!

"And that didn't work out," Momma says to you gently," And that's okay."

A sob rips through your throat. "Momma, I played so badly."

"You're still young," Momma says," You're never going to have a perfect game all season. It was unfortunate that it was today but it is what it is. You'll spend the weekend sulking about it but you'll improve yourself. You'll get better next time."

You crouch on your bedroom floor, picking up Rocky and wiping off the dirt from him.

One of his googly eyes has fallen off so you stick it back on.

"It's not just your fault," Morsa says," You're in a team sport, princesse. The blame never falls on one person's shoulders. You're still young. You've proven yourself to your team. One bad match doesn't ruin everything. You'll improve."

You wipe away your tears, clenching your fist around Rocky. "Really?"

"Of course. You're going to be great one day but you need to stumble a bit first. Learn from your mistakes and you'll get them next time."

You sniffle. "Thanks."

"Good girl," Momma says," Now, I want you to order food tonight, alright? You had a hard day. Treat yourself."

"I will."

"We love you."

"Love you too."

You look down at the rock in your hand and wince. "Sorry I threw you, Rocky. It won't happen again."

[luvfae]

hiiii im in love with your blog i read everything u write >.< idk if ur taking reqs but i was wondering if you could write an x reader where her and thanos are basically mirrored. they’re known in their circles as “that couple” not saying the it couple because although theyre fine shyts theyre the type to break up bimonthly and have the highest of highs but the lowest of lows. sooo sooo toxic but they always find their ways back to each other 🫶🏽

BACK TO YOU

parings: thanos/choi su bong x f!reader

warnings: barely any smut, but it’s still there. fingering, swearing, toxic relationship.

“Get the fuck out, Thanos.”

Your voice was raw, venom dripping from every syllable as you stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the edge like you needed it to stay upright.

Thanos stood in the center of your apartment, chest heaving, fists clenched. His face was flushed, a mixture of anger and whatever cheap liquor he’d drowned himself in before stumbling over here to start this fight.

“You don’t mean that,” he bit out, jaw so tight you swore you heard his teeth grind.

“Oh, I fucking do.” Your laughter was sharp, bitter, like glass in his ears. “Every single time, Thanos. Every fucking time. We do this, we scream at each other, I throw you out, you come crawling back, and guess what? I’m tired.”

His nostrils flared. “Don’t act like this is one-sided. You like this shit just as much as I do.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Yeah? And what’s that say about you?”

For a second, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. His dark eyes dragged over you, as if committing this moment to memory. The way you stood, all fire and fury, pretending you weren’t one shove away from letting him back in.

Then he shook his head. “You always do this,” he muttered. “Act like you’re done, like you actually want me gone, but you’ll be back. You always come back.”

“Not this time.”

His lips curled. “Yeah? We’ll see, baby.”

And then he was gone.

The door slammed shut, rattling the walls.

You slid down to the floor, exhaling so sharply it felt like the breath had been knocked out of you.

Fucking bastard.

You hated how much you loved him.

It started two years ago.

A toxic, chaotic, beautiful fucking mess.

You were the queen of the nightlife, a club promoter who never had to wait in lines, never had to buy her own drinks, never had to lift a finger because the whole city knew your name. You ran the scene—decided which parties were hot, which DJs were worth booking, which clubs were worth stepping foot in.

Thanos was the king of the underground. A different kind of king, one who moved through the city’s underbelly like it was built for him. He was the guy people went to when they needed something that couldn’t be bought in stores. Drugs, money laundering, security—if it was illegal, Thanos had his hands in it.

You should’ve never crossed paths.

But you did.

And it was fucking electric.

The first time you met, it was a collision—both of you too headstrong, too cocky, too sure of yourselves to let the other have the upper hand.

The first time you fucked, it was the same thing. A battle, a war, neither of you willing to let the other walk away without losing something.

And when you fell for each other, you fell hard.

You were that couple. The ones people whispered about. The ones who burned too bright, too hot, always seconds away from imploding. You fought in public, you fucked in bathrooms, you broke up at least once a month and got back together just as fast.

And now?

Now you were supposed to be done.

Except you weren’t.

Because the next night, you walked into the club you were promoting, and there he was.

Thanos.

Sitting in a VIP booth like he fucking owned the place.

Your stomach twisted.

He looked good. Too good. Loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up, gold chains glinting under the dim lights, rings flashing as he lifted a drink to his lips.

And he was staring at you.

You knew you should turn around. Walk the other way. Pretend like last night had actually meant something, like this time you’d meant it when you said you were done.

But you didn’t.

You walked straight to him.

He smirked, setting his drink down. “Knew you’d come over.”

You rolled your eyes, stopping at the edge of the table. “What are you doing here, Thanos?”

“Waiting for you.” He leaned back, arms draping over the booth. “Miss me already?”

Your nails dug into your palm. “No.”

“Liar.”

You let out a sharp breath. “You should go.”

He tilted his head, watching you. “Nah, baby. I think you should come here.”

You scoffed, but your body betrayed you, moving before you could stop it.

Thanos’ hands were on you the second you were close enough. Big, warm, familiar. He pulled you between his legs, looking up at you with those dark fucking eyes, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Say you don’t want me,” he murmured, so quiet only you could hear.

You clenched your jaw. “I don’t want you.”

His grip tightened.

“Liar,” he whispered.

And then he was kissing you.

And you let him.

Because you were weak. Because you were addicted. Because he tasted like danger and home all at once.

His hands slid under your dress, fingertips skimming up your thighs, teasing, possessive.

“Thanos,” you warned, but it came out breathless, shaky.

“You miss me?” he murmured against your lips, fingers slipping higher.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No.”

But your body told a different story, pressing into him, heat pooling in your stomach.

Thanos chuckled, dark and low, and then—

His fingers slipped under your panties.

Your breath hitched, hands clutching his shoulders as he dragged them over your clit, lazy and slow.

Your knees nearly buckled.

“Apology accepted?” he teased, voice thick with amusement.

You whimpered.

His other hand slid up your back, pulling you closer, mouth brushing your ear. “You’re mine, baby,” he murmured, sliding a finger inside you. “You always have been.”

Your head dropped against his shoulder, body trembling.

And the worst part?

You knew he was right.

[thefeverburningalive]

࣪𖤐.ᐟ 𝖳𝖾𝗇 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖨 𝖧𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖠𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖸𝗈𝗎.

billie eilish x fem!reader

chapter three | ch2 | ch1

summary: due to the recent new rule given to your sister by your father, some meddling parties decide the easiest way to get you to date is by paying somebody to take you out. who better to do so then the hot mysterious delinquent

link💙

a/n: i’m so sorry this took so long to come out </3. i had a super crazy past couple of weeks plus some writers block sprinkled in there. there will most likely be only one or maybe two more parts of this so i hope you guys enjoyy.. also! i put a little star (*) where a specific scene starts, in order for the scene to make sense please watch the link above or at least listen to the song above (bc it was the best thing ive ever written and i want it to make sense so bad) tysm!!

genre: slow burn, tooth rotting fluff, angst, probably a curse word or two

warnings: slight cursing, idiots being idiots

word count: 4.2k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

“y/n, m’lady, you sway to the rhythm of my heart.” kissy sounds and off beat comments where all you could hear the second you entered the classroom, reminders of the fool you had made of yourself at that party. english had always been your favorite subject but you where dreading all classes today. how could you be such an idiot? you couldn’t give any of those jerks the satisfaction of your acknowledgement. you sat down and began to take your materials out. just ignore and pretend like you always do. “y/n stratford you where on fire! wonder where you learned to dance like that babe.” joey’s voice makes anger bubble deep inside your gut. you kept cool on the outside, not even glancing up, keeping your eyes fixated what’s in-front of you as joey joins his friends. right as the bell rang, billie came in. she quickly looked for your eyes which where still preoccupied. she timidly walks over and slinks into the seat behind you. you knew it was her. you weren’t sure if you recognized the sound of her necklaces rattling together or her musky perfume first, but both where indicators of her presence. billie knew she fucked up. the entire situation was fucked up. she couldn’t help but ask herself if the money she was getting was worth breaking something that’s already fragile. billie wants to know you, to be real with you. your cold shoulder was enough for her to make up her mind. she’s calling it off with joey. you listened intensely as mrs. blaise explained the upcoming assignment. something about writing poems- or something like that. before you knew it the bell was ringing, and you waisted no time in scooping up your stuff and rushing off. you didn’t even hear billie say your name as you left.

you always spent lunch with your friend juliana, being that she was one of your, if not your only, close friends. “you went to a party? i thought we where officially apposed to social activity.” she linked her arm through yours, connecting you guys while the two of you walked through the campus. “i didn’t have a choice jules.” this was the last topic you wanted to discuss, not only where you embarrassed over getting fucked up and making a fool of yourself, but also embarrassed by getting turned down by billie. “didn’t have a choice? where’s my y/n and what have you done with her?” you knew she was just poking friendly fun but you really where in no joking mood. “i did it for bianca and it backfired. i got drunk. i danced. i fell. i puked. i got rejected. it was big fun.” juliana didn’t push after your short angered rant. she could tell it was something that was still raw for you. she really wanted to ask about the being rejected part, you having failed to mention to her you where even remotely intrigued by anyone. as you two walk you see and make eye contact with billie. she nervously smiles and gives a small wave. you huff and roll your eyes before immediately turning to walk on a different path. juliana made eye contact with billie. without knowing or hearing anything, juliana knew all she needed to know before continuing to follow you. you decided to have some ‘you time’ after school. the vintage book store was always a comforting place for you. you could spend hours trailing up and down the rustic istles. “exuse me? do you know where i could find a copy of the feminine mystique? i seemed to have lost my copy.” it seemed as if billie came out of no where, suddenly standing directly in-front of you. you stop dead in your tracks and cross your arms. “what are you doing here?” she smiles and shrugs her shoulders at you. “heard this is a pretty cool joint.” you let out a sarcastic laugh before turning to a near by shelf, picking up a book, and shoving it into billie’s chest before exiting. when billie looked down, there was now a copy of the feminine mystique in her hand.

the next day flew by fairly quickly, and quietly. you where on the soccer field going about practice as usual. the coach announced a fifteen minute break since the marching band was also on the field, practicing for the next football game. you chatted with some of your teammates, discussing tactics for the next game and complaining about whatever else.* “you’re just too good to be true,, can’t take my eyes off of you,,” suddenly a beautiful voice could be heard over the loud system of the game field. “you’d be like heaven to touch,, i wanna hold you so much,,” billie was suddenly seen coming out of the announcer booth, microphone in hand, lips moving perfectly in sync with the singing. she was singing. “at long last, love has arrived,, and i thank god i’m alive,,” she then finally finds your eyes on the field, holding the most intense eye contact with you. “you’re just too good to be true,, can’t take my eyes off of you.” as she finished the phrase she points a finger at you. before you could even continue to process what was going on, the entire school band starts playing music- the music to go along with billie’s singing. your mouth hangs agape, an unavoidable smile spreading onto your face. everyone else on the field was in total shock, people laughing, teasing, gossiping. but you couldn’t even be bothered to care. all you could focus on was billie. she sang and danced through the bleachers, along with running away from campus security. all you could do was watch and laugh and smile, not even believing what was happening. as the song came to a close billie eventually had to stop dodging security and go with them to the principals office- probably to get in trouble for hijacking the sound system. you whistled and cheered for her though, as did everyone else. you definitely couldn’t let her sit through detention after that. the loud whistle the coach was using snapped you out of your thoughts. unfortunately, you couldn’t help her until after practice. luckily, it wrapped up about twenty minutes later. after lazily throwing sweat pants over your soccer shorts and slipping on some low top sneakers, you made your way to the detention room. all you had to do was distract the teacher long enough to let billie escape. as you entered the room, billie eyes where the first thing you looked for. your eyes met instantly, she gave you a ‘what are you doing?’ look as you gave her a ‘don’t worry about it’ look back. “mr. elicks! just the guy i was looking for!” okay so maybe you weren’t an actor, but you could be convincing enough for the sake of the task at hand. you created small talk with the older male teacher, once he turned his back you looked over at billie- mouthing the words ‘escape while you can’. billie had a huge grin on her face as you continued to chat away with the teacher. slowly but surely, billie made it out of the classroom undetected. once she was out, you quickly said goodbye and dashed out of there. the both of you laughed and giggled while running down the halls, booking it for the parking lot. you lead her to your car before unlocking the doors allowing you both to sit. “dude i can’t thank you enough for helping me sneak out of detention. very cool of you.” she was still panting a bit, but you where too, having just run down four hauls and several flights of stairs. you laugh through the pants before responding. “yeah no problem.” you put the keys in the ignition and begin to drive, existing the parking lot. “i thought i was gonna be a goner trying to sneak out of there. so how did you do it? keep him so distracted?” due to you driving, you couldn’t exactly look over at her. but you could tell she was still smiling. “oh you know..i dazzled him with my wits.” she chuckles as you pull into a gas station parking lot. “so what now.” you turn to billie, now being able to actually talk. “are you up for it?” billie has this mischievous look on her face. “up for what?”

that’s how the two of you ended up covered in paint, laughing your asses off, playing paint-ball. “eilish watch out!!” you two start laughing as she got hit with a paint ball. you take a few step closer to her but you’re suddenly hit with a paintball straight to your back, sending you stumbling forward. before you know it you’re falling onto the ground- right on top of billie. “well how cliche.” billie placed one of her hands on the small of your back, while the other came up to brush some of your paint covered hair from out of your face. “shut up and kiss me already.” “with pleasure.” billie then finally brings her face to yours, and places her hips atop of yours. her lips where softer than clouds, seemingly melting into yours. the kiss was soft and gentle. she tasted like cherry chapstick and spearmint gum. when the kiss was done, you felt yourself missing it. after the kiss, you both just looked at each other for a moment. neither of you being able to find the right words to say now. billie was the first one to speak. “maybe we should uh- head out.” you nodded and scrambled to get up and off of her, offering your hand to help her stand. the walk back to the car was silent. it wasn’t awkward, but there was still a slight feeling of tension. as you got to the car you handed her a towel from in your trunk. she raised an eyebrow at you. “bianca always has me pick her and her friends up from the beach. i hate sand, especially in my car. so ive just gotten into the habit of keeping towels in the trunk.” she nods and listens as you both wipe as much paint as possible from off yourselves before entering the car. “do you wanna go to my place?” the question catches you off guard. you’d never been to billie’s house before, hell you dont even know where she lives. she continued to speak. “we’re both covered in paint, and exhausted. also- i’m pretty sure your dad will go all ‘sargent dad’ on you if you go home looking like a kindergarteners finger painting project.” she had a point, your dad would ask way too many questions, and you hated the feel of the paint drying in your hair. “yeah why not. but i have no idea where you live.” she smiles as she puts her seat belt on. “i gotcha mamas, i’ll give you directions.” and she does just that. it was about fifteen minutes of her giving you directions before you finally made it back to her house.

it was different then you pictured in your head. she leads you inside after unlocking the door. you’re suddenly met with a large pitbull, jumping up excitedly onto billie. “shaaark hi buddy, hey big guy, who’s a good boy!” you watch as billie crouched down to give love to the dog while she talked to him in a cute baby voice. it was a side of billie you’d never seen before, and it made you smile. the dog suddenly comes over to you and sniffs you, before sitting in front of you seemingly waiting for you to pet him. you smile and pat his head. “nice to meet you shark! aww you’re so cutee.” now you’re crouching down to pet the dog as he rolls over for you to rub his belly. “oh yeah he’s a looker.” she watches closely while you interact with her dog, something about it makes her stomach do backflips. “he’s literally the cutest thing i’ve ever seen.” you turn to look at her while still petting the dog. “not as cute as you.” she shoots you a wink and you roll your eyes, your cheeks blushing slightly. “here come i’ll show you where the bathroom is, i’ll grab you a towel and some clothes to throw on.” she guides you up a flight of stairs and to a bathroom, seemingly to be her own. “i’ll be right back with the supplies.” she turns and leaves while you study the bathroom. it has one tooth brush, so this must be her own bathroom. you see some skincare products lined up on the sink, along with some vanilla body lotion. a knock at the door is heard before billie slips in. “clothes and towel as promised. there’s shampoo, conditioner and body wash inside the shower on the shelf. once you’re done you can come to my room that’s where i’ll be. it’s the first door on the left when you walk out.” you nod taking the pile from her hands, while she closes the door behind her. you quickly shower, ridding yourself of the paint. billie gave you a black nike hoodie with some red basket ball shorts. the outfit was a little big on you, but it was almost comforting. the clothes smelt like her arms where wrapped around you.

you made your way to her room, the sound of low music to be heard from the door that was cracked open. when you stepped inside you’re met with a whole different billie than you’re used to. billie is seated at a desk- she’s wearing a darker red hoodie was some sort of band logo on it, along with some checkered pajama shorts. her hair was wet but thrown up in a messy bun, and she seemed to be applying some skin care products to her face. she seemed so much more real. she noticed your presence and smiled. “c’mon in, i don’t bite.” she grins as she speaks while motioning for you to sit on the edge of the bed next to her chair. without a second beat you indulge. “do you live here alone?” you couldn’t stop yourself from being nosey. it was strange there was no one else here. “nah i live with my parents and older brother. my parents travel a lot for business and my brothers almost always at his girlfriends house- if not then working.” you head nodded as she spoke, your eyes locked with her blue ones. “its not too bad tho. i usually just kinda hang here with shark. sometimes zoe will come by.” as hard as you tried to pay attention to her words, her presence was overtaking your mind. your mind couldn’t help but question how you ended up here. “what about you? have anything you like to do while home alone?” it was clear billie was continuing to try and get to know you, which you appreciated. “well i’m also usually home alone a lot. bianca’s always god knows where. my dad works in a hospital so he’s off saving lives. jules is usually busy- she works and studies a lot, and she’s pretty much the only person i hang out with. i kinda just read or listen to music or practice the guitar.” speaking with billie felt so natural to you as you’ve grown accustomed to her being around. “nice nice. i’m more of a piano person myself.” billie smirked as she spoke. “speaking of music- i didn’t know you could sing??” you’d almost forgotten about the public performance from earlier today; even though it was only a few hours since it felt like days. you could see a small blush creep onto her cheeks as she just smiled and rubbed the back of her neck. “i- yeah.. it’s not something i talk about a ton.” you could tell the topic made her slightly nervous. it was cute. you start to think back on the reason for her show earlier, and it makes you slightly frown. billie must have noticed the shift in your mood because she immediately perks up. “hey, what’s wrong?” the concern could be heard in billie’s voice. “why didn’t you kiss me in the car?” the question you’d been dying to ask finally spilling out, you stood as you continued to speak. “you flirt with me. you call me pet names. you- you take me to a party- take care of me- open up to me- but then you don’t kiss me-? and then today you do this big gesture and you hang out with me and kiss me and bring me to your home- i just.. do you not want to be with me or what because i-i can’t just play games with you billie.” you let out a sigh after speaking, having just ranted and spilled out everything you’d been thinking.

billie just looks at you. you couldn’t tell what she was thinking- her eyes being so unreadable. she sighed as she stood up from her chair so she was standing directly infront of you. without saying any words she just brought her arms around your waist and pulled you in for a hug. not knowing what to do- you put your arms around her shoulders. billie buried her face in the crook of your neck and sighed. “i’m sorry.” was all billie said, her voice low as she was so close to you. you could feel her breath on your neck and it sent shivers down your spine. the two of you stayed like that for a moment, not knowing when to break apart- not wanting to break apart. billie pulled away and cupped a hand on your cheek. “i was scared- you where kinda drunk and i don’t know i thought that you’d either regret it or forget it if we kissed that night. but i-i do- i do want to be with you.” billie’s eyes slightly glossed over, a mix of emotions clouding her brain. none of this was actually supposed to happen. she wasn’t supposed to fall for you, she wasn’t supposed to get so involved, but she couldn’t help it. her stomach was sick with guilt, she wanted to be real with you. she wanted to be with you because of her feelings, not because of joey. you smiled and pulled her into another hug. “i forgive you.” you spoke just above a whisper. “i know i can be a lot.. i’m very closed off but it’s just because- i’ve just been hurt a lot. it’s hard for me to trust people.” your confession sent another wave a guilt through billie. billie knew she had to be sure that this ‘deal’ with joey was buried dead and gone. she also knew she had to make sure you’d never find out. when you finally let go, billie could see more of the pink hue that dusted your cheeks. for the first time, you felt nervous under her gaze. billie gave you the softest smile, the same pink hue now covering her own cheeks. she slightly stepped closer, if that was even possible. “can i kiss you again?” her voice was low, quiet, like her words where only meant for your ears. all you could do was nod, not trusting your voice to be stable enough to answer. she placed her hand behind your ear while her thumb rested on your cheek before leaning in, and kissing you once more. this kiss felt different then the first one. the first one was soft, a spur of the moment kiss. this kiss felt more real. it was passionate, like she was confessing her feelings through her movements. she pulled you closer by your waist as you put your hands on her chest, slightly grabbing at her hoodie as if to pull her even closer. by the time you’d both finally pulled away, you where on the brink of gasping for air, the kiss having lasted a life time. she rested her forehead atop of yours, her eyes staring deep into yours. “go to prom with me.” it wasn’t even a question she was asking you, more of a demand. “prom-? why would you even want to go?” you didn’t take billie as the school event type of girl. “i want to be with you. i want to do things with you. please go to prom with me.” the desperation in her voice made the butterflies in your stomach start to flutter. “i don’t know billie..” you wanted to protest the idea but then you just saw her staring at you with her big blue eyes. how could you say no? a sigh escaped you lips before you finally answered. “okay- i’ll go to prom with you.” billie immediately picks you up by the waist and spins you around. you laugh with wide eyes while gripping onto her shoulders. “i promise you won’t regret this y/n.” she holds your face in her hands as she speaks. you blush once more, the strong brick walls you had built around your feelings slowly came crumbling down.

it had been hours since you’d arrived at billie’s house, her having suggested to you guys watching some tv on her living room couch turned into an hour and a half long nap. when you woke up, you where clung to billie’s torso. her arm was draped around your shoulders while the other one was playing with your hair. you groaned, having been so comfortably sleeping. “hey sleepy head.” billie spoke very softly, sounding like she’d possibly also been sleeping. “how long was i asleep for?” you sat up slightly, still staying close to billie. “like an hour and a half-ish. i woke up like twenty minutes ago.” you nodded and sighed as she spoke, knowing you’d most likely have to go home soon. before either of you could say anything else, the sound of the front door opening and shark barking filled the room. billie looked over and noticed the two that had just walked in and smiled. “hey fin, hey claudia. finally gracing me with your presence?” you assumed this must be her older brother and his girlfriend, who billie had briefly mentioned earlier. she then got up from the couch and headed in their direction. a part of you wanted to pull her back and keep her next to you but you knew the moment couldn’t last forever. you knew you should also get up and say hi so you did. as you approached you got to actually see the couple that just arrived. you took notice of her brothers ginger hair, wondering if maybe billie’s jet black hair wasn’t her natural color. the girlfriend was tall, and very beautiful. even in a sweat suit she still looked like a super model. the girl seemed to notice your presence before the other two. “hi there.” billie and her brothers heads turned at the sound of her voice. “oh right- y/n this is my brother finneas, and his girlfriend, claudia.” claudia gave you a warm smile and wave while finneas extended his hand for you to shake, which you reciprocated. “hi nice to meet you guys. i’m y/n.” you felt slightly nervous interacting with the two despite their kindness. the conversation flowed with ease, both finneas and claudia being incredibly nice and friendly. the four of you sat on their living room couch, discussing various topics like music, tv shows, movies, food, and sports. after about a half hour you had decided it was probably a good idea for you to head home being that you had been out the entire day and it was almost 6pm. billie was leaning up against your side, so you lightly tapped her knee. her head perked up and she looked over at you. “i should probably head home.” she frowned but understood. “cmere i’ll walk you out.” you turned to finneas and claudia after standing up. “it was so great meeting you guys.” the couple also stood and each came in to give you a hug. “you’re welcome any time.” finneas said as he hugged you goodbye. “i hope we see more of you!” claudia stated as she gave you her hug. finneas then turned to billie before you two exited. “you better treat her right kid. she’s a keeper.” you could feel heat rush to your cheeks, and you saw billie’s do the same. billie and you walked out without a word, walking to your car in silence. “i uh- loved spending the day with you.” billie opened your car door for you as she spoke. you giggled slightly before leaning in and kissing her cheek. “me too, see you tomorrow?” billie blushed once more before nodding with a smile. you started your car with a sigh and waved to billie before driving off.

billie watched your car drive away, before going inside and picking up the phone. she waited a moment, letting it ring, before beginning to speak once the line picked up. “the deals off joey.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

tag list <3: @emilyshortcake

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Hi lovely. Can you please do mafia Charles and he’s very protective over reader who’s younger than him and maybe his enemies hurt her and he goes crazy or smth — F1driverszona

Protection

babe asked so she shall receive, I swear I’ve never written a fic this quickly I hope y’all’s like it 🎀

*Perceval*

You know how you look at someone and feel your heart swell with pride and joy? That was how Charles was feeling the exact moment he saw his pretty little girlfriend get her bachelors degree. She looked so gorgeous in the white outfit he had picked with her, so pure and innocent.

Charles genuinely wondered how she hadn’t noticed all the security that constantly followed him. How was he only 27 with an entire estate under his name? It really made Charles ponder. Maybe she noticed but was smart enough to not bring it up.

Regardless, he was the proudest person in the room, eyes beaming with glee as she threw her cap up in the air with joy enriched onto her face. With her only being 20, their relationship was the root of all the gossip in town.

It was strange, really. 7 years wasn’t that bad. He knew her better than anyone, and she knew him the most. He never let such thoughts bother him, especially since he was running one of the most discreet underground mafia. Charles knew the risk of getting her involved in his life. He knew that she would forever be tangled in his dirty business, whether she knew it or not. He hated the way that she drew in people with her charm and charisma.

In Charles' world, more attention meant a higher probability of ending up dead. Just thinking about something happening to her made his blood boil. She’d never be harmed. Little did Charles know that pissing off the Russian Mafia came with its drawbacks. The Russians played fast and dirty. They’d attack where it hurts the most. Due to their undercover agent in her university, they knew exactly who she was. Every little detail from the timings she enters and exits the university to the car that comes to pick and drop her.

The Russians were smart, very smart. They knew the best way to hurt Charles was to hurt his girl. They knew kidnapping would not work as she was heavily guarded at all times. So they came up with a public declaration of war. They were going to attack her at her graduation ceremony, in front of everyone, and most importantly, Charles.

This was their way to send a message. Frankly, ever since y/n and Charles started dating, he was ignoring his priorities with the mafia and appointed most of the tasks to Kyviat, who turned out to be a traitor. Some may say Charles’s lack of attention caused him to lose the most important person in his life. Just as they called out her name, the first shots fired. Almost in an instant, Charles whipped his head so fast you could hear a bone crack. He knew this was planned. He prayed and hoped deep down it wasn’t a message for him. He knew Alonso’s daughter also went here and selfishly hoped it was for him.

All his prayers fell on deaf ears when he saw his precious angel falling, almost in slow motion, with her white dress that he loved oh so much turning ever so red with each passing second. He knew he messed up. He had so much love he still needed to show her. The engagement ring in his pocket felt like hot coal, burning him almost taunting him painfully. He had everything planned out, each moment, each step. He never expected her to be ripped out of his arms. He had destroyed homes and families.

He knew he had unpaid karma. And just when he started becoming a better person, he had to pay his karma in full. They say the day she bled out in his arms was the day hell froze all over again. Each of her deep and labored breaths haunted his soul for the rest of his life. He still had days where he could imagine her next to him. If people thought Charles was cruel before the shooting, they would be very wrong.

Seeing the love of his life lying still on a ventilator enraged a different type of devil in him. He hunted each and everyone involved in the shooting like he was hunting animals. He shot, stabbed, burned, bleached, skinned, and mutilated each and everyone. It was borderline psychotic. By day, a doting boyfriend in the ICU. By night, a cold-blooded killer on the loose.

Each morning when he returned, he would utter the same words over and over again, “ça aurait dû être moi, pas toi, ça aurait dû être moi, ma chérie, pas toi. je suis désolé je suis désolé.”

Charles had lost it. More than ever, his reign of terror only ended when she opened her eyes again. He never touched another gun or affiliated with the mafia ever again.

The both of them found a safe haven in the Swiss Alps, only returning to Monaco when everything was over, Charles becoming the most protective person ever known to have lived. His large hand placed on her ever prominent belly. Monaco saw the aftermath of what happens when you mess with Charles Leclercs wife. That was the only incident that ever involved y/n. Charles made sure of it after all she was his and he protected what was his. His overprotective nature plus his power made sure she was safe.

[grapejuicestyless]

Wishes Do Come True

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: It was just a legend, something out in place to make people believe in something that couldn’t be true. But when fate has its way, JJ learns that sometimes, wishes do come true. CONTAINS SEASON 4 SPOILERS!!!

Ryan shot the gun first. He shot it because Ward was charging at him, his teeth bared and his arms spread wide. How fitting that he would go out as a somewhat decent father, a man who took three bullets and threw himself over a cliff to save his daughter and her Pogue best friends.

JJ remembers the feeling of the earth bending beneath his feet as he practically sprinted over to the edge, looking down past his feet to see where the Kook and the henchman lay. JJ thought it was strange, how someone could be so crumpled up, he knew bones weren’t made to bend that way, so seeing the way his body twisted made him a little sick.

He can hear Sarahs soft cries and echoing hiccups clearly, how Kiara seemed to grab onto herself to steady her breathing. He remembers seeing how tightly John B’s arms were woven around Sarah’s body, as if he were afraid she would jump next, as if her body could save his. There was no saving that, as sick as it was.

But what he really remembers, is the softness of her voice calling out for him, the way her voice shook like it was hard to get out. Only then did the sounds of his friends stop ringing in his ears, and through some champagne party effect, he could focus in on just the quietness of her. Only then did he realize as he tried to wrap his arm around thin air that she wasn’t at the ledge.

A stray bullet, it’s a funny thing. The shots fire, four, the last four bullets the man has, and only three reach the sacrificial lamb. The last one reaches one of the seven targets behind it.

Her hands shook over her upper stomach, gripping her skin just below her ribs. Even with a shaky focus, he could see the tint of red beginning to seep past her once light blue nails, now chipped and digging into the cloth of her shirt.

“JJ, I…I don’t…” She stumbled forward, her eyes flickering from his to some distant thing over his shoulder. She could barely focus her vision. He remembers the weight of her head hitting his shoulder as he caught her, the feeling of an extra warmth seeping into his own clothes, something wet and sticky that shouldn’t be drenching the two of them, but was.

“No, no, no. Come on cupcake, come on.” He gritted his teeth, trying to hold her up, but his need to keep her up was wavering at the look of agony on her face. She laid in his lap, his hand holding hers as they both pressed down on the wound, though, it was no use because they had no way home, and the nearest hospital wasn’t for miles. They had no idea where to even begin to search for one in the middle of all the greenery.

JJ rambled in a panic, a habit he’d always done, but she couldn’t make sense of it anymore. Her hearing was fuzzy and her vision came in and out in waves of darkness. She tried to look at her friends, but her eyes wouldn’t tear themselves away from her best friend’s face.

She had just gotten him, their love was still brand new, discovered on an island they were sure they would never find again. It was barely a month since they had shared a kiss under the stars, one both had been dreaming of for years. They went back and forth for what felt like centuries and now none of it mattered, because JJ was holding his love in his arms as she helplessly spat up blood and tried to focus on the blue of his eyes and not the tears on his face.

“It’s gonna be okay, you just gotta fight, you can fight. You fucking…” JJ broke out into a bitter laugh, one he didn’t mean as his palms messily wiped away the blood that trickled down her jaw. Red smeared everywhere, sticking to every crease in his skin. It burned, and so he kept smiling because his laughter, as disingenuous as it was, brought a weak smile to her face. “You saved my life, when I fell off that boat. You kept me alive, and I’m gonna keep you alive, so don’t give up on me.”

The sight of the tears finally spilling from her pretty eyes would forever haunt JJ, because he knew as her chest caved in against his lap, that the pain was too great to make her stay and suffer through, when they both knew she was as good as dead as soon as the gun was fired.

“It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore.” She had told him weakly, the initial throbbing turning into an intense burning, a mix of the powder and the blood that pooled around her, soaking his skin through his pants.

“N-no, come on baby…baby, cupcake, please.” He pleaded. “I love you, please.”

Her ears seemed to clear at his heavy confession, and a sweet smile, the sweet smile he had fallen for back in the third grade, graced her pretty, tired face one last time.

“I love you JJ.” She promised, blinking back the tears. Somehow, she found the strength to lift his hand from her wound and press her bloodied lips to his sticky palm.

He had to watch the way her eyes fluttered shut, one last choked breath that sounded similar to what Pope would later explain as death rattle breathing, escaped her mouth, and that sweet little smile faded into nothing as she laid dead in her best friends arms.

JJ was never quite the same after that. He still loved his friends, he was still reckless and loud and impulsive, but he seemed to do it all for her.

When they won their money finally, he thought of all the things he would’ve bought for her, all the beaches they could’ve surfed across. When he finally found a place to call home, he placed her pillow on her side of his bed, fluffed it up for her and swore some nights he could feel her head resting on his heavy chest.

He thought of how much she would have loved Poguelandia 2.0. It was bittersweet to see the flag because all he could think of was their first kiss under the white flag that waved proudly above them.

He missed their matching P4L stick and pokes, he hated that he had to look at his forever and know it no longer matched with anyone. He hated that everyone else around him had someone to lean on, a lover to come home to, when he knew he would never be able to love again. But most importantly, he hated how young she was. She was only nineteen.

John B told him it wasn’t about the time we had with those we have lost, but what we make of it, but JJ was too angry to care. He didn’t care, it was easy for John B to say when he had lost a best friend, but JJ had lost so much more.

He wore her charm bracelet on his wrist, even though it was tight and caused a lot of noise. He loved the charms on them because they were old and made of clay and they matched his rings and necklace. She made them when they were ten because they were too young for their tattoos.

He swore to never go after treasure again, he couldn’t risk it, but with the promise of a singular wish, JJ followed along like a duckling to Morocco, blood on his shirt and a new father to betray him.

“You know, they say the crown grants a wish.” Kiara broke the silence between them in the heat one day, looking up at the sky to avoid the awkwardness of eye contact. She didn’t have to ask to know he would wish for her back in a heartbeat, but she did anyway because truthfully she liked the way JJ talked about her. It made her feel like her best friend was still alive.

“Yeah?” JJ scoffed with a smirk. “What would you wish for?” He asked, leaning over the unstable ledge, bricks dusty and the cement breaking apart. It wobbled under his forearms.

“I’m not saying I believe it but…I’d wish to go back in time maybe. I’d try not to rush into everything.” She said calmly, her eyes finding JJ’s.

“What about you?” She asked softly, and JJ hummed.

“The thing about wishes is, they don’t come true if you say them.” Kiara laughed breathily at his words.

“Yeah?” She questioned for confirmation.

“Yeah.” He breathed out. “And I really want this one to come true.”

That phrase, “be careful what you wish for,” was made for people like JJ Maybank.

There’s this old game called “Monkeys Paw” that Y/n and JJ both loved when they were younger. One person would make a wish, and the goal of the game was to make that person regret that wish.

They would stay up for hours laughing about it.

If JJ wished for a pizza, the pizza was poisoned. If Y/n wanted a dog, it was rabid. They’d spend hours at a time waking up the neighbors just laughing at how outrageous they could make the faults.

Now that they were older, and now that Y/n was gone, JJ seemed to forget about the rules of the game.

He stumbled back, all air caught in his throat. He lost the crown, and he’d lost his girl, and now, here his biological father was with a knife twisted deep into his abdomen, pulling it out with a sickening crunch.

Kiara pleaded for him to keep fighting, her hands on the wound in a way that reminded him of the way he desperately pressed against Y/n’s all those weeks ago. Her cries were just as desperate, and they were just as fuzzy.

JJ now felt thankful he let her go peacefully, because living through the pain was insufferable, and he knew it would have been cruel to make her fight it any longer.

He cried a little, but he wasn’t sad. No, he was happy, even as Kiara screamed for Pope and John B, begging for help that would do no good because just like his precious Y/n, there was no way home and no help in sight.

He let out a hiccup, and his eyes focused on her brown ones as his vision cleared for a moment, the sting turning into a familiar burn.

“Kie, I never told you my wish.” He smiled, and she shook her head.

“No, Jayj, come on, you gotta fight it. I can’t lose you too.” She pleaded, and it was like he wasn’t even listening as he kept choking out words.

“I already got what I wished for.” He smiled.

All he ever wanted was a home, and though every sacred place he ever had to call that were short lived and destroyed, he had found it in the people who loved him, and the people he loved.

JJ wished for so much more than anyone thought, and he’d gotten all of it.

He had you at one point, and he was eternally grateful for every hug he ever received from your loving arms. He had Pope and John B, who made him laugh like no one else ever could, his ribs sore and his stomach shaking. Kiara and Sarah kept him grounded. He was grateful for how much they cared, how safe he felt around them. He knew he would miss his best friends more than anything else, he would miss them like family, because thats what they were.

The Pogues were his family, and his family was his home.

JJ wished for one last thing with the crown as the darkness took him. He slipped away from his body, his head lulling to the side as Kiara shook him, but he wasn’t there anymore, and he wasn’t afraid because there she was.

Kneeling beside Kiara and she didn’t even know, there she was, her sweet smile and her pretty eyes. She was holding both Kiara’s hand, and his hand, nothing more than wind to them on the ground, but now JJ could see her, and now he could hold her.

“Y/n? Cupcake?” He breathed out with a smile, the luckiest man in the world, even if his toes didn’t physically touch the dirt or the sand anymore.

“Jay…” She smiled back, a sweet sound falling past her lips, and it was simply half of his name.

As his arms wrapped around her tightly, his nose buried into her shoulder. It felt good to know that he would never have to let her go again, and that someday, his friends would have the same pleasure of holding him again too.

JJ’s wish had been a little greedy, because in addition to what he was already granted, he wished to be with Y/n again.

He guess he never really specified how but hey, wishes really do come true.

[boybandbaby]

I Wish (Evan Buckley x 118!Reader)

word count: 965

warnings: angst, fire

You started dating Buck only 5 months into working at the 118. He was so sweet and flirty, you instantly swooned over him. Not just his blue eyes, beefy build, and bright smile, but his passion for the job and care for others. As a probie, he unnecessarily would help you carry equipment that was on the heavier side even though you were more than capable of carrying it. He would save you a seat next to him at the dinner table and even serve your plate for you. You needed a napkin? Buck was already receiving a stack for you. You needed help loading up your gear? He was standing behind you pulling the straps over your shoulders. With a small smile and thank you, you slowly fell for him. That was almost a year ago now and everything was suddenly turning to shit.

At the start of the relationship and even a short few weeks ago things were great. Amazing. Exciting. Loving. Now, there was a constant revolving door of arguments.

You and Buck used to spend your days off at each other’s apartments, crafting new recipes or having movie marathons. Now, the only contact you had with him was at work. During calls you remained professional and when the shift ended you went your separate ways. The others could sense something was wrong and you both were reminded of the promise you made to Bobby when you disclosed the relationship: keep it professional and leave any drama at home.

The fights all started because Buck was becoming reckless again. Even after getting crushed by a truck and struck by lightening, he continued to act as if he was unstoppable. The call that did it was a tough one for everyone that left several people injured, luckily no one dead, and put a strain on your relationship.

A small bakery caught fire and even though Bobby instructed everyone to evacuate, Buck swore he saw movement in the building. That, mixed with a woman screaming “Shelby!” repeatedly, Buck ignored Bobby’s orders and your pleas to stay put. The glass of the windows had shattered and the flames got bigger but Buck exited the building coughing and covered in soot. In his arms was a small kitten, perfectly unharmed. As Buck smiled, handing the woman her fur baby, you hopped in the engine with a slam of the door. Eddie just gave Buck a look that said “you’re in for it tonight.” A heated argument ensued where you told Buck he was being reckless and disrespectful to not only Bobby but the team. Shortly after, you found yourself not being able to be paired with Buck and his antics during calls which Bobby accommodated.

Two days out from your one year anniversary, you decided to mend things and talk through your problems. You didn’t want to spend the celebration of your one year angry at each other and you certainly didn’t want to continue in a relationship where the love burned quick and bright and died just the same. You asked Buck to come in early to talk before your shift but before you could say anything, Buck had decided to end things.

You’re standing in the kitchen, hands braced against the counter. Your ears are ringing and your eyes are burning with unshed tears.

“You’re serious?” You whisper when he doesn’t elaborate on his previous two words. It’s over.

“I just don’t see how this is going to work when you can’t trust me. You can’t trust that I can do my job. You’re constantly breathing down my neck.” Buck uses his hand to express his frustrations.

“I care about you, Evan. I’m worried for you. You constantly throw yourself at the most dangerous situations without thinking.” You wrap your arms around yourself.

“That’s part of the job.” He argues.

“No it’s isn’t.” You shake your head. “Not when there’s others who can do it or when Bobby gives you orders and you deliberately disobey.”

“But no one can do it like I can.” He lays a hand on his chest.

“So this is a pride thing?” You angrily squint at him, tilting your head.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why wouldn’t I understand? Help me understand.”

“You’ve never put yourself in a situation where you almost died. You work comfortably. You do what you’re asked and that’s it. You don’t go above and beyond.”

“Everyday we put our lives on the line. I may not run into fires or scale buildings but I do the same work as you. I choose to use my head and be safe and follow orders. So that makes me what? A bad firefighter?” You drop your hands by your sides, clenching your fists.

Buck runs a hand through his hair, “I just need my space. I need to be able to work without you hovering over my every move and doubting me.”

“I don’t doubt you Buck.” You cry. “You’re one of the best out there.”

“Lately, it hasn’t felt like you really believe that. You’re holding me back.” He leans against one of the high top tables.

“You know Buck, I was actually hoping to work things out but it seems like you’ve made up your mind. I thought your impulsive actions were just limited to the job but clearly it’s a trait you have with everything you do even relationships. Sometimes you’re so careless, I wish I cared less.”

“Well now you don’t have to worry about me and I don’t have to worry about you nagging.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You blink, watery tears streaming down your face. Buck gives you one last look before heading down to the lockers. As soon as he’s out of sight, his body racks with sobs as he leans against the lockers.

[tea-biscuits-books]

dirty little secret

draco malfoy x f!reader

🐍👁️☕️🌫️🧸

summary: you're done being draco's dirty little secret

word count : 846

song: bloody mary - ghost

his hands were held tightly around your wrist the rings digging into your skin like knives. 

“Blaise,” you whimpered, shaking your head as he ignored you and the ache in his heart. “Blaise please,” you sniffed. “It’s hurting me,” his gaze shifts and his vice-like grip softened slightly. “Shut up,” he grunts as he tugs you along. His eyes gave you no hint to his expression. The ghastly pink greets you as you lock eyes with Umbridge, whose thin lips turn up in an ugly smile. “Ms Y/L/N,” she tuts as one would to a child. “I thought you had better sense than to fool around, I even offered you a place on my squad.” You fought against your restraints, rage blinding your vision. “he’s back! I know it!” You hiss as metal cuts into your skin, a warning. Umbridge dismisses you with a sneer like look. It’s silent for a moment as she circles Harry, a predatory look on her face. “Where is he?” She yells, her wand thrust into his face. Harry blinks. “I don’t know!” He says exasperated. “Don’t lie to me boy,” she spits. You tremble, Umbridge opening her mouth before Neville is marched in. 

“I found him trying to help the Weasley Gi-“ Draco locks eyes with yours and his voice seems to stick in his throat. “what is she doing here?” He blurts out. Umbridge’s face turns into a sickly sweet smirk. “Ms Y/L/N was found helping with this rebellion,” she stalks towards you, hand whipping across your face with a loud smack. “Isn’t that right dear?” You swallow the tears burning to leave your eyes. “Yes,” you whisper. The remains of your flesh on your hand tingled as she spoke, memories of the words being ingrained again, and again into your hand. I must respect my elders. I must respect my elders. You look to Draco, before your gaze snaps away and down to the scar, tracing it absent mindedly at the memory.  His eyes pierce it, that night coming back to him too it seemed. You had stumbled back to the dungeons, blinded with pain. He had been sitting on the couch, wondering whatever was taking so long in your detention. “Y/N why are you so-“ the words fell off his tongue as he studied your pained expression and blood stained hand that dripped the crimson liquid onto the floor. “What’s wrong?” He pulls you into his arms, settling before the fire as you finally let the tears fall, sobbing into the warmth of his chest. It was nice to be with Draco at night. Where you weren’t each others secret, each other’s hurried kiss in hallways, or subtle  glances across the room. You were forgotten to the world. Because when the sun went down and the moon came up, you were just Y/N and Draco. Two unfortunate souls to find solace and love another. Two souls who could never be together. He had soothes you softly, placing soft kisses on your wrist and neck, so gentle, so meek that sometimes you questioned if he was still the same person. He summoned a bowl of murtlap essence, ushering you to put your hand in, and covering your mouth with his large ringed hands when you cried out in pain. “Shh, love.” He whispered in your ear. It was a rare night where you would sleep together, as he lifted your drowsy body into his dorm, settling in beside you. You woke up the next morning to an empty bed and a scribbled note. And to you, that was enough. You find the courage to lock eyes with him, betrayal lining your gaze. His stormy eyes were narrowed in frustration as he glared back accusingly. “Mr Malfoy, you are in charge while I’m gone.” Umbridge said, smiling at the boy in admiration as she skipped out behind Harry and Hermione. There room was silent for a second, until he trudged towards you. “Malfoy get away from her!” Ron yelled, fighting against Goyle who held him tighter as the redhead yelped in pain. “How could you?” He says softly, studying you. “I am doing the right thing!” “By sneaking around with Potter and Weasley?! Let me guess, they probably kissed you too, I bet you’ve been out being a slut and whoring around on their laps,” Draco sneered. You reel back slowly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He grit his teeth, grabbing your arm from Blaise. “What’s wrong with me?! WHATS WRONG WITH ME?! YOU-“ you stop. Draco had never yelled at you before. He had never hurt you before. At least not intentionally. And he had never ever questioned your loyalty. “Let go of me!” You yell, snatching your arm back. “Why are you questioning my loyalty?! I’ve been nothing but true and good to our relationship while every time you kissed Pansy or made some shitty mistake I forgave you!” Draco’s eyes widen as if you had slapped him, his face crumpling as he realised how hurt you really were. “Y/N/N, wait I didn’t-“ “we’re over.” You were done. Done with being his dirty little secret. Because at the end of the day? He would always come crawling back to you.