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dokyumms · 1 month ago

Text

operation: hug me

pairing: woozi x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.3k

cw: none? reader staying on that only-sleeping-with-a-stuffed-animal agenda, way too much backstory bc i yap

a/n: hey kings, writing this instead of a request as a late bday gift to my moot @lavoilee!! not sure who ur svt bias is so i chose randomly lolol, hope you enjoy!! getting back to doing requests in shorter amounts of time, i just had a hard time thinking of smth good for this haha

jihoon is a weird guy.

okay, let's rephrase that: he's been acting like a weird guy. you can't tell if he's mad at you or in love with you, and you're determined to find out what's up.

it all started one afternoon at a café with your friend. you were both chatting around, just catching up. as both of you sipped on your coffees, the topic had gone from work, to gossip, to... medical check ups?

"how've you been sleeping? 'cause i sure have not been sleeping well," she'd asked randomly, widening her eyes in exasperation and taking another sip of her drink.

"hasn't been that great for me either," you sighed truthfully, recalling the sleepless nights you'd been having since jihoon had been on tour and started promotions for his comeback right after. you were truly proud of him, but it sure did suck not having him to hold onto when he would stay at the studio for the night.

your friend giggled, "why? because your 'jihoonie' hasn't been home?" she teased, mocking the name you accidentally called him while she was over at your place a couple months ago. "oh my god, stop it." you slapped her on the shoulder.

"you know i'm right, though." she teased again, wavering when you glared at her. "okay, okay, but i'm being serious. i remember when my boyfriend went on a business trip i was up all night," she exaggerated, rolling her eyes when you raised an eyebrow at her "up all night as in tossing and turning till my alarm went off. anyways, i ended up buying a stuffed animal to replace him, and it worked! maybe i should start using that again..."

"hm, maybe that'll help," you pondered, writing a reminder to search for one before another conversation began to sprout out of your friend.

that evening, you spent yet another restless night looking through the internet, finally settling on a moderately sized stuffed animal of a black cat after a couple hours of searching. after typing down your (jihoon's) credit card number, your phone vibrated with a call from your boyfriend.

you set your laptop aside and accepted the call, "hoon?"

"hey, babe. um, na pd just kidnapped us again- i'm going to be in france for a week. i'm really sorry, i promise you i didn't know about it till today..."

it took everything in your power not to let out a sigh, but he seemed to tell.

"i understand if you're mad or suspicious, hell, i'd be too. let me facetime you so i can show you that i'm really being kidnapped."

you hummed in response, accepting the facetime call that popped up on your phone not a second later. it was laggy for sure, but you could tell he was at an airport and that hoshi and wonwoo were seated next to him. they both waved happily.

"sorry he couldn't be home y/n! don't get too mad at him- hey!" hoshi called, yelping when wonwoo slapped him.

"ignore him, you should be as mad as you please." wonwoo smiled before hoshi pounced on him. jihoon turned the camera back to him.

"yeah, that's how it's been going. i'll call you as often as i can, okay? i'll make it up to you somehow."

ugh, you couldn't be mad at that, so holding back a sigh, you put on the most undisappointed smile you could muster. "it's okay jihoon, have fun okay? send me lots of photos."

he smiled back, "okay, i love you. and it's late, go to sleep soon, please." he finally said, waiting for you to say it back before he waved a goodbye and hung up.

you flopped back on the couch in disappointment- another week of this? could you even take more of it? "at least i could put that thing to use," you thought as sleep finally began to take over.

two days later, you opened a brown box to reveal a vacuum sealed black blob. you wondered if you got scammed after cutting the plastic off to reveal a slightly less smushed black blob with cat ears. nonetheless, it was too late to return it now, so you just went on with your day, abandoning it in your room.

when you came back that evening, however, you were greeted by the cat you were promised in all of its stuffed glory. now that it was inflated, you could see that the money paid had been worth it. happy with your purchase, you quickly took a shower and got ready for bed.

by 11pm, you were in bed, wrapping up a facetime call with jihoon as the stuffed animal laid besides you. you were both saying your goodbyes when he noticed it next to you.

"did you get a cat?"

you let out a confused noise before looking around you to find the cat he was referring to.

"this? no, it's just a stuffed animal," you explained, holding up the cat plush and waving it in the camera.

"ah, i see. why'd you get it?"

"oh, you know... just to help..." you answered sheepishly in embarrassment. he raised an eyebrow at your answer then simply nodded.

"hm, well.. enjoy it while it lasts. goodnight to you, love you." he said quickly, hanging up right after, leaving you confused with a hand still on the cat.

"enjoy it while it lasts? how weird." you mumbled, sending a quick message in confusion before laying down. it was weird; with the stuffed animal underneath your arms, the bed all of the sudden seemed more comfortable, and a sudden feeling of coziness filled you. you felt less alone.

and before you were able to silence your phone, turn on white noise, everything you normally did to help you sleep, you were passed out.

so, with the success of that night, you began to sleep with it everyday. it really did seem to work, and you made a mental note to thank your friend when you saw her again.

before you knew it, it was the night before jihoon was said to return to korea. you sent him a message, telling him you were going to sleep and laid down with your newfound cuddle buddy. you wrapped your arms around the cat, and fell sound asleep within minutes.

this is where the weirdness began.

you woke up, stirring to the sound of your door opening to find jihoon in the room, suitcase in one hand and wearing a weird expression. it was weirdly neutral, yet still made you uneasy. he looked... mad?

"hoon? you said you weren't coming back till tomorrow.." you murmured. "why do you look like that?"

"look like what?"

"you look mad" you said truthfully, rubbing your eye to get a better look at him.

"i'm not mad? i think you're still sleepy." he said, walking over and joining you on the bed. he tried to get closer to you but was blocked by something. "what's this?"

"i told you, i got a stuffed animal." you answered sleepily holding it up in front of him. "hm, well you don't need it." he said, grabbing it and tossing it across the room.

"hey, be nice to juni."

"you named it??"

"yeah, so what. meanie." you told him, turning away from him. you weren't actually mad, about 5 seconds away from turning back around to hug him, but he sighed before you could do anything. he scooted closer, wrapping his arms around you and somehow getting (more like manhandling) you to turn around.

"babe, i'm sorry. i missed you a lot. i don't know why i threw the cat- i mean juni." he apologized sincerely before nuzzling into your neck, throwing you completely off guard.

you had not meant for him to take your 'sulking' seriously, and also, you two had never cuddled like this, with him being the little spoon. it wasn't that you minded, but jihoon was never big on physical affection in the first place, so it was odd, but nonetheless, you accepted it.

"hoonie, it's fine. i don't care about it that much," you giggled, stroking his hair. "i'm just glad you're home, you came earlier than i thought." you commented. he nodded in response. "just wanted to surprise you." is all he said, snuggling into you further before knocking out.

the only problem was that after about a week of sleeping with the cat, it sort of became a habit, so the same thing happened for the next 3 days. you would fall asleep with the cat, wake up to jihoon looking mad at you, and then he would start cuddling with you as if he was a whole different person.

which leads you to now.

instead of consulting with him like a normal person, you decide to go to your friend, the same one who suggested getting the stuffed animal in the first place.

"isn't it obvious?" she says after hearing your story. you're both at the same café, sipping the same drinks and everything. you look at her in confusion. "if it was obvious, i don't think i'd be asking? come on, just tell me." you plead, desperate to get your boyfriend to stop scaring you in the middle of the night.

"fine, fine. i'll tell you... he obviously wants you to cuddle with him!"

"yeah, that's what we've been doing. for the past 4 years we've been dating" you deadpan, but she just rolls her eyes at you. "okay yeah, but not like that." she explains, rolling her eyes again when you're dumbfounded.

"he wants you to cuddle with him like how you cuddle that cat! duh! is that not how you hug it or what?" she exaggerates, nearly standing up at how oblivious you are. you take a minute to think back to the last couple nights.

huh, maybe she's right (again? seriously, you got to stop boosting her ego). you normally slept with the stuffed animal with it tucked under your head, was jihoon really jealous of that? come to think of it, he'd always been the big spoon, but it's not like you two had assigned roles to each other or anything, so why would he wait so long just for you to cuddle with him like that? must be some weird double standard bullshit.

anyways, now you have a plan. the goal? to get jihoon to admit his fears once and for all (and partially for him to stop looking at you weirdly in the middle of the night).

when you get home, jihoon's passed out on the couch. not a problem. you go along with your day, finish some coursework, and then get ready for bed. essentially, you do everything you'd do on a normal day, but when it's time for bed, you call out for your boyfriend.

"jihoon! shouldn't you go shower?" you ask. he groans from the living room, shuffling around before entering the bedroom, opening some drawers and pulling out random clothes from it. "i'll be back soon," he says, entering the bathroom. "i'll wait for you～" you sing song back.

only 15 minutes later, he's walking out of the bathroom in his usual sleep wear, no shirt and black shorts. if this had been around 4 years ago when you started living together, you would've gawked at the sight, but by now you were used to it (more like, you learned how to control your reaction).

you put down your phone and watch intently as he walks over. "why are you looking at me like that-" he's cut off mid-question when you drag him onto the bed as soon as he's close enough.

he lands with an 'oomph' and you use all your strength to pull him so he's tucked into you. you honestly think he's going to pop straight back up, but he doesn't, simply complying and cuddling closer to you.

"do you like this?" you ask, holding him close. he seems taken aback; his breath hitches against your neck, and there's a long silence before he answers. "um..."

"i knew it! why didn't you just say so baby?" you say, almost teasingly. he groans, but doesn't push back. if anything, he gets closer, trying to hide the obvious flush that starts to spread across his face. you don't tease him any further, deciding he's embarrassed enough, and simply continue to hold him in a comfortable silence.

"but seriously, why didn't you tell me? i have no problem with it." you ask after a while, looking down to check if he's even awake when a minute passes without an answer. he looks up at you shyly before explaining.

"i didn't even know i liked it until i came home and saw you hugging that thing, really. i guess i was jealous of it? i couldn't tell until i was in that position and realized that i enjoyed it. it felt weird to ask for it, so i just waited till you were.. dazed? god, that sounds bad." he says, putting his head down at the last sentence.

you laugh, "what?? i didn't know you were so evil my hoonie." you tease, letting him break free from your grasp and use juni to smack you in the face. and you decide you're not taking that, so a pillow fight breaks out, except he's still clutching onto the cat with his life, not letting it go as he swings at you. before long, you both give up, landing on the bed, sweating and hearts pounding.

you're both laying on your back, staring up at the ceiling. "wow, it's really been awhile since i did that." he comments, turning his head at you. maybe that's only something you hear in movies, but you don't care. "come over here, you sappy guy."

he listens, rolling over and letting you tuck him into your chest. "your sappy guy, right?" he asks, voice vibrating against you.

"my sappy guy? maybe i should've been doing this from the start-" and he's hitting you again.

766 notes · View notes

mariasont · 3 months ago

Note

hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘

Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself

wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)

a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!

Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.

You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.

Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.

He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.

What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you, one you didn't want to name, had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.

But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).

The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.

Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course — Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy — but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.

It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.

His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under — okay. Enough.

The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.

He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was, sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.

He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in, not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.

You sigh, loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart? There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.

You toss the magazine onto the table, just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there, only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.

You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.

You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle, just a natural consequence of your posture.

Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him, memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:

He's absolutely a boob man.

You realized it gradually, the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.

Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed, they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.

His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras, he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.

But it wasn't until months later, when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin, that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.

"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"

His eyes lift — quick, practiced, almost indifferent.

Almost.

Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.

But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.

You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.

Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.

You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.

You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.

Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.

"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.

Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."

"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."

His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."

You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare.

"You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"

"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"

"I don't know. Is that an option?"

Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud, it doesn't have to be, but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.

"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."

You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.

"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"

Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."

You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"

His answer is immediate. Too immediate.

"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."

"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.

You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters — just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."

A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything.

You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it.

He's humoring you, and that's fine.

You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.

His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.

"Sit still."

"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.

"Sweetheart."

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."

Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long.

His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach.

His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.

His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.

You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.

You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear.

"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"

His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.

"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."

Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."

You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.

The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.

"I told you to stop," he murmurs. He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"

You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.

"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."

His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.

"First, you sprawled out on the couch —" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."

Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.

His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.

"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these —" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "— right in my face."

Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.

"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"

Suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop.

A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.

"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."

Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."

His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.

The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.

"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."

His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."

And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns — your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."

Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.

The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.

And then he finds you.

His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.

"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."

Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.

His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.

"Aaron —" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

"I didn't mean to —" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just —" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."

"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.

"Please."

His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.

Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.

You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.

You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.

And then — he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.

"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.

But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then — oh.

He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?

It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.

"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.

His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then — he presses deeper.

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.

"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"

You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.

"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"

"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"

Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.

"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.

"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"

His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.

He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."

It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.

He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming — the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.

You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.

"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."

His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.

"Don’t move yet."

Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher — "I want to make sure it sticks."

You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything —the fullness, every drop of his cum —settles in.

Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him.

"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this, enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.

"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."

You nod, or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.

He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.

"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.

"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no — hold on."

His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.

"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."

His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.

"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.

It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are.

You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.

When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary — just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.

"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.

"Wow?"

"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."

A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.

And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.

"You said something earlier."

You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.

Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it.

"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does —"

You shift slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.

"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"

"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.

His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back.

"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."

His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."

Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.

He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.

You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.

"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."

"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."

"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."

His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."

Your brows furrow. "It does?"

"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes, even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."

"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else, everything outside of that, is temporarily shut out. When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."

Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.

His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."

Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.

"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.

You blink. "Uh... sleep?"

He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."

Your face warms. "That's just —,"

"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."

"I —,"

"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"

You swallow.

"No."

"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."

"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."

Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.

"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches, not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.

You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.

Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."

You shake your head quickly, sniffling.

"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.

He smirks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just, I feel very loved and now I have to process that."

"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"

"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."

His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"

You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."

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solsticehymns · 2 months ago

Text

one thousand kisses later... oneshot (hogmarch 2025!)

james potter x f!reader / fluff / established relationship

part of the hogmarch challenge (week 2) arranged by the lovely @thatdammchickennugget!!! <333

summary: “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to laugh.” James Potter has been keeping track of every kiss you’ve ever given him—because of course he has. Now, with just six left before he hits a thousand, he’s determined to reach that milestone. The only problem? You’re having way too much fun making him really work for it.

a/n: i got the idea for this one thinking of what he could be admitting after the dialogue and this came to mind. counting kisses because this man is so sentimental he would so. and reader just being so used to it. and then the kisses section rly got away from me lolol i loved LOVED writing this omfg thank you again to the challenge creator!!! mwah mwah all my love, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 2953

James’ thumb traces slow, deliberate circles against your knuckles, the movement as instinctive as the steady cadence of his breath beside you. The warmth of his palm, the firm yet unspoken assurance in his touch, anchors you in the present—effortless, like muscle memory. Evenings like these have become a ritual, a quiet communion where words feel secondary to the intimacy of shared silence.

Above, the Quidditch pitch sprawls vast and unoccupied, its expanse dwarfed beneath a sky unfurling in a never-ending tapestry of stars. The crisp night air carries the scent of freshly cut grass, lingering traces of broomstick polish, and the ghost of rain that had slicked the field earlier. The stadium lights have long since faded, surrendering the landscape to the moon’s silvery luminance, which pools in soft highlights along the dewy terrain.

It’s quiet here, just the two of you stretched out on the damp grass, hands loosely intertwined in the space between.

You sneak a glance at him from the corner of your eye, taking in the disheveled mess of his hair, still windswept from practice, the faint pink tinge clinging to his cheeks from the lingering chill in the air. He looks entirely at ease, legs bent, arms sprawled, a lazy grin flickering at the edges of his lips as he watches the sky.

You love him like this. When he isn’t performing, when he isn’t the center of attention, when he doesn’t have to make anyone laugh. Just James—warm, familiar, effortlessly yours.

The two of you stay like this for a while, breathing in sync, the steady rise and fall of his chest a quiet rhythm beside you. Every few minutes, he gives your hand a soft squeeze, an unconscious gesture, a silent acknowledgment. You squeeze back each time, matching him, a wordless conversation neither of you ever need to speak aloud.

Then, breaking the comfortable stillness, James exhales an exaggerated sigh. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to laugh.”

You smirk, finally turning your head fully toward him. “James Potter, you have never been serious a day in your life.”

He shifts onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you properly. In the dim glow of moonlight, his hazel eyes gleam, filled with something playful—but beneath it, something softer, something careful. “No, really.”

You sigh, dragging out the moment, feigning reluctance. “Fine. Go on.”

James inhales like he’s bracing himself, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly before he finally says, completely serious, "I've been keeping track of every single time you've kissed me."

You blink. Then again, slower this time. “I’m sorry—what?”

He flops onto his back, eyes tracing the constellations overhead, as if the sheer vastness of the sky will make this any less absurd. “I have a tally.”

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “You are actually insane, Potter.”

He turns his head toward you, wearing that signature lopsided grin, his expression utterly remorseless. “994.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow, squinting at him. “994 what?”

“Kisses.” His grin widens as he lifts your joined hands, pressing an overly dramatic kiss to your knuckles. “Which means, darling, I am only six away from one thousand. A truly historic milestone.”

You groan, flopping back onto the grass with a laugh. “Unbelievable.”

“I prefer devoted,” he corrects, completely unbothered, his fingers remaining wrapped around yours. “And if you cared about me at all, you’d help me reach my goal before the end of tonight.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think so?”

“I know so,” he replies, full of confidence, dimples appearing as he smiles.

You hum, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. No, I think I’d rather let you suffer a little. Really let the anticipation build.”

He gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just betrayed him. “Cruel.”

“I prefer entertaining,” you tease, flashing him a mischievous grin. “You’ll get your kisses. Savor the wait, Potter.”

His eyes narrow slightly, analyzing you. “So you’re actually making me wait?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

He tilts his head like he’s already scheming. “Unless I can change your mind.”

You scoff. “Good luck with that.”

His grin turns downright devious. “Oh, I do love a challenge.”

Kiss #995

James is entirely serious about his tally, which becomes glaringly apparent when he slides into his usual seat at the Gryffindor table the next morning, eyes locked onto you with painstaking expectation. He props an elbow on the table, rests his chin in his hand, and simply stares as you butter your toast.

You glance up, then do a slow double take at the unwavering intensity. “Oh, you were serious about that?”

“Deadly,” he replies without hesitation. “994 and counting.”

Sirius, mid-bite of toast, pauses to squint at him. “Counting what, exactly?”

“His kiss tally,” you announce flatly, taking a measured sip of pumpkin juice. “Apparently, we’re now operating on a quota system.”

As if synchronized, Sirius and Remus exchange a look before collapsing into laughter.

“Oh, mate,” Sirius wheezes, shaking his head as he shoves his plate of eggs toward James. “You actually told her?”

James shrugs. “She had to know eventually.”

Remus smirks. “And you thought she’d be the one embarrassed?”

You roll your eyes, sliding your plate toward James. “Alright, tally-keeper. If you want your precious milestone, make yourself useful—get me another slice of toast.”

James brightens immediately. “Consider it done.”

With the reflexes of a seasoned Seeker, he snatches a fresh slice from Remus’ plate and drops it onto yours before leaning in expectantly, lips already pursed.

You shake your head, fighting back a fond smile, and indulge him with a quick kiss. “Satisfied?”

“995,” he sighs, blissfully, as he leans back against the bench. “We’re so close.”

Sirius groans dramatically, tipping his head back. “Oh, come on. That was way too easy! If he’s this invested, you’ve got to make him work for it.”

Remus nods sagely. “You hold all the power here. He should be earning every single one.”

You hum, tapping your chin in mock consideration. “You know, that’s actually a fair point.”

James sits up straight, immediately on high alert. “Now, hold on—”

Sirius claps a hand on your shoulder, grinning. “We expect great things from you.”

James groans, dropping his forehead onto the table. “Oh, have mercy.”

Remus pats his back sympathetically. “You’ve made your bed, mate. Now you’ve got to lie in it.”

Kiss #996 (and #997)

After breakfast—and after the Marauders’ relentless teasing—you and James make your way to Transfiguration, his grumbling uninterrupted for the entire walk. He’s still dramatically lamenting how unfairly the odds have been stacked against him, as if he’s the victim in all this.

“You do realize,” he murmurs as you both slip into your usual seats, “that I could just steal a kiss at any time, right?”

You smirk, casually setting out your parchment. “And yet,” you say, deliberately slow, “here you are. Kissless.”

James lets out a deep, suffering sigh, dropping his forehead onto the desk like he’s been mortally wounded.

Professor McGonagall strides in before he can argue further, commanding immediate silence. The class shifts into its usual rhythm—quills scratching against parchment, the occasional hum of animated transfigurations occurring at the front of the room. You fall into effortless focus, copying notes with the kind of diligence that James very clearly lacks.

A nudge against your elbow. Not subtle.

You glance over. James, unsurprisingly, is not paying attention. Instead, he’s scribbling something on your parchment, his handwriting as unruly as his hair:

Trade you one (1) kiss for my Transfiguration notes.

You roll your eyes but can’t help peeking at his parchment. His notes are… shockingly thorough. Surprisingly detailed. Suspiciously unlike him.

James notices the hesitation, taps the page with his quill, eyes alight with mischief. “Fair trade,” he mouths.

You pretend to deliberate, then—slowly, deliberately—write beneath his offer:

Two (2) kisses if you write mine for me.

James’ grin spreads instantly. Without hesitation, he grabs your parchment, setting to work with uncharacteristic dedication—quill moving far more efficiently than it ever does for his own assignments. His tongue peeks out slightly in concentration, brows furrowed, utterly determined. You bite back a smile.

When he finally slides your parchment back—smug, expectant, practically vibrating with anticipation—you lean in, just enough to keep him waiting.

Then, in the quietest, quickest motion, you brush a kiss against his cheek before returning to your notes like nothing happened.

James blinks, stunned.

“That’s one,” you whisper, barely hiding a smirk.

James, gaping at you: “You—That was a scam.”

Professor McGonagall clears her throat. James snaps his mouth shut immediately, though his expression remains scandalized as you calmly return to note-taking like you hadn’t just completely outplayed him.

You don’t need to look at him to know he’s already plotting revenge.

And sure enough, the moment you step out of the classroom, he steals both the kisses you promised—996 and 997—before you can even protest.

Kiss #998

The next class of the day stretches on, your quill gliding across the parchment as you meticulously record every detail of the lecture. The words flow effortlessly, your focus unbroken, absorbed entirely in the rhythm of note-taking. You don’t notice much beyond the steady murmur of the professor’s voice and the quiet scratch of ink on paper.

James, however, is only half-listening. His quill spins idly between his fingers, forgotten, as his gaze drifts between you and the clock. The world hums in the background, distant and unimportant, because you have become the only thing worth noticing. The furrow of your brow when concentration takes hold, the way your lip catches between your teeth as if to keep a thought from escaping—he sees it all.

And, most importantly, he hears the quiet grumble of your stomach.

Without hesitation, James reaches into his bag, retrieving a small treacle tart he had swiped from breakfast. It’s neatly wrapped in a napkin, still intact despite the journey through his books and ink bottles. He had pocketed it earlier without a second thought, knowing with absolute certainty that you’d need it by now.

Without a word, he slides it across the desk toward you.

You blink, startled out of your focus, finally looking up. “Did you just—”

He doesn’t even glance at you. “You’ll get cranky if you don’t eat.”

For a moment, you just stare at him. It’s such a small thing, so automatic, so unspoken. He hadn’t tried to make a joke out of it, hadn’t even looked for acknowledgment—just noticed, and acted.

Your heart does a double flip, and before you can think twice, you reach out, and with a hand on each of his cheeks, squish them together until his lips pucker up. James barely has time to make a sound of protest before you press a quick, warm kiss to his ridiculously smooshed lips, then release him just as fast.

James freezes.

“Wait—” He blinks, visibly processing. “That counted?”

You pop a bite of the treacle tart into your mouth, smirking. “That counted.”

James grins like he’s just won a bloody Quidditch final.

Then, leisurely, like he’s savoring the moment, he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. "Finally. A hard-earned kiss."

You roll your eyes, turning back to your notes. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Potter.”

And James? James spends the rest of the lesson plotting increasingly elaborate acts of kindness, just in case it earns him another one.

Kiss #999

By the time classes end, the courtyard is bathed in golden afternoon light, the air crisp with the lingering bite of autumn. It should be the perfect setting for productivity—a quiet place to focus, to get ahead on assignments. That, at least, was your plan.

James Potter, however, has other ideas.

At first, his distractions are subtle. He leans in under the pretense of “helping” with your notes, pretending to read over your shoulder, though he clearly isn’t absorbing a word. His breath tickles your ear, his presence a warm, familiar weight beside you.

Then, his tactics escalate—stealing your quill, doodling nonsense in the margins of your parchment, dramatically balancing a book on his head as though this is some great test of skill rather than his latest attempt at entertainment.

You warn him once.

You warn him twice.

By the third time, you snap your book shut with a sigh of exaggerated patience.

“James,” you say, rubbing your temples, “if you can sit still for ten minutes, I will consider granting you number 999.”

James immediately straightens, eyes gleaming. “Done.”

What follows is the most excruciating ten minutes of his life.

You watch—completely entertained—as he physically battles his own nature. His leg bounces uncontrollably, his fingers twitch on the table, his lips part and press together over and over as he stops himself from talking at the last second. He looks like he’s about to explode.

At eight minutes and twenty seconds, he officially breaks.

“I can’t—just kiss me!” he exclaims, dramatically flinging his quill across the grass. He throws his hands up, eyes wide with sheer, unbearable suffering, looking every bit like a man on the brink of collapse.

You burst out laughing, so hard your shoulders shake. James looks desperate, betrayed—like you’ve asked him to endure some great personal tragedy.

“Merlin,” you wheeze, “that was genuinely pathetic.”

James grabs your hands, shaking them slightly, his tone genuinely bordering on begging: “Please.”

Still laughing, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, indulging him just enough to make up for his suffering. The dramatic groan of relief that escapes him is so ridiculous that you feel it vibrate against your mouth.

“Very cruel,” he murmurs when you pull away, eyes shining with amusement.

“You love it,” you whisper back.

James sighs, grinning. “I do.”

From a nearby bench, Remus casually flips a page in his book. Without looking up, he deadpans, “Wow. You should do that anytime you want him to shut up.”

Kiss #1000

The rest of the day had passed without James mentioning it—not once. No expectant looks, no teasing remarks, no casual attempts to steal it early. If anything, you were the one avoiding the topic now. The thought lingered in the back of your mind, a quiet weight you weren’t quite sure how to shake.

The common room is nearly empty by the time the moment finally comes. The fire in the hearth has burned low, its embers casting a soft, flickering glow across the worn-out couches and the red-and-gold tapestries lining the walls. Outside, the castle is quiet, the usual evening hum of students fading into the slow hush of late-night stillness.

James is beside you, his back against the armrest of the couch, legs stretched out, looking for all the world like he has no worries at all. His hair is messier than usual, falling over his forehead in unruly waves, and there’s something so familiar, so achingly easy about the way he sits there, watching you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room.

Not once has he said, One more to go, love. Just get it over with, darling, make my year.

And for some reason, that makes your heart beat just a little too fast.

You shift slightly beside him, curling your legs up onto the couch, closer than before. The fire crackles softly, casting long shadows across the floor, and you suddenly realize your hands are fidgeting in your lap.

James notices. Of course he does.

“You alright?” he asks, voice quieter than usual.

You nod, but your pulse jumps when his fingers brush over yours—just briefly, just enough to make you look up. Hazel eyes meet yours, warm and waiting, patient in a way that makes your chest ache.

And suddenly, it almost feels like the nervousness of a first kiss, only it’s been a thousand. You wet your lips, heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

"You ready for number one thousand?"

James exhales, a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh. But it’s not cocky, not teasing. It’s something softer, something real.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’ve been ready for a while.”

The words settle between you, quiet and golden, and suddenly the air feels thick—charged in a way that makes your stomach flutter. This is different. Not just another kiss to add to the tally. Not just a number.

You lean in, slow, uncertain—but James stays perfectly still. Waiting. Letting you choose. Letting you want it.

And oh, you do.

So you close the distance, pressing your lips to his, and it’s not hurried, not teasing, not playful. It’s gentle, like something delicate settling into place. James exhales against you, like he’s been holding his breath for longer than either of you realized. His hand lifts, fingertips ghosting over your cheek, as if he’s afraid to touch too much and break the moment.

When you finally part, you stay close, foreheads nearly touching, his breath warm against your lips.

James lets out a soft, breathless laugh. “Worth the wait.”

You smile, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his sweater. “Yeah.”

Neither of you move away.

Outside, the castle sleeps, the fire flickers, and James just looks at you like he already knows this is one of those moments he’s going to remember forever.

Then, after a beat, his lips twitch into a grin. "Can't wait for a million."

You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh as you nudge his shoulder. "Merlin, Potter, you really think you're getting that many?"

James grins, leaning in just a little, voice warm with certainty. "I plan on earning every single one."

☀️🌻 masterlist

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worstgenerationloser · 6 months ago

Note

hi! live your writing. could you do a zoro x reader where zoro gets jealous? (but over someone who isn’t sanji just cause i feel like he’d be used to his antics by now lolol)

sorry if it’s too specific, hope you’re well !

,, Jealousy ''

Zoro x GN! Reader

Contains... no established relationship! mutual pining that ends in confession(zoro thinks hes nonchalant and its funny) slight crack.

A/N... this was fun to write!!

Zoro sighed heavily, eyeing you way too obviously. He was sat a bit away from you, but it felt like he was breathing right down your neck, you could almost feel the ghost of his breath seeping into your clothes. What the hell was he staring at? Was it you? Usopp froze mid-sentence, eyes full of terror as they looked behind you. His teeth chattered, his finger pointing up above your head. The moment you tilted your head upwards, you saw a familiar arm reach above you, grabbing at the bottle of sake on the table, before retreating.

"Yikes! He had a super scary look in his eyes..."

Usopp paused, before clearing his throat and speaking back up.

"Your precious swordsman boyfriend must be jealous! Hah, it must be because he knows none can resist my charm, for I, C—"

"Boyfriend?!"

You spat out your drink, directly spraying it onto Usopp's face, and you swore you heard a stifled laugh behind you.

"Well... Yeah, me, Nami, Franky, Robin, and even Chopper all know Zoro and you have a thing going on! Uh, are you two not... Oh, this is awkward. Forget I said anything!" Usopp's jaw went slack, his eyes darting from you to the swordsman sat a bit behind you. He sighed deeply, that look in his eyes again. No, it wasn't love, it was that stupid look he got when he was ready to spew another little lie about himself, not that you minded, though. You quickly pressed your palm to his mouth, silencing him with a glare that matched Zoro's own.

"Usopp... What do you mean? I mean, do you really think Zoro would— With me?" You whispered, shoulders tensing up as you glanced over your shoulder, making sure the man in question couldn't overhear your conversation. "Wait, what did you mean jealous? Do you really think he would—" You gasped, releasing Usopp's mouth from the confines of your palm.

"Ah... Let's just talk in private... Can't let any prying eyes see..."

Zoro choked up, eyes bulging when he just barely managed to hear Usopp's words. Away from prying eyes? Talk in private? He must be hearing things, otherwise he would have to believe that—

Were you and Usopp... Sneaking around together? Him? God Usopp? Really? Usopp the liar?!

When he snapped out of his trance, you two had dissapeared, leaving Zoro all alone. Did Usopp really... Just take the person he thought would be his? How could he lose you to Usopp of all people? I mean, Usopp is his friend, his crewmate, and they'd been together through tons of things, Zoro had lots of good things to say about Usopp! Just...

"How could they fall in love with... Usopp of all people?"

He held his head in his hands, eye firmly closed shut alongside his other. He was having a mental crisis right now, and he hoped nobody would interrupt him so he could safely wallow in misery. The whisper of Zoro's voice wasn't heard by ears other than his own, his fear of you slipping through his grasp... Could such a nightmare really be brought to life? He was sure it was, and he didn't try to stop and use his brain, which had collected a considerable amount of dust. For once, the bottle of sake left his hand, and it felt like there was an aura of sadness around him.

You shook Usopp by the shoulders, his head flopping back and forth as he pleaded with you to stop shaking him, and when you did, he took a deep breath in. As he exhaled, he looked back, then side to side, a little more paranoid than usual.

"Ah... So, you don't know? That... Ah, forget that! You and Zoro aren't a thing?" Usopp bumbled, fumbling over his words and looking at you as if you were a foreigner. Trying to think of any situation where Zoro and you could have sent that message to others, your mind blanked. Was it when you two would venture off on the newest island together? Was it when you would share food? Certainly not...

"Ah... No? Zoro wouldn't— He doesn't think of me that way..." You sighed, sure of yourself, no matter how sad it sounded. Usopp's mouth opened and closed like a fish for a few moments, before his eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, before, with a sigh, Usopp gently placed his hands on your shoulders.

"Respectfully..."

"YOU'RE A DUMBASS!!!"

He yelled loudly in your face, prompting you to hit him square on the head, almost knocking him out. With a stumble, he fell backwards onto his ass, head lugging side to side before he shook himself straight, attempting to stand back up without falling over again. Your eye twitched with annoyance, it felt like your head was still ringing from the noise... Shit, wait! Could Zoro have heard? You gasped, head turning back around towards the direction you left the green-haired swordsman, before verifying his head was still where it had been previously. Wait, wasn't that just a fancy trimmed tree? Where did Zoro go?

You turned back around, your heart already fallen to your ass. You looked at Usopp, who was currently dusting himself off, with a terrified expression.

"Usopp."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Zoro's gone."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Zoro isn't in his chair anymore."

Exchanging a look with Usopp, you two ran off in a hurry, frantically looking around at the townspeople.

"You go left! I'll go right!"

How long had it been since you've seen the swordsman? Three hours. You've even circled back to the area he disappeared from, and he wasn't there, neither was his bottle of sake. Three hours, and you didn't even get to finish that conversation with Usopp... Why did he call you a dumbass anyway? It felt like you were missing something, and you didn't like it... The feeling of dread bubbling in your stomach worsened each time your busy brain thought back to Zoro, calling out his name in the street, before reluctantly deciding to take a break, plopping down on a bench.

"Ah. Hey, Y/N."

"Hey—" You paused.

"ZORO?!"

You screamed as loud as your throat could let you, head whipping around to look the man himself in the eye. He flinched at your scream, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, hand rubbing the nape of his neck. Was he here this whole time? You weren't sure, but he was the reason your feet and legs ached from walking for hours, so I guess it didn't matter that much, anyways.

"You- You!" Finger pointed, you pressed it into his cheek, though you withdrew almost immediately once you realized you were touching him, clearing your throat and leaning back, trying your best to emulate his coolness. It was mostly unnoticed by you, but Zoro seemed to... Blush. "Me? I was looking for you guys, but I... I got lost." He mumbled the last part under his breath, still embarrassed wven though everybody knew he had a terrible sense of direction, one second on an island, he would end up on the next. Swallowing your breath, you sighed.

"Why were you looking for us?" A soft question left your lips, and Zoro's eyes narrowed.

"Sorry, I know you and Usopp want to spend as much time as you want together. You know, considering..." Zoro trailed off, sucking in air through his teeth, his hand aiding his words, deep and soft. He wasn't sure how to put it into words without sounding totally jealous, which, he definitely wasn't! He would absolutely not ever envy anybody's relationship... Besides yours.

"Considering?" Your brow raised.

"Tch. Considering you'd rather spend time with Usopp." The words came out like venom, and a worried look came over his face, hand flying over his mouth as Zoro yelped a curse, turning his head away immediately in embarrassment. While, you, on the other hand, attempted to process his words. Zoro watched your bewildered expression, before speaking up oncemore.

"Shit, I didn't mean to word it like that. I was saying, since you and Usopp are in a relationship, that—"

Your hand flew to your mouth, and you began to dry heave. Worried, Zoro placed his hand gently on your back, leaning over to check if you were okay, your body lurched forward. Did... Zoro think that... You and Usopp were an item? What was up with today and people thinking you're dating somebody you're not?! I mean, no offense to Usopp but there's no way you could be with him! He would throw you infront of an enemy to save himself in a heartbeat.

"I'm- Zoro, why do you think I'm dating Usopp?! I don't like him like that!" Insistently shaking your head, you shuddered, just the thought of being in a relationship with Usopp... A chill ran through your whole body, pooling at your spine. Zoro's brows furrowed, and his mouth hung open. The setting sun allowed a little more darkness to flood into the city, wings of birds flapping by, chatter of scattered townspeople... But, you didn't hear Zoro talk for a while.

"Listen— I like somebody, but he isn't Usopp, just to be clear."

You sat up straight, turning away from Zoro, eyes set on a small piece of cracked concrete.

"He?" Zoro questioned.

Shit. Now Zoro knew your crush was a guy. And if he knew it was him... Ah, you didn't want to imagine it! Zoro was your friend, you would even go as far to say he's as important to you as Luffy was, considering Luffy is your captain... If you put somebody so high up on a pedestal, things such as rejection and dislike can really hurt coming from them... It's worse when it's your crush, really.

"Uh..." You trailed off. You had no words. Really, what could you say? Maybe something like 'Oh, Zoro! I love you so much! You are my lifeline! Please kiss me!' and tongue it out or something, but unfortunately this was your life and you couldn't spontaneously engage a makeout session with somebody with a few words. Could you? No, unless you're as beautiful as Boa Hancock, then you can't, why would you even think that? The trail of negative thoughts in your head were interrupted by the cause of them.

"Oh... Well, if you're embarrassed or something... Don't be. I like somebody too, actually. They're a good friend of mine." Zoro sounded nonchalant and tough per usual, but really, his whole body was stiff and he was glad you had your back turned, he wouldn't be able to look you in the eyes if you saw how shaky his hands were. Though he was nervous, you felt like you had been punched in the the gut, your crush has a crush on somebody, too, and apparently they're a good friend...Then, between Luffy, Usopp, Robin, and... Well, the whole crew, none of them seemed possible, and upon the realization, you had a feeling.

Was it you? Did your crush like you back? Or did he have somebody else in mind? He had never blushed looking at anybody, never stammered around them, never got embarrassed when they watched... You had a feeling it was you, your gut tried to tell you, but you didn't want to believe it. You stayed silent for a long time, thinking back to Usopp's words.

Usopp called Zoro your boyfriend, and he also mentioned that almost the whole crew assumed that you two were dating... You peeked over your shoulder, watching Zoro's hands shake, his tanned skin slowly growing red.

Oh. Then... He did? You definitely didn't have the balls to ask him straight up, so... Maybe he would tell?

"They're a... Friend? Then, is it somebody on the crew?" You questioned, turning your head back around the second Zoro's began to move. Your body was tense, and anxiety had you in a grip so tight you swore your ribs would cave in on you, it was terrifyingly quiet for a moment, before Zoro started to talk to you again. "Yes. It's... They're..." With a clenched Jaw, Zoro tried to spit the right words out, but he couldn't. He miserably failed in acting nonchalant, and now he couldn't even confess properly.

Despite the clear signs, it had you wondering. Did he like Sanji or something, instead? If so, it would be embarrassing for you... You giggled at the small joke you made to yourself inside your head, before focusing back on reality.

"Would... It make you mad if I said I had a crush on you? Considering you already like somebody, that is." He cleared his throat, arms raising to rest on the back of the bench, failing miserably to look effortlessly cool, as he always did. A warm, deep blush spread to his face, his heart pounding faster than it had ever before, and he was embarassed. Zoro didn't want to screw things up, bur he knew it was now or never.

"Zoro..."

Here it was, the rejection he feared so deeply.

"Actually, I feel the same way. I just didn't know if you thought of me like that, considering you're always so... Cool. I didn't know if I deserved to have my feelings heard by you, so I tried to stay quiet but I guess in the end I ended up telling you." You spoke, breathing out a deep sigh of relief, turning around to face him. You had to, there was no use being cowardly now, afterall, you weren't Usopp. Zoro was already staring back at you, a bewildered expression strewn across his face, but you also noticed how flushed and red his cheeks were, almost as if he was feverish. You sat together in silence for a while, the moon itching to show off above you two.

"So... Does this mean that... You wanna try, y'know, being together...?" If you hadn't realized how awkward Zoro was before, you definitely do now. His hands seemed to obviously shake, the world seemed to stop. This was a dream come true, and you were struggling to grasp with the fact that it wasn't some false reality. "Ah! Yes! Of course!" You yelped, answering a little too abruptly and enthusiastically, making Zoro grin wider than he had ever before. This newfound thrill they called love was sure to aid Zoro greatly.

He hugged you, big arms wrapped around your body, it wasn't anything romantic or sensual, it was a hug purely sparked from joy, and it was entirely Zoro.

"There you are!"

A panting Usopp yelled, huffing and puffing as he stopped infront of you two, but the moment he caught his breath to get a good look at you two, his eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

"EEK! THEY WERE KISSING!"

You promptly kicked Usopp, eyes narrowed. Zoro chuckled, looking down at you, blush still strewn across his face. You still weren't sure if this was real, but the next day, you found out it was indeed very, very real, considering the embarrassment you got from the crew teasing you was very much felt.

END.

#zoro roronoa x you #zoro x you #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x y/n

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starcrossedxwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Wicked Fantasies Part 11.1 (MBJ x OC)

A/N: Ummm so welcome backkk! This is 11.1 because there's a second part to this chapter (I know... my self control keeps getting worse lolol) But I hope you enjoy!

TW: grief

“I’m never fucking drinking again,” Raven moaned to herself as she stumbled out of the comforts of bed. She felt like hell, if hell had a truck run over its head a few dozen times.

Raven generally considered herself an early riser but nothing could pull her out of bed that morning after what was, objectively, the dumbest night of her life. Part of her wished she had had one or two more drinks so she could have officially transitioned into the ‘blackout drunk’ phase. So that she would, at least, be spared the embarrassing memories. But no, every horrible moment of the night from dancing wildly at the bar to Michael saving her was etched into the crevices of her brain with shocking clarity.

Now, it was after noon and Raven still found herself wanting to be curled under her blanket asleep so she could escape her embarrassment.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her wallowing self pity. She did not make an attempt to move, expecting Tiffany to answer. However, when the voice of their landlord rang out and her knocking persisted, she quickly slid on her robe to open the door. She decided Mrs. Winters would have to get over the fact that she looked like death reincarnated.

“Rough night, dear?”

Raven grimaced for a moment, she did indeed look as terrible as she felt.

“Something like that,” Raven offered a tight smile, her body slumping against the door. “W-what can I do for you, Mrs. Winters?”

“Oh I’m just letting everyone know that we had a pipe burst on the floor above. We’ll have folks in and out and you might hear some noise and stuff. But if you see any leaking into your unit, give me a ring?”

“Of course. Will do. Thanks, have a good one,” Raven tried her best to politely shoo the woman away. However, she lingered.

“Oh I meant to tell you, that boyfriend of yours is just such a good egg. So kind and polite. Admittedly I haven’t met many famous people,” she laughed. “But you just don’t expect them to have such good manners, you know?”

Raven stopped. “My boyfriend?? Sorry… When was he here?”

“He stopped by this morning. Gave me a check for your rent for the rest of your lease. Oh and asked where your mailbox was, said he wanted to drop something in it.”

Raven was worried her jaw might come completely unhinged as the woman spoke.

He did what??

“Are you alright, dear??”

“Y-Yea, yea. Just… a bit of a surprise. Thank you.”

And with that, Raven immediately closed the door, not listening to the elderly woman’s reply.

“This nigga… I hate him,” she muttered to herself as she slumped against her door.

Every cell in her body knew that was not true. But she also knew that everything she had told him last night was still accurate. She was too tired to forgive him and not just him… anyone ever again. The world has used up all of her second chances and she did not have it in her heart to be disappointed by him again. The narrative in her brain was so set in stone, she did not think anything he could say or do would make her believe anything else. She could not even make herself go retrieve the note that was apparently waiting for her in her mailbox.

“Such a coward,” she grumbled as she flopped back into bed.

She stared at her phone for several minutes, her text thread with Michael open. She wondered what she could even say? Thank you?

She knew any conversations demanding she pay him back or he rescind the money would be moot. Even if she had the mental fortitude to argue with him right now, she would still lose. But she could not just accept it without trying to push back.

She typed and erased and typed and erased before lamely landing on:

Raven: You can’t pay my entire rent. I can’t accept that.

Raven: I don’t want that.

Michael: Yea you can. Told you… gonna show up every day tryin’ to fix us. You just gotta let me.

Raven: Money isn’t gonna fix this, Michael.

Michael: I know. But it can fix the tangible things I fucked up for you

Michael: So let me fix that for you.

Raven paused, as a warm sensation filled her, a warmth she had not felt in over a month now. The warmth of being cared for. She had never had someone take care of her without wanting something in return, except Michael. Even when their relationship was built on transactions, he still took care of her without needing or asking for something from her. The book deal, her rent were just the tangible examples of how he had stepped up to right the wrongs he could and she could not deny that those actions meant something, softened something inside her.

He was doing exactly what he promised he would do the night before. He was fixing what could be, he was showing with his actions that she meant something to him. And yet, that blockade that stopped that belief from taking root was still there, still prohibiting her from believing these actions were anything more than a skilled manipulation.

He would draw her back in, he would not change, and when he got ready, he would hurt her again. That’s what everyone in her life did.

Raven: It doesn’t change anything

Michael: I know… didn’t expect it to.

She tossed her phone to the side and grabbed her pillow, screaming into it as her frustration got the better of her. The complex web of conflicting feelings with Michael B. Jordan trapped at its center only continued to grow. She wanted him to let her go, to stop caring and trying and going out of his way for her because that fit into the narrative nailed to the cross of her brain, it would confirm her beliefs and fears.

But instead he continued to do the things that made her fall in love with him the first time, things that only reignited the dimmed but still existent flame that was her love for him. And she knew she would never get over him if she kept letting that happen, kept letting him in.

So she did not even respond. Instead, she just closed the thread and tossed her phone to the side.

“Let him go, Rae,” she demanded to herself. “You don’t deserve him and he doesn’t love you.” She repeated that a few times before it felt real again, before all that had started to soften was once again as solid as a block of ice.

***

“You look like shit,” Alex moaned as she watched Michael’s makeup artist, Shanta, struggle to make him look less like a living zombie ahead of his Oprah interview.

They were tucked away in a suite in Oprah's sprawling LA estate. It was difficult to make Michael feel poor but Oprah was certainly one of the few people in the world who could do so.

“Thanks, appreciate that.”

“You know I don’t believe in lying to you. Make sure you get those bags under his eyes,” she instructed. “Alright, this is it. Final stretch. Movie’s out and every review is stellar so far. Do this interview, it’ll air this week, Oscars on Sunday and then you can sleep. Though I bet it’s not the schedule keeping you up? Talked to her since the premiere?”

Michael forced his body not to sag at the mention of Raven as to not disturb the hard work of the woman trying to make him look alive after days of no sleep.

“She texted me about the rent thing the next morning. But it’s been radio silence ever since.”

It had only been a few days since the fiasco after the premiere but Michael’s concern for Raven had not diminished one bit. He could not let her go as she requested but he tried his hardest to respect her desire for space. His heart was stuck in the quicksand that was Raven and he had no desire to pull himself out. He wanted to be right there. He knew eventually he would have to accept defeat, accept that she had moved on. But he could not do it while she still questioned her own deservedness. She could hate him for the rest of his life, it would be her right. But his soul could not allow her to live thinking so lowly of herself. So if he had to pay 30 years of rent or call in favors to make her life easier and make her see that she deserved care and someone to sacrifice for her, he would do it. It was high time someone in her life put her above themselves.

“Well, at least she talked to you. That’s something. You’re doing what she asked. Sis has lived a life, she needs time and space. Keep doing what you're doing. Except for the no sleep. For the love of God, by the Oscars, please get a good night’s rest. That’s your night.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Alex…”

She scoffed. “You’ve won the big four, Mike. It’s not just because I believe you deserve it… Statistically, Best Actor is yours. The Oscars is your night. Have a little faith in yourself.”

“I hear you. I just don’t wann-”

“Excuse me?” A young man poked his head in the door. “Apologies for interrupting. I’m a PA. Just wanted to let you know that we’re almost ready? I can take you out to the garden when you’re ready.”

“Be right out. Thank you,” Alex called.

Shanta did her last quick finishing touches before Alex gave him her customary once over.

“Shanta, my girl, you’re a miracle worker per usual.”

They both offered Shanta their thanks, Michael rolling his shoulders before heading out the door to walk out to the gardens.

He had met and interviewed with Oprah once before so he was not particularly nervous. But despite having done millions of interviews, there was always a kernel of nerves right beforehand that he could just never shake.

He was dressed in slacks and a light black sweater, thankful for a cooler day as he walked out into her expansive gardens where the Oprah Winfrey waited for him. The cameras were already rolling, capturing footage that may or may not make into the hour-long special.

“The man of the hour!” she called, her arms stretched wide to wrap Michael in a hug. “Actually I think man of the year is more appropriate. Welcome. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you here.”

“Thank you, thank you. It’s so good to be here.”

“Have a seat,” she gestured at the very comfy chair across from hers. “And we can jump right in.”

***

Raven’s head was propped against her fist as she stared at her computer. A sentence. That was the grand total of her hard work for that Wednesday afternoon. But it was something, she supposed. Weeks of hard work had amounted to maybe two or three pages of her book. She had been offering Angelina vague answers on her progress, ducking and dodging her to avoid admitting that there was no way in hell she could have a draft by March 15 like they talked about.

“Rae? You busy?”

She turned in her chair toward the door to find Tiffany’s head poking in.

“Nope… I’ll never be busy again at this rate,” she grumbled. “What’s up?”

“I just turned on the interview… if you want to watch?”

Raven scratched her head, unsure if she could even watch him? See him happy and thriving without her? Despite everything happening between them though, she could not pretend there was not a part of her that still wanted to celebrate this moment in his career. Interviewing with Oprah the week he was poised to win his first Oscar? How could she ever forgive herself if she did not watch this? Even if it hurts?

“I’ll… be there in a sec. Thanks, Tiff.”

Raven let out a deep sigh before she grabbed the blanket off her bed and dragged herself to the living room. The interview had already started and he looked gorgeous. Tired, she could tell, in the way he constantly had to readjust his posture, in the bags under his eyes that the makeup artist could not quite fully cover. But even at his worst, he looked captivatingly good.

Raven found herself studying him so intently that she did not even comprehend the words he and Oprah were sharing. She just watched him and his mannerisms, she focused on the glimmer in his eyes that sparked every so often. She missed looking into his eyes, missed how expressive they were.

This moment only amplified how much she missed him, missed hearing the deep baritone in his voice and the spark in his eyes when he spoke about his passions. She missed his bright and uninhibited laughter, how his hands were always on her in some way. She just missed him. But she had pushed him away, had told him to let her go. And even if he had not fully let go of her yet, she felt too scared to open that door again, even if her soul ached for her to. Particularly when he continued to try to show up for her in small ways.

And despite how angry she still wanted to be at him, she had never had anyone show up for her quite like this… try for her like he did. And everyday, her brain took up far more mental space than it should have, debating whether she should follow her foolish heart and forgive him or listen to her logical brain and cast him aside. Days passed and she still did not know the answer.

“So I’ll admit,” Raven’s ears finally started to pick up the conversation between Oprah and Michael, “I watched Waves more times than appropriate. But Gayle and I saw it at Sundance and we both thought it was just the most heartbreaking and poignant look at loss and grief that we had ever seen. While still being engaging and funny and so relatable. The journey your character goes through is just… I mean I think grief is one of the few universal experiences that we all will have at some point. And you really brought that to life through this character and his struggles with addiction. And the fact that you filmed this while engaged in completely different projects with complex characters like Killmonger in Black Panther and Adonis in Creed 3… I’m curious what you pulled from to give that performance?”

Michael shifted in his seat as he chuckled, Raven had missed how passionate he got about this project, even though he had been talking about it and doing press for it since they first started dating. She knew he had not truly expected the role to blow up in the ways it did but she could tell he was grateful for it, nonetheless.

“Well first, thank you. Yea aside from Oscar Grant, Andre was the hardest character I’ve ever played and he stretched me as an actor in ways, you know, I didn’t really expect? And I learned so much from him in his sort of journey through grief. You know, when I read the first script, the line ‘grief is the final stage in love’s evolution,’ really stuck out to me. When you lose someone, grief, this enduring pain you feel, is that love shifting and changing because it has nowhere to go, there’s no outlet for it anymore. And so, Andre really reframed my own thoughts on grief and loss and how I process that and allowed me to pull from personal experiences with loss to pour into that character.”

“Yea I will say, that line was one of my favorites. I sat with that long after the credits rolled.”

“Yea same. I remember sitting a-and thinking about that one for a while after reading it. And I loved that even in the more comedic moments of this movie, we still had those lines that made you wanna stop and really sit with what the characters were going through.”

“Definitely, I was dissecting this movie for weeks after. It’s just amazing. So I do want to shift gears to talk about this moment you're experiencing because of this movie. This really is the biggest moment of your career. You’re nominated for your first Oscar and a favorite to win, so far in 2023, you’ve won a SAG Award, Golden Globe, and BAFTA. And you, as of two days ago, just had your directorial debut in Creed 3. First question, how are you still awake?” Both of them shared a laugh. “But serious question, how has this moment felt? How does it feel to be having this moment at this stage of your career?”

“Oh wow, when you list it like that, I don’t know how I’m awake either,” he chuckled. “But seriously, you know… it’s been a ride. I know you’ve felt this too but you know, you don’t often take a moment to just pause and soak it in. You finish one interview or award show and your mind automatically just jumps to the next one. And I think what I’ve been trying to force myself to do in the later weeks of this insane time is just to slow down and enjoy it. Not rush through it and really enjoy the fruits of… really years of hard work and sacrifice. But that also means sitting with… you know, the challenges of this time too, which isn’t as rewarding,” he admitted with a sad smile. “But I’m growing and learning alot so it’s worth it.”

Oprah nodded. “You know I always appreciate when people don’t let the 24 hour news cycle and gossip sort of steal their thunder and moment from them. And I applaud you for sort of moving through the more gossipy side of the last few months with grace and maturity. But you haven’t really talked much publicly about those stories and the effect they have had on you. And you don’t have to get into it if you don’t want but I am curious on how you navigated that and really came out on the other side, from what I can see, stronger for it?”

Michael bowed his head and chuckled. “Um… you know a good friend of mine told me that she thought this was the most vulnerable and most genuine I had ever been publicly on this press tour and I think it’s because I’ve had to navigate some really personal stuff during this great but hectic public moment? And that’s new territory for me.”

“And I think that friend is right. I don’t think we have seen or learned this much about you ever.”

“Yea and I wish I could take some credit for it but… it was all one person: Raven Turner. And the way we met, now as the world knows, was extremely unconventional and I can admit that our relationship started as a complete lie. A lie I thought would help me be seen as this serious, mature man my team was worried I wasn’t. And I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I was cold and guarded and not at all the best version of myself. And while I regret how we started and trying to fool the world into thinking I’m something I’m not, there isn’t a bone in my body that regrets falling in love with her.”

He leaned forward a bit as he spoke. “Because all those walls and barriers we build around ourselves to survive in this world of Hollywood? To endure the criticisms and insanity we deal with? She's the first woman to see me. Not the actor and the money and the fame but just me. And in that, she saved me… without trying or intending to. She just loved me and loving her, choosing her is the single greatest decision I ever made. And I hate how this moment has fallen on her, how my terrible decisions led to these pretty disgusting misogynistic attacks on her. And I think my biggest regret is putting someone as pure as her in the line of fire like that and not doing enough to protect her. And you know, I have to live with that, which is tough.”

“You know I’ve interviewed thousands of people in my career and while I believe you have to change for yourself and on your own, I also have found that the ones who love us, really love us, are often the most powerful catalysts for change in our lives. I’ve certainly seen and experienced that in my own life and it’s important to spotlight those who were that catalyst.”

“Oh 100%. Especially when, I think this version of me was always there? I was just too hurt to trust anyone with it, so no one saw it. I buried me under this facade I thought was better? But I fell in love with a woman who taught me that you can’t be guarded, you can’t shut down just because you’re hurt. Life is about getting up every day, being authentically you, and reaching out and loving and risking your heart every time. And sometimes you’ll get swatted away and sometimes you’ll get an embrace. But you just deny yourself love when you don’t show up at all. So I’ve been trying to live by that more lately. Because she showed me what real strength and courage looks like. And I want to have that, I want to lead with that.”

“Wow… you know people are going to watch this and I think, applaud that vulnerability. It’s refreshing to me because I don’t think our world incentivizes or encourages people to admit when they aren’t being their best selves. So I think for you to do that, at a moment when you’re at the top of your game, is commendable.”

“She deserves to know the positive effect she’s had on my life. To be celebrated for how she supported me. And you know it’s not just me? When we first started dating, I remember her one stipulation was that we couldn’t go out on Wednesday evenings because she hosted a book club for kids at the library she worked at. And that was the most important thing to her, being there for them. The day of our first date, she spent an hour delivering books and SAT prep books to those same kids she worked just because. There’s just a selflessness to her that is truly admirable. And I think while people are attacking her and calling her these vile names because she made a certain choice during a hard time, they should know who she really is. A woman that would drop everything to help you even when you don’t really deserve it. A woman who I’ve seen give others all she had because they needed it more even when she did not have a backup plan for herself. I could honestly talk about her for the rest of this interview because she deserves celebration far more than I ever could. Genuinely good people don’t always get the shine they deserve, they don’t always get the love and care they deserve because we can often take them for granted. But no one deserves to be celebrated more than her, to be celebrated loudly more than she does.”

“I love that… she seems like quite the woman.”

“She is… and I hope she knows that.”

“So tell me about…”

The words faded away as his words tumbled through Raven’s head. They clashed jarringly against every belief she had internalized about herself, like metal against metal. But she found herself wanting to believe him. Believe the words a section of the world just heard. She wanted to believe that what he saw in her, even over the course of six months, was who she truly was. Not this broken, damaged scapegoat life had fashioned her into.

There has to be more than this, right?

Tiffany nudged her with a box of tissues in her hand. Raven had not even realized she was crying but she accepted them gratefully.

“Don’t know how I still have tears over this man left,” she whispered as she wiped her eyes.

“I don’t think those tears are because of him, sis.”

Raven sniffled and grabbed another tissue. “You m-might be onto something. I can’t watch anymore. Night, Tiffany.”

However, before she reached her bedroom, she heard Tiffany call her name.

“I know what he did… sucks. And hurts. But that’s a man who loves you, Rae. More than anything. After that? The only person in the world who still won’t believe it is you.”

She turned around to face her, the back of her hand wiping away a few more stray tears. “You know he said the same thing?”

“Well, I generally don’t think actors are that smart,” Tiffany admitted with a laugh. “But he’s right about that. You deserve to believe good things about yourself, we all do.”

“Nothing good has ever lasted… I always ruin it somehow. I tried to believe I deserved him and life proved that I didn’t,” she answered, her voice small. “D-Don’t have it in me to try again.”

“Raven… I know we aren’t best friends or anything. But how many times have I watched you forgiven your dad and sister? Let them back in, try to make things right with them? Try to build the family you want?”

“Too many…”

“Right… So why does Michael only get one shot when you found the strength to give them 100? When he’s the one actually showing up for you? He’s the one who actually is trying to earn another chance?”

“It’s not that simple and you know it.”

“I know that the only person denying you happiness right now… is you. You push away the good people and things in your life because you feel like you don’t deserve it but no one would be here if you didn’t. Michael, the kids in your book club… me. I don’t keep signing leases with you because you’re a terrible person who ruins everything, no one has a gun to our heads, Rae. We’re here because you do deserve it.”

“Tiff…”

“Nope, shut up. This pity party is getting old and tired. It doesn’t matter what I think of you… or what Michael thinks or anyone out there.” She gestured toward the window. “All that matters is the narrative you’ve created and until you decide to believe something else, all you’re going to do is push people away and fuck up and self sabotage because it’s all you think you deserve. You gotta wake up and do some fucking work, girl. Cause until you figure out how to erase this narrative from your brain, you’ll never be happy. And you’ll never fall in love with anyone except for someone who treats you like crap. You’ll never build your own family. You’ll never finish your book or have another fulfilling career. You’ll just be stuck in this broken version of yourself alone… forever. And I’ve seen a few different versions of you over the last two years but this is by far the most pitiful.”

Raven had never heard Tiffany be so blunt. The words were biting but she could not deny that some of them rang true in her ears. And that was always the hardest information to hear.

“Damn… tell me how you really feel.”

“The soft gentle love wasn’t resonating clearly so had to go with a different tactic…. Just think about it. And once you fix all this shit and move to a mansion in the hills, don’t forget about me.” She winked at her, causing Raven’s jaw to drop slightly.

“How do you even know that’s gonna happen?”

She shrugged and grabbed the remote to press play, Raven not even noticing that she paused it.

“Just got a good feeling about the two of you. Now go so I can lust after him in peace while he's still single. Kidding! Kinda..."

Raven let out a small laugh as she shook her head. "I know you're not kidding. Night, Tiff.”

She slid into her bed, her only refuge of late, and stared at the ceiling. She was surprised she was not tired of looking at it by now. Michael and Tiffany’s words wrestled with her own thoughts for hours

What was her problem, really? It was not that what Michael did was unforgivable because it wasn’t. Some distant part of her, too quiet to break through the noise of her anger, always wondered if there was more to the story, believed that he had to have had some reason. But she was too angry to allow him to explain. It just became vicious ammunition that no one could ever love her or care about her… that she was the problem.

Well, that’s true… no one’s ever loved you. And everyone who does leaves.

She supposed her mother must have loved her, but she would never know. She would never feel it. And her grandmother’s love was so distant, so long ago, that it no longer felt tangible, was no longer a tether to anchor her self worth to something positive.

Instead, the only thing that tethered her sense of self worth to anything was her family’s disdain. Disdain that made her question what Michael could’ve seen in her, how he could ever love someone like her? That disdain which made it far easier to believe that what he did was proof that he did not love her than that he possibly did do it to protect her in some weird way. No other thought could live long enough in her brain to take hold.

And she did not know if doing what Tiffany suggested would fix that. There was not enough time in the world for her muster the courage to interrogate and confront the source of these feelings. She had hoped she would never have to see her family again. Some days, never felt like too soon.

But she knew she could not avoid it. They were the root cause, the narrative in her head was fueled and sustained by them. And screaming at them across the Thanksgiving table and never speaking to them again was not the closure she needed. She thought she had dropped the weight that was her family when she cut them off. But she was still dragging all the luggage they gave her around and it was time to give it back.

She knew her family did not want to see her either, knew it would be difficult to get them to even speak to her after everything. But she knew she had to try… because she knew there had to be more to life than this. That she had not been born to only suffer through life instead of live it. So she needed to confront her demons for herself, even if her relationship with them did not change one bit.

She grabbed her computer and her wallet. It was time to go home.

***

Raven’s eyes remained trained on her dad’s house across the street as she sat in her rental car. She was almost shocked that none of her family’s nosy neighbors had not called the police yet as she sat there for nearly an hour, summoning the courage to actually go inside.

She had felt so sure this was what she needed when she bought her plane ticket. And that confidence did not waver when she stepped onto the plane or during the long journey from LAX to Charlotte, NC. However, once she was in her rental car, she found herself waffling, aimlessly driving around for hours. Her brain seemed unable to direct her to the place she knew she needed to go. Home.

She just could not make herself do it… not yet anyway. So she did not. Instead, she finally went to her hotel to try to get some rest and her night’s rest turned into the entire Friday holed up in her hotel. She had not booked a return ticket, prayerful and hopeful that there would be a reason to stick around for a few days. But that also meant she did not have the incentive of time to make her move faster.

But she could not even make herself do this. Because she did not know how to be brave like this. Her life had been nothing but running from pain and confrontation. This was so contrary to that. She did not know how to do any of this. She tossed and turned all night, unable to get any sleep particularly when there was only one person who she wanted to talk to, wanted to seek courage and strength from. Because when she felt scared, when she did not feel strong, he was the only person she wanted to reach for. But she was not sure he would even answer. She had pushed him away, told him she needed space.

But she had not felt like she could do this alone. So last night, she called him.

“Rae! Everything ok?” he asked immediately, his question met with silence.

Raven did not know what to say and regret filled her like ice water in her veins. But she knew it was too late to hang up, she had to see it through. She paid for that moment of weakness when she hit the call button as her throat closed at the sound of her voice. She found it impossible to speak, even if she knew what words to say.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready, Rae. Got all night for you.”

And she knew he was not just talking about waiting for her to speak.

“Why?” she whispered, the simple word coming out in a strangled sound as she tried to push past the tightness in her throat.

“Why what?”

“Why even answer after everything I said to you? W-why do you keep trying?”

“Because I love you,” he answered simply. “And you’re worth it. I’ll keep reaching out, baby girl. Even when you swat me away.”

“You might be the only person who thinks that,” she whispered back as a tear fell.

“I don’t think that’s true. But even if it was, knowing one person is in your corner is all you need sometimes.”

She laughed lightly. “That press tour got you only speaking in motivational boxing terms or something?”

His deep laughter filled her ears and filled her soul with such joy that she had forgotten. She had forgotten what these moments felt like, the two of them on the phone or curled up together in bed, just talking. She missed it… she missed him. But she could not say it, could not bring herself to pull her body out of the water to make that long trek back up the cliff to where he waited for her. Everything in her brain screamed at her that she couldn’t do it, that she did not have it in her. And she hated herself for it. Hated how she clung to the ice barriers around her heart, even though they were utterly fractured and ready to fall. She just was not ready yet.

She let out a shuddering breath as she hastily wiped away her falling tears. “I… don’t know why I called. I s-shouldn’t have called.”

“Call me anytime, Rae. I’ll always answer. I’ll always show up for you. I hope you know that… at least.”

“Y-Yea… I think I do… or at least, it’s getting harder to deny it,” she revealed. “Your interview with Oprah… it was really good,” she offered lamely.

“You watched??” she could hear the surprise in his voice.

“Yea… I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But I caught most of it. Did you mean it? Everything you said?”

“Every single word.” There was no arguing with the definitive tone in his voice. “I get that you don’t trust me anymore. I lied and kept secrets. But one thing I never lied about is how much I love you.”

Her eyes clenched shut for a moment. That was one thing he had always been consistent about, her ears had just been perpetually shut to it.

“I… um… I gotta go. Early day tomorrow,” she lied as she sniffled. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Bye, Michael.”

She was not sure what she had expected to get from that call and, at first, it felt as if she only got a firm kick in the heart for it. But for the first time since she landed, Raven had enough strength to finally drive to her family’s house. She had rolled her eyes at his boxing motivational quotes but hearing someone say they were in her corner, that had given her courage. To just feel like someone was behind her, even if she was alone, that meant something to her.

She took a deep breath and got out of her car, forcing her legs to carry her to the front door.

Her rounds of knocks went unanswered, Raven getting slightly frustrated but determined not to leave the porch. If she turned around and walked away, she’d never come back.

After an extremely brief internal debate, she decided to simply let herself in, deciding that since she contributed to the mortgage, she had a right to come in as she pleased. And her father still, foolishly, kept a spare key underneath the welcome mat.

Though she had not been to her family’s home in two years or so, it still looked the same. Her father’s favorite work boots were thrown haphazardly at the door, several pairs of her sister’s shoes lined up next to them. She was an utter mess but she was, at least, somewhat neat. And it still felt… cold. And it had nothing to do with the cold winter east coast weather. The house had always felt like that, void of warmth and love that made a home a home.

“Kiara?” she called out. “Dad?” However, she was met with utter silence.

Part of her supposed she was thankful they were not home and that they had not just ignored her or something. She stood in the living room, staring around the room at the pictures that lined the walls and shelves. So many of her mom, her dad, and Kiara but there were none of her. That was not a surprise, it had always been that way. But that did not make it sting any less. All they had ever wanted was to erase her from their lives and if a stranger walked into this house, it would be as if she never existed.

She started up the stairs, her eyes refusing to linger long on any of the photos there. They were all lies anyway, a picture perfect family that did not exist because she had been born. She decided to ascend to the attic once she made it upstairs. Because that was where all her grandmother’s and some of her own things now lived. She had never really gone through her grandmother’s things after she passed, no one aside from her dad to pack them up. But she knew there was so much of their lives, so many memories she had forgotten of the one person who loved her, forgotten in those boxes that she now desperately needed to remember.

She ignored how narrow the opening to the attic was, realizing that it had been easier to maneuver up here when she was a young teenager. Everything was still neatly packed away as if her grandmother would be back one day to pick it up.

She started to open each box, pulling out and examining her grandmother’s things, so many beautiful things forgotten in this attic no one went into. For the first time in nearly two decades, she felt close to the only maternal figure she had ever had, felt like her grandmother’s hand was on her shoulder as she reminisced on their short but well-lived time together.

She found the old costume jewelry her grandmother used to let her play with, laughing to herself as she thought back to dressing up in front of her vanity mirror pretending to be a model or whatever silly idea the pair had thought up. She almost cried as she found a very crumpled piece of paper with the last story she gave her grandmother to read before she died, a random short story that she had written for class. She had not realized, as she found a folder, just how many of her stories her grandmother had kept.

A gold glint caught her attention, Raven reaching into a giant box to find a shoe box. Raven had seen that box 100 times but her grandmother had never let her touch it, claiming that it held priceless family heirlooms that she did not want Raven or Kiara to mess up. Raven rolled her eyes that something her grandmother had valued so much had been discarded and forgotten haphazardly at the bottom of this box.

Finally giving into her childhood curiosity, she opened it. It was still filled with things, part of her thankful that Kiara had never found it. The jewelry and pieces in it were gorgeous and indeed priceless. She took her time as she examined each one, wondering if they had belonged to her mother or her grandmother or some other relative she never met. However, it was what existed underneath the jewelry that caught her eye: piles of tied up envelopes, one with her name on it and one with Kiara’s.

The handwriting was not her grandmother’s, which made Raven even more curious.

She pulled out the stack with her name on it and undid the thin ribbon that tied them together. There were ten letters there in total, each one with a different note scribbled on the envelope.

To Raven on your 18th birthday

To Raven on high school graduation

To Raven after your first love

To Raven after your first heartbreak

To Raven on college graduation

To Raven on your wedding day

She only had to flip through a few of them to realize who they were from. Her mom.

“You’re killing me,” she muttered to the sky, unsure if she was speaking to God, her grandmother, her mother or all three.

Her hands trembled slightly as she ripped open the one on top, addressed to her on her 18th birthday. These were some of the only words her mother would get to say to her, she did not care how long ago she should have read it. She would savor each one.

To my sweet darling girl,

If you are reading this, it means that I am not physically there with you on your birthday. It means that I’ve missed 18 birthdays and too many milestones to write a letter for and for that, I am sorry. You might be wondering why there is not a letter for all those milestones and birthdays that have taken place but this felt like the best place to start and the appropriate age for reading the musings of a dying woman. If there’s even such a thing.

We learned your gender today. Another sweet girl. If the doctor somehow got it wrong, these letters will be incredibly awkward. But I know they are right. Because you, my darling girl, are the manifestation of my wildest dreams. I dreamed of you almost a year ago, this beautiful girl with half my face but all of my spirit and personality. And every night since then, I prayed, begged God to make that dream a reality… no matter the cost. And he did.

I know my body is not strong enough to be your mother, to be around to be the mother someone as brilliant as you will deserve. But I hope you know that deciding to have you and keep you, regardless of the risks, is the single greatest decision I ever made. You were not an accident or a misfortune given to me. You are my dreams. And if my last moments on this earth are spent looking at you, it will have been worth it.

I waited until 18 to start these letters because I worried a child could never understand the choice I made. And you may still not. And if you resent me for leaving you before you could know me, I understand that too. But I hope that through these letters, you will get to know me. And you will feel some semblance of the immense love I have for you.

I don’t have much advice because you’ve likely heard it all at this point. But the two most important things I can tell you, that I wish someone had told 18 year old me, is to know that failure is part of the journey. Your grandmother used to always tell me to keep reaching out your hand even if it doesn’t work. I didn’t really understand it soon enough but I hope you do. Life is about risks and if you don’t reach out your hand out of fear, you’ll protect yourself from pain but you will also miss out on the gifts God is trying to hand you. As a daughter, I hated to admit it, but mama was right about that… and so many other things.

And finally, more importantly than anything else I could offer you in these letters, please remember every day that you are so, so loved.

Know that regardless of what happened to me, I loved you with every fiber of my being until my last breath. Know that you were a gift from God. And every day you venture out into this world, know that you are worthy of so much because you were so loved from the moment you were dreamed up. Do not let anyone or whatever will happen to you in what I pray is a long, rich, happy life diminish that light, diminish your worth. I know how special you are and I don’t even know your name yet. And while I hope that your father and grandmother will affirm you daily, you don’t need other people to tell you that you are special. You have to know it for yourself. That’s the most important advice I can give you. Know who you are and your worth and take up as much space in this world as you want. And as long as you never forget how special you are… how deserving you are, you’ll move through this world shining bright. And the world will be forced to know it too and move to give you what you deserve. It’s not much and a bit cliche perhaps but I’ve been torn down enough to know that sometimes we all need the reminder. But those are stories for another letter.

By the time I write my next letter, I promise I will have picked out a name for you. I read a book the other day where the main character was named Raven… I had not thought of it before but I like it.

Happy Birthday.

Love,

Mom

The river of tears streaming down Raven’s face splashed against the slanted handwriting on the page, Raven quickly whisking them away so the words would remain legible. Raven did not even know how long she sat there staring at the words on the page, her heart bursting with the knowledge that her mother’s hand had touched this very paper, that she had poured her heart and soul into every word etched into it.

It was like proof she had been real and not this entity Raven had conjured up in her head. Raven could not stop herself from ripping open all the ones that she should have gotten along the way. The one for her first love and the separate one on heartbreak were four pages each, and Raven did not pay attention to the clock as she absorbed each and every word.

Everything she had learned about her mother had been through her grandmother and she had always wondered if her grandmother told her things just to make her feel better. But she realized that her grandmother had been telling the truth, she and her mother were so much alike. She found herself nodding and laughing along to her mother’s stories and wisdom embedded in all those pages. She was a prolific storyteller too and an amazing writer, another trait Raven realized she must have inherited from her.

For the first time in 30 years, Raven did not feel weighed down by this unbearable guilt. She felt lighter than she had ever been in her entire life. Perhaps this was what God wanted her to find here, not a confrontation with her family, but these words. This tangible proof that her mother had chosen her, wanted her… loved her and that she had not ruined anything at all.

Her mother would not have wanted her to carry such guilt around for so long because there was nothing to be guilty about.

The letters were scattered across the attic floor when she heard the faint sound of their garage opening. She quickly folded up all of her letters and stuffed them back into the box, tucking it under her arm as she climbed out of the attic. She did not make much noise as she closed up the attic, just as she heard her father and sister close the garage door and enter the kitchen.

Their voices drifted up to her ears as she started to climb down the stairs, deciding that she might as well get the pure unpleasantness of this moment over with.

“Wait… you hear that? Is someone in the house??” she heard her sister ask, knowing that they both could hear her footsteps against the old floorboards.

“Don’t get your gun,” she called out as she started down the stairs. “It’s just me.”

She was greeted with less-than-welcoming expressions from her family, such disdain that it made her want to scurry away. But she did not. She had done enough of that in her life.

“Adding breaking and entering to your criminal activity, now?”

Raven scoffed as she placed the box on the kitchen counter that stood between her and her family.

“Don’t think you can break into a house you helped pay for?” she answered coolly. “And I’m not the one with a mug shot here if I remember correctly.”

“No you’re just the one who sold her cheap ass for a quick buck.”

Raven shook her head, opening and closing her mouth for a few moments as she tried to find the words.

“Yea I did… And I’m not proud of it,” Raven admitted. “But I won’t let you or anyone shame me for doing what I needed to do to survive. What helped the two of you survive too.” Raven scratched her head, realizing that trying to get closure from her family was unnecessary. Her mother’s words had given her all the closure she had ever needed. That’s what she had come home for.

“You know, I got a plane ready to rip you both a new one for 30 years of abuse and torture. To try to force you to admit that I’m not the villain you made me to be. But… I don’t need that anymore. Because the cross of guilt and shame you two forced onto my back for all these years isn’t one I should have to carry. But I did because I thought it was the only way to keep you two around. And even without you two in my life, I still drag that cross around because I thought I deserved it. But I realized today, way too late, that I don’t need a damn thing from either of you to put it down.”

“So you came here to what? To chastise us and steal?” her father asked, gesturing toward the box on the counter.

“You can’t steal things that belong to you. These are letters mom wrote to me,” she lifted the open letters out before sliding the unopened pile to her sister. “And to you.”

“Your mother wrote these?” he asked, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the stack.

“Yeah, she did. You’ll enjoy yours… she was a really good storyteller,” she glanced at Kiara. “These letters just told me something I should’ve realized long before Thanksgiving. That cross? That guilt? It isn’t mine. And I am done wasting my life trying to rectify the mistake of being born. Because it wasn’t a mistake. She chose me… prayed for a second daughter knowing the cost and she decided it was worth it. And hearing her say that? That’s all I need to know that I deserve so much more than this… so much more than you.” She took a deep breath. “Being a grieving husband isn’t an excuse to be a terrible father and I’ll just be grateful I found some way to survive you and this. And jealousy doesn’t give you the right to be a shitty sister.”

“What the fuck do I have to be jealous of??”

“I always wondered that. But reading those letters… I finally got it. Because even as a failed author and prostitute, I’m everything she was. Grandma used to always say I had her personality… her talent. I always thought she was lying to make me feel better. But you knew she wasn’t and you could never stand it. Couldn’t stand that I was more like her than you.” For the first time, her sister was speechless. A good look on her in Raven’s opinion. “Mom wanted so much better for me than this and I’m gonna go and find it. Because I’ve wasted too much energy trying to earn the love of people who don’t deserve it. So if you want to go to your graves hating me, making me the scapegoat for every problem in your miserable lives, have at it. But know that I don’t hate you even after all this. I won’t be weighed down anymore by any feelings toward either of you ever again. You aren’t worth it.”

Raven pulled herself to full height and rolled her shoulder back as she scooped up the box and folder she had taken from her grandmother’s stuff.

“Now I’m gonna go and have that long… rich and happy life mom wanted for me. And I hope you two do the same.”

She did not look behind her as she walked away, a soft smile on her face as she walked out of her family’s house for the last time.

She let out a long laugh as she sat in her car, so much of the weight she had been carrying around gone. It did not feel sad like when she cut off her family at Thanksgiving. She finally felt as if she had cut the anchor away and she could float away, she could move forward and heal all the broken pieces of herself that they had gleefully chipped away at.

When she got back to her hotel room, she just kept rereading her mom’s words. She would memorize each letter at this point. A part of her desperately wanted to open the other ones but she had not reached those milestones just yet so she left them where they were. For some reason, she worried her mother would disapprove of her breaking into them early.

One line of five letters she read and reread stuck to her bones above all else. And of course, as if her mother had known, it was embedded in the letter for her first love. Love… the thing that had cracked her wide open and brought her to this moment in the first place.

You’d be surprised to know that this was the hardest of the letters to write. Because everyone has some prolific idea of what love is and feels like. And I realized I don’t… because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the love I pray you are as you read this. That’s not to say I don’t love your father, I do. But I want something different than convenience for you. I hope that the love you feel is safe, allows you to feel the full spectrum of what it means to be human - strong and vulnerable, insecure and confident, boisterous and timid. I hope it feels like stepping out of the cold air and into a warm embrace. I hope it is loud and unapologetic because you deserve nothing less. And I hope it makes you feel so enraptured that everything else in the world goes quiet. And lastly, I hope, more than anything, that it feels like home. That when you’re in this person’s embrace, you feel as if your soul finally landed right where it is supposed to be.

Her eyes scanned that passage over and over again, realizing that she had found the exact love her mother described. She had come back here thinking she was coming home. But this wasn’t home at all. Home was where he was. And he was back in LA, about to prepare for the biggest night of his life in 24 hours. And regardless of whatever trust needed to be rebuilt and conversations needed to be had, she could not allow herself to miss it. She could not allow herself to not show up for him.

Raven scrambled to find her phone as it was hidden beneath sheets of paper. She scrolled through, praying she had not deleted a long forgotten group thread that housed one number she had once thought she would never need but now was the most important phone number in the world.

She almost shouted praises to God when she found it, clicking the call button on the unsaved number. She paced up and down beside her bed as every agonizing ring dragged on.

“Didn’t think I’d see your name pop up on my phone ever again.”

Raven let out a sigh of relief as her voice filled her ears. “I know… me either. But I need a favor.”

“Does it involve a certain award show tomorrow night?”

“Yes. Is it too late?”

“Yea it is.” she knew Alex could hear the tiny sigh of sadness she let out. “For anyone but me. I’ve earned enough favors around here to create a miracle or two.”

“Really?? Cause I need like more than one or two miracles… a dress, hair, makeup… hell a flight from Charlotte to make it back in time. Without him knowing?”

“Consider all of it done. Hope you don’t mind getting up at the ass crack of dawn though.” Alex asked, Raven hearing the smile in her tone.

“For him… I’ll get up anytime.”

“Good. Then I'll take care of everything... I'll have to tell his mom but she'll love this. And probably be happy as hell that she doesn't have to go anymore. I'll text you details in an hour."

"An hour?? That's all you need??"

"You're new here so I'm gonna choose to not be offended by that."

"Noted." She was about to hang up when she stopped herself. “Hey… Alex? Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just make sure your ass is on that plane and in LAX tomorrow when Allen picks you up, got it?”

Raven chuckled. “Yea I got it. See you tomorrow.”

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r @dezzy154

***

A/N: So now will y'all stop yelling at me LOLOL our good sis is going back to her man! We love to see it! How surprised do we think Michael's going to be? Part 11.2 will be the Oscars! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! And as always, thanks for reading!

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #black panther #michael b jordan fanfic #michael b jordan x reader #creed 3 #adonis creed #creed iii

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ilovechuuy4 · 6 months ago

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₊˚⊹♡ WEEK FOUR || FINAL WEEK ࣭ ๋࣭ ⭑BREEDING KINK & CHOKING

Specifically Saigiku Jōno

Warnings 'Breeding', Kinks, Choking, Aggressive sex, explicit words, degrading & praise words, not specified but slightly more fem!reader OR AFAB reader. char calling reader's sex 'cunt' (again not fem specified.), slightly more aggressive penetration, mentions of the male sex, rude / mean char, warnings were wrote out b4 fic was made sorry if any are missed!! (guys i dont know how to write abt these topics or for jono dont fight me. also its more breeding than choking lolol)

A\n i dont think yall understand how HAPPY i am this is over. like i love writing for yall but im SO DANG HAPPY. Im so tired of all this, im also expecting this one to flop since its Jono. Im gonna try to post a fyodor fic on either the 30th or 31st IF i have the motivation cause i still need to put a chuuya fic out that has been sitting in my drafts. Thanks for stickin around for ilovechuuy4's (mine) first kinktober !! (this is more of a shorter fic sorry guys AND IDK HOW JONO ACTS PLS GUY)

You were already fully aware Jōno was a bit more aggressive than most during sex. But you never cared to much, you still enjoyed it. Yet for some reason the feel of his hand around your neck, squeezing just a bit as he plowed into your tightness, groaning in your ear how much he wanted to "breed your tight cunt" was a bit more intense. His breathe heavy in your ear as you let out moans of pleasure. "Baby, you're enjoying this aren't you? It's not too much?" The white-haired man asked, wanting to make sure he wasn't doing too much. You could only nod as you moan louder while your lover plowed into you. "Great, so fucking good... I'm gonna breed you. I'm going to put my babies inside you." Jōno murmurs in your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe. He pulled away from you, watching as your tightness sucked him in as he pulled back his hips to slam back inside you. "Ggh! Jōno, it feels good~ Keep going..." You whined softly, a grin spreading on the other's lips, his eyes full of pure lust. His fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he fucked you. Your boyfriend's digits leaving marks in your skin as he pushed your legs up to your chest, something like the piledriver sex position. You bury your face in your hands as you whimper.

"Mhm, honey. What's wrong? You like it that much? Are you a good slut for my cock?" Jōno asked with a wide smirk, thrusting his hips into your pelvis aggressively. Your moans echo off the walls with each hit of your lover's hips slamming into yours. "Fuck, I'm gonna breed you, hm? You like that don't you, having my babies inside you. Fucking whore." He hissed in your ear, placing messy kisses on your throat. His hands were trailing up and down your body, his fingers squeezing your nipples as he plowed into your roughly, mercilessly. You already knew this would be an unforgettable night, not only was Jōno pent up from work but just the sight of your panting and moaning under him turned him on. "Baby, it's too much... ahh~ Jōno.." You moaned, eyes closing tightly, you felt breathless. Not cause of Jōno's hand now back holding your throat but just how harshly he was plowing his length into you. It was one of those feelings where it was somewhere else, but you could feel it everywhere inside and out of you. The white-haired man still constantly plowing into your tightness his groans mingling with your sounds of pleasure.

Sweat droplets were forming on Jōno's forehead as he slowly rubs them away with the back of his hand. He slowly pulls out of your tightness, kneeling down on the bed as he slowly gets on his back, pulling you on top of him with a groan. "Fuck, look at you baby. So goddamn gorgeous on top of me like this. How in the world did i get this lucky." He groaned, slowly pushing his erection back inside you with a pant. His hands gripping your hips tightly as you are slowly grinding your hips down into his pelvis. The man's eyes shut in pure pleasure as his own hips thrust up, meeting your gently grinds. He couldn't bare it you were going too slow. His hands dipped down your hips to your thighs, palms holding tightly on the plush flesh as his fingers grip the underneath of them. Slowly, with brute force, he lifted you up from your thighs before thrusting his hips up into your tightness. The room filled with loud squelching and flesh against flesh as the pace he set was brutal, your hands on his chest as he pounded into you. You kept your eyes shut tightly, bottom lip bit harshly between your teeth.

"Damnit, you're squeezing around me to tight, baby. You like my cock that much?" He chuckled, sitting up as his lips quickly found your throat once more, sucking dark marks into your soft skin. You shiver, back arched like a cat with each moan and sound of pure lust you let out. Jōno's movements were unforgiving but full of passion, he was in pure bliss being inside you like this, deep within your tightness, threating to spill his seed all inside you. "Hurry and cum, baby. I can tell, you're so fucking close i can feel it." Jōno cooed, he kept driving upwards into you, one hand leaving your thigh to find its hold on your scruff, squeezing just a tad. You couldn't hold back anymore, with one more final propel of your lover's cock inside you made you reach peek, your orgasm hitting you hard. The other groaned deeply as he felt you squeeze around his cock. "Shit, I'm cumming baby." He let out a grunt into your ear as he came deep inside you. He panted heavily, chest rising and falling with deep breathes. His face flush with pure lust and love.

Jōno looked at you, a smile on his face, he acted as if he didn't just ruin you! What a jerk. But it felt amazing. You let out shaky breathes as you rest your head against his chest. "You didn't have to cum inside." You couldn't help but grumble out, it felt intense and your felt full though you couldn't tell him that. "But I did have to. I wanna see you carry my kids, is that a big deal?" He asked, his lips had such a shit eating grin on it, how annoying. You loved him nonetheless, no matter the silly shit he did. "I love you." You told him, and you'd tell him that a million more times if he didn't understand the first. "Hah, I love you more." He said, rubbing your back soothingly, laying down with you on top of him.

A/n; sorry this was sorta rushed at the end, im just so tired and i want this to end already 3: idk when im talking the full hiatus but ill be sure to update when i have an exact date till then my lovelies !! (ill still post a fic or two a month im just exhausted this month)

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whytheylosttheirminds · 6 months ago

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How did you get to where you were? Like becoming popular? And getting such great notes. I’m flopping over here 😭

to be sooo honest with you I have no idea. I’m not just saying that, I’m still shocked every time even one person reads my shit 😭 I just posted a story one day and the lovely @nadvs gave me some advice and she reblogged it and here we are seven months later I’m still riding her coat tails lolol

at the risk of sounding annoying or unappreciative (because I’m truly soooo grateful for every single interaction) I also think it’s important to note that there are no flops in fanfiction. The reason I love it is because it’s one of the only things in the world that is completely un-lucrative and entirely for shits and gigs. Did you have fun writing the thing you wrote? If the answer is yes then boom you did fanfiction correctly no flop!

as far as formatting and algorithms and all that jazz I have absolutely no clue I’m an old lady I just put things in the tumblr font and post em, I’m sorry 😢

love you 😘

#sorry if this was unhelpful #there are no flops in FanFiction

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fushitoru · 2 months ago

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this is kinda random sorry...but you got into 3 ivies?? whoaaa that's so great!! i was wondering if you could tell me your stats, ecs and awards pleaseee i'm genuinely desperate. i've tried to find youtubers but everything feels so fake

ok hm….im just going to gently remind you my blog is NOT a place for minors so if ur not eighteen please do not interact with me further i have nsfw content on here and it would be creepy of me to interact with you, lol.

but because you’ve interacted rn im going to assume you’ve read my rules. just be mindful im not trying to enter my James charles era

for context i got into HYP and lowk i might be doxxing myself LOLOL if i talk too much abt my stats. i would just say i lurked on r/chanceme r/college results and r/a2c a lot that gives you lots of advice and you can look at your demographic.

I also wouldn’t compare yourself with me because I never got any sleep and was so burnt out in high school I legit had to take a gap. but to give you an idea I was president of four clubs and had like five research positions + a summer camp. for awards it was nothing special just one national debate award (the tournament wasn’t allay tho) and other stuff that I don’t even remember bc they weren’t noteworthy. 1500+ SAT and 3.8ish gpa bc my school had crazy classes so I struggled in my classes a bit

but in case anyone tries to stalk me im not going to Harvard Yale or Princeton and instead an actual t5 for my major which happens to be my state school 🥳🥳 i went to a crazy competitive boarding school so I wasn’t looking for that type of environment again + better finaid so

I also didn’t go to an ivy because I want to go to school with actually hot men and a party culture lmaooo my classes are going to be easier than they would be if I went to Princeton or smth and im still going to get a job…a GOOD one bc ik im smart no matter what college I go to 🤷‍♀️ if u don’t learn this lesson now you’ll learn it eventually. work smarter not harder 🥱

im going to assume ur in ur senior year waiting for college decisions. in that case just please enjoy your second sem snr yr this is genuinely the only time in your academic career you can semi flop in your classes and have no repurcussions for jobs. won’t happen in college or grad/med school cuz jobs will look at ur grades in the final sem.

if ur not in ur snr yr and are just older or smth then I would say that you should limit the doomscrolling and instead journal / think abt how u can put ur worrying abt ur ecs and stats into action. honestly I used to think college admissions was this big crazy thing but genuinely who cares. it’s always a game of money and privilege. if you’re low income it’s hard to find opportunities if you can’t use ur daddy’s money to publish half assed papers. some get daddy to give them an internship or have like generations of family that are alum of a certain college so they know what to do to get in.

one cheat code I would say tho is make sure to do summer camps like MITES if ur not Asian or white and in STEM that’s like auto admit to t10s. just look at the mit summer camp list i went to one and like 90% of the ppl there are at MIT rn (fuck u MIT)

#aashi answers

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midesastremanifiesto · 11 months ago

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Lecfosis are truly one of the worse fanbases. Had to block a lot of them on tumblr cos they keep spewing a lot of hate on other drivers’ tags especially Carlos’.

Charles is a talented driver but it is very arrogant and disrespectful of them to think Charles is better than 4-time WDC Seb Vettel or 7-time WDC Lewis. Maybe Charles should try to win at least 1 WDC first before they declare him as better than 2 racing legends? Lolol.

It’s quite laughable that Lecfosis think Lewis will play second fiddle to Charles and help Charles win the WDC. I’ve also seen many of the Lecfosis using racist slurs towards Lewis. Despite his multiple achievements, elevating this sport to a global audience and being at the top of this sport, Lewis is constantly treated with disrespect and racism by many of the rival fanbases. Which is truly terrible. I’m not surprised why Lewis’ fanbase are so protective of him.

If Carlos does go to Williams next year, I hope he thrives and the team values him. He’s a great driver and I hope Fred regrets all the rude things he has said about Carlos to the media. I also hope Ferrari does not succeed next year lolol, mainly cos of the Lecfosis, and Fred thinking he currently has 1.5 drivers (a disrespectful way of saying Carlos is worth only 0.5 driver). If Ferrari does win anything next year, hopefully only Lewis wins lolol.

sorry for this rant 😅 felt like sharing my thoughts about this current situation. Hope you have a good day ahead 💛

Don't worry for the rant, I love rants!!

Lecfosi are delulu if they think Lewis is going to play second fiddle to anyone. This being said, I think Charles might have an advantage at the beginning because he's been in the team for so long, so if Lewis doesn't addapt well at the start, they might not be as close as someone could think (and that doesn't mean Charles is better than Lewis by any means, but going to a new team is always difficult).

I'm not going to lie, I can't wait for the civil war between Lecfosi and Team LH. Also I hope Ferrari flops, that's the most important thing (they wont, but I have hope).

#anon ask

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muff1nqwq · 9 months ago

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sorry i havent been around in a while, things have gotten crazy, im sure you get it. my first day of being a sophmore (10th grader) starts tomorrow and while im not extremely nervous it is also 11:50 at night and i have to wake up at 6:15, ignore the specific time as it is never specific, its an estimate at best.

i have this thing called band camp that has been going on for the last couple of days. basically i play my trumpet (her name is Margaret) for 4 hours in preparation for football season (im in the band, we have to play at football games) idk where you are ofc, so to clarify, this is american football. the concussion sport.

i picked up tarot reading and it's super silly, i would recommend. its funny to think that the cards are supposed to have their own personality. id say that i dont see it, but they told me to shut up once, sassy ass cards...

i havent been hurting myself as much because of how busy i am + how cold it is. a thing about me is that i cannot ever cvt when its cold. maximum discomfort. 0/10 stars. not funky fresh.

my ex and i started talking less often and im kinda glad it happened, which might be mean to say, considering were friends still, but theres so much to do, to worry about that i can barely keep up with things.

anyways, i think thats most of it. btw if you ever dont know how to respond to one of my rambles, id love it if you might just add your own story? about anything!!!! i like hearing from you!

— rin

hiya Rin :DDD I missed u!!

GL in school!! I'm gonna b a Freshman this year and I'm excited-nervous abt it... At least its gonna b the same ppl ( even though the principal warned us abt a rush of new students, but its better than going 2 a brand new school ) I gotta fix my sleep schedule so bad, I stay up till 3am and wake up at noon :'3

:0000 IM IN BAND TOO :DD I play clarinet :3 ( btw I love how u called football the "concussion sport" XDDDD )

Tarot reading sounds so cool :000 i rlly like astrology and numerology ( I'm an Aquarius :3 )

4 me it's still hot af here, even though snow melted like 3 weeks b4 summer break :> but yesterday I went 2 go walk my doggo and right as we were turning back, it started raining, and my dumbass didn't bring a jacket and I was wearing an oversized T-shirt and shorts, so I was running ( in flip-flops ) 4 ten mins in the rain tryna get back 2 my house lolol X'3

That sounded like a line from a book I read a few yrs ago XD ( but I hope ur still finding time 4 urself :) )

A few nights ago I was rlly, RLLY hyped up 4 highschool... Same school, few new kids, new teachers, maybe a new rep... Then I thought abt what my rep would b like. I mean tbh I don't mind if I'm known as a weirdo furry theatre kid, but last yr my ex-bestie spread nasty rumours bout me, manipulate me and my friend group, and overall make everyone avoid me. At least my friends knew what she's all abt and stuck w me 4 the whole yr, but like... What if the rumours spread 2 the new kids and bad stuff happen?? So then I stayed up thinking bout that and at 2am I multiswiped 10 times and I named the cvt Jeffo :3 ( I haven't cvt in weeks cuz I didn't have many Band-Aids left )

Have a good day Rin :DDD

-Muffin

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semperama · 2 years ago

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post the current first sentence(s) of your wips!

I was tagged by the lovely @powerful-owl! <3 I don't have many WIPs right now, but here they are nevertheless!

As he comes up over the ridge, Max looks down on the farmhouse nestled among the blue-green foothills and lets out a weary sigh.

It’s raining when Max bursts out the back door.

George can’t say he’s shocked when he comes back to the table and finds it empty.

They stumble through the door, drunk on adrenaline and lack of sleep, and Daniel doesn’t remember he has his own hotel room until Max flops down in the middle of the bed and spreads his arms and legs out like a starfish.

Whether any of these will ever be finished and whether these will still be the first sentence when they are remains to be seen lolol.

I'm not sure who's been tagged so sorry if I'm getting you twice, but I'll tag @apeacebone, @trailsofpaper, @toastandvegemite, @lilyrizzy, and @missyourflight

#sentence 1 really needs to be rewritten yikes #i suck at beginning things and almost always rewrite the first few paragraphs several times anyway

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crimson-calligraphyx · 2 years ago

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21: IDWT$

A/N: I'm running out of ideas for titles to name these damn chapters lolol and one of my readers and I joked about naming one IDWT$, so...here ya go

Noah

I’m such an asshole.

I tried my best to apologize to Liv before she took off back to her place, but she didn’t so much as glance my way. Rightfully so.

It was incredibly awkward when I made my way back into my house. You could see the tension. You could cut it with a butterknife, that’s how tight it was pulled. No one said a word to me as I helped with putting away the food and clearing the decorations, and I felt the guilt build more and more with each item I handled. Liv had put a lot of effort into this, and it was clear how ungrateful I was.

I sat on the edge of my bed, twirling the card that Olivia had thrown at me before she stormed off. I must’ve read the little birthday note on the backside a million times before I finally scanned the QR code, which only made me feel worse about my actions the second I laid eyes on the image. It was a picture of a gift receipt for the guitar I had been eyeing for months—I couldn’t justify spending the money on it since I already had a few guitars lying around. This was incredibly thoughtful of her, and I proved to everyone, and myself, that I didn’t deserve it with the way I treated her.

After several unsuccessful attempts of calling her, I groaned and flopped back against the mattress. I decided to give her space for the night, accepting the fact that I wasn’t going to get even a wink of sleep, knowing the uncertainty of her wellbeing would keep me up all night. I couldn’t stand the thought of her crying all night or maybe even relapsing because of me again.

When the sun began to rise with birds singing their morning tunes along with it, I had enough of tossing and turning. I made my way over to Liv’s place, reciting the words that I wanted to tell her over and over in my head, hoping she would at least give me the time of day to apologize. It was early, and I knew she would be annoyed that I woke her up, but I just couldn’t stand it anymore.

Her having given me a spare key, I let myself into her condo and made my way to her room. I could just barely make out the shape of her from the small amount of sunlight peeking through her blinds. She was tucked into a ball while clutching the stingray stuffie to her chest, breathing deeply as she slept. I couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of my lips, admiring how precious she was.

As I carefully sat on the edge of her bed, I took notice of how puffy her eyes were—my stomach dropped when I realized it was from crying. Crying because of me. I sighed quietly as I brushed her bangs away from her face, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. I watched her eyes twitch ever so slightly to the touch, waiting to see if she’d stir. When she doesn’t, I continued running my fingers through her hair delicately, enjoying how soft her locks were.

She lets out the tiniest whine, rolling her face into her pillow, indicating she was starting to wake up now. She loosens her hold on the stuffed animal, draping her arm across my lap blindly. I chuckled quietly as she pulls herself closer to me, nuzzling her face against the side of my thigh. “Why are you here?” She mumbles without opening her eyes. “I wanted to apologize for last night,” I keep my voice low, still playing with her hair as I waited for a response.

“I’m waiting,” she mutters after a moment of silence. I snorted, amused with the sass she gave me while half asleep. Her lips curl ever so slightly, telling me she was just being funny. “I’m sorry for blowing things way out of proportion, Liv. I hope you know it wasn’t anything personally against you.” She peeks her eye open, “Could’ve fooled me.” “I mean it,” I say, still combing my fingers through her hair. “Birthdays have always been hard for me, and I let that out on you when I shouldn’t have. When I helped clean up, I saw how much effort you put into the party and realized how ungrateful I had been. I appreciate every little detail you put into last night, and I’m so sorry for acting the way I did.”

She inhales deeply, rolling onto her back to stretch before sitting up and facing me. “The guys told me that what I did was fine, that it wasn’t too overboard with the whole birthday theme,” she tells me sadly. “And it wasn’t, I just let my past influence my reaction,” I take her hand in mine, running my thumb over her knuckles. “It doesn’t excuse my actions, but may I explain why I don’t like celebrating?” She nods shallowly. “I grew up in a very religious household,” I start, watching her furrow her brows, trying to understand where I was going with this. “My birthday being on Halloween didn’t sit well with my family. They associate the day with worshipping the devil, so they refused to celebrate my birthday in fear that I was the devil himself.”

Her mouth drops. “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking!” I shook my head 'no' and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Nope. So when I saw in school that all these kids were getting presents from their family and friends on their birthdays, I started to feel left out. I remember begging my parents to let me have a birthday party one year, but they still refused. I felt that their ‘God’ was more important to them than their own flesh and blood.” “I’m so sorry, Noah. I had no idea,” she whispers, putting her hand on top of mine and giving me a firm squeeze. I shook my head, “Please, don’t feel bad. It just put a sour taste in my mouth, and by the time I had friends who wanted to celebrate it for me, I didn’t want it because I resented my family so much for it. It has nothing to do with you, but everything to do with me handling my past.”

The sun was now beginning to brighten up her room more and I could see the tears starting to gloss over her eyes. “Nope, no, no, no. Stop that,” I chuckled, cupping her face in my hands. “We’re not starting the day off with you crying, especially because of me.” She giggles, nodding in my hands. I bring her face to mine, giving her a firm kiss as she wraps her arms around my waist. "One more thing," I say as I pull away from her. "Hm?" "I'm giving you money for that damn guitar; you did not need to spend that kind of money on me." She laughs and shakes her head, "I don't want the money, Noah. You deserve it after all you've done for me."

We bickered playfully about whether I deserved it or not from the way I reacted, poking and prodding each other until we both gave up. Exhaustion finally consumed me; I laid down and pulled her into my arms to catch some much-needed z's.

Olivia

I couldn't help the delight I felt as I breathed in the aroma floating about in the kitchen. The comforting scent of vanilla with just a hint of cinnamon emanating from the batch of cookies I had baked filled the room, along with the cheerful holiday music playing softly in the background.

It was Thanksgiving Day, and it was my first time cooking part of the feast single-handedly. Well, I had Noah's assistance, which helped keep my mind from the looming realization that I wouldn't be celebrating with my family. This was the first real holiday without my dad, and every time I checked to see how the turkey was coming along, I felt my heart sink just a tad. He was always the one in control of the bird, fending it off with a playful swat of the oven mitt atop our heads when we neared the oven.

I laughed sadly to myself at the memory just as Noah emerged behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist in a comforting embrace. He placed his chin on my shoulder, swaying us side to side ever-so-slightly. "How are you holding up?" he asks, knowing that this past week had been hard for me. I shrugged, "I'm okay. Just wish my parents could be here, ya know?" My mom didn't want to come out, worried she wouldn't be able to handle the holiday without my dad. I understood, but it still dampened my mood.

He gives me a kiss on my cheek. "I know, love," he says gently, spinning me around. "Dance with me." I shoot him a questioning look as he takes my hand in his, extending it out and plants the other on my hip. His lips curled into a gentle smile as his chocolate eyes glistened while gazing into mine. I giggled and placed my free hand on his shoulder as he started our waltz, "I have two left feet, so bear with me." He breathes out a laugh, "Don't worry, I'll lead."

I couldn't help but laugh at myself as I tried my best to follow him, occasionally stepping on his feet. I apologized each time I stepped on him, but he would simply smirk and continue to dance until I eventually figured it out.

He guides me away from him with his arm and spins me, quickly bringing me back to him. I laughed when I collided with his chest, only to have him lower me into a dip. I lost my footing briefly, but he wrapped his arm around my waist and caught me while brandishing a wide smile, his eyes crinkling in the outer corners. After giving me a firm kiss, he brings me back to my feet and places his forehead against mine. My heart swelled as he looked at me with adoration, my whole body buzzing with joy.

The action reminded me of how my parents used to do the same on holiday mornings, and how it always put a smile on my face seeing how much they loved each other. Even though I could feel the love that Noah was portraying towards me, there was still a bit of nostalgia that plagued me. I abruptly shoved my face against his chest as tears brimmed my eyes and let out a single sob when the memory consumed me.

"What's wrong, love?" Noah asks quietly and starts to knead his fingers through my hair. "This just reminds me of my parents," I say, muffled by his shirt. "I miss them so much." "I'm sorry," he whispers before pressing a kiss to the top of my head. He let me cry it out for a minute, holding me in a warm embrace until there was a knock at my door. Stifling my cries, I picked my head up and wiped the tears from my cheeks and apologized for crying. "It's okay, Liv," he assures me while rubbing my upper arm. "Let's bring the guys in before they break down the door." I chuckled, nodding my head in agreement as I made my way to the door.

I greeted the boys one by one as they carried in a piece of the potluck each, happy to have their company; they had become a second family to me.

I was surprised when Vic came in through the door since she told me she was heading back home for the holidays. I was taken aback even further when my mom emerged holding her signature apple crisp that was to be baked later. I waited for her to set the dish down before throwing myself on her. We hobbled back and forth as we squeezed each other breathless.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her while trying to hold back tears of joy. "You said you didn't want to come out!" She laughs, "I didn't until someone reached out and convinced me." I beamed over at Vic, but she shook her head 'no' and waggled her eyebrows while smirking. She thumbs to her right while cocking her head in the same direction. "Noah?" Arms folded over his chest, he mirrored Vic's smug expression and nodded.

"That boy really cares about you, Heather—err—Olivia," my mom informs me. Fresh tears welled up at her words, appreciating the fact that she understood that I no longer went by my legal first name. I wrapped myself around her again, tears spilling down my cheeks while she held me with the motherly embrace that I missed dearly. "So, do you believe me now?" she asks. I pulled myself away from her, shooting her a quizzical look. When she winks, it dawns on me what she meant. I let out a giggle and wiped under my eyes, nodding. "You were right all along. My eyes are blue, and I got them from you."

"Enough with the sap, the turkey's done and I'm starving," Victoria announces, causing the whole room to erupt in laughter. "She hasn't changed a bit, huh?" Mom says as she rubs my back and walks us to the kitchen where Noah was now carving away at the turkey. I laughed, "No, not at all. You should hear the voicemail she left me after she got hit by that car."

After we had finished dinner and the Nick's parted ways, Jolly, my mom, and Vic hung around as the warm scent of brown sugar and fresh apples filled my condo. Mom had put the apple crisp in the oven as we nearly finished dinner like she always did when I was growing up but was disappointed when the guys left without trying it. She understood that they had their own families to spend time with, but I could see the hint of defeat on her face.

I took it upon myself to dig into the dessert, breaking through the golden streusel and scooping five heaping spoonful's into their own separate bowls. I topped two of them off with vanilla ice cream, which immediately began melting down the sides and swirling into a pool with the molten apples. I brought one over to mom, watching her face perk up as she took it. "Thank you, honey," she smiles up at me, her eyes now glistening with joy. "You didn't have to serve me." I returned the smile, waving her off. "It's the least I could do. I'm really glad you could make it out."

I wasn't sure if the others wanted ice cream on theirs or not, so I left the remaining three alone, grabbing my own and taking a seat next to my mom. I waited for everyone else to take their desserts and join us at the table, wanting to witness their expressions when they took their first bite. Mom makes a mean apple crisp; Jolly and Noah were in for a treat.

Noah glances at me suspiciously when he sees I'm staring at him smugly, narrowing his eyes at me while bringing his first spoonful to his mouth. "Careful, it's—" I began to warn him. "Hot!" Noah finishes my sentence, eyes growing wide as he fans his mouth with his hand, trying to cool it off. I cover my mouth with my hand trying to hide my snicker as he continues to let it sit in his mouth, exhaling harshly while still chewing it. His face begins to redden, his eyes watering. "It's not funny," he whines, but chuckles at himself after he finally swallows it. "I'm sorry," I laugh, "but everyone does that their first time trying it." My mom playfully swats me on the arm. "Olivia, don't be mean," she scolds me, but begins to laugh herself.

I watched Jolly take a very hesitant bite before I asked them what their verdict was. Judging by the groans they expelled after savoring their first bites, I took it as them thoroughly enjoying the dessert. I looked at my mom who was smiling ear to ear—I knew she was overjoyed by them enjoying the apple crisp, which in turn made me feel elated.

I may not have spent Thanksgiving with my immediate family, but I have never felt more at home than I do right now. I was more than thankful for my second family.

|Chapter 22|

#fanfic #fan fiction #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #fanfic writing #fantasy #romance

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