#THEN they get the chance to escape and return to the surface

[theskywithin]

The Shape of Your Fury - Mars in The Signs

How do you burn when you’ve had enough? How do you fight when you’re finally done being silent? Mars in your sign holds the map to your ignition point.

Mars in Aries

There’s a pulse inside you that moves faster than thought, faster than reason. It starts in the chest, tight, electric, and then spreads like a match pressed to oil. You don't wait for the right time. You are the time. When something cuts too close, the heat rises all at once, and it needs somewhere to go, out the mouth, through the fists, into the open. You are the crack before the thunder, the footstep that runs toward the fire instead of away from it. Every feeling you’ve ever tried to swallow eventually finds its way out through motion, sharp, immediate, and impossible to misinterpret. People call it temper, but it’s really a refusal to betray your instinct. You’d rather bleed in truth than simmer in silence. The flame never stays long. But when it’s there, it clears everything that’s been sitting too still.

Mars in Taurus

You carry your anger in the weight of your jaw, the tension behind your eyes, the silence that lasts too long. It doesn't burst, it builds. Slowly, steadily, like pressure under stone. Most people think you’re calm because you don’t shout, but stillness can hold storms, and yours lives in the bones. You feel every small disrespect like a shift beneath the surface. You give chances, space, time. You wait, not out of weakness, but because you know what it means to follow through. But when the line is crossed too many times, something inside you begins to tighten. Not in fire, in density. A refusal to budge. A strength that makes breaking feel like justice. When you finally release it, it feels like an avalanche, not loud at first, but unstoppable. You don’t explode. You collapse the mountain. And what was once solid can never be untouched again.

Mars in Gemini

Your anger arrives through language long before it reaches your fists. It doesn’t scream, it fragments. A sharpness in your voice. A rhythm in your pacing. You unravel through words, syllables flung like stones into still water, waiting for the ripple to hit something that matters. It’s not the volume that betrays you, it’s the velocity. The way your thoughts multiply under pressure, faster than your mouth can keep up. You talk not to explain, but to release. Each sentence is an incision, a way to carve space between you and what you can’t control. Silence feels like suffocation, so you speak until the room breathes differently. But underneath the quick wit and cutting lines is a mind on fire, scattered, searching, wired for escape. You don’t hold grudges. You hold questions. And when there are too many, they sharpen into something that needs to be thrown.

Mars in Cancer

You don’t explode, you absorb. Every sharp word, every cold glance, every dismissal gets stored in the softest part of you, where no one else can see the bruise forming. Your anger gathers like water behind a sealed door. Quiet. Patient. Heavy. And then, without warning, it floods. You fight from the wound, not the ego. Every time you lash out, there’s a story underneath it, one that was never listened to, one you tried to speak through kindness first. But when the ache festers long enough, it stops sounding like sadness and starts sounding like survival. You don’t want to hurt anyone, you want them to feel what you’ve been carrying alone. It comes out in slammed drawers, in ghosted texts, in a voice that trembles before it sharpens. You break in places that once held others gently. And when you’re finally done, it’s not because you stopped feeling. It’s because the tide returned to the sea, and took you with it.

Mars in Leo

Anger rises in you like a performance you didn’t rehearse, sudden, embodied, impossible to ignore. It starts in the chest, where your worth lives, where the echo of being unseen rings the loudest. You don’t chase conflict, but when your dignity is touched, something ancient wakes up, something regal, something radiant, something ready. It’s not about power. It’s about presence. The need to stand where someone tried to erase you. You speak with your whole body when you’re hurt. The voice gets louder. The hands more animated. The silence more pronounced. Everything becomes a stage, and everything you feel demands an audience. There’s no script. Just the truth, center stage, burning through your throat like a final monologue. And once it’s over, you don’t linger in bitterness. You’ve already walked off the stage, heart still pounding, head held high, knowing you showed up when it mattered.

Mars in Virgo

Anger doesn't rush through you, it calculates. It moves like a blade pulled slow from velvet, deliberate and cold with purpose. You notice every detail, every misstep, every word that didn’t land right. Fury finds you in fragments, the out-of-place tone, the unfinished apology, the thing they forgot you needed but you never said out loud. You hold it in the curve of your spine, in the way your hands busy themselves, in the rituals that grow more precise the more undone you feel. Rage becomes refinement. A cleaner space. A sharper reply. A list made harder to please. You don’t explode, you edit. And when it spills, it doesn’t sound like chaos. It sounds like a verdict. The room goes quiet not because of volume, but because your words leave nothing untouched. You tear things down only to build them better, but only if you’re still willing to stay.

Mars in Libra

Anger passes through you like a mirror cracking in slow motion, elegant even as it breaks. You feel it first in the tension behind your smile, in the pause before you answer, in the weight of needing things to stay balanced when you are anything but. You don’t raise your voice. You raise the stakes. You lace your words in silk, but each one lands with precision, as if rehearsed in some private courtroom where fairness has long been on trial. You argue like you’re protecting the fragile thread between you and the other. The relationship matters more than the outburst, so your fury stays dressed in civility. But that doesn’t make it any less sharp. You fight to restore peace, but that fight still leaves bruises, quiet ones, like echoes in the shape of silence. Sometimes you disappear just long enough for them to feel what they missed. Not out of cruelty, but because absence can be its own kind of confrontation.

Mars in Scorpio

Anger doesn’t rise in you. It sinks. It coils in the dark like something ancient that learned long ago how to survive without being seen. No one hears the shift when it begins, not even you. It moves through your bloodstream like ink, staining your thoughts until nothing feels untouched. You absorb. And then you watch. You study the shape of the betrayal, the wound, the silence that was too loud to ignore. What you feel becomes armor. What you remember becomes strategy. You move in stillness, act without noise, and let the reckoning unfold on its own time. And when you finally act, it’s not to release the anger, it’s to remove what caused it. You become the ending they didn’t see coming. The kind that leaves no blood, only ghosts.

Mars in Sagittarius

Anger arrives in you like a wind that refuses to be trapped. It doesn't sit in your chest or simmer beneath your skin, it searches for an exit. The walls feel too close. The voices too slow. You need movement, distance, air. You pace before you speak, and when the words come, they come fast. A flood of truth you’ve been holding back, suddenly too big to contain. You don’t fight to win, you fight to stay free. To name what feels wrong. To rip the mask off a moment that pretends to be smaller than it is. You speak like someone trying to outrun the part of themselves that still wants to stay quiet. Your fury doesn’t follow a plan. It follows a compass, one that always points toward honesty, even when it hurts. And when you’ve said what needed saying, you rarely look back, because the horizon is calling again and the worst kind of prison is staying somewhere your truth isn’t welcome.

Mars in Capricorn

Anger doesn’t take you over, it waits. It studies. It tightens its grip in the jaw, in the stillness of your hands, in the silence between what you say and what you could have said. You feel it rise like a cold tide beneath the skin, slow and pressurized, choosing endurance over eruption. There is no room for waste in your rage, only structure, only aim. You build boundaries where others throw punches. You climb your anger like a staircase, one calculated step at a time. And when you strike, it’s strategic. A decision already made, carried out without flinch. You don’t need to scream to be devastating. You just need time, and once you've reached the top, the view is sharp, the air thin, the fall irreversible. You don’t want to destroy what hurt you. You want to outlast it. And that’s exactly what you do.

Mars in Aquarius

Your anger doesn’t burn, it disconnects. It flips a switch in your chest, dimming the part of you that once cared to explain. The moment something feels unjust or manipulative, you step outside of it like a window being shut mid-conversation. Cold, yes, but only because warmth has become too risky to offer. You don’t chase confrontation. You observe it. You map the logic, the power dynamics, the patterns others miss while they're too busy yelling. Your fury is quiet but charged, like static in the air before a storm. It gathers in the silence, in the sentence you never send, in the way you vanish from a room without moving an inch. When you strike, it’s with precision. To remind the world that distance can be sharper than any blade. And by the time they notice the gap between you and who you were, you’ve already rewritten the rules.

Mars in Pisces

Your anger doesn’t speak, it dissolves. It slips through cracks in your voice, through tears you didn’t plan to cry, through dreams that suddenly feel too loud to sleep in. You feel everything all at once and struggle to name just one thing. The pain, the memory, the ache that isn’t yours but still lives in your body. Rage blurs into sorrow, and sorrow blurs into silence. You don’t lash out, you drift. Further and further inward, where no one can follow. You might write it, sing it, turn it into something beautiful, but even beauty can bruise when no one sees the wound behind it. Your anger is a tide with no map. It pulls away when it should crash. It crashes when you swore you were fine. And by the time someone notices, you're already somewhere else, not gone, but unreachable. You don’t want revenge. You want release, something that lets the weight slip through your fingers without needing to explain why it was there.

✨ Want to decode your birth chart in depth? 📖 My book breaks it all down, planet by planet, house by house

[mercymaker]

reblogging this again because technically this is the aftermath of that little scene i put together for these bloody pics

me having a normal one today

[ozzgin]

On the topic of shameless monster fuckers… Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance

The Monster under your bed loves haunting you. You see, scaring someone is an art few can master. One has to apply just the right amount of fright in order to have the poor human on their toes, yet perpetually clueless. Too much, and one risks unwanted exposure. Too little, and it wouldn’t be fun.

So, he settles for humble, yet efficient tricks. Creaks of the floor, a faint scratch underneath your bed. Did something touch your leg just now? He cackles in delight every time you jolt, or gasp, or bend over to check for the source of all these mysterious sounds. Useless.

Tonight he returns for his routine. The room is pitch black, and he drags along his grotesque limbs in skillful silence. As he lowers himself, his smirk abruptly falters, eyes wide in disbelief.

You’re lying in his very own spot, pillows strategically scattered, fingers joined together like a maiden about to say the lunchtime prayer. An impertinent smile crosses your face, cheeks dusted hot pink.

“Finally. I almost fell asleep waiting for you”, you declare, batting your eyelashes.

Was his long-standing, methodical approach flawed? Could it be? The shadow creature omitted one vital detail, one absurd possibility: that you could reverse the roles. Very well, now what? Have you come to seek your revenge? Do you truly believe you have the slightest chance against an ancient, unholy being of no creation or beginning?

Here’s another mistake - assuming your intention was that of confrontation. Thankfully he is quick to catch his own fallacy. He notes your circumstance: defenseless, curled in a tight, cramped space, with no escape. You have set yourself for failure. Before he can consider your reasoning, you pull him underneath, your small hands holding onto the cold, rugged surface of his blasphemous body.

Tonight you won’t be getting much sleep, yet for different reasons.

[More Monsters]

[yan-randomfandom]

Hii! Could I request a yan! Jinx with a darling who is on hunger strike? (Bacically, darling got kidnapped and so she decided to stop eating till she gets freed...is that even a word?)

Anyways, ty 4 reading my request and I would be really happy if you were to fuffil it <3

Make sure u drink enough water!

Yandere!Jinx x GN!Starving!Reader

a/n: thank you for your kind words anon! 😺 i just realized how much energy i gave mc here omg 😭🙏

tw; starvation, kidnapped MC ermm

💧 ;

Stubbornness is something both you and Jinx share. It's built into your very core. She knows this, and yet, here we are.

You're tied to a chair, looking away from her with a deep frown on your face—unwilling to eat.

"My sweetest," Jinx groans, dragging out her words. "Darling, baby, angel..." She places her hands on the back of your chair, her breath brushing the tip of your nose—"beloved."

...

You roll your eyes. "It stinks."

With an offended gasp, she recoils from you, her eye twitching. "I— You— Come on! At least I had dinner, but you? You haven't eaten anything for days!"

As if the Gods have a sense of humor, your stomach lets out a loud, drawn-out rumble. It goes on for a few moments... like her hideout wasn't quiet enough already. You have half the heart to glance at Jinx, who's watching you with an unimpressed expression.

Against your better judgment, and despite the deadly stomachache, you don't say anything.

Jinx pushes the bowl of food in front of you. "...Your, uh, stomach's hungry. Please. I just want you to eat—"

"I want you to let me go," you snap, glaring at her. You emphasize your point by rattling the chair with your frail limbs in frustration. "It doesn't help that you tied my arms and legs up. Honestly."

She returns your look, almost clueless. "It didn't have to be that way! You kept trying to escape!"

"I wonder why!!"

An annoyed groan. You can't even tell if it was from you, or her. Maybe both.

...

...

"...I told you I can't," she mutters softly. Not when she started a war.

You scoff and turn away. "Not that you can't. You won't."

Jinx does not reply.

Then, she chuckles. "Still amazin'. All this energy, even in starvation."

...

You press your lips together. Truth be told, you're barely holding it together. You're simply not giving up. Even if it's out of spite. Especially.

She starts walking. The sound of her booted footsteps grows fainter and fainter until, finally—the exit closes.

Jinx left you.

Nothing else accompanies you but the quiet humming and faint lights in her hideout.

Your body seizes the chance to collapse, eyes closing in one blink.

...

The next time you wake up, you grudgingly rub your eyes. A yawn escapes you.

You stretch your body. Your joints pop, relief spreading all across—

Wait.

You sit up from the softest surface you've ever been on in a while. It takes a moment to clear your vision, but once it does, you fall in disbelief.

Lifting your hand, you eye your wrists suspiciously. The patterns of the rope is still visible. But faint. It must have been a while since they were removed.

The chair you've been stuck in for days is gone. Your limbs are untied, finally fucking free from the numbness. A small fan offers a refreshing breeze next to you.

Your heart starts racing.

A whiff of your favorite scent. You perk up.

There's a glass of water filled with ice on the table. Beside it, an irresistible array of food. All your favorite types.

You don't even think twice.

either u try to escape or eat the food—your choice. do both tho cuz u might idk die

[juyeoz]

BABY I — PARK JONGSEONG

Having a crush on Park Jay, your school’s student president, was quite hard. Especially when he was the centre of attention for many girls. However, who would’ve known he was pinning after you this whole time?

PAIRING — friend!jay x fem!reader (ft. sunoo from enhypen and hanni from newjeans)

CONTAINS — fluff, slight angst, somewhat crack, friends to lovers, mutual pinning to an extent, not proofread, mentions of being stood up, and y/n is kind of introverted.

WORDCOUNT — 3591 words

Park Jay was the student president of your school. He was helpful, trustworthy, smart, athletic, and nice to everyone who came into his vicinity. 

Obviously, you weren’t the only one who loved these aspects of him. He was well known amongst the male population of your school, but that didn’t mean the girls weren’t head over heels for him too.

Which only meant more competition for you. 

In your eyes, Jay was out of your league. He was way more outgoing than you would ever be, keeping many friends at his side, whilst you kept a small group of friends throughout your four years of highschool. 

“Hello? (Name), what were you going to say?” A voice questioned, bringing you out of your cluttered thoughts.

Your eyebrows perked up in surprise, completely forgetting who you were currently standing before—Park Jay. 

He slightly shook his head as a sign for you to continue your sentence. 

“Uh…” You muttered with your eyes looking everywhere but him. 

“What is it? There’s a meeting soon. I can’t wait for long.” Jay spoke again. His words seemed harsh, but his voice was soft.

“Right, sorry. Nevermind what I was going to say, it’s okay.” You reassured him with an apologetic smile. 

Great, another moment added to your ‘Book of Failures’.

Jay was confused, yet he smiled back at you and left in silence. You hated how perfect his smile was. Everything was perfect about him. There wasn’t one thing you didn’t like about him, however, you were pretty sure that spoke for everyone as well.

He was a perfect guy and you were, well, ordinary. You preferred to keep to yourself and stay away from any judgement, with an exception, of course.

Your best friend, Pham Hanni. She was someone you met during elementary school and someone you would forever trust.

“Let me guess, you failed again?” Hanni questioned from the desk beside you. You sighed at her words as your head hit the surface of your desk.

“I very much did.” You groaned out while Hanni smiled. A hand gently made its way to the crown of your head, caressing the area softly. 

“It will be fine! Everyone gets flustered when doing something like this.” She reassured you, but it wasn’t of any help.

“Do you think I could ever confess? I mean, do you know how many people like him? There’s at least a 1 in 600 chance of him reciprocating whatever my heart feels when I’m around him.”

“Well, you guys are close, right?” Hanni asked, but only received silence in return. 

“Right…?” She said once more.

Silence. 

“(Name), don’t tell me you two barely know each other!”

“No, of course not! We are, well, I don’t know. Could you even call us friends?” You asked, a groan escaping your lips shortly after.

“I mean, what are some of your interactions with each other?” 

“After the project we did together in English class, he would say hi to me in the halls, ask me for help in class, and offer me snacks here and there. However, that is it.”

“I’d say that’s between acquaintances and friends? Right?” Hanni pulled the lollipop she snacked on out of her mouth and pointed it at you.

“That is still a lot though! Probably more than anyone has ever had. I think you might have a chance.”

“Or are you just saying that to make me feel satisfied?” You asked while looking over at her.

“No, seriously! But if your words keep getting tongue tied, I don’t think you’ll have a chance anytime soon.” 

Your brows furrowed at her words as you landed a soft hit to her shoulder.

“Careful, my lollipop! I don’t want to drop it.” She exclaimed, her eyes widening at the treat in her hold. You rolled your eyes at this reaction of hers, it was common from her. You were pretty much used to it.

Your eyes glanced over to the doorway as one of your classmates walked in. Hanni looked at your sudden flustered state in confusion and turned around. 

There was no other reason for you to react this way. Park Jay, the boy you had a crush on, was currently walking through the doorway with his younger friend, Kim Sunoo, beside him. 

“You’re so obvious about it.” Hanni said, turning around to face you again and placing the lollipop in her mouth once more.

“I am not! There’s no way he knows.” You said with your face toward Hanni but your eyes on Jay.

He looked over at your seat—a common routine of his—and waved towards you with his signature smile present on his face. After a brief moment of hesitation, you waved back at him as a small smile broke through your flustered condition.

Hanni looked at you, then at Jay as Sunoo did the same. The two boys made their way to their seats up front and began talking once again.

However, the conversation was completely different than the one they were previously having.

“Seriously, are you going to tell her how you feel?” Sunoo questioned as Jay shushed him. 

“Of course not. Do you think she would even like me back? You’re funny.” Jay said while taking his seat.

“Jay, so many people like you.”

“That’s the point. What if she thinks I’m a player?” The boy asked while reaching into his backpack to grab his notebook.

“I doubt she would. There are a ton of options for you at school, but you decided to pin after a girl who you worked on a project with for two weeks. Two weeks.” 

“And those were the best days of my life. Seriously, I didn’t know someone like her existed in our school until this year. I don’t know how I survived until senior year without her presence.”

“Gross! You sound so in love—”

“Shut up! You’re so loud.” Jay whisper-shouted while covering Sunoo’s lips with both of his hands. 

“I’m sorry. Anyway, please think about it. It hurts to see you interact with her continuously just to not confess whatever you’re feeling.” Sunoo said while removing Jay’s hands from his face. 

“Whatever.” Jay mumbled as their teacher walked in. He would be lying if he said he didn’t believe that Sunoo was right. However, he was too nervous to ruin what you two already had.

The keys jangled in the doorknob’s keyhole as you struggled to unlock the art classroom. It wasn’t normal for classrooms to be locked, not at all, but this one was abandoned. 

Nobody used it anymore except for you. It was your quiet place. A place you went to ease your mind and located on the second floor. So, there was quite a process getting there. 

Giving out keys to abandoned classrooms was forbidden at your school. It was an unspoken rule that all teachers followed. However, your homeroom teacher trusted you. You were an excellent student in her eyes and that was enough for her to make up her mind.

The door clicked shut behind you and you made your way to the isolated desk you always sat at. All you had to do was get some classwork done. It wasn’t anything major, but the library would have been too loud at this time.

After all, it was lunchtime.

The sun shone through the thin material curtains, making your figure cast a shadow over your work. Usually, you sat here because it was the closest desk to the window. You gained a great view at the soccer field.

The one Jay always played on. 

Every time you came here, you constantly had to fight the urge to glance over at them. A little glance always went a long way, leaving you distracted for the rest of the hour. 

Giving in, your pencil movement came to a stop as you looked out the window from your seat. As usual, there were boys playing soccer in the summer heat, however, Jay wasn’t there. 

For a moment, you thought you saw wrong and took a closer look. Yet, you still couldn’t find him. 

You were too distracted to even hear the click of the door opening. Too distracted to even hear the footsteps that made its way to you. But you weren’t distracted enough to miss the sound of a desk being placed beside you. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked in a somewhat low voice. 

It was Jay. The boy you were previously looking for.

“Resting. You?” He replied while laying his head on his arms all while facing you. You avoided eye contact with him as usual. His gaze was too flustering for you. You couldn’t handle it.

“I’m studying.” You said and looked at your blank notebook page. You could feel his gaze still on you. It felt like it could see through you at any given moment. Once again, it was too much for you to handle. 

You needed to get rid of him quickly.

“You can’t be in here. It’s off limits.” You said, still not looking at the poor boy.

“Then why are you here? It’s an abandoned classroom and yet you’re here.” Jay said back. He wasn’t wrong. To be honest, he never was.

“Our teacher gave me permission. I work here often.” You explained as your pencil began to move, writing absolutely nothing but scribbles.

“Me too.” He said, leaving you confused. You looked over at him with a puzzled expression which only left him with a smile. 

“Your eyes are pretty.” Jay said and left your unsaid question unanswered.

His words only made you look away once more as your puzzled expression was replaced with a flustered one.

“What did you mean by your previous words?” You asked, discarding his compliment. 

“Which one? Your eyes are pretty? I mean, they truly are—”

“The other ones.” You interrupted, cutting him off. 

“Oh, Mrs. Jang lets me use this classroom to cool off my head when I get overwhelmed. I was shocked that it was already unlocked when I came. I didn’t know you used it too.”

“We never run into each other.” 

“I see,” he sighed and nuzzled his face further into his arms. 

You could still feel his gaze on you as silence fell upon you both. You were confused. Why did he compliment you? Did he like you back or was he only teasing you? Did he do this with every girl he saw or were you his only exception? 

Which one was it?

“Why do you keep doing that?” Jay’s voice pushed through your thoughts, startling you.

“Doing what?” You asked, still avoiding eye contact with him.

“That,” he began. “You don’t look at me when you talk to me. Do you hate the sight of my face or something?” 

“Of course not!” You exclaimed, catching both of you off guard. 

“I mean, I’m just shy.” 

“For sure.” He teased you.

Silence filled the classroom once more as you tried to do your work. Heavy emphasis on the word tried. 

He was still looking at you. You knew he was and he knew you knew too. 

“(Name).” Jay called. 

The way your name rolled off of his tongue was too much for you. You hated the sound of it. It was a precise pronunciation with a slight ring to it.

You swallowed thickly and nodded at his call, giving him the signal to proceed.

“Do you like me?”

“And then what?!” Hanni exclaimed, waiting for the rest of the story to leave your lips.

“What do you mean?” You asked. Your words only left Hanni feeling dumb.

“Was that it?” She asked as part of her hoped you would say no. However, to her dismay, you nodded your head.

“(Name)? He literally asked if you liked him and you didn’t even reply?!” She said in a loud tone. Luckily, you two were at your house so it was fine for her to be this way. There was nobody to overhear your conversation anyway.

“You blew it. You blew it!” 

She was in distress. After waiting for this moment to happen, she felt like her world officially ended. 

“I freaked out, okay? The bell went right after that!” You said in an attempt to defend yourself. 

“Let me guess. You used the excuse of being late when returning the classroom key and ran out in a haste.” 

“Spot on.” You said with a groan.

“Did I really mess up?” You asked. 

“Is that even a question? Seriously, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” Her face went dull as she sighed. You were definitely a handful to take care of. 

“Wait, I have an idea.” She suddenly said and her face brightened up immediately. You looked over at her with a frown. 

“Do you have his number?” Hanni questioned. Hesitantly, you nodded at her words. You only got his number because of the English project you two had to do and would text occasionally, but out of the blue was not the best option.

“Absolutely not! That’s too far.” You said while shaking your head at the idea you had of her possible plan.

“Chillax, it’s not too far at all. It’s better than leaving his somewhat confession hanging in the air.” 

She had a point.

“Fine. What are you going to say?” You asked while giving her your phone. You were nervous for whatever tricks she was planning on pulling, but you handed her your phone regardless.

“You’ll see.” Hanni said and began typing away.

For a while your room went quiet. The only sounds heard were Hanni’s fingers tapping against your phone screen and the wind outside of your window.

“Here.” She said after three minutes and handed you your device. You looked at her, taking note of how she bit back her smile. 

You were scared to see what she did, but you weren’t even able to due to the sudden incoming call. 

“What the hell, Hanni?!” You exclaimed as she only smiled. She ushered for you to answer the call as you did exactly that—after leaving your room, of course.

“Hey.” His voice was soft as usual on the other line. It made your heart beat faster, making you feel stupid.

“Hello,” you greeted back, waiting for him to say whatever he called for.

“Is it true?” 

“Is what true?” You asked. 

What the hell did Hanni even text him for him to ask this?

“You liking me. Is it true?” He sounded desperate. He wanted to know immediately. 

You hesitated on replying. Would it mess everything up, or what? His question back in the art classroom wasn’t something that sounded like he was looking for reciprocating feelings. If you said yes, where would that response take you?

“Yes, it is.” You replied in a somewhat whisper. Jay exhaled harshly, leaving you confused. Did you mess up? Why did he sigh so harshly? What did Hanni put you through? 

You turned around in a rush to open the door. You were nervous. You didn’t want to hear what came after his sigh. Not at all.

You were about to hand the phone back to Hanni, but was brought to an abrupt stop.

“Good.” Jay said. 

“Let’s talk about this in person tomorrow. I don’t want things to escalate on call, okay?” 

You hesitated in replying to his suggestion. Was that a good okay or a bad okay? Was he planning to reject you harshly? Was your friendship over?

“Is that okay with you, (Name)?” His voice once again pierced through your thoughts, bringing you back to reality.

“Yes. That’s okay with me.” You replied and you two said your goodbye before hanging up.

“So?” Hanni asked, waiting for you to explain what happened.

“I don’t know.” Was all you could say before flopping forward onto your bed with a racing heart.

Jay, on the other hand, paced back and forth in his room. You liked him and that was great! However, he didn’t want to ask you out over the phone. That wasn’t romantic at all.

How should he go about this? Should he confess in the morning before class or at lunch in the art classroom again? Should he bring flowers? Of course he should. Many people loved them.

But wait, were you allergic to them? Maybe not if you helped out the garden club leader Yang Jungwon that one day, right? He remembered the moment vividly. 

It was the time he confirmed his feelings for you. The way you smiled at the boy and listened attentively when he explained things to you. Honestly, that should’ve been him, but he had his moments during the English project.

Part of him even thought you liked Jungwon and not him. That was the only reason why he asked you the question at lunch yesterday. Even if the garden club incident happened last month, it still managed to bug him everyday.

At this point, his frequent questions wouldn’t get answered. His best option was to sleep. He could think of everything tomorrow morning. Before heading to sleep he sent you a quick message, letting you know where to meet him the next day. 

Near the garden, fifteen minutes after eight a.m. Easy and possibly romantic.

However, when the next morning came, you stood alone near the garden, fifteen minutes after eight a.m. And Jay was nowhere in sight.

You checked your phone constantly, hoping he sent you a text, letting you know of the change of plans. To your dismay, there was nothing. It was absolutely a ghost town on your phone and also five minutes left until the bell went. 

Were you just stood up by your crush? Most likely. You felt embarrassed. You were completely right about Jay not liking you back, nevertheless, you let Hanni’s words get to your head. Was it her fault? Absolutely not, but you wondered. What if you never gave her your phone at that time? Would you and Jay still be just friends?

A hand grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. You didn’t even get far from the spot you stood at. It was so sudden and scary and their grip never faltered.

You turned around and were, luckily, met with an out of breath Jay. The boy who you had a crush on and who you thought stood you up.

“I’m sorry.” He said while letting go of your wrist and standing up.

“I woke up late, I didn’t mean to leave you standing there alone. I swear of it.” He explained as you listened, avoiding eye contact. 

“It’s fine. What did you want to say?” You asked.

“First off, please look at me when I say all of this.” He pleaded, causing you to slowly look over at him.

“Okay. I really didn’t mean to leave you waiting. I had my alarm set and everything, yet I still slept past it. I couldn’t sleep all night because of this. I was nervous.” 

You remained silent, in which he took as a sign to continue.

“When I saw you text me the other day, I was thrilled. I thought I ruined everything by asking you if you liked me during lunch. Seriously, the way you ran out so suddenly left me worried.” 

“I’m sorry. I was flustered.” You apologised and he shook his head.

“It’s okay. I’m glad I found out you truly did like me though.” He said as a slight smile made its way to his face.

“Do you like me back?” You asked, genuinely. He didn’t say he did. You weren’t sure if he did either.

“What?” He questioned back.

“Do you like me back?” You repeated, hoping it would get through him this time.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” He was dumbfounded that you even asked him that. Was it not obvious by his many interactions with you compared to others? 

“Please, don’t say it like that.” You muttered and avoided eye contact with him again. 

“Why not? Does it make you flustered?” 

“Yes, it does.” Your voice was quiet and made Jay’s smile grow bigger.

“I’ve liked you for a while now, (Name). Ever since the English project actually. Those were the best days of my life.” 

“Not even being promoted to student president?” You questioned as your heart beat increased drastically. 

“Not even close.” He said back.

You remained silent at his confession and played with the dirt below your shoes. 

“So, what do you say?” He asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Can I be your boyfriend?” He asked again.

“Enough of that!” You exclaimed, softly hitting his shoulder.

“What am I doing wrong?” He was confused. He didn’t even do anything this time. It was a genuine question. 

“Can I, (Name)?” 

He did it again. The way he said your name only left you even more flustered as you let out a mumbled ‘yes.’ 

He could barely hear what you said and only picked up the ‘s’ sound at the end of your word. The boy before you smiled. 

He was glad you said yes. 

“I’m glad.” He voiced out and engulfed you into a hug which you reciprocated. 

The bell finally went once you two began to hug. Those were the longest five minutes in your life, but they were definitely worth it. Hanni and Sunoo were most likely going to have a field day with this new information. 

You could say, they were the ones who made this all happen with their constant pushing, right?

Yeah, most definitely.

© JUYEOZ

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @kxppachu

[shewolfofvilnius]

It's fascinating how even though you don't always hear about \ anyone other than Astarion, every origin companion in BG3 has an endgame/epilogue state that is either outright bad for them or at the very least "not as good as they deserve".

Obvious there have been books and 100,000 pages of fic and discourse written about Ascended Astarion. In the moments when he almost acts like his old self, even then it's merely humoring you with a whim.

Mother Superior DJ Shadowheart flat out admits to severe empathy for what Viconia went through, and has fully closed herself off from any sense of attachment or feeling other than Nocturne and Tav. Her continued need to find carve-outs and exceptions and loopholes parallels Viconia's own eventual disagreements with Shar. And as we know, Shar will eventually betray or abandon her if Shadowheart doesn't betray her first. It's the story of every devout Sharran we meet.

Gale, the God is a smug arrogant hubris-ridden asshole that's even mean to Tara in the epilogue. Nearly every single sentiment he expressed about why he wanted the Crown and to ascend is immediately inverted. Of course he's not going to interfere. He's a figure of aspiration. Once he received power himself he immediately forgot and forsook everyone and everything about why he wanted it in the first place. A romanced God Gale is SLIGHTLY more grounded but that's mostly just because you ground him. And if you ascend with him, that ends that.

Lae'zel's return to Vlaakith results in her ascension, which leads to her missing the party and being very dead. The things that Lae'zel claimed to value will never truly be as long as Vlaakith rules, and her not escaping and falling back into her people's death cult robs her of the ability to create a new Gith, a better Gith.

Karlach is dead, or almost as bad, a Mind Flayer. And while most of her initial personality remains, by six months in she's already grown emotionally distant and her personality is clearly and evidently being slowly overridden by the brains of the dying she consumes. She's forsaken the embrace of death for the guise of eternal continuation in her. And even surrounded by the ten people who should mean the most in the world to her, all she mostly thinks about is others' perceptions of her (ala the Emperor) and the fact that she's hungry. Mind Flayer Karlach even notes that she used to think becoming a Mind Flayer would be the worst thing ever, but now she likes it. Shades of the Emperor x1000 and a clear sign that the Karlach we know and love is rapidly becoming a memory.

and then there's Grand Duke Wyll. On the surface, it appears the happiest of the "bad" endings, but pay attention. Note how he discusses wheeling and dealing and making agreements with patriars. (How well has contracts and deals worked out for you in the past?) Oh, and in certain conditions including romance, Wyll will offer you the chance to become a Grand Duke as well - with the others being his father (Ravengard #3) and Florrick (Wyll/Ulder's longest lasting family friend). That's not a government of the people for the people. When the power is tied up by a husband, spouse, his father, and their most trusted advisor, that's the makings of a monarchy or oligarchy. Of the type of patriar power-claim to last for generations, something Wyll himself once mocked. Oh, and if you adopt a child, then you get into the worst part of it all: Wyll's been busy running a city, and oh hey, instead of y'all bringing YOUR FOUR MONTH OLD DAUGHTER with you, hey, she'll be cool being watched by the Ilmater temple for a night right? Sorry, Wyll, were you saying something a few months ago about distant parenting? Yikes.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: A lingering crush brings two old campers back as Camp Counselor in hopes that maybe, just maybe, they can finally cross a line that they've been dancing along for eight long years, but when Harry turns a cold shoulder, you're left wondering if you'll ever actually get the chance you've been dreaming of. A chance to call him yours. Word Count: 8.9k Warning: Mild Angst, Mild Smut, Fluff, and Falling In Love!

This was it, right? This was the place that set the landscape for most of your daydreams. A place so vivid in your mind that no matter where you were or what you were doing, all you would have to do was close your eyes, and there you were, standing at the edge of the lake, watching the wind send gentle waves swaying across the water.

This was Camp Wildwood.

Your sanctuary

Your escape.

Your body knew this, knew the earthy scent of pine, how it picked up on the breeze skimming over Lake Serenade, the rustle of the leaves echoing their whispers to the soft, warm air on a summer night as the rest of the world went still around you, silence, only the earth singing her praise with the hum of nature.

There was no other place like it. This was what you looked forward to every year: that scent, this view—the wooden cabins nestled between tall trees, the shimmering lake in the distance, and the large campfire pit where you had spent countless summer nights singing songs and roasting marshmallows. This was your home away from home ever since you were ten, a welcome escape from the concrete jungle of New York City.

But this summer was different.

This summer, you weren’t just a camper; you were a counselor.

Your eyes darted across the grounds, desperate in their search for that one familiar face among the sea of arriving staff members, hope swelling in your chest. You didn’t think you would be this anxious or that your heart would be hammering against your ribs. Was it excitement or dread, a delicate mix swirling with a year of emotions you had kept at bay waiting for this one moment.

 Would he keep his promise? What if he’d changed his mind?

Harry.

The boy who had claimed your heart with his dimpled smile and laughing eyes, and like clockwork each summer, Harry was sure to take a tiny piece of you with him when the inevitable goodbye rolled off that sweet British tongue.

Eight years of this. 

You knew it was more than a summer crush, and the very thought of him not showing made your stomach twist into knots, and you stood there, trying to prepare yourself for the possibility that he might not come.

You still remembered the first time you met him.

You were both ten, awkward and shy, of course, two newbies assigned to neighboring cabins. He had this thick accent that made all the American kids giggle, but you found it endearing, the cadence like music to your ears, and the two of you became fast friends. Over the years, your friendship had grown, evolving into something that teetered on the edge of romance but never quite tipped over. There was always an unspoken understanding between you—always a summer crush that remained just that because what was the point, right? When camp ended, you returned to New York, and he flew back across the ocean to England.

Last summer, on the final night of camp, you had made a pact with Harry. You were both seventeen, sitting by the lake, feet dangling in the cool water as the stars reflected on its surface.

“Next year,” he had said, his voice deeper than when you first met, “we should come back as counselors.”

You looked at him then, memorizing the way the moonlight cast shadows on his beautiful face. “Promise?”

Then he extended his pinky finger, a childish gesture that made you giddy. “Promise.”

And you linked your pinky with his, trying to ignore the flutter in the pit of your stomach as your skin touched. “It’s a deal, Styles.”

You knew this summer marked a threshold.

A dividing line between adolescence and adulthood that neither one of you could ignore. At eighteen, you both stood at the cusp of real life, of college decisions and career paths that would inevitably pull you in different directions. You had both changed; you could hear it in the deep timbre of his voice during those rare phone calls and could definitely see it in the subtle maturity that had crept into his features in the photos he posted, the people and things he surrounded himself with.

Coming back to Camp Wildwood no longer felt like a reunion with a place or even a person—It felt like a collision between memory and possibility. It would no longer be the innocent summers of friendship bracelets and ghost stories around the campfire.

Those days were behind you.

What lay ahead was uncharted territories—a summer where stolen glances might stir something more, or maybe those understood feelings might finally lead to something more concrete. Every fiber of your being knew that the weeks that lay ahead would either transform everything between you or bring eight years of summer dreams to a bittersweet end, and you would have to be okay with that.

You would have to move on.

Now, as you dragged your suitcase toward the counselors’ cabins, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had kept his promise.

“Hey! City girl!”

The British draw made you freeze. Slowly, you turned around, and there he was—Harry, walking toward you with that same smile that had been haunting your dreams for years.

Except, he wasn’t exactly the same. He was taller, his shoulders more broad. His once short, curly hair now fell in loose waves around his face. But his eyes—those fucking green eyes that reminded you of the forest surrounding you.

Those eyes were still the same.

And those eyes were moving down your body at a pace that made you want to run and hide.

“Harry,” you breathed, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “You came back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” He reached for you, hesitant for a moment before pulling you into a hug, and you melted into his embrace, breathing in his scent as a heady rush of emotions coursed through your body, and you closed your eyes, letting the hug linger until he moved away.

When he pulled back, his eyes roamed your face as if reacquainting himself with your features. “You look good, city girl.”

“Not so bad yourself, Brit,” you teased, trying to ignore the way your heart raced, hoping he couldn’t see it beating at your throat like a drum.

For a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

The both of you were still those two kids with summer crushes, stealing glances across the campfire. But then there was a strange shift in his expression, so subtle you almost missed it. A slight hardening around his eyes. A slight stiffening of his shoulders as he took a small step back, creating distance where there had been none.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing your suitcase, his voice noticeably cooler than it had been seconds ago. “Orientation starts in an hour.”

The sudden shift was disorienting as you walked beside him toward the counselors’ cabins. Your questions were already stacking up as you tried to keep pace with his long strides—he was keeping a careful space between you, his responses to your questions becoming shorter, more clipped. It confused you. The warm Harry who had embraced you was disappearing behind a wall you couldn’t make sense of, and somewhere, while you were lost in the anticipation of it all, you still thought maybe, just maybe.

Little did you know how right—and wrong—you would be.

The first week of camp flew by in a blur of orientations, you getting to know the other counselors, some new, some you still remembered. That week was spent preparing for the arrival of the campers. Luckily, you were assigned to the Maple cabin, responsible for a group of twelve-year-old girls, while Harry was put in charge of the Oak cabin with boys of the same age.

But something had definitely changed.

The easy camaraderie you had always relied on with Harry seemed to have evaporated into thin air. He was distant, almost cold. During staff meetings, he sat with the other male counselors, laughing loudly at jokes you couldn’t hear. Somedays, you only crossed paths during activities; those were the times he would give you a quick nod before turning his attention elsewhere, your eyes following him like the lovesick fool you were.

The days he didn’t look your way at all were the days that the sun seemed to swallow you into a fiery pit of hell.

Only a traitor could sink you into a cruel hole of misery.

And that’s what he was—A traitor.

It was as if the Harry you knew had been replaced by someone else—someone cocky, arrogant, and yet he was so fucking attractive.

Because that was the worst part. Despite his new attitude, you couldn’t deny that Harry had grown even more handsome over the past year. His body had filled out, muscles more defined. Had he been going to the gym? It wasn’t just his body—it was also the tattoos—every day, you swore you caught new glimpses of tattoos you had never seen before peeking out from under his tight t-shirt sleeves. The dark ink marking his tan skin was like a mystery you had yet to uncover, it drove you wild, the sight making your mouth go dry in seconds.

And fuck, if you weren’t the only one who noticed because every female counselor seemed to have their eye on him, especially Gwen from the Willow cabin, who couldn’t for the life of her shut up about him.

“God, have you seen Harry’s arms...those tattoos. It’s crazy he has that many already?” Gwen sighed one night as you both got ready for bed in the cabin you shared. “I swear, I almost fainted during the canoeing demonstration today.”

Her words made you cringe as you forced a noncommittal sound, pretending to be engrossed in the book you were reading, But really, you already wanted to bite her little Barbie head off as she brushed her long blonde hair, shiny and perfect, not a split-end in sight. She was the exact girl you pictured him with; you kept thinking every time your eyes moved to her.

“And that accent,” she gushed, oblivious to your discomfort. “It’s, like, illegal to be that hot and have a British accent. It’s not fair to the rest of us.”

“Mmm—” you mumbled, turning a page you hadn’t actually read, thinking it should probably be illegal for two really hot people to even interact; how are the rest of us supposed to have a chance when she’s walking around like fucking Malibu Barbie all day? 

Who even looks good in khaki shorts, anyway?

Only Gwen, dammit, only Gwen.

“I think he might be into me,” She added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We were on kitchen duty together yesterday. He kept making these little jokes, and our hands touched when we were washing dishes, and I swear there was a moment.”

You looked at her then, wanting to catch the look on her face as your stomach twisted at the thought, jealousy knotching down your spine with every comment, but you forced a smile. “That’s... great, Gwen.”

“I know—I mean, it’s probably nothing, but a girl can dream, right?” She flopped onto her bed, staring dreamily at the ceiling, and you hated the innocence of her carefree wonderment. You wanted it to be you. He was supposed to be grazing your hand, staring into your eyes, dammit, not sharing those dimples with someone else.

“Do you think I should make a move? or Is that too forward?” She spoke up, cutting through your raging thoughts

You wanted to kill her dreams right then and there, tell her that the Harry you knew wouldn’t be interested in someone so obvious, so shallow. But then again, was that even true anymore? The Harry you knew seemed to have vanished, replaced by this frat-boy version who might very well be into someone like Gwen.

“I don’t know him that well,” you lied, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue.

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you guys were friends. Didn’t you both go to camp here as kids?”

“We did,” you admitted. “But people change.” You forced, each word threatening to smolder out that flame that had been burning bright for him all these years because the truth held an edge you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

Then, it was like Gwen was trying to drive that knife deeper, and she said, “Well, if you have any insider info on what he’s into, feel free to give a girl some hints,” and she fucking winked before turning off her bedside lamp.

Bitch.

Traitor.

Another fake, you thought as you lay in the darkness, listening to Gwen’s breathing even out as she fell asleep. Your mind was racing. This new information opened a festering wound of envy. What had happened to Harry? Why was he acting so different? And why did it hurt so much to see him pulling away from you? and the thought you couldn’t stop repeating was:

What if he feels the same way about Gwen?

The next morning, the questions only seemed to multiply when you saw Harry and Gwen sitting close together at breakfast, their pretty little heads bent too close as they laughed over something on Harry’s phone. It made you sick, the food on your tray no longer appealing, the feeling hollowing out your chest.

But it wasn’t just Gwen. Harry seemed to be charming everyone at camp, from the youngest campers to the oldest staff members.

Even Terry, the camp director, wasn’t immune to his charm. You for sure didn’t miss the way she smiled a little wider when Harry was around, how she always seemed to find reasons to touch his arm or shoulder during conversations. And this new version of Harry didn’t seem to mind the attention whatsoever—the way he made sure to return her smiles with ones of his own, those dimples dipping, the ones you thought were reserved for you now on display for everyone because everyone got something from Harry.

Everyone except you.

That’s when spite grabbed you by the throat, forcing you to call it what it was.

Insecurity.

Harry was making you insecure, and this brought on a whole new round of emotions because never in your life had he made you feel this way about yourself—made you feel like this low hideous being, the fucking green-eyed monster you were slowly becoming in his presence.

And you hated it.

One afternoon, as you were supervising your campers during arts and crafts, you couldn’t help but observe Harry across the field, leading his group in a game of capture the flag. You sat there mesmerized, Harry moving with an air of confidence that was new, shouting encouragements and high-fiving the boys when they scored. His laughter carried across the distance, and for a moment, it was like you were transported back in time, back to a time when that laugh was usually directed at you.

“Miss, are you okay?” One of your campers, a girl named Lily, was looking at you with concern. “You look sad.”

You were quick to plaster a smile on your face. “I’m fine, Lily. Just thinking about what activity we should do next.”

“Can we go swimming? It’s so hot today.”

Relieved you nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Swimming sounds absolutely perfect. We’ll finish up here and head to the lake.”

As your group made their way to the lake, you passed Harry and his campers returning from their game. For a second, your eyes met briefly, and you swore you thought you saw a flicker of the old Harry—Those green eyes softening, a playful smirk playing at his lips when he caught you gawking after he lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, and you smiled, giving yourself away, and he liked it, you swore he liked it. But then he had to go and ruin it all by looking away. His eyes cutting from you like you didn’t exist, slicing the moment by saying something to one of his campers that made the boy laugh, and the moment was gone just like that, pulled from under your feet. Stealing what little joy you had that afternoon.

That evening, after the campers were settled in their cabins for the night, all the counselors were set to gather in the staff lounge for a meeting. Still sour from earlier, you took a seat near the back, trying not to notice that Harry was sitting at the front, right next to Gwen, but what’s new?

“Alright, everyone,” Terry began, her voice carrying through the room. “First of all, great job on the first week. The campers are having a blast, and that’s all thanks to your hard work.”

There was a round of applause, and begrudgingly you forced yourself to join in, even as your eyes remained fixed on the back of Harry’s head, trying to bore a hole with your sharp gaze, it only getting worse any time Gwen leaned in to giggle in his ear.

Nothing was that funny, and here you were again.

Spiteful.

“Now, onto business,” Terry continued. “We’re going to be switching up the night patrol duty partners. We’ve decided to make the pairs co-ed, to ensure a balance of perspectives and skills.”

A murmur broke out, then—a new energy sweeping through the room. Night patrol was a responsibility all counselors shared, taking turns to walk the grounds after lights out, making sure all campers were in their cabins and everything was secure. This had never in the history of you being at camp here been co-ed, and when you saw Gwen nudge Harry’s arm with a giddy smile, it had you seeing red.

“I’ve posted the new pairings on the bulletin board outside. Please check your schedule before you leave. The new arrangements start tomorrow night.”

As the meeting wrapped up, everyone filed out to check the bulletin board. You took your time hanging back, waiting for the crowd to thin before approaching. When you finally got a clear view of the list, your heart stopped.

There, next to your name, was Harry’s.

And dammit, now you were going to be spending every third night on patrol with him, just the two of you, alone in the dark.

What would you even say? Would he say anything to you at all, or would that wall be a stone fortress?

Impenetrable by your existence alone. 

You raked your eyes from the list, meeting Harry’s gaze across the crowd. He was looking at you with another one of those unreadable expressions, his jaw tight. It was like the world stopped as the moment stretched between you, charged with something you couldn’t name, and before you could let his cold stare burn you alive, you turned and stormed off, your head a tangled mess of anger, confusion, a sudden traitorous flutter of excitement because god, you had wanted to be alone with him since the day you got here, and now this was your chance.

Sometimes fate gives you exactly what you asked for—and that’s the problem at times, right?

The following day passed in a blur of activities and camper obligations, but your mind was elsewhere, fixated on the upcoming night patrol with Harry, an endless chatter of thoughts circling. By the time evening rolled around, your nerves were stretched thin.

Exhausted. You just wanted to crawl into bed.

But you carried on.

After ensuring your campers were settled for the night, with the junior counselor on duty inside the cabin, you made your way to the main office, where night patrol always began. Harry was already there, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as you approached, his face carefully neutral, and so was yours.

“Hey,” he mumbled, pocketing his phone.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice cooler than intended, and you forced your eyes away from his face. You’re heart already aching for the past.

With perfect timing, Terry emerged from her office, handing you both flashlights. “Standard route tonight, guys. Perimeter check, then a sweep of the main areas. Radio if you see anything concerning.”

You nodded, avoiding eye contact with both of them. You weren’t sure if you could do this if you could play it cool.

“You two have a good night. I always love seeing old campmates reconnect. That’s why I paired the two of you together,” Terry said, her hand lingering on Harry’s arm a beat longer than necessary before she retreated back to her office.

The silence that set in between you and Harry was deafening as you stepped out into the night. The camp was quiet, too quiet. Most of the lights in the cabins were already out. The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the distant hooting of an owl.

Without hesitation, you started walking toward the perimeter path, Harry falling into step beside you, his presence making you angry, yet you wanted him near, which made you even angrier, which made the silence loom, and that made you even angrier, and here you were getting sucked into a vicious cycle until the tension shaped itself into a palpable entity—a living thing that seemed to grow and stretch with each passing minute of silence, trying to steal the words crawling up your throat.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you spoke. “So, what’s your problem?”

Harry glanced at you, his expression guarded. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Harry. You’ve been avoiding me since camp started. Actually, no—you’ve been actively ignoring me. What did I even do?” And you reached for his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

He let out a sigh like he couldn’t be bothered to answer the question, and he ran a hand through his hair, making your insides ache to be the one touching him in this very moment, “You didn’t do anything.” He forced.

“Then why are you acting like I don’t exist? We were friends, Harry. At least, I thought we were.”

“We were,” he said quietly. “We are.”

“Really? Because friends don’t ignore each other for weeks. Friends don’t act like complete strangers after knowing each other for eight years.”

Harry turned away, then shook his head, and you grabbed at his arm, desperate for him to look you in the eyes. In the moonlight, his features were shadowed, but you could still see the conflict in his eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“Well—uncomplicate it for me,” you challenged, crossing your arms.

He looked away, his jaw working as if he was struggling with what to say. “I just... I thought it would be easier this way.”

“Easier for who? Because it’s certainly not easier for me to have you suddenly turn into some kind of stranger.”

“For both of us,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Look, we’re not kids anymore. We can’t just pick up where we left off every summer and pretend like the rest of the year doesn’t exist.”

His words landed hard on your ears, the truth a weight you knew you both had been carrying, “I never pretended that.” You whispered

“Didn’t you? We text what? A few times, like some obligatory check-in, and then nothing until we’re back here. And then what? We have our summer thing and then go back to our separate lives? It’s not real, is it? How could any of that be real?

You took a step back, the pain in his voice washing over you., “It was real to me, Harry. Every moment we spent together was real to me.”

Something flickered in his eyes—a vulnerability that reminded you of the boy you used to know. But then it was gone, replaced by that new hardness you had come to associate with this new version of Harry.

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t have been,” he said, his voice curt. “Maybe we should have just kept it casual, like everyone else does at summer camp.”

“Is that what you’re doing now? Keeping it casual with Gwen? With Terry? Fuck, I don’t know, with anyone who gives you attention?”

The words came out harsher than you intended, your jealousy spewing, all the hurt you had been trying to suppress rising to the surface.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? You come back here all different, with your new look and this new freaking attitude, flirting with everyone except me. What am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to think that maybe I grew up. That maybe I’ve realized that whatever was going on between us wasn’t going anywhere. That maybe I’m trying to move on.”

The confession hit you like a physical blow. You had always known, logically, that your summer connection with Harry had an expiration date. But hearing him say it out loud, confirming that he was actively trying to move past whatever feelings he’d had for you—it hurt more than you could have imagined because these weren’t the words you wanted to hear him say.

“Fine,” you said, your voice barely audible. “If that’s what you want, then fine. Let’s just get through this patrol, and then we can go back to ignoring each other.”

That was it. This was how it would end.

And now you had to move on.

Gutted, somehow, you forced yourself from his gaze and turned to continue walking, your vision blurring as hot tears welled despite your desperate attempts to hold them back. Each step felt heavier than the last, your chest constricting with an ache so visceral you could barely breathe as the heat of the night swarmed your lungs. Your throat burned, a painful lump growing, choking off any words you might have said to salvage what was breaking between you.

But there was nothing because he seemed to have made up his mind.

Behind you, Harry’s heavy sigh cut through the night like a knife, twisting deeper into the wound his words had already carved. He followed, his footsteps hesitant, maintaining a distance that felt both suffocatingly close and devastatingly far—slowly morphing into the physical manifestation of what your relationship had become, but nothing hurt worse than the silence because there’s nothing like the finality that silence brings, a tangible hurt, something that could crush you beneath its weight if you let it.

And you weren’t sure if you could stop it or if you wanted to.

Let him see you cry, you thought.

 Make him see the pain he’s causing you.

The rest of the patrol passed in strained silence, both of you performing your duties mechanically. As you approached the supply cabin—the last stop on your route—you noticed the door was slightly ajar.

“The supply cabin’s open,” you forced out, the first words either of you had spoken in nearly an hour.

Harry nodded, pushing past you, and he forced the door wider, his silent gesture adding a sting to the hurt. “Probably just someone forgetting to lock up after getting equipment for tomorrow.”

You didn’t want to but followed him inside, and the small space seemed to narrow, feeling smaller with both of you in it. The cabin was filled with shelves of sports equipment, arts and crafts supplies, and other camp necessities. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting everything in a dim, yellow light when Harry pulled the chain.

“Doesn’t look like anything’s missing,” he said, scanning the shelves, and your eyes roamed over his face wishing that he looked as shitty as you felt, but he still held some kind of power over you, and you felt the ache deep in your bones.

You nodded, suddenly very aware of how close he was in the confined space. The scent of him—the earthy pine from the forest, the woody campfire from earlier, and something recognizably Harry—filled your senses, making it harder to concentrate on the task at hand.

And what was that again?

“We should check the inventory list, just to be sure,” you said, moving toward the clipboard hanging on the wall.

As you reached for it, Harry reached for it, too, his hand brushing against yours, and you both froze, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Slowly, you turned to face him, finding him much closer than you expected.

His green eyes, dark in the dim light, searched yours as the tension between you shifted, transforming from anger and hurt into something else entirely—something buzzing with a dangerous thrill that had you aching for a different ending.

“Harry,” you whispered, not sure if it was a question or a plea.

He swallowed, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah?” He forced.

“Tell me why you came back?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what he meant.

He didn’t answer, just took a step closer, eliminating what little space remained between you both, and your back hit the wall, the clipboard forgotten as it clattered to the floor, the sound making your heart race because you had never felt anything like this before.

This pull.

His gaze.

The magnitude of the words not spoken.

“This,” he murmured, his breath warm against your face. “Us.”

Your heart was pounding, your body painfully aware of every point where it almost touched his. “I don’t want it to end like this...” You breathed.

Whatever resolve he seemed to have before crumbled at your words. With a groan that sounded like surrender, Harry closed the final distance between you, his lips crashing against yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

The kiss was nothing like you had imagined during all those summers of wondering. It was better—raw and desperate, edged with the frustration that had been building between you for weeks, for years. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as yours tangled in his hair, those soft curls you had dreamed of touching for years, now threading through your fingers with a new drive.

When you finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Harry pushed his forehead to yours. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he confessed, his voice rough.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, your fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, his eyes drawing you in, holding you in place, when everything in you was screaming this is a bad idea.

“Because I was scared. Because every summer, I’d go home with this ache in my chest, missing you. And it got harder each year, knowing that whatever we had was confined to this place, to these few weeks.” and fuck, if those weren’t the words you had been dying to hear.

And you felt it.

This flood of realization.

This understanding—his distance, his new persona. It was all a defense mechanism, his way of protecting himself from the pain of wanting something he thought he couldn’t have.

“I missed you too,” you admitted. “Every day, not just during summer.”

And for the first time since you had arrived at camp, his fucking walls were coming down, you could see the shift in his gaze, feel raw emotion replacing the careful distance as his searching eyes met yours. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, pulling him back to you for another kiss.

This one was slower.

Deeper.

Set with a new determination.

You wanted your mouth to speak, your mouth moving against his to drive a conversation without words, to express everything you had been holding back. All the things you wish you had ever said. Harry’s hands slid under the hem of your t-shirt, his touch warm and foreign but delicate, and you arched into him, wanting more, needing more, as a curious edge took over.

“Are you sure about this?” Harry asked, his voice strained as he pulled back slightly.

For weeks, your mind had been racing with conflicting thoughts. This was Harry—the boy you had a crush on for years, the one who had been ignoring you for weeks, the one who made your heart race and your blood boil all in one breath. You weren’t sure of anything except that you wanted him, right now, in this dusty supply cabin with the moonlight filtering through the small window.

You needed him.

Because you had never been more scared or excited in your life.

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “Are you?”

“I want you so fucking bad,” and then he kissed you again, more pressing this time, his roaming hands becoming bolder as they explored your body. You responded in kind, tugging at his t-shirt until he broke the kiss long enough to yank it over his head.

The sight of him shirtless—all defined muscles and tattoos you had only caught glimpses of before—made your breath catch, and you ran your curious hands over his chest, tracing the outlines of the ink on his skin, learning him by touch.

“Your turn,” he breathed, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

With a quiet nod, you raised your arms, allowing him to pull your shirt off, and you saw the want in his eyes as they took in the sight of you in your bra, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his tone awestruck. “So fucking sexy,”

His words sent a rush through you, emboldening you to reach behind and unhook your bra, letting it fall to the floor between you. For a second, you stood there, but Harry’s sharp intake of breath was all you needed to snap you out of your nervous haze, and then his hands were moving to your bare skin, cupping your breasts with a gentleness that contradicted the hunger in his eyes.

“God—I want you so bad,” he admitted, his thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, making your spine straighten. “This. For years.”

“Me too, I want it so bad,” you almost begged, pushing the words out with a hunger you had never heard leave your mouth.

With a breathy laugh that sent a shiver down your spine, Harry lifted you, your legs wrapping tight around his waist as he carried you to a cleared space on one of the tables. His mouth collided with your body in haste, moving to your neck, trailing hot kisses down to your collarbone, then lower, taking one of your nipples between his teeth, then sucking it into his mouth.

You let out a moan, your head falling back as pleasure coursed through you, and your shaky hand fumbled with the button of his jeans, desperate to feel more of him. Even more desperate to see all of him. Harry just as needy lent a helping hand, stepping back just long enough to shed his pants and boxers before helping you out of yours.

And then you were both naked, laid bare before him in the dim light of the supply cabin, years of unspoken desire finally confirmed in this moment. Harry stood between your legs, his hands running up and down your thighs as his eyes devoured you. There was an honesty in his touch that filled the silence with the truth your words had failed to communicate, and as you stared into his eyes, a tiny voice in your head whispered that there was no going back from this moment, that everything would change, and you welcomed it even as butterflies swarmed your stomach.

 You felt him in that moment, everything you ever wanted, and your body hummed with it, an electric current of need that overrode the trembling in your limbs. Because no matter how many times you had imagined it, you never truly believed it would happen. His green eyes said it all: you knew this would be worth the wait, that he would be worth the wait.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked his voice horse with an effort to keep hold of his composure.

You nodded as your gaze drifted down his body, “Yes—and I’m clean. You?” You spoke up, trying to stay in the moment, but everything about him threatened to steal you completely.

“Clean,” he almost blurted. “Got tested after my last relationship ended.”

The mention of his past relationships sent a pang of jealousy through you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the realization that this was happening—you and Harry, finally crossing the line you had danced along for years because you knew once you had him, you were never letting go.

Then Harry stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you held your breath as he positioned himself at your entrance, “Last chance to back out,” he said, concern pinching between his brows.

And for a moment, there was fear, and you exhaled, ready to surrender, to give yourself entirely. Then you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. “I’m not backing out. I want you, Harry. I’ve always wanted you.”

“I’ll go slow...” He promised, and then he was gently pushing into you with a soft groan slipping past his lips, his pace achingly slow as he slid past your opening, and you bit down to bite back your moan. 

Because even though your word spoke otherwise, it didn’t stop the fear that was gripping your body, every muscle tightening the second he began to push.

Harry’s eyes stayed trained on yours, watching your every reaction with an intensity that made you feel exposed, cherished in the way every touch was tender, controlled precision as the feeling of him gradually filling you became overwhelming—It wasn’t just the bodily sensation that made your breath catch or made your fingers dig into his shoulders, but it was the thundering realization that this was Harry, finally becoming part of you after eight years of wanting and waiting.

And held onto him as your bodies connected. You knew this would go beyond the physical. Each tiny movement carried the weight of countless summers, missed opportunities, and veiled confessions. When you felt the slight tremor in his arms as he held himself above you, restraining himself, you realized he was putting your comfort before his own desire—a devotion that made your heart swell even as your body adjusted to the newness of him.

Neither of you spoke.

It was only the sounds of your shared breaths and the whispered rustle of skin against skin, yet in the silence, years of longing were finally answered in this perfect, imperfect, beautifully human moment of this bond—it was yours, it was his, and a new history was soon to evolve.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, his forehead pressed hard against yours as he stilled, fully inside you now. “You feel amazing.”

But you couldn’t form words.

You could only nod, and you wordlessly pulled him closer, urging him to move, and he complied, starting with slow, deep thrusts that had you gasping his name as air flooded your lungs, your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving marks that would remind him of this moment tomorrow.

It was all happening so fast. This new sensation, Harry filling you in ways you had never been filled before. It was pleasure, and it was pain, and all you could think about was how badly you had wanted this, him, in this moment, him inside you, his body pressed to you in an act you had both played out before, but this was different because you had never wanted something so bad in your life.

The taste of his mouth, his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, heavy and desperate, and as the pleasure built, Harry’s pace increased, his hips snapping against yours with a need that matched your own, and then one of your hands slipped between your bodies, ready to move with the rhythm taking way.

“Are you ready to come for me,” he nudged, his tone rough with exertion. “I want to feel you come around me.”

Your hand picked up the pace then, his words spurring you on, lighting a fire deep in your belly, knowing the extra stimulation was about to push you over the edge. You could feel your orgasm ascending up your spine, a slow burn that hit with such force that the intensity had you crying out Harry’s name, and he quickly muffled you with his mouth, kissing you deeply as your body pulsed around him. Your orgasm triggered his own, and he buried himself deep inside you, one last hard thrust as his body shuddered, and he pressed you into the table as if he could merge your bodies into one.

And maybe in that moment, you were.

Because every single thought you had ever had seemed to slip away in the stillness that was mounting between your bodies.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, connected in a frenzied stillness, the both of you trying to catch your breath. Harry’s head was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as your hands traced lazy patterns on his back, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. The rawness etched across his features sent a pang of tenderness straight through your chest. “That was...”

“Yeah,” you laughed out with a breath, understanding exactly what he couldn’t put into words. “It was.”

Then he kissed you again, softly, this time as he slowly but carefully withdrew, and he broke the kiss to help you down from the table. You both dressed in silence, but it wasn’t the tense silence from before. There was comfort in the shared intimacy, an openness that wasn’t there before as you watched one another reassemble in the sacred moment that could only ever be yours, a moment that no one could ever take away because it could never be undone.

And for once, the silence that stood between you wasn’t a lack of what was or would have been; now it spoke of something different, something looming just over the horizon with endless possibilities now bursting at the seams.

As you finished buttoning your khaki shorts, Harry reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve never seen anyone look better in those shorts, by the way. I’ve been eyeing you all summer,” he announced, breaking the silence, and you had to look away because you knew your face was beaming from the compliment.

“What?” He smirked over at you, and you shook your head bashful all of a sudden. “Come here.” He said, hooking his fingers in your belt loops to draw you closer.

When your body collided with him, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then looked you in the eyes and asked, “What happens now?”

It was the question you had both been avoiding for years—the one that always cast its shadow at the end of every summer. But this time, it would be different. This time, you had both crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I don’t want to go back to ignoring each other.”

Harry nodded, his gentle hand still lingering on your cheek. “Me neither. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I really did think it would be easier. It definitely made it worse.”

“It did,” you agreed. “For both of us.”

Then he released a weary breath and gathered you against his chest. The sensation of his arms around you felt like safety, a rightness you had been missing for so long, a sense of belonging. “Can we just... see where this goes? For now? No pressure, no expectations. Just us, figuring it out day by day.”

Gracious for his honesty, you slowly nodded against his chest and breathed him in. “I’d like that.”

As you left your tiny world in the supply cabin, making sure to lock it behind you, The world grew wider. Harry’s gaze held a new meaning as he took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant, something ordinary taking on a new reality, a giddy sense of hope lengthening your spine as the cool air wisped over your flushed skin, a reminder of what just happened. It wasn’t perfect, and you still felt the fear, but there was promise of something new, something real.

Harry was real.

This was real.

A lingering thrill hung over you both the rest of the night. Patrol seemed to pass in a different kind of silence—a new wonderment emerging with every stolen glance, the secret smiles, or the occasional kiss when you were sure no one was watching. And when you finally returned to your respective cabins as dawn broke, it was with the understanding that something had fundamentally changed between you.

It was like summer had just begun, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, what you and Harry had wouldn’t end when the leaves started to turn.

In the weeks that followed, you lived in the secret fever dream shared between you and Harry. During the day, you maintained a professional distance, focusing on your campers and your responsibilities, but let us not downplay all the stolen glances from across the dining hall, or the brush of his hand against yours during staff meetings, and Jesus, the way his eyes always found yours in a crowd.

They all told a different story.

And the nights—Holy fuck, the nights were spun from stardust and stolen moments, a secret universe belonging only to you two. You knew that as soon as darkness draped its velvet cloak over the camp, you would find each other like magnets drawn across the grounds. Whether officially patrolling together beneath a canopy of twinkling constellations or sneaking away to your special spot by the moonlit lake, you felt it, the magic at the tips of your fingers like you both could bend and stretch time to accommodate your every wish.

Every hour spent in Harry’s arms dissolved into sweet nothings and gentle discoveries as you mapped each other’s hearts and bodies with the enchanted wonder of explorers who had finally, yes, finally, found their promised land. What had lived so long in the realm of dreams now bloomed between your tangled fingers and whispered confessions, now becoming more magical than anything your younger selves could have possibly imagined.

There was so much you didn’t know.

In the quiet hours of the night, nestled against his chest, you had asked about each new tattoo that marked his skin. You watched Harry’s eyes light up as his fingers guided yours over the raised ink, each design carrying its own story of the years you had spent apart, and with every new whispered explanation, you felt the distance of all those separate years contracting as you traced the patterns with your fingertips. Then, your lips would meet his skin with a gentle kiss, silently adding your own meaning to each symbol. These weren’t just tattoos anymore; they were chapters of his life you had missed, now being shared exclusively with you like precious secrets finally coming home.

And this is what it was. Every night, something new was revealed, unpacking each detail of each other willingly, freely, creating a new sanctuary in one another.

He learned that you sang in the shower, that you had a birthmark shaped like a crescent moon on your hip, one he would kiss any chance he got. When you told him that you could name every constellation visible in the summer sky, he rested his head on your bare stomach, and every time you peeled your eyes away from the stars, you saw him looking up at you, his head rising and falling with every gentle breath that left your lungs. 

One night, when the conversation turned to dreams, he listened to your dream of becoming a journalist, of traveling the world, of making a difference, and as he pressed your naked bodies together, he whispered, ‘You’ll change the world, you’re already changing mine.” you knew at that moment that you had fallen in love.

As the final week of camp approached, the days seemed to slip through your fingers like water, each sunset stealing the precious hours you could never reclaim, settling over you like a bittersweet yearning already seeping into your bones, at times coloring even the most perfect moments with Harry in gloomy shades of goodbye just knowing that the ending was near.

The summer had been magical—life-changing even—turning you both into versions of yourselves you never knew existed. Those nights spent wrapped in his arms beneath ancient pines had rewritten your understanding of belonging and what it would mean for you moving forward. Every shared secret seemed to build a world that felt both fragile and indestructible all at the same time.

But as the camp calendar thinned and counselors began their whispered goodbyes, that question that had shadowed every summer of your relationship with Harry now loomed impossibly large, casting its long shadow across your happiness, trying to steal the joy you had both worked so hard to cultivate. What would happen when camp ended? When the forest finally gave way to airports and oceans. When this suspended reality came crashing down, forcing you both back into the separate lives you knew were waiting just on the other side of all these little moments.

And as you lay there on the blanket by the lake, far enough from the main camp to ensure the perfect privacy, Harry rested his head in your lap as you mindlessly ran your fingers through his curls. You felt it tugging, goodbye at the forefront of your mind. You couldn’t help the ache knawing at the pit of your stomach even as the stars shone bright above, reflecting on the still water of the lake. The vision was a masterpiece, mirroring back the beauty of another sweet moment you got to share with Harry still in reach.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked, his tone soft, like velvet in the quiet night.

You hesitated, scared, not wanting to break the peaceful moment, but you wanted to be brave, “The future,” you finally divulged.

He shifted, sitting up to look at you. “What about it?”

“Camp ends in a week,” you said, finally voicing the fear that had been growing inside you for days. “And then what happens? Do you go back to England? Do I go back to New York, and we just... what? Text occasionally until next summer? If there is a next summer?”

Harry’s brows drew together at this as a quiet moment stretched between you, his eyes searching yours in the moonlight. “Is that what you want?”

“No—” you forced without hesitation. “But I honestly don’t know what the alternative is. Long-distance relationships are hard, Harry. And we’re both starting university in the fall, and—”

He laughed, catching you off guard when he silenced you with a kiss, soft and sweet, and when he pulled back, there was a determination in his eyes that made your heart race. “I got accepted to NYU,” he said quietly. “For their music program.”

For a second, you stared at him unmoving, not sure you had heard him correctly. “Wait? What?”

“I applied last fall, got accepted in the spring. I was going to tell you when camp started, but then I got scared, and I was an asshole...you know, the bit. When I tried to convince myself that what we had was just a summer thing.”

“But it’s definitely not, right?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “It never was.”

He smiled then, that cute fucking dimpled smile that had captured your heart years ago. “No, it wasn’t. And I don’t want it to be. I want to see where this goes properly. No more summers only, no more oceans between us.”

Joy bubbled up inside you, a happiness so intense it brought tears to your eyes. “You’re really coming to New York?”

“I am,” he confirmed, wiping away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. “If that’s okay with you.”

You laughed, throwing your arms around him, knocking him to the ground. “Harry! It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.”

He hugged you close, his heart beating steadily against yours as the sense of finally hung above you. “I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “I think I have for years.”

The words rushed over your skin, warm and gentle, as you savored them on your tongue. Words so long unspoken but finally given with such thoughtfulness you almost forgot to say them back. “I love you too, Harry. Always have.”

As you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms under the vast sky, the future no longer seemed uncertain. It stretched before you, full of possibilities—just knowing Harry would be by your side seemed to chase any fear you had left. You smiled, knowing that while summer had been your beginning, your story was just starting to unfold. This time, when you left Camp Wildwood, you wouldn’t be leaving your heart behind.

Summer was ours, you thought as you listened to the rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat under the stars.

And now, everything else would be too.

A/N: Man! I think I could have gone on forever with these two. I really liked them! I hope you got as much joy as I got out of them. This got a little angsty. But I think it was well worth it! 🙃

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73 @haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden @spinninc @iloveharrystyles04

Taglist Open<- My Growing Masterlist<- Talk to me<-

[hyunnielix]

bet u wanna. | h.h

Series Masterlist

'Bet you're reminiscing I bet you hate the way that you said goodbye'

— hyunjin x (f) reader

— word count: 4.6k (unedited)

— genre: non-idol au, artist!hyunjin, second chance romance. dance coach!reader

— warning's: softDom!Hyunjin, praise kink. Oral (f receiving). Fluff. Body worship pretty much at this point. He's insanely in love and touch starved. paint is involved. This whole chapter is pretty much smut. y'all have been waiting for this one!

→ playlist on spotify

The kiss, once soft and apprehensive, transformed into something unrecognizable—hungry, revealing a longing that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. It was as if the barriers you both carefully constructed over time crumbled immediately.

You shrugged off your coat, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, the sound of fabric crumpling almost unnoticed in the heat of the moment. Your hand reached for the underside of his jaw, fingers trembling slightly as you cupped his face.

Hyunjin's intensity could ignite the very walls of the room. His touch was gentle but insistent, his hands trailing down your body with appreciation, like each inch of you was something sacred he must rediscover. Every soft caress, every brush of his fingertips against your skin felt like an apology, a confession of how much he regretted the years apart.

You whimpered, your hands gripping his biceps as his lips found the curve of your neck. He paused, his breath hot against your skin. "I should have never left you," Hyunjin murmured, his voice rough with emotion, his hands shaking slightly as they moved over you.

The words sent a jolt through your chest, stirring something deep inside you that had been dormant for too long. His mouth returned to yours, desperate now, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you— the feeling of you.

You couldn't help but lean into his touch, every press of his pouty lips and trailing hands sent a wave of heat through you. "Hyune..." you whispered, the sound of his name escaping your lips like a prayer. You felt him stiffen at the sound, as if your voice alone could bind him to you in ways he hadn't thought possible. He responded with a groan, pressing his forehead against yours, his fingers still tracing the curve of your spine.

You trailed your fingers under his jacket, the fabric smooth beneath your touch as you pushed it off his shoulders. The jacket slipped off easily, landing with a soft thud on the wooden floor.

Hyunjin stood before you. Fixed on your lips, his gaze was dark and filled with something that made your breath catch. His hands slid down your sides, firm yet tender. His voice was low and husky, breaking the silence, “Wrap your legs around me."

You hesitated for only a heartbeat before complying. His hands found their way beneath your thighs, firm but gentle as he lifted you effortlessly. Your breath hitched, heart pounding as you curled your legs around his waist. You let out a soft gasp, gripping his shoulders for balance. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt as he carried you toward the kitchen bench.

Your noses brushed and his lips hovered just a breath away from yours. The tension coiled tighter in your chest, the air between you electric, charged with a yearning neither of you could deny. His every step, deliberate and steady.

The cool surface of his kitchen bench met your back as he set you down, but the sensation was quickly overshadowed. His hands never left you, one bracing your lower back while the other caressed your hip, fingers splayed as though he wanted to memorize the feel of you beneath his palm.

His lips found yours with an urgency that stole your breath, his hands cupping your face before sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, fingers threading through his dark hair. His groan was low and guttural, the sound vibrating against your lips and making your toes curl.

You shifted slightly, desperate to get closer and your elbow accidentally knocked a jar of paint perched on the edge of the counter. The lid popped off, covering the countertop with a vivid maroon before it tumbled completely on the floor. The sound startled you, breaking the kiss as you pulled back, your gaze darting to the mess. "Oh, shit."

Hyunjin’s breathless laugh drew your attention back to him. His forehead rested against yours, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. “I’ll clean it up later,” he said, his voice rich with affection.

"Okay," you whispered against him. His hands roamed over your midriff, fingers brushing the bare skin beneath your loose tank top, sending shivers across your skin.

One hand found its way to the small of your back, where his thumb gently traced the curve of your spine. His other hand tilted your chin, drawing your eyes to his. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his gaze burning with sincerity.

The words undid you. You pulled him closer, your lips finding his again, your body arching into his touch. His hands moved back to your thighs, gripping you with a mixture of urgency and care as he pressed against you, his breath hot against your skin. The world around you—the paint-streaked counter, the chaos of spilled color—faded into insignificance. There was only him, his touch and warm kisses.

“Hyunjin,” you breathed against his lips, the sound a mix of plea and confession. His lips brushed against your temple before finding yours again, sealing the moment with passion that spoke louder than words ever could.

His fingers trailed down to your navel, brushing teasingly against your gym shorts. You lifted your hips off the bench, just enough for him to shimmy the material down. He hooked his fingers into the waistband, pulling your shorts and lace panties off in one smooth gesture.

He knelt before you, his hands gliding slowly up and down your legs. "My pretty girl's so needy for me." His lips hovered over your skin, each kiss he pressed to your thighs slow and deliberate.

His fingers traced lazy patterns, the gentle touch making your breath hitch. When he finally reached the center of your need, he paused, looking up at you with a gaze so intense it made your chest ache. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly, his hands sliding beneath you, lifting your hips just enough so that you were completely at his mercy.

And then he began.

The first touch of his mouth was tentative, almost exploratory, but it didn’t take long for him to find a rhythm that left you gasping. His tongue moved with a skill that made your head fall back against the bench, each stroke deliberate and precise, as though he were painting a masterpiece. Hyunjin's grip on your hips tightened, holding you steady as your body began to arch involuntarily beneath him. His nose bumped against your clit, his movements sloppy and starved.

“Hyune,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as waves of pleasure coursed through you. He groaned at your touch, the sound vibrating against your skin and sending a fresh surge of heat through your veins.

Every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck, was a symphony of sensation, building a crescendo that left you breathless. His name fell from your lips again and again, a broken mantra that only seemed to spur him on, his mouth moving with more urgency, more desperation.

His large hands, splayed on your thighs, gripped you toward him, sliding you along the counter. Your arms, braced against the countertop for balance gave way as he devoured you. Your head fell back instinctively, your fingers curling into fists against the smooth surface as wave after wave of sensation crashed over you.

It wasn’t just his touch—it was the emotion behind it, the raw hunger of three years’ worth of yearning. Three years of missed chances and unspoken confessions all culminating in this single, unrestrained moment. Every flick of his tongue, every press of his lips, spoke volumes of everything he had held back for so long.

"Hyune, I-I can't feels too good." You whined, unable to restrain your moans and noises.

His grip on your thighs tightened, his fingertips digging slightly into your skin as if anchoring himself to you. The strength in his hands, the way they seemed to claim you, left you reeling. It was as though he was afraid you might slip away again, vanish from his grasp before he could show you just how deeply he needed you.

You couldn’t help the broken sound that escaped your lips. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and intense, his face framed by the strands of his hair that had fallen loose. "All mine."

"Always has been," You breathed out, recalling his earlier words.

When he resumed, it was with an unrelenting fervor, his mouth moving against you with purpose and precision. The room seemed to blur around you, the tension coiling in your core growing tighter and tighter. When your body began to tremble, he slowed just enough to prolong the moment, his hands sliding up to intertwine with yours as he continued his worship.

You finally snapped and loud gasps escaped you. The world slowly came back into focus and you found him still holding you, his forehead pressed gently against your thigh. The warmth of his hands, still steady on your legs. He pressed a final kiss to the inside of your thigh before resting his cheek there, his breathing ragged but his expression tender. “Just as good as I remember,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

You reached for his shirt, fingers trembling slightly as you grasped the fabric and tugged him upward. His body obeyed, fluid and eager, until his face was level with yours. Your eyes flickered downward, catching the evidence of your release glistening on his lips. Heat pooled in your cheeks, before your gaze snapped back to his face.

His hair was a beautiful mess, onyx strands falling haphazardly across his forehead, framing his flushed features. The faint blush dusting his cheeks was a striking contrast to the hunger still lingering in his eyes, an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His lips, slightly swollen and glistening, parted as though he was about to speak, but no words came.

His hands slid to your waist, fingers firm and grounding, steadying you. Your grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him impossibly closer. Before you could second-guess the impulse, you leaned forward. Your tongue flicked across his bottom lip, tasting the lingering saltiness of yourself on him. A small gasp escaped his lips as you followed with gentle, teasing sucks.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, his response immediate. His hands tightened on your waist, guiding you forward, erasing any remaining distance. You could feel the tension in his touch, the restraint he was barely holding onto, and it only spurred you on.

“Don’t tease,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a deep, strained rasp, but you only smiled against his mouth, your kisses featherlight and infuriatingly slow.

“I thought you liked patience,” you whispered, your words taunting, and he chuckled lowly, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Not now,” he replied, his tone thick with yearning.

The paint-streaked countertop and chaos of the kitchen became an afterthought as the warmth of his body pressed into yours. He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath.

“We—should move. Bedroom,” You murmured between stolen kisses, your words muffled as you trailed your lips along his jaw.

"Whose the impatient one now?" Hyunjin teased, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. He wrapped his hand around your throat, brushing his thumb gently against your skin.

You rolled your eyes, even as your pulse quickened. “And you’re too busy talking when you could be doing something.”

His brow arched, his grin widening. “Oh, I’m doing something, trust me.” He leaned in, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth, deliberately slow.

Touché. You huffed, trying to tug him closer with your legs around his waist. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, and your legs dangled off the counter, a frown tugging at your lips.

“Impossible?” He leant back on purpose. “You’re the one who can’t wait to get me to the bedroom.”

Your cheeks burnt, but you refused to back down. “Because I know what I want, Hyunjin.”

Your hands glided up his chest, the fabric of his shirt warm and soft beneath your fingers as you let them linger, teasingly tracing the defined lines of his body. A small pout formed on your lips, the realization dawning on you that there were still too many layers.

His laugh was low and teasing as he adjusted his hold on you, pulling you tighter against him. “Then tell me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your neck, “exactly what it is you want.”

“Not here,” you managed, your voice a little breathless as his lips grazed your jawline. “The bed.”

“Ah,” he murmured, his tone mockingly thoughtful as he shifted you higher in his arms. “The bed."

Your legs slid down from around his waist and his hand found yours, pulling you from the counter. Together, you fumbled through the small space, down the hall to his room. It wasn’t graceful—your hip bumped into the edge of the counter, and his foot grazed a chair leg, sending it skidding across the floor—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

The hallway felt endless, both of you pausing every few steps to press against the wall, to kiss with renewed fervor, hands exploring skin and fabric, his warm palms cupping your ass, your fingers trailing down the curve of his neck. By the time you reached his bedroom door, you were both breathless, laughter bubbling up between you as he struggled to turn the handle without letting go of you.

“I forgot how terrible you are at multitasking,” you teased, your voice light despite the tension coiling in your chest.

“And you’re not helping,” he retorted, his smile lighting up his face even as his lips found yours again, silencing any further protests. "I'll always be clumsy around my favourite girl."

Finally, the door swung open, and you stumbled inside together. The bed, only a few steps away. His sock caught on the edge of the rug, nearly sending him sprawling, and your elbow knocked into a stack of books on his nightstand, toppling them to the floor with a thud.

When you both landed on the bed, the laughter spilled over, breaking through the haze of passion. He rolled onto his back, pulling you with him, and you collapsed onto his chest, your giggles mixing with his. The sound filled the room, light and unrestrained, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, tangled together, laughing at the absurdity of your own impatience.

“I feel like we’re in a bad rom-com,” you managed between breaths, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

“Hey,” he replied, mock affronted, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you. “This is pure romance, thank you very much. Paint-streaked and clumsy, but still romantic.”

You shook your head, smiling down at him, and his expression softened, the laughter fading into something deeper. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “God, it should be illegal for someone to be this pretty,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Your fingers ghosted over the fabric of his shirt, teasingly brushing against his stomach as he leaned back, his arms casually resting behind his head. There was an ease to his posture, but his eyes betrayed something deeper, following your every movement.

You hooked your fingers under the hem of his shirt and began to lift it, your movements deliberate. The fabric bunched under your hands, revealing the sculpted lines of his abs, firm and glistening faintly in the dim light. A small, involuntary smile crept onto your lips as you paused to admire him. He’d been working out—more than a little, it seemed.

"You seem to be a masterpiece yourself, Jiniret," you murmured, your voice a mix of teasing and awe.

His lips twitched into a playful smirk, but the warmth in his gaze softened the moment. “Takes one to know one."

He paused, his movements deliberate as he gripped the hem of his shirt from you and tugged it off in one smooth motion. The fabric slid over his head effortlessly, revealing his toned chest and shoulders. His hair was mussed, strands falling perfectly into place, and his eyes darkened as they met yours.

Without breaking eye contact, his hands found your waist. His thumbs brushed against your sides, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You slid onto his lap to straddle his waist. Your hands settled on his shoulders, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles as you steadied yourself. Slowly, you reached for the hem of your tank top, pulling it over your head and discarding it beside you.

Left in just your zip-up sports bra, you felt his gaze linger, not with hunger but as though he couldn’t quite believe you were here with him. His hands slid higher, resting just under your ribs, his thumbs brushing against skin.

You gasped as he bucked his hips. He rolled over, pinning your wrists to the bed. His touch, once apprehensive, now became more sure, more eager, as if he was rediscovering something he had lost. His hands roamed over you, as though he was relearning every curve, every dip, every inch of your body that had once been so familiar, so perfectly his.

His eyes, dark with longing, traced the lines of your form. "You feel just as perfect as I remember," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He sighed, a deep, contented sound that made your heart race. "I missed this. I missed you. I missed how you fit against me."

His hand hesitated, hovering just above the zipper of your sports bra. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers grasped the small metal tab, the tension in the air thick enough to make your breath catch.

You held perfectly still, your chest rising and falling in anticipation as the zipper began to slide downward, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet of the room. His eyes never left yours, searching for any sign of hesitation.

The fabric parted gradually, exposing your skin inch by inch to the cool air and his heated gaze. You felt your pulse quicken. His touch was light and as he gently pushed the material aside, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin.

"Such pretty tits. Been missing these for some time." He cupped your breasts. He leaned down, his tongue darting out to trace a warm, wet line across your chest before his lips closed around one of your nipples, sucking gently.

"Hyune, as much as I—" you began, but your words dissolved into a sharp gasp as he bit down ever so lightly, the pleasurable sting drawing a soft cry from your lips.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. "Distracted already?" he teased, his voice low and his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Hyunjin," you breathed, your voice trembling with a mixture of impatience and desire, "I need you. Please."

You felt him shift against you until he stood at the edge of the bed. His movements were hurried, hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt. The soft clink of metal echoed in the quiet room, followed by the rustle of fabric.

You sat up slightly, your breath hitching as he shimmied out of his pants and boxers in one smooth motion, the garments pooling at his feet. Your gaze traveled down his body, lips parting involuntarily.

His hardened length stood, flushed and glistening at the tip. The way he looked at you sent a shiver down your spine, your own desire pooling low in your abdomen.

He crawled to you, his body pressing into yours, and you couldn’t help but melt. Every part of you seemed to respond to him, to the way his hands caressed your skin to the way you arched into him.

"You were always perfect for me," he breathed, his lips moving down to your neck, the warm, soothing caress of his mouth sending shivers down your spine. "No one else ever came close. No one ever felt the way you do. I didn’t realize what I was missing until I was without you." His hands slid down your body, brushing over your thighs, and you gasped as he gently lifted you, positioning you carefully, mindful of the scar and your spine. "I’m not letting you go again, not like before," he whispered, his voice soft yet insistent.

You wrapped your arms around him, drawing him closer, feeling how his body molded perfectly against yours. His touch, so familiar and warm, was a balm to the ache that had been there for so long. "You still fit with me, don’t you?" he asked, his words almost a question.

You whined in response, and his hands moved to your hips, adjusting your position. Hyunjin's hands were steady as he carefully adjusted a pillow beneath your hips, lifting you just enough to ensure your back was supported. His gaze softened as it traveled over your face, a silent question in his eyes, making sure you were comfortable. The tenderness of the moment tugged at your chest, and you nodded, your breath catching in anticipation.

“You okay?” he whispered, his voice laced with tenderness.

“Perfect,” you murmured, your fingers brushing against his warm cheek.

You felt him then, the weight and heat of him as he aligned himself with your entrance. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, your hands clutching the sheets beneath you. Hyunjin paused, his tip pressing gently against you, his dark eyes locking with yours.

“Slow,” he promised, his voice soothing against the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

And then he pushed forward, a gradual, unhurried motion that made you gasp softly. The stretch was both intense and overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and yearning that had you curling your toes. Hyunjin leaned closer, his hands finding yours, intertwining your fingers as he continued.

“Baby, you're so tight,” he breathed, his voice breaking slightly as he moved deeper, filling you completely. "Need to be stretched out good again hmm?" A low groan rumbled from his chest as he stilled, buried deep within you, giving you a moment to adjust to the fullness. His breath mingled with yours, warm and shaky, as you both took in the intensity of the moment.

“Mm’ so full,” you murmured, your words spilling out.

His eyes flickered open at your confession, a spark of something primal igniting in their depths. Without a word, his hand trailed down between your bodies, his palm pressing gently against your abdomen. The sensation sent a shockwave of pleasure through you, and a moan slipped from your lips as he applied the slightest bit of pressure.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his voice thick and gravelly, filled with awe. “That’s me.”

Hyunjin’s free hand slid up, his fingers wrapping gently but firmly around your throat. A pant escaped your lips, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a dizzying heat pooled in your core. You opened your eyes, locking onto his, and what you saw in them made your breath hitch—a perfect mix of adoration and unrestrained hunger.

You arched instinctively toward him, craving more of his touch. His other hand gripped your waist, anchoring you in place as his hips rolled into yours with deliberate, intoxicating slowness.

He smirked, leaning down until his lips ghosted over your ear. “You like that?” he teased, his breath warm against your skin. “The way I make you feel?”

You nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence. His hand at your throat shifted, his thumb brushing gently against the hollow of your neck, soothing yet commanding all at once.

Your head fell back against the pillow as he moved again, his hips rolling into yours with an unrelenting, measured rhythm. The thrusts were deep and precise, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Jinnie,” you gasped, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. The stretch, the fullness, the way he moved—it was almost too much and you didn't want him to stop.

He grinned against your jaw, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there. “My pretty girl… taking me so well.”

His body moved against yours as if he couldn’t get enough of you—of the way you fit together like puzzle pieces. You felt his heart pounding against yours, his breath quickening while he traced every inch of you, as though he was savoring every moment of being this close to you again.

He kissed you fiercely, deeply, like he needed to make sure you were real, that this was happening, that you were here, with him.

And you couldn't help but respond, feeling the same overwhelming yearning, the same need. Your body ached for him, for the connection you once shared, for the way he made you feel complete. No one else could ever come close to what you shared, and in this moment, in his arms, you knew that the past—no matter how much it hurt—had led you both here. And with him, you belonged.

One hand found its way to the small of your back, where his thumb gently traced the curve of your spine. He paused, fingers lingering on the scar there, and you stiffened instinctively. But his other hand tilted your chin, drawing your eyes to his. "You're everything I’ve ever wanted," he breathed against your lips, his hands moving lower, caressing you like he was memorizing your skin. "You have no idea how much I regret not being here with you, how much I wish I could go back and make things right." He kissed you deeply, passionately, as though every word, every apology, could be sealed with the fire of his touch.

He rolled his hips, each movement deliberate, slow, and deep, drawing a gasp from your lips with every thrust. His arms caged you beneath him, strong and unyielding. Your fingers clawed at his back.

“I’m sorry," he whispered again, this time with more force. "I should have been here. I should have fought harder for us.” His fingers were gentle as they traced the scar along your body, and you gasped softly, the memory of the pain flooding back. But his touch was nothing like that. It was tender, careful, almost worshipful. "I won’t let that be a part of us anymore. I won’t let it define us."

His words, the softness of his touch, the weight of everything he was offering—his regret, his love, his unspoken apologies—filled you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. His hands found your hips again, pulling you closer.

“I’ll never let you go again,” Hyunjin groaned, the sound low and guttural, as his hips stilled deep inside you. His chest rose and fell heavily against yours, and you could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat echoing your own. He dipped his head, pressing a tender kiss to your temple, “Not like before. I’ll stay, Y/N. I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. Now let go for me pretty, I'm here.”

Your legs began to tremble, the intensity coursing through your body like waves crashing against the shore. You buried your face into the crook of his neck. Your breaths came in short, desperate bursts as you nuzzled into his skin, seeking solace, though your emotions threatened to overflow. You weren’t sure if the tears pooling in your eyes were from the unbearable pleasure or the weight of his words.

Then, the words tumbled from your lips—a confession you had been too terrified to voice. "I want you to stay."

[Tag List] @nujeskz @myfavoritedelusion

[lizardboiii]

Tongue Tied┃One Piece

[Protective!Dracule Mihawk x Poneglyph Speaking!Reader]

│Summary: Washed up on a gloomy shore, your only solace is a dark an empty castle. Yet, when the castle's only resident finally returns, you are met with an undeniable problem. The language you speak is completely dead to his world.

"Flailing your hands around isn't going to make me understand you any more."

"𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐!"

・❥・

│cw: 18+, SFW, violent undertones, f!reader, mihawk's eyes, terrible nicknames

│wc: 1.8k

│chapters: I II III

│notes: poneglyph writing/speaking in different font. normal font is any other language as written. enjoy <3

│AO3 Link!

・❥・

│Chapter I: Bird of Prey

Squawking.

Soft and high pitch, the incessant cries of seagulls flooded your ears like a symphony. You groaned audibly at the noise. An action you almost instantly regretted as a sudden rush of frigid sea water seeped into your cracked mouth. 

Hacking up a storm, you were quick to come to your, mostly delirious, senses. You laid sprawled out on a strange gloomy shore. The water, almost too calm for your liking, combined with an eerie fog rolling in from the seemingly endless coastline, felt as if you entered purgatory. 

Stumbling to your soaked feet, you tested your balance. Though your legs wavered slightly, you managed to pull yourself from the water’s surprisingly strong tide. You felt like you might be sucked back out to sea. 

Swallowing nervously, you grimaced at the bitter taste of salt still lathered on your tongue. It was a sickly reminder of your current predicament. You were completely stranded, alone. Clenching your eyes shut, you replayed the moments before the disaster. 

Your rickety fishing boat swayed innocently on the open water, unaware of the massive storm brewing overhead. You had no time to prepare, no time to act, no time to ensure any self-preservation. In the blink of an eye, the sky blackened.

The small white capping waves surrounding you abruptly grew in size and violence. Your small boat stood no chance. The futile struggle to stay right side up only lasted moments. With one final wave, your boat capsized from the continuous abuse.  

Shrieking, your body was thrown into the raging sea like a rag doll. You struggled hard against the current, only managing to break the water’s surface every couple of seconds. 

Eventually, your arms grew too tired, too weak, too heavy. It became more of a struggle to convince yourself to stay afloat than to fight the waves dragging you beneath their depths. Then, the world went dark.

Taking a deep breath, you willed away any more dreadful thoughts. The sooner you could find another spare ship the quicker you could go back home.

Scanning your surroundings, you searched for any ships, abandoned or not. Immediately your eyes caught a shocking scene. Nestled far beyond the shore, a massive crumbling castle towered over the island. You couldn't help but remark how fitting it was.

The discovery did little to encourage you. An abandoned castle meant no life, and no life meant no ships. You threaded your fingers through your hair. How could this get any worse?

The sound of thunder mocked your internal monologue. Groaning loudly, you began your venture towards the lonesome castle in an attempt to escape the rapidly forming storm. 

You managed to reach the half point mark before your skin began to crawl. You couldn't help but feel like something, or someone, was watching you through the underbrush. Though you tried to chalk it up to paranoia, you swore you saw something red glowing within the trees. It was just your luck to be marooned on a haunted island.

Whether it was divine intervention or simply uninterest, you managed to reach the chipped steps of the castle unscathed. Although that didn't stop you from hightailing it inside. 

A closer look inside the fortress told you just how regal it once appeared to be: large stained glass windows, tall decorative pillars, and corridors that seemed to stretch for miles. You were in awe from the moment you entered.

In due time, you found your way to an equally extravagant dining room. The wood of the table was scratched and weathered, but ultimately well taken care of. However, the real centerpiece of the room was a massive chair befitting the end.

The plush seat was adorned with gold trim and a deep red leather. You wondered if someone had lugged it in there from the throne room. Swiping a finger across the armrest, you rubbed your fingers together. A thick layer of dust slowly floated to the ground.

You hummed more so to yourself, “𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍.”

Spinning on your heel, you shamelessly plopped yourself down on the gaudy throne. It wouldn't hurt to live in a palace. For a short while at least. You could stay there until you were able to either build another boat or be lucky enough to be rescued.

You smiled, “𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗.”

・❥・

After a month of trial and error, it seemed like you greatly overestimated your raft crafting capabilities. The trees on the island were far too thick for you to cut down with no ax, and any driftwood washed up on the beach seemed to crumble from even the gentlest touch.

You were starting to wonder if you’d be trapped there forever. 

That was until you ventured out on your daily search for partly salvageable driftwood. Aloft the gentle waves was an all too strange… ship? Raft? Casket? To be honest, you weren’t exactly sure what it was.

There was only thing you knew for sure, the small vessel was currently barreling towards your remote island. You could barely contain your excitement. 

You were going home.

Dropping the withered planks in your hands, you allowed them to shatter against the plush sand before bolting to get closer with the ship. Your eyes remained locked in on the crossed shaped mast that grew ever closer. Its black sails signaling “Freedom”.

Your tunnel vision made you stumble and trip over your own feet as you ran. And when you weren't running - you were crawling. Your hands desperately clawed at the damp sand in order to lift yourself back to your feet. You could not bear to lose your fleeting chance of leaving your island prison.

Eventually, the gothic ship docked. Its black sails were slowly being pulled into bundles when you finally managed to reach it. And reach it you did. 

You met the ship with little discretion. Squabbling and frantic, you made no effort to contain your emotions in front of the ship’s presumed Captain. Manners could wait until your safety was secured.

Thrusting your hands in the air, you made your presence widely known, “𝙴𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎!”

The man before you hesitated slightly before releasing his hold on the black stained linen. Turning his obscured face, you noted the lackluster expression he wore. He seemed neither surprised nor unsurprised, merely…inconvenienced.  

“𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞,” you laughed awkwardly, “𝙸 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗, 𝙼𝚢 𝙶𝚘𝚍, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎? 𝙰 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚠!”

The man greeted your pitiful tangent with a stagnant silence. If you hadn't noticed his previous disinterest, you definitely noticed it now. Taking a deep breath, you internally assessed your newly appointed “savior”.

He stood tall, extremely so. He was taller than any man you knew on your home island. You assumed you'd only reach his chest if you stood side by side. However, he certainly did not lack in the muscle department either. He was broad, thick even. You wondered if his shoulders were as firm as they looked.

Gradually, your eyes wandered to an elegantly crafted coat. The dark red of his sleeves were a stark contrast against his unnaturally pale skin which, unsurprisingly, he left on full display. Not that you minded of course.

However, the most striking attribute he bore was his eyes. They shone brighter than any golden jewel found on the Grand Line, rivaling the sun itself. You certain even Helios swooned over his canary colored irises.

Entranced, you allowed yourself to be captivated. The thick black rims surrounding his pupils produced an almost stained glass appearance. All you wanted to do was consume more, read into them like a devout worshiper. It was as if they bore scripture.

You unconsciously shifted forward, trying to get a closer look. That was your first mistake. Abruptly, those very eyes sharpened with hostility, sizing you up like a hawk. It seemed your sudden movement labeled you a threat.

“Who are…”

The temperature felt as if it plummeted. Icy and thick, you didn't need hands around your neck to feel like you were being strangled. You couldn't understand why this was happening, mainly because…

“You?”

You had no idea what he was saying. 

Hands trembling, you stared at the man above you in confusion. You were sure if you did not respond he could, and would, take action. Maybe if you weren't quick enough in answering he’d kidnap you and sell you off for some pocket change. Or worse, he would kill you for just causing him trouble.

You racked your brain for any semblance of a response. What could you have even done to warrant such an intense reaction?

“…𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝,” You swallowed hard, “𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍?”

The tense atmosphere gave way slightly, releasing its invisible hold on your throat. 

Sighing quietly, the ravenette grumbled to himself, “It seems we don’t speak the same language. How inconvenient.”

Annoyed, the taller man searched your person with his honey laced eyes. Satisfied with his findings, he returned his attention back to his vessel. You pondered if your lack of weapons made you into a problem that could be “dealt with later”.

However, you didn't want to be tossed aside until later. You wanted to return home. And if that meant attempting communication with a hostile vampiric asshole, you'd have to try!

“𝚄𝚖,” You scrambled to the other side of the man's ship in an attempt to regain his attention.

“𝚂𝚒𝚛, 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝!”

Goldy, newly nicknamed, paid you no mind, favoring to strap down his ship without haste. You chewed on the inside of your cheek in frustration.

Shuffling beside him, you implemented drastic measures. However, your hand only managed to move a centimeter towards Goldy’s arm before your wrist was swiftly snatched in a painful grip.

Not wasting a moment of Goldy’s notice, you began frantically pointing at yourself with your free hand, “𝙸!”

You motioned at the ship, “𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚝!”

Goldy released his iron grip and stood to his full height, “Stop being troublesome.”

“𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚝. 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎!”

The ravenette merely continued to stare at you disinterested. Perhaps he was debating if cutting you down now would be easier than listening to nonsensical ramblings.

Nevertheless, you waved your hands down your body, “𝙼𝚎!” 

You gestured at his ship, “𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝!”

You clasped your hands together, “𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎!”

"Flailing your hands around isn't going to make me understand you any more."

"𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐!"

Goldy easily ignored your pestering and walked around you, “I don’t have time for this.”

“𝚆𝚊𝚒𝚝!” You ran after his form, “𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝! 𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝! 𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝!”

You followed Goldy with continued pleas. Yet, his long legs persisted across the desolate beach to the hidden pathway located in the tree line.

Your brows furrowed at the observation. It took you a week to find the secret trail that led from the beach straight to the castle. How could he have found it so easily?

You finally fell silent as Goldy traversed the path like the back of his hand. He walked confidently. It was as if he had been on the island before.

A sudden thought crossed your mind. 

Goldy lived here.

・❥・

[janluxe]

DECODE — CALEB / XIA YIZHOU

–summary; one of his daily attempts to teach you Morse code.

–contents; smut with no plot.

–wc; 536

–a/n; just an idea I wanted to entertain (:

Caleb knows Morse code.

It's no secret, considering his position in the military. But he was fascinated by this way of communication even before he got in the academy, and he even tried getting you into it as well.

Needless to say, his attempts weren't exactly fruitful.

You only bothered to learn one sentence that he had taught you, 'Caleb, is a stupid, big dummy' tapping the tip of his finger against your hand and watching you expectantly. His face brightened the moment you returned the gesture, a hint of a pink hue creeping on his face and ears.

.. / .-.. .. -.- . / -.-. .- .-.. . -... / - .... . / -- --- ... -

Which literally translated to; 'I like Caleb the most.' But you didn't need to know that.

Perhaps this time around, you'd actually appreciate the lesson. He slowly halted, still buried to the hilt inside your seeping cunt and giving you the chance to focus on his fingers. "Come on, baby, I taught you better than this." Caleb cooed, lips slowly grazing the back of your neck while his heart fluttered against the exposed surface of your back.

Your dear gege had always been unpredictable, even in the most inconvenient situations.

He was softly tapping away on the sensitive skin of your lower abdomen, the gesture seemed innocent – trying to remind you how to decipher Morse code as if his tip wasn't kissing the same cervix he bruised a few moments ago.

Your brain worked overtime, barely holding onto your sanity by a thread threatening to snap. hold, tap, hold, and he went on until you had something to work with.

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / -- .. -. .

"You're not even trying, pipsqueak." His whisper was the only thing breaking the silence. Your mouth opened and then closed again, only a few shaky breaths and incoherent gibberish left your throat.

His fingers tracing small circles on the surface of your skin distracted you even more, yet you knew he was expecting an answer.

Your body fitted perfectly against his. Two halves of the same whole. His muscular yet lean figure complimented yours as he trapped you under him.

Sweat dripped down your frame while you struggled, "I don't like this game." You shifted closer to him, seeking the friction he denied you.

"Hey, hey." You could tell he was caught off guard when he twitched ever-so-slightly inside you, "How about this, if you can decode the first three letters then I'll give you what you want."

"Sounds like a deal, pips?" He hummed, feeling the subtle vibration send a shiver down your spine. He was holding back as much as you were, he was just better at hiding it.

A weary sigh escaped your parted lips before you could even process it – mind and body too fogged up with need to act properly, "Y-O-U" you spelt out, not hesitating one bit. Maybe what you had picked up from him didn't go to waste entirely.

A rush of pride washed over him, and you were there to witness his expression shifting. "Atta girl," He coaxed playfully, his usual smug glint returning on his face as he set a comfortable pace. "You're getting there, Honey. You just need more practice."

A promise and a threat. At least now you knew what he had in store for you.

[simpingforbots]

What if a human shows up in transformers one

Part 3 possibly????

Like, with sentil prime, how orian paks will act with them after being optimus prime, and how D-16 would after becoming megatron.

hold on to your heats as it will be a long ride!

What if a human showed up in transformers one.

part 3.1

Sentinel Prime

Sentinel would of course bring his little pet to the Iacon 5000. the lights flashed the little human blind and you had to hold on tight as he swooned down to his cheering "people", basking in glory. He started the race and was proud of him self and seeing how much attention he gets from your little presents. He put on his winning smile and showed his affection towards you, getting even more attention. You of course knew to behave and not make an scene or you will be punished. Though soon the spotlight was taken by two miners. He was quite upset but seeing the reaction it got, decided to let it run and see how it ends. It was quite dramatic with how this two bot supported each other, though in the end they still ended up in med-bay. He decided to visit them and after talking with them retuned to his castle. And only then he noticed that you were surprisingly quite. turning around, expecting to see you running behind, he saw nothing. he looked up at arachnid who turned aorund and shrugged. He was quite upset but also surprised that YOU managed to escape Arachnids site. Must've ran away in med bay. not wanting to much of attention to this "mess", he ordered Darkwing to find them. though he had no need as soon you were brought back along with D-16 and High Guard. He laugh out loud. You saw someone act out of line and decided to take your chance and run? And after how he pampered you, fed and kept you safe? He did not held back in front of prisoners, squeezing your body till your bones started cracking loudly and your screams becoming whizzes. he kept on going until he heard a loud pop and you simply slumped over. so he tossed you aside like a broken toy.

Optimus Prime

Orion did not had any intention on dragging you in to race, you just clung on to him so he had to improvise, keeping you safe while helping D-16 through the race, managing to let you slip in to one of the vents and in to safety, away from dangerous chase. by the end of it he was happy to see you alright, holding his hand down to let you climb and inspect him and D-16 with your little hands, which clamed D-16 a bit and helped Orion to not get any more earful. after small check up you climbed own and just waited as Ratchet knew about you very well, along with other medical stuff and they all agreed to not harm you. Same, how ever, could not be said about Arachnid. Orion had to grab you and hold to his chest before she could even hurt you. So seeing this you were deemed as no threat and Sentinel walked in. let's say he did not expected to meet a new type of fan today. He even ALLOWED you to climb on his hand. Though he had to leave and "gently" tossed you back to Orion with empty promises of better life. you were kind of forced to joing D-16 and Orion as they were tossed in to one of the lowest levels and met B-127. his first impression scared the shit out of you and you screamed, clinging on to Orion while he was scared too. Though after confusion was cleared you allowed yellow bot to pet your head. after beheading "Steve" and finding map you were told it will be best if you stayed back and waited for their return. So you did, hiding in miners room, time to time getting pets and some food from other miners, trying your best to avoid Darkwing, patiently waiting for Orion and D-16 safely return.

Once you herd that some bots were brought from surface, you snuck out and witnessed train hitting the tower and D-16 shooting Pax by accident. You cried out as he dropped Pax and then dealt with Prime, claiming a new name. You had to hide as more destruction happened, hiding until it was all calm, yet still refusing to get out from below the piles of rubble, whimpering and crying out to Pax, knowing that he was dead. So when rubble begun lifting from your hiding spot, you cried harder, though a familiar touch and word reassured you. You opened your eyes and dug your little hands in to his chest, knowing well who was holding you. Yes, changed, new name, but still it was Pax. and you knew he will keep you safe. even if he had new, more important and grilling work, he still kept you safe and time to time would just have some time to relax and spend it with you, Elita and Bee. Though you missed D-16.

Part 1

Part 2

[thegnomelord]

Thinking about John Price taking care of you while you're sick(totally self indulgent)

CW: NSFW

And you're a stubborn idiot, you don't think you're that sick to stay in bed even if you can barely stand on your feet. He takes one look at you and before you know it he's corralling you back to your room, hands on your sides to keep you walking and answering all of your complaints with "Zip it. You're sick you bloody Muppet."

Price who scowls and flicks your forehead and calls you 'bad boy' when you attempt to get out of bed when he's not looking. Price who fluffs your pillow and pulls several different layers of sheets and quilts over you. Who makes you hot tea with lemon and ginger just like his nan used to make it and holds the steaming cup to your lips so you don't spill it. Who checks your temperature by pressing the back of his hand and his lips to your forehead because he knows that'll get you from squirming.

Price who lays down behind you when you're still shivering under all those layers, thick arms securely wrapping around your middle to pull you against his chest, your legs intertwining and his strong belly pressing against your back to leave not even an inch of space between you two, his breath fanning over the back of your neck, his beard scratching your skin as he kisses you there. His hands are warm as he gently rubs your aching muscles, raising one hand to instead card his fingers through your hair. "Get some sleep, I'll be here when you wake up." He says, voice low and calming and so safe you don't notice when you nod off.

But also Price smiling at you when you get hard but are too exhausted to have sex or rub one out. Price who settles between your thighs, rough hands shimmying your pajama bottoms and boxers down enough for your cock to spring up. Murmuring a soft "Stay down," against your stomach, pinning your hips down to keep you from bucking up when he pecks the tip of your cock and trails kisses down your shaft to the base, "That's a good lad," he humms against yours sensitive skin, "just relax 'n be good for me."

You can do nothing but groan, eyes rolling into the back of your skull amd eyelids closing as Price takes you into his hot mouth, lazily suckling on your shaft. He's not racing to finish you off, tongue moving slowly and methodically across the veins of your cock up to swirl around your sensitive head before going back down. He lets you float in the same mindless pleasure you like to give him after a rough week, all the tenseness in your body melting away bit by bit every time he swallows around you, pulling off to lick around the cumslit before taking you to the root, savouring the salty taste of your precum.

And you're so out of it you can't tell apart if you're dreaming or awake, pleasure simmering beneath the surface of your skin like a kettle until it boils over, a weak noise escaping the back of your throat and your hips giving small little bucks as you cum down his throat without even noticing. Your eyes only open when your frayed nerves register the slight sting of overstimulation, Price's clever tongue cleaning your cock and swallowing every last drop before he tucks you back into your boxers.

You try to say something, offer to get him off in return, but he just shushes you, "no need lad." He climbs up your body to spoon you from behind once again, his body like your personal heater. "You'll get that chance when you're better," he trails kisses from your jaw to the back of your neck, nuzzling his nose into your skin. "Now be a good lad and go to sleep, yeah?"

[jaggedamethyst]

circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part eleven)

tutor!jayce talis x reader, ekko x reader college au

content: you and jayce finally have a chance to talk

notes: 18+ minors dni, smut (everyone jumped), oral (reader receiving), ice play, nipple play, overstimulated reader, kinda dom jayce omg, mentions of death, science talk (LMAOOOO i swear i chose simple topics)

i usually fkn hate slow burns but wanted to challenge myself to make something realistic and i hope this has been worth the wait. its a longer one like you guys deserve! jayce also is more dominant here but it makes sense for his character...in arcane he doesn't give me this vibe at all lmao.

ps. for the circuit mentions, if you need an example of the references they are making....google circuit battery diagram and you'll see some with four lines!

series master list

It was often you saw homes that were the epitome of modern—just white and drab and soulless. Jayce’s family home was different. You couldn’t help but see the character oozing off of it. It wasn’t completely run down. In fact, you could tell a lot of these changes were done in the last twenty years. Yet there was still color, wooden accents, and family photos lingering about that really made this space feel homely. 

“You grew up here?” 

“Yeah,” Jayce led you around a corner toward the back of the house. “Only ever lived here.”

Makes sense—this house resembled everything good about Jayce that you’d noticed. It had a fortitude that was undeniable yet an underlying warmth was always present. You liked that about Jayce—that even when he was angry it was always fueled by a desire to be better. He was mad at you for your voicemail, sure, but even more with himself for not equally splitting the time with his mom. You remembered how he talked about her often, how the love he had for her was eerily similar to that of your friends. The way you could empathize with him only having one person in this world meant you could never hate him, not really. 

“I’m just glad it’s close enough to school that I can commute.” He continued, not knowing you were only half listening. 

Eventually you emerged behind him into the garage. Looking around made it clear that this was his space. There were books, papers, and tools on every surface. He maneuvered in the garage with a fluidity that showed you that even in the clutter, he knew where everything was, probably preferred it this way. 

“Another reason why I love my mom is that she let me have the entire garage as my workshop—foster my gifts and whatnot.” He heard you chuckle from across the room, him now moving around quickly to make space for you. “Sorry it’s a mess.” 

“I’ve heard something about smart people having messy rooms so I get it.” 

He continued his mindless tidying, piling up papers and hanging his tools on the wall where they belonged. “What about you? Is your room a pigsty?” 

“You’ve been in my room, you tell me.” 

He fluffed some pillows on the couch and chairs, purposely avoiding eye contact with you. “Let’s just say it’s a miracle I escaped that biochemical hazard without boils all over my body.” 

You scoffed, moving over to him. Swiftly snatching a pillow, you launched it at his face. “You weren’t complaining when you were under my damn blankets. You know what, I actually prefer you sleeping—then I won’t have to hear your big mouth.” 

Jayce had caught the pillow and suddenly lobbed it up and served it like a volleyball—smacking it over toward you in return. “Please, you love to hear me talk.” He laughed as the pillow hit you back, impressed by his own aim. 

“Oh please, you and that mouth are so nasty and rude that I could go a lifetime without it.” You chuckled and tossed the pillow between your own hands. 

You expected Jayce to continue the playful banter—failing to realize he was immediately transported back to your argument. You called him rude, and then he’d been the epitome of it. He didn’t let a second pass before uttering out an apology. 

“I’m sorry.” He watched your face fall, twisting at his change in tone. “I was horrible to you and I didn’t mean any of that stuff.” 

“It’s fine. I started it and you were having a horrible day, week even. I was so insensitive and I feel horrible-“ 

He shook his head hard, “No it was me and I won’t forgive myself for that—for the way I acted that day.” 

The day after the kiss, one that felt so amazing when it happened. You related to Ekko most in that moment, that feeling of time escaping you without being able to do anything about it. It felt as though the moment ended as quickly as it started and it didn’t help that he ignored it the next day. Every second was truly precious, and he spent a ton of them making you feel unimportant. Even if by accident.

He sat down, and motioned for you to as well. Once you were across from him he continued, staring off into the distance. “I didn’t mean to just leave you. I tried, I swear I did. It only took me that hour to realize I was an idiot—that I…” He paused and inhaled, “I just saw her face and I knew something was wrong, something really bad happened and there was nothing I could do.” 

You shifted a bit but still let him talk, let him get it out. 

“Kino and Mel would sneak over here when we were younger, you know that?” His face lit up at the memory. “They didn’t have a good relationship with their mom so I’d just say ‘Come sleep here, you’ll be okay.’ That was until my mom found out.” He looked at you briefly, his eyes glossing over slightly before looking away again. “She let them stay whenever they wanted, tried to be the best role model for them.” 

You saw his fingers flexing, clawing at his own skin in an attempt to ground himself. Without thinking you moved closer, grasping his hands in your own. He looked up to a reassuring nod from you, one he returned. 

“Kino was my brother, in every way it mattered. So when I realized I lost him at the same time my mom was still stuck in the hospital…I just shut down.” 

“I get it, I do.” 

“I could’ve called you back, texted you. You had a right to be mad at me.” 

“No,” your voice cracked a bit, “I had other stuff going on and I took it out on you which wasn’t fair at all. I’m sorry.” 

He squeezed your hands before pulling one away to wipe his eyes. He let out a strained laugh, “So we’re both just some sorry asses then?” 

“Guess so.” 

Jayce let his hand fall, clasping over yours. Neither of you really acknowledged it until then, the way it felt to be in contact with each other again after so long. He wasn’t ready to face it, not yet. 

He pulled his hands away with a clearing of his throat—moving to stand. He rubbed his hands down the front of his pants, “Do you want a drink?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

He walked away without another word. This let you observe the space in greater detail. There was a white board filled with notes in his handwriting that you recognized. He color coordinated his writing but it was far too advanced for you to figure out what the reasons for that were. He’d moved his tools, but you noticed a great deal of them were small—almost as if he worked on intricate pieces often. There were larger ones too, like hammers and a nail gun. You shook your head, bewildered at what he could possibly need that for. As your eyes scanned you noticed he had a refrigerator, and yet he left the room to get you a drink. Shrugging it off, you picked up on the other inviting aspects of the space—the smell of cinnamon from a candle and worn cushions of chairs that made you feel all the more welcome. 

Eventually Jayce returned with two cups in his hands. He gave you a tight smile as he moved closer to the couch. You weren’t paying close enough attention, mindlessly reaching for one of the outstretched mugs with both hands. 

Before Jayce could tell you to be careful, you’d burned both your palms on the heated ceramic. 

“Shit!” You yelled out loud, hissing at the radiating pain. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Jayce sat the cups down. “I should’ve told you—I made hot chocolate.” He scrambled to his refrigerator, grabbing a makeshift ice pack he’d left in there. 

“It’s my fault—ahhh,” the sting was starting to hit more. “Hot glass looks like cold glass right?” 

He chuckled at the chemistry phrase, one often used when doing experiments. He’d recalled times in high school where a teacher would remind him that there was, in fact, no real way to tell a scalding glass from a cold one. That meant a lot of students got hurt for being careless, that and not wearing the proper clothing on lab days. 

“Give me your hands.” He slid in next to you on the couch, knees close enough to touch. “This might hurt a little.” 

“Can’t be worse than whatever degree these burns are.” 

He smashed and separated the ice that sat inside a ziplock bag into two. Outside of the bag rested pieces of fabric, a barrier he realized was necessary after many times of hitting his own fingers while at his workbench. He let your hands rest between his, alternating them in a pattern of one of his hands to yours, so as to put ice on both palms. 

The cold didn’t soothe yet, but stung at the sensitivity. You groaned, “Fuck this hurts—you were right. As usual.” 

The monotone sarcasm in your voice wasn’t lost on him, again making him laugh. In a split second, he noticed something. 

“This might be the wrong time…but I kinda thought of a way this could help with physics.” 

“It is absolutely the worst time, but I’m sure this’ll help me remember it for a test so go ahead.” 

He looked at your hands fondly, smiling at how perfectly it resembled part of a circuit diagram. “Our hands look like a battery here, you see?” He slowly turned your hand, making sure to maintain the pressure of the ice between them. “The way it’s a pattern—your hand, then mine…it looks like those four lines. You remember those?” 

“Yeah,” you searched in your mind to a few weeks back—a lecture that actually made sense because it was simply shapes and repetitive formulas. “Yeah, I remember the batteries. They have charges for each line, right?” 

“Positive and negative charge, yeah.” He took in a breath, looking again at your hands sandwiched together. Without trying his palms completely overtook yours, clearly much larger. It worked for his analogy, though. “If you think of my hands, of course, as positive—since I am just that amazing…then yours would be-“ 

“Negative?”

“Exactly, but the easiest way for you to remember is unfortunately because you were burned.” 

“I’m not following?” 

“Did the burn hurt?” 

“Yes…”

“Does pain feel good?” 

You hesitated, smirking slightly at the place your mind went to. “Well-“ 

“No, it doesn’t.” His hands shook then, his entire body moving at the deep laugh that escaped him. “My mentees cannot have their minds in the gutter—focus please.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” You straightened your posture, faking a salute for emphasis. 

That immediately got another laugh from Jayce—one you could tell he deserved. He seemed drained, overwhelmed by everything. 

“Are you tired?” The question was random from you, but Jayce understood where it stemmed from. 

“Even if I was I’d fight it for you.” 

Your head tilted and your body stilled, “Stop-“ 

“I’m serious. I don’t care.” He shrugged.

“That’s how I know you’re exhausted, you’re talking crazy.” 

He grasped your hands a bit more firmly, pulling them toward him. He shuffled closer to you as he looked into your eyes—maintaining his stare even when you tried to look away. “It’s because of the kiss right, you think I regret it?” 

“No, I-“ 

“I don’t.” He looked at your face, eyes flickering how they did that night at the bar. His tone deepened, “I’d do it again if I had the chance.” 

You met his tone, teetering on the edge of something you both wanted but couldn’t put into words. “I don’t believe you.” 

“No?” He moved in closer, lips barely grazing yours. He looked up into your eyes and whispered, “How about now?” 

He finally pushed forward into you, letting the feeling of familiarity wash over you. Jayce’s movements were conscious; he was calculating every single detail about this. He wanted it to be right, to show you how much he appreciated the chance to kiss you again—that it wasn’t a mistake the first time. 

Without breaking the contact, he moved his hands to the side and discarded the ice packs on the table. Almost immediately you let your fingers wrap around his neck, ignoring the pain in your hands as you pulled him further into you. He was eager, slipping a tongue into your mouth that left you breathless. 

You felt your neck hit the arm rest of the couch, Jayce pushing you back into it as he worked over each of your lips individually. He didn’t want to let you go, never again—especially not when you’d been interrupted the last time. He wanted you in that moment. Jayce was ready to have you in the open and couldn’t care less if anyone saw. He’d have to settle for now, though. 

Somehow it was even better like this. Nobody was here except you. In every moment that his mind had been elsewhere, when he could sense your anxiety about the next thing you had to do...neither of you truly sat in your time together. You finally had the chance to be fully and completely together and he wouldn’t let you go. 

As if you heard his thoughts, you moaned into his lips. “God, I need you so bad right now.” 

He didn’t let another moment pass before sitting back and sliding his shirt over his head. You reached up, fingers tingling over the new sensation of his chest. Where he was so quick with himself, he was slow with you. He let his hands grip the bottom of your shirt and slowly rolled it up and over your head. You were bare on top now and lying under him. In any other situation you’d feel off letting him straddle you this way—overwhelmed by the sheer size of the man in front of you. This was different because of Jayce’s delicacy. 

His hands were large, yet they moved over your chest and nipples with such softness that you almost didn’t realize he was touching you. He moved back a bit as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. He focused on one, pulling the other into his mouth and sucking on it. He watched your eyes, completely entranced by his movement on you. 

He lifted his mouth for a second, “Gonna try something okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed out—shockingly getting worked up a lot over this alone. “Yeah, sure.” 

His hand left your nipple to which you immediately replaced it with your own—needing the feeling there at every second now. He kept his mouth on you, reaching over to the discarded ice on the table and grabbing two cubes. Lifting his face for a second, he placed one just between his teeth and put his head back down, immediately swirling the cube on your nipple. With the other, he held it between his fingers, teasing your now reddened skin of the opposite nipple. 

“Wow,” you choked out, fingers curling on themselves at the overwhelming stimulation. “That is—that is something.” 

He hummed into you, excited that he’d only just gotten started. The heat of him let the little ice chunks melt rather fast but the chill was still there as he sat back completely. Your chest was firm now, completely hardened by both him and the cold. He smacked each side of you one by one, smiling at the way you reacted—almost completely blissed out already. 

You spoke between ragged breaths, “You might actually be insane.” 

He simply shrugged and moved to pull your pants off. He dropped them on the floor beside the couch and grabbed another piece of ice. This time he kept the ice pinched between his thumb and index finger, moving to rub over you where you were already dripping for him. Your back arched as he reached between you, completely intrigued by how skillful he was. He continued like this, prepping you but not letting a single finger slip in despite your desperation. 

“Jayce-“ 

“Not yet.” 

“Please.” 

You were numb, the ice both heightening and relaxing your nerve endings. It was confusing and left you searching in your mind for an idea—of how good it would feel to finally have him on you. 

Eventually he gave up on the ice, ready to work you over on his own. He let his head fall and clasped his lips over you eagerly, letting his tongue flatten and move up and down on you. He simultaneously slipped in two fingers which made you sigh. Jayce felt your body relax into him and smiled at that, humming on you and adding to the sensation. Your insides pulsed, too, sucking him in and out and enticing him to go faster. He left his fingers spread, pressing against the outermost lining of your walls. He didn’t let his tongue and mouth slow, either, continuing to bob his head up and down and look at you through his lashes. 

You couldn’t keep the eye contact, but leaned your head back into the arm rest again. You let a hand fall into his hair, tugging at a lifeline to tether you to this reality. You wanted to be present with him for once. Your free hand fell to your face, slipping between your lips in an attempt to suppress the moans tumbling from you. 

He watched this and slipped a hand out of you immediately. Swatting the hand away he groaned out, “Don’t. I wanna hear.”  

“Fuck.” You couldn’t reply, too turned on by his needing to draw every sound from you, to hear his work on display. 

The pace of his hand and mouth were torturous and the snap in your groin as soon as you felt the familiar heat. He felt you convulsing and nudged you back down. 

“Just a bit more, okay? You can do it.” 

You weren’t sure you could. This was already so much—so good, but so much. 

He kept going, needing to feel this for just a bit longer. He didn’t care about him, only that you felt good. After a few more pumps he started to slow and pulled away from you, smirking to himself at the exchange. 

“You did great.” 

You could only huff at that, writhing at the air on you now. You were painfully aware of the fact that you were naked and sat up a bit. Jayce stalked around the garage, back muscles flexing how you’d never had a chance to see. You smirked as he slipped out, happy with yourself admittedly. 

Jayce came back with a rag and throw blanket, first wiping the sweat from your face then the mix of mess he’d left on you below. You didn’t move, still overwhelmed by him. He knew it, too, and simply threw the blanket he had over your body. 

He sat next to you, just observing the way your chest rose and fell. You didn’t ask anything of him, but you were owed an explanation. Even more so now. 

“I was afraid… that taking this step with you would hinder me from being what you need.” He paused, “I was afraid if I didn’t close myself off that I’d make you lose focus…lose your scholarship.” 

You looked at him, breath still ragged. You simply nodded in understanding. 

He kept going, though, “I’m so glad I met you and I’m sorry for saying otherwise.” 

There was a serious tone on him that scared you, a sincerity that not many people conveyed when they talked to you. You avoided it, had to. 

“I’m glad I was dragged into the student center that day…needed someone to tutor me really bad.” 

Jayce scoffed and playfully swatted your leg. “Let’s see how you feel when this tutoring suddenly stops, huh?” 

“So,” you arched a brow, “Is this a bad time to say that I failed my midterm and retakes are in two days?” 

“You’re not serious-“ 

“Unfortunately, I am.” 

Jayce looked down at you. “You know, this just means we get more time together. Just us.” 

You felt your face heat up at that, “Sounds amazing.” 

He leaned back into the cushions, mindlessly rubbing your knee with his hand. You enjoyed the silence with him—the first time in a while that it wasn’t laced with something completely intangible. 

part twelve

tag list

@juskonutoh @sseleniaa @aerina127 @sleepysoldier @angelicmisty @1800latenitecreep @venus-in-roses @myxticmoon @rando-no-5 @pebble-bb @morosluvbug @gorgeouslylethal

[thatfrailsoul]

– It's like learning to fly

Divinatory jukebox: "One step at a time", by Jordin Sparks

tarot pick a pile reading → one, two, three

We do so much for it, to reach it… We grab an old and trembling stool, and we get up on it, even if it is ready to collapse with us at any time, menacing us every second with that kind of scary crunch. We hold onto the shoulders of others, even if they are absolutely sure that there are better and safer ways to do it. We stretch our arms until it literally hurts, pointing our feet, so frustrated to see our fingers only slightly touching it… We do so much, and for so long. To the point that we start to forget why we are really doing it, why we need it so much, why we just can’t move on without finding that one thing, without holding it in our hands.

There is a little reminder somewhere, in a forgotten drawer, in a list of things to do or to achieve hidden in your notes, at the back of your mind in the memory of that moment full of excitement and inspiration where this idea, this journey and adventure began… There is somewhere that reason, that motive, behind your courageous first step. Protected from all this frustration, stagnation, lack of progress. Unreachable by those judgemental and mean words, by those failures that you can’t stop thinking of… And now, when you least expect it, when you think that you don't need nor want it, it is coming again to the surface, falling out of that dusty box, touching your cold hand hidden in your pocket. It is returning to you to remind you of why you started this and why you should continue to hold on.

P.s. tomorrow is my birthday 🎂🎈

And I'm so glad I managed to post a reading, especially such a sweet one, closer to this date! This blog, little by little, became my safe space. And even if we are not so many, I really wanted to share a little of my happiness with you today (and tomorrow). So I wish you truly peaceful and good days. A comfy bed. A full belly. A clearer mind and warmer heart. And moments of peace and rest between one "adventure" and another. Thank you for being here. And thank you for existing in my same lifetime. ♡

– Pile One,

the house: the four of coins and the justice

picture from → pinterest

A shared room. Borrowed clothes, toys, books. A gentle but inescapable hand that guides you, shows you the right direction for your steps… There wasn't really that much time or space for you to grow into the one you’re supposed to. Not when you so often fitted someone else’s shoes, someone else's story.

It took quite a lot of courage to slow down, to slip your hand out of theirs, to look away from where they were guiding you. To try to create your own path, that no one ever walked, perhaps only tried. With your own hands getting dirty for the first time in a while, and becoming tired of the hard work and patience it needs in order to be cleared out.

It took so much of you that, once you found yourself in it, in all this dirt, stones, brambles… Once the night came down, and the darkness surrounded you… You couldn't ignore that tiredness. The one that inevitably transformed that ardently desired liberty of choice, all those possible steps, so many directions… In just responsibilities, in risks and dangers around you, in fears within you that you didn't have any chance to escape from.

And it is not so easy to get up again, at all. At each uncertain step you remember more strongly all their words and premonitions, on how it will never work, on how you don't have any idea of what you are doing, or how you will come back sooner or later, begging for their protection and support.

But even as you start to doubt and overthink, get caught up in all those memories and feel too heavy to get up and keep on moving… You are not letting yourself die from hunger, from cold, from loneliness. Your fingers caress the earth and nature around you, meeting and recognising all the things that can work for now, that can be enough for a while, that can help you survive tonight.

Slowly, uncertainty, but you are finding all you need, and even what you never hoped for. You are transforming that little spot in which you felt exhausted and trapped in, convincing yourself that you already failed… In a place that is safe for you for this moment, a place where you can rest, as you survive and in the meantime become more used to it, more calm and stronger.

And even if it is only temporary, only for now, so unstable and frail, it is still something. Something to start from tomorrow when the sun will rise and you will see better, when you will be able to recognise what is it that you really need more of, to get through the cold nights and scary storms.

It could've been better to have it all figured out and prepared before the adventure. The map, the food, something to keep you warm and some company… But there is magic in doing it this way too, living it one day, one moment after another. There is the unexpected, the surprises, the mistakes that you will learn from. There is the experience, the knowledge and confidence that an already walked path couldn't give you, no matter how bumpy the road could be.

It is different from what you thought, and perhaps indeed too similar to how they said it would be… But not for this reason it is wrong or impossible, to go through it.

You are doing much better than you fear now. Exactly because it is something so new, so lonely for you. And yet you are still making progress. You are still finding in it something that is worth it. The silence that is not disturbed by any angry or frustrated voice, only your steps and the world around you. A beautiful view that you can enjoy and appreciate for as long as you want to, without anyone rushing you. A pace that you can change whenever you want because it is only up to you. To rest or to keep on going.

And not matter how simple or how little… it is still something. Something that gives you much more than any other story others wanted you to live. It is yours. Only yours. Completely. And it is worth it.

That stubbornness is still right here. That desire to do on your own, your own choices, your own mistakes and victories, yours and not of someone else that never understood your soul. And this, this still counts as a reason to hold onto that dream, even if its not on the horizon yet, even if only your heart knows what is it that you are searching for.

p.s.

buy me a tomato 🍅 (if you want to)

– Pile Two,

the child: the three of cups and the emperor

picture from → pinterest

It wasn't only for the goal, for that fishing line and reward... wasn't it? This journey called you much sooner, before you even knew what achievement and success was, what having recognition and admiration meant… You met this inspiration and passion when you had so little in your life, so few things that you could hold in your tiny hands, but that meant much more than anything you have now does. Every step, every creation, was so full of colours of excitement and curiosity. Of so many feelings that were all that you ever needed or wanted from your experiences. Just the joy and warmth of doing them…

But it is not enough anymore now, isn't it? Not for your mind that grew up so much, became so mature, so serious, so responsible. Not for that part of you that just can’t allow yourself to do something, to invest so much time and energy in it, if it does not serve any other purpose than just enjoyment. It would have been beautiful, and much easier if it was enough… But this cruel world and your reality does not accept it, does not reward it. Something that you do simply for yourself. It wants results, motives, goals and achievements. It wants a worth that is more concrete and material, otherwise is only making you waste time, putting you in danger, without having anything to back you up.

And although it is not your fault, that it doesn't work this way for you personally, that it is not giving you those more material results and returns… It still hurts a little, when you start to think that, maybe, it is you who wasn't good enough to make it work better, to not force you to say goodbye to something that you carried in your heart for so long, betraying that little you who was so sure that it will be a lifelong bond.

But… Do you really need to leave it behind? To put it aside, in a little angle that will become more full with time with all the things that you renounced just because they didn't work out enough? Making it more and more difficult to reach them, useless even to try, in those few but still present moments in which your heart will desire to enjoy them one more time?

It might not serve the same purpose you hoped for. It might not be something so ever present, a foundation for your wealthy and good life. It might not be completed in years to come, touched only from time to time in those nostalgic afternoons… But it is still worth it. To keep it in your life. To leave it as that safe space and moments to create, to enjoy things just for the sake of it, to be you again once in a while. The you that doesn't need to be so stressed and so serious about your every action. The you that doesn't need always to calculate the convenience of doing something in order to allow yourself to spend time with it. The you that still values and protects what they feel in the process, and not only its outcome.

p.s.

buy me a tomato 🍅 (if you want to)

– Pile Three,

the scythe: the king of cups and the four of wands

picture from → pinterest

Even if it seems so hopeless, so useless, so needed to just let it go… It hurts much deeper, much stronger. It stings right into your heart for which this meant more than just "a lot". No matter what one says, or how the reality is now, it always feels like there is genuinely more to it. That there is something that your anxious and frustrated mind, or the judgemental ones of others, just don't see now. Something that will reveal itself if you just wait a little longer, hold on to it a little stronger.

And it is indeed like this. There is something powerful and meaningful enough to manage to slow you down, when you are trying to convince yourself to say to it goodbye… But rather than being in the thing itself, in this journey, passion or idea… It is more in you, in what you can still do to make it work, how you can do it. The options, ways and opportunities that are hidden in your own mind and attitude.

A lot of time had passed since you started this journey, since you decided to give it a try. But at the same time so little happened, you are still a child that is learning to walk on this path. You made your steps always in the same direction, confidently following the signed road on a map that you once found. And you did so while doing your best, managing everything in the perfect and right for you way. But who knows how long ago that map was traced, who first found that path, or how long it took them, how many things they sacrificed or how many others were gifted to them by those who they love just to manage to arrive to the end of that road…

You are different, just because you are you. And by the time you arrived here, so many things have changed since you hid that map in a pocket of your mind. It did gift you the knowledge and awareness that it can be done, that the place and time in which your life is so full of joy and wellness thanks to something you love is indeed possible… But it can’t show you every single step. That, is something that you can only understand and choose once you are already in the middle of your journey. Exactly like right now, when you are starting to feel so much as you go through it.

Those emotions, even negative, are not necessarily a warning, a sign that it is not it, that you need to stop. They would have meant it, but then letting go of it and forgetting it would've been so much easier… No, they mean something else to you, to your journey. They are urging you to write a different story from the one you once read. They are whispering to you new expressions, new plots, new ways.

It is up to you now, actually always, to choose how to go about the things you face and live as you go through them. And from time to time, you will need a little reminder about it, a little suggestion to your mind that starts to stress too much when it doesn't see clear answers and guidelines. A little message from your heart that it is okay to try to do things differently, instead of quitting them all together. There is no need to be so categorical. And there is no rush to make it work before the sun sets.

p.s.

buy me a tomato 🍅 (if you want to)

_

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

Forbidden Crown - VI

Summary: You and Kit have begun planning your escape, but each predicted outcome seems to be more torturous than the last…

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: kissing, implied public sex, angst, panic attacks, hints at character death

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I have been so insanely busy (I’m an actress and I have been booked and blessed) so I wanted to get out a short chapter for you guys. There should be two more after this, enjoy! :)

“Look at this,” Kit thrust a book under your nose, pointing at the open page.

You leaned back, blinking as your eyes focused on the scripture. “What, pray tell, am I beholding?”

The two of you were sprawled out on the stone floor of the castle’s library, surrounded by open books, maps, and weathered scrolls. No one used the library much these days—the twins had long since finished their schooling, and the rest of the palace was far too busy with wedding preparations to concern themselves with reading—so it was the perfect place for you and Kit to hide away and plan your escape. Even so, you kept to the back corners to evade any prying eyes.

”Information on the Lovedu People of South Africa,” Kit explained. “They’re a tribe that permits the matrimony between two women. Offspring of such unions are even deemed the heirs of the ‘female husband.’”

“Kit,” you had to laugh. “We are not fleeing to Africa.”

“Why not?” Kit pouted.

You reached for a crumpled T-O map, pulling it towards you and smoothing its worn surface. “Because we…” you pointed to Europe “…are here, and Africa…” you traced southward to the African quarter, “…is over there. There’s an entire Mediterranean Sea between them, and we have no means to cross it.”

Kit grumbled something indistinct as she pulled the book back. She knew you were right, but that didn’t mean she liked it. You giggled at her petulance, kissing her cheek in an attempt to brighten her spirits. “Let’s agree: if by chance you find a ‘sapphic tribe’ within Europe, count me in. Until then, let’s continue seeking a more feasible escape route.”

She seemed content with your reply, turning your jaw towards her and returning your innocent peck with something deeper. You sighed into her mouth, drawing closer to her. Any and all books and research were quickly abandoned as you lost yourselves in each other. Your hands were all over her, traversing her body with the same fervent determination as she had that night in the garden. Subdued sounds spilled from her throat as your lips trailed from hers, strewing kisses down her jaw and neck before dipping below her belt.

This time, it was her turn.

As time went on, your search for a relocation proved to be increasingly futile. Each kingdom researched was either too far away or too risky. You had exhausted all options and were growing increasingly desperate, and the weddings were but a fortnight away.

During a particularly sleepless night, you settled into the Great Hall with a map of Andowyne stretched across the long table, lit by candlelight. Your brow furrowed in frustration; each habitable area of the landscape had been dismissed for one reason or another. At this point, you and Kit were beginning to embrace the possibility of crafting a hovel to live in the Wildwoods.

You pinched the sides of the map between your fingers, holding it up in front of you when the flickering candlelight pierced through the paper, revealing something secret. At some point, someone had taken this map from the library and folded down the top right corner, concealing its contents from the rest of the surface. With curious fingers, you unfolded the corner, smoothing out its crease to reveal drawings of mountains, springs, and even a castle, all labeled with only one word:

Nockmaar.

Before you could even begin to wrap your head around this unveiled secret, you heard footsteps echo from outside the room. You froze, breath stilling as you waited for the footsteps to reveal their source. Could it be Kit, searching for a midnight tryst? Or perhaps Airk, coming back from a dalliance of his own?

Instead, Sorsha’s face appeared in the doorway, illuminated by her own candlestick. She donned a silk nightrobe over her chemise, with a slightly startled expression upon seeing you.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, eyeing you curiously. “What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you answered truthfully.

“Neither could I,” she replied. “I suppose wedding planning has us all a bit perturbed.”

You sucked in your cheeks and nodded, accepting the half-truth.

“Perhaps one of the kitchen maids could bring you some warm milk? I was about to request some myself…”

“What is this place called Nockmaar?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Sorsha was taken aback, almost dropping her candlestick. “Pardon?”

“Nockmaar,” you repeated, smoothing out the map’s creases. Sorsha moved closer, examining the worn paper, and you saw no path of retreat remaining. “I came upon this map of Andowyne, and this corner had been folded away. Was it deliberate?”

It was difficult to tell in the dim candlelight, but Sorsha’s face seemed to pale. Her eyes glassed over as she brushed a fingertip over the creased corner, almost as if it would burn her. “Nobody visits Nockmaar anymore.”

“Nobody?” You asked, your interest piqued.

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“Has it become inhabitable?” You knew you were pushing, you knew you would get the scolding of a lifetime if your mother caught you questioning your host, the queen, this way. But you couldn’t help it; if there was a chance at a livable location for you and Kit, you had to know.

“Not necessarily,” Sorsha gazed upon the illustrations with a sadness behind her eyes. “Many moons ago, my mother, an evil sorceress, cursed Tir Asleen and used Nockmaar as her new site of power. She enslaved the locals, the nomads, and forced them to build the castle.”

“Do the nomads still reside?”

“It’s a desolate land. My mother was defeated long ago, and with her went the enslaved locals. Terrible, really.” She seemed to get lost within the cartography before snapping back to reality. “It wasn’t her fault. Not completely. She was abducted by order of the Wyrm. They radicalized her, gave her unnatural powers, they…” tears brimmed her eyes. She took a step back, wrapping her nightrobe tighter around herself with a trembling hand.

You immediately stood up, pulling out a chair for Sorsha to rest in. “Your highness, my apologies, I…”

“Have nothing to apologize for,” she finished for you. “It’s quite alright. You didn’t know.”

“Still,” you insisted, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Although you technically hadn’t done anything wrong, guilt still gnawed at your stomach like a wererat on the innards of a well. You had distressed the Queen of Tir Asleen, your future mother-in-law. If your mother had been awake…

“The castle is believed to be cursed,” Sorsha stated, almost out of nowhere. “Impenetrable walls oozing with bad magic. No one’s been there in years.”

You had to know. “Is the castle truly cursed, or is that simply a belief?”

She turned to you, fear striking her umber-brown eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to find out.”

“You have an entire castle you’re not using,” you confronted Kit the next morning after finding her reading under the big tree in the Tir Asleen garden. The lush hedges and blooming hellebores had sort of become a sacred oasis for the two of you—where you made your first friend, had your first kiss, shared your first… everything.

She looked up from her book—a new treatise on European tribes—and cocked her head. “How do you mean?”

You moved to sit next to her, reaching over and closing the book in her lap. “I know where we’ll be going.”

Kit’s eyebrows arched in intrigue. A fervent smile spread across your face. “Nockmaar.”

Her face immediately fell, eyes widening in dismay. “Nockmaar?”

“Your grandmother once had a castle up there, now long abandoned. It would serve as the perfect refuge. Of course, we may have to travel a bit for trips to the market…”

You continued explaining details of the plan you deemed to be brilliant, but Kit’s attention waned. Your words sounded distant—muffled, as if you were holding her head underwater. She stared into nothingness, eyes shrouded in a veil of fog.

“It’s uninhabitable,” she said finally.

You frowned. “It’s desolate. There’s a difference.”

“It’s cursed,” she finally looked at you, her face a ghostly pallor of fear.

“That’s but a legend; we cannot know for certain.”

“My grandmother had that castle built once she was indoctrinated by the Order of the Wyrm. I lost my father to the Wyrm. I cannot…” She trailed off, her breath quickening as the weight of your request settled upon her. “My grandmother… the demon queen… I bear her blood… it lies within me, waiting to be unleashed…”

“Kit…” your voice cracked as tears traced her cheeks. You had never seen her like this—terrified, her vulnerability exposed without her usual armor of anger—and your heart ached with guilt at having been the cause of such distress.

“What if the Wyrm awaits the return of the demon blood? I would become the new harbinger. I would be enslaved. I could destroy Tir Asleen, endanger my family, and…” Her eyes locked with yours again.“…you. I don’t want to hurt you. If I were to ever lose you…”

“You wouldn’t lose me,” you interrupted, gently squeezing her upper arms and pressing your forehead to hers. “And you wouldn’t hurt me, I know you better than that.”

“I wouldn’t be myself…”

“I would love you however you are.”

Despite your attempt at sweetness, her shoulders still deflated. “You’re not understanding…”

“Here’s what I do understand,” you leaned back, cupping her face in your hands. “Even if there is a chance that Nockmaar is cursed, and the Wyrm resides there, and it awaits a new harbinger… it’s still the safest option we have.”

Your words sank into Kit’s mind like a ship with a cracked hull. As much as she hated to admit it, you were right. Again. There was a possibility of Nockmaar being cursed, but remaining here was even more perilous. If the two of you were ever… discovered, you could be forced into pilgrimage, imprisoned, or even executed. Wyrm aside, Nockmaar was a vast, empty land; you could wander for miles without running into a single person, making the prospect of getting caught almost negligible.

As she gazed into your pleading eyes—her own filled with resignation—she realized how much this meant to you. In the fifteen years you’d known each other, Kit had always been the one to wield the scepter. You were younger, and even if not by much, Kit felt as though it was her duty to impart wisdom upon you. She had been your first kiss, introduced you to the forbidden texts, taken your innocence, always the one leading you into mischief under the precedence of ‘excitement’. But now, you were making a decision for the both of you, and you showed no signs of retreat. The sweet little girl Kit fell in love with had vanished, and been replaced with that of a woman—still sweet, but opinionated, clever, with the impenetrable strength of the Nockmaar castle walls. And in that moment of realization, Kit fell in love with you all over again.

“And if I awaken one morning,” she said slowly. “My eyes cold, and my face a cracked and stony gray?”

“Then I’ll love you all the same.”

“No,” she whispered, taking your hands in hers. As much as she could admire your newfound resolve, Kit was still Kit—willful, defiant, and famously unyielding. “I need you to promise me something.”

You surveyed her expression with unblinking eyes, waiting for her to continue.

“If that were to happen, if you roll over in our bed to find I’m no longer myself…” she swallowed. “I would need you to end my life.”

“What?!” You gasped, perhaps louder than intended.

“We’ll swipe a sword from the armory and take it with us. I’m sure you’ll be able to carry a sword now,” Kit said with a lopsided smile, recalling how the heavy metal fell from your grasp the first time you held a sword.

Of course, you weren’t one to find that amusing. “Kit, I cannot… I mean… to end you… Kit, I…”

“Princess,” she whispered, wiping away the single tear that had fallen from your cheek. “I would rather die by your hands than by those of an executioner in the Tir Asleen dungeon.”

And suddenly, it was Kit’s turn to be right. In either case, you risked witnessing Kit take her final breath, but the slim chance of it happening at Nockmaar was far more appealing than the strong certainty of it happening if you stayed. Perhaps you two hadn’t quite thought through the ramifications of fleeing, but then again, time was of the essence.

“Very well,” you agreed with a sniff. “I promise.”

Your voice cracked on your last word before beginning what was possibly the ugliest cry of your life. Kit held you in her arms, rocking you back and forth beneath the protective shade of your favorite tree. Neither of you spoke, only the sound of your uncontrollable sobs echoed through the garden as the weight of your life-altering decisions settled upon you.

One fortnight.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days until the weddings, and one less until your escape. All you could do was savor the time you had left as you prepared for what was bound to be a torturous existence.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @lovinglynny @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13 @detmarmalade @at1nyzen @ikyk-leeknow @ingigisworld

[loth-creatures]

Wolf Ezra's final form

Lothwolfwalkers

I've been frothing at the mouth to reveal this for some time, but I also wanted to put together a synopsis of what I imagine he's been through after getting blasted into the unknown and his time on Peridea. Also will include some lore I came up with for Peridea! This post will likely be edited/added to every so often.

Also! I have a sideblog now @lothwolfwalkers

Ezra's many new scars are mostly from the shattered glass flying around the Chimera's bridge. Thrawn has a matching set. Ezra fell into a very deep meditation upon entering hyperspace, using the Force to keep a bubble of life support for himself and Thrawn. During this time he converses with the Purrgil, and beholds way too much knowledge of the universe for one person to hold in their head. He's probably a little weird after all that; frequently spaces out very badly while experiencing intense visions of things he saw and learned but can't remember.

The Purrgil travel much faster than ships. It takes them three days to reach the other galaxy, whereas it takes the Sion a few weeks (I want the Sion's voyage to be very very miserable for everyone) I'm going wild with the ocean metaphors for space and the Force here; Ships only ever skim the surface of hyperspace, whereas the Purrgil evolved to sink far deeper, where the current is much stronger and farther from time and real space. Sort of like how we can cross the ocean's surface on ships but animals like sperm whales can dive to extraordinary depths on the power of their own biology. To the Purrgil an intergalactic voyage is a hop across the pond.

The Purrgil don't drop the Chimera off on Peridea. They track along the very edge of the galaxy and their first stop is a barren volcanic planet that I've been calling Hel in my head (gonna be leaning into the Norse mythology theme). Although if anything its more like Davy Jones' Locker from POTC: At Worlds End.

The Chimera crashes and is grounded here for several months. All the internal systems are dead, everyone is unconscious after dropping out of hyperspace (like after the jump through the star cluster to Lirasan). Ezra escapes the crash as a wolf, beyond delirious and exhausted, forgetting his human body. It's not long before he's tortured into returning to it. It's also not long before the crew of the Chimera regret that. They could barely contain him for long under normal circumstances, let alone while the ship is in shambles and their resources are limited. He certainly spends some time in the walls and any repairs they've made are severely set back by the time he decides to steal a TIE Defender and leave.

Ezra then does the only thing he can. He follows the Purrgil. With no means to navigate and no way to obtain fuel, the only path forward is that of the Purrgil, as fruitless a path as it is, for the Purrgils' destinations are isolated from any form of advanced civilization that might exist in the new galaxy. Ezra is a step ahead in terms of conserving fuel as he can hitch a ride with the Purrgil. However, Thrawn knows Ezra and the Purrgil are their only hope of navigating this strange galaxy, and surgically implanted a tiny tracker on Ezra’s human body while he had the chance. It takes Ezra several months to realize this, as Thrawn is careful about how closely they follow him. When he does, he takes the Chimera on a wild goose chase, trying to run the them out of fuel. By now he's learned he can run alongside the Purrgil as a wolf through hyperspace.

Ezra leaves his ship and body on the most barren useless planets the Purrgil stop by, and continues to follow them as a wolf for as far as he can, trying to map their routes in his head, trying to find the way home. Then doubling back in the ship, zig zagging, going in circles and doing everything he can to cover their tracks. This goes on for about a year. I suppose they must find some form of fuel somehow in order to continue that long, but its inefficient and damaging to the ships.

Thrawn occasionally threatens to recapture Ezra, in order to keep him moving, but doesn't yet know that Ezra knows about the tracker and doesn't want to give it away. Perhaps he does recapture Ezra once or twice. And immediately regrets it. No matter what they do to human Ezra, Wolf Ezra simply can't be contained and tends to short out the entire electrical system as he drifts on and off the ship, straight through the hull in his spirit form. Human Ezra causes lots of problems on the way out when he inevitably escapes. The entire crew just want him dead. But they also know he's their only chance of escaping this exile.

This cat and mouse game takes a massive toll on his own ship though, and by the time they reach Peridea, its completely broken down, out of fuel and will never get off the ground again. At this point Ezra uses the Force to locate and disable the tracker, but has no way to safely remove it from his body, which he's pretty pissed about. He disappears into Peridea's wilderness. The Chimera becomes a grounded fortress and will not lift off again for several years. While Thrawn contacts and makes allies of the Night Sisters, Ezra befriends the Noti and also becomes amicable with many of the bandit clans.

Except I'm not calling them bandits, they need actual names. After googling "old norse word for blank" a few times and taking the first result, I came up with Hundur Ridarri for the howler riders we see in the show, roughly meaning 'dog horsemen' and Vatn Fari roughly meaning 'lake farers' as I imagine Peridea having many massive lakes or seas, and many of the 'bandits' are mariners. Their ships are mostly made from the bones and skin of giant sea creatures, which they also hunt for food.

Wolf Ezra has been known to tow in derelict ships caught in storms or attacked by creatures of the deep, and has ferried survivors of shipwrecks to shore on his back. He is sometimes offered some of their catch in return. He mostly avoids them though, as they occasionally treat with Thrawn and the Sisters.

The Noti on the other hand keep to themselves and are so good at hiding that Thrawn doesn't even know about them. Ezra’s body is quite safe with them and in return he defends them and helps them find food, and is quickly adopted as one of their own. They mostly survive on the washed up corpses of lake creatures, which Ezra can sniff out from miles away, and can tear the carcasses open for them, saving hours of carving through tough skin and bone. Ezra can also stomach it as a wolf but prefers to fish along the shoreline.

Ezra can't stay undetected forever though, he's not exactly inconspicuous as a wolf. As Thrawn now has powerful allies and resources, he's made a project out of capturing Ezra and attempting to study his wolfwalker abilities, something the Sisters are intrigued by as well and keen to experiment on. The Emporer was highly interested even before they knew about healing powers and teleportation. If Thrawn is to return to the Empire, he intends to do so with something to show for it. And a bit of vengeance.

The Sisters do succeed in capturing and containing the wolf briefly several times. One of their smaller strongholds (known as Gleipnir after the string that binds Fenrir in Norse mythology) becomes increasingly dedicated to the project. Ezra always escapes, but it gets harder each time. And if they ever find his human body, it's all over.

Meanwhile, Ezra is still trying to find a way home. He has no way of carrying his human body with him, can only follow the Purrgil so far as a wolf. The further he gets from his body, the more tired and sick he becomes until he simply can't keep up and is slowly and painfully dragged back to his body through the Force. There is no chance of him crossing between the galaxies. But he tries anyway, hoping he can get stronger, run farther before faltering, hoping someday he will make it just far enough to tell someone where to look. He only succeeds in hurting himself. It's too risky to try stealing another ship off the Chimera, as they are actively using their remaining TIEs as bait and he cannot afford to get caught again now that there's a real chance he'd never escape.

The Purrgil may go to Peridea to die, but they don't all die at once; the young escort their elders to their final resting place, the elders in turn show the young where to go to visit their dead and eventually join them.

Back home, Kanan searches for Ezra through the World Between Worlds. He has no luck, as the wbw doesn't extend between galaxies. The new galaxy likely has its own version but they are not connected. Kanan feels in his heart that Ezra is alive, but has no hope of finding him. Meanwhile Sabine often has dreams as a wolf, running through the wbw, following Ezra's faint faint scent, only to run right off the edge of the map and fall to oblivion. Ezra cannot sleep as a wolf without falling straight through reality and onto the paths of the Purrgil, where every minute contains a lifetime and every pawstep crosses light years. It's so very easy to become lost.