#I love writing those two their dialogue always makes me happy

[writeblrfantasy]

my 10 holy grail pieces of writing advice for beginners

from an indie author who's published 4 books and written 20+, as well as 400k in fanfiction (who is also a professional beta reader who encounters the same issues in my clients' books over and over)

show don't tell is every bit as important as they say it is, no matter how sick you are of hearing about it. "the floor shifted beneath her feet" hits harder than "she felt sick with shock."

no head hopping. if you want to change pov mid scene, put a scene break. you can change it multiple times in the same scene! just put a break so your readers know you've changed pov.

if you have to infodump, do it through dialogue instead of exposition. your reader will feel like they're learning alongside the character, and it will flow naturally into your story.

never open your book with an exposition dump. instead, your opening scene should drop into the heart of the action with little to no context. raise questions to the reader and sprinkle in the answers bit by bit. let your reader discover the context slowly instead of holding their hand from the start. trust your reader; donn't overexplain the details. this is how you create a perfect hook.

every chapter should end on a cliffhanger. doesn't have to be major, can be as simple as ending a chapter mid conversation and picking it up immediately on the next one. tease your reader and make them need to turn the page.

every scene should subvert the character's expectations, as big as a plot twist or as small as a conversation having a surprising outcome. scenes that meet the character's expectations, such as a boring supply run, should be summarized.

arrive late and leave early to every scene. if you're character's at a party, open with them mid conversation instead of describing how they got dressed, left their house, arrived at the party, (because those things don't subvert their expectations). and when you're done with the reason for the scene is there, i.e. an important conversation, end it. once you've shown what you needed to show, get out, instead of describing your character commuting home (because it doesn't subvert expectations!)

epithets are the devil. "the blond man smiled--" you've lost me. use their name. use it often. don't be afraid of it. the reader won't get tired of it. it will serve you far better than epithets, especially if you have two people of the same pronouns interacting.

your character should always be working towards a goal, internal or external (i.e learning to love themself/killing the villain.) try to establish that goal as soon as possible in the reader's mind. the goal can change, the goal can evolve. as long as the reader knows the character isn't floating aimlessly through the world around them with no agency and no desire. that gets boring fast.

plan scenes that you know you'll have fun writing, instead of scenes that might seem cool in your head but you know you'll loathe every second of. besides the fact that your top priority in writing should be writing for only yourself and having fun, if you're just dragging through a scene you really hate, the scene will suffer for it, and readers can tell. the scenes i get the most praise on are always the scenes i had the most fun writing. an ideal outline shouldn't have parts that make you groan to look at. you'll thank yourself later.

happy writing :)

[milessunflowers]

Hello! Um... lestappen (they aren't together, not because they don't want to be but because it doesn't feel right) being happy about seeing their shared crush again after not seeing him because he decided to go to nascar only for him to switch to formula 1 for 2025 because he accepted the offer the new team gave him and because he missed them too. (Feel like lestappen doesn't tell reader that they have been in love with him since f3 because they thought he was straight, male reader thought that max was straight and charles was bisexual leaning to women and also didn't tell them he was in love with them)

Also! Love everything you've written so far! Love the franco, paper rings, fic its my fav so far!!!

–🍑

thank you so much peach!! that motivates me so much!! also this idea *chefs kiss*

max verstappen x male!reader x charles leclerc

synopsis: when you finally make your debut back in the world of formula racing, max and charles come to terms with how much they loved you, leading to you finally confessing.

author's note: okay so after some practice, i am now comfortable enough that i can write well enough for a driver!reader. for purposes, cadillac will already be a team and reader will be american AND LOGAN IS HIS TEAMMATE BC I SAY SO (miss my american sm😔) EVEN IF IT IS ONLY BRIEFLY MENTIONED. anyways, feel free to request, read the guidelines first ofc! (also apologies for the lack of dialogue in this one. i kinda forgot how to write good dialogue and kinda just let things flow! felt right for the vibes to me idk)

formula one, a true dream come true for you. you had raced in earlier formula series, alongside the likes of now four time world champion, max verstappen, and ferrari golden boy, charles leclerc. you hadn't seen them in a few tears as you had been busy racing in nascar, dominating the tracks at almost every track. you missed them, more than you would ever admit.

when you first heard that cadillac would be joining formula one as a brand new team, you felt sparks of hope erupt deep in your chest. maybe, just maybe, you would finally get the chance to race against your once competitors (and the two men who were your first real crushes).

you hadn't expected to be approached by your manager with a multi-year deal with the american team. without a second thought, you signed immediately, ecstatic that you could prove yourself to those you grew up racing, not including your all-time hero, fernando alonso. you couldn't keep in your excitement, which was clear to everyone in your immediate circle, including your new teammate and mentee (who in reality is a year younger than you), logan sargeant.

when it was revealed you were to be racing for the newest addition to the paddock, max and charles had almost the same reaction: joyful nervousness. they realized all to late the feelings they harbored for you.

but now... now you're back. it was exciting and terrifying for the two men, who have grown accustomed to only really seeing each other and never acknowledging those feelings.

to say that you were all big fat chickens was an understatement.

the first time you reappeared in the busy paddock, charles felt his heart jump to his throat while max just felt frozen. in ways, they each thought you looked better, less stressed and more mature. you seemed genuinely happy, especially in what they always called your natural habitat. you were a social able person after all.

they struck up small conversations during the driver's parade, mainly catching up and swapping jokes. it reminded you three of the old times, even if max and charles back then had some sort of beef. it made you feel even happier and more excited to be back and racing in the formula series.

it took a good few races before the three of you finally shared a podium. you would have never expected to feel more excited about p2 then now. in the cool down room, you chatted heartedly with max, awaiting for the winner to finally arrive. once the three of you were together, it was nothing but subtle flirting and chatter until it was time to go to the podium. even there (save for during monaco's national anthem as well as the italian one ringing) the three would not shut up.

it wasn't until the after party at the club where the three of you drank half of your body weight, confessing with no shame to each other. you couldn't remember the night, having had way too much to drink after celebrating your first podium of the season.

when you awoke the morning, you were in an unfamiliar hotel room, a warm weight behind you. you groan awake, blinking as the morning sun shone bright through the curtains, bathing yourself, max verstappen, and charles leclerc in a beautiful golden li-

wait, max and charles? you sobered up real quick and scrambled out of bed, falling with a loud thud in the process. you curse yourself, trying to grab whatever shirt was closest and pulling it on.

charles was the next one awake, stirring on the farthest side of the bed where he had curled around max. he blinked those beautiful eyes awake, a soft smile gracing your lips before you snapped out of it.

this couldn't be happening. you were half panicked, half happy to have woken up with the two men you had secretly loved for years but never, in a million lifetimes, would have ever thought were anything but into you. charles rubbed the sleep from his eyes, not yet having caught on what was happening. you stood there dumbly, still as a statue as you both finally made eye contact.

you chuckled awkwardly and charles let out a surprised yelp, loud enough to startle the last man asleep awake. you stared at each other for a good, long, ten seconds before max broke the silence with a cough before he sat up, as if all this was casual. it was very on brand for the dutchman.

it was quiet again, charles blinking blankly while you scrambled to collect your belongings. max stops you, sits you back down on the bed, and tries to calm you and charles down. and for some reason, it was too easy for him to.

he was gentle and sweet, carefully explaining what was going (or at least what he thought) before he finally comes clean, opening up about his feelings. after that, it was easy for you and charles to do the same, just in a slightly less organized and calm manner. it was no longer awkward but sweet and caring, soothing each nerve in the three bodies to a nice, warm hum.

you offered to make breakfast while max and charles cleaned up. from then on, it had become routine. from the hotel stays in different countries, to moving into the same apartment in monaco now overrun with pets. it was healthy and well established, the three of you keeping things strictly business at work but at home, leaving raving behind for a nice night in with the lobes of your life.

TAGS! (if you would like to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m

[ilypaigebuckets]

I Hate it Here

pairing: paige bueckers x reader

plot: based off of the tiktok trend from taylor swift’s new album ttpd. in which paige sees the tiktok you made about her.

also posting on my other acc! @kenzlovesyou

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

paige returned home from practice to find you asleep in your shared room. she was sweaty and tired but the sight of you looking so precious made her face soften. she noticed you had a tendency to do that; make her soft.

paige put her bag down and walked up to you, kissing your forehead. “hey y/n, baby. i’m back,” her tone was sweet as she shook you awake, “i’m home!”. you groaned a bit as your eyes fluttered awake. “paigeyyy” you said, still half asleep as your arms reached to hug her. she smiled and reached down to hug you. you nuzzled into her neck, you’d missed her a little extra today. she stood up fully and you got out of your bed, hugging her tightly once again. “babe i’m sweaty. let me shower, then we’ll spend some time ok?” she lightly unhooked your arms from around your neck and gave you a soft kiss on the cheek. you sighed, already missing her touch.

you decided to go on to couch and watch a show while you waited for paige to finish showering. after finally settling on a show you spaced out into it, watching intently. paige finally finished showering and came out of the bathroom onto the couch with you. she saw the show you chose and wasn’t particularly interested, but still wanted to spend time with you. you laid your head on her shoulder and snuggled close to her. she looked down at your precious head and kissed the top of it.

she decided to scroll on tiktok while you watched your show. she scrolled past videos on her for you page, not finding anything entertaining enough to like but not boring enough to scroll past without watching. she then switched to her following feed. she watched the dancing video she and kk had made earlier in the day, before practice and laughed to herself. then she stumbled upon your account. you weren’t too active on social media, so it was always a treat for her to view something you’d posted. it was one of those slideshow tiktoks, with a new song from Taylor Swift playing in the background. the first picture was a cute picture of you azzi had taken of you with your hood on your heading, looking grumpywith the words “i hate it here so i will go to”.

paige quickly realized what trend you were participating in and was excited to see what you thought your “secret garden” was. she assumed it would be Uconn, as you’d mentioned how happy going to school here had made you and how it’d brought you out of your shell. she slid to the next photo. “secret gardens in my mind” she read and saw a mirror picture of the two of you. nobody else. just her. she was your secret garden. she mattered most to you. she felt like tearing up. she’d never meant this much to someone. even though it was just a tiktok trend, she was overcome with emotion. “baby?” she looked over at you.

“hm?” you hummed over at her, still immersed in your show.

“hey, welcome back to the real world. i saw the tiktok you made about me. i love you so much. ” she lifted her arm up and put it around you.

“you like it?? it’s not too annoyingly coupley and cringey?” you asked.

“no, y/n. it’s perfect. i wish i could be with you all the time. i love spending time with you.”

you looked at her and smirked. she wasn’t this soft when she first met you. you’d changed her.

“going soft on me, bueckers?”

“OK MOMENT RUINED” she jokingly pushed you off her even though she knew she’d be holding you again not even 2 minutes later.

my first one shot 🥳🥳 ik it’s short but i felt like writing something!! feel free to send in fic requests, dialogue prompts, song lyric prompts, etc! hope you guys like this, ik im not the best writer but i just like to do it for fun!! have a great day/night <3 :)

[vessel-token]

—give me all that you can give.

Sleep Token Vessel x F!Reader.

Tags ; Explicit Sexual Content. Body Worship. Dom/Sub Undertones. Implied Body Insecurity (Reader). Mention of Religious Imagery. Cunnilingus. Nipple Play.

AN ; okay god this took me WAY too long to actually write… forgive me, truly. this was based on a post i made a little while ago, and i just finally got off my ass to write it! also holy shit, this is only the second x reader i’ve written in years, so i apologize if it’s a little shitty… it’s also awkward writing dialogue for a guy who doesn’t exactly speak. this isn’t overly graphic since i wanted to shoot for a bit more poetic vibe, but it is smut, so MDNI and read at your own risk! ⚠️

Divider ; @benkeibear

It’s a pair of calloused hands walking down your naked sides, each taking their separate turns to wander from the destined path that is your hips. It’s the way that Vessel has seen every inch of you more times than he can count and yet, his attention will always be snagged by something as simple as a mole or freckle or scar. He’s plenty aware of the existence of any mark on you of course, but they give him an excuse to detour from his inevitable goal in order to brush his thumb over them. You personally don’t understand his fascination, nor do you get why he feels he needs a reason to explore your body, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

Currently, he finds his place against your chest, his lips pressing featherlight kisses to the valley between your breasts.

“Gorgeous,” Vessel whispers, entirely sincere. “Breathtaking.”

In the back of your mind, a voice speaks out in protest of his brief praise. It gives arguments for a matter that Vessel will no longer allow you to debate. Your appearance is that of a god in his eyes, like something carved from the finest marble; intimidatingly beautiful. Your creator must have taken a little more time on you, he’s sure. It kills him a bit inside to know that you don’t always feel the same, but he understands. It isn’t something he can fight you on, he cannot change your mind by brute force alone, but he can do this.

He can prove it to you in his own way.

“Lay back for me,” Vessel tells you. It’s not quite a demand but he isn’t asking, either.

You listen, if only because you know this isn’t meant to be a time for arguing, and move from your original place on his lap in favor of sprawling over your shared bed. It feels like a dissatisfying trade off at first, but Vessel is quick to make up for it.

He situates himself between your thighs, running his hands over them before giving an appreciative squeeze. He leans down and braces himself with one hand beside your head, kissing his way down your neck as he descends upon you. Each time, without fail, you’re stuck by just how reverent Vessel is. He handles you like an object of worship, firm enough to ensure your presence, but not rough enough to mar your precious surface. Admiring and mindful, but never shy.

Of course, that isn’t always the case. Sometimes, lets his inhibitions go. On those nights, neither of you are separate entities. You’re both one thing, not exactly mortal and not exactly god, just two beings desperate to be tangled together in spite of whatever tore them apart initially. On those nights, Vessel’s back becomes decorated with the angry red lines of your clawing, while your hips and neck bear bruises in the shapes of his hands and teeth. He’ll keep going for hours until you’re both well and truly sated, grinding into you when his own stamina begins to deplete.

A warm mouth closing over your nipple startles you back into the present, your body responding before your mind as you arch your back to try and press your chest into the sensation. You can feel Vessel humming against you and you belatedly realize he must’ve done it to get your attention, which you’re all too happy to reward him with as you card your fingers through his hair.

“You’ve got me, love,” you assure him.

In response, he gropes at your other breast, pinching and rolling the hardened bud between his fingers until you whine. He sucks at the one currently in his mouth, teasing you with his teeth and tongue before ultimately pulling back.

“Where did you go?” Vessel asks, referring to your earlier daydreaming.

“To you,” you answer, smiling free and unrestrained as you gaze up at him.

You see his lips twitch up into a self-satisfied grin, clearly pleased to know he has your focus whether it’s in person or in your mind. He bends down to kiss you and his sweetness proves to be deceiving the second he slips his tongue into your mouth, seeking out your own to play with until your lungs are aching with the need for oxygen. When he pulls away, you can’t help but chase after him before you catch yourself. Unfortunately, Vessel notices before you can stop and his smugness immediately becomes evident in the way that he chuckles.

“Be patient,” he chides lightly. He places his hand over your throat in a manner entirely unnecessary but wholly intentionally, and uses it to gently press you back down into the mattress.

You bite your tongue to keep from giving him attitude, resisting the urge to point out that you’ve been patient all day and you need him now. Usually you wouldn’t even bother feigning self-control, but you’re in the mood to be spoiled and Vessel’s idea of spoiling just so happens to be persuasive enough to make you behave. Just for tonight.

Your eyes never leave Vessel’s form as he begins to kiss his way down your stomach, continuing his journey until he’s returned to his favorite spot between your legs. You feel yourself tense in anticipation, but it does little to prepare you for the spark that shoots down your spine when you feel his breath ghost over your cunt. You must’ve done this hundreds of times by now, yet something about the way Vessel does it somehow never fails to make it feel like the first.

He flattens his tongue as he drags it over your slit, pausing to pay special attention to your clit and continuing to do so until your hips are shaking with the effort not to rut against his face. He introduces his fingers to the mix, easing one into you while he continues to suck and lick. You can feel your walls twitching around the welcome intrusion, plenty slick from how long you’ve been waiting for this, and that petty side of you hopes that it gets across just how patient you’ve truly been.

“You taste divine,” Vessel groans, his voice coming out muffled because he refuses to pull away from you for longer than a second.

The compliment is sweet, but you’re more focused on trying to ride his tongue, only his hand on your thigh prevents them both from squeezing shut around his head. You’re sure he wouldn’t mind regardless, he seems to love it when you get as lost in the moment as him, but you’re trying to be good. Why, exactly? You’re starting to forget. Maybe it was to get eaten out by a man disguised as a walking sex god, or maybe it was because you needed the reassurance that you could be good. You could deserve this and Vessel.

Before your mind can spiral down that rabbit hole any further, another finger pushes into your tight heat alongside the first, crooking and scissoring them. You cry out and your hips buck on their own accord, clutching at the sheets beneath you if only so that you don’t disrupt Vessel. He licks a long stripe up your cunt again, reveling in your wetness before returning to your now-swollen clit. The constant pressure from his tongue is nearly too much, pulling all sorts of downright pornographic sounds from your throat as you writhe underneath him.

“Ves, fuck,” you hiss, daring a glance down at him. It’s a poor choice because the sight of him practically feasting on you like a man starved is almost enough to undo you. “I’m gonna cum, love, I’m—”

Vessel mumbles something that sounds a lot like permission to your wishful ears, and then he seals his lips around your clit and sucks at the same time that he buries both fingers up to the knuckle inside you. Just like that, he unravels you, your cunt clenching around his digits and your back arching off the mattress. You cum with his name on your breath, chanting it like a litany; a prayer to the man that granted you divine intervention with each touch. You weren’t sure if you’d ever make it to Heaven but here, beneath Vessel, you did not need to. You already glimpsed it every time he kissed you and told you he loved you.

He continues to lap at you until your thighs begin to tremble with the overstimulation, and you reach a hand down to gently push his head away. Vessel flashes you a toothy grin, crawling back over you and letting you get an unobstructed view of the mess you’d left on his face. That sinful tongue of his darts out to clean what he can reach, and you wipe away what he can’t with a tissue you’d plucked from the nightstand. When he leans in to kiss you, you can still taste yourself on his lips, but you consider it a worthy sacrifice as you loop your arms around his neck.

“How do you feel?” Vessel asks, bumping his nose against yours in a sickeningly sweet gesture. You never fail to notice how he always checks in on you after you have sex. Regardless of if it’s slow and sweet or rough and quick, he always ensures you’re alright.

“Like I just died and came back to life,” you snort, still a bit breathless.

The laugh he releases reverberates through his chest, a soft and steady vibration against your own as he buries his face in your neck. You can tell without even seeing him that he still has more in store for you, can feel the smirk that he presses against your skin when he kisses it. Even when he wears his mask, Vessel never seems to be able to be as discreet as he wants to be. He’s expressive and transparent for the most part, and you love that about him. Whether he’s out on stage or in private, he remains genuine.

“Then I hope you don’t mind another resurrection or two,” he whispers, his teeth brushing your throat as he speaks. “Because I’m not done with you.”

Taglist ; @lee-by-thy-side @delacroix471 @cesthoney

(let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[teapartyprincess4two]

Could you write about a random morning with Matt as his girlfriend? Sorry if I not making any sense.

Your writing is amazing!!! Have a wonderful day!!!

A Cold Sunday- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Girlfriend!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, slight cursing, established relationship, a lot of dialogue, very short

inspiration: request^^, A Cold Sunday by Lil Yachty, just the title mostly

summary: You and Matt spend a cold Sunday morning together, snuggling up and keeping warm.

—

Every day of the week was chock full of activities for both you and Matt. Whether it be work, appointments, events, or daily chores; you two rarely had time together during the week. Even Saturdays were hectic for you both, you’d usually only get a few hours together before bed before one of you dozed off.

That’s why you loved Sundays, they were the only day neither you worked and you always made sure never to schedule anything on those days.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Matt croaks from beside you, a lazy arm wrapped around your waist from under the comforter. “Good morning, baby,” you reply, pushing his hair back and kissing his forehead.

“How did you sleep?” you ask, his eyes closing once again as the drowsiness settles back in. “Mmm good,” he hums, nuzzling into your chest slightly.

“That’s good, baby.”

You’re playing with his hair, your mind filling with ideas of what to do throughout the day. The possibilities were endless, especially because your only responsibility was to have fun with Matt.

“What do you wanna do today? We can go to the flea market, go eat some breakfast, or maybe we can try that new coffee shop,” you say in excitement, your cheery tone being too much for Matt this early in the morning.

“What about the mall? The mall could be fun. Ooo what if we have a picnic? We haven’t done that in so long,” you continue, subconsciously braiding strands of his hair as you compile a list of possible activities.

“It’s cold,” he murmurs, the statement being followed by a soft yawn.

Yawns are infectious, causing you to yawn shortly after. “Yeah, you’re right,” you reply, the yawn making it sound more like a roar.

“We can still do stuff…” he trails off, pulling away from you slightly to look at your face. You smile at him, you’re just happy to be spending time with him. “But we can stay in?” Matt suggests, loving the idea of a cozy day in.

You hum in response, already anticipating the cozy day ahead.

—

“Hurry, Matt! I’m cold!” you exclaim, lifting the comforter up so he can hop back into bed. “I can’t! The hot chocolate is gonna spill!” he shouts back, panicking as he tries balancing both mugs so none of the liquid spills over.

You groan playfully, scooting to the edge of the bed and reaching for a mug, “here let me help you, you goof.” He chuckles at the nickname, carefully handing you a mug, “be careful, it’s hot.”

“I know, I’m smart.”

You sip the hot chocolate, trying to prevent it from spilling, but the scorching liquid has you pulling away immediately, “Fuck! That’s hot!”

“I just said that,” Matt chuckles, getting comfortable under the covers and pressing play on the movie you two were previously watching. “Shush, it’s good,” you murmur, going back for a second sip.

You settle back against the headboard, sipping occasionally as you watch the movie. Matt blows on his hot chocolate, afraid to burn himself like you did.

He blows on it hard enough for the liquid to spill over the cup. “Oh fuck. I spilled it,” Matt says blankly, looking at you as he tries not to laugh.

—

“Why was that movie so sad?” Matt sniffles, rubbing the tears out of his eyes. You’ve seen the movie a million times before and each time Matt has the same reaction.

“Babe, you know how it ends. How does it still make you cry?” you ask, chuckling slightly at his dramatic behavior.

“Y/n, don’t be so heartless,” he replies, looking at you as if you’re some type of monster. “How does it still not make you cry?”

You take a sip from your hot chocolate, fighting the laughter. “It’s really not that sad,” you say, taking a hold of the remote to find your next watch of the day.

“YES IT IS!”

“Matt, it’s Toy Story.”

“AND? HE WAS JUST A FORK!”

—

You’ve laid in bed with Matt all day, and although you haven’t waisted any energy, you’re really hungry.

“Just order pizza,” you suggest, resting your head on Matt’s shoulder as he orders the food on his phone. “I don’t want pizza though,” he replies, scrolling through DoorDash in search of the next best option.

“Chinese food?” you ask, your stomach grumbling at the suggestion. “Neh, too greasy.”

“Okay, what about Cane’s?”

“Not in the mood for chicken,” he replies, exhausting all his options.

“In N Out?”

“We had burgers last Sunday,” Matt finds an excuse to turn down all of your suggestions. “Just get whatever you want,” you mumble, becoming hangrier by the second.

He stays silent for a while, searching relentlessly for something appetizing, but he can’t find anything.

“I’m just gonna order pizza,” he finally comments.

“Bruh.”

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Just a short story about a goofy morning with Matt. Enjoy, luv u. Longer stories coming soon, they are COOKING!

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

hi!! I’m very aware that this was requested on the 13th of August, and literally over a month later I’ve finally managed to write it up. I feel unbelievably guilty for not getting it done sooner and I’m sorry it even took this long. I really really hope you enjoy it and I’m ever grateful for the patience 🤍🤍

title: there’s always another mystery

pairing: jameson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: avery kylie grambs is spending a little too much time with your boyfriend than you’d like… but when jameson starts lying about it questions are raised and tension rises until it all bubbles over

warnings: mild swearing, violence, assault

a/n: the synopsis sounds really cringy so forgive me, this fic is kind of long and very dialogue heavy and ermmm… I hope you enjoy the ending ;)

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

You sit on the bed waiting for Jameson to arrive. You wonder how long he’ll take this time. You’d just seen him and Avery ascending the set of stairs that lead to his dead uncle’s wing. Him and Avery. The pretty new comer with those big hazel eyes and long soft hair, pocketing a billionaire’s fortune overnight. She had it all: the looks, the brains, the humour. She was perfection and that bugged you greatly. She was a mystery.

Literally. When Tobias had finally decided to fall asleep forever, she was the result, the heiress, the consequence. She was big masterful puzzle had popped out of nowhere, from nothing. Not that you hadn’t had you fair share of experience with that. You’d earned yourself a scholarship to one of the most prestigious private schools in Texas and raised from the ashes into a burning flame. Then you’d met Jameson Hawthorne.

He had always been an interesting character, you had just never expected his interest in you. You were the scholarship kid nobody knew or cared enough to know and somehow he was intrigued. He had found you studying the the library one day and the two of you just clicked, it was like you’d known each other for years. He’d walked you home that night and had done so ever since. From that day on you were the closest of friends. It wasn’t long before you met his brothers, mostly absent mother and extremely judgemental grandfather. Hawthorne house became a second home. The two of you sat for hours, mostly on the rooftop, staring up at an endless sky of stars and talking about anything and everything. You actually don’t think there’s a topic you haven’t covered. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly… then he started dating Emily.

From the beginning, you didn’t like her at all, but you bit your tongue from pouring out your true feelings to Jameson when he’d asked for an opinion on her. You didn’t want to make his relationship feel awkward. She was everything you didn’t want him to be with. And she wasn’t you. It shattered you, but you saw how his face lit up when he mentioned her name and you vowed you wouldn’t ruin that for him. To see him that happy was worth it.

You should’ve trusted your gut. Everyday since she broke his heart, you beat yourself up for not saying anything. There were so many chances and you took none of them. She used him, abused him and left him to rot, you supposed she didn’t account for that fact that you’d be there to save him. And then she died. It was one destructive milestone after another. Explosion after explosion. But you helped Jameson through the hardest time of his life, you fixed him when he was too broken to mend.

It wasn’t until then that you realised you loved him. I mean you’d always known you’d loved him, but never in a romantic way, it had always felt so plutonic. But judging by the pure fury that built up inside of you when Emily was mentioned, the passionate way you protected and defended him in situations and the fact that you wanted nothing more than to kiss him until he couldn’t speak, you were pretty sure you were in love. But you never acted on the feeling, too afraid you’d ruin the closeness you had. It wasn’t until one night when you’d been stargazing together that he took your face in his gentle palms and kissed your tender lips. The whole act took you by surprise suddenly, but it didn’t stop you from kissing back. It felt so natural, so normal, like it was supposed to be this way. He was sweeter than you’d imagined but in the best way possible.

“I’ve always loved you,” he’d whispered as you’d pulled away, “always.”

“I’ve always loved you too,” you’d smiled shyly, cheeks flushed with colour, “and to be honest I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You can’t remember when it was established that he was your boyfriend but from that kiss onwards, that’s what he was to you. He was still your best friend but in a different way. There was more chemistry and kissing, but the banter remained the same. The two of you were actually planning to go on a backpacking trip around Europe but then Tobias had died and it was another round of pain and healing for Jameson, who turned to alcohol for respite. But then the will happened and Avery Kylie Grambs had appeared out of nowhere and the old man’s final game had unfurled. So the mystery girl had been an adjustment for you to say the least.

Avery wasn’t bad. In fact you liked her a lot, you could see yourself forming a friendship with her, a tight bond but the problem was the sheer amount of time she was spending with your boyfriend. After discovering she was the key to solving his grandfather’s final mystery Jameson became obsessed. He craved the answers, thirsted for knowledge. You didn’t mind at first, you let him play his game, you only ever objected the dangerous parts when he risked himself getting hurt. Other than that you said nothing. Then he let on that this all had something to do with Emily. Emily had destroyed him, from inside out. A broken, bitter shell was formed over the real Jameson. You had worked so hard to get him to see that he wasn’t broken or damaged and you feared this might undo it.

But you knew how important Emily had been, how much of his life she’d ruined, you knew Jameson needed the closure and Avery would help him to get there, but after that you expected their interaction to die down. But they didn’t. Not in the slightest. You weren’t jealous at first, you trusted Jameson and didn’t see Avery as a threat, but after a while the meetings felt too frequent and too elongated. It was a little suspicious. When you’d asked Jameson he insisted it was all part of the game.

But then that game finished and it opened up another. Of course there always had to be more to a mystery. They were Hawthorne’s. But you’d had enough, you were tired of the endless myserties. Was it so selfish to want things to go back to how they were before? When the old man’s games were not as dangerous, a little less time consuming and uninvloving of recent billionaire girls.

You’re reeled in from your deep train of thought as Jameson walks in. You look up from your desk, placing your pen down. You flash him a sweet smile in which he returns.

“So where have you been?” you ask, a hint of a forged giggle in the back of your throat.

“Nowhere,” he shrugs, the blatant lie so easily escaping his lips cuts right through your heart.

“Nowhere with brick dust on your blazer and shoes?” you raise an challenging eyebrow, arms folded across your chest.

“I climbed a wall,” he says. Lie number two, you make a mental note.

“I saw you with Avery and Xander in Toby’s wing,” you say bluntly, your face expressionless so he can’t read it.

“Are you spying on me?” he replies, gaping.

You give a delicate shrug in response and don’t answer the question directly, “what were you whispering about?”

“What do you mean?” he furrows his brow, confused.

He’s playing dumb. Fine. He can play dumb. But he won’t able to for much longer.

“I mean what were you and Avery just whispering about,” you ask directly, your tone flat as the tyre you’d burst on his car earlier that morning.

He hesitates. He doesn’t want to tell you, that’s obvious.

“Oh, was it personal?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, opting a cold, curt, feigned sort of concern to your tone.

“Oh no,” he mumbles, “well kind of…Tobias Hawthorne is alive.”

You try not to the let your jaw drop, “your grandfather?”

How had that slimy bastard managed to fake his own death and-

He shakes his head, “my uncle.”

Of course, why hadn’t you seen it sooner? Him and Avery going into his wing, the sneaking around. But then how is the question, Toby had died before Jameson had even been born.

“And so the plot thickens,” you muse, pursing your lips.

“As always,” he says, flashing you a lopsided grin that was so like him, it reminded you of the old Jameson. The one that you got closer and closer to forgetting the less you saw of him.

“Who else knows?” you ask.

“The family,” he shrugs in response.

“And Avery?” you prompt.

“She knows,” he nods, not meeting your eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, “you didn’t mention her name?”

“She was implied when I said family,” he replies.

“She was and I wasn’t,” you ask, the words not being filtered through your brain before you blurt them out. You don’t know why it hurt you so much, it just did.

“It’s not like that,” he shakes his head.

“Okay,” you reply flatly

He shoots you a knowing look and sighs, “y/n.”

“What? I said okay,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up into the air, “that means it’s okay, I’m okay, we’re all okay.”

“You don’t sound okay,” he says gently.

“Well I’m fine,” you snap.

“I didn’t mean it like that, of course you’re part of this family,” Jameson replies, trying to make up for it.

“Forget it, I don’t care,” you retort.

“Common y/n,” he groans.

“No it’s fine, I don’t care,” you shrug, very obviously caring as your voice is high pitched and you’re being far too defensive, “do what you want.”

“She just worked it out,” he explains, “she found out that-“

“I said I don’t care,” you say sharply, eyes pinned to his.

“I know you do,” he murmurs, taking a step closer.

“No I don’t,” you shake your head in denial, “end of story, what’s for dinner?”

“I know I’ve been with her a lot recently,” he sighs.

“A lot is an understatement,” you blurt out, unable to stop the thoughts that circle your mind from finally surfacing.

“It was all part of the game, you understand,” he says as a statement, not a question.

“Of course I understand,” you reply, your voice a little colder than you’d intended but it’s too late to take it back.

For a split second hurt flashed across Jameson’s features but he swiftly continues, “it was the old man’s game.”

“It always is with you,” you say curtly, with an eye roll.

“You knew what you were getting into when you became my girlfriend,” he says, growing irritated, “I warned you-“

“Getting into?” you scoff.

“The old man always has a game,” he presses on, regaining his cool.

“And you always play it,” you snap, the fury inside of your raging a little too violently to be tamed.

“I have to play,” he says, his voice strained.

“No. You don’t. You think you have to play and your grandfather knew that,” you reply, “he knew you had a thirst to play and wouldn’t resist. Prove him wrong Jamie, make him stir for the flipping grave.”

“And what if I don’t want to do that,” he asks, raising his voice slightly.

“Then you’re not the Jameson I know,” you murmur in a low, dark voice.

“Maybe I’m not anymore,” he shrugs, “people change.”

“No,” you shake your head, “people have changed you, one person in particular.”

“Avery is just a friend,” he rolls his eyes, “I don’t understand why you’re getting so hotheaded about it!”

“You’re dimming yourself down for her,” you yell.

“So what?” Jameson challenges, making the volume of your voice.

“That’s not you,” you tell him.

“Maybe it is now,” he cocks his head to the side.

“You know you’re just talking shit,” you spit.

“I like her company,” he shrugs, “and I don’t want to prove the old man wrong, I want to make him proud.”

He’s trying to get under your skin and you know it. He’s doing a good job.

“You can’t live your life trying to prove something to him, he won’t be proud, he’s dead Jameson,” you snap.

“I know he’s dead,” he shouts, “I don’t need you to tell me.”

“Good, now that information is consolidated maybe you’ll come back and live your life,” you say, the harshness in your tone making your throat ache.

“I am living my life,” he retorts.

“Running off with girls to the Laughlin’s cottage at 3am, that’s living your life?” you ask.

“Is this still about Avery?” he asks, then laughs, “you’re pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic?” you yell, “you have spent the majority of the past few weeks at her side, working this shit out and I’ve been patient and I let it happen and I waited but now there’s more to this mystery and I can’t do it again and it’s not fair for you to put me in that situation again. So forgive me if I’m sounding a little pathetic.”

“Fair? My uncle is still out there, still alive,” he replies.

“You never even knew him,” I roll my eyes.

“He’s family,” he roars.

Something about Jameson was that he was loyal to the bone when it came to family.

I shrug, “so was your grandfather and look how he treated you.”

“Don’t speak a word against him,” he says, his voice low, warning, dangerous

“You were never good enough for him and that killed you,” I reply, my voice failing to stay stable, “he broke you and I helped fix you and now we’re going back around the same cycle. Why are you still letting him continue to break you?”

“I said don’t speak a WORD against him!” he tells, his voice powerful

You could cry. You feel like it. But you don’t. For some reason you’re past tears now.

“But when you did it was okay?” I scream back, “when you’d come to your bedroom a wreck and shit talk him, who listened to you then huh? Don’t throw this all back in my face now, don’t you fucking dare.”

“I’m not trying to-“

“Well you are,” you cut him off,

He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, “look I don’t know what the hell you’re on this afternoon but-“

“What the hell I’m on?” you scoff.

His face softens and so does his tone, “all this arguing we’re doing, it’s not us,” he says, “it never has been so are we really going to carry on this stupid fight?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask Avery?” you ask, it’s petty but you didn’t feel like being mature in this moment

“This keeps circling back to her,” he sighs with an eye roll.

“You have spent the entirety of the morning with her,” I stated “again.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he says.

“Seriously?” I ask, my jaw hanging slack.

“What?”

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter,” you shake your head and begin to walk out.

“Sweetheart,” he says, lunging forwards to grab your arm. You spin around and can see the desperation seeping from his eyes.

“I’m going out,” you tell him harshly,

“Where?” he asks immediately.

“For a walk,” you shrug, going to turn again. But he holds you firmly in his grip.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“No, I need headspace right now,” you snap coldly.

“Okay, that’s fine,” he nods, eyes wide with understanding. You hated that he was being so nice when you were supposed to be mad at him, it wasn’t fair, “but at least take a bodyguard with you.”

“No,” you immediately say.

“Yes,” he argues back.

“I’m not one of you, Jameson,” you quip. You can see in his face that pains him but you’re too furious to care, “people aren’t coming for me, I’m not taking a bodyguard.”

“Look I’m sorry about before but-“

“It’s not about you Jameson,” you yell, “I just need a walk.”

“Okay, but I’m still sorry and please baby, take a bodyguard with you,” he begs.

“I’m not going to,” you reply, “I need to be alone.”

“Fine, okay then,” he shrugs, pretending not to care, “yeah fine, go have fun in nature or something.”

“I will,” you snap, charging out, slamming the door behind you.

***

You start walking with no intention of going anywhere. In a headspace of anger, your pace is swift and dominant. You needed air, you needed a clear head, you needed to get away. Bringing a bodyguard felt claustrophobic. You didn’t want another person breathing down your neck. You just needed to be alone for a while. A million and one thoughts swarm your mind. He probably complained about you to Avery, you think, kicking a rock violently. He’s probably with her right now, telling her what an annoying, selfish, jealous person you are and she’s probably comforting him. The thought of it makes your stomach squeeze.

It was getting darker and colder by the second. In your rage you’d forgotten to bring a hoodie and now you’re absolutely freezing. The street lights flicker on and you suddenly realise you have no idea where you are. You’re cold, alone, lost and a little hungry. You pray it doesn’t start to rain. You get out your phone quickly to look on google maps, but two red words flash up: no connection. Great. Just when you thought today couldn’t get any worse. You wish you hadn’t left the house now, but didn’t know which way to turn to walk back. You walk around the corner of a tall white building, hoping to see a signpost nearby.

That’s when you notice the footsteps of someone behind you. You turn absentmindedly to see a stranger dressed in all black clothing. You couldn’t properly see their face or decipher whether they were a man or woman. Feeling a little sceptical, you choose to cross to the other side of the road, trying to shake or anxious feelings that were creeping in. You spin the ring on your finger, trying to breathe in and out slowly. You side glance at the figure a few times to see that they’re still on the opposite side of the road. You exhale and turn the corner, feeling stupid for getting so het up over nothing.

You hear more footsteps and paranoid you look behind. You feel sick. The mystery stranger is back. Panic seizes your throat and you walk a little faster, noting their feet also pick up the pace. You turn a second corner. So do they. A thousand and one questions flashed up in your mind. What did they want? Why were they following you? And more importantly how long had they been following you for? You’re breathing heavily, maybe too heavily. You don’t want them to know you’re scared.

You fumble to reach your phone, hurriedly finding your contacts. You click Jameson’s name but the call fails. Your eyes flick to your internet, still none. You try again, the cycle repeats. Tears well up in your eyes. You were hopeless, helpless and frightened to death. You begin to fiddle anxiously with your necklace trying to work out what to do next, but your mind was blank. You couldn’t think. The person was a good few meters behind you now. A silent tear of rolls down your cheek as you carry on walking forwards, pretending you’re going somewhere in hope the follower might get bored a leave. They did not. You bite back and audible sob and notice one bar lights up in the top right hand corner of your phone screen. You have one bar of internet and you’ve never felt more relieved. Your finger rushes to hit the call button. One ring and he picks up. It’s a miracle.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, a sense of relief and a smile in his voice.

“Jamie,” you say, your voice more panicked than you’d intended.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is immediate and assertive but thick with anxiety. He can sense there’s something wrong, he knows.

“Jamie there’s someone following me,” you hyperventilate, the sharp sudden breaths hurting your chest.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice shaky, “and I’m panicking.”

“Okay, don’t worry, just keep walking straight,” he instructs, “okay sweetheart?”

“Okay,” you murmur.

“Just breathe,” he soothes, “I’m tracking your location.”

You exhale unevenly and carry on walking.

“Are you near any buildings?” Jameson asks, strategically. You can tell he’s concentrated.

“There’s a housing complex and a few shops across the street,” you describe.

“Good,” he replies, “cross the road and go into one of the shops and stay in there.”

“Okay,” you answer, jogging across the road, taking note of anything that might help Jameson find you.

“What’s the name of the shop you’re going to go into?” he asks, “it might help me track you a little faster.”

You step back to read the cursive white letters, “Betty’s,” you reply, stepping in.

“That’s it?” he confirms.

“That’s it,” you say, carefully stepping inside, seeing the follower cross the road in the refection of the shop window.

Your heart thuds in your chest as the little bell rings to announce your entrance in the shop. It was one of those little knick-knack type shops, small but compact. You pretend to admire a china tea set.

“Are you inside?” Jameson asks, his voice washing some sort of comfort over you.

“Yes,” you say quickly, subconsciously tracing the tablecloth deign with your index finger.

“Have they followed you inside?” he asks.

“No,” you reply, though you haven’t looked up, the shop bell definitely has not rung since your arrival. You are the only customer in this shop. You look up and see them standing outside, you catch their eye and fear flicker through you as you quickly turn away, jolts of sheer nauseating panic runs up and down your abdomen, “Jamie they’re waiting outside, oh god Jameson they’re waiting outside, for me to come out, oh god.”

“Hey! Hey! You have the stay calm,” he says sharply but kindly, “as long as you’re in there you’re safe and I’m on my way now.”

“You found where I am?” you breathe, sounding too much like a child than you care to admit.

“I’m getting into the car as we speak,” he replies.

He’s coming. You tell yourself. You’re going to be okay. You say in your head.

“Stay on the line with me,” you blurt out, “please.”

“Of course baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he says, the concern in his voice made you yearn to be in his arms.

The other end of the phone goes silent except for the sound of a car engine, gently groaning in motion. You try to distract yourself by admiring the little collection of ceramic mouse figurines and try to give all of them a name. That’s when you catch the stranger in your peripheral.

“Jameson I’m scared,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “I’m really scared.”

“I’m coming, just hang in there okay,” he comforts “breathe for me.”

“Jameson,” you exhale, your hands becoming increasingly more restless.

“Hey, sweetheart, take a breath with me okay?” he says, “together?”

“Together,” you nod, despite the fact that he can’t see you, but somewhere deep down you know he knows you’re nodding.

“In through your nose and out through your mouth, okay?” he replies.

I’m through your nose and out through your mouth. You repeat the motion over and over with him over the phone, until you’re bored.

“I’m nearly there,” he mentions after a while.

“You promise?” you say, your breath hitching.

“I promise, just stay where you are,” he says calmly.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Sorry honey we close at 11:00,” comes a voice.

It makes you jump at first, as you yelp in surprise at the old woman beside you. Where had she appeared from? You drop your phone and it crashes to the floor. You realise for the first time how tightly you’d had it pressed to the side of your face as the cold air rushes to that spot and you feel the sticky sweat. You scramble to pick up your phone.

“I’m fine,” you reassure Jameson quickly, before turning the the woman, “sorry, would I be able to stay a few more minutes?”

She glances disapprovingly at you and then her watch, “I don’t think so.”

“It won’t be long, I promise,” you rush.

“I’m sorry but I have to lock up now,” she shakes her head and waves the keys between her fingers.

“Just until my boyfriend gets here,” you try again, desperation slicing through your tone.

“You’re not purchasing anything and it’s closing hours,” she replied sternly, “I need to lock up.”

“Please,” you beg.

“Store policy I’m afraid,” she shrugs flatly.

“I’ll but the whole damn place of you let me stay,” you exclaim, not really sure why the sentence left your mouth but it was too late to take it back now.

“This place isn’t for sale,” she says sourly with pursed wrinkled lips.

“Not literally,” you sigh, “look I’ll make a purchase.”

“No purchases after 11:00,” she responds, blunt as a baseball bat.

“But you just said-“

“We’re closed,” she snaps.

“Please just let me stay for five minutes,” you ask, hoping by some miracle she’ll agree.

“I really can’t do that,” she sighs, with an almost apologetic look on her face “I’m sorry.”

“Two minutes?” you try to compromise.

She stares through you, “I’m going to call the police.”

“There’s someone out there following me outside,” you burst, “so please, if you’re going to call the police on anyone, do it on them.”

The woman gently cocks her head to see the mysterious figure outside the window, her eyes widen by the tiniest fraction and she stares back at you. You wonder what she’s thinking. She chews her lip thoughtfully for a while and then finally replied, “there’s a back way out, I can take you through to there.”

“Thank you,” you exhale in relief.

She walks hurriedly walks away and you follow her, ending up at the very back of the shop. It couldn’t be seen from the window, but how long would it take for the follower to realise? Not long enough, you pray, hoping Jameson would arrive in time. There is a small green door with a lacy translucent curtain across the window.

“Here,” she nods towards it, “get home safe.”

“Thanks,” you say gratefully.

You almost trip out of the back door but managed to stabilise yourself, the old woman slams to door and it nearly clips your heals. You quickly press your phone back to your ear, realising Jameson is still on the line.

“Jamie?” you say.

“I’m still here,” he replies, reading your mind, “Betty’s a bitch.”

You choke on your own spittle, “what?”

“Betty,” he states as if it’s obvious.

“Betty?” you question, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“Well I assume it’s her name,” he says, you could practically hear him shrug, “the woman who just kicked you out of her shop.”

“Oh, you heard all of that?” you say.

“I did,” he confirms, “but I’m two minutes away now.”

“Two minutes?” you check, hope returning your voice.

“Yeah,” he confirms gently.

“I’m still at the back,” you mention, “but I’ll walk to the front to meet you.”

“Okay,” he replies, “I’m so close sweetheart, don’t worry.”

“Okay I-“

All the air is knocked from your lungs as you turn the corner and someone grabs your shoulders and it’s so sudden you forget to scream. Fear runs cold and thick through your veins. You can’t move. The grip is strong and foreign, their hands are callous and your arms ache the longer you’re in their hold. Paralysed, you fail to struggle free. It all happens in a blur. You feel yourself being thrown to the side and you land on the pavement with a hard thump after rolling over your ankle. Pain seizes through it and you bite back a yelp. You look up, struggling to your feet and see Jameson has arrived.

Jameson. Jameson. Jameson.

He’s fighting the mysterious follower who you can now see is man. He’s a few inches taller than Jameson and has much more muscle but Jameson is quicker, more agile. You wish you could help him but the searing agony deriving from your ankle would’ve only made him slower. So you’re now just watching. It’s a tête-a-tête of frantic hits and blocks, all scarily aggressive. The look in Jameson’s eyes is not one you recognise, it’s like the green had been frosted over with ice. The follower lunges at him suddenly and an audible gasp escapes your lips. He has Jameson in a headlock. You stumble forwards, ready to attack him from behind when Jameson twists the man’s arms in an awkward direction, leaving him vulnerable. In the split second Jameson knees him in the stomach and begins to punch him repeatedly.

Jameson’s jaw is clenched, his hair is ragged and wild. A flow of crimson red liquid falls from one nostril and from a new wound just above his eyebrow. His eyes are fierce and gleaming, like a predator on its prey. You’re not sure you know who this man is, he’s not Jameson, he’s a mutation, a weapon, a unrecognisable being.

“Jamie,” you murmur, your voice shaking. You can’t stop yourself, you’re too scared.

He can’t hear properly, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. He carries on punching and punching but the follower seems to be cold out.

“Jameson stop! You’re scaring me!” you yell, fear in your throat but fire in your belly.

He looks up and he freezes, all but his hands that are shaking from the adrelenline rush. He looks down at his bloodied knuckles to the limp figure on ground, then back to me again. He can see the fright in my features that I’m so desperately trying to conceal.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, “it’s okay, let’s go home.”

“Is he dead?” you say, the words so much harsher than you intended.

“No,” he shakes his head gently, “just knocked out, I promise.”

“I-“ you can’t finish the sentence.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs tentatively, wrapping an arm around you to still your trembling torso.

“I’m fine,” you say, trying to sound strong, but synthetic strength only made you sound weaker.

“You’re not fine,” he shakes his head.

“Let’s just get out of here,” you sigh, then look at him with sparkling eyes, “please?”

“Of course,” he says, concern bleeding across his features.

You begin to walk but have to bite your lip as pain rips through your ankle with weight pressing down on it.

“What wrong?” Jameson asks, his reaction instant and lightning fast.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, trying to carry on without displaying the pain.

But he’s too vigilant for his own good, “are you hurt?”

“No, it’s fine,” you reply, in denial, “I’m fine.”

You’ve found that things are easier to believe if you say them out loud. Unfortunately not in this case.

“Where?” he asks, stopping still, pressing gently down your arms to check for tentative pressure points.

You pull away, “Jamie I’m-“

“Where?” he asks firmly, giving me that look.

“I just rolled over my ankle,” you sigh, “it’s not a big deal.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” he offers.

“No,” you say quickly, too quickly.

The truth was, you did want to be carried. The thought of being in his protective arms, pressed up against his chest was very appealing. But just like he could see your winces and hear your sharp breaths in, you notice his. The fight hadn’t been easy on him, no matter how stubbornly he tries to hide it.

“Just support me and I’ll support you,” you reply.

“I don’t need support,” he says.

You stare at him, “you don’t have to be the knight in shining armour with me, I thought you’d stopped that.”

You’d made a pact at the start of your relationship that Jameson couldn’t play that role. You were there for each other, it wasn’t one or the other.

“Fine,” he grits through his teeth, “we’ll support each other.”

You both walk, labouring, limping and leaning on one another. In the silence of it all you have time to think about all that had happened, a chances you hadn’t previously had with your mind always preoccupied on something else. A tidal wave of guilt almost drowns you.

“I’m sorry,” you burst out suddenly, feeling all of a sudden emotional, as tears run down your face.

You didn’t realise how much yours been keeping it in, your fear, your pain, your guilt, your sorrow.

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes, caressing your cheek, “shhh shh stop that now, hey, hey.”

“I shouldn’t have left,” you shake your head, “I shouldn’t have got so angry and walked so far alone and it was dark-“

“Y/n, breathe,” Jameson murmurs, “I’m not angry, it’s not your fault, I’m just glad you’re safe now, okay? I would never let him hurt you, you know that right?”

You nod.

“Let’s get to the car and then we can go home, okay?” he suggests softly.

“Okay,” you murmur in response.

He wraps his arm back around your shoulders and holds your hand with the other, steering you towards his car. He walks around to your door, looking over his shoulder cautiously, making sure you are in and safe before he thinks of himself. You’ve never felt safer in a car, your back pressed up against the seat. Your leg bobs up and down uncontrollably, even when your try to stop it. Seems the adrenaline had gotten to you more than you’d thought.

Jameson is swift to get into the driver’s seat and start the car. He silently places his hand on your upper thigh to still the shaking. The warmth of his familiar touch relaxes some of the built up worry in your chest. One knot has been untied from the incomprehensible ball.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod numbly. You didn’t reply with words in fear that you’d spill out the truth. Lying to Jameson was a challenge.

“Stupid question,” he mumbles, “of course you’re not.”

“I think I’m still trying to process what just happened,” you murmur, not a complete lie. You’d only processed parts.

“Okay, that’s fine, take as long as you need,” he says reassuringly, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

You nod again. Then take a breath.

“I’m sorry,” you say, choked up with emotion, “I’m sorry for fighting, I don’t know why I get so annoyed it’s just-“

“It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you’re safe,” he tells you gently.

“Safe,” you repeat, the word has an odd texture on your tongue.

“You are safe,” Jameson replies firmly.

“I am safe,” you repeat, believing it a little more.

***

The two of you had gotten back to Hawthorne House late. No one was around so no questions were asked. But whilst you showered and changed Jameson insisted on getting the security team on it and you didn’t object. You join Jameson in your shared room after your shower, he’s already waiting with open arms. You clamber into the bed and fall onto his chest. The smell of him indescribably addictive. He wraps his arms around your torso and you wince, tenderness spreading across the tops of your arms and upper back.

“What hurts baby?” he asks, eyebrows knotted with worry.

“Nothing,” you reply, shrugging the pain off.

He looks at you, “you don’t have to lie to me.”

You’re silent for a few beats but then finally murmur, “my arms.”

“Let me see,” he says.

“It’s okay-“

“Let me see,” he whispers, sending a hot shiver down your spine. 

You slowly slip of your jumper and expose the rounded bruises from the follower’s fingers. You’d discovered them moments ago in the bathroom, it must’ve been from where he’d grabbed you. You can’t see Jameson’s face but judging by the thick blanket of tense air that had enveloped your surroundings, you have a good idea of what he’s thinking.

“He did this?” he asks, tracing every bruise so delicately it nearly tickles.

“Jamie he grabbed me,” you explain.

“I’ll kill him for laying a finger on you,” he spits, a foreign violence in his tone you weren’t sure you liked.

“Don’t say that,” you say before you can stop yourself.

“What?” he looks at you in wild disbelief.

“Talk of killing him,” you close your eyes, “you’re not a murderer.”

He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you dare argue with me,” you snap, a raw intensity in your voice. You struggle to recall where you found it.

Silence you like a car hits roadkill. Swiftly and out of nowhere with a sickening thud.

“You know you scared me back there,” you murmur, meeting his eyes shyly.

“Me?”

“When you were punching him…” you trail off, “you looked so angry.”

“I was angry” he retorts, “no one should do that, especially not to you. Never to you.”

“Yeah but I really thought you might…” you stop yourself.

“I might what?” he urges you to continue.

“I don’t know,” you say trying to brush it off, “it doesn’t matter.”

“No it does,” he replies, “you thought I might kill him right?”

“It just wasn’t you punching that guys, it wasn’t my Jameson,” you murmur.

“Your Jameson doesn’t protect you,” he yells and you flinch slightly.

You don’t meet his eye, “no, not like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just…” he sighs, “I never would’ve forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

“It would’ve been my fault for storming off like that, god I’m so stupid,” emotion rises thick in your throat.

“Hey, stop beating yourself up about this,” Jameson says, “it was my fault in the first place.”

“No it wasn’t-“

“Yes it was, let’s just forget about this okay,” he insists.

“But what if he comes back? What if he knows where I am? What did he want with me Jamie? What if-“

“It’s all going to be sorted okay, we have so many staff on it right this second,” he says tracing the outlines of your knuckles, “you just need to breathe.”

“I am breathing,” you grit through your teeth.

“What’s worrying you then?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you reply, biting back a sob.

He senses the emotion, “come here.”

You practically collapse into his arms, keeping your tears at bay just barely. There’s something about being in his arms, against the warmth of his body that made the bad things go quiet for a second, that stopped the overwhelming voices in your head, that silences your thudding heart. But even now, things were unusually playing on your mind, despite the comfort.

“I don’t know Jamie,” you murmur into his chest, “I’m scared and exhausted and anxious and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Let me help you,” he whisper, gently running his fingers through your hair.

“I don’t think you can,” you mumble, your eyes grappling to stay open.

“I will find a way,” he says, you almost laugh at his stubbornness.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you reply, your voice breaking, “I don’t know anything bad to happen.”

“You’re not going to lose me and I won’t let anything bad happen,” Jameson kisses the top of your head, “I promise.”

“I don’t feel safe,” you admit.

“What’s making you feel unsafe baby?” he asks, aching concern in his voice.

“Before today I’d never even imagined potentially being kidnapped and it just happened today,” you ramble, “and that means there’s so many other things that I couldn’t ever have imagine that might happen.”

“If we spend our whole lives in fear of what might happen we’d forget to live,” Jameson says.

You meet his emerald eyes and try not to melt, “I’m scared.”

“There’s no need to be,” he comforts, “I’m here.”

“You promise?”

“Always,” he says. His voice is so sure, so strong. It almost makes you believe.

“And you’re not going anywhere?”

“Not anywhere without you,” he grins lopsidedly, the real Jameson shining through making your cheeks tint a pale pink.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, the residing guilt flowing back in.

“If you apologise one more time I’m going to do a lyrical dance routine to ‘hot stuff’ only dressed in sequinned hot pants and a top hat,” he says.

“I think I’d quite like to see that,” you can’t help but smile, “I should apologise more often.”

He chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head. You nuzzle into the nape of his neck and allow one tear to slip from the under your mask. Just one.

“I’ve got you baby and I’m not letting go,” Jameson whispers.

“Please don’t let me go,” you murmur, sounding as small as a child.

“I’m not, never ever,” he murmurs, kissing your nose, then cheeks and then a soft kiss on your lips.

You smile, a fluttery feeling in your chest and you kiss him back. His hands snake around your waist, the tentative touch making you tingle a little. You wish you could just focus on Jameson and nothing else but the problem was the scene kept replaying in your head. The man grabbing your shoulders, the bruises left on your skin, the smell of his cologne in your hair. He was everywhere.

“Hey sweetheart, it’s okay,” Jameson soothes, “you’re safe now.”

It’s only then you notice how your entire body is shaking, your bones rattling together. You try to stop but you can’t. He brings you into deeper his arms and holds your quivering limbs together. You wonder if he let go you’d fall apart all together.

***

You didn’t go to school the next day, instead you stayed curled up in Jameson’s arms as he gently traced spirals across your back with his index finger.

You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so in love.

***

Thursday rolls around far too quickly and you know you have to go back. Word about the stalker had been kept quiet but you know you couldn’t stay under your duvet forever. No matter how badly you wanted to. So you wake up early and take your time getting ready. Jameson sleeps like the dead all the way through it, even when you blow dry your hair. You meet Xander who is already at breakfast, eating muffins. You’d promised the week before you’d come and observe his biology project for him, so he could have a second opinion and you didn’t want to break that promise.

“You know you really didn’t have to come,” he says, still chewing, “after you know…”

“I want to Xand, really,” you say, “I can’t avoid it forever and I want to see your project.”

“If you’re sure?” he checks, with an eyebrow raise.

“I’m sure,” you nod, “I swear.”

“Well then, have a muffin or two and then we’ll be on our way,” he grins, handing me one from the plate in the centre.

“Roger that sir,” you smile back, saluting him as you take a bite.

***

School was difficult that day, not the content, just the energy. The problem was you had none. And it was one of those long modified timetable days where your first break of the day was lunch and it wasn’t even until 2:00pm. That in itself was a mood killer. On top of that you couldn’t get the follower out of your head. The events played on some sort of endless loop in your head. You wonder who it might be, why they might have been following you of all people. It was known you were dating Jameson but not that known. Apparently, according to Xander, Oren had been put on high alert and Alisa was working on finding their identity. That should have brought you solace. It didn’t.

But the more you thought about it the more your realised that part of you selfishly didn’t mind that it has happened too much because last night you’d felt more connected to Jameson than you had in forever. It had been a while since it had just been the two of you, no mysteries, no arguments, no Avery. Yesterday had solely been the two of you, all day. Just in the presence of one another but, at school, you hadn’t seen Jameson all morning, seen as you’d left for school early with Xander but he had sent you a string of text messages that you only see at first on your very late lunch break.

morning sweetheart

are you okay??

I know you left early with Xand but I’m still worried about you

text me for ANYTHING okay??

I love you xx

And then an hour later…

you still haven’t text back

are you okay??

I bribed the woman at the front desk for your schedule so you’re probably in class right now

unless you’re not!!

just answer me when you can okay

I love you

Then in the next hour…

ARE YOU OKAY!?

I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN THE HALLWAYS

PLEASE ANSWERRR!!!!

I love you ;)

You almost laugh at the cuteness of it all. You type a couple of messages in response incase he bribed the headteacher to let him use the announcement speaker to find you next.

I’m fine Jamie, don’t worry

late lunch break sorry I couldn’t text sooner

They bleep through one after the other, sending through.

meet you after school for our plans

You close your phone quickly and get to the next class, holding your books tightly to your chest. The next few periods better go fast.

***

They didn’t go fast. In fact every millisecond felt like an hour, the day seemed endless. You get out of class and don’t pass Jameson in any hallways yet again sk decide to go to your usual meeting spot after school. You send him a quick message.

waiting outside business studies

You wait for him by the curb. One minute passes, he’s been a minute late before, many times. So you figure it’s okay, leaning on the wall behind you. Five minutes go by next and most kids are leaving or have left the school premises. Maybe his class has run over, your brain suggests. Then it is ten minutes, barely anyone is walking out. The odd person, sure, but never Jameson. You begin to wonder where he might be. Detention? No, he always finds a way out of those. Basketball court? No, he doesn’t like to play with the other guys. Classroom? No, he wouldn’t spend longer than he had to in the school. You sigh, ten minutes isn’t that long after all. Maybe you’re overreacting. Still, you send him another text ‘hey, are you nearly here?’ Half an hour passes. That’s when you get really confused. He should definitely be here by now. Slowly you wonder down several hallways, checking your phone for any messages, calls or voicemails, but there are none. Few students are around and every time you look into a classroom Jameson isn’t there. You make your way back to your original spot, incase he turned up. Forty minutes pass and you try his phone for the last time, ringing him rather than just texting but it goes straight to voicemail. So you resort to calling Xander, hoping he’ll be able to help and ease the tightening knot of worry growing in your chest. There is only two rings.

“Hello y/n,” Xander’s cheerful voice says down the other end, “is there any reason you’re phoning the best Hawthorne on this fine afternoon?”

“Yeah, sorry Xand,” you reply, “but have you seen Jamie anywhere?”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells me, “and I think I saw him come in earlier, I just presumed you were with him.”

Too many juxtaposed emotions hit you at once. Relief, he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s at home. Hurt, he left without you, abdomen or forgot the plans you had. Annoyance, he’d left without sparing you a second thought.

“No,” you mutter, “I wasn’t.”

“You sound annoyed,” Xander comments.

“I’m fine, sorry Xand,” you reply, putting some more life into your voice to wash away and tense notes, “it’s been a long day.”

“Don’t I know it,” he sighs, “but hey it’s the weekend now, fancy a game of strip bowling when you get back?”

Strip bowling was one of your favourites, mostly because you were very good at it and barely had to strip and also because Jameson usually ended up in his underwear. Xander must’ve sensed the false happiness in your voice and suggested it to be nice.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say, trying to let him down gently. You did appreciate the gesture, but the thought of playing stop bowling right now did not match the mood.

“Yeesh your day was that bad huh?” he asks softly, playing it off as jokey.

“I’ll be okay,” you reassure him quietly.

“I’m here you know,” he reminds you.

“Thanks Xander,” you reply, but don’t elaborate. You didn’t feel like talking right now.

“Talk to Jamie, he’ll know how to make you feel better,” he suggests sweetly.

You smile through your pain, “yeah, I’ll give it a go.”

You hang up and exhale slowly, he doesn’t know that Jameson is your problem.

***

You get back to Hawthorne house about twenty minutes later. It sounds relatively empty, though it always does, seen as there were so many possible places for people to be. You wander through the entrance, trying to think where Jameson might be. You hear footsteps approaching and spin around to see a blonde in a suit. Wrong brother.

“Have you seen Jameson?” you ask him before he can greet you.

“He was upstairs earlier, with Avery,” Grayson replies.

All the air is knocked from your stomach, “Avery?”

“You didn’t know?” his expression flashed for a fraction of a second into something between guilt and shame before it is composed.

“No…” you trail off.

“Oh,” he replies, with an unreadable expression back on.

“Well thanks anyway,” you say with a synthetic smile.

You walk away quickly before he can respond, looking up with glossy eyes. You ascend the stairs quickly and don’t look back. You feel you need to see for yourself did this is true. But where would he take Avery? You could only hope it wasn’t the roof where the two of you stargazed, that would hurt like hell. You trail down a hallway where voices are coming from and stumble upon a door that is ajar. Inside, Jameson talking to Avery. Your stomach rolls uncomfortably. He’s positioned barely a foot a way and he’s laughing. He looks so beautiful when he laughs, but now it’s ugly. It’s like biting into something sweet and getting a sour taste. It’s not the fact that she made him laugh, it’s the fact he’s laughing like he laughs when he’s with you. That’s the thing that cuts deep. The way his eyes are sparkling and his smile is wide and carefree, you thought he reserved those kind of smiles only for you.

Clearly not.

You turn your back on the scene and rush to your bedroom. You swing the door open forcefully and then slam it shut behind you. So he’d ditched your plans for her. Great. You sigh as you collapse down on your bed feeling an unwelcome tightness squeezing across your chest. Tears well up in your eyes. You didn’t like to cry, you rarely ever did. But right now, you couldn’t do anything about it. The tears just flowed down your cheeks and your whole body shook with each sob. Your heart physically ached, something you hadn’t thought was possible until this moment. A searingly mournful agony rippling through the left side your the chest. You felt so vulnerable, so exposed. You didn’t stop crying the blanket was soaked through, weighted with wet emotion and your throat was so raw it was numb.

***

You binge movies for the rest of the evening, the only feeling left in your system was anger, you’d cried all the sadness out. You felt so done with feeling shit and binging movies gave you that outlet of doing nothing, thinking nothing and feeling nothing. Exhaustion is beginning to win the ongoing battle between the two of you when you hear soft footsteps approaching. Jameson had been practically out of your mind the whole evening, Disney movies are a good distraction, but that is until he walks in. You hear as the door handle turns and he enters. Your eyes flicker to the clock, it’s just gone midnight.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking his suit jacket off and undoing his top button, “you’re up late.”

“What do you want?” you ask, eyes glued to Elsa’s performance of ‘let it go’ on the tv screen.

He immediately notices something is off and walks over, “woah, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh so now you care?” you scoff, looking him dead in the eye.

“What did I do?” he asks quickly, cluelessly.

“You are unbelievable,” you exclaim, switching the movie off before hurling the control across the room.

Jameson stares in disbelief, “why are you so pissed off?”

“You don’t know why I’m annoyed?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“No…” he replies hesitantly, like he’s treading on egg shells.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,”

“Oh my god,” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head, “tell me you’re joking, please.”

“I’m not joking,” he says, the desperation and worry evident in his tone.

“Do you even know what we were supposed to do today?” you ask with a withered look.

A moment of realisation strikes and you notice as his eyes widen and his jaw drops a little.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I forgot,” he says, actually looking guilty. You almost feel sorry for him.

“Yeah I know,” you deadpan, folding your arms across your chest.

“There’s just been a lot going on lately and with the following and then I was days behind on the thing with Toby and-“

“Am I some sort of burden,” you retort, eyebrows raised.

“What? No! I never said that,” he exclaims, his voice raised.

“Okay,” you shrug, nonchalantly. The small display of passive aggression would get under his skin, prickling it like an unscratchable itch.

“Last time we argued it ended with you being followed, I don’t want you in that situation again,” he says, his voice dominant and definitive.

“You’re making this about you!” you yell, rage blinding your vision, “what you want, for me!”

“Oh so you want to be followed, stalked?” he asks, with a forced cruel laugh.

“That’s not what I said,” you snap, eyes narrowed.

“Sounds like it,” he bites back, the bitterness in his voice hurting you far more than you cared to admit.

You don’t say anything for a long while but eventually cut through the long silence, “I even text you about it,” you say quietly.

“What?” he replies, head cocked to the side, confused.

“About tonight,” you say, raising your hands into the air with an eye roll.

“No you didn’t!” he yells back, defensively.

“Yes I did,” you scream.

“Look, this is the last message I got,” he exclaims, shoving his phone’s bright screen into your face.

‘late lunch break sorry I couldn’t text sooner’

You stare at the message and then quickly open your phone to double check. Your message hadn’t gone through, you look up glaring at him. You were mad he didn’t remember, mad the message never went through and just mad in general.

“It didn’t go through, I couldn’t help it,” he defends.

“You still forgot,” you press on, getting mor annoyed by the second, “I shouldn’t have to remind you that you have plans with your girlfriend.”

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he replies and you can see the meaning in his face, “we’ll reschedule.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore,” you tell him nonchalantly. You know you’re being petty, but you can’t help it.

“Oh common y/n,” he says.

“No I don’t,” you shrug. He’d messed it up, that opportunity was passed now.

“Look I just needed to-“

“What you needed to do was stick to your word, what you needed to do was remember when you had things plans, what you needed to do was think before you acted,” you say in a low voice, interrupting him, “but you did none of that.”

“I can’t have a life now?” he scoffs, growing irritated, “that’s not you.”

“What’s not me?” you scowl.

“This, right now,” he says, “you’re being so controlling!”

You raise your eyebrows, almost laughing, “controlling? You started this argument!”

“No I didn’t!” he argues.

“You know what, if you didn’t want to have it out then you shouldn’t have asked why I was angry,” you roll your eyes, “so just forget about it.”

“Oh would you STOP doing that,” he yells.

“What?”

“The whole ‘forget about it’ thing, it’s so fucking annoying,” he retorts, anger creeping up in his tone.

“You know what else is annoying?” you ask him, “when your boyfriend is hanging out constantly with some random girl who inherited all his grandfather’s money, that’s really fucking annoying.”

He’s silent. Nothing to say for once. No witty reply, no deflection, nothing. His face is impossible to read, blank.

“Hang on, that’s not quite the right word,” you continue, “what about aggravating, demoralising, hurtful-“

“You know I never would’ve pinned you as a jealous possessive girlfriend,” he shakes his head, with a cruel chuckle.

“I’m not!” you snap, “but you lied Jameson, why did you feel the need to lie!?”

“Lie?”

“You told me a few days ago you’d climbed a wall and if I hadn’t known any better I would’ve believed you,” you say, “but you weren’t climbing a wall, you were with Avery.”

“This,” he says exasperatedly, “this is exactly the reason I lied.”

“What?” you ask.

“This overreaction,” he explains, making some weird hand gesture.

“I’m overreacting?” you scoff, as your eyebrows shoot to your forehead.

“Completely,” he exclaims.

“So let me just get this straight,” you begin, “you’d have never pinned me as a jealous possessive girlfriend but you lied to me about ditching our plans to spend time with another girl because you were worried about an overreaction? Right, that makes sense.”

“I’m sorry,” he exhales, “I’m sorry.”

“No you can’t just say sorry and then think it’s all going to be okay,” you shake your head, “sorry is just a stupid word, it means nothing.”

“I didn’t mean to say what I said just now and I am sorry that I hurt you,” Jameson says desperately, “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s not just that! You blew off our plans for her,” you yell with a sob, “so yeah that kind of fucking hurts.”

“Sweetheart I didn’t mean to-“

“Yeah well you did,” you laugh bitterly, aggressively wiping away your tears, “and I’m crying over it which is just stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he tells you gently.

“Yes it is stupid Jameson,” you snap, the tears only flowing thicker and faster, “I feel like an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t,” he insists.

“Well I do, I’m such an idiot. I’m an idiot for fighting with you, I’m an idiot for getting myself followed, I’m an idiot for thinking that someone could actually love me, I’m an idiot for not seeing the signs sooner and I’m an idiot for crying over it all now,” you snivel, roughly scrubbing your tear-stained cheeks.

“Woah, hey,” he says, “sweetheart I love you. Just you.”

“Well it doesn’t feel like it lately,” you say, choking back a sob desperate to leave your throat.

His face softens, “sweetheart…”

He reaches out to touch me but you flinch away. His gentle touch is only a reminder of the good person he is and how much you love him for it. And you can’t afford to fall for it, not again, the pain was too much.

“You’re hurting me Jamie,” you say, your voice breaking as you jab a finger to your heart, “this is hurting me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, as his eyes mellow.

“If you want to be with her I’d rather you just tell me,” you whimper, “it would save me the pain of all this back and forth and sneaking around and finding out. Just tell me straight.”

“I don’t want to be with Avery,” he says, “I never have.”

“You don’t look at me how you look at her,” you say bitterly, getting it off of your chest.

“You’re right I don’t,” he agrees. Your heart plummets, here it comes, the confession, the break up, the empty sorrys and eyes filled with tears. “I don’t look at you like I look at her, because I look at her like any other person on this planet, but when I look at you I’m looking at my world. And I’d sure as hell hope that differs from the look that I gave to everyone else.”

A wave of emotion coats your skin, soaking you through. His world. The words repeat over and over and over until you feel delirious.

“Do you mean that? Do you really mean that?” you whisper.

“Of course I do,” he sighs, “don’t you understand? I love you, it’s always been you, it will never not be you! You’re my person, you’re my other half, I was supposed to meet you and fall in love with you. You give me purpose and passion and so much more. When you called me the other night after our fight I’ve never been more frightened in my life, I was freaking out over here. I’ve never felt so panicked, so sick with the thought of someone being hurt. I’m in so love with you that I can’t even explain it and I can’t believe I led you to doubt it. Avery is a friend, I promise, she means nothing to me compared to you, trust me. How can I prove that to you?”

“I don’t know Jameson,” you shout, your head aching from this endless circle of arguments.

“Then marry me!” he yells, then his voice softens, “marry me.”

You freeze, every muscle in your body suddenly falling into a state of paralysis, “what?”

“You heard me,” he says, his expression too serious.

“Jameson,” you murmur, barely getting his name out.

“Marry me.”

a/n: I’m a sucker for fat dramatic impulse decisions (it’s a problem, you may have gathered from my more recent fics) SOZ GUYS 😘😘 anywayyysss the time frame is roughly (and I mean very ROUGHLY) based around chapters 11-13 of the Hawthorne brothers incase you were wondering

thanks for the req anon, so sorry again for the wait, hope you enjoyed the read 🤍🤍 if you made it to the end and didn’t DNF halfway through, well done!! can you guys tell I got way too carried away, this fic was so all over the place but I posted it anyway bc yolo

there will be no part 2!! sorry!! I really need a break from reqs… you decide how you answer 🤭🤭

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[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [9]

Part Nine | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, realizations, reunions and resurrections, chapter follows "Tell it to the Frogs" but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 1.8K

Author’s Note: I am officially laid off for the winter. I make no promises, but I really want to write more often during my layoff. I'm really happy with this chapter (even though it might feel like a dagger to the heart), but things are really ramping up. Also don't worry, Daryl will reappear in the next one. Now that we've gotten to the show starting, this fic will follow the plot of TWD, but events and dialogue will be paraphrased so as not to simply rewrite episode scripts — hope you guys understand. Let me know what you guys think! Your support and excitement for this fic mean the world to me. Additionally, if I don't post beforehand, happy holidays and merry Christmas (to those that celebrate).

You watch as the sun begins to set from your spot on top of Dale’s RV — mesmerized as the clear blue sky slowly shifts into an array of golden hues. The sight almost makes you forget how much the world has changed — how much everything seems to have changed.  You sigh as you realize how envious you are of your past self. Just a few weeks ago, you were complaining about your boss to Lori, grabbing coffee in between shifts with Shane, and helping Rick with his latest home improvement project. Life was simple and stable. You had a lovely home, a decent job, and a loving boyfriend. Now, well, you’re lucky if there’s enough food at the campfire at the end of the day to feed the entire group.

You tear your eyes away from the sunset and look down at the book in your lap. The very book you attempted to busy yourself with this morning before Shane’s interruption. You haven’t gotten much further, finding yourself distracted by Daryl’s crumpled note that you’ve begun using as a bookmark. You can imagine him scoffing beside you as you reread the simple, messily written words. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tries to decipher what’s troubling you — and he’d read you like a book. You’ll never admit it, but you’ve yearned for his silent, stable presence more than usual today after your conversation with Shane this morning.

The sound of someone climbing the ladder and approaching from behind you pulls you from your thoughts. Your hand instinctively grabs the shotgun beside you as you turn your head toward the sound. Your mind starts anticipating the worst, but you loosen your grip as your eyes meet Dale’s. Dale raises his hands in front of him as he approaches; the gesture is playful, but his features are laced with concern. 

“I come in peace.”

You snort at his words before removing your hand from the shotgun entirely. 

“Sorry, Dale. I was just a thousand miles away.”

Dale hums in response as he takes a seat beside you. The two of you sit in comfortable silence while watching the sunset. You don’t mind Dale’s company. Despite his dislike for Shane Walsh, he’s never treated you differently despite your connection to the deputy. You’ve always appreciated that he sees you as you, not just Shane’s girlfriend — if you can even call yourself that anymore. 

“You’ve been up here for a while.”

“Got nothing else to do, I suppose.”

You shrug nonchalantly before glancing over at Dale. His eyes are still focused on the sunset, but you can tell he’s thinking over his next words. You appreciate how intentional he is with what he says. It reminds you of Daryl in a way. Your hands find their way to the crumpled note again — moving on their own accord.

“I’m just surprised to see you here — thought you’d be in Atlanta. I mean, Glenn wouldn’t shut up about you asking him to show you the ropes when it comes to scavenging.”

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you close the book in your lap and toss it to the side. Your eyes do a quick sweep of the camp, ensuring that Shane is not within earshot. 

“Shane decided it was best that I stayed here and helped Lori and Carol with chores.”

Dale lets out a dry laugh at your admission. 

“I didn’t know you needed his permission.”

You meet Dale’s expectant gaze and try to formulate a response, but his sarcastic tone has you floundering. Because as much as you want to assert that you don’t need anyone’s permission, you’ve also become somewhat of a prisoner in your own relationship. You shouldn’t need Shane’s permission to do anything — he certainly doesn’t need yours. And yet, here you are, a shell of your former fiercely independent self. Your shoulders slump at the realization, and your eyes drop to your hands, which are desperately gripping your only lifeline. 

In an act of comfort, Dale moves to cover your hands with his, and you involuntarily flinch away from his touch. Guilt washes over you as Dale pulls his hand away. Logically, you know that Dale would never try to hurt you, but your conversation with Shane this morning has you on edge. You look up at Dale and meet his sympathetic gaze. 

“Dale, I…”

Before you can explain yourself, you’re cut off by a blaring car alarm. Without a second thought, your hands find the shotgun at your side and aim toward the direction the sound is coming from. The once-sleepy camp quickly awakens at the first sign of trouble. You hear countless voices yelling, but one cuts through them all: Shane Walsh.

“Dale, what do you see up there?”

Dale looks to you as you peer into the scope. You can hear the car alarm clear as day, but you’ve yet to see any sign of life through the scope. You shake your head at the older man, keeping your eyes locked on the dirt trail leading up to the camp.

“Talk to me, Dale!”

“We can’t tell yet.”

“What the hell do you mean you can’t tell yet? Just look in the fucking scope, it’s not that hard.”

That sets you off. You don’t know if it’s the edge in Shane’s voice or the condescending tone in which he speaks, but something inside of you snaps at the words.

“I know how to look through a fucking scope, Shane!”

You can hear a low growl rumble through Shane’s chest at your retort, but you keep your gaze steady. You tune out the ensuing chaos: Shane insisting you hand the shotgun over to Dale, Jim attempting to defuse the situation, and Amy incessantly asking if it’s her sister. Dale offers you gentle words of affirmation as you take deep breaths — attempting to steady yourself. And then you see it: a bright red Dodge Challenger with none other than Glenn Rhee at the wheel. You finally pull away from the scope and hand the shotgun over to Dale, who looks at you in astonishment.

“It’s just Glenn.”

Dale takes the shotgun and peers through the scope. He searches for a moment before speaking.

“Well, I’ll be.”

And then the two of you erupt into a fit of laughter — after all, this whole situation is nothing but absurd. Dale pulls himself together just long enough to alert the group of your findings. There’s a collective sigh of relief, and everyone seems to relax until Glenn peels into camp. Glenn climbs out of the sports car and smiles brightly up at you.

“You like it?”

Another laugh escapes your lips as Glenn points at the blaring vehicle beside him. You nod at his words before responding. 

“Love it. You rob a bank along the way?”

Dale interrupts the conversation.

“Can you turn it off, son?”

Glenn’s brow furrows at his question, glancing between the car and the two of you.

“I don’t know.”

Quickly, Shane steps in and starts yelling at Glenn to pop the hood. You and Dale decide to finally descend from the top of the RV and join the rest of the group. When you enter the chaos, the car alarm is finally off, and several other vehicles begin pulling into camp. You smile as you watch reunions unfold before your eyes. Amy pulls her sister into a tight hug before she even has a chance to exit the vehicle fully. Morales’ children race to see who can get to him faster. Dale claps Glenn on the back as the young man excitedly shows off the vehicle they managed to jumpstart.

Deciding to give them all some privacy, you turn to walk back to your tent. Your smile quickly fades as you spot Carl’s saddened expression. His misty eyes scan the crowd, looking for someone who will never return. Your heart breaks as you watch Lori kneel beside him and pull the small boy into a comforting hug. Still, Carl’s gaze doesn’t falter. You lower your head as tears well up in your eyes. You understand.

Shane had told you about what happened at the hospital the first night at camp. You remember sitting beside him in your small tent, your heart breaking as you watch one of the strongest men you’ve ever met crumple due to the loss of his best friend. Setting aside the grief sitting heavy inside of your chest, you spent that whole night comforting Shane until he finally fell asleep. It was only then that you buried silent sobs into your pillow and prayed for the impossible — for your found family to be whole again. 

It isn’t until Morales speaks to the group that you finally look up. Your brow furrows as he explains that a new guy helped them out of the city, so they decided to bring him back with them. It’s been a long time since anyone new joined the quarry camp — Daryl and Merle were technically the newest members, but you’ve all been together for weeks now.

“Hey, helicopter boy! Come say hello.”

Shane plants his hands on his hips looking toward the SUV expectantly as Morales explains that he’s also a police officer. Finally, you see the new guy, and you can’t believe your eyes. Standing before you is Rick Grimes dressed in his signature sheriff’s uniform and cowboy hat. Rick’s eyes meet Shane’s first, and the two stand in silent astonishment until they hear Carl’s small voice.

“Dad?”

Rick’s eyes well up as he finally spots his boy at the back of the crowd.

“Oh, my God.”

Rick hesitates for a second, almost as if he can’t believe this isn’t real. But Carl sprints toward him, with Lori close behind. Tears stream down your face as Carl crashes into his father’s embrace. You look beside you, expecting to see Shane, but you meet Dale’s reassuring eyes instead. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you take a moment to find Shane in the commotion. Surely, he’s as choked up as you — hell, his best friend just came back from the dead. 

But when you spot him leaning against the red sports car at the back of the crowd, watching his best friend tearfully reunite with his wife and son, he looks less like a man who just got his brother back and more like someone who just lost everything. 

You want to be elated at the scene unraveling before. After all, you’ve been dreaming of this moment every night since the world fell apart. But something feels wrong as you watch as Shane lock eyes with Lori over Rick’s shoulder. Lori looks at him apologetically, and Shane’s expression shifts into a mix of anger and disappointment. Confusion washes over your features as you watch the exchange until…

Oh. Oh.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Every time you couldn’t find Shane in camp only for him to miraculously appear with Lori hours later. Every time you attempted to spend time with him only to be dismissed for something more important. Every time you waited up for him to return to your shared tent, only to fall asleep in a cold, empty cot. 

Taglist: 

Suddenly, everything makes sense — and you feel nothing but a stark hollowness settle into your bones. Because although your found family may be whole again, you’ve never felt more alone.

@minervadashwood

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@dreamtofus

@youcantstandit

@ajlovesdilfs

@prettywhenibleed

@luvsvnlqt-things

@strnqer

@marina-isabella

@lissanovak

@elissanatok

@luv-4-aria

@moejoeflow-blog

@ceoofdisappointment

@jewellthebooknerd

@callsignwidow

@genderless-ghosty-boi

@all-will-be-well-love

@tabzthemightyyyy

@mychemicalimagines

@nosebleeds-247

@catradora333

@punicorn999

@tybsbnbn

@i-wear-wet-socks313

@sunny92sworld

@echothy

@ta3baee

@rottngzombi

@rhey-007

@azanoni

@ritosparty

@vaniniweenie

@nameless-ken

@ibuch7

@theunfortunateshadow

@j0joworld

@marauder-exe-old

@hello-emma

@ziziriaa-blog

@livingdeadblondequeen

@krissophia

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

@kellie-ana-blog

@my-name-is-heartache

@the-valars-sapphire

[crescenthistory]

in one of your posts you mentioned barty giving a best man speech at r and regulus’ wedding, it’d be nice to see your take on the full speech or like a wedding oneshot? love your work btw i adore how you characterise barty

are you taking emoji anons? id love ✂️

hey there babes<333 you can absolutely be ✂️ if you want to tell me your age and pronouns i’ll add you to the list 🫶 and thank you, i love and miss barty as well

unfortunately i don’t think i’d be the person to write a full length wedding fic 🥲 it’s just not my vibe. i might write blurbs referencing it, bring it up in fics (like with the fifth and sixth wheel series) or write out some funny dialogue i think i’d see, but beyond that weddings are so intricate and personal that i’d struggle getting it in a reader insert format

however, i present to you some random thoughts:

when i write reg x reader, i always imagine barty as trying to be both reader’s man of honour and reg’s best man lol

like he would CAMPAIGN to get to be both. and he’d likely win

i fear you’d have to share him and then have one more for each that’s just yours (for slytherin!reader i picture you have dorcas and he has evan or pandora) (potentially, reg has sirius and you have remus)

barty would by far be the most chaotic in the wedding party, but i believe he brings the kind of chaos those friend groups need to get through something as hectic as a wedding

he would have the “go, go, go!” attitude and the nerve to say “shut the fuck up” when needed

and you best believe that if anyone else cause drama, he’d be at their NECK. he threatens sirius from start to end of the wedding, even though he is on his best behaviour and super happy for his baby brother (fighting with him is just instinct for barty)

most of the black family were not invited and barty places evan at the door to ensure they do NOT try to sneak their way in. if they do, well then barty gets an opportunity to let out some steam

i can picture barty taking on an almost bridezilla persona as the best man to take some of the heat and stress off of you and reggie — he is the bad guy so you don’t have to

if you do end up having some kind of meltdown over the planning, his energy would switch up sooo fast and he would be the most caring, gentle creatures, cooing and cradling you while snapping at whoever’s closest to go get reggie

as for speeches, i think barty and sirius make the two “main” speeches, while dorcas makes a small toast and pandora recites a poem

i just knowwwww barty’s speech would have people so torn between cackling with laughter and tearing up — truly, they get whiplash, every other sentence is hilarious and heartwarming

(barty is seemingly none the wiser that people have to catch their breaths from the energy changes)

“i didn’t expect junior to make me so emotional”

he has known you and reg since first year, so he tells alllllllllllll the stories; the good, the bad, the pining and the embarrassing

i don’t want to talk about sirius’ speech because he’d definitely say he was incredibly proud of regulus and happy he has found love, and i cannot take that

it wouldn’t be the biggest wedding, just the people you truly considered family; it was perfect

[notmorbid]

the berry pickers.

dialogue prompts from the berry pickers by amanda peters.

dying is something we have to do alone.

i want to be my full self for you.

whatever makes you happy makes me happy, too.

i'm not sure what's true and what's not anymore.

you never know when you might need kindness from people.

you see anything strange around here?

age brings all sorts of fears.

i think i've always known something was out of place.

you'll grow out of it. you'll forget.

sometimes i wonder if you have any sense at all.

don't worry. they can't hear us.

your only job right now is to be a kid.

when no one's looking, you can be a sweetheart.

it's funny how old you think your parents are, when you're a child.

stop trying to grow up so fast.

there are things more important in this world than taking credit.

there was love, but none of us knew what to do with it.

don't pretend you didn't hear me.

i will try my damnedest not to be sad.

it's hard, looking for someone who can't be found.

you never know what your last words to someone are gonna be.

words are powerful and funny things, said or unsaid.

some people are meant to read great works, and others are meant to write them.

you do love me, after all.

you're jealous. i need you to admit it.

i did what i thought was best: i left.

you seem taller, somehow.

hope is such a wonderful thing, until it isn't.

i never blamed you.

it's not your fault. it just happens, sometimes.

i guess i assumed i'd just wake up one day and everything would be normal again.

i've done my grieving. i can't do it anymore.

some wounds never close, never scar.

i just want to get away. you choose where.

make sure you write everything down, the good and the bad. but mostly the good.

what ghosts haunt your dreams?

are you going home, or leaving home?

sometimes i forget that you're hurting, too.

swearing can make you feel better.

anything you want to tell me?

there's something to be said for salt air.

i love you. i'm sorry i've been so far away.

i've never felt worse. i need you to know that.

i assume the universe knows what it's doing.

getting better isn't easy.

i was convinced the pain would haunt me for the rest of my life.

i was determined to let my pain and anger ruin me.

you like to find fault with everyone but your own self.

you have no right to hold onto that guilt all by yourself.

i'm sick of tiptoeing around you like you're going to break.

don't be sorry. be useful.

i've never been much of a talker.

it's not fair to be young and weak. there's no fairness to it at all.

prejudice runs deep and offers no apologies, in small towns.

you can't stay mad at me.

i didn't sleep because i was worried about you, asshole.

maybe i'm just one of those people who are only happy when they aren't.

it's not that i don't remember. it's that i don't want to.

why do you always assume you're on your own?

i remember. i didn't think you did.

people are always saying nice things about the dead, especially when their family is in the room.

sometimes a lie becomes so entrenched, it becomes the truth.

you never deserved anything i did to you.

the only person i have a right to be angry with is myself.

it wasn't because i didn't love you.

you know of any work i could get around here?

i wonder, sometimes, what i did to deserve it.

you got a story?

you seem too young to have a story of any interest.

something is making you all dark and moody.

what are you doing out here? there's a storm coming.

i don't go giving my name out to every stranger i meet.

people seem to need to get away from me.

own your mistakes. make amends and move on.

you feel things too quick and too heavy. you need to let things go, sometimes.

i'm here. it was just a dream.

i kind of hoped i would die before i had to tell you this.

i wanted to hate you, but i couldn't.

anger and sadness are just two different sides of the same coin.

time is never a friend to the sick or the old.

i don't like to see people i might know.

how are you still alive?

the lord must keep me around to amuse himself.

where is home, for you?

what's at home that's got you afraid to be there?

the only misery you're causing is your own.

i'll be honest, because i don't know how else to be.

don't worry. i'll remember for you.

i ruined myself all by myself.

i prayed you would come home to us.

what on earth have you got to be sorry for?

tell me about ___. if it's okay.

lost souls have to find their own way home.

i don't think i've ever laughed that hard in my life.

[cielelyse]

Favourite 5 Saezuru Scenes

I recently reread Saezuru for the umpteenth time and just needed to gush about it like a crazed person who constantly hallucinates about Yashiro being happy and soOooOOooo.................

1. Why now? (Chapter 25)

These 3 panels kill me always... although it's the entire chapter 25 actually, and not just these panels. This broke me when I first read it nearly a decade ago, and it breaks me every time I reread it. I recently just listened to the drama CD for the first time and wanted to hear how this scene played out (a.k.a. wanted to hear Yashiro moan wkegh;ghwle) and I did not expect to start bawling and sobbing uncontrollably when his flashback appeared. WITH THE MUSIC AND EVERYTHING. THEY DID NOT SPARE ME. FUCK. What was supposed to be a tender and gentle and loving and intimate scene between them turned into Yashiro facing the effects of his childhood trauma -- that will never cease to hurt me. Doumeki saying "kashira, kashira, kirei" right before that broke me in a way reading that scene in English couldn't. I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS and if I keep writing about it I'm gonna cry again so:

2. Car ride back from Kageyama's clinic (Chapter 4)

This is mostly for nostalgic reasons, really. I first read Saezuru in 2013, and I wasn't used to Yashiro at first. I didn't know what to make of him.

So what happened was that I read "Don't Stay Gold" first and was like... there's a manga about this mildly threatening and unreadable yakuza dude who's Kage's friend…? Who played cupid for him in a weird way? HMMMMM dubious, dubious. Would I even like him? It took me a while, but I finally gave Saezuru a shot anyway, and I remember feeling uncertain about Yashiro up until those panels. I remember it so starkly, because this was the instant I fell in love with him. I think it was because this was the first time I understood the depth of his loneliness (since I hadn't read his high school oneshot yet at this point).

There's just something about how Yoneda Kou-sensei draws these kinds of pages that just resonates with me so well. I CAN'T EVEN DESCRIBE IT. It just connects with me the way Yashiro connects with me, and that was pretty much it for me. Obsession sealed. Life signed away. For the next 10 years I would follow the story closely and routinely check every few months for updates. Yashiro became one of my only 3 comfort characters, and rereading Saezuru always gives me a catharsis and sense of peace that I didn't know how to find elsewhere.

3. "To go on living this strained existence... no longer holds any meaning to me." (Chapter 34)

This scene is one that I come back to every time I'm down. AM I A MASOCHIST? I really like the June translation too: "To go on living this strained existence no longer holds any meaning to me." I think the way the panels divided up those thoughts were brilliant!

This especially hurt me because for the entire manga up to this point, Yashiro has stated that he completely accepts himself and he's happy with who he is. It wasn't until his realization during the sex scene with Doumeki and how much he's said/done hurtful things to Doumeki afterwards -- who he considers pure and sweet and good -- that he thinks this.

4. "Falling in love feels like this" (Chapter 33)

The first time I read this, I had to set my PC down, go out to my apartment balcony, and just silently stare out into the night and resist the urge to smoke (that was half a joke) (I did feel a pang in my chest though) (and I did have to fight very hard not to smoke lwkehg;hge). I love the dialogue right after these panels too, when Yashiro said, "Your sister was lucky that you were there." That, along with Doumeki's reaction, hurt.

This was such an intimate scene between them. Yashiro was so vulnerable. So was Doumeki. I hadn't realized this until I reread Saezuru this year, but these two have always had such intimate scenes right from the start. It was a slow burn, yes, but they had always been instantly drawn to each other: Doumeki thinking Yashiro was beautiful and captivating, and Yashiro doing something he doesn't normally do with his subordinates the first time he met Doumeki. And it didn't clue in for me back in 2013, but their conversations with each other were much more intimate than the conversations they'd have with anyone else, right from chapter 1. I find that so precious.

5. Dream (Chapter 40)

I couldn't not include a scene from post-timeskip, BECAUSE I LOVE POST-TIMESKIP. I love Darkmeki and I love Yashiro and I love that the theme of post-timeskip centers around "change". Wish I could include that conversation Yashiro had with Tsunakawa about it, because I thought that drive-home was brilliant. I really appreciate that Yoneda Kou didn't have Yashiro and Doumeki get together right away after they have sex, and I really appreciate that the question was raised of: Do people change? Can people change on their own, or would you have to force them? Or are we always the same at our core? And I think the answer is of course a mixture of all of it, and that it's very much circumstantial and subjective, but I love how we're able to see the shifts in both Yashiro and Doumeki. How both men aren't quite the same people we knew pre-timeskip. Ten years ago I didn't think I would meet a version of Yashiro that wouldn't talk about sex 24/7, but here we are.

(Not to say that they're completely different now. They're still our Yashiro and Doumeki of course; I just wanted to gush about how well Yoneda Kou were able to flesh out her characters in such a complex, multidimensional way.)

ANYWAYS, I went on a rant without even mentioning these panels of Yashiro's dream. I love everything about it: Doumeki's face not showing, Yashiro running away and turning back to see Doumeki not there anymore, and that last panel of him standing in the middle of nowhere, lost and empty and lonely -- all of that was so incredibly told in pages of no words. UGH YONEDA KOU IS A GENIUS. It reminds me of that page of Yashiro looking at a mother and child in the rain; it's one of my favourite scenes too.

Honourary Mention (Chapter 4):

I should end with a more light-hearted one. THIS WAS CUTEEEE. I remember reading this for the first time and thinking Yashiro was just salty that his roleplay got ruined. But upon second reread (and maybe I'm delusional here), I thought he might've been happy to hear Doumeki say that.

We know Yashiro gets angry and irritated whenever he's happy to hear something sweet from Doumeki (like that extra when they ate together LOL), and that he had the same reaction of kicking the chair when Doumeki said he can't touch Yashiro's hair anymore. Which was cute to say. So I thought Yashiro might've lashed out in annoyance because he was glad that Doumeki doesn't mind. (I tried putting myself in Yashiro's shoes so many times trying to imagine how I would feel if Doumeki had said this............. and somehow came up with "happy" xD)

...........or maybe this was obvious to everyone and I've just been clueless. AAAAAAAA THIS IS WHY I LOVE ABOUT SAEZURU SO MUCH. It never spoon-feeds you information and lets its readers interpret :")

[httpiastri]

Omgg hiii againnn 🫶🏻 paul obsessed girlie here!! (Ur prompt list was so good btw) I think my favs were probably hands under their clothes, or from the dialogue, "god, you're shivering. take my jacket." Or "you don't have to be so genle. i won't break, you know." But honestly I’d be happy with any, all or none of them ur writing is so damn good 🩷🩷🩷

bestieeee aren't we all paul obsessed 🤭🤭 at least i know i am!! thank you for your request sweetheart, im in such a paul mood these days that idk what to do. hope u enjoy this, have a great day (and happy holidays!!) <3<3

‎‎ ‎‎

paul's hand is soft in yours. the way his thumb brushes along your knuckles makes you smile subconsciously, leaning into him as you walk down the street.

there's a post-dinner-date type of lull hanging over the two of you, a comfortable silence that you really don't mind; you know that paul isn't the most talkative person, so just his presence is more than enough for you. that's why when he finally speaks up, you instantly look up to him. "hey, you-"

your eyes grow worried when he stops right in the middle of the street. you're just about to ask what's wrong when both of his hands cover one of yours, his eyebrows knitted together.

"god, you're shivering."

you hadn't even noticed it yourself, but paul is as attentive as always. you did forget to bring a jacket when you left earlier today, so the cold gusts of wind blow right through the thin material of your outfit. now that he has mentioned it, you suddenly become aware of the goosebumps on your skin and the way you're trembling slightly.

"here," paul starts, shrugging off his suit jacket in one quick motion. "take this."

"are you sure?" you ask, blinking up at him as he stands in front of you, draping the material over your shoulders. "you shouldn't get sick, you have that thing later this week and-"

"i'm sure." his tone is firm but not harsh, the little smile he gives you right after telling you that he doesn't mean any harm; he just wants to take care of you.

"thank you." your cheeks start to redden – you're sure you could blame the cold if he asked, even though it's not the actual reason – and you take his arm in your hands as you continue to stroll. your shivers may have stopped, but the butterflies in your gut still make you a little shakey. it doesn't take long before you reach his car, but instead of opening the door for you like he usually does, paul's hands land on your hips outside of the jacket. he turns you towards him, your hands finding the side of his neck as you look up at him towering over you.

but when he bends down to kiss you, his lips barely even brush against yours.

paul is always so tender, so delicate. his touch is consistently light, always scared to hurt you, never wanting to overstep a boundary. it's sweet and you're thankful he cares so much about making you feel comfortable. but sometimes, you crave something more.

when you lean back to break the kiss, there's a hint of confusion on his face. you take a breath, fingers reaching the back of his neck to play with his hair. "paul, you..." you start, tilting your head. "you don't have to be so gentle with me." you look to the side, feeling yourself crumble under his curious gaze. "i won't break, you know."

his eyebrows shoot up, taken back in surprise. your relationship isn't new per se, though you haven't been together for too long, either. he just always assumed that you wanted to be loved in a soft, gentle way. but now that he knows how you felt, he doesn't exactly complain.

"oh, really?" he asks, his voice making you look back at him instinctively. your eyes are met with his cute smile and his eyes forming those charming little crescents you adore so much. when you nod and take your bottom lip between your teeth to hold back a grin, his hands slip past the material of his suit jacket and reach for your sides underneath it. he doesn't just stop there; soon, his fingers dance along the hem of your top, thumbs massaging your skin ever so lightly. "like, now?"

you pause for a second. "yeah..." you're blushing even harder by now, but he doesn't notice because he's already leaned into you and kissed you again. this time, it's not just a brush and he's not treating you like you're made out of glass. his lips are pressing against you with a new type of confidence as his hands move under your top, palms feeling up and down your sides. his grip on you tightens and he backs you up against the side of his car. you let out a surprised yelp into his mouth when your back comes in contact with the cold material, and paul uses the opportunity to let his tongue slip past your now open lips.

as soon as you felt his lips on yours, it was like you both stepped into a bubble, leaving the rest of the world behind. you don't care how much time is passing, you don't care about who's watching; all that's in your mind is this new side of paul.

when he parts from the kiss, you find yourself chasing after him with your lips, disappointed to have ended it already. paul loves your reaction and grins from ear to ear when he looks at you, your eyes closed in bliss and lips slightly red from the kiss. "was that better?" he asks, smugness clear in his tone, and your eyelids slowly open.

you're completely breathless, unable to find any words to suit the situation, but you eventually manage a nod.

he leans down to leave a quick kiss to your forehead before opening the door to the passenger's seat for you. "you ready to go, then?"

maybe you'll have to work on that gentle side of his.

[yeowangies]

mutual understanding

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | CHAPTER V: Shiny green sprouts

PAIRING: Kenpachi/AFAB!Reader CONTENTS: AU - Fantasy, Medieval, Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Pining, Explicit Sexual Content, Virginity Loss. WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: Explicit sexual content, lots of dialogue, minor yumichika/ikkaku. WORDCOUNT: 3518

Summary:

Kenpachi realized a few things as your relationship bloomed.

Notes:

Oh i'm sooooooooo happy with this chapter! It was fun to write, and I didn't think i'd enjoy it so much to explore ken's pov. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it 😭

This is the last chapter and i'm happy to finish this wonderful story! I love these two so much that i wanna add more chapters with a little more plot as well, but since i'm not sure if or when will that be, the story shall end here for now. Thank you for reading 💖

header by me, divider by @/saradika

taglist: @actuallysaiyan @lol-ktr @vrgelivvvv @pennameyoruichiii @hikariandptakchleb @thebestgirlever2 @tequila-coffee-things

Kenpachi had pictured you in his fantasies several times. Different activities, different places, different circumstances; but you were always there, tempting him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to experience any of them, but after that first night you two had sex, he’d let himself hope for more.

He didn’t think you’d have so much initiative, however. He couldn’t help but grin as you bounced on his lap one night, bracing your hands on his chest as you pleasured yourself on his cock. 

The alcohol was probably a factor in what you were currently doing, but Kenpachi knew you weren’t drunk. A little tipsy and on the happier side maybe, but you had gotten to the bedroom without his help; moreover, you had wrapped your arm around his, clinging for a minute before you started tugging at his hand to make him hurry up,and he let lead, dragging him down the hall. 

For someone so small, you had a lot of conviction, and it only took a second to make him remove his clothes when you got to the bedroom. He didn’t put up a fight, obviously; he was intrigued and incredibly turned on to see you so eager to fuck him, kissing him as if your life depended on it. The way he had kissed you since that first time. 

The sight was amazing, your breasts bouncing every time you moved up and down, moaning with your head thrown back in ecstasy. Kenpachi didn’t want to close his eyes, engraving your every curve in his memory. Just in case he had to be apart from you in the future, this was what he wanted to remember: you, completely bare, covered in beads of sweat, as you shamelessly impaled yourself on his dick. 

His hips bucked upwards, seeking more of your wet heat, and you hummed every time the head of his cock hit inside you just right. He was hoping you’d pick up the pace, and he encouraged you to hurry up with a firm grip on your hips to guide you, but you only seemed to care about your own pleasure at that moment, making him groan like a wounded animal. 

“It feels so good…” You purred, looking down at him with hooded eyes. 

You bit your lip as you slid one hand up his cheek, stroking softly. 

Kenpachi wasn’t used to those kinds of gestures, not even during sex, but he wasn’t going to say no to it. Every time you touched him his skin burned, and he’d gladly set himself on fire for you. Chasing your touch, he turned his head towards your hand, licking your finger before you put your thumb in his mouth. He eagerly sucked on it with a salacious smirk plastered on his face at the same time. Grunting when your walls around him clenched, he figured you probably really liked what he was doing. 

Holding your hips tightly, he thrust up, hitting deep inside you again as you let out a loud whimper. He picked up a rhythm to his own liking, watching with amusement as you stuttered to get coherent words out of your mouth as he slid his cock in and out of you. 

“Wait, Ken- Please, give me a sec-” You pleaded, dragging your nails down his chest. 

Kenpachi groaned in response, even more turned on than before. It was like you were made for him. 

You were still finding yourself when it came to sex, sometimes even explicitly asking him for certain things, and he was more than eager to please you every time. But moments like that night were spontaneous, and you carried yourself with that self assurance that he had enjoyed greatly since the first moment he saw you; those were the moments when he found out how perfect you were for him. Some women had tried to tame him and molded him for themselves, the few braves enough who thought they could anyway; but you weren’t even trying, and yet you were succeeding. 

“You had been teasing me for too long,” He squeezed your hips before dragging his hands towards your chest. “You shameless woman.”

“I wasn’t- Ah!” Whatever else you were about to say died in your throat when he slammed his hips particularly hard. 

Kenpachi rammed into you, smacking his hips against your ass, his orgasm getting closer and closer. With his hands on your tits, he groped them roughly, tugging at your nipples, earning a stuttered whine from you. It worked well for him that your chest was so sensitive, your breasts were marvelous and he’d gladly play with them all the time. 

He knew how close to the edge you were as well. Your hips kept grinding down on him at an uneven pace, and your moans were getting louder, little signs that gave you away. Sliding a hand down your stomach, he ran his thumb over your clit, stroking with pressure and obvious intent. Your body shuddered instantly, slanting forward on his chest, digging your nails on his shoulders. It made his cock throb inside your heat. 

“Oh God, I’m-” You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body to his.

“Come on, baby,” Kenpachi encouraged you, giving your clit all of his attention as he glided his dick in and out. “I wanna feel you come.”

Moans and whines left your lips against the skin of his neck, and it only spurred him on. He slid his hand over your ass, grabbing it roughly, making you scream when he slapped it harshly. 

It only took a couple more thrusts before you were coming, quivering as you rolled your hips, riding out your orgasm. Your insides tightened around his cock, bringing him closer to his own release than he expected. 

With a firm grip on your waist, Kenpachi rolled you over, pressing your back to the mattress before he started slamming his hips against yours, seeking his own pleasure. You let out little gasps as he stroked every spot inside you with his cock. He took pleasure in knowing you only made those noises for him and no one else. 

“Fucking hell!” He groaned against your neck, holding tight onto your hips.

Burying his cock deep inside you, he spilled his cum as he came, practically growling into your shoulder, seeing stars behind his lids. Gliding his length in and out until you had milked out every last drop of his load, he pressed his body against yours, panting against your skin. 

Your hands were on his back, softly caressing him, as you both caught your breaths. Kenpachi found the gesture extremely calming, even though he wasn’t used to the feeling. Pulling away after a few seconds, he sank onto his side of the bed, warmth spreading in his chest when you snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. That sensation was also brand new. 

In stark contrast to the coziness that was the bed, he observed, even through the fogged windows, that the snow outside the glass had started to melt. Winter hadn’t been as crude as other years, or at least it felt that way; since you got to the castle, the atmosphere felt different. 

Not to mention that once the intimacy started, the temperature rose. 

Since the castle was given to him, Kenpachi hadn’t been spending so much time in the bedroom as he did after he got married. At the end of the day, he simply couldn’t wait to get to where you were, and that was usually the bed; though you had visited him fairly often at the training grounds, watching him fight with enthusiasm. It was strange; your delicate presence didn’t seem to combine well with your surroundings, but he liked that you were there to see him regularly. It was a pleasant change when he took into account how terrified you looked the first time you saw him.

Kenpachi would have let you return to your palace if that was what you truly wanted, he really would have if you had asked for it when he offered the option to you. But at that moment, he couldn’t even imagine a life in the castle without you. Your presence brought color to his surroundings. If you were to ask him to leave then, he wasn’t sure he’d allowed it. 

Your hand running up and down his chest brought his attention to you, especially when your fingers started skimming through the scar on his left pectoral. You must have been doing it out of curiosity, as you usually did, but your touch burnt his skin easily, and it felt like being cut open all over again. 

“Stop doing that.”

“I’m sorry,” You replied right away, moving your hand to his side. “Does it hurt?”

“That’s not it.” Kenpachi replied, tightening his grip around your shoulder in case you pulled away. “You’re making me hard again.”

“Oh…” You blushed slightly, but remained still. “Is that actually a bad thing?”

Kenpachi quirked his brow. It had certainly been hours and several orgasms since you two got into the room; you had been determined to keep going after each one. You loved being pushed to the edge, and he was more than happy to oblige; but he knew your physical condition could not compare to his, and even the fact that you hadn’t insisted on going again after that last round meant that you needed a break. At least for only a few minutes; he hadn’t had enough just yet. 

“I know you need to recover. Don’t play tough, kid.”

“I’m not playing tough,” You pouted, playfully glaring at him. “I’m your wife, I am tough.”

With a deep laugh, Kenpachi squeezed your shoulder. You hit his chest in jest, but he remained unaffected. 

“I can’t believe I used to be afraid of you. You’re like a giant plushie.”

“A what?” He asked, frowning in confusion. 

“A cuddly toy. You’re very rough on the surface,” You explained, smoothly running your hand down his abdomen. “But you’re nice to cuddle with. And at the same time, you’re like a whole bed yourself with how big you are.”

“Maybe it’s just you who’s tiny.” Kenpachi replied with a smirk. It was a great delight for him that you were so much smaller than he was; picking you up barely required any effort.

“Regardless, I thoroughly enjoy this.” You snuggled closer, burying your face in his neck, goosebump forming on his skin when he felt your warm breath so close to his jaw. “I was so wrong about you.”

“So I’m not barbaric?” He asked teasingly. 

Kenpachi wasn’t a particularly resentful man, but it was even surprising for himself how much it had annoyed him to hear you talk so rudely about him when you tried to call off the wedding. You weren’t even completely wrong; he was violent and enjoyed brutal confrontation more than anything; but his anger had a lot to do with the image he had of you in his mind. Obviously that first encounter between the two of you had left an unpleasant impression on you. 

“You still remember that?” You covered your face with your hand, before sitting up to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, I was upset and… I did think you were barbaric, but I know better now!”

“You weren’t entirely wrong about all that stuff you said to your father.” Kenpachi had his gaze fixed on yours, gauging your reaction. 

“I guess… Honestly, I thought you were violent in every aspect. But I have seen now that you enjoy combat, and not just plain cruelty!” You added quickly, pleading eyes looking at him as if begging for understanding. “And I accept that. I’ve seen you train with your men, and not only do you look like you’re enjoying yourself, but even your soldiers seem to be having their morale raised by being in your presence. There’s something about you-”

“You get chatty when you’re drunk.” Kenpachi smirked, amused at how much you were rumbling. He noticed the first time you drank more than a couple of glasses how you usually dropped the formal speech, as well as loosening your tongue.

“I’m not drunk, I just had a few glasses of wine.” You pouted, lying back on his chest and nuzzling close once more. “Besides, you’re the one who doesn’t talk a lot.”

“Oh, what does my wife wanna hear?” Kenpachi asked with a grin that was clearly just to mock you. “Maybe I can entertain you.”

The pout on your lips had the ability to make him instantly hard, but he was more curious about whatever silly question you could throw at him.

“Very well then, why were you in the forest when I was attacked by that werewolf?”

The question caught him off guard. He turned to look at your face, trying to somehow see through you, wondering what kind of answer you were expecting from him. 

“I was following you.” Kenpachi replied after a long moment of silence.

“What?”

“I was nearby and saw you go into the forest. And I followed you.”

“Why?”

“I had already seen you at the palace before.” He would have doubted being completely straightforward in other circumstances, but you were already married, and there was no sign of any negative emotion in your eyes, only intrigue. “I was curious about what you were up to.”

“You’ve seen me before?” You asked, looking more confused than before. “But we were never at the same balls or social events.”

“Because I hate those things.” Kenpachi grimaced, recalling how uncomfortable the suits he was usually required to wear were. “But you spent an awful time in the gardens when me and my men were staying in one of the buildings nearby.”

“You’re more romantic than I expected.” You replied with a soft smile, running your hand up and down his side again. 

Kenpachi’s immediate thought was that he wasn’t being romantic, but it was pure lust that had taken him to you. You were carefree, walking around in the gardens with your bare feet as if you didn’t have a single worry in the world, with your maids chasing after you while holding your shoes. You smiled contently when you sat down in your garden full of flowers to pick them up regularly, seemingly unaware of the world around you. He had only wanted to have you when he looked at you from afar, tempted by that vivacious energy. On that fateful night he had followed you with the sole intention of attempting to lure you into having his way with you. He knew the risks and what you must have thought of him if he approached you and he hadn’t cared then, but it was confirmed when you spoke the way you did about him to your father when you tried to convince him not to go through with the wedding.

The romance part, that came much later when he got to know you after you got married. 

“A few of the seeds I planted last autumn have budded.” You suddenly commented, and it got to his attention that you might have had the ability to read minds. “Even through the snow, a few shiny green sprouts had emerged in the garden. I can’t wait to see how much they’ll grow.”

Kenpachi blinked and stared down at you for a long moment before you took notice.

“What?” 

He didn’t exactly know what to say. Your comments seemed to be making fun of him when it was obvious you weren’t. Something had budded inside him for you, that was for sure. He didn’t plan on developing feelings, or whatever other bullshit concept people sometimes talked about when they mentioned the word ‘love’. 

However, circumstances had tricked him into feeling something warm spreading in his chest as he looked at you, as if stars were dancing around you.

Your gaze was fixed on him in confusion before your lips curled into a smile.

“Do you want to see the sprouts?”

“The fuck are you saying, kid? It’s past midnight.”

“So?” You pulled away from his arms and got off the bed in the blink of an eye. “Come on, you’ll be with me! Besides, you already know how much I like going for walks at night!”

Kenpachi was close to letting you go alone, if his mind didn’t scream that it was late at night, and you’d be alone. The castle was secure, but who knows what kind of box full of curses you’d open if left to your own devices. 

Who was he kidding? He didn’t want anything to happen to you, even if that something was as silly as tripping with your own two feet. 

Cursing under his breath, Kenpachi got up, putting some of his warmest clothes on, and following your lead as you walked out the door. 

*

It was a starry night, but the beautiful sight of it didn’t stop it from being freezing cold. Yumichika huffed, wrapping the coat tighter around himself, as he walked along the battlements. 

Ever since you got to the castle, Kenpachi had put him and Ikkaku to guard the grounds, up until dawn at least. He couldn’t believe it at first, but the more he watched you two interact, there was no doubt in his mind on why the captain was being so careful. 

Nonetheless, it was surprising. Yumichika had never seen Kenpachi have a relationship that was even close to what you had with him. His bond with Yachiru was the closest thing, but even that wasn’t an accurate comparison, by a long shot. He didn’t think something like that would ever happen, simply because Kenpachi didn’t seem interested in those kinds of affairs. Most women didn’t like how abrasive he was, and at the beginning you weren’t the exception. 

Before his mind wandered further into what could have possibly happened between you two behind closed doors, Ikkaku walked up to him, complaining loudly. 

“This is so boring!” Ikkaku slumped against the cold brick wall. “If at least something would actually try to attack this place, it’d be justified. But no! Everyone knows who this castle belongs to, who the fuck would try?”

“I share the sentiment,” Yumichika replied, equally bored, as he scanned the gardens. “No matter how much the captain cares about the safety of the lady, I’m sure he’d appreciate the challenge of something attempting to invade us.”

“The safety of the lady?” Ikkaku looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you really that dense?” Yumichika turned to him, staring at him with a frown. “He’s obviously doing this for her.”

“I don’t get it, if it was for her, why put us as security during the night?”

“Because the captain is awake during the day, she doesn’t need protection then.”

“But she does at night?”

“Didn’t you see her taking random walks at night when she first arrived?” Yumichika groaned, exasperated. “Not to mention the circumstances of their meeting.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ikkaku commented, running his hand over his head as he recalled. “She walked past the limits of the woods.”

“I guess we know why she likes the captain now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She obviously likes putting her life at risk if she went into that forest alone at night.” Yumichika huffed, fixing his eyes back towards the garden. “Though I don’t really think that’s it.”

“What isn’t?”

“She wasn’t happy about being here at all, even less marrying the captain.” Yumichika squinted his eyes when he saw two figures in the garden, and grinned mischievously when he noticed who it was. “Speaking of which, look who’s there.”

Ikkaku approached the edge and followed his companion’s gaze, snorting when he recognized the two figures.

“The captain and the lady, walking through the gardens.” He clicked his tongue before chuckling. “Can’t believe he’s following her.”

“I can. Did you see the way he looked at her when she walked in the training grounds the first day?”

“Yeah, so?” 

“There were flowers emanating from him when he noticed her. It was creepy.” Yumichika shuddered dramatically, still keeping his eyes on you and Kenpachi as you walked together through the garden. 

“Yeah, I think I remember that.” Ikkaku paused when he noticed how close you two were walking, and even in the distance, it was obvious when Kenpachi leaned down to place a long kiss on your lips. “Huh, so the captain actually likes his wife.”

“I think it’s more than just like.” Yumichika sighed with a smile when he saw you grab Kenpachi’s hand. “And she seems to feel the same way.”

“Man, I hope they don’t fuck in the middle of the garden.” Ikkaku grimaced moments later when you practically jumped into Kenpachi’s arms to kiss him. 

“Doubt it, it’s too cold to do that.”

“Is that why we haven’t done it in a while?”

“We are here in the middle of the night, idiot, that’s why.” Yumichika rolled his eyes as he elbowed Ikkaku in the ribs.

[leviscolwill]

i know i'm annoying, and i deeply apologise for that. but you have no idea how happy it'd make me if you wrote for ferran. I KNOW, i am a mad woman, i am aware..

i would die for this prompt

dialogue 9 : "are you wearing chapstick?"

i love you

cherry flavoured conversations ★

pairing: childhood bsf!ferran x reader

note: my lovely zowa, this is my first time writing for ferran, it’s quite short but i hope you’ll still like it. i love u so very much xx

now playing cherry flavoured by the neighbourhood…

winter holidays at the torres’ family house were always fun. you got to spend two entire weeks with your best friend and both your families, and your only concern was whether you should go ice skating, sledging, or just spend the day by the fireplace watching movies.

on the other hand, this time of the year was the hardest for you to hide your ever-growing feelings for your best friend. it was becoming increasingly harder to pretend you didn't feel anything past friendship while he was by your side pretty much 24/7.

it was one of those chilly nights, and you were having dinner with your families. ferran immediately got up when arantxa asked you to bring dessert to the table. his gentleman manners taking over, even though you clearly didn't need any help with the task.

ferran noticed you were significantly quieter than usual during dinner, lost in your own thoughts. your feelings were eating you alive, his smile, the sparkle in his eyes whenever he was talking to you only made your thoughts grow louder, and the irrevocable need to grab his shoulders and scream ‘can’t you see how much you mean to me?’ was only getting stronger.

his hand met yours before you could grab the plate, your eyes instinctively met his, filled with worry. “what did i do wrong y/n?”

ferran’s eyes didn't leave yours for a second, desperately searching for an answer in them. his hand was still on yours, his thumb drawing small circles on your skin.

“you didn't do anything wrong, i’m just feeling down tonight. please don’t worry fer.” from the look he gave you, you could tell he knew there was something else going on, but he didn't add a word.

when his eyes finally left yours, you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding, and noticed his eyes focused somewhere else; the ceiling.

ferran’s gaze fell back on you. he let go of your hand to point at where he was staring, right above the two of you.

mistletoe. you could tell it had been taped to the ceiling not so long ago, and you already had an idea of who was behind this idea. and what a cruel idea that was, what if ferran just outwardly expressed his disgust at the mere thought of kissing you? you didn't know if you’d be able to hold back the tears if it happened.

his hand tilted your chin up to make your eyes meet once again. his face was dangerously close to yours, so close you could count every beauty mark, every freckle on the face you adored.

“we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” his voice was soft, almost whisper-like. if you were to kiss, which ferran really wanted, he wished to share this moment with you and not with both your families eavesdropping on you like they always did around you.

unable to find the words to answer him, you stood on your tiptoes to close the gap between your lips. softly at first, afraid he would vanish into thin air like when you’d wake up from another vivid dream with him as the main character.

but none of that happened. ferran’s grip on your jaw only got tighter. yet his touch was still loving, just enough strength to show his yearning for you. when you finally pulled back from his enticing hold, ferran had a puzzled look on his face.

“are you wearing chapstick? it tastes like…” ferran licked his lips, trying to guess the flavour of your chapstick still lingering on his own lips.

he took the opportunity to kiss you again, lips meeting yours once again in a quick peck. “raspberry?”

you shake your head, faking a disappointed expression on your face. “cherry, close enough though.”

“can i get another cherry kiss before going back?” this unexpected chain of events almost made you forget what you were here for in the first place. you grabbed the plate, before kissing the corner of ferran's mouth. which brought a frown on his face, before remembering he’ll get other opportunities to get a better taste of your chapstick later.

when you both stepped back to the dining room, arantxa looked at you both with a knowing look before winking at you, not trying to hide her implication in the mysterious case of the mistletoe. while your parents were still in a deep conversation. unaware of the moment you just shared, the heat rushing on your face and ferran’s beet-red ears.

[leaawrites]

Little Life

Pairing: Enzo Berkshire x fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n and Enzo are talking about their future

Warnings: a lot of dialogue, possible grammar mistakes, fluff, fem reader, cuddling, mention of Y/n, no specific Hogwarts house, already established relationship

Wordcount: 0,5 k

Masterlist

Y/n never needed a lot to be happy. She had everything she wanted. A loving family, nice friends, a lovely boyfriend. She had nature and books and poetry. She learned something new every day and she was grateful for the lake on the school grounds that was so lovely to look at. She never wanted more. If she asked for more, what would she might get? She didn’t want to know. She didn’t need to know what could be. She was happy with what she had. But sometimes she wanted just a bit more in the future.

Enzo was never sure if she was just lying or being truly genuine when she told him about her dreams at night. The two would be cuddled up together and whenever one couldn’t sleep, the other would talk. Which was mostly Y/n. She liked talking to someone who was willing to listen, she didn’t know a lot of those people. People she would open up to like this.

“I want to live in a little cottage somewhere quiet. Near the forest, but not in the forest because that scares me. I want to live near a lake, where I can sit down at and read for ours. I want my own library. I want a nice bed, big enough for the two of us. I want books over books and records over records. I want to be save and I want to be loved. And I want to love,” If she would let herself she would tel him even more.

“What else?” Enzo asked her. Fascinated by how she could tell him so easily, that she wanted to have future with him. She wanted a future after Hogwarts.

He didn’t care how much she would tell him, he wanted to hear everything. Every word, every syllable. If he had to, he would also gladly listen to just the silence surrounding her.

“I want a white house, or a stone one. But not one like in London. Not one that you would find somewhere in some crowded street. And I want a hundred summer dresses. I want skirts and blouses and I want to have flowers everywhere. In the cold seasons, I want a fireplace. Something to keep us warm. I wanna write books and get money through that. I want to listen to music the whole day.” She stopped talking and looked up at him. He was already watching her, admiration decorating his eyes. “But you know what I want the most?” She asked him softly.

“What is it?” He asked back, having no idea what would come.

“You,” She answered simply. “I could have the most terrible life, but if it’s with you, it’d be worth it.”

“Are you serious?” The boy asked back. He’d never heard anyone say that in real life. It was always in books or movies where they would let their words be this honest. Y/n loved muggle rom-coms so he’s seen quite a few over the time and knew that she could be right out of one. He always knew that. She was just too perfect to him to even be real.

She only nodded her head. There were no words needed to confirm that she hadn’t lied once that day. She’d never lie to him.

“I adore you, I hope you know that,” Enzo said, making Y/n blush.

The girl buried her head in his chest, giggling in embarrassment.

“What? You can say something romantic, but I can?”

“No!” She said, still laughing. “You just take compliments better than me.”

[justcameheretobyler]

As a writer, I really doubt they won’t make Byler endgame.

I’m not that good with the cinematography hints or some other details like clothes or lighting.

But, the subtle way the characters interact, the lines they say, I always use that for foreshadowing and to imply a feeling the character is not able to express (or is not totally aware of it yet)

So, in this perspective, I was glad when I got introduced to Byler cuz Mike is my favorite in narrative speaking and some things from s3 and s4 were kind of off even knowing he’s a 16 years old kid and that could explain his flaws while growing up.

But the reason I liked Mike is for his awareness in moments of crisis his loved ones have and the leadership nature in him, also the fact he’s always a step ahead of any situation, specially when he needed to reassure Will or El how important they are for him and that they’ll be okay.

He also reassured Dustin he’s his best friend too.

That’s Michael.

So, why a character that cares so much for how his people are feeling, even with the trauma and his explosive reactions at times, how that kind of character would be so inconsistent with the two people he cares the most?

He needs to have a reason.

Mike is the heart of the party. I do think he’s a very important character for the writers.

So it cannot just be a coincidence or them trying to make him dirty.

He’s struggling, he’s suffering, so he’s messing up things that he can’t handle anymore.

He’s hiding something the audience could know if they pay attention, but the idea of a writer is that you don’t know it.

If you don’t know it, that’s better.

It makes me so happy when a reader comes to me like: omg I didn’t see that coming! But it makes sense!!

That’s what a writer wants, that’s what we’re looking for.

But it was too much deceiving, the GA couldn’t see it at all, so they had to literally say Will was in love with Mike. Cuz Will was the harder to read.

Even with the van scene people still can’t read the room.

So Noah had to literally say it out loud: WILL IS SO GAY AND IN LOVE WITH MIKE.

The writes know what they’re doing. They know the GA is convinced on the ElMike thing so the plotwist coming from Mike is easier and more interesting.

So, as a writer I just cannot see ElMike “happy ending” they got too messy and they don’t even try to show chemistry anymore (talking about their acting and dialogues). Which is not the same with Mike and Will scenes. You can say they take a good care of their lines and everything else.

I could talk about Will and El side, but I have seen enough posts about those two.

May be later.

[danfrik]

CAN I GET A WA-HOO??

I'm bacK, yes, you can all see that.

I finally finished this silly little drawing of mine and god I love it, and yes I'm going to make more drawings of them 'cause I have no self-control, also

HELLO, LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY

⚠️Spoilers ahead for both series⚠️

So... about those takes that I have about this two (and a few others that I plan on drawing, don't worry, we'll get there), well, you can see that Phoenix is Crowley while Miles is Aziraphale...

It makes sense, I swear-

At first I was thinking of them but reverse (Phoenix as Aziraphale and Miles as Crowley) because, ngl they could fit either role anyway.

But character-wise? I think this is the best, mostly because of interactions the four of them had on their respective series.

To give an example, this dialogue in Ace Attorney:

It feels strangely similar to Aziraphale's "hereditary enemies" dialogue in the first season.

I might need to write some things down or else I will forget, fuck- (I'm writing this without any plan, help)

But hear me out, I'm not crazy-

Just take a look at Aziraphale's and Miles' fashion sense, that old-timey style they both have (and it's even more obvious with Miles' debut suit), that stubborn personality and undying faith about their side (Prosecutor's Office and heaven), etc.

While Phoenix's and Crowley's personality are more care-free, going their own way, their own side, bluffing away their problems and always chasing or following their "best friend" anywhere.

Phoenix getting a law degree just so he can reach Miles and save him, Crowley always being there for Aziraphale when needed and saving him...

Do you see where I'm getting at?

Also, you remember that scene with the bookshop being on fire and Crowley thinking that Aziraphale was dead?

..."Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death."

Yeah... the only difference is that Aziraphale didn't dissapear for a whole year and much less left a cryptid ass note behind and it wasn't really his fault-

But the feeling is quite similar, isn't it?

Now, after all the sad or complex feelings aside, let's see more happy things that I noticed:

Crowley's fondness of children / Phoenix's habit of adopting kids anywhere he goes.

Aziraphale liking yellow because it reminds him of Crowley's eyes / Miles finding a particular shade of blue relaxing once in a while.

Crowley's tendency of following Aziraphale like a dog following its owner / Phoenix's constant chasing after Miles (and also having a dog-like personality.)

Aziraphale not admitting that Crowley is his friend (or that he likes his company) / Miles also not admitting Phoenix is his friend (or that he likes his company.)

Yeah... the pattern is getting more obvious the more you look at it...

But I guess this is enough for one post, if you read it all the way, thank you for indulging my delusional brain!

Any comments, requests or... anything, really, will be much appreciated :DD

(If there are some errors, mispellings or anything of the sort, feel free to correct me because even though I've been learning english since I was like five years old, still isn't my first language so yeah👍)