#Who all lost their memories and are trying to piece together what happened

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 13

Source for pic

Imperfect 13

Word Count: 4753

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: After Monday's terrible cliffhanger, I thought you guys might need something to cheer you up before the weekend hits. This is not it. It won't cheer you up. I'm so sorry! Also, this is mostly a chapter with Killer's POV only. Would you look at that... I'm adding some extra notes at the end because, spoilers, so make sure to read them after you've read the chapter! Thank you!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

Killer sees it happen from afar, like the countdown to an impending explosion. 

Once Kid sees you across the room, the shadows in his eyes grow. The girl who has been flirting with his friend all night hovers just beside him, smiling from time to time, but already with the look of someone who has struck out, since Kid’s barely paying her any attention. 

And then his idiot friend decides to self-destruct. 

When Kid wraps one hand around the girl’s waist, Killer instantly reads his intentions. The slow beeps of the countdown to impending doom resound in his head as everything around him flows in slow motion. 

The horror on your face, the realisation, the denial, the begging. 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

It’s then that Killer moves as fast as he can, avoiding flailing limbs and calls from familiar faces as he pushes through. He has one goal. And it’s you.

Just as Kid’s angling the girl’s face down, Killer places his calloused hand over your eyes, shielding you from what is about to happen. Even though deep down, he knows he wasn’t quick enough to stop your heart from shattering.

“You don’t gotta see this, love,” Killer whispers, his voice cracking, filled with pain and regret. He pulls you gently against his chest, cradling you in his arms as if you’re a wounded bird, carrying you outside to the yard. 

He feels you break in his arms.

A small tremble, a shuddering breath, then a sob and a broken wail. When he finally removes his hand from your face, it’s already wet and glistening with tears. You look at Killer as if he holds the answers, even though you don’t voice the question. 

Why? 

That’s the answer your eyes seek. A question he doesn’t know how to answer. Kid pressed the self-destruct button, and you’re both casualties of it. 

You shake your head, blinking away the tears and maybe trying to erase the bitter memory from your mind. Your lips part, and a strangled cry escapes before you press both hands against your mouth, stifling your pain, smothering it.

Your legs give, and you wobble, so Killer reaches out and grabs you again before your knees hit the ground, crushing you against his chest. He can feel every ounce of your agony in each of your shortened breaths. He can sense the grief in every hot tear that dampens his shirt. 

You’re not just breaking apart. You’re shattering into irreparable pieces. 

“He…” you manage to croak out, before a heart-ripping sob claws out of your throat. 

Killer feels his own heart shatter at that sound. His throat tightens, and he finds himself trembling too, a pesky prickling behind his eyes. You look so frail and seem so lost. 

“I know.” It even hurts to speak.

You cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you from scattering, broken, on the floor. Your nails dig into his shirt as you claw desperately, trying to hold on to a semblance of sanity. 

Killer pulls you closer, tighter, one hand pressing against your nape, another on your upper back. His chin rests at the top of your head as you shake and tremble against him. 

God, how he wants to hold you together. 

That fucking idiot.

He had it all. And he fucked it up.

“Why…?” you finally ask after your trembling calms down, your voice hoarse from holding back sobs and tears.

Killer takes a beat before pulling back, cupping your cheeks so he can stare into your eyes. They seem less bright, cloaked in shadows and pain, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge how deeply that hurts. 

“He’s an idiot, and he thinks it’s the only way to protect you.”

It’s the truth, but it’s the wrong words. 

You break apart again, shoulders shaking, hands clasped against your mouth, chest heaving. 

Killer pulls you against him once more. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can hold you together. Maybe like this, you won’t break too much, and he can still fix it. Fix you. Fix Kid. Fix everything.

“I’ll take you home now, okay?”

“No!” you protest, falling away from him. Your eyes widen, and you shake your head again. “No, not home, please… I…” You hug yourself, nails digging into your arms, squeezing, holding, trying to keep yourself from shattering. “I can’t face Shanks right now, please!��

Killer nods. He doesn’t need to know the whole story to make a safe deduction. Shanks has warned you about Kid, and Kid just proved your old man right. 

Fucking idiot!

“Mine, then. We’ll take your car, I rode with Kid, is that okay?” You nod, and Killer waits for you to start walking. You don’t. You just stand there, hollow, empty, your hands hugging your arms as if the action alone can keep you from breaking. So he gently holds your hand and leads you to the street, searching for your car without asking you where it is.

His hand engulfs yours, and he feels you tremble. You’re still sobbing softly when he opens the car door, and you sit. There’s no use making conversation as he drives you to his house; he doubts you’d even be able to retain anything he says at this moment. 

Kid fucked up real good this time. And by the looks of it, Killer’s not sure how he’s going to make it right. He’s been telling him for years that he needs therapy, he needs an outlet. He needs to feel worthy and guiltless. But Kid is as stubborn as a mule and just as much of an ass. 

When you showed up, Killer immediately saw how good you were to his friend. How you made him laugh and be more at ease. He thought you could help him heal. But Kid doesn’t allow himself to heal. He offers no leeway to his own redemption or recovery. 

And now, you’re caught in the crossfire. 

The ride to his house is made in silence, a maddening, crushing silence. You sob once in a while, silently wiping a stray tear, muscles coiled tight in an effort to hold everything together. Killer tries to offer soothing words at first, but then he notices you’re barely there. Your heart was left in Kid’s hands, and then he tore your mind apart, too. There’s just a hollow shell of the bright, energetic city girl he’s come to know. 

Killer parks in one of the slots in front of his apartment. He lives on a quiet street, about five blocks away from Kid’s and the garage. He kills the engine and sighs, letting the quiet of the night settle for a moment before getting out of the car. 

When he opens your door, he extends his hand, shaking you softly. “Come on, love. We’re here.” You nod mechanically and let him guide you inside. He doesn’t remark on of how stiff your movements are, or how much your legs are trembling. He just holds you by the waist and gently guides you up the steps and to the second floor. 

He opens the door and ushers you in. You’re still shivering, even though the weather outside is warm and the house is at a perfect temperature. Killer frowns and, without a word, goes to his dresser and fishes out one of his favourite blue sweaters. Once he reaches you again, he notices that you’ve taken off your shoes and placed them by the door, where you’ve hung your purse, too. 

“Arms up,” he gently instructs, and you obey without a fuss. Eyes glazed over, soul very far away from his home. He helps you dress as if you’re made of glass, with slow, gentle tugs and soft taps. His sweatshirt looks big on your smaller body, and the pang he feels in his heart from seeing you in his clothes is more telling than he wants to admit. 

So he doesn’t.

“Want some tea?” You shake your head at his proposition. “Water?” Another shake. Killer mouths a curse and gently takes your hand, leading you down the hall. “Bed, then.”

His room is tidy, much like everything else in his house. He doesn’t like disorder, and the neatness of his apartment helps keep his anxiety at bay. His therapist suggested organizing and cleaning as a way to cope with all his wandering thoughts, back when he first came back from the army. 

It stuck. And it helps ground him. 

So he pulls back the covers of his neatly made-up bed and helps you inside, fluffing his pillow before you lie down. He tucks you in as if you were a child and threads his fingers through a stray strand of hair. “Sleep, love. I’ll be on the couch if you need—”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. 

You reach for him, fingers closing around his wrist, trembling and tight. “Stay… please!” Your voice comes out broken and lost, and when he makes eye contact, the brightness there is so dim and fragile, he’s scared to even breathe wrong and make it fully go away. 

“I… fine. Yes, of course. I’ll stay.”

Killer takes off his boots and climbs in next to you, over the blankets and keeping as much distance from your body as he physically can. You ruin all of his proper thoughts by scooting closer and wrapping your arms around his torso, your face buried in his chest, fingers clinging to him as if he were about to disappear. 

Killer’s breath hitches in his throat, his heart threatens to jump right out of his mouth. He lies still, steady as a rock - your rock.

Every tremble from your body is like a small dagger being plunged into his heart. Every near-silent sob you release is a twist of the blade. He lies there, awake, as you hold him so close that your warmth is transferred to him. 

He has no idea how this happened, how he got here. How he started loving you.

Maybe it was when you laughed.

Maybe it was when you made Kid laugh. 

Maybe it was always meant to happen, like a cruel twist of fate. To dangle happiness and love right in front of his nose, just to remind him that it’s not for him, that it never was, and that it never will be. 

Because it doesn’t matter how or when it happened, he will never act on it. No matter how badly Kid fucked things up, you’re still his. And Killer would rather die than betray his brother. 

That’s why he’ll lie there awake all night, like a man holding someone else’s future, knowing deep down he has no claim to it but still pretending that he does. Just for one night. One night only. 

He’ll hold you, breathe you, love you. Carve you so deeply into his soul he’ll never have to think about it again. 

And come morning, he’ll let you go. He’ll help fix whatever Kid broke, with duct tape and strings, with love and patience, and return you to where you belong. 

Even if it kills him. 

-*-

Nearly two hours later, he’s still awake. 

He can’t sleep. Your presence is too overwhelming. You’re deeply asleep, but your body is still showing the signs of internal struggle. Every time you breathe, your chest trembles, a semblance of a sob still trapped between your lips. Your brows are scrunched, and your cheeks are wet and puffy from the tears. 

He pulls you closer, watches your face carefully, memorising every trace and line. Close, like he never dared to be. He’s mourning a future that never even had the chance to bloom. You were never meant to be his. But maybe for tonight… he can pretend. 

The peacefulness of the night is suddenly stirred by a low rumble in the distance, approaching fast. Killer knows that sound. It’s Kid’s bike.

With a muffled curse, he moves slowly out of the bed, positioning his pillow beneath your head and making sure you’re still asleep before he exits the room and closes the door. He’s already opening the door to his apartment when Kid’s fist rises in the air to bang on it. 

He’s pissed drunk. Asshole.

“You fucking, irresponsible moron!” Killer swipes the bike’s keys away from Kid’s hand, pocketing them next. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Or someone else? Jesus fuck!”

Kid groans, his legs wobbling and eyes glassy and unfocused. He leans against the wall and slides down like a rain-soaked letter. Saggy and worn out. 

“I fucked up, man…” he slurs, the words too heavy and real. “I fucked up.”

Killer nods defeatedly. At least he knows what he did. “Aye, brother. You fucked up real good this time.”

Kid’s head thumps softly against the wall, and he closes his eyes, regret pulling the corners of his lips into a grimace. “Didn’t even kiss that chick, didn’t want to. I just…” Kid sighs heavily, your name falling from his lips like a curse. “She told me she loved me and I… I needed her to… fuck!”

Killer closes his eyes in sorrow. It’s even worse than he thought, then. You told Kid you loved him, and he used that ammo against you. 

“Go home, Kid. Use the walk to sober up, and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Why am I so fucked up, Kill? I can’t be with her, but I don’t want her gone.” Kid buries his face in his hands, an inhuman growl escaping his lips in frustration. “I’m not what she needs!”

“You were always what she needed, idiot! It’s pushing her away that’s destroying everything!” Killer sighs and runs a hand through his face, trying to calm down. His best friend’s drunk. There’s no use in lecturing him right now. Tomorrow he’ll help him see reason. And he’ll lay all his anger on him too, because, fuck! Killer can still feel you falling apart in his arms. 

It’s a feeling he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. 

Leaning down, he grips Kid’s biceps and pulls him up with a heavy grunt. Bastard’s heavy as fuck. “Go home. I’ll help you fix it tomorrow.”

Kid nods, throat working away something he wants to say but can’t, as usual. Bottling up all his emotions behind high-as-shit walls. 

“Aye, tomorrow,” he slurs again and wobbles, about to turn around. Then his eyes drop, landing on your shoes, neatly placed by the door with your purse close by. He freezes, eyes narrowing and calculating. 

When his fiery eyes land on Killer’s, Killer knows he’s got it all wrong. The drunken haze recedes a fraction, replaced by betrayal and rage. 

“Ye fuckin’ son of a bitch!” Kid slams the wall with his hand, trying to keep himself steady and to let out some anger. “Ye were just waitin’, weren’t ya? Waitin’ on the sidelines, ready to swoop in and steal her away when I fucked up! Ye knew I was going to fuck up! It was always just a matter of—”

Killer doesn’t think, he just swings.

The punch lands hard on Kid’s jaw. He staggers back two steps, his hand gripping the stairs' railing to keep him steady. The blow wasn’t that strong. What stunned him was that Killer was the one to deliver it.

Killer, the friend who always sees reason; the calm to his storm; the steadiness in the wreck that is Kid’s life.

“Don’t you ever assume that about me again, Kid,” Killer whispers, his voice trembling with fury. “I would never do that to you, or her, for that matter. I respect you too much.” Kid just stares at him in disbelief. “Or at least I did.”

That lands as hard as the punch. 

Kid faces the floor with shame in his eyes. He’s breathing hard, the unhealed cut on his lip bleeding again from Killer’s swing. But he doesn’t say anything else. He just nods. 

“Go. Home,” Killer deadpans with finality. “Sober up, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Kid nods again, too dazed by the night's events to even speak up. He leaves, and Killer lets out a breath he’d been holding since the confrontation. 

Then he closes the door softly, leaning his forehead against the wood and gripping the handle with such force, his knuckles turn white. Behind him, you’re still blissfully asleep, unaware of the storm that raged at his doorstep. 

Unaware of the chasm splitting open between two brothers. 

Both of whom would bleed and spill blood for you. 

-*-

The night air is cold, but he barely feels it. 

Not just because of the alcohol, but because he’s numb. ‘I love you, Kid. So much.’ He hears your words on repeat inside his mind, taunting him, making him regret every stupid decision he’s made. 

“Run. Run. Run…” The chant of his ghosts is constant, and not even his drunken stupor seems to keep them away now. 

He should’ve just accepted the love you were so willing to give. He should’ve held you and kissed you like he yearned to do. Instead, he ran and he broke you.

“Because you’re a fucking coward,” Heat taunts. He’s walking right beside him, dragging his feet.

Yes. He is a coward. You looked at him, full of love and hope, and he didn’t know what to do with it. His darkness is bigger than your light, and if he hadn’t pushed you away, there was always a chance it would swallow you whole and obliterate you.

“I’d say you did a pretty good job at that on your own,” Wire reasons. He’s dragging himself on the floor, somehow keeping pace with Kid’s own drunken, sloppy gait. “Why leave it up to chance when you can destroy things so easily? Why allow it to grow and bloom? You were always going to wreck it, weren’t you?”

Yes, he was. He’s not meant for anything good. He’s not worth loving. So why would he feed your hope, and his, just to crush it eventually?

“Nip it in the bud, right, Captain? Yeah, I get it,” says Bubblegum before popping his chewing gum right by Kid’s ear. 

The rage he felt earlier is still simmering low, and he feels the need to hit something. He’s not mad at Killer, not anymore. Now that he’s had time to cool his thoughts, he knows Kill would never do what he accused him of. 

Even if he deserved it.

Killer is the better man, anyway. He always was. That punch was justified as hell. He fucking deserved it. 

“Yeah, you did!” Quincey mocks.

‘I respect you too much. Or at least I did.’ That’s what stings the most. That’s the shame eating away at his insides, gnawing slowly at his guts. He’s such a fucking idiot. 

Finally, he reaches the garage. He climbs up the stairs in the back, the garage keys are on the bike’s keychain, so he’s looking at more time to sober up on the ascent. The effects of the alcohol must be wearing off, because he now feels the sting of Killer’s jab, as well as a dull ache in the hole in his chest.

Time to drink some more, I guess.

The Hellpit is out of the question tonight. Killer was right, he’s too damn drunk to drive. He’s not even concerned about his own safety at this point. But he would never forgive himself if he got someone else killed because of him. 

Not again.

So after closing the door, the first thing he does is open one of the cabinets and pull out a bottle of scotch. He ignores Wire’s scowl as his dead friend shakes his head in reproval, and then Kid slumps down on the couch next to a smirking Heat. His eerie grin cut in half by what’s missing from his head. 

They’re here to stay, then. Oh, goodie.

‘You were always what she needed, idiot! It’s pushing her away that’s destroying everything!’

Killer’s wise. 

But what’s destroying everything is, and will always be, himself.

-*-

The day dawns with the sun half-hidden by low-hanging clouds. A ray of sunshine peeks through the curtains shyly, barely daring to wake you up, possibly sensing the turmoil within. Killer watches you stir from the doorway. He’s been up and about for a while, but didn’t have the heart to wake you. 

You blink a few times, adjusting to the room, the light, and possibly to the strange void in your chest. With a jerk, you rise, eyes scanning the room before they land on him, and you calm down with a hard sigh. 

“Morning,” Killer says, taking a slow step inside. You yawn and rub your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. They look swollen and puffy, as do your cheeks. 

“Morning…” you whisper back, a dry croak, empty of emotion. Killer’s heart clenches. 

“The bathroom is down the hall, there’s coffee whenever you’re ready.” You nod, and he hesitates. You feel about to break apart again, and he represses the urge to hug you and try to hold the few pieces that remain together. “You good?”

You nod stiffly. Just one nod. And then your lips tremble and your eyes blink fast. You’re trying to hide the pain from him.

Goddamnit.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says before turning and leaving you alone to break. 

After a few minutes, you emerge from the bathroom. Your eyes are red and puffy, but you’re not crying anymore. With stiff movements, you sit at the table. He cooked pancakes, eggs, and bacon, hoping against all hope that you’ll at least eat a little something. 

You eye the plate and grimace, so he pushes the coffee mug your way instead. 

“If you don’t want to eat, at least drink something, love. You need to get something in your stomach.”

He sees you struggle with the mug before you take a few sips. There’s even less of you behind your eyes than yesterday. And he doesn’t know what the fuck to do to get that spark back. 

“I think I’ll head home, Kill,” you whisper after he finishes breakfast, and you sip half of the coffee in the mug. “Thank you for everything.”

He drove your car yesterday, so you don’t need him to drive you home. But there’s something in the stiffness of your movements, the hallowness behind your eyes that doesn’t sit right with him. 

“Let me drive you, okay?”

“But you can’t come back on foot. It’s far and—”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll drive you.”

You sigh, and he realises you’d fight him on this if you weren’t so drained. Instead, you shrug and head towards the door to put on your shoes. You take off his sweater, despite his protests, and hand it to him before shaking your head and going back to his bedroom to pick up the phone you forgot.

Killer twists the soft fabric in his hands, hesitates, and then holds it against his nose, lowering the bandana just a smidge. His throat closes up, and his heart thrums in his chest. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It smells just like you. 

He curses loudly this time before putting the bandana back in place and placing the sweater on the back of the couch just before you drag yourself to the door, ready to leave. 

The ride home is as silent as it was before. Except for one small difference: no tears, this time. Maybe they all dried up. 

Shanks is waiting on the porch, sitting in a rocking chair and staring at the car with a frown on his face. You take a deep, trembling breath before you step out of the car to face him, and Killer follows, not quite sure what his presence can do to calm Shanks, but still not letting you face his disappointment alone. 

Except Shanks barely says a word. 

You thank Killer again and head inside, stopping near your dad, shoulders hunched in a defensive position, head hung low. But he just rises, places his hand on the back of your neck, and kisses your temple softly. 

“Head inside, Bug. Get some rest, okay?”

You stare at him for a few seconds, face hollow, eyes empty, and then nod, disappearing like a shadow.

Killer sighs and locks the car, heading up the steps to leave the key with Shanks. In the distance, the rumble of thunder announces a storm raging just like the one inside the older man. He might not have yelled or expressed how he already knew this was going to happen, but the way his brows are furrowed and his fist clenched tight tells Killer all he needs to know about what’s on his mind: rage, fury, retribution. 

“What did he do? Did he hurt her?” Shanks’ question comes out in the form of a snarl, his eyes glinting with barely contained disdain.

Fuck. Killer doesn’t want to rat on his brother. But it’s not like he can keep something like this from your father. You’ll need all the support you can get to cheer up. 

“It’s not that simple, he—”

“Did. He. Hurt. Her?” Shanks angles his body towards Killer, and even though the height difference is normally barely noticeable, Shanks looks down on him. 

“Yes,” Killer admits, and Shanks groans. “But not physically. He thought he was protecting her… from himself. But ended up pushing her away too hard… too destructively.” Killer sighs while Shanks paces the porch like a caged animal with no outlet. “It’s a mess… he’s a mess.”

“He should be! I warned him, I— Jesus Christ. I told him to stay the hell away from her! I knew this was going to happen,” he snarls again, running a hand through his hair and pulling on the strands. 

“I’m going to fix it, I—”

“You?” he interrupts. “Why the hell do you have to fix what he broke?”

Touché. 

“I’m going to talk to him, help him, and—”

“No,” Shanks regains his composure with a deep breath. “He doesn’t get to fix this. He did the damage, now he backs the hell off and leaves her alone.”

This time, Killer sees the lightning before the thunder echoes. It’s not raining yet, but soon enough, the warm splatters of rain will be hitting the ground. His throat works over the right words to say, the ones that will calm Shanks down, but especially the ones that don’t sound like betrayal. 

“I don’t think that’s for us to decide, Shanks.”

“The hell it isn’t! She’s still my daughter!” 

“And she’s my friend. They both are,” he states firmly, his hand reaching out to press the car keys against Shanks’ palm. “But she’s the one who should decide whether or not she forgives him. Not me. Not you. Not Kid.”

Shanks pockets the keys and runs his hand through his hair again, pressing his lips together to hold something back. “Goddamn it,” he exhales. “I can’t have him come crawling back just to build her hopes up and tear her apart again.”

Shanks looks inside, where the shadows seem to have grown now that the day has turned darker. 

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid again, Shanks. I promise.” This promise is also a vow. To Shanks, but mostly to himself. There’s no way he’ll ever let his thick-skulled friend hurt you like that again.

Shanks scoffs, picking up the mug, ready to go inside. “You’re a good friend, Killer, to both of them. But don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Killer’s hands clench into fists as his gaze falls to the ground. Slowly, gentle patters of rain start pouring from the sky. Warm rain, like the sky itself is mourning the events. “I will keep it.”

Shanks hesitates, hand on the screen door, studying him, maybe even reading things in him Killer doesn’t want anybody to know about. That’s what it looks like, at least. The rain picks up, and Shanks moves his gaze up towards the sky with a heavy sigh.

“You headed to town?” Killer nods. He’s going to check in on Kid, still unsure about what he’s going to find and more determined than ever to fix things. “I’ll take you. I’m heading that way, anyway.”

“Thanks.”

The rain starts to fall steadily while Shanks heads inside for a jacket and his truck keys. At first, it’s just a steady, rhythmic pour, but it’s only a matter of time before it turns into a full raging storm.

Just like everything else around him.

End Notes: I just want to let you all know that even though we just learned about Killer's love for reader, this story will not turn into a love triangle. It was never planned that way, and it won't happen, so rest assured! Now let me know if I crushed some hearts with this, were you expecting this twist? Killer, my love! I'm so sorry, baby!

Liked this story? Like my writing? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi, please!

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[chuulyssa]

──── FINDING A SECRET OF THEIRS

pairing ⸺ gojo, geto, toji, sukuna, nanami x reader

cw ⸺ fluff

𝙂𝙊𝙅𝙊

the room is uncharacteristically quiet. after checking into the hotel you were assigned to with gojo, you’re sifting through your luggage in a corner of the room. as you get up to keep your clothes in a closet, a faint, almost imperceptible humming catches your ear. you instantly think the place is haunted, but then you turn towards gojo, who’s lounging on the couch with his blindfold pushed up, seemingly lost in thought.

he’s humming a soft, soothing tune, and you’re surprised. it sounded like a lullaby. but where would he have learned one? was it when he took in megumi? you blink. “are you... humming a lullaby?”

“hm?” he freezes mid-hum, and his lips quirk into a teasing grin as if nothing happened at all. “whoops, caught me,” he says, sitting up. “what, were you so absolutely captivated by my beautiful voice that you forgot to unpack your skincare stuff?”

“already done,” you smile and shake your head. “i’m just surprised you can sing. what are you singing though?”

for a little moment, his expression is neutral, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking. then he scratches the back of his head and looks away. “it’s nothing… just something my mom used to sing to me when i was small. i… uh… don’t remember the words.”

you tilt your head at him; he really is quite adorable. you keep your folded clothes on your bed and move to sit beside him, nudging him softly. “must’ve been nice if you still remember that. though i think you would’ve been quite a naughty child.”

he chuckles, pouting at you. “nope! wrong! i was the cutest one. too bad you missed it.”

“well, you’ll just have to show me then.”

“show what?”

“give me a baby that looks just like you.”

“you’re on.”

𝙂𝙀𝙏𝙊

the quiet of his quarters is broken by the sound of a drawer sliding open. you’ve been helping geto sort through some old belongings when you find a small, dusty old photograph tucked away. you immediately shift the socks covering it and brush some of the dust off. it was a picture of him with two young girls, both of them giggling at the camera. geto’s arms were wrapped around them, and they were feeding him what looked like a lollipop.

“sugu?” “hmm?” he hummed back, turning to you.

“look what i found!” you ask, holding the delicate paper up to him. “are these the sisters you were talking about that day?”

geto’s eyes soften the moment he sees it. he takes the photo from your hands, his thumb brushing over the girls’ faces in the picture. “yeah. mimiko and nanako. can’t believe you remembered that.”

“i’ve seen how fondly you talk about them,” you sit beside him and murmur. “and you all look so happy together.”

“we were,” he says quietly. “i’d take them out for sweets whenever i was free — before… you know…”

“before you joined jujutsu high?”

“before… yeah,” he sighs, before smiling a small smile when he looks at the picture again. “they always fought over the last piece of taiyaki.”

“and who would win?”

he chuckles softly. “i let them think they did. ate the scraps myself. but it was nothing, i liked seeing them do their little victory dance.”

there’s a faraway look in his eyes now, as if he’s thinking of something distant, trying to recall a lost memory. you hesitate a little, but eventually place a hand on his arm. “can we visit them anytime soon?”

“don’t know if i can face them after not seeing them for so long,” he glances up at you, nodding. “but i want them to meet you. they’d love you.”

𝙏𝙊𝙅𝙄

you’re rummaging through toji’s toolbox looking for spare toffees (he usually hid them there away from little megumi) when your hand pokes something hard. you wince and look into the box to check what it was. you take the object out, it’s a small, intricately carved wooden bird. your lips curve into a grin and you pick it up, running your fingers over the smooth surface.

you run to the kitchen to show him your finding.

“what’s this?” you ask, holding it up to your eye level.

toji looks over his shoulders from the dishes he was washing. “just something i made. where did you find it?”

“in the toolbox! but, you made this?” you look at him, impressed.

“i can do stuff, you know,” he says gruffly, turning back to his dishes.

“yeah but… it’s so pretty. do you have others as well?”

“yea, used to make lots of those as toys for the brat. he likes the cat.”

“there’s a CAT?”

“uh huh,” he said. “don’t go spreading this around though. got a reputation to keep.”

“if you make me stuff too, sure!”

“alright alright keep your hair on,” he smiled a little. “thanks though. would’ve forgotten about that if you didn’t come here. not many people bother to notice stuff like that you know.”

𝙎𝙐𝙆𝙐𝙉𝘼

you hear it before you see it — the quiet clink of metal and the soft scrape of stone. wandering into sukuna’s private quarters is fun until you get lost amidst all the bones and skeletons. you wonder how he keeps the room smelling great despite all the garbage he owns. turning to another door hoping to see something familiar, you stop short. there he is, something familiar.

sukuna is kneeling in front of a small bonsai tree, delicately trimming its branches with precise movements, as if he was a professional.

“what the hell?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

sukuna glances at you, clearly annoyed. “what? what does it look like?” he snaps, as if embarrassed to have been caught this way.

“you… like plants?” the idea of the king of curses fussing over a little bonsai is almost laughable.

he snorts, setting down his shears. “keeps my hands steady. and it's a better company than most, especially the mortals i’ve come to associate with as of late.”

“if by ‘mortals’ you mean me then i’ve already told you to stop calling me that.” you step closer to get a better look at the miniature tree. “it’s so pretty, i didn’t know you had a soft side.”

“don’t,” he warns. after a beat though, he adds reluctantly. “takes patience to do this, woman. it’s just to… uh… help me train in combat.”

“mhm.”

“yes.”

“suuuuuuureeee.”

“now step out of this room. you may not interrupt my alone time with nature.”

𝙉𝘼𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙄

it’s a slow day at the office, and you’re sitting in a chair in front of nanami’s desk with him opposite you, drowned in paperwork. you flip through the books on his desk when you notice one particularly well-worn copy. what could that be? you pull it out, only to realize it’s a poetry collection.

“you read poetry?” you ask as he sets his pen down to give you his complete attention

he glances at the book in your hands. “occasionally.”

you skim through the pages. there are lots and lots of lines about love and romance. you giggle a bit, feeling giddy. he blinks at you before adding, “it helps me think.”

“think about what?”

“about you.”

you smile hard. “read it to me?” you hold out the book to him, eyes shining in excitement.

he raises an eyebrow but takes the book, then recites in a low voice:

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

you tilt your head in confusion, though your smile cannot be discreet at all. “what does it mean?”

“it talks about when you love someone completely.”

“completely?”

“precisely. quite like how i love you.”

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[milkb0nny]

Don't Leave...

... kissing as an act of desperation

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader

Summary: You were unconscious after a demon attack, and the brothers worried terribly about you. Dean, so scared to lose you, confessed his love through a passionate kiss, hoping you'd wake up.

Note: Another kissing prompt, this one being a little darker. But my, I love this so much!

Content: reader not knowing Dean‘s love for her, Dean being anxious, comfort, angst, injuries, first kiss

Word count: ~1,4k

Unconscious and still, as if you were a corpse, you lay in the motel bed. Your limbs were close to your body, your body wrapped in the thick blanket, a heating pad close to your feet.

What had happened? Why were you in this state of emergency? Why weren’t you as lively as you usually were? All those questions remained unanswered to you, as you slept deeply, your breath slow and steady.

You had been traveling with the Winchester brothers for quite some time. Not that you actively participated in the hunts and dangerous activities; you were an excellent person with perfect social skills. You had developed into the person of the group who would speak with others to gather clues. You could read people as if they were an open book, making them spill out whatever their memories had hidden away.

Though, why were you in this state then? As your consciousness recovered, you heard voices in the background. You couldn’t focus on them at first, as your head hurt. A defeating ache circled from your forehead to your neck, making your mere presence terribly painful. You couldn’t open your eyes… everything felt like you were in a fever dream.

But then you were able to piece the mumbles into clear words, and the voices belonged to Sam and Dean. The dim light of the motel room flickered softly as Dean and Sam sat at the small table, the tension heavy in the air. The door to the bathroom was cracked open, and the faint sound of water running could be heard in the background.

Dean's eyes never left you, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the table.

Sam sat across from Dean, his voice calm but concerned, "Dean, we’ve been over this. She’s strong. She’s gonna be fine. You just need to give her time."

"Time? She could’ve died, Sam. You didn’t see the way she looked at me... like she was already slipping away." He paused, running a hand through his hair, his voice dropping lower. "I could’ve lost her. I almost did."

Why was Dean speaking so softly about you? Did he truly care so much about you?

"You’re not gonna lose her, Dean. She’s one of the toughest people I know. Sure, she can’t fight, but her mind is stronger than ours. She’ll make it."

"It’s not about being tough, Sam. She’s… she’s everything. I can’t lose her. I can’t. She means more to me than…" His voice caught, and he paused, trying to keep it together. "I don’t know what I’d do without her."

What did he say? Was this a dream?

Sam looked at his brother, his expression softer. He knew Dean’s soft spot... You. "You’re not gonna have to do that. You just need to give her time to heal. She’s not gone. She’s right there." He nodded toward the bed, where you acted as if you weren’t mentally available. You wanted to know more, but your body was too weak to move in any way.

Dean’s eyes flickered to you, his expression darkening. "I know. But what if she doesn’t wake up? What if…" He trailed off, his voice barely a whisper, raw with emotion.

He was at his lowest.

"What if I wasn’t fast enough? What if I couldn’t protect her like I should have?"

"Dean, you can’t blame yourself. You did everything you could. We all did. It’s the job. It’s dangerous. You know that. We couldn’t predict that demon breaking in somehow and doing that to her. But you also know she’s not the type to give up without a fight."

Dean nodded and softly agreed. "She fights. She always fights." His throat tightened, and he cleared it. "I don’t want to be the reason she has to keep fighting. I want to be the one who keeps her safe. I want to be the one who makes sure she doesn’t get hurt." He exhaled sharply, his voice barely audible. "I don’t know if I can live with myself if I fail her. She’s become family. More than that."

Sam sighed, looking at you, so peacefully lying there. "I know, man. But you’ve gotta stop torturing yourself. She’s gonna wake up, and when she does, you’re gonna be the first thing she needs. She’s not gonna want you beating yourself up."

There was a long silence between them, the weight of Dean’s worry thick in the air. Your heart was racing. Hearing all those words coming from Dean was like being struck, like you’d fallen victim to Cupid’s arrow. However, it felt illegal listening to them, especially since they didn’t know you heard everything.

Sam stood up, his voice gentle. "She’s not gone, Dean. She’s right here. And when she wakes up, you’ll be right here for her. Just like always. I’ll get some more painkillers and dinner for us. Call me when she wakes up."

Dean didn’t respond at first, his eyes glued to you. He was still struggling, the fear of losing you overwhelming his every thought. But Sam’s words seemed to sink in, just enough to make him take a breath. Dean stood up slowly, moving toward the bed, his gaze softening as he kneeled beside you.

Quietly, Sam disengaged from the motel room, driving off in the Impala.

Dean was so close to you, his smell embedding you in a dream. Your body felt so warm, as if you were burning from the inside.

Dean whispered, almost to himself, "Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. I need you. I need you to be okay."

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his thumb gently tracing over your skin. His voice trembled, but he kept it steady.

"I can’t do this without you."

The room fell silent once more, with only the sound of your steady breaths filling the space.

Dean looked down at you, his gaze soft but filled with a sharp kind of pain. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, and before you could register what was happening, his lips were pressed against your very own.

The kiss was brief but laden with everything he was feeling: the fear, the relief, the need to feel your warmth against him. It was a kiss that trembled with the desperation of someone who had almost lost you.

He needed you, and silently confessing to you was his sort of comfort. He needed to feel your warmth in some way, to prove you weren’t vanishing from his life.

But then, as if unable to help himself, he leaned in further, his lips brushing softly over yours, tasting the sweetness of you, desperate for a connection. You could feel the heat of his kiss, but you couldn’t respond… not yet. You were too far gone in the haze of unconsciousness, barely aware of the world around you.

Suddenly, you felt a hot tear drop onto your face, one that didn’t belong to you, but to the man who was craving your life.

"Don’t do that to me. Please don’t leave me."

His words broke through the fog in your mind, and though you were still too weak to move, there was a stirring inside you… a pull, a recognition of what was happening. Dean kissed you again, this time deeper, slower, as if trying to pour all of his emotions into the kiss.

Oh, how he missed you already. His hands slid around your neck, cupping your face as he poured his fear, his regret, his love into you.

Your eyes fluttered beneath your eyelids, the sensation of Dean’s lips lingering. You tried to open your eyes, but it was hard; everything was still a blur.

Dean pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged and uneven.

"God, I need you to wake up. Please."

You finally managed to open your eyes, the world coming into focus just enough for you to see the look of sheer desperation on his face. His green eyes were wide.

Dean froze, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at you, his lips parting in disbelief. For a moment, time seemed to stop… his expression softening, the tension melting away as he processed the fact that you were still with him.

"You’re… you’re awake."

You nodded slowly, trying to smile despite the pain in your body. But Dean didn’t smile back right away. Instead, he pressed his lips to your forehead, his breath shaky as he whispered something to himself.

"Thank god…"

Your heart clenched at his words, and you reached up, placing your hand over his. The simple touch seemed to ground him, to remind him that you were still here, still with him. Dean looked down at you, his eyes soft, yet still filled with so much emotion. And for a moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you.

Dean exhaled, a breath of relief, and this time, when he smiled at you, it was full of love, full of life, and full of the hope that you’d always be by his side.

[ultravi0lence14]

SWEET ANGEL

dean winchester x angel!reader

2.5k | angst, enemies to lovers, szn nine

summary: with angel now living in the bunker, dean has to swallow his pride and realize not everyone is out to get him.

WHEN ANGEL FALLS IN LOVE

the drab walls of your room in the winchester’s bunker stared back at you, almost taunting in how their beige and gloomy colours looked around you. it was coming up on week four post fall, almost a month since you were locked out of heaven, and you seemed to be making absolutely no progress.

sam had tried to teach you about humans, explaining different types of slang and technologies that they had created. though, he decided to stop after his brief pop culture unit turned into a brutal argument stemming from your confusion.

it didn’t make it any better that you had no clothes. your white dress from the day you were found under the wilting willow was all you had; grass and mud washed away though the memories still lingered.

everything was starting to become unbearable. the scratchy sheets on your bed, the barren walls with no life or colour. your day to day routine wasn’t too bad. wake up, talk with sam about humanity and it’s customs, try a new snack, and then hobble away to your room where you’d indulge in copious amounts of youtube videos and pinterest boards.

there happened to be an old laptop of sam’s lying around, and after some grumbling from dean, both he and his younger brother helped you set up and navigate the device.

dean was a topic you wished to never bring up or even think about. the man stuck to his word, not talking to you unless you initiated first. even then he sometimes wouldn’t respond. when he did, it was always snippy responses that had you rolling your eyes, retreating to where you actually felt wanted; an enigma of a place that you created in your own company.

the internet was something you marvelled at. looking at a plethora of video content on youtube, and all different types of pictures on pinterest.

a sense of fashion was something you started to pick up on, looking at countless pieces online and even grabbing magazines from the store when sam would take you out with him.

your angelic roots peaked through in the fashion and aesthetic you gravitated towards. a girly vibe was always something you enjoyed, but you also seemed to like the more quirky and unique styles. skirts, plain and colourful tights, bright sweaters and form fitting tops seemed to find a way into your brain; the drab cotton dressed you landed on earth in going to shame as you looked at all the different patterns and fashion choices.

it finally dawned on you that this is what you needed. the boring walls, uncomfortable bedding, and borderline empty room just wasn’t doing it for you anymore. you needed to find yourself, express who you wanted to be without the chains of heaven wrapped around your body.

you needed to go shopping, and fast, but there was simply one problem. sam had left yesterday to go help some hunter friends on a case, leaving in their car and expressing how he’d be back in two weeks time. so, it seemed as though dean was the only person who could help you with your recent epiphany.

the plan was a lost cause, but begrudgingly, you got up from your bed and made the short walk to dean’s room. twirling your hair nervously, you found yourself stood in front of his door, hearing the faint sound of music coming from what you assumed to be his record player. slowly lifting your hand, you let a delicate knock linger on the wood; a drastic change from the intense music playing from behind the door.

music halted, a metaphorical record scratch being heard as heavy feet came towards the door. wind blew the front pieces of your hair back, and you were greeted with dean’s gloomy face as he stared down at you from where he stood.

“what do you want, feathers?” his words had a cadence of annoyance, like he’d rather be doing anything else but talk to you. it made you wring your fingers together, picking at your cuticles as you looked up at him through your lashes. “i have a favour to ask.”

if this were any other occasion, dean would say no. hell, he’d probably slam the door in your face. but those eyes, those goddamn eyes that stared into his soul. they were big, giving your already angelic features a doe-like look. dean was mentally kicking himself at how easily he was folding.

with a sigh, he cocked his head to his right, staring at you intently, a way to mask how your look was making him feel. “i’ll only say yes ‘cause sammy’s away — but tell me what it is first. i’m not going on some whack ass trip all ‘cause you batted your eyes at me all pretty.”

the words that left dean’s lips had your own parting in shock, eyes widening even more. he was so strange. one second he hated you and the next he was flirting like you were a girl he saw at the bar. but you decided a while ago to not question dean’s ways, for diving in too deep would be like swimming in the mariana’s trench.

with a light cough, you continued your recent proposal as dean looked down at you with a cocky grin on his face. “i want to decorate my room, get new clothes, really integrate myself into society. and before you complain, i’ve been wearing the same dress for a month; it’s time for a change.”

dean would love to say no, he truly would. he’d love to laugh in your face, tell you that your sweet and innocent act wasn’t working on him. every angel — besides cas — that sam and dean had come across left them with more problems then they started out with. why should dean trust you?

but over the past weeks, he couldn’t help but realize how unreasonable he was being. cas trusted you, and sam seemed to be doing just fine in hanging out with you everyday. dean had to swallow his pride and realize that someone wasn’t planning to hurt him or his brother, that all you had on your mind was reinventing yourself and not dwindling into psychosis by staring into your empty abyss of a room.

though it was dean at the end of the day, and he could never admit that for once he was wrong. so with practiced ease, he pushed down those feelings and huffed loudly, reaching across the door frame for his keys and pushing past you out the door.

“c’mon feathers,” he grumbled as you stood by his door shocked, not knowing how to react to dean actually wanting to help you. “hurry up before i change my mind.”

the car ride was tense, an awkward tension that had you smushing into the side door. dean’s music blared through the speakers, a testimony on the fact he didn’t want to talk to you. there was no place in your bones that had you wanting to talk to him, but after 2 hours in the car, you got confused on where he was going.

“umm, dean?” you questioned, turning your body towards his and watching as his jaw ticked from his side profile. “where are we going?”

he didn’t turn his head, didn’t look away from the road as his jaw tensed and his fingers gripped on the steering wheel. “minnesota.” your lips parted, confused on why he was going to a whole different state before he spoke again. “you’ve never been to the mall of america. i’m giving you important life experiences, feathers.”

dean watched as your eyes widened, pouty lips opening wide as shock filled your body. he honestly didn’t know why he was driving a whole ten hours for you to go shopping. it was unnecessary, but dean couldn’t stop himself from continuing his drive.

“oh.” your voice came out breathy, your head going down to your chest as you fiddled with your fingers. “well, i’ve never been on a drive this long. what do you do?”

what did you do? when he was with sam, it was like muscle memory. sit in silence for a bit, jokingly bicker back and forth, sam would sleep for a bit. but you had never done this before. so dean had to think of a whole new way to keep you entertained.

he truly was trying to work on his animosity towards you. so with a sigh he turned slightly to look at you. “some people sleep, some talk to the whole time. what do you wanna do, sweetheart?”

“can you tell me about your views on the world?” your words had dean fully turning his head to look at you. he briefly gave you a confused look before turning back to the road. why would you ask that? he understood you were an angel, a heavenly creature that didn’t know anything about her own father’s creation, but why did you what to know his views on it?

sensing his confusion, you backtracked as best as you could, shaking your head and staring out the car window at all the trees and fields melding together like molten lava. “i just mean, i’ve heard how sam feel’s about certain things, but i want to know how you feel. your favourite music, movies, what your dreams are. i don’t know dean, i just want to know more.”

he was shocked, not ever having someone ask him what his dreams and favourite things were. he slightly turned his head again, eyes watching as your hair curtained your face. tentatively, he pulled his hand away from the steering wheel so he could brush the strands away from your face. your cheeks blushed as he tucked it behind your ear, hand gracing your cheek softly as he let it fall down your arm.

“sure, whatever you want, angel.”

that’s how you two spent the rest of the drive; dean raving on about all his favourite things while you silently listened, inventively taking in all his interests. you noticed how over time he became more open, excitedly talking about his interests from childhood to now. it was nice, listening to all the things that made dean, well, dean.

it wasn’t even like he wanted to stop. this was one of the most relaxing drives he’s had in a while. you didn’t interrupt him, you just sat and listened. sitting in his front seat like the heavenly angel you were and looking more like a painting than a celestial being.

dean even drove through the night, not wanting to wake you as you slept so pretty in the car. he didn’t mind not getting any sleep if it meant not waking you up to go to a motel. he was also accustomed to not sleeping for days, so he was honestly fine.

the mall finally came into view just as your eyes peeled open. you were confused, not used to the notion of sleeping. it was like a massive weight had lifted off your chest, arising like snow white out of her bed of flowers. as you noticed where you were, you excitedly looked at the structure, eyes wide in awe as you scrambled out of the car and dashed towards the entrance.

you were like an excited bunny, hopping around from store to store as dean kept a close eye on you. each shop you came out with something new — god bless fake credit cards — and dean had to stop himself from thinking about how pretty you looked in certain items.

at first you needed to figure out what your size was, so dean would be succumbed to sitting in stuffed changing rooms with obnoxious pop music playing while you tried on tops and skirts behind a flimsy curtain. when you came out in your first outfit — a long sleeve black and white striped top with a denim mini skirt — dean almost passed out in the fucking store.

his breath almost lodged in his throat, making him choke on his own breath like a damn child. that white dress of yours never let him see how long your legs truly were. they exemplified the skirt low on your hips while your just as long torso helped the shirt fit perfectly.

he knew you were a tall person, but holy shit.

you were like a fucking model. dean had to remind himself of his forced hate towards you for if he didn’t, he’d push you into that change room with his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

when dean awkwardly mentioned that you probably needed to buy some undergarments, he sat outside the victoria’s secret as you toddled in with a perplexed look on your face and his credit card in hand. the bag you came out with was massive, and dean was enough of a gentlemen to not look inside or too close to it.

the rest of the stores were a blur. a plethora of bags filled with tight fitted zip ups — some knitted, multiple skirts, tight fitted tops, cozy and colourful sweaters, a multitude of coloured tights, brown and black suede boots, and even more dresses that dean swore that it wouldn’t all fit in the impala.

it didn’t make it any better that you even shopped for your room. floral sheets with ruffled pillow cases, a white comforter, multiple tall, thick and short candles to decorate the space, and a multitude of prints and paintings that had dean shocked by your artistic eye.

as you finished at the mall, dean decided that a couple of thrifts store wouldn’t hurt. you were enthralled, looking around and grabbing as many cool trinkets as you could for your shelves. he found you a used cd player, taking you to the section with cd’s so you could pick out some music.

sam had gotten you a spotify account, so you knew the stuff you liked. songs and albums from artists dean didn’t even know you knew about graced your cart. britney spears, alanis morissette, carrie underwood, abba, fleetwood mac, and other similar artists that dean didn’t simply like, but he’d buy them just for you.

he even saw you pick up old one direction and justin bieber cd’s, and decided to not even question you on it.

you were so excited, and dean didn’t want to dim the ravenous sparkle that lilted your eyes. you rambled on about how you were going to revamp the old furniture without even needing to buy new ones, how the art studio stool that you bought for the desk was going to be so much better than the uncomfortable wood chair.

dean promised he’d take you to shops around the bunker to get essentials like comfy clothes and pajama’s, but for now, it was time to go back home.

the ride home had dean’s heart pumping just like before. you kept asking him more questions, asking stories about his childhood and how long he’d been hunting for. you were so interested in his life, which sent a wave of electricity through dean’s bones.

he started to admit to himself that he may be an asshole. how could he be so mean to such a sweet angel like you. your innocence, darling nature, and soft yet exuberant aura left dean feeling like he was floating on a feather.

you just made everything simple, and dean realized that helping you become human was the best thing cas had ever decided for him.

TAGS: @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @ostaramoon @haunteres @fallbhind @rubyvhs @foolinthera1n @taurus0queenie33 @vaiieydoii @jasvtsc @bitchykittenconnoisseur @angel-inspiredblog @galacticalllcafffeine @pascal-rascal424 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @fayeisuppose @geisterfvhrer @bluemerakis @si1ver06 @drqstqr @wh0s-ra3 @supernatural-bangtanboys @whump-loverz @mostlymarvelgirl @d3anwinchesterswife @youdontknowe @oceanolokys

*creating my perfect 2000s makeover montage in this chapter and living vicariously through it. also poor angel doesn’t know what online shopping is. she’s going to be a depop warrior tho i will tell you that much.

[gyuuberryy]

ni-ki's guide to survival: how getting lost led to love

pairing: enemy!niki x reader

synopsis: you would’ve never agreed to go on this camping trip with your friends if you had known you would get paired up with your arch nemesis. and getting lost on top of that? with the said bane of your existence? that was definitely not on your agenda.

genre: enemies to lovers, camping au, humour, comfort, little bit of angst

warnings: mentions of panic attack, bugs, kissing

note: they’re all college students btw! i had a really bad riki brainrot and i love e2l so this fic was birthed hehe

word count: 5.3k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

the campfire crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows on the faces of your friends huddled around it. laughter danced in the air, punctuated by the occasional chirp of a cricket. 

everyone except you and the boy sprawled on a log opposite you, a scowl permanently etched on his face. nishimura ni-ki. 

camping trips with your friends were supposed to be fun, a chance to unwind, but with your nemesis by your side, it felt more like a forced march into enemy territory.

the animosity has started innocently enough. you and ni-ki, along with your friends, had embarked on a beach trip determined to build the most epic sandcastle the world had ever seen. hours were poured into sculpting elaborate moats, towering turrets, and intricate sand sculptures. victory was within reach, your masterpiece nearing completion, when disaster struck. a rogue wave, rolled in, obliterating your creation in a single, foamy swipe.

grief turned to rage, and you, fueled by a sugar crash from a previously consumed ice cream cone, pointed the finger of blame at ni-ki. you claimed he'd jinxed the project with his "terrible sandcastle feng shui." ni-ki, ever the provocateur, countered that your "overly ambitious moat design" was structurally unsound. the blame game escalated, escalating into a full-blown sand throwing fight that left everyone covered in a gritty mix of sand and saltwater.

two years later, the incident remained a running joke within your friend group. the mere mention of "sandcastle feng shui" could send you both into a fit of giggles (or, depending on the day, simmering resentment which happened to be today). 

a mischievous grin spread across sunoo's face, the self-proclaimed "king of fun." "alright everyone, time for the foraging challenge!" he announced, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "i've paired you all up to go gather ingredients for our stew!"

a collective groan arose, except from sunoo and heeseung, who were already whispering excitedly about wild herbs. the paper crackled in sunoo's hands as he unfolded it dramatically.

you perked up, eager to escape the suffocating tension between you and ni-ki. maybe a solo scavenging mission wouldn't be so bad. but as sunoo started assigning pairs, your stomach lurched.

"since we have an even number, the last team will be..." sunoo scanned the group, his eyes landing on you and ni-ki. a mischievous glint sparked in them. "...together."

a collective gasp arose from your friends, a mix of amusement and pity for your predicament. ni-ki, however, didn't miss a beat. he shot you a smug smirk, his eyes gleaming with a challenge.

"great," you muttered, sarcasm dripping from your voice. "just what i always wanted, a foraging partner with the survival instincts of a goldfish."

ni-ki scoffed. "says the one who gets lost in a grocery store."

memories of that disastrous shopping trip with your mom flooded your mind. you gritted your teeth.

"at least i won't accidentally set the forest on fire trying to light a campfire," you retorted, referencing a camping trip gone slightly wrong from a year back.

ni-ki's smirk faltered for a split second, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before returning full force. "unlike you, i actually know how to tell an edible plant from a poisonous one."

"oh please, spare me the mr. nature act," you shot back, standing up and grabbing your backpack. "let's just get this over with. before you scare away all the edible plants with your bad attitude."

ni-ki rose from his log with a mocking bow. "after you, princess."

you rolled your eyes, the familiar bickering a bitter comfort in this unwelcome alliance. as you walked past your friends, you heard sunghoon mutter under his breath, "may the odds be ever in your favour." you shot him a glare, wishing for nothing more than to prove him wrong. 

the forest stretched out before you, promising a foraging adventure filled with snarky remarks, petty competition, and maybe, just maybe, a grudging respect for your unlikely partner.

the trail wound deeper into the woods, dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead. the air grew thick with unspoken words, the silence punctuated only by the crunch of twigs underfoot and the occasional chirp of a bird.

"shouldn't you be skipping ahead, searching for your precious berries?" you finally snapped, unable to bear the awkward tension any longer.

"only if you promise not to poison yourself with the first wild mushroom you find, pipsqueak," ni-ki retorted, a playful glint in his eyes.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "at least i can tell the difference between food and foliage."

just then, you skidded to a halt, hand flying up to point. "look!"

ni-ki nearly bumped into you, surprised by your sudden stop. he followed your gaze and spotted a fawn grazing a few metres off the trail. its large, innocent eyes looked back at them curiously.

a genuine smile, devoid of their usual antagonism, softened ni-ki’s features. "aww, isn't that cute?"

"hold that thought," you whispered, excitement bubbling in your chest. you fumbled with your phone, eager to capture the adorable creature on camera.

ni-ki chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice. "don't take all day. we're not exactly bffs on a nature walk here."

you stuck your tongue out at him playfully, focusing on getting the perfect shot. suddenly, a bloodcurdling shriek tore from your throat.

ni-ki whipped around, heart hammering in his chest. he saw you flailing your arms wildly, phone clattering to the ground. without a second thought, he sprinted towards you, fear momentarily overriding his usual animosity.

"what happened?" he gasped, skidding to a halt beside you.

"b-bug!" you stammered, pointing at a nearby leaf. "giant, horrible bug!"

ni-ki followed your shaky finger and let out a snort of laughter. perched on the leaf was a large beetle, no doubt intimidating to someone with a bug phobia, but far from the monstrous nightmare you'd made it out to be.

"seriously, that's it?" he doubled over, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "you screamed like a banshee over a little beetle?"

you glared at him, cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and lingering fear. "it was huge! and it tried to bite me!"

ignoring your protests, ni-ki sauntered over to the leaf, his amusement evident. he poked the beetle with a stick, earning a disgruntled hiss in response.

suddenly, his laughter died in his throat. the seemingly harmless beetle, disturbed by his prodding, lunged at him with surprising speed. he yelped, leaping back with a comical yelp, tripping spectacularly over a protruding root in the process.

the force of his fall sent him tumbling backwards, straight into you. with a startled cry, you lost your footing and the two of you went careening down a steep slope, a tangled mess of limbs and flying leaves.

the world became a blur of green and brown before you landed with a thud in a small clearing at the bottom. you groaned, blinking away spots as you sat up, taking stock of your surroundings. ni-ki lay sprawled a few feet away, groaning dramatically.

"well, this is just great," you muttered, brushing dirt off your clothes. you glanced at ni-ki, a flicker of amusement tugging at the corners of your lips despite the throbbing pain in your arm.

he sat up slowly, sheepish grin replacing his earlier smirk. "looks like we both owe that little beetle an apology, huh?"

the amusement in your eyes quickly morphed into pure exasperation as reality settled into you. you had no clue where you were. 

"are you kidding me, nishimura?!" you suddenly yelled, throwing your hands up in the air. "you tripped us both over a bug! how clumsy can you possibly get?"

said boy winced at your outburst, the playful glint in his eyes fading. "hey, it wasn't exactly graceful," he mumbled, dusting himself off. "but at least we're not hurt, right?"

"not hurt? we just tumbled down a freaking hill! and for what? because you couldn't resist poking a bug with a stick?"

"alright, alright," he placatingly raised his hands. "let's just calm down. the good news is, i can recognise this part of the woods. we should be able to find our way back to the trail pretty easily."

you eyed him sceptically. "how can you possibly be sure? this whole forest looks the same!"

he puffed out his chest, a hint of his usual arrogance returning. "trust me, pipsqueak. i have a good sense of direction. just follow me."

you gritted your teeth, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. given the choice, you wouldn't have trusted a lost puppy to lead you back, let alone your nemesis with a questionable sense of direction. however, with no other options, you reluctantly trailed behind him.

minutes turned into what felt like hours. the scenery seemed to repeat itself endlessly, a maze of identical trees and sun-dappled paths. panic started to gnaw at your insides.

"nishimura," you said through gritted teeth, "are we sure we're not going in circles?"

he stopped abruptly, a frown etching his face. he pulled out his phone, his expression darkening as he stared at the screen. "damn it. no signal."

your blood ran cold. "what do you mean no signal?"

"there's no cell reception out here," he admitted sheepishly. "i guess i was wrong about knowing the way back."

you stared at him, incredulous. "you got us lost, and now we can't even call for help? you are the most irresponsible person i've ever met!"

he held up his hands defensively. "whoa, hey! it was an accident! we'll figure something out, okay? just calm down."

but calm was the last thing you felt. lost, angry, and scared, you glared at ni-ki, a fierce determination replacing the fear. "we will figure this out," you declared, voice shaking with repressed anger. "but for now, shut up and follow me. maybe i have a better sense of direction than you think."

the forest floor crunched under your feet as you marched ahead, a newfound resolve hardening your features. gone was the bickering banter, replaced by a tense silence punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. ni-ki followed close behind, a sheepish silence replacing his usual bravado.

you scanned the surroundings, searching for any landmark, any sign that might lead you back to the familiar trail. the dense foliage seemed to mock your efforts, the towering trees offering no clues in their uniformity. doubt gnawed at the edges of your determination, but the thought of relying on ni-ki was far worse.

"we need to find higher ground," you finally muttered, remembering a survival tip you'd once read. "maybe we can get a better view from up there."

ni-ki nodded curtly, his earlier arrogance replaced by a hint of worry. together, you pushed through the undergrowth, searching for any sign of an incline. after what felt like an eternity, you stumbled upon a rocky outcrop, its jagged surface a stark contrast to the smooth earth around it.

scrambling up the rocks, you emerged onto a small, uneven plateau. taking a deep breath, you scanned the horizon, hoping for a glimpse of the familiar smoke plume rising from the campsite. but all you saw was a seemingly endless expanse of green, the trees blurring together in a dizzying kaleidoscope.

disappointment crashed over you, heavy and suffocating. you slumped down onto a smooth rock, the anger slowly draining away, leaving behind a cold dread. lost, with no way to contact anyone, a shiver ran down your spine despite the warm afternoon sun.

"great," you muttered, voice devoid of its earlier fire. "just brilliant."

a moment of heavy silence passed before ni-ki spoke, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "look, i messed up, okay? i should have paid more attention, and i shouldn't have been so cocky."

you didn't respond, staring blankly at the endless sea of trees.

he continued, his voice softer now. "but freaking out isn't going to help us. we need to work together on this."

he was right, of course. but the idea of trusting him after his colossal blunder left a bitter taste in your mouth. yet, there were no other options.

with a sigh, you finally met his gaze. "fine," you conceded grudgingly. "but if we ever get out of this, i'm never letting you live this down."

a flicker of a smile played on his lips, a hint of his usual defiance returning. "deal. now, how about we put our survival skills to the test, pipsqueak? together."

the animosity was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. but in the face of you predicament, a fragile truce had been formed. you weren't friends, not by a long shot. but for now, you were stuck with each other, and survival depended on a begrudging cooperation.

as the golden light of the afternoon began to fade, long shadows stretched across the forest floor, deepening the gloom beneath the dense canopy. the chirping of birds had been replaced by the eerie calls of nocturnal creatures, sending shivers down your spine.

the initial anger you felt towards ni-ki had morphed into a gnawing fear. the realisation that you were truly lost, with no way to contact anyone, settled in your stomach like a lead weight.

your breaths came in ragged gasps, the realisation of your situation finally hitting you with full force.

tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. a choked sob escaped your lips, quickly escalating into a full-blown panic attack. hyperventilating, you clutched your chest, the world seeming to shrink around you.

suddenly, a hand landed gently on your shoulder. you flinched, expecting another snarky remark from ni-ki. but instead, his voice was soft, laced with concern.

"hey, hey," he soothed, his hand moving to wipe away a stray tear that traced its way down your cheek. "it's okay. we'll be alright."

his touch, surprisingly gentle, sent a jolt through you. you were so used to your constant sparring that this sudden tenderness was completely disarming.

"we just need to calm down," he continued, his voice low and calming. "we can't think clearly if you're panicking. look at me."

hesitantly, you met his gaze. his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now filled with a genuine concern you hadn't seen before.

"we'll find our way back," he promised, his voice firm but reassuring. "the sun will rise again in the morning, and with daylight, everything will seem clearer. we'll figure out a plan then."

his words, surprisingly, had a calming effect. you took a deep, shaky breath, forcing yourself to focus on the rhythm of your inhalations and exhalations. slowly, the panic began to recede, leaving you drained but a little hopeful.

together, you searched for a suitable spot. you found it nestled under the sprawling branches of an ancient oak, its thick trunk offering a sense of security. the ground beneath it was clear of debris, providing a relatively comfortable place to sit.

ni-ki helped you gather fallen leaves and twigs, creating a makeshift cushion. you settled onto it, your body trembling slightly despite the warmth of the setting sun.

he sat down beside you, a respectful distance separating your bodies. the air crackled with an awkward silence, a stark contrast to your earlier bickering.

"thank you," you finally whispered, surprised by the words leaving your lips.

he offered a small smile. "for what?"

"for...not being a jerk," you mumbled, embarrassed.

he chuckled softly, a sound devoid of mockery. "seems like we both have to learn to cooperate sometimes, pipsqueak."

you couldn't help but let out a weak smile, a small flicker of warmth returning to your chest. maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of humanity beneath ni-ki's cocky exterior. as the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, plunging the forest into darkness, you leaned back against the rough bark of the oak, a strange sense of calm washing over you. 

you weren't friends, not by a long shot. but for now, in the face of the unknown, you had each other. and perhaps, just perhaps, this forced cooperation might lead to something more, something you weren't quite ready to name.

the forest floor was a tapestry of inky black shadows under the cloak of night. the initial panic had subsided, replaced by a gnawing hunger that rumbled in your stomach. you glanced at the pile of foraged mushrooms and roots nestled beside you, a meagre dinner at best.

"so," ni-ki drawled, his voice barely a whisper in the stillness. "any idea how to build a fire with those twigs?"

you scoffed. "as if you could tell a pinecone from a pile of leaves."

he shot you a mock glare. "says the one who screamed at a beetle."

you swatted his arm playfully, surprised at the almost friendly gesture. "alright, alright. i may have overreacted a bit."

a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. "a bit? pip squeak, you practically launched yourself into orbit."

despite the teasing, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. you fumbled with the meagre tinder you'd gathered, frustration building. just as you were about to give up, a gentle hand reached for yours.

"here," he murmured, taking the twigs from your grasp. "let me show you."

with surprising dexterity, he built a small, precarious structure of leaves and twigs. you watched in fascination as he coaxed a spark from a flint and steel you hadn't even noticed him carrying. soon, a tiny flame flickered to life, growing steadily into a small but comforting fire.

a sense of peace, however fragile, settled between you as you roasted the meagre mushrooms and roots over the flames. the silence wasn't antagonistic anymore, filled instead with the crackling fire and the occasional chirping of crickets.

"so," you started hesitantly, "what made you decide to learn survival skills?"

he shrugged, poking a particularly stubborn mushroom with a stick. "always good to be prepared, you know? never know when you might end up stranded in the middle of nowhere with a drama queen for company."

you threw a playful punch at his arm, the sting of your earlier animosity fading. "hey, at least i don't trip over bugs."

he chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm. "touché, pipsqueak."

as you ate your dinner, you found yourself stealing glances at him. in the flickering firelight, his face seemed softer, less arrogant. you realised with a jolt that his presence, although unexpected, wasn't actually that bad. maybe this forced cooperation was revealing a side of ni-ki you hadn't seen before.

the night wore on, the stars twinkling coldly above. the fire had long since died, leaving behind a fading warmth that couldn't compete with the growing chill. you shifted uncomfortably, the hard ground digging into your back. a shiver wracked your body, the thin jacket doing little to ward off the creeping cold.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw ni-ki shift too, his shoulders slumped against the tree. he let out a barely audible sigh, his breath misting in the cool air.

neither of you spoke, but a silent understanding hung in the air. you were both miserable, the bitter taste of rivalry a distant memory compared to the immediate need for warmth.

with a hesitant movement, you inched closer to the tree trunk, hoping to find a slightly more comfortable position. almost imperceptibly, ni-ki did the same. your shoulders brushed, a jolt of surprise shooting through you. he didn't move away, and after a moment, you leaned in slightly, seeking a sliver of shared warmth.

his arm was close now, separated by only the thin layer of your jacket. you stole a glance at him, expecting a sarcastic remark or a playful jab. but his eyes were closed, his face etched with fatigue.

hesitantly, you reached out, stopping just before your hand touched his arm. he stirred slightly, a low murmur escaping his lips. taking a deep breath, you rested your hand lightly against the worn fabric of his jacket, just below his elbow.

he didn't flinch. instead, he seemed to relax a fraction more, his arm moving ever so slightly to brush against yours.

in the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl, you found a strange comfort. maybe it was the shared misery of the situation, maybe it was the unexpected friendly(?) atmosphere that had sprung up between you. whatever it was, the tension had melted away, replaced by a fragile sense of trust.

sleep claimed you slowly, the warmth of your shared body heat a welcome haven against the encroaching chill. you didn't fall asleep with the intention of being close, but in the quiet intimacy of the night, you found a solace you hadn't expected. as you drifted off, a single thought flickered through your mind: maybe this forced adventure wouldn't be so bad after all.

the first sliver of sunlight, faint and tentative, peeked through the dense canopy, painting delicate stripes across ni-ki's eyelids. he stirred, a low groan escaping his lips as the ache in his back made itself known. he cracked one eye open, then the other, blinking against the sudden brightness.

his breath hitched. you were nestled against him, your head resting on his chest. your arms were wrapped tightly around him, one hand burrowed into the thin fabric of his shirt. his chin rested on the crown of your head, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

he had absolutely no memory of this happening. had you gotten cold in the night and sought his warmth instinctively? the thought sent a warmth of its own blooming in his chest, a warmth at odds with the chill of the morning air. he was utterly captivated. you looked peaceful, your normally sharp features softened in sleep, a light dusting of pink staining your cheeks.

just as he was about to lose himself in the unexpected sight, your eyes fluttered open. they met his gaze, and a slow, mischievous smile spread across your face.

"good morning, sleepyhead," you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.

ni-ki's cheeks flushed crimson. "m-morning," he stammered, his voice rough from disuse. he tried to disentangle himself from your hold, feeling ridiculously flustered by your closeness.

"nope," you declared playfully, tightening your grip. "this is actually really comfortable. don't move."

he froze, his cheeks burning hotter than ever. his mind raced, torn between wanting to maintain this unexpected closeness and wanting to bolt. a small chuckle escaped your lips, the sound vibrating against his chest.

"relax, drama king," you said, your voice soft. "we're not exactly cuddling in a meadow filled with daisies."

he couldn't help but let out a small laugh himself. the tension started to ease, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the rising sun. slowly, he re-wrapped his arm around you, drawing you closer.

"fine," he conceded, feigning annoyance. "but don't think this changes anything, pipsqueak."

you threw your head back and laughed, a bright, genuine sound that echoed through the silent forest. "of course not, ni-ki," you replied, your voice playful. "we're still enemies, remember?"

"enemies who share a surprisingly comfortable tree," he countered, his gaze flickering to the way your hand instinctively rested on his arm.

"so," you said after a moment of comfortable silence, "how do you propose we get ourselves out of this mess?"

the playful mood evaporated as the reality of their situation came flooding back. he cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus. "we need to find a landmark, something we remember from the trail. maybe a creek, or a distinctive rock formation. then we can work our way back from there."

you hummed in agreement, your head nuzzling deeper into his chest. "alright, well, let's not get up just yet. it's still pretty cold out here."

a small smile tugged at ni-ki's lips. this unexpected closeness, born out of necessity, felt strangely…nice. he wasn't sure what the future held, or if this forced truce would last beyond getting back to camp, but for now, in the quiet intimacy of the morning, he wouldn't trade this for anything. "yeah," he agreed, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the rising sun. "let's stay here just a little while longer."

the forest around you both remained cloaked in a pre-dawn twilight, but the horizon was ablaze with the promise of a new day. streaks of fiery orange and vibrant pink bled into the inky blue sky, painting a breathtaking canvas above the silent trees. you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp of awe, the discomfort of the hard ground momentarily forgotten.

ni-ki glanced down at you, his gaze lingering on the way your eyes sparkled in the soft light. "beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

you nodded, mesmerised by the vibrant display of colours. "it's incredible," you breathed.

a comfortable silence settled between you, the only sounds the gentle rustle of leaves and the chirping of a few early birds. despite the awkwardness of your situation, a strange sense of peace washed over you. ni-ki, with his arm still loosely wrapped around you, seemed less arrogant in the morning light, a hint of vulnerability softening his features.

as the sun climbed higher, painting the leaves in a warm golden glow, you tore your gaze away from the sky. "alright," you announced, a newfound determination in your voice. "let's get serious about finding our way back."

ni-ki mirrored your seriousness. "right. we need to focus." he sat up straight, his gaze scanning the surrounding area. "do you remember anything about the trail? a specific tree, maybe, or a turn-off?"

you wracked your brain, a memory flickering to life. "there was a large, twisted oak tree on the right side of the trail, just before a steep downhill slope. maybe if we can find that..."

"bingo!" ni-ki exclaimed, a grin splitting his face. "i remember that tree too! it was kind of gnarled and had these weird, knobbly branches."

relief flooded your chest. "okay, so let's head east. the sun should be rising in the east, right?"

ni-ki nodded, pulling out the compass he'd managed to find tucked away in a pocket of his backpack. "yeah, the sun should be roughly in the east at this time." he consulted the compass for a moment, then pointed in a direction. "alright, this way."

together, you rose to your feet, your muscles protesting slightly after a night spent on the cold ground. but the prospect of finding your way back to your friends fuelled your movements. you followed the direction ni-ki indicated, carefully navigating the trees, your eyes peeled for any sign of the twisted oak.

the forest seemed less menacing in the bright morning light. you pointed out landmarks – a fallen log, a clump of brightly coloured mushrooms – hoping they might jog ni-ki's memory. he, in turn, shared his knowledge of edible plants and tracking techniques, a surprising wellspring of information hidden beneath his usual cocky exterior.

after what felt like an eternity, your heart leaped into your throat. there, standing defiant against the backdrop of younger trees, was the twisted oak you remembered. you let out a whoop of joy, a sound that echoed through the silent trees.

ni-ki's face mirrored your elation, a genuine smile gracing his features.

relief and a strange sense of accomplishment washed over you. you had faced your fear, survived the night, and most importantly, worked together. maybe, just maybe, this experience would change your dynamic with ni-ki, adding a layer of respect and perhaps a touch of something more.

the familiar path leading back to the campsite emerged from the trees, a beacon of hope and relief. a surge of exhilaration coursed through you. you had made it! without thinking, you spun towards ni-ki, a wide grin splitting your face.

"we did it!" you exclaimed, reaching out impulsively. your fingers grazed his cheek, sending a jolt through you. fuelled by the adrenaline of the moment, and perhaps the lingering intimacy of the night, you leaned in further, your lips brushing against his in a sudden, unexpected kiss.

the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. time slowed, the sound of the forest fading away. but the kiss was short-lived. ni-ki froze, his eyes widening in surprise. he gently pushed you away, his breath hitching.

"whoa," he stammered, his voice laced with confusion. "what was that?"

you stumbled back, cheeks burning with embarrassment. your mind raced, replaying the past few seconds in a humiliating loop. what had you just done? the audacity of your own actions left you speechless.

"i-i..." you stammered, searching for an explanation that wouldn't sound completely insane. "i'm just...so relieved we're back. thank you for helping me, ni-ki." the words sounded lame even to your own ears.

but before you could retreat any further, ni-ki surprised you again. his hand shot out, grabbing you firmly by the waist and pulling you back towards him. this time, there was no hesitation in his eyes. he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant.

you melted against him, all thoughts of embarrassment melting away in the heat of the moment. you responded instinctively, your arms wrapping around his neck as you deepened the kiss. the forest around you faded away, the only sound the frantic thudding of your own heart.

finally, ni-ki pulled away, his breath ragged. his eyes, usually so sharp and playful, were now a warm brown, flecked with gold in the morning sunlight. a slow smile spread across his face, a genuine, unguarded smile that sent a flutter to your stomach.

"wow," he breathed, his voice husky. "that was..." he trailed off, searching for the right words.

you swallowed, your own voice barely a whisper. "unexpected?"

he chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "unexpected is definitely one word for it." he paused, his gaze holding yours. "but not unwelcome."

the sound of distant shouts jolted you both back to reality. a chorus of voices, laced with worry and relief, echoed through the trees. you pulled away from ni-ki, suddenly acutely aware of your dishevelled state and the way his lips tingled where yours had been.

"there you two are!" heeseung's voice cut through the trees as he emerged from the path, followed by your other friends. relief washed over their faces, quickly replaced by a flurry of questions and concerned chatter.

"we were starting to think you got eaten by a bear!" sunoo exclaimed, his eyes wide.

you launched into a rapid-fire explanation of your ordeal, leaving out the very recent, and frankly, earth-shattering development with ni-ki. your friends listened intently, bombarding you with questions about the night and how you managed to find your way back.

through it all, you were hyper aware of ni-ki standing beside you. he chimed in occasionally, his voice oddly subdued, and you could steal glances at him, catching the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

then, as you finished your story, jake nudged you playfully. "wow, you guys must have been really scared out there all night. scared enough to, i don't know, eat each other's faces off?"

a collective gasp went up from your friends, their eyes darting between you and ni-ki. your cheeks burned crimson. "what? no!" you sputtered, flustered.

ni-ki chuckled, a low sound that sent shivers down your spine. "yeah, jake," he drawled, his voice teasing. "luckily for us, bears were the only thing on the menu last night."

his playful jab sent another wave of heat flooding your face. you stole a glance at him, and your breath caught in your throat. he was looking at you, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, but there was something else there too, something warm and unguarded that made your heart skip a beat.

you looked away quickly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. maybe this unexpected turn of events wasn't so bad after all.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Dangers of Dream Walking -Oneshot

Word count: 5748

Y/N hated her power.  The ability to dream walk was at times nice, but mostly it was a literal and figurative nightmare.  People dreamt crazy and unhinged things all the time, so it was rare to ever step into a happy dream.  She couldn’t understand why she was born with it, what good it did her or anyone else.  It wasn’t like she could manipulate the dreams.  She could only watch on as a casual observer.  Until she met the Avengers.

She had been knocked out by a piece of debris during another fight the Avengers were having, and had dream-walked right into a memory of Wanda Maximoff, who was temporarily knocked out as well.  But this time, Wanda turned and looked right at her in the dream and talked to her.

“You can see me?” Y/N asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Wanda said simply as her memory played out behind her.  “How are you here?”

“I…I dream-walk,” Y/N explained, walking toward her.  “I think I got knocked out and now…”  The image of a young Wanda and what Y/N figured was her brother playing in a field of wildflowers distracted her.  “I’m sorry,” she said, sensing the sadness in Wanda’s eyes.  “I don’t have control over it.”

Wanda tilted her head and analyzed her.  “But you can,” she replied.  “I can see it in your mind.  I’ll come find you, dream-walker.”  Then she and the memory disappeared, and Y/N hopped into a new dream.  A week later she was surprised to open her door to Wanda Maximoff in the flesh.  “I told you I’d find you,” she said cheekily.

From that day on she had been taken in by the Avengers.  She wasn’t an official team member, but had been working with Wanda on honing her power and using it to be able to tap into specific people’s dreams, then using the connection of being in their mind due to the dream and then going through their memories and thoughts.  She even learned how to start manipulating the dreams, changing the circumstances or interacting where she could to make it so nightmares turned into softer dreams.  It proved useful when she was able to get into an operative’s mind and find the coordinates and plans for the next attack.  And it proved even more useful once the Avengers fell apart, the Blip happened, and then Wanda disappeared.  After everyone came back she was lost for a while until Bucky Barnes asked for her help.

“We’ve got a new guy that has…well, some mental issues,” he explained.  “And I think your abilities might be able to help him work through those issues and make it so he can access his powers without the dark side taking over so easily.”

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I can try,” she said.

That’s when she met Bob and started working with him extensively, and was recruited back into the New Avengers.  They became like family to her, and she loved being able to be a part of something bigger again.  She, Yelena and Ava would have girls nights.  Alexei would compliment her abilities heavily and praise her for her efforts with Bob.  Bob was awkward and quiet, but seemed to enjoy their quiet moments of reading together and then forming their own two-person book club.  Walker was still an asshole, but she was able to get him to simmer down most days.  Then there was Bucky.  Sweet but serious, sarcastic but kind, dangerously strong but soft, and devastatingly handsome Bucky.  

Y/N pushed her feelings for him down deep, not wanting them to affect her working relationship and new friendship she had made with him.  But it was getting harder the more he tended to seek her out after rough missions or bad mental days and she would help him drift off into a dreamless slumber, or as he sat next to her during team movie nights, or as the little friendly touches started between them that eventually morphed into long hugs and him kissing the side of her head before they left for another mission.  He was usually quiet, not the one to start a conversation and preferring to be a casual observer, but when they were alone he talked and asked questions.  

At night she usually took heavy sleep aids to help her completely knock out so she wouldn’t accidentally walk into the team’s dreams.  Something about the pills helped her mind go fuzzy enough to have her own dreamless sleep and not unwittingly walk into other’s minds as she slept.  Then one night a year into living at the Watchtower with them she had fallen asleep after a long day working with Bob.  The mental exhaustion had worn her out, and she hadn’t taken the sleep aids.  That was the first time she had seen it.

Her eyes opened in what looked like…Bucky’s room?  She looked around in confusion, then heard heavy breathing.  He wasn’t in his bed.  The edges of her vision looked blurry, and she realized she was dream-walking.  Shit, she thought.  I’m in his dream...dammit.  She didn’t mean to, and willed herself to try and wake up, but then the breathing got louder and turned into grunts.  Her curiosity got the better of her, and if it was a nightmare maybe she could at least help him ease out of it.  She followed the sounds to his bathroom where the door was slightly opened.  She peeked inside, then silently gasped, her mouth dropping open dramatically.

It was partially a memory from a few weeks back when he’d come home from a mission with a nasty wound along his chest and she had tried to help him clean it up since he refused to go to the med bay because, “I’m a super soldier, doll, I’ll heal soon.”  Bucky was sitting on the lid of the toilet like he had been weeks ago, shirtless with a bandage on his chest that she had placed there after cleaning it, but in this dream he was fully naked and she was now on her knees between his legs sucking him off.  Y/N’s eyes widened in comical shock as she watched herself suck Bucky’s cock lewdly, letting out little mewls, moans and gags as she tried to take all of him, her right hand fisting what she couldn’t and stroking him at the same speed as her head bobbed up and down on him.

“That’s it, doll, fuck,” Bucky groaned, his metal hand holding back her hair and his right hand cradling her jaw.  “You’re so good at this, you know that?  Such a good girl.”

Dream Y/N made an affirming sound as she pulled up off of him for a moment to breathe then smiled up at him.  “Your good girl,” she said seductively before lapping at the head of his cock, her spit dribbling down his shaft.

“Damn right,” he huffed.  “My good girl.”

Y/N had walked into wet dreams before, always quickly walking out of them with her hands over her eyes or ears, but this time she stayed and watched.  It was strange to see herself doing something so vulgar, so dirty, and enjoying it.  But all she could really focus on was Bucky’s face.  The way the ever-present crease between his brows was now from a look of lust and desire, his mouth agape as he breathed, every once in a while biting his bottom lip as his head fell back, then looking back down at dream-her with the most lovesick expression she’d ever seen.  The way his lips said the dirtiest words and praises to her, how gently he cradled her head and she could see him struggling not to thrust into her mouth.  

His breathing got faster, and the sexiest whimper bubbled up from his throat as he tensed.  “I’m gonna cum!” he whispered, then a moment later he held her head down and shuddered as he let out a long, loud moan that echoed in the bathroom, his hips rutting into dream-her’s mouth.  Dream-Y/N whimpered as well, swallowing as much as she could.  Bucky sat there for a moment before pulling her up and off his cock, wiping at her lips with his flesh thumb and smiling at her.  “Let me see, Y/N.”  Dream-Y/N obediently opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to show him she swallowed it all.  “Atta girl,” he smirked, then kissed her deeply.

Y/N felt the pull in her mind and watched the vision go hazy, then she woke up, gasping for air as she sat up straight in bed.  She was in her room again, looking around frantically as she pieced together what she had seen.  There was a deep ache and wetness between her legs that made her groan in discomfort and she fell back on her bed in a huff.  “Fuck me,” she breathed exasperatedly.

***

She knew she shouldn’t pry, that she should take the sleep aids and forget she ever saw it.  But she didn’t.  She let herself fall asleep naturally from then on and purposefully sought out Bucky’s dreams.  He didn’t dream about her every night, but more often than not he did and she was the star of his fantasies.  His wet dreams were quite…colorful.  The positions he put Dream-Y/N into were intense, and the way he spoke to her was dirty but also sweet and endearing.  Every time she would leave his dream she’d have to cum afterwards, pathetically muffling her cries as she pleasured herself to the memory of his dreams night after night.  

During the day when they interacted nothing changed, but she felt herself looking at him more often, which was quickly picked up on by Yelena and Walker.  They teased her about it, and she tried to deny it but ultimately would just roll her eyes and walk away.  “I mean, he’s nice looking,” Yelena said as she nudged Y/N’s shoulder.  “Why don’t you go for it?”

“Go for who?” Bob asked.

Y/N jumped in her seat and wheeled around to face him.  “Jesus, Bob!  How do you just appear out of nowhere?”

“I don’t,” he chuckled.  “But seriously, who are you going for?”

“Bucky,” Yelena said.

Y/N turned to her and smacked her arm, making Yelena yelp as Bob nodded.  “Oh, yeah, you should,” he said with a small smile.  “He stares at you, too.”

She turned back around and smacked his arm, making him yelp and step away.  “Both of you stop it,” Y/N hissed.  

“Why are we smacking people?” Bucky’s voice chimed from the other side of the common room.

They all whirled around to look at him in surprise.  “‘Cause they deserved it,” Y/N said quickly, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, adding a little shrug at the end of the sentence.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at each of them then huffed a laugh and shook his head.  “I’m sure,” he smiled.  “Ready for your lesson, doll?”

“Yep!  I’m coming!” Y/N said in a more chipper tone, then turned to Yelena and Bob once Bucky was out of sight.  She made a “zip it” motion over her mouth to them, and they both snickered as she jogged away to catch up with Bucky.  He led her to one of the many training rooms, holding the door open for her as she thanked him and stepped in to find a table set up with guns lined up on it.

“Alright, first, I’ll teach you how to put one together,” Bucky said, his tone turning professional.  “Then we’ll practice shooting.  Sound good?”

“Okay.  Remind me why I need to know how to shoot a gun?” Y/N asked teasingly as she stared at the array of guns on the table.

“It’s a good skill to have,” Bucky said, coming up behind her and grabbing one of the assembled guns.  He flicked the safety off then with his other hand handed her some ear plugs.  She quickly took them and put them in her ears, then watched as he raised the gun and took merely a second to aim and shoot at a target on the opposite side of the room.  It hit the bullseye perfectly, the gunshot still ringing in her ears and making her wince.  He then met her gaze and shot at the other four targets without looking.  Her eyes widened as she held his stare, then looked at the targets.  Each of them were perfectly shot through the bullseye.

“That was hot,” Y/N said with raised eyebrows and a blush on her cheeks.

Bucky laughed, a blush painting his cheeks as well as he put the safety back on and set the gun back on the table.  For the next hour he taught her how to put one of the simpler guns together, how to load it, unload it, clean it, and then it was time to practice shooting.  Y/N wasn’t good at it.  The feeling of the gun in her hands felt unnatural, and the kickback made her flinch each time.  She still hit the targets within the outline of the body drawn on them, but not in any fatal areas.

“You gotta get behind it,” Bucky said with a slight laugh in his voice after watching her tense up after the last shot.  “The recoil won’t be as rough if you do.”  She took a deep breath and aimed, angling her body a little differently.  It helped as she shot, the recoil not making her feel so off balance.  “Good.  Again,” he said with a smile.  After a few more rounds he stepped behind her.  “Left foot forward,” he instructed, slightly kicking her shoe to make her step forward.  “Right foot back.  Square shoulders,” his hands directed her shoulders to face the target better.  “Lean forward to anchor yourself.  Elbows slightly out to absorb recoil,” his hands slid down her arms to put them in proper position.  “Engage your pec muscles to squeeze your hands together, wrists locked.”  His hands slipped back and down to her mid-back as a secondary anchor, barely touching her.  Then he leaned in toward her ear.  “Now aim.”  His voice dropped, and she had to suppress a shiver as she aimed carefully.  “Take a deep breath,” he said quietly, his breath tickling her ear.  She inhaled deeply.  “Let it out, and shoot.”

Y/N slowly let out the breath and shot.  The recoil wasn’t nearly as bad that time, and it hit right in the middle of the forehead of the target.  She let out a surprised huff of a laugh, and felt Bucky’s hands squeeze her sides.  “Good girl,” he said proudly.

She froze.  He said it.  He fucking said it.  In real life.  To her.  She tried to school her expression as she set the gun down and he stepped away on shaky legs.  “Um…thanks,” she said, clearing her throat.  “I, uh…excuse me.”

“What?  Where are you going?” Bucky asked as she stepped around him.  “We’re not done yet.”

“I just need a minute,” she said, walking fast out of the training room and towards the nearest bathroom.  The second the stall door was closed she leaned against the wall and stuck her hand down in her pants.  Once her fingers made contact with her clit she moaned, shutting her eyes tight as her mouth hung open.  She was already so wet just from him touching her during the lesson and calling her a good girl that she immediately pumped two fingers inside her sopping pussy, causing a full body shiver to roll through her.  Did she Pavlov’s Dog herself into nearly cumming every time he called her that from watching his wet dreams?  Just as her thumb was flicking at her clit and getting her close she heard the bathroom door open.

“Doll?” Bucky’s voice called out.  She silently cursed, her hand stilling in her pants as her eyes snapped open.  “What happened, huh?  Did that freak you out?  I’m sorry, sometimes that first lesson can be a little intense, actually shooting the target like that.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” Y/N said hastily.  “I’ll be there in just a minute.”

She heard him sigh and then walk toward the stall she was in.  “It’s okay, Y/N, just talk to me,” he said softly.

“I’m fine.  Seriously.”  Her wobbly voice did not help her case.  Her fingers twitched inside her and she lightly gasped, trying to be quiet.  

“Y/N, what are you…”  He stopped, then she heard the almost imperceptible sound of a deep sniff.  Goddammit, she thought.  Damn that super soldier serum.  There was a long pause, then he shuffled closer to the stall door.  “Are you…touching yourself?”

Y/N wanted the earth to swallow her whole.  This was so embarrassing.  Of course he knew.  How would she explain this?  There was no good explanation.  She’d have to tell him about the dream-walking, watching him fuck her crazy in his wet dreams for the past couple of months.  She ripped her hand out of her pants and flushed the toilet with her free hand, tucking the wet one behind her back as she opened the stall door.  Bucky stood ramrod straight, his eyes looking dark and analytical as he stared down at her.  “That’s crazy,” she said, skirting around him as best as she could.

As she tried to walk away he suddenly grabbed her and pushed her toward the tiled wall.  She squeaked in shock as he caged her against it with his arms, his left knee moving between her legs and invading her space.  His metal hand reached around and gripped her wrist she was hiding and pulled it back around carefully and up to his face.  His bright blue eyes looked sharper than usual as he looked her over, his breathing heavy, and when her fingers were close to his face he broke eye contact and stared at her wet fingers, still soaked with her arousal.  His eyelids fluttered as he tilted his head and his nostrils flared as he sniffed her fingers.  He then met her gaze again and brought her fingers to his mouth, opening wide and licking at them.

Surely this was how she would die.  Her heart thundered in her ears, she blinked rapidly and her mouth fell open as she watched him lick then suck her fingers into his mouth.  He closed his eyes as he tasted her, and the hum he let out vibrated around her fingers.  She sighed, her head falling back against the wall.  Her knees shook, threatening to give out, and his flesh hand wrapped around her back to hold her flush against his body and keep her upright.  He finally pulled her fingers out of his mouth and opened his eyes, licking his lips as he stared at her.  “You taste delicious, doll,” he whispered.  “Why were you touching yourself?”

She swallowed thickly and dropped her gaze to his chest.  “I…I needed to,” she said weakly.

“Why?” he asked firmly, his metal hand letting go of her wrist and then pulling her chin up to make her look at him.

Y/N couldn’t handle the intense look in his eyes and the shame so she shut her eyes.  “I’ve been dream-walking into your wet dreams for the past few months,” she confessed quickly.  “I didn’t mean to, I just forgot my sleeping pills one night and suddenly ended up in your dream and I saw myself giving you head.  I’m sorry.”  She felt overwhelmed and inhaled shakily, trying not to cry.  “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t say anything at first, then she felt him move and kiss the side of her mouth.  Her eyes snapped open as he pulled away and he smirked at the look on her face.  “What else did you see me doing to you?” he asked.

Y/N huffed.  “Y-you…you fucked me in the shower,” she whispered.  “And on your bed.  Then during a mission.  Basically everywhere,” she stifled a laugh at the memory of all the places and ways he’d dreamed of fucking her.  

“What was your favorite?” he asked, his metal hand sliding down to her throat and wrapping his fingers around it.  He didn’t squeeze, just held her there as he stared at her.  

“I…all of them,” she breathed.  “I loved all of them.”

His smirk widened into a wicked smile.  “Especially when I called you a good girl?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head unwittingly and she whined in his face.  “Yyyeeesss,” she grunted through gritted teeth.

Bucky moaned and kissed her.  Y/N gasped through her nose, kissing him back and trying to keep up with how passionately he was kissing her.  His tongue slipped into her mouth, and she could taste the remnants of her arousal as she entangled her tongue with his.  His flesh hand moved down her hip, over her ass cheek, then up to her breasts, kneading them and leaving a tingling sensation in his wake.  His metal hand slightly squeezed her throat, pulling another whine from deep in her chest.

“Fuck, doll,” he groaned against her lips.  “So responsive.  Just like in my dreams.”  He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers as they both breathed heavily.  “Lesson’s over.  Let’s go upstairs and you can choose which dream we recreate first.”

She nodded frantically.  He let her go and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the bathroom and walking with purpose toward the elevator.  The entire ride up he didn’t say anything or move, watching the floor numbers rise as he held her hand firmly.  When the elevator dinged he nearly ripped her from the elevator and dragged her to his room, shutting and locking the door behind her and then pushing her against the door.  He kissed her again, his hands roaming over her eagerly.  Y/N melted against him, letting him move her and kiss her any which way he wanted to.

“How do you wanna start, Y/N?” he asked as he licked at her neck.  “You wanna suck me off like that first time you saw me?  Or do you wanna fuck me?  I’ll do whatever you want.”

Her hands were shaking as she gripped his shoulders, trying to ground herself so she wouldn’t collapse.  “Do you…do you actually want to do this?” she stuttered, her self-doubt kicking in.  “I u-understand if you’re…mad or–”

“Stop that,” Bucky said, gripping her cheeks and making her look at him again.  “What you saw in my dreams is exactly what I want.  You.  I want you.  I’ve been falling for you from the moment we met, doll.  I want your body,” he kissed her lips.  “I want your mind.”  He kissed her forehead.  “I want your heart all to myself.”  He dipped down and kissed the spot over her heart, making her almost sob.  “I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours.”  The look on his face and the hope in his eyes was almost too much to bear as he gazed at her.

“I want that,” Y/N nodded.  “I want all of that.  I’m yours, and I want you to be mine.”

“Already am,” he shook his head with a knowing smile.  “I’m yours.”  He kissed her again, but this time it was softer, sweeter, and the tenderness made her whimper against his mouth.  Her hands moved up to hold him by the back of the neck and keep him close to her, and he used the leverage of her hands there to lift her and make her wrap her legs around his hips.  Bucky turned them towards his bed and laid her on it, continuing his kisses as he stayed there with her for a moment.

When he moved his kisses to her cheek and down to her neck she finally found her voice.  “I want…I need you to make me cum with your fingers,” she said.  “I need to cum so bad, Buck.  Please…please honey…”

“Mmh, I like that,” Bucky smirked against her neck.  He quickly stripped her of her clothes, leaving her naked and splayed out on the bed.  His eyes hungrily gazed at her as he stripped himself, and she ogled him openly as his flesh hand moved closer to her pussy.

“No, not that one,” Y/N said.

Bucky looked like he short circuited for a moment, his eyes widening as he stared at her in shock.  Then his eyes narrowed and he brought his metal hand forward, hovering it over her pussy.  “You want my metal fingers?” he asked, sounding perplexed and in awe.  She nodded, smiling softly at him.  He let out a long sigh, like he was relaxing after a long day, then brought his metal hand up to her face.  “Open up,” he instructed.  Y/N opened her mouth and he dipped his middle three fingers into her mouth.  She licked and sucked them, loving the way the metal felt against her tongue and giggling at the clink sound they made against her teeth.  When he felt like they were lubed enough he pulled them out of her mouth and brought his hand back down between her legs.  “Good girl,” he praised her with a knowing smirk.  

She visibly shivered at the praise, and he sunk two fingers into her without warning.  Y/N gasped, her back arching at the sudden but pleasant intrusion that her body had been yearning for.  He pumped his fingers slowly, letting her get adjusted to them and watching her carefully, making sure she wasn’t in any pain or discomfort.  His eyes couldn’t seem to decide whether to stay on her face or her pussy, mesmerized by the slick sounds coming from between her legs and the moans and whimpers falling from her lips.

She was so close already, and whimpered at the need and desperation that made her hips tremble in his hand.  The metal felt amazing inside her, somehow staying cool against the immense heat radiating from her pussy.  Bucky could tell she was struggling to finish and leaned over her a little bit, bringing his face close to her pussy.  He suddenly spit on her clit, and she flinched at the added warmth as well as the sound, her breathing getting even heavier at how hot that was.  His metal thumb started circling around her clit, rubbing in his spit as his fingers continued to fuck her.  He watched her squirm for a moment before getting close again and then licking at her clit.  Her hips bucked into his face, but that only seemed to drive him on as his flesh hand held her left thigh tightly to hold her down, his metal fingers moving faster inside her as the tip of his tongue flicked her clit.

“Holy fuck, doll,” he mumbled against her.  “So good…let go and cum, Y/N.  Be my good girl and cum.”

The build-up of her orgasm was finally about to tip over the edge.  She reached down and gripped Bucky’s hair in her fingers, tugging at it as her hips grinded against his mouth.  He moaned, sucking at her clit hard, then teasingly nibbled at his with his teeth.  She came with a shriek, her legs clamping against his head as she bucked against his face again and again.  Bucky kept moaning into her, his mouth and fingers refusing to stop and letting her ride out the orgasm as long as she wanted.  

Once she stopped shaking he gave her one last broad lick and eased his fingers out of her, then put them in his mouth and licked them clean.  She watched him enjoy her cum, the arousal rebuilding quickly.  “Honey,” she breathed.  His eyes flicked up to her face as he pulled his pointer finger out with a pop.  “That was so good…thank you,” she huffed.

Bucky smiled and wiped his hand on the comforter before climbing over her and slotting his hips between her legs.  His cock was heavy and hard laying on her pussy and lower stomach.  Her hips squirmed again at the feeling, and he smirked watching her writhe uncomfortably, her lustful frown as she looked down at him making him beam.  “So desperate for my cock, doll?” he teased, leaning down to kiss, lick and suck at her tits insistently.  

“Yes,” she said unabashedly, her fingers back in his hair and scratching down his scalp.  

“Is this how you want it?” he asked, dragging his lips across the skin of her chest.  “The dream where I fucked you hard and fast on my bed, with you begging me to fill you, huh?”

“Oh my…GOD YES!” she grunted.  

He chuckled against her sternum before moving back up and kissing her.  “On your stomach, doll,” he instructed.  Y/N immediately rolled over, planting her knees on the bed and raising her ass in the air with her face down in the bed.  She heard him huff another laugh and then position himself behind her, rubbing his cock through her soaked lower lips.  His flesh hand slapped her ass cheeks, and she whimpered again at the sting that he rubbed out gently.  “Such a good, obedient girl,” he said lowly, teasing her pussy with the tip of his cock over and over again.  “Go on.  Beg.”

She turned her head to try and look at him as best as she could, her eyes pleading with him as she shook her ass back against his hips.  “Bucky, honey, please…please?  I need you to fill me.  I want your fat cock to fuck me and fill me up, please.  Please please please, honey?  I’ll be so good.  Your good girl.”

His eyes rolled back at that and his mouth dropped open.  “Damn right you are,” he groaned, then thrust forward and filled her completely.  Y/N yelped at the sudden stretch and fullness, her face smooshing back into the bed as she dropped her head down and her own eyes rolled back.  He was perfect.  She had never been so full in her life, and she knew instantly that she was ruined for any other man.  Bucky let her adjust for a minute, a deep hum vibrating in his chest that she could surprisingly feel through her pussy, then he rolled his hips.  That pulled a whine from her, and from then on it was like a bargain between them.  A roll of the hips for a moan.  A hard snap for a whimper.  Widening her legs for a grunt and hands squeezing her ass cheeks.  They were playing with each other, learning what the other wanted and responded to the most.  Y/N had never felt so turned on or completely loved and cared for, and it made her sniffle as she started to cry.

“You crying, doll?” Bucky asked, laying his front over her back and kissing between her shoulder blades.  “Does it feel that good?”

“Yes, honey,” she moaned, her fingers grasping the comforter in a death grip.  “Never been so…mmh, full before,” she said.

“Really?  Aw, buttering me up, huh?” he asked, the teasing tone coming back full force, his lips tracing along her back and his teeth nipping at her randomly, making her tense up.  The way his beard was leaving goosebumps along her sensitive skin was tantalizing.  “Gonna keep praising me ‘til I cum deep inside this pretty, sloppy pussy?  God, you’re better than my dreams, Y/N.”

Y/N shivered at all the different sensations coming together to make her start tipping over the edge of another orgasm.  Her face thrashed against the bed as the pace of his thrusts picked up, snapping into her hips so hard that the slapping of skin echoed in his room.  His fingers gripped her hips hard, and she knew she’d be bruised and sensitive the next day, but that somehow made it even hotter.  “Oh fuck…fuck, fuck, Bucky I…ungh,” she groaned as her pussy pulsed around him.  “Fuck me full, honey!  Please!”

“Yeah,” he huffed, the pace getting even faster.  He leaned over and adjusted his feet on the bed, making it so he was mounting her.  He tucked his face into the side of her neck, his heaving breaths heating her ear.  “Take it, doll.  Take all of me like the good girl you are.  And all mine.”  Bucky bit her shoulder, not hard but enough to make her shudder.  “Mine,” he growled around the muscle in his mouth.

Y/N came careening over the edge, cumming so hard around his cock that she screamed and shook violently beneath him.  Her pussy pulsed in waves as the orgasm rolled through her body and to each extremity, her vision going white as her voice was muffled into the mattress.  Bucky clenched behind her, his hips pistoning into her a few times more until he whimpered in her ear and then shoved himself as far in as she could and stiffened.  Another deep hum vibrated through him as he came, and she could feel the warmth increase inside her as he filled her up just the way she wanted.  

It took her a few minutes to come back to herself, but when she did she could still feel him rutting into her from behind, his lips still at her shoulder but kissing and licking at the bite mark he left, and his hands generously massaging over her back, sides and hips.  He gripped his cock between them and squeezed, making sure to get every last drop of cum was emptied into her still undulating pussy walls, her hips twitching periodically.

“Good girl.  You’re such a good girl,” he said, his voice sounding tired.  “Did so good for me, doll.  That was amazing.  Thank you.  Thank you for walking into my dreams.  My pretty dream girl.  Fucking hell…”

She giggled as he turned to his side and pulled her with him, keeping his cock tucked inside her as best as possible as he settled them more comfortably.  “My dream man came to life,” she teased, reaching back and pinching his hip.

Bucky laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling it up to his mouth and kissing her fingers.  “Your dream man.  My good girl.”

She nodded and leaned her head back into his chest, and he kissed her top of her head near her hairline.  “Your good girl.”

@nerdreader

[aspenmissing]

Hello!!! I hope you're doing well :D

I've had this idea in my head for a while, but what if reader lost her memory? Maybe from an accident or something? How would her partner help to bring them back? Maybe a song or a particular phrase or their favourite food or place? With the usual suspects, especially Jayce, Viktor, JayVik.

I hope this isn't too weird of a request 💗

ꜰʀᴀɢᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴜꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 7629 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ, ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ, ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ʟᴏꜱꜱ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ/ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴏᴜᴛ (ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ), ᴇxᴘʟᴏꜱɪᴏɴꜱ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴇɴꜰᴏʀᴄᴇʀ ʙʀᴜᴛᴀʟɪᴛʏ/ʙᴇᴀᴛᴇɴ(ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ!! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴡᴇɪʀᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ! ɪɴ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ! ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ'ꜱ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴛɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

The air was thick with the smell of smoke and metal, the clang of tools and machinery filling the workshop as Jayce worked on a new project, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was so close to something extraordinary, but the thought of Y/N occupied his mind, as always. She had been his anchor, his rock, even before they were lovers. He often found himself distracted by the image of her smile, the way her presence could calm his storm of thoughts.

Then it happened.

A deafening crash, a loud shriek, and the sound of machinery grinding against the stone. The world seemed to shake around him. Jayce’s heart raced as he sprinted toward the noise, his mind already fearing the worst. When he reached the source, he saw her, Y/N, lying unconscious beneath the wreckage. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, but her usual light was gone from her eyes.

He knelt beside her, his hands trembling as he checked for any signs of life. She was alive—barely—but injured. Her body was bruised, blood seeping from a gash on her head, her limbs twisted awkwardly. Panic surged through him, but he pushed it aside. Jayce knew there was no time for hesitation.

"Y/N, please," he whispered desperately, lifting her carefully into his arms and rushing her to safety.

=

The first thing Y/N felt was the cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth she was used to. Her eyes fluttered open, and the dim light of the room greeted her. It was unfamiliar, the walls were sterile, and the scent of antiseptic stung her nose. She tried to sit up, but the pain in her head was unbearable, and her vision blurred with the effort.

"Shh, easy now," a familiar voice murmured softly beside her. Y/N turned toward the sound, but when she looked at the man sitting next to her, there was a sense of confusion. His face was gentle, his expression filled with something she couldn’t place, but... who was he?

"Who are you?" she asked quietly, her voice hoarse as she tried to make sense of the situation. The weight of his touch on her arm was comforting, but it meant nothing to her. Her mind felt empty, as if all the pieces of her life had been swept away, leaving only this strange man by her side.

He froze, his hand stilling on her arm, and his eyes widened in shock. For a moment, his expression shifted between hope and concern, as though he was trying to process her words.

"You don’t... remember me?" His voice trembled slightly, disbelief flickering in his gaze. He leaned closer, his eyes scanning her face, searching for some sign that she recognized him. "It’s me, Jayce... We’ve been through so much together."

Y/N’s heart skipped at the mention of the name, but it meant nothing. She couldn’t remember it—couldn’t place it. "I don’t remember... anything," she whispered, her voice thick with panic. "I don’t even know how I got here."

Jayce’s face paled, the colour draining from him as he looked at her with a mixture of sadness and fear. "You don’t remember anything?" His voice cracked, the pain in it raw and unguarded. "Sweetheart, please, you have to remember."

Her chest tightened, a sense of panic clawing at her throat as she tried to make sense of the man in front of her, who seemed so familiar yet so distant. She searched for something—anything—in her mind that would tell her who he was, but there was nothing.

"I... I don’t remember you," she whispered, the weight of the admission sinking in.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and thick with unspoken emotions. Jayce seemed to collapse inward, but then he took a deep breath and forced a smile, though it was shaky and strained.

"That’s... okay," he said, his voice soft. "We’ll take it one step at a time. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together."

=

Days passed, each one a blur of hazy flashes. Y/N found herself in the same sterile room, Jayce never far from her side. He was always patient, always kind, always reassuring, but she felt like a stranger in her own skin. She would look at him—his broad shoulders, his deep blue eyes—and feel a tug of recognition, but the memories remained elusive, just out of reach.

"Tell me about us," Y/N asked one day, her voice tentative, unsure if she even had the right to ask. She needed to know something, anything that would ground her in the reality she could no longer remember.

Jayce hesitated, his gaze softening as he looked at her, then smiled wistfully. "You and me... we’ve been through a lot together." He leaned closer, his voice low and intimate. "We met years ago. You were my equal, my partner in every way. We built something amazing together, Y/N." His hand gently cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her skin. "We fell in love in a way that was... impossible to ignore. And no matter what, we always had each other."

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to piece together the fragments of his words. The emotions that seemed to stir within her—the love, the tenderness, the history—felt so familiar, yet foreign all at once. But it wasn’t enough. Her mind struggled to pull the details together, to reconnect the dots. The harder she tried, the more frustrated she became.

=

It was a quiet evening when it happened. Jayce had been working at his desk, his focus entirely on a set of complex calculations. Y/N had been sitting by the window, staring out at the stars, lost in her thoughts. Then, out of nowhere, a flash—a memory.

She was standing in the workshop, surrounded by all the half-finished inventions, the tools scattered across the table. Jayce was there, his hand reaching out for hers, pulling her toward him with a soft smile.

"We’re in this together," he had whispered, his voice full of certainty, love, and trust.

Y/N blinked, and the memory faded, but it left behind something profound—an undeniable feeling of connection. She knew it wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was real. It was their moment.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Jayce," she called out softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

He turned at the sound of her voice, his eyes wide, hoping, but unsure. "Y/N?"

She stood, slowly walking toward him, her steps cautious but certain. "I remember," she whispered, her voice full of awe. "I remember us. I remember... I remember you."

Jayce’s face lit up, the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders as he rushed to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Thank the stars," he murmured, holding her close as if afraid she would slip away again. "I’ve been so scared. You’ve been through so much... I just wanted you back."

Y/N closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest, her heart pounding with the realization. "I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere."

The pieces clicked into place, the love, the memories, all falling into their rightful places. They didn’t need to say anything more. They just held each other, knowing that no matter what the future held, they had already overcome the impossible. Together.

VIKTOR

You were supposed to meet Viktor for dinner.

You remembered that much—walking through the upper levels of the Academy, the hallways washed in the golden glow of Hextech lanterns. The air buzzed faintly with ambient energy, tingling at your fingertips like it always did when magic and invention mingled in Piltover’s heart. It was late. The kind of late where only scientists, students with deadlines, and lovers waiting on one another remained.

Viktor would still be in the lab, no doubt—shoulders hunched over blueprints, spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, murmuring notes to himself in a blend of his native tongue and scientific shorthand. He often forgot to eat unless you reminded him, and tonight was one of those nights. You were bringing him dinner, still warm from the canteen downstairs, carefully wrapped so he wouldn’t notice you’d stolen one of his coats to carry it in.

But you never made it.

You’d taken the familiar shortcut—a winding staircase near the upper observatory, rarely used this late. You’d walked it a hundred times. Maybe more.

You didn’t see the threadbare strip of carpet near the landing. Didn't feel the way your balance shifted until it was too late. Your foot caught. Your hands flailed for the railing. You missed.

The staircase was unforgiving—metal edges and marble steps, cold and hard against your ribs, your shoulder, your head. You hit the bottom with a sickening thud. Pain exploded through your skull—and then, nothing. Just a void. A cold, empty nothingness.

=

The world didn’t return all at once. It seeped in around the edges like light through a cracked door.

You became aware of sensations first: the sterile scent of antiseptic. The stiff weight of bandages wrapped around your head. The dull ache of bruised ribs, the pull of healing skin. And the sound—steady, mechanical, rhythmic.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Your lashes fluttered. The light overhead was soft but still too bright. You blinked slowly, vision swimming, and let out a hoarse, dry breath.

Then, a voice.

“Y/N...?”

It was quiet, but it carried something fragile—like it had been breaking beneath the surface for hours. Days. Maybe longer.

You turned your head, your movements sluggish, the muscles in your neck tight and sore. And there someone was.

He sat curled forward in a hospital chair, as if he hadn’t moved in hours. His cane leaned beside him, and his fingers—so long, so deft when working with gears and wires—were curled tight around its handle. He looked pale. His eyes—those sharp, honey-gold eyes—were rimmed red, shadowed by sleepless nights.

You blinked, heart lurching strangely in your chest.

You knew him.

Didn’t you?

But no name came. No memories. Just that face, and something buried deep in your chest screaming that it mattered.

“…Do I… know you?” you asked, your voice like gravel. He flinched—just barely—but you saw it.

“I’m Viktor,” he said softly. “We... know each other very well.”

=

Viktor came every day.

He never stayed too long, never hovered. Always with quiet dignity, like he didn’t want to overwhelm you. But he was always there.

He brought tea in a thermos each morning—your favourite blend, though you didn’t remember why it was your favourite. The first time you sipped it, something warm bloomed behind your ribs, aching and bittersweet. He noticed the flicker in your expression and smiled, just a little.

“You always said it made your thoughts feel lighter,” he murmured, watching the steam curl between you. “Like the world wasn’t quite so heavy.”

He read to you in the afternoons. Not novels or poetry—technical schematics, lab notes, correspondence from Heimerdinger. Things you once called boring, except you found yourself understanding every word. Your fingers twitched when he paused at an equation, like you wanted to correct it or ask a question. Sometimes, you did.

“You remember,” he said once, stunned, after you pointed out an energy inefficiency in a prototype sketch.

You shook your head. “I don’t… remember remembering. It just… felt right.”

Later, he brought photographs.

You, standing beside him at Progress Day—smiling, windblown, clutching a paper bag full of trinkets. You again, curled up in a chair beside his lab bench, fast asleep with a blanket tucked around your shoulders. A blurry picture of you laughing with your hands covered in grease, his cane leaned awkwardly against your leg.

Some pictures made your chest ache. Others made your stomach flutter.

Still—no memories.

Just fragments. Impressions. Longing.

One night, the rain tapped the hospital window like fingers drumming a quiet rhythm. You turned toward him, heart heavy.

“…Were we in love?” He went still. The question hung in the air. Then, slowly—he nodded.

“Very much so.”

He didn’t try to touch you. Didn’t pressure. But his voice cracked, and you saw how tightly his hand gripped the cane again, like if he didn’t, he’d fall apart.

“I do not expect you to remember all at once,” he said. “But if you will let me… I can remind you. One memory at a time.”

=

The day they let you leave the hospital, Viktor was waiting with your coat.

He offered you his arm, and you took it without thinking. His cane tapped softly beside your steps, guiding both of you.

Midway down the front steps, you stopped. You stared at your feet. Then at his.

“…I used to help you, didn’t I?” His breath hitched.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “You did.”

Something deep inside you knew that was true. Muscle memory. Soul memory.

Back at the apartment—your apartment, though it felt like a stranger’s home—you wandered the rooms like a ghost. The walls were lined with books and sketches, strange diagrams tacked up in clusters. One corner of the living room held a half-assembled Hextech prototype under a glass dome. Dried flowers in an old glass bottle sat on the windowsill, their colour faded but preserved with care.

And on the table—your notebook.

You recognized your handwriting instantly. The cover was smudged from use. Inside were pages and pages of detailed notes on Viktor’s inventions. Tiny annotations. Little jokes. Doodles in the margins—sometimes gears, sometimes hearts.

You turned a page, and something clicked. You remembered. Your voice was soft, awed. “This was mine…”

Viktor looked up from where he was adjusting a calibration crystal. He froze.

“Yes.”

You stepped closer, holding the notebook like it was a precious thing. “I remember… I used to tease you about your messy handwriting.”

A beat passed. He laughed—broken, soft. “You did. Constantly.”

“And you’d roll your eyes.”

“I still do.”

“And you never fixed it.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you—and you saw it. The raw hope in his face. The love that had never left.

More pieces started to return. You remembered the sound of his voice in the early morning. The way he mumbled in his sleep when he was overworked. The first time you kissed him—tentative and sweet, his fingers trembling when he touched your cheek. The night he almost collapsed in the lab and you’d caught him, held him upright, whispered that he didn’t have to carry it all alone.

Later that evening, you sat beside him on the couch. His hand brushed yours. You didn’t pull away. You rested your head against his shoulder.

“I think I’m falling in love with you again,” you said softly.

Viktor turned, breath shaky, eyes shining.

He touched your face like you might break, kissed your forehead, your cheek. Then, finally, your lips—warm, familiar, trembling with emotion.

“I never stopped.”

JAYVIK

The shimmer of hextech energy pulsed like a heartbeat in the center of the lab, glowing faintly blue as it coiled and flickered within the containment chamber. A thin layer of steam clung to the walls, the air thick with the scent of ozone and copper.

Viktor stood by the monitor, expression drawn tight in concentration, his golden eyes scanning the rapidly shifting numbers as he tapped out calculations with one hand and gripped his cane with the other. He was quiet, meticulous, almost tense in a way that signaled to you this experiment was delicate. Important.

Jayce, in contrast, paced like a caged lion—twirling his wrench restlessly, muttering hypotheses under his breath. His frustration with the stabilizer coil had already earned a scorch mark on the bench and three snapped calibration rods. You had seen the warning signs, but you also knew better than to interrupt him when he was in full motion.

You stood between them, the calm in the storm, grounded and steady. Always the bridge when tension sparked—when Viktor’s precise logic clashed with Jayce’s bold instincts. You had a way of bringing them back into balance, of reminding them both that this wasn’t a race—it was the three of you, together, building something that could change the world.

Today was different.

The hum from the hex core deepened, and Viktor frowned, tapping into the stabilizer array again. “Jayce,” he said, voice edged with concern, “the field isn't aligning properly.”

“I know,” Jayce muttered, wrenching the coil into place. “Just a second more—”

You stepped forward. The tuning crystal was misaligned by a hair, tilted just enough to risk a harmonic backlash. You reached out, fingertips brushing the core’s edge.

The moment your skin made contact, everything changed.

The core flared—blinding, searing white light exploding outward with a deafening crack like lightning loosed from a cage.

“Y/N—!”

Viktor's cane clattered as he surged forward, stumbling slightly, arms reaching to shield you. Jayce’s voice cracked with panic, echoing under the thunderous shatter of glass and warping metal. A wave of heat burst across the room, slamming into you with the force of a hammer.

You felt weightless.

Then nothing at all.

=

You woke slowly, as if rising from deep water.

White light stabbed at your eyes. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air. A gentle beep echoed beside you, in rhythm with the dull thud of your heart. Every muscle in your body felt heavy, sore, uncooperative. Something cool and metallic rested against your palm—Viktor’s cane, leaned beside the bed as if he hadn’t wanted it out of reach.

He was there.

Slouched in a nearby chair, dark circles carved beneath his eyes like bruises from sleepless nights. His posture was tense, one hand wrapped tightly around the head of his cane, the other twitching slightly against the chair’s armrest. Jayce stood on your other side, his normally polished armor jacket wrinkled and stained, his hair a disheveled mess. He was rubbing the back of his neck like he’d been doing it for hours.

“Miláček…” Viktor’s voice cracked around your name, raw and hushed. “You’re awake.” (Darling)

Your lips parted, dry and cracked. You tried to sit up, but the effort sent pain spiking through your spine. The world wavered, unfamiliar and too bright. You looked between them—one man with tired gold eyes, the other with a heartache behind his hopeful gaze.

You knew your name. You knew Piltover. The skyline out the window was familiar in a way that anchored you, but they—these men watching you like you held their world in your hands—were strangers.

“…Who are you?”

Viktor flinched like he’d been shot.

Jayce froze, mouth half-open, words dying on his tongue.

“You… you don’t remember us?” Jayce finally asked, voice breaking.

You shook your head, throat closing. “I’m sorry. I don’t…”

=

They didn’t leave you alone. Not once.

Viktor returned each day with a careful rhythm, bringing pieces of the past in the form of old notebooks and blueprints. He read to you from the margin notes—jokes you’d scrawled in the corners, affectionate jabs at his perfectionism. He even showed you the old prototype you once designed together—your initials etched into the brass side panel with a shaky heart drawn underneath.

Sometimes, he’d lapse into silences mid-sentence, staring down at the pages, hands trembling ever so slightly as though saying the words aloud hurt more than he’d expected.

Jayce brought warmth wherever he went. He cooked for you—your favorite dishes, though you didn’t remember they were yours. He sat by your side while you tried each one, hopeful and nervous. He brought trinkets from your shared apartment: a soft blanket you always hogged, a mug with a chipped handle that none of you could bear to throw away.

He showed you the photo: the three of you together, arms tangled, a mess of grease stains and smiling faces under the stars. Viktor, slightly awkward in the center, his lips barely curved. Jayce, holding the camera at arm’s length with one eye squinted shut. And you—pressed between them, your cheeks rosy, eyes full of laughter.

The ring was the hardest. Jayce hadn’t meant for you to see it, but you caught him holding the box one night in the living room, thumb brushing over the band inside like it was fragile. He looked up at you, eyes wide, guilty.

“I was going to ask you,” he murmured. “Both of us… we were going to ask.”

You didn’t remember. You couldn’t. And it felt like drowning.

Flashes came at night—Jayce laughing as he lifted you onto a table. Viktor’s hands in your hair, combing gently as you fell asleep at your desk. The soft press of lips against your shoulder. Heat. Comfort. Love.

But they slipped through your fingers like smoke.

You broke down one night, curled between them on the couch, tears soaking into the fabric as you sobbed into your knees. “I want to remember you. I do.”

They didn’t push. They just held you—Viktor stroking your back, Jayce cradling your hand—and let you fall apart in the space where your memories used to be.

=

It was nearly midnight when you wandered back into the lab.

The place still smelled like it did that day—metal, ozone, a hint of scorched leather. The core was sealed now, humming softly under a containment dome. The lighting was dim, the room quiet. Still.

You traced your fingers along the old bench, the groove where Viktor always rested his cane, the spot where Jayce had once slammed his hand in frustration. You paused when your fingers landed on a small journal, tucked neatly beside a stack of blueprints.

You opened it.

Your handwriting. Quick, sprawling notes and equations, followed by sketches of mechanical limbs and power converters. One page caught your eye—a tiny heart scrawled in the corner, with Viktor’s sharp, even lettering beneath it:

“You always see the pieces I miss. I don’t know how to be brilliant without you.”

Your breath caught. You flipped another page. Jayce’s messy scrawl, blue ink bleeding slightly through the paper:

“Remind me to kiss you when this is over. Or now. Preferably now.”

It struck like lightning.

Memory unfurled in your chest—Viktor adjusting your goggles, his fingers gentle as they brushed your temple. Jayce grinning down at you as he lifted you onto his shoulders to grab a tool from the top shelf. The warmth of their bodies wrapped around you, tangled in bedsheets, laughter and love echoing between you.

The pain of forgetting cracked wide open—and in its place, the truth returned.

You dropped to your knees, clutching the journal to your chest, sobbing. The grief of lost time, the ache of almost forgetting them—it crashed over you like a wave.

You didn’t hear them come in until you felt Viktor’s hand on your shoulder, trembling. Jayce knelt beside you, eyes wide, breath caught in his chest.

“I remember,” you whispered. “I remember everything.”

They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.

They wrapped you in their arms, all three of you holding each other tightly in the center of the lab where it had all started. Viktor’s cane clattered to the floor. Jayce pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaking.

The world, shattered once, felt whole again.

VANDER

Zaun wasn’t safe tonight.

It never really was, but there was something different in the air — thick and charged, like lightning just waiting for an excuse to strike. The streets were quieter than usual. The usual hum of voices and the grind of pipes had taken on an edge. Fear travelled quickly down here. You were only out because someone had to be.

A local kid — scrappy, no older than ten — hadn’t come back after running errands for the Last Drop. Powder had been the first to notice, pacing nervously, blue-streaked hair a mess, eyes wide with panic.

“He said he was just going to the workshop,” she murmured, clutching your arm. “He should’ve been back already.”

You’d kissed the top of her head, reassuring her softly. “I’ll find him, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. You knew the shortcuts, knew how to walk like you belonged. Like you weren’t afraid.

But nothing prepared you for what you saw when you rounded the corner near a rusted maintenance shaft — the boy, backed against a wall, cornered by two Enforcers in polished boots and green-glinting armour. One of them had already drawn his baton, smacking it against a palm like he was just waiting for an excuse.

You stepped in without thinking.

“Hey!” you barked, raising your hands. “Easy. He’s just a kid.” The taller one looked at you like you’d spat in his drink.

“Step back, Zaunite. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does if you’re about to beat a child,” you snapped, voice level. “He didn’t do anything. Just let him go.”

Your tone must have been too sharp. Too bold. You forgot they hated it when you looked them in the eyes. When you talked like you mattered.

That’s all it took.

One shoved the kid aside — the boy ran — and the other Enforcer turned his fury on you.

The baton hit your ribs first. Then your stomach. You tried to cover your head. A fist followed. A boot.

You remember the cold sting of metal under your cheek, blood flooding your mouth. You remember the burn in your lungs as you gasped for air that wouldn’t come. Somewhere in your fading mind, you thought of Vander — of his voice, his strength, the way he always said, "Let me worry about the fight."

And then... nothing.

=

There was warmth.

It wrapped around you like a blanket, heavy and soft, like you were being held by something alive. But then came the pain — a sharp, aching thunder that pulsed through every inch of your body. Your ribs, your skull, your face — everything felt too loud, too bright.

You forced your eyes open.

The room was dim, lit by the soft flicker of a low-burning lantern. The ceiling was metal and patched, familiar in a way that scraped at the back of your mind. Something moved beside you.

A hand brushed across your forehead — warm, rough, careful.

“Easy now,” a deep voice said. It rumbled like old stone. Steady. Strong. Familiar.

Your eyes drifted to the figure sitting at your side. A large man with a greying beard and broad shoulders leaned in. Worry etched into the lines of his face. His other hand clenched at the edge of the mattress, knuckles white.

“Who…?” Your voice came out hoarse, barely more than air. The man froze.

“You don’t…” His voice cracked, just slightly. “It's me, love. Vander?. You know me. Or... you did.”

You blinked slowly. The name didn’t register. But something in his eyes made your heart twist.

He looked at you like he’d lost you twice.

=

The days bled together in haze and silence.

You tried to piece things together — little things. The mirror showed a face that should’ve been yours, but you stared at her like she was a stranger. Your name sounded foreign when someone said it. The clothes felt wrong. The scent of metal, of oil, of warm bread from a kitchen nearby — they brushed against something buried, but never deep enough to grab hold.

The children came in shifts. Vi was always first, leaning against the wall like she had somewhere better to be. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Trying to play it cool.

But her eyes never left you.

“You used to show me how to throw a punch,” she said, voice low but steady. “Said if I was gonna pick fights, I better learn to end 'em.” She let out a small, dry laugh. “You’d hum this weird little tune when you wrapped my hands. Drove me nuts.” She hesitated — just for a second. “I kinda miss it.

Powder was different. She clung to you like you’d slip away again.

“This one’s you,” she said, holding up a drawing with messy colours and uneven lines. Stick figures with big eyes and holding hands. “And that’s Vander. You always stood next to him. Always.”

Claggor brought soup. Too salty, but warm. “You taught me how to make this,” he grinned, shy and hopeful.

Mylo tried jokes. Most fell flat, but he kept trying. “You laughed at my dumb jokes. That’s how I know you’re still in there.”

Vander never missed a night.

He sat by your bedside like a silent sentinel, always with a hand near yours, but never touching unless you reached first. He didn’t talk much. Not about what happened. Just stories from the bar. Little things.

One night, he spoke without looking at you.

“I should’ve gone with you. I knew things were tense up top. I should’ve known they’d—” He stopped himself. His jaw tightened. “I should’ve protected you.”

You didn’t know what to say. But your hand inched closer to his. There was something in his voice. Something unspoken. Like love, trapped behind glass.

=

The memories came in flickers — not enough to explain, but enough to haunt.

A scent would stop you mid-breath. The creak of floorboards would make you turn your head like something was calling. The sound of laughter from the bar below made your chest ache.

One night, you woke up sweating, heart racing. You remembered a kiss. Heat. Rough hands tangled in your hair. A whisper against your neck: “Don’t care if they see.”

The image blurred before you could hold it. But then, it all snapped into focus. Vander was helping you sit up, one arm around your back. Your hand brushed his. Something jolted. Electric. Real.

You gasped, fingers tightening around his.

“I remember,” you whispered. “You—Vander. You kissed me. Behind the bar. You said no one was watching. But they were.”

He froze. Eyes wide. Disbelief tangled with tears.

“Y/N…”

You surged forward and pressed your forehead to his, your breath hitching. “You made me laugh when I cried. You let Powder sleep in our bed when she had nightmares. You held me every night. You’re mine.”

Vander pulled you into his arms like he was afraid you’d vanish again. His chest shook against yours. The door burst open — Vi first, of course.

“Powder broke the—oh.” All four kids stopped dead.

“Y/N?” Powder asked, tiny voice cracking.

You smiled. “Hey, baby blue.” She flung herself into your arms. And Vander held on like he’d never let go again.

SILCO

The battle had been fierce—far more intense than anything Y/N had experienced before. The tension between Piltover and Zaun had been escalating for months, and it had finally boiled over into violence. Y/N stood alongside Silco, his most trusted ally, in the heart of the chaos. The clash between the two factions was unpredictable and violent, and in the midst of it all, she fought alongside Sevika, Skye, and a handful of their men.

The night was thick with the sounds of weapons clashing, the roar of gunfire, and the shrieks of those caught in the conflict. But despite the sheer chaos, Y/N kept her focus. She had a reputation for being deadly in a fight—unpredictable, quick, and precise. She moved fluidly, taking down enemies left and right, never letting the adrenaline slow her down.

Then it happened.

A sharp push from an enemy sent her stumbling back toward the edge of a rooftop. The world seemed to shift in that moment—her foot slipped, and the next thing she knew, there was nothing beneath her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she fell, the air rushing past her face. A split second of terror before the harsh, unforgiving impact of the ground.

Her vision blurred as pain seared through her body, and everything went black.

=

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a wave of dizziness hitting her as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The sterile scent of a medical room mixed with the sharp, metallic tang of blood, instantly filling her nose. The headache was unbearable, throbbing in every inch of her skull. Every movement was slow, deliberate—there was an ache in every part of her body, like someone had taken a hammer to her chest and spine.

She tried to sit up but quickly found herself too weak, her muscles refusing to cooperate. Panic began to seep in as she took in the unfamiliar room—a dull, dimly lit space with cold, clinical walls. The sharp buzz of machines filled the air, each beep and whir reminding her of the vulnerability she now felt. Her pulse began to race.

What had happened? Where was she? Why couldn’t she remember?

Before she could panic further, the door creaked open. Silco stepped inside.

His figure filled the doorway, tall and commanding, his usual intimidating presence somehow softened by the way his eyes locked onto hers. There was a moment of silence, where all that could be heard was the distant hum of machinery and the pounding of her own heartbeat.

“Y/N,” he said softly, the name rolling off his tongue as though it were a prayer. "You’re awake."

His voice was the only thing that seemed real, the only thing she could grasp onto, but even it felt distant. She blinked, trying to focus on his features, but they seemed… blurred. Something was off.

“Who… Who are you?” she asked, her voice weak, unsure. She couldn’t place the emotion behind it. It wasn’t fear, but there was definitely confusion. "What happened to me?"

Silco’s eyes tightened, his expression hardening for a brief moment before his features softened, and he took a cautious step closer to her bedside. He ran a hand over his face, looking as if the words didn’t come easily.

“It’s me, Silco,” he said, his voice quieter this time, almost hesitant. “I’m here to help you.”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to reach for the name—Silco—but it was like trying to catch smoke in her hands. It slipped away the instant she tried to hold on to it.

“I… I don’t remember,” she whispered, her heart sinking.

A flicker of something—pain, maybe—flashed across Silco’s face, but it was gone before she could be sure. He sat beside her, his presence a comforting weight, but his eyes were clouded with something he couldn’t quite hide.

“You don’t have to remember right now,” he said gently. “Just take your time. You will.”

=

The following days blurred into one another. Y/N’s world was a jumbled mess of strange faces, disjointed memories, and constant confusion. Silco, ever vigilant, stayed by her side, his eyes never leaving her when he wasn’t tending to his other responsibilities. Every day, he would tell her stories of their past, recounting moments they’d shared, times they’d fought together, times they’d laughed in the face of danger.

One evening, as the dim light of dusk filtered through the windows, Silco leaned closer to her, his voice laced with a gentle tenderness.

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” he asked softly.

Y/N’s gaze flickered to his face, studying him as if he were a stranger, and yet... she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should know him. The memory he spoke of felt like it belonged to someone else—someone she could almost touch, but not quite.

“No…” Her voice was small. “I don’t.”

He sighed, but his hand reached out to hold hers, warm and steady. “It was under the stars, on a rooftop, just like this. The city was quiet for once. We were on the edge of something big, but for a moment, it was just us.”

She wanted to feel something, wanted so desperately to know what he was talking about, to feel the connection he spoke of, but it was like grasping at shadows.

“It’s okay,” Silco said, squeezing her hand gently. “You’ll remember when you’re ready. In time, everything will fall into place.”

But for now, it felt like a weight she couldn’t shake—a hollowness that lingered just beyond her reach.

=

Weeks passed, and Y/N’s search for clarity continued. The fog in her mind began to lift in pieces, fragments of images that made no sense alone but, when combined, formed something vaguely familiar. There were moments where Silco’s voice would break through the noise, and a sense of warmth would wash over her—comforting, like the space between them had always been filled with something more than just words.

One day, Silco took her out of the medical room. They stood on a quiet dock by the water, far from the chaos of the city. The soft rhythm of the water lapping against the stone was the only sound, and the air felt different—calmer.

“This is where we used to come,” Silco’s voice broke the silence, low and filled with something that bordered on reverence. “I came here often to think. And you… You always found me.”

Y/N turned to face him, her gaze searching his face. His sharp features were still a puzzle to her, yet there was something about him—something she couldn’t quite place, but felt in her bones.

“Why here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silco’s eyes softened. “Because it’s always been where I felt most at peace. And when I was with you, I felt… whole.”

Y/N felt a stirring in her chest, a sudden pull of recognition. It wasn’t a memory, not exactly, but it was something familiar—a flicker of warmth she had longed for without knowing.

He reached for her, brushing a lock of hair from her face, his touch sending a jolt through her. “You’re safe with me, Y/N. Always have been.”

And then, like a dam breaking, the memories came rushing back—a tidal wave of moments that had been locked away. The laughter. The shared glances. The way his voice would drop when he said her name. Their first kiss. The quiet nights they had spent together. It all flooded back, as though her heart had always known it, even when her mind couldn’t.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she stepped closer, lifting her hand to cup his face. “I remember,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Silco’s expression softened, his eyes shining with something close to relief, and he pulled her into an embrace, his lips finding hers with a tenderness that took her breath away. It wasn’t just a kiss of reunion—it was a kiss that held everything they had been through, everything they had fought for, and everything they would be together.

As the kiss deepened, Y/N realized that no matter the darkness, no matter the accident, their bond had never truly broken. It had only been waiting for the right moment to return, to remind her of who they were.

And now, she was home.

JINX

There was always chaos with Jinx. Always noise, always unpredictability, and always that reckless spark that would set the world on fire. But you loved it. You loved her. Jinx was your best friend, your sister in all the ways that mattered, and no matter what, you stood by her side through thick and thin.

That day, though? That day was different. The familiar sound of her giggle echoed through the underground warehouse as she fiddled with her latest explosives. You were trying to get her to stop, trying to be the voice of reason, but you knew better than to try to get through to her when she was in one of her moods.

"You’re such a buzzkill, Y/N!" Jinx had called over her shoulder, her eyes wide with that gleam that always made your heart skip a beat. "This is gonna be so much fun!"

Before you could protest again, it happened. A spark. A flash. A boom that rattled your bones and sent the world into a dizzying blur of fire and smoke.

=

You woke up to pain. Your head throbbed as if it had been split in two, and your vision swam in and out of focus. The smell of burnt metal and smoke stung your nostrils.

“Y/N?!”

That voice. You recognized it instantly—Jinx. But something in her tone was off, frantic, desperate, like she’d been waiting for this moment for hours. Or maybe longer.

You blinked, trying to steady yourself, and found her crouched by your side, her face pale and her usual manic energy replaced by an uncharacteristic stillness. Her bright blue hair was singed, her clothes torn, but there was a look in her eyes you hadn’t seen before: fear.

"Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay," Jinx’s voice trembled as she reached for your hand. "Please, don’t leave me, okay? Not again…"

You wanted to say something, reassure her, but nothing came out. Your mind was blank. Who was she? Who were you?

"Y/N?" Jinx’s voice broke again, more quietly this time. "Do you remember me?"

You tried. You tried so hard to remember her, but the memory didn’t come. There was a void where something important should’ve been. A gap. A missing piece.

"I'm… I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice weak. "I... I don’t know who you are."

=

Jinx refused to leave your side after that. She was relentless, clinging to you like a lifeline. Every day, she tried to jog your memory, bombarding you with stories, flashbacks, anything to spark something in you.

"Remember when we blew up that stupid chem-barrel in the scrapyard?" Jinx asked, her hands gesturing wildly as she sat across from you. "And you were all like, 'Jinx, stop! You’re gonna blow us up!’ and then boom! You were totally laughing, even though I almost got us killed—"

You stared at her, her eyes wide and hopeful, but all you could feel was that empty space inside you. The blankness gnawed at you.

"I… I don’t remember," you admitted, swallowing thickly. "I’m sorry. But why would I laugh at something blowing up?."

Jinx’s smile faltered. Her usually wild energy dimmed, but she shook her head furiously.

"No, no, no, you have to remember," she insisted, her hands grabbing your shoulders. "We’ve done so much together. I’m your best friend! We’re—" She paused, and her eyes glazed over, as if she were searching for the right words, but they didn’t come. "We’re family, Y/N."

But her words were like echoes in your mind, distant and unreachable. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to feel that connection, but the space between you and the past was too wide, too deep.

=

Then, one day, Jinx came to you with a thick, colourful scrapbook in her hands. She looked a little like she was presenting some kind of treasure, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and hope.

"I made this," she said, voice trembling with something you couldn’t quite place. "It’s… it’s for you, Y/N. To help you remember us. Our story."

You blinked at the scrapbook, unsure of what it was. The cover was covered in stickers, doodles, and chaotic drawings—just like her. There were little sketches of explosions, random graffiti scribbles, and you… well, you assumed it was you. You couldn’t remember for sure.

"Go ahead," Jinx urged, her hands shaking as she passed it to you. "Just… look. Please."

You flipped through the pages carefully. The first page had a picture of you and her, taken from a moment you couldn’t place, but her wide, mischievous grin was unmistakable. You looked happy, too.

Every page after that was a flood of memories—ones you didn’t have, but Jinx had preserved. There were photos, drawings, ticket stubs from events you didn’t remember attending, notes scribbled in the margins, and little symbols that meant nothing to you but everything to her.

On one page, there was a drawing of the two of you holding hands with fireworks exploding in the background. On another, there was a doodle of you carrying Jinx on your back, both of you laughing.

"Remember this?" Jinx asked, her voice soft, almost fragile. "We did this when we were twelve. You promised we’d never leave each other. And we didn’t, Y/N."

The scrapbook was a window into the life you’d forgotten. It felt like a heartbeat you could almost touch, but it was still so far out of reach.

And then, there was a page with a single word: Family.

You stared at it for a long moment. It felt important. You felt important.

"Jinx… this… this is us," you whispered, your fingers tracing over the word. "I was here. I was with you."

Her eyes brightened, and she grabbed your hands in hers, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! Yes, Y/N, we’re together! You’re gonna remember. I know it!"

And then it came, like a spark in the dark. A memory, just a flash, but enough to make your heart race. A memory of you and Jinx, standing side by side, staring up at a sky full of fireworks, your arms wrapped around each other.

"Jinx," you whispered, your voice shaking, "I… I remember. I remember us."

Jinx’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. "You remember! You really remember!"

You held onto her just as tightly, your heart full as you realized, despite the chaos, despite everything, you and Jinx were always going to be inseparable. Your memories might have been fractured, but your bond? That was unbreakable.

[rasha-ahmed2002]

On the morning of October 7th

Gaza woke up to the sound of bombings and explosions, as if the sky had opened to rain fire that would never stop. In a small neighborhood filled with simple dreams, lived Ahmed, a hardworking man trying to provide for his family, his loving and patient wife Rasha, their one-year-old daughter Mariam, and their newborn baby Suleiman, just a month old. 🏠💔

As the bombings intensified and houses collapsed around them, Ahmed realized their home, the place where they built their memories, was no longer safe. In a moment of panic, he grabbed his two children—Mariam, who clung to him crying, and baby Suleiman, too small to understand the chaos. Rasha, her hands trembling, tried to pack whatever she could—diapers, a milk bottle, and some warm clothes. Everything happened so fast, as if they were racing against death itself. 🏃‍♂️👩‍🍼

They fled south, where they were told there might be temporary safety. But the journey was a nightmare. Ahmed walked with a heavy heart, every step feeling like a piece of his soul was being torn away. 💔 Mariam sobbed in fear and hunger, while Suleiman whimpered weakly in his arms. Rasha followed closely, carrying a small bag, her eyes filled with tears, terrified of losing everything.

After hours of walking, they arrived at what was described as a "safe place." It was nothing more than an open field crowded with families who had also lost their homes. They found shelter under a tree 🌳, feeling like their world had collapsed. With only a thin blanket to protect them from the cold, Mariam fell asleep in her mother's arms, while Suleiman cried out of hunger—there was no more milk left. 🍼❌

Ahmed sat at a distance, staring at his family with helplessness. He remembered his small shop, the place where he worked every day, and how Mariam used to run to greet him with a smile when he came home. Now, he had nothing left—no home, no job, not even hope. 😔

Rasha, despite her pain, tried to stay strong. But every night, she cried silently as she looked at her two children, wondering how she would feed them or keep them safe. The days dragged on, each one heavier than the last, bringing more despair with it.

One day, Ahmed received news that the shop where he worked had been completely destroyed. It felt like another knife had pierced his heart. He didn’t know how he could start over again or rebuild his life in a world shattered by war. 🏚️💔

As time passed, all they had left were memories. Memories of their small home that once held them together, Mariam’s first laughter, and the sweet scent of newborn Suleiman. These memories became their only treasure as they faced an uncertain future.💔💔

The war had stolen everything from them, but it couldn’t steal their love for one another. ❤️ Every night, Ahmed would tell Rasha, “We will rebuild everything one day. Not just for us, but for Mariam and Suleiman. They are our only hope.”

But even that hope seemed like a distant mirage, a glimmer of light in a desert of pain. ✨

Amidst this suffering, we need your support, whether through donations or by sharing this message to reach as many people as possible who can help.

Every contribution, no matter how small, helps make this hope a tangible reality.

Even with just a 5€ contribution, you can help build hope for a family in desperate need.

Let’s work together to ease the pain and light the way for those who need it. Share, donate, and be part of this change.

Please help my family🙏🏻🥺🥺

vetted by

[nocturnebite]

──── 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇

── 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 they're the only ones who remember. 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 it takes forever. 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 it hurts. They will always love you, no matter what.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: bf! ot7 x sick!female! reader 𝒕𝒘: fluff, reader losing memory, lost love making a comeback, slight arguing 𝒘𝒄: 400-500ish per member (about 3.5k total)

𝒂𝒔𝒉'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: this was originally the whole inspiration behind my "when we were whole fic".. so don't come at me for them being similar.. i wrote these then got obsessed with the concept and decided to write a whole a$$ fic ab it. but i couldn't let these go to waste.. ENJOY LOVES

Heeseung – “The Worst Before the Better”

The doctor’s voice echoes in Heeseung’s head even days later: “It can be treated… but it will likely get worse before it gets better.”

Heeseung had clung to the word treated like a lifeline. But no one had prepared him for this — for the way your memory began unraveling even faster, slipping through your fingers like water no matter how tightly he tried to hold you together.

You sit curled on the couch now, wrapped in a blanket and staring at him like he’s someone you used to know. Heeseung kneels in front of you, voice calm, though his hands tremble as they rest gently on your knees. “It’s me, baby. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

But your lips quiver and your voice cracks, a frightened whisper: “I remember you yelling at me. I remember us screaming. Why were we always fighting?”

Heeseung’s heart clenches. You don’t remember the quiet mornings or your late-night giggles tucked under the sheets. You don’t remember the way he kissed your nose every time he walked past you or the playlist he made you on your anniversary. No — right now, your brain has brought up every moment he regrets.

You don’t see the man who held your hand through every dizzy spell. You see the version of him from that night — when he got overwhelmed, when he raised his voice and you cried and he hated himself after. The memory has taken root now, front and center, and it’s all you can grasp.

Heeseung swallows the lump in his throat and rests his forehead on your knee, voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared… that I was losing you even then. I didn’t know how to handle it. But I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for one second.”

You stare down at him, and he knows you’re trying. He sees the pain in your eyes. The fear. He wishes he could erase it all, take every bad memory and shoulder it himself.

When you start crying, something inside him shatters. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I don’t know why I can’t remember the good things. I want to— I want to remember how much I loved you.”

Heeseung climbs up beside you on the couch and pulls you into his chest. You tremble in his arms like you might break. “You still love me,” he whispers. “It’s still in you. Even if your brain’s having trouble finding it, your heart knows me. You came back to me once. You will again.”

You fall asleep in his arms that night, tear-streaked and quiet. Heeseung stays awake, staring at the ceiling. The meds are supposed to help eventually. But what if they don’t? What if this is all that’s left?

No — he won’t let that happen.

The next morning, he begins keeping a memory journal for you. Pages and pages of everything beautiful. Photos. Receipts. Drawings. Letters.

So even if you forget again, the proof of your love won’t disappear.

Jay – “Pieces of You”

Jay had been strong through the whole thing — or at least, that’s what he told everyone. Quiet. Collected. Devoted. But when the doctor told him your treatment would make things worse before they got better, something inside him cracked.

And now, he’s watching the person he loves most unravel in front of him — not from the illness, but from the side effects of the cure.

You forget simple things first — what day it is, whether you’ve eaten. But then the darkness gets deeper. You flinch when he raises his hand to reach for something too quickly. You ask him why he’s here. You pull away from his touch. “We broke up, didn’t we?” you ask one night, shaking. “Why are you still here?”

Jay freezes.

You remember the fights.

You remember the distance.

You remember the hurt.

But not the apologies. Not the nights he stayed up rubbing your back until you fell asleep. Not the way he held you through every breakdown, even when you screamed at him to leave.

He grips the edge of the kitchen counter until his knuckles are white. “We didn’t break up,” he says softly, trying to stay steady. “I was a jackass sometimes. But I never left. I never wanted to.”

You bite your lip. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

He walks over and kneels in front of you, voice low and thick with emotion. “Because love isn’t always soft. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes we make mistakes. But I’ve spent every day since then trying to be better for you.”

You’re crying now, shaking your head. “I’m scared, Jay. What if I only ever remember the bad stuff?”

Jay’s jaw clenches, and for a second, the weight of it all nearly topples him. But he takes a deep breath and gathers you into his arms, wrapping you up like he’s trying to hold your entire world together. “Then I’ll remind you of the good things. Every single day. I’ll rebuild everything you forget until you see me — really see me — again.”

He starts small. Playing your favorite songs in the kitchen. Making your favorite snacks. Wearing that hoodie you always used to steal. He even pulls out the little notebook you wrote him love notes in during your early days — and watches your eyes linger on the pages like they almost spark something.

Even if some days you cry and ask him to leave.

He never does.

Even if some nights you wake up in a panic and ask where you are.

He holds you until you fall asleep again, whispering stories about your first date, your inside jokes, the time you made fun of his hair and then kissed him ten seconds later.

And slowly, he sees the pain start to crack.

One day, your eyes catch his — just for a second — and something in your expression softens. And you say, “You’re… always here.”

Jay smiles, broken but proud. “Yeah. I always will be.”

Jake – “The Breaking Point”

Jake had never thought love could feel so helpless.

When the doctor told him the treatment would worsen your memory before improving it, he nodded and held your hand tightly, trying to stay hopeful. “We’ll get through it,” he promised. And he meant it.

But no one warned him what it would feel like when you started forgetting him — not just his name or your anniversary, but who he was to you.

Some nights, you woke up terrified, pushing him away, whispering, “Why are you here? I don’t know you.”

Some days, you’d cry uncontrollably, begging him to leave, convinced he was just another person who’d hurt you in the past.

And then there were the worst days — when you remembered just enough to hate him. The bad fights. The cold silences during your rough patches. The time he left you crying in the living room after a terrible argument because he didn’t know how to fix things back then.

“I remember you walking out on me,” you say one afternoon, voice hoarse and flat. “I remember how lonely that felt.”

Jake’s chest tightens. He sits on the edge of the bed, hands folded between his knees. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to help you yet. I thought giving you space was the answer. But it was the worst decision I ever made.”

You glance at him, skeptical. “Then why are you here now?”

Jake lifts his gaze to meet yours, eyes glassy. “Because I learned. I messed up, but I learned. And I’m not going anywhere again — not even if you forget me every single day.”

He sets his phone down on the nightstand. It’s been recording short videos for weeks — tiny moments, little clips. You and him dancing in the living room. Laughing in the car. The way your eyes sparkle when you tease him.

“I made you these,” he says gently. “In case it gets bad. So you’d see how much I love you. How happy we were.”

You reach for the phone with trembling hands and press play.

And for the first time in days, Jake watches your expression soften. A faint smile tugs at your lips. Tears gather in your eyes — not from fear, but from something deeper. Recognition. Emotion.

A whisper escapes you: “I think… I remember this.”

Jake can’t hold it in anymore. He crawls into bed and pulls you close, burying his face in your shoulder. He doesn’t cry often, but tonight, the tears fall freely.

“I’ll remind you as many times as it takes,” he chokes out. “Even if you forget me every morning… I’ll make you fall in love with me every night.”

And you let him hold you.

Even if it’s fleeting — even if tomorrow, it fades again — tonight, there’s something. A spark of memory. A spark of you.

Sunghoon – “Please Don’t Forget Me”

Sunghoon had always been composed, cool on the outside even when the world inside him cracked. But nothing — not even the grueling competitions or long, sleepless trainee nights — had prepared him for this.

Not for watching the love of his life fade in and out of their shared world like a ghost. Not for seeing you smile one moment and flinch the next.

And definitely not for hearing you whisper, “I think I used to hate you.”

It rips through him.

You were doing better — or so he’d thought. But then the doctor’s words echoed again: “The meds might make it worse before they make it better. You’ll need to be patient.”

He’s patient. He tries. He sits by your side and tells you stories of how you first met, how you used to warm his cold fingers in winter, how you hated coffee ice cream, but always bought it because he loved it. He even laughs softly when you roll your eyes at him.

But then you start remembering the worst versions of him — the sharp words said in stress, the silent treatments he thought would protect you from his own pain. And they stick longer than any of the good memories.

“Why did you yell at me so much?” you ask quietly one night, staring at the ceiling.

Sunghoon swallows thickly. “I… I didn’t know how to handle everything. I was hurting too. And I thought silence would make it go away.”

You blink at him. “You always looked like you hated me.”

“I never hated you,” he says instantly, voice hoarse. “I hated myself for not being better for you.”

That night, you don’t speak again. But your hand finds his under the covers — slow, unsure. And it stays there.

Days blur together. Some are worse than others. One afternoon, you forget his name. Another, you ask if he’s your nurse. He pretends it doesn’t cut him, but when he gets home, he cries in the shower until the water runs cold.

Then one night, you wake up in a panic — breathing fast, eyes wide — and when he rushes to you, you grab him by the shirt and whisper, “Don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”

His arms wrap around you instantly, strong but shaking. “I’m not going anywhere. Even if you forget me a thousand times, I’ll stay here — reminding you that I love you. Every time.”

And slowly, his consistency begins to win. You start trusting him again. You laugh a little more. Some mornings, you remember that he takes his coffee black and that he sleeps on the left side of the bed. Some nights, you whisper his name like a secret.

Until one night, while he’s holding you close, you trace your finger over his jaw and whisper, “You’re my boyfriend, right?”

He freezes. “Yeah. I am.”

A tear rolls down your cheek. “I think I loved you before.”

Sunghoon exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks, pressing a trembling kiss to your forehead.

“You still do,” he whispers. “Even if you forget again tomorrow… I’ll be right here.”

Sunoo – “I’ll Remember Enough for Both of Us”

Sunoo never believed his sunshine could dim.

You were the light of his life — always humming in the kitchen, leaving lipstick on his cheek, wrapping your arms around him when the world was too loud. He loved you with a sweetness so complete it hurt sometimes.

So when the doctor said the treatment might worsen your memory before it got better, Sunoo told himself he could handle it. That he’d smile through it for you. That his strength would be enough for both of you.

But then came the days you forgot his name.

The days you looked at him like a stranger — scared, distant.

The nights you recoiled from his touch.

And worst of all, the moments you remembered only the pain.

“You used to be cruel,” you told him one morning. Your voice was quiet but firm, eyes hazy. “You never let me breathe.”

Sunoo blinked, throat tightening. “What?”

“You were clingy. Controlling. I think I wanted to leave.”

His heart broke clean in two. “No, baby… I—I was afraid of losing you. I held on too tightly, and I hurt you, I know that now. But I’ve changed. I swear I have.”

You stared at him for a long time, then turned away.

That night, Sunoo sat alone in the hallway, back against the door, crying silently into his knees. He hadn’t been perfect. But he’d loved you with everything. And now it was like all you could see were the cracks.

But even through the pain, he never gave up.

He filled your world with softness. Laughter. Warm food. Scented candles you once said reminded you of spring. Sticky notes on the mirror that read “You’re beautiful” and “You love me, remember?”.

And one day… you did.

You were sitting on the couch, half-asleep, when you looked up at him with glassy eyes and whispered, “You used to dance in the kitchen with me… even when there wasn’t music.”

Sunoo’s heart stopped.

You blinked, confused. “Why did you do that?”

He smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Because I wanted you to know I’d follow your rhythm no matter what.”

That night, he held you in bed like you were made of something fragile and sacred, whispering every soft thing he’d ever wanted to tell you into your skin.

“If you forget me again,” he said softly, “just know… I’ll always be the one waiting. The one who loves you even when you don’t remember how to love yourself.”

And in the quiet of that moment, with your head on his chest and your hand in his, it was enough.

Because even if your memories slipped again tomorrow — tonight, you were his.

Jungwon – “You’re Still My Home”

Jungwon was always steady. Reliable. The anchor in every storm.

But this… this wasn’t a storm he could brace for.

When the doctor explained the side effects — that the medication might make things worse before they improved, that you could lose more memories, deeper ones — he’d only nodded, jaw clenched tight.

Because what else could he do?

He’d promised to stand by you no matter what, and he meant every word. But he never imagined watching you forget him, forget your life together, forget yourself.

Some mornings you woke up beside him and screamed.

Some afternoons you wandered the halls in silence, asking where you were.

And some nights… you remembered just enough to hurt him.

“You always left,” you told him once, staring blankly at the window. “You loved your job more than me. You missed appointments. You missed me.”

And it was true — in the past. He had been too focused on his career. He’d thought he had time to make it up to you.

He never imagined your memory would turn time into something borrowed.

“I was wrong,” he whispered, kneeling in front of you. “I didn’t know how to balance it all back then. But I never stopped loving you. Not once.”

You didn’t respond. You just stood up and walked past him.

That night, he curled up on the couch, wide awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering how many more pieces of you would slip away before the treatment started to work.

But even through the fear, he didn’t leave.

He adjusted his schedule so he could work from home. He learned how to cook your favorite meals — the ones you didn’t always remember liking. He started writing down every moment you did remember — even if it lasted just a few minutes — and tucked them into a little leather-bound journal.

Until one morning… he found you sitting on the floor with that journal in your lap.

“I think you loved me a lot,” you whispered, voice shaking. “And I think… I did too.”

His chest ached as he dropped to his knees beside you. “You still do,” he said softly. “You just can’t feel it all the time right now. But it’s there.”

And when you turned to him — really looked at him — something in your gaze softened.

“I think I feel safe with you.”

He exhaled, pulling you gently into his arms. “You are safe. Always.”

And even if the road ahead was still foggy, filled with starts and stops and painful relapses… Jungwon would walk it with you. Every step.

Because no matter how much you forgot — he remembered enough for both of you.

And you would always be worth waiting for.

NI-KI – “Even If You Forget, I’ll Still Be Yours”

It scared him.

He was too young to be this scared. But watching you slip away, memory by memory, was the kind of fear that left Ni-ki hollow. Angry at the world. Angry at himself.

When the doctors said the new meds might make things worse before better, he didn’t believe them at first.

But then you forgot what city you were in.

Then his birthday.

Then his face.

He tried not to show it, but it gutted him. Every time you blinked at him like he was just some kid, like he wasn’t the one who stayed up all night playing video games beside you just to hear your laugh, or made midnight ramen when your cravings hit, or memorized every playlist you’d ever made.

And the worst part?

When you did remember — it was always the pain.

“You used to yell,” you said once, tears brimming. “I don’t think you liked me that much.”

“I never yelled at you,” he whispered, stunned. “I yelled when I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle all of this, and I took it out on myself — not you. But I never stopped loving you.”

You just stared. Like the words made no sense.

Ni-ki had never felt more helpless in his life.

But he didn’t walk away.

He started over. Every single day.

He introduced himself with a soft smile when you didn’t know his name. He told you stories about “a girl he used to love” — hoping that somewhere in those tales, you’d find yourself. He bought you the exact same stuffed animal from your first date. Played your favorite song and watched your eyes flicker, just for a moment, with something like recognition.

Then one night, he came home late and found you curled up in his hoodie on the couch.

“You used to hold me like this,” you murmured sleepily, barely awake. “Didn’t you?”

Ni-ki crouched beside you, fingers trembling as he brushed your hair back. “I did,” he whispered. “And I still want to.”

“Do I… do I make you happy?” you asked, eyes half-lidded.

He laughed — breathless, cracked. “You’re my entire happiness.”

And for that one night, you didn’t forget.

You let him hold you, kiss you gently, bury his face in your neck and cry like a boy lost in the storm — because for once, you were still there.

And even if tomorrow you forgot again… he wouldn’t stop fighting.

Because Ni-ki didn’t fall in love with your memory.

He fell in love with you.

And even if you couldn’t remember him — he would never stop remembering you.

tl: (read rules before asking to be added to any list ᥫ᭡. )

[maudie-duan]

Summary: Who doesn't love a little hometown romance, a little spark to reignite something you thought was lost to the past, the boy, now a man, you had tucked away in the back of your mind, deeming it "not meant to be." Now you're both at the same bar on the same night after eight years. Is it fate or a coincidence? Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: xFem!Reader, Fluff, Angst Ever So Slightly, Mild Sex.

The streetlight illuminated his face after all these years. In the humid summer night, you stood transfixed, looking up at the guy who had once made your heart race—now a man who still had that same effect, a bittersweet reminder of feelings you thought were long buried but now threatened to overwhelm you completely.

And all it took was one look your way for all those old feelings to flood your mind, the feelings like muscle memory, each time his hand brushed yours. All night, you were hoping for this moment, for this chance to be alone, and now here you were, taking in his details as the light above cast Harry in a golden glow, highlighting the angles of his face that had sharpened with age. 

Eight years.

Eight years since you’d last seen him, since he’d packed up his life and moved across the ocean to England, leaving behind nothing but memories and the unspoken feelings that would haunt you both later.

“I still can’t believe we ran into each other,” Harry said, his British accent now more prominent than you remembered. “What are the odds?”

What were the odds, really? Your hometown wasn’t exactly tiny, but it wasn’t a sprawling metropolis either. You’d only returned for a short visit to see your parents, and Harry—well, Harry hadn’t set foot here since high school graduation.

“The universe works in mysterious ways, they say,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the thundering of your heart. “First time back in eight years, and we end up outside the same bar on the same night.”

Harry laughed, and the sound wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, stirring something dormant inside you—a feeling you thought you had carefully packed away in the box of teenage memories labeled “not meant to be.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” He breathed.

Fate.

You didn’t want to think about fate.

Fate was dangerous—a silver thread weaving your lives together across time and distance, pulling you back to this exact moment under this streetlight. Fate meant this wasn’t a coincidence but destiny fulfilling a promise made long ago. You couldn’t afford to think that way, not when his presence alone transported you back to lingering hallway glances. The notebook margins filled with doodled hearts. At times, Harry’s name scratched out so no one would ever know your secrets. If you believed in fate in any capacity, you’d have to believe all those years of distant yearning played a purpose—a hope that would be too fragile to bear if it shattered.

But this was now and life was still happening around you.

The bar behind you pulsed with music and chatter, but neither of you made a move to go back inside, not if this was where the night was leading, the moment too delicate to disturb. You had spent three hours catching up, sharing stories over drinks, laughing at memories, and filling in the gaps in your lives that had grown in the years apart. Each piece of his life he shared—his move to England, his career successes, his travels—felt like recovering pages from a book you’d started long ago but never finished.

“Remember Mrs. Holloway’s English class?” Harry asked, leaning against the lamppost. “When I fell asleep during your presentation on ‘The Great Gatsby’?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile. “How could I forget? I worked on that presentation for two weeks.” What you didn’t add was how crushed you’d been that day, how you’d spent extra time on that presentation hoping he’d be impressed, only to watch him doze off halfway through.

“In my defense, I was up all night studying for calculus,” Harry said, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled.

Those eyes—still the same deep green that had made your teenage heart skip beats in crowded hallways, the tiny moments you learned to conceal. It was disorienting how quickly your body remembered what your mind tried to forget—the flutter in your stomach when he looked at you, the heat that rose to your cheeks when he smiled. You had dated other people, had relationships that mattered, yet something about Harry had always remained the benchmark against which others were unconsciously measured, and somehow, it took until this very moment for you to come to this startling realization, and that scared you.

“Sure you were,” you teased. “I distinctly remember you bragging about beating the final level of that one video game you were obsessed with the next day.”

When Harry laughed, it echoed in the quiet street. “You always could see right through me.” There was something in his tone, something warm and subtle, that suggested he wasn’t just talking about the video game excuse. Had he always looked at you this way? Or was this new—this intensity, this focus, as if he was trying to memorize your features?

A comfortable silence fell between you, filled with the distant sounds of traffic and the muffled bass from the bar. You studied him in the golden light—the way his shoulders had broadened, how his once-boyish face had matured into handsome features, the slight stubble that lined his jaw. Different, yet achingly familiar. It felt like experiencing déjà vu and discovering something new at the same time—there was confusion in recognizing the echo of the boy you had once known in the man who stood before you now, you realizing there was so much more to discover.

All night, your hands kept finding excuses to touch—a playful push when he teased you, his fingers brushing yours as he gestured during a story, your knees knocking, both of you getting closer and closer in the booth as the night wore on. Each contact sent a hum through your veins, igniting sparks you thought had died out years ago. Part of you wanted to retreat, to protect yourself from the inevitable goodbye that you knew would come. Did that seventeen-year-old self still live within, or had you lost faith in the universe? Could the timing actually be right?

“It’s nice to see you,” he said softly, his gaze holding yours with a depth that stifled your breath. “Really nice, actually.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Harry.”

Your voice came out as barely more than a whisper, you now acutely aware of how close you were standing, how little distance separated your bodies. If you took even half a step forward, you could rest your head against his chest, feel his heartbeat against your cheek, and there was an urge to do just that—to close that final gap—the urge so powerful it frightened you, an embodied history of longing that without a doubt now you knew had been suppressed but never truly gone.

And here you were again. That inner voice questioning fate, scolding yourself. It’s been eight years. There’s no way you’re the same people anymore. He lives in England. You live in the States. This can’t be anything but nostalgia and alcohol and what feels like the magic of an unexpected reunion.

You had to be rational. You had to be an adult.

But what was rational when you couldn’t explain the magnetic pull you felt toward him or the way his gaze kept dropping to your lips? There was something about Harry that had always drawn you in—something that surpassed the physical attraction, something that made him stand out among all your other high school crushes, something more, something that beat deeper than the surfaced feelings that equate to the word “crush,” because what you felt with others than, never stuck, never emerged once the temporary flame fizzled out. And that something was still there with Harry. You could feel it, still palpable in the charged air between you, strengthened with time now like a slow-burning fire that oxygen had finally reached

“Do you remember senior prom?” Harry asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

And you laughed, the question catching you off guard. “Of course. What about it?”

“I wanted to ask you,” he admitted, looking slightly embarrassed. “Had the whole thing planned out. Was going to put a note in your locker with tickets to that indie band you loved.”

Your heart stuttered.

His confession transported you back in time to the hours you had spent daydreaming about Harry asking you, those wishful nights you had lain awake imagining the conversations where you finally told him how you felt, crafting each scenario as if you would have ever been bold enough to tell him. All these memories, tucked away for years, now bursting forth with such clarity that they steal your breath. Almost choking on the what-ifs with a new sense of longing.

“Why didn’t you?” you managed to ask, your voice steadier than you felt.

Harry shrugged, looking up at the stars peeking through the city lights. “Found out you were going with Matt Peterson. That really cute baseball player...you know, the one that all the girls liked?” Then Harry looked down at his feet, suddenly shy.

“Matt Peterson?” You laughed in disbelief, trying to get his attention. “It was a pity date. We went as friends. His girlfriend had just broken up with him, and he didn’t want to go alone.”

Harry’s eyes widened, his eyes searching your face like he could see the parade of what-ifs that were marching through your mind. “You’re kidding.” He laughs.

“Nope. It was really annoying. We took the obligatory photos for our parents, and then we barely saw each other the rest of the night. I spent most of the time just standing there. The only thing he seemed interested in was what would happen after prom...” You said, rolling your eyes.

His brows rose at this, and he straightened, “I mean, that dress was pretty amazing...” and you watch him lick his lips, “That’s the true pity.”

“Well, now I feel like an idiot,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair, drawing you in deeper. The gesture was so familiar that it made your chest ache with nostalgia as you stood there, hungering for a past that never happened and what now felt impossibly possible.

“You didn’t look half bad yourself...didn’t you go with Jessica Miller anyway,” you reminded him, trying to keep your tone light despite the revelation that was making your mind race. What if he had asked you? What if you had told him how you felt? Would everything be different now? Would there have been no eight-year gap, no ocean between your lives?

“Ah—Another just-friends situation,” Harry replied. “Though I think she was hoping for something more...” And as you watched the smirk spread on his face, you couldn’t help but picture what your bodies would have looked like together, how your night would have ended as you searched his eyes. Would you have been under him that night instead of Matt, who was only in it for himself?

The night seemed motionless around you, as if the universe was holding its breath. You found yourself hyperaware of everything—the distant sound of a car horn, the flicker of the streetlight above, the way Harry’s cologne mingled with the summer air, the short distance between your hand and his. Being with Harry felt both foreign and deeply familiar, like returning to your childhood home to find everything slightly rearranged but still vividly recognizable.

The same foundation, but with new dimensions you were desperate to explore.

“We were quite a pair, weren’t we?” you said softly. “Always just missing each other.”

Harry’s eyes met yours, and something in them made your heart race—not just desire, but a wistfulness, a shared grief for all the moments that could have been. “Are we still?” he asked.

The question lingered between you, loaded with intention and possibility. All at once, you were both you and that seventeen-year-old girl again, standing in the school hallway, watching him from the corner of your eye, wondering what it would finally be like to be more than friends, and there was danger in that, in this because you weren’t seventeen anymore. You were adults with separate lives, separate paths that had diverged long ago. You knew it couldn’t be casual. He was never casual, and here was that fucking thread that seemed still to be connecting you both, that invisible tether that stretched across continents and years, thin but unbroken, pulling you back together.

And yet, here you were, standing under the same streetlight, feeling the same flutter in your chest, and when he smiled, something shifted, layered with a deeper understanding of what it meant to want someone, to miss someone, to regret chances not taken.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “Are we?”

Harry took a step closer, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “I’d like to think we’re not missing each other tonight.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was unknown territory. How many years had you spent convincing yourself that your feelings for Harry had been nothing more than a teenage crush, the kind everyone has to eventually outgrow? But standing here in this moment, with him looking at you like you were something precious, something found after being lost for too long, you couldn’t keep feeding the lie. It made you ache with that same hunger that had been simmering for eight years, kept at bay by distance and denial, but here it was threatening to consume you entirely.

“Harry,” you started, not sure what you were going to say, only knowing you needed to say something before the moment overwhelmed you.

“I know,” he said as if he could read your thoughts, as if the years apart had done nothing to diminish his understanding of you. “It’s been eight years. We live in different countries. We’ve built separate lives. It’s complicated...I know. I know—”

“Very complicated,” you agreed, even as you found yourself leaning slightly toward him, drawn by a gravity that seemed to disregard all reason and practicality.

“But I can’t help thinking,” Harry continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper, each word like a caress against your skin, “that running into you tonight wasn’t just coincidence.”

Again, you tried to be rational. You wanted to remind yourself that you were leaving soon, that he would return to England, that rekindling something with a high school almost-flame was the plot of a romantic comedy, not real life, not your life, and yet, your body still remembered what your mind tried to forget—the way your pulse quickened when he was near, the way your skin tingled with awareness, the way your heart seemed to recognize his even after all this time.

But when Harry’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining with a familiarity that defied the years apart, rationality seemed to fly out the fucking window. His touch ignited something primal and powerful, a connection that exceeded time and distance, that made those fucking eight years feel like nothing more than a brief intermission in a story that was always meant to play out.

“I had such a crush on you in high school,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, years of carefully composed truth finally breaking free. “It was ridiculous, really. I used to make any excuse to pass your locker.”

Harry’s smile was soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your heart ache, that longing becoming mutual. “I used to volunteer for every group project in English because I knew you’d always be the first to raise your hand.” he confessed.

And now he’s confessing too?

These silly little confessions.

But how could a silly little confession make your heart both soar and sink simultaneously? All that time, all those missed opportunities, all the ways you both seemed to circle each other, and you had no clue. The nostalgic ache of it—of discovering only now what might have been—was almost too much to bear. “We were oblivious, weren’t we?”

“Completely,” Harry breathed with a small laugh that did nothing to hide the regret in his eyes. “But maybe that’s okay. Maybe we weren’t ready then.”

The implication of his words made your heart sink even more—that perhaps you were ready now—sent a shiver down your spine despite the warm night air. There was something profound in the realization of it all that everything could have happened exactly the way it was meant to be—that maybe you needed those eight years to become the people standing here now, two adults who could recognize what they almost lost, people who might have the courage to finally reach for it.

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the city and your booming heartbeat.

Delicately, Harry’s free hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The pad of his thumb traveled along your lower lip, and you held your breath, waiting for his words, “Now I’m standing here wondering why I ever left without telling you how I felt.”

The world seemed to narrow to just this moment, this streetlight, this man, and dammit, the rational part of your brain was still screaming caution—reminding you of the hopelessness of it all, the potential for heartbreak, the fact that you barely knew each other anymore. But then there was something deeper; this other part of you—the part that had carried a torch for him all these years without even realizing it—knew that this wasn’t just about reviving an old flame. This was about the raw grit of it, the undeniable attraction that pulsed between your beings with each heartbeat, and you could feel it, there at the surface, the fear threatening to overwhelm your carefully constructed defenses.

But would you let it? Could you take the chance?

And then there was another part, the part that remembered the way he’d made you laugh in high school, the way he’d looked at you across crowded rooms as if you were the only person there. He always saw you, his words now enough to prove it—yet that part wasn’t listening to reason. That part was painfully aware of how his body had changed—broader shoulders, stronger jaw, the confident stance of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And right now, he was looking at you as if you were the only thing he could ever need—and that in itself was tempting enough.

“This is crazy,” you whispered, even as you leaned into his touch, even as every cell in your body seemed to sing with recognition and want, and your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. “We haven’t seen each other in eight years. We’re practically strangers.”

“Are we?” Harry asked, his voice dropping to a husky timbre that made your stomach dip. His thumb followed the line of your jaw like he was trying to map you, to memorize you. His other hand found the small of your back, pulling you scarcely closer, “Because it doesn’t feel that way to me. It feels like...”

“Like no time has passed at all,” you finished for him, the words carrying the weight of everything you’d been trying to deny—maybe some connections don’t diminish with time, maybe we carry the pieces of each other no matter how far apart we travel.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, serious despite the softness of his smile. The gold flecks in his eyes seemed to dance in the streetlight as his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he smoothed his lips together, “Exactly.”

In your heart, you knew you should play it safe, take a step back, create some distance, protect yourself from the inevitable goodbye that would come. That you would leave soon and you would have to return to your life, and he to his. Was this all he would want? This one night? Because you knew you would want more. What was the point of starting something that geography would end before it truly began? And yet the thought of walking away from this moment, from him, from the mouthwatering tension that had your skin tingling, your pulse racing with a want you hadn’t felt in so long, was slowly turning into a physical pain you couldn’t bear to inflict on yourself.

But as Harry’s eyes moved to your lips for the hundredth time that night, those concerns seemed far away, unimportant compared to the overpowering need to know, to finally know, what it would feel like to kiss the boy—now this man before you—who had occupied so many of your adolescent daydreams, and you let your body lean towards his, drawn by an invisible force that had been eight years in the making.

“I keep thinking about how many times I almost told you,” Harry said softly, his voice heavy with the consequence of all the years of unspoken feelings. His hand slid from your back to your waist, fingers splaying purposefully as he drew you closer, so close that your bodies were almost flush against each other. “Before graduation. Before I left. There were so many moments when I almost told you, And now, standing here with you, feeling how close you are now...” His words trailed off as his eyes roamed your face, pupils dilating as they skimmed the curve of your neck, the outline of your lips. “It feels like the universe is giving us a do-over, a chance to get it right this time. And I’m scared that if I don’t take it—if we don’t take it—we’ll spend another eight years wondering what might have been.”

You couldn’t help your heart from racing, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. This was Harry—your Harry from high school, the guy while, yes, he had occupied so many of those teenage daydreams, he was indefinitely a stranger, a man who had lived a life in England that you knew nothing about—A man, yes, a man, a really handsome man, beautiful then and now, a man whose scent was making it difficult to form coherent thoughts as it enveloped you, a man with strong hands that could roam your body, a man that would know what he was doing because that’s what the gift of time could bring, experience, right? That beautiful mouth that didn’t just say words you wanted to know—you wanted your curiosity to win.

So couldn’t you just do it? Couldn’t you just have this, him right now? Did it have to be more?

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, genuinely curious, your fingers absently playing with the top button of his shirt, aware of the steady thrumming of his heart beneath your fingertips.

And in his smile, you saw the regret as his hand moved from your waist to brush another strand of hair from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek in a touch so light yet so deliberate it made your skin burn. “Fear, mostly. Fear that you didn’t feel the same way. Scared that even if you did, it wouldn’t matter because I was leaving. Fear that a long-distance relationship would be too hard, that it would end badly, that I’d lose you completely.”

And that was it, right? Always the fear of the what-ifs.

You understood those fears all too well—how they seemed to mirror your own hidden feelings from all those years ago, just like now, yet they seemed to be growing insignificant compared to the way your body was responding to his proximity, to his warmth, to his words, to the electric current that seemed to pulse between you wherever skin met skin, the low hum buzzing in the air as your gaze dropped to his mouth.

“And now?” you asked again, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes locked on his lips as you spoke.

Then your eyes met Harry’s, his stare filled with a determination that made your breath hitch as his thumb glided along your bottom lip in a gesture so intimate, so sure, that it began to reveal his want, now on the edge of need, more invasive than a kiss could ever be. “Now I’m thinking that some things are worth the risk.”

And in those words, the world seemed to still around you, the sounds of the city fading into the background. There was only Harry, only this moment, only the electricity that had been building between you all night—maybe even eight years, but it was there in the air surrounding you both, charged with a new energy, heavy with anticipation and a pleading promise for whatever was to come.

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” you said, your words one last desperate attempt to convince yourself more than him, but then your hands were betraying you, moving of their own accord to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath your hold. “I don’t know. It feels weird. Confusing. It’s been eight years, Harry. We’re completely different people now, you know?”

“Are we?” he challenged gently, his hands sliding to your hips as his thumbs began to trace maddening circles against the thin fabric of your dress. “Or are we just more ourselves than we were when we were those kids before?”

The question struck a chord within you. Because despite the years of distance, being with Harry felt like coming home to a place you’d forgotten existed. There was something about him—something in his laugh, his eyes, the way his body fit against yours that felt natural, deeply familiar in the way that it seemed to be grounding you, yet thrillingly new.

“Is this even practical,” you tried again, even as you made no move to step away from him, your body arching almost imperceptibly into his touch. “You live in England. I live here. There’s an entire ocean between us. It could never be anything more.”

Harry’s face faltered slightly as he nodded, acknowledging the truth in your words, but his eyes never left yours as his hands slid up your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “I know. And I’m not asking for promises or commitments. I’m just asking for tonight. For this moment. For us to stop missing each other. We both know tomorrow will come. Can we just be here tonight? That’s all I ask.”

And as you stared up at him, you let the words echo in your mind, in your heart, letting his plea break down the walls of logic and practicality you’d been trying to keep. Because he was right—He was definitely right. How many years had you spent missing each other, passing like two ships in the night? And now, by some miracle or cosmic joke, you had been given another chance. Another night. Another moment under the stars with the one person who had always made your heart beat to a rhythm no one else could.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, but as you said the word it sounded hollow even to your own ears as your hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart, each beat matching your own.

Harry’s smile was gentle, understanding, but there was nothing gentle about the heat in his eyes as they traveled over your features with an unmasked want that had you weak in the knees. “Then don’t. Just be here, with me, now.”

And it was something in the simplicity of his request that captivated you.

Just be here now.

Be in this moment under the streetlight. No promises of forever, no complicated discussions of logistics and geography. Just two people who had once meant something to each other, reconnecting in the soft glow of a summer night, those eight years of unspoken desires finally finding its voice.

Then Harry’s hand was cupping your cheek, and you didn’t pull away. When he leaned in, closing the distance between you with excruciating patience, you didn’t step back. Then his lips were meeting yours, soft and questioning at first, then increasingly urgent, and you didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, your body melting against his as if it had been designed specifically for this purpose.

To your surprise, the world didn’t stop. The stars didn’t align. There were no fireworks or swelling orchestral music. But there was heat, and there was longing and a sense of finally, an unstated promise that made your heart soar in your chest even as desire drew low in your stomach.

Harry kissed you with a restrained passion that spoke of years of wanting, his hand sliding from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he drew you closer, and your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms before sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him more firm against you, needy, wanting.

And as the kiss deepened, years of wondering and what-ifs seemed to pour into the connection between you, and then Harry’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him until every curve of your body was pressed against the solid planes of his, your heart skipping a beat when you could feel the evidence of his bulge, unmistakable against your lower body as you stood on the tips of your toes, and the knowledge that he wanted you as desperately as you wanted him sent a thrill through your entire body.

You gasped against his mouth, a breath of wonderment slipping past your lips, and Harry took advantage of your parted lips to deepen the kiss further, his tongue meeting yours in a dance as old as time yet somehow brand new, and your fingers tangled in his curls, holding him to you as if you were afraid he might disappear if you let go.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, the world seemed to have shifted on its axis. Harry rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts that matched your own, and fuck, when his eyes opened to meet yours, they were dark with a craving that made your knees want to buckle as his hands gripped your waist tight, Harry keeping your bodies pressed together in a way that left no doubt about the effect you had on him.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admitted with a small laugh that couldn’t quite disguise the tremor in his voice.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart too full for words, your body still humming with the aftershocks of every one of his touches. Every nerve ending felt electrified, hyper-aware of his closeness and the lingering pressure of his lips on yours. “Was it worth the wait?” You breathed.

The intensity of his gaze said it all, his smirk making your stomach flip, the sensation making real what words couldn’t yet define between you. It wasn’t just desire you saw there, but wonder, as if he too couldn’t quite believe what was happening. “More than you know,” he whispered pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The tender moment that stretched between you after was both fragile and perfect. You knew there were conversations to be had, realities to face. But for now, in this bubble of streetlight and summer air, you allowed yourself to simply feel—to exist in this unexpected gift of a second chance, and in one breath, your body felt both weightless and grounded, as if his kiss had both untethered you from reality and anchored you to this specific moment in time.

“What next?” you said eventually, though you made no move to step out of his embrace. Your hands still resting on his chest, feeling the steady pulse of his heart as your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt, still reluctant to let go, your own hunger rising.

Harry only smiled, shaking his head, his thumb tracing patterns on your lower back, each small circle sending waves of warmth radiating through your body. His eyes kept dropping to your lips as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to kiss them now. “I don’t know. But I don’t think I’m quite ready for this night to end.” 

And neither were you, you realized, his words sending a pulse between your legs. Despite that stupid voice of reason that had been so loud earlier, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him, to break the spell that had fallen over you both, and there was something almost intoxicating about being with him this way—as if you’d taken a sip of something you’d been thirsting for your entire life, and one hopeless drink wasn’t enough to quench the thirst.

“I’m not ready to end it here,” you agreed and were rewarded with a smile that made your heart jump in your chest as the heat of your own words sent a spark of thrill over your skin.

Then Harry kissed you again, briefer this time but no less affecting, his fingers threading through your hair as if he needed to hold you steady, and when he pulled back, his eyes were darker than before, and you knew by the pulse between your thighs that your own must mirror the same, a tender desire you could barely hold back. “Walk me home?” you breathed into the shell of his ear.

“Yeah?” He asked, his voice strained, the rasp falling on your ears enough to pull him closer, and so you did

“Please,” You exhaled into his neck as Harry took your hand in his as if it was the most natural thing in the world, though the slight tremor in his fingers gave him away.

“Okay,” He said, simple but loaded because you both knew what you wanted.

As you walked hand in hand through your old neighborhood, quiet and quaint, the weight of the future—of goodbye—hovered at the edges of your consciousness. But you pushed it away, choosing instead to live in this moment, to savor the feeling of Harry’s hand in yours, the lingering taste of his kiss, the way the night seemed full of possibility despite all the reasons it shouldn’t. Your body seemed keenly attuned to his presence beside you—the slight brush of his arm against yours as you walked, the way his thumb occasionally stroked across your knuckles, the earthy scent of him carried on the night breeze.

You knew that tomorrow would come with its own complications and questions. That tomorrow, you would have to face the reality of geography and separate lives. But tonight—tonight was yours, a gift you hadn’t expected but couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. And with each step, each shared glance, each small touch, you were falling deeper into something that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

When you reached the front of your parents’ house, you paused at the end of the driveway, turning to face Harry. The porch light cast a soft glow, not unlike the streetlight where you’d first kissed hours ago. But everything else had changed—the cautious hesitation replaced by a certainty, a hunger, a need that was almost tangible in the space between you.

“So this is it, huh?” Harry said. His voice was soft in the quiet night but with an undercurrent of something rougher, less controlled as his eyes scanned your surroundings.

“This is it,” you echoed, studying his face, suddenly shy despite everything that had passed between you. Your body seemed to vibrate with anticipation, with the awareness of what might happen next, what you wanted to happen next.

Harry stepped closer, his free hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek in a touch that was both tender and possessive. “Is this what you want?” He asked, his question quiet, vulnerable, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or regret.

“I want this. I want you,” you whispered, the words escaping before you could consider their implications, though you knew exactly what you were inviting, what you were asking for.

Harry’s eyes darkened, his pupils blooming as his gaze searched yours for confirmation, for permission, for certainty. “Are you sure?” The question was barely audible, his voice aching with want but checked by concern, by the need to know that this wasn’t just impulse or nostalgia driving your decisions.

In all reality, you weren’t sure of anything except the way your heart raced when he looked at you, the way his touch continued to make you feel both grounded and weightless, the overwhelming certainty that if you let him walk away now, you would regret it forever. “I’m sure that I’m not ready for tonight to end.” Your words were honest, filled with meaning, with consent, with the acknowledgment that whatever happened next, you were choosing it with clear eyes.

And It was enough because then Harry leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deeper, more pressing than the ones you had shared under the streetlight. This wasn’t the hesitant exploration of earlier—this was hunger unleashed, desire given permission to express itself, and as your arms wound around his neck, you drew him closer, his hands settled on your waist, holding you as if you might disappear if he let go. His body was solid against yours, all planes and angles where you were curves, and the contrast had your head spinning.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and dizzy with want, your bodies stayed pressed together in a way that left no doubt about where you both wanted this to go. Then you nodded toward the small guest house at the back of your parents’ property. You swear your heart was pounding so loud he could hear it, and your skin flushed with a combination of longing and the thrill of crossing a boundary you’d imagined a thousand times but never thought would become a reality. “I’m staying in the guest house. My parents renovated the old garage a few years ago.”

When Harry smiled, he looked relieved, his eyes full of anticipation with a promise that made your knees weak and your breath catch, and he brushed his lips against yours once more, a brief contact that somehow conveyed more desire than the deepest kiss. “Lead the way.

The guest house was small but private, separated from the main house by a garden that your mother had meticulously cultivated over the years. As you unlocked the door and led Harry inside, you felt a momentary flash of nervousness—not about what might happen, but about what it would mean.

But when Harry pulled you into his arms again, kissing you with a tenderness that made your heart ache, those concerns faded into the background. This wasn’t a decision you were making lightly, but it also wasn’t one you could bring yourself to regret. Not when he was looking at you with such unguarded hunger, his hands framing your face as if you were something to be cherished, adored.

“You’re trembling, Darling,” he whispered against your lips, his own hands not entirely steady as they moved to your waist.

“So are you,” you replied with a small smile, your fingers working on the buttons of his shirt with a haste that surprised you. You had imagined this moment countless times as a teenager—yet your teenage mind could never have comprehended the layered significance this now held. The reality of Harry’s skin beneath your fingertips, warm and real, surpassed any adolescent fantasy.

Harry’s laugh was soft, nervous. “I feel like I’ve been waiting a lifetime for this.” His hands moved carefully down your sides, each touch communicating reverence, his calm facade barely contained. “But if you want to stop—”

And there was no way you would stop him now, not with those strong hands on your body, and you silenced him with a kiss, deeper, more assertive than before. “I don’t want to stop.” The words came out breathier than intended, betraying the way your body was already responding to his proximity. “I’ve thought about this too many times to stop now.”

Your words seemed to trigger a visible shift in his eyes, the warmth now fading to heat, and his next kiss held none of the hesitation of before. It was hungry, almost desperate, his hands roaming your body with increasing certainty as you backed toward the small bed in the corner of the room. When your legs hit the edge, Harry pulled back slightly, his breathing ragged, and you stood there breathless, just as desperate, just as needy.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he murmured, his eyes taking in the sight of you in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”

Heat spread across your skin in waves, but there was no embarrassment in it—only the heady pleasure of being desired by the one person who had occupied your dreams for so long, and as your fingers finished with his buttons, your eyes moved to his chest. Then you pushed the shirt from his strong shoulders, revealing his body, and dammit his body, the body that had changed in the years since you had last seen him was enough to send you reeling—broader, more defined, hard, and sculpted now bearing an assortment of tattoos that told stories you wanted to learn.

“I want to know you,” you whispered, trailing your fingers down his chest, tracing over the dark lines inked into his soft skin, “The you that exists now.”

This made Harry smile, each touch tender as he helped you out of your dress, his movements deliberate but unhurried, as if he wanted to savor every second of this revelation. “We have all night. We have as long as our hearts desire.”

And then he was laying you back on the bed, following you down with careful weight as the years seemed to compress and expand between each shared breath—His smile bringing back the electric charge of those teenage years filled with longing, now concrete as Harry’s hands and mouth explored you with ease, with precision, with a fucking hunger that left you gasping, arching into every touch, as if you would die if you missed a single one.

“Harry,” you breathed, his name a plea, a prayer as his lips traveled across your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, and your hands tangled in his hair, greedy for more, holding him to you as if he might vanish in the blink of an eye, that maybe this was proving to be nothing more than another vivid daydream because you needed him, you needed his mouth on the places of your body that imagination could never convey.

But this was no dream. Harry was real—achingly, beautifully real—his skin against yours, his breath hot on your skin, his touch igniting every sensation that made you desperate, and when he whispered your name against your stomach, you felt it resonate through your entire body, a vibration that seemed to connect past and present.

“I used to imagine this,” you admitted out of nowhere, your face burning not just from the pleasure alone but from the vulnerability of the confession. “Back in high school. What it would be like to be with you.”

Harry looked up at you, his eyes soft with something deeper. “So did I.” and then his palm slid up your thigh, drawing patterns that made your breath catch. “But my imagination didn’t do you justice.”

As the exploration continued, you both took your time, both of your hands roaming one another, each of you discovering the other with a sense of curiosity that seemed to bloom with a growing urgency. There was a particular sweetness to it—the fulfillment of your longing held a thrill of something entirely new, and when Harry’s fingers finally found where you needed him most, the sensation was so intense you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out as his fingers moved in small circles.

“Is this okay?” he whispered against your ear, his touch gentle but sure.

“More than okay,” you moaned, your body already responding with an intensity that surprised you. It wasn’t just physical pleasure—though that was overwhelming in itself—but the weighted history behind every place Harry’s fingers seemed to possess, specifically that this was Harry, after all these years of wondering what might have been.

When he finally positioned himself above you, his weight supported on his forearms, there was a moment of perfect stillness—of recognition and anticipation. His eyes held yours, seeking final confirmation, and you answered by wrapping a hand around his hard length, guiding him to your entrance.

The first push of him entering you drew a sharp gasp from both your lips—a breathy sound that was filled with shock, pleasure, and something that ached like a homecoming, a devastation that entranced you both. Harry moved slowly, carefully, allowing your body to adjust to the intrusion, his mass becoming a pleasant surprise, and his eyes never left yours. The connection was so intense it almost hurt, your bodies were now a physical manifestation of everything unsaid between you both over the years.

“I never thought—” Harry started, his voice breaking as he sank deeper, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “You feel so—”

And as words failed you both, he began to move, finding a rhythm that spoke with both urgency and restraint. Amazing in the way your bodies seemed to remember each other despite never knowing this kind of intimacy, never like this, and you both fell into sync with an ease that defied explanation. Each thrust, each retreat, built upon the last, creating a rising tide of sensation that threatened to overwhelm you.

The teenage fantasy of Harry paled in comparison to the reality—the weight of him above you, the scent of his skin, the way his breath hitched when you moved just the right way. Your hands were needy as they explored the expanse of his back, feeling the hard muscles that flexed and strained with each movement, and you forced yourself to catalog the details so that you never forgot.

Forgot this very moment.

Forgot him because this was everything.

As the pleasure built, coiling tighter in your core, your movements became less coordinated, more desperate. Harry’s pace increased in response, his control visibly slipping as he whispered your name like a mantra, like salvation. When his hand slipped between your bodies, finding the center of your pleasure with unerring accuracy, the first wave hit you with an unexpected force that had you calling out.

“Holy fuck, Harry,” you gasped, your body arching beneath him as pleasure radiated outward from deep in your belly, more intense than anything you had ever experienced before. Raw and primal, a hard release that had your whole body shaking, and you wrapped your legs around him tighter as your eyes met his.

The sight of your release seemed to trigger his own, his rhythm faltering as he buried his face in your neck, his body shuddering against yours, and for a moment, you were perfectly aligned, perfectly in sync, two pieces of a puzzle finally finding their match after years of separation.

Afterward, as your breathing slowed and your heart rates gradually returned to normal, Harry gathered you against him, his arms secure around your waist, your head finding a perfect resting place on his chest, and you listened to his heart slow as silence swept into something more profound than the act of sex alone, something filled with the understood emotions that neither one of you were quite ready to articulate.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare shoulder as you listened to the steady beat of his heart. You knew there would be time for words later, for discussing what this meant, for facing the reality of separate lives and geographical distance. But for now, in this cocoon of warmth and intimacy, you allowed yourself to acknowledge the truth you’d been fighting all night: you were falling for him. Again. Still. Despite every rational argument against it.

And judging by the way Harry held onto you, as if you were something precious he’d found after years of searching. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t falling alone. In the quiet darkness, with the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, casting silver patterns across tangled sheets, you lay there realizing that perhaps it didn’t matter if this was temporary—That you both would leave or if this was something that would have to find a way to stretch across oceans and time zones. What mattered was this perfect alignment of two people who had spent years orbiting each other and finally colliding at the exact right moment.

If time had taught you anything, it was that forever was never guaranteed. But some moments carved themselves so deeply into your soul that they altered who you were, became part of your molecular structure. This—Harry’s heartbeat beneath your ear, his warmth surrounding you, the weight of eight years of wondering finally lifted—this would remain, regardless of what tomorrow brought. For the first time in your adult life, you felt the strange peace of absolute presence, of being exactly where you were meant to be, even if just for now. And somehow, that seemed enough—more than enough. It seemed like everything.

And as Harry’s slow breaths began to lull you to sleep, one last thought lingered in your mind: tomorrow will come with its realities and choices, but for tonight, this moment was infinite, and for the first time in a long time, the future felt like a beginning rather than an end because, in Harry’s arms, you realized some connections transcend time and distance, existing in a place beyond tomorrow’s reach, and you in his arms was all the proof you needed.

A/N: You guys! Sorry, I haven't been very present! I've been dying to finish this one. Hope you love it!

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73

@haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden

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[justacynicalromantic]

Borys Humenyuk🇺🇦 Ukrainian writer, poet, soldier. Member of the National Writers' Union of Ukraine since 2006. His works are not in the Project Nedopysani because he has been MIA since Dec. 2022.

Read his "Zapovit" ("Last Will") that I translated into English:

Today, we dig the earth again,

This hateful Donetsk earth,

This hardened, unyielding earth.

We press against it,

We hide inside it,

Still alive.

We shelter behind the earth,

Sit quietly in it,

Like little children behind their mother’s back.

We hear its heart beating,

Its weary breath.

We are warm and safe,

Still alive.

Tomorrow, we will be dead.

Many of us, maybe all.

Do not take us from the earth,

Do not tear us from our mother.

Do not collect our remains from the battlefield,

Do not try to piece us back together.

And—please—we beg you,

No crosses, no memorials, no stone plaques.

We do not need them.

They are not for us—they are for you,

The grand monuments you build in our name.

Do not carve our names anywhere.

Simply remember:

On this field,

In this earth,

Lie Ukrainian soldiers—

And that is all.

Do not return us to our parents.

We do not want them to see us like this.

Let them remember us as children,

As mischievous boys

With slingshots and bruised knees,

With bad grades in school,

With pockets full of apples from a neighbor’s tree.

Let them hope we will come home one day,

That somewhere, somehow, we still exist.

Do not return us to our wives.

Let them remember us as handsome men,

The ones many girls liked,

But who belonged to them alone.

Let them remember our burning lips,

Our hot breath,

Our passionate embraces.

Let them not touch our cold foreheads,

Our frozen lips.

Do not return us to our children.

Let them remember our warm eyes,

Our warm smiles,

Our warm hands.

Let their trembling lips never touch

Our lifeless fingers.

Here, in these trenches,

Which today are our shelter

And tomorrow will be our graves—

Bury us.

No farewell speeches.

In the silence after battle,

They always seem misplaced,

Like shaking a fallen soldier

And begging him to rise.

No requiems.

We already know where our resting place will be.

Just cover us with earth,

And—go.

It would be good if a field grew there,

If the rye swayed in the wind,

If a lark sang in the sky,

And the sky—

So much sky—

Can you imagine what kind of bread will grow

On a field where soldiers lie?!

(In our memory, eat the bread from the fields

Where we fell.)

It would be good if there were meadows,

With many, many flowers,

A bee over every bloom.

If in the evening, lovers came,

Weaving flower crowns,

Making love until dawn.

If during the day, young parents

Came with their children.

(Do not stop the children from coming to us.)

But that will be tomorrow.

Today, we are still digging the earth,

This dear Ukrainian earth,

This sweet, gentle earth,

Writing together, with our entrenching tools,

On its body—

The last poem of Ukrainian literature.

Still alive.

(Project Nedopysani - i.e. Project Unfinished Writing Works - is a volunteer project that collects works of Ukrainian writers and poets that died in Russia's war against Ukraine. Most of those writers have not yet been recognized or even published anything yet. So they become known only after they are KIA - when their relatives or comrades pass their writing notes to volunteers who run the Project Nedopysani. The Project was created to forestall something that has been happening for centuries when Russians attacked Ukrainian lands before, murdering the indigenous population and burning and destroying all works in Ukrainian language - thousands of Ukrainian artists and writers and their works lost to history)

Listen to the work in Ukrainian, read by Borys Humenyuk:

[luvmahae]

masterlist — previous— next!

the chaos outside of the student union was peak college energy— music blasting from someone’s speaker, groups of students handing out fliers, and shouts about upcoming events echoing through the crowd.

you moved through the crowd with ease, holding onto your iced matcha latte like a lifeline. you weren’t in the mood for small talk or overly eager recruitment pitches because the whole idea of greek life wasn’t for you. 

and then it happened.

you turned a corner too quickly and collided with someone, sending a stack of fliers fluttering to the ground like confetti.

“oh my god— i’m so sorry!” you blurt out, already crouching down to help. your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you scramble to pick up the mess.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says, his voice calm but slightly rushed.

you both kneel on the ground, grabbing at the scattered fliers. your fingers brush against his as you reach for the same one, and you glance up. it’s a quick look, just long enough to notice the varsity jacket he’s wearing. the letters ΝΧΘ are boldly embroidered on the right side of his chest, and just beneath them, his name is stitched in smaller, cleaner lettering. lee haechan #231

your stomach twists. that name—it’s too familiar. your heart skips as you stare at him, the pieces clicking together in your mind. the summer festival. the hookup. the blue basketball jersey.

“haechan?” you said, the name tumbling out before you could think twice.

he freezes, the last of the fliers in his hand. slowly, he looks up, and his eyes meet yours. for a second, there’s confusion on his face, like he’s trying to place you. then it happens—the smirk. that cocky, teasing smirk you’d recognize anywhere.

“hey... you!” he says, his tone overly enthusiastic, the kind you use when you’re covering something up.

your brows knit together. you? that’s what he’s going with? unbelievable. “you don’t remember me, do you?” you ask, tilting your head as you stand up.

“what? of course i do!” he says quickly, standing too. “it’s… uh…” he gestures vaguely as if your name might magically appear out of thin air. “it’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”

you cross your arms over your chest, arching a brow. “a minute? edc was like 3 months ago. i wouldn’t expect you to remember me anyway.”

that throws him off. he blinks, his grin faltering just slightly. “of course i remember you from john summit’s set,” he says, his voice almost too smooth. “i mean, to be fair, we didn’t really do much… talking… if you know what i mean.” his eyes flicker nervously, but the way he says it with that same teasing grin feels like he’s trying to cover up something.

you raise an eyebrow, leaning in just a little. “oh, i know exactly what you mean,” you reply, voice laced with amusement. you can feel the heat of that memory flooding back. the way you both were so lost in each other, high off the music and the moment, eyes locked like you were in some kind of trance.

haechan shifts uncomfortably, but his grin stays. “yeah…i mean, who could forget that?” he says quickly, like he’s trying to recover, but you can see the slight nervousness in his eyes.

you smirk, crossing your arms over your chest, your gaze sharp and knowing. you tilt your head slightly, letting the silence stretch for just a beat before you utter, “uh-huh. so what’s my name then?”

he laughs, though it’s a bit strained now. “i swear, you’re making me sound like a total jerk right now.”

you raise an eyebrow, your smile turning dry and knowing. “not at all,” you reply, your voice flat but laced with playful sarcasm. the smile at the edges of your lips teases him, just enough to keep him on his toes.

he lets out a soft laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “alright, alright. i’m definitely not the best at remembering names, but i swear, i remember you.”

you raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “do you now?”

he gives you that familiar, slightly cocky grin, though there’s a flicker of something else behind it. “yeah, absolutely. just, uh, give me a hint?”

you sigh, rolling your eyes. "hmm, maybe if you can get that little brain of yours to work, you’ll figure it out. well anyways, i’ll see you around maybe.”

you give him a small, playful wave before turning on your heel and walking away, leaving haechan standing there, completely caught off guard. his eyes follow you for a moment, brows furrowed, trying to process what just happened. he opens his mouth as if to say something, but no words come out. it’s almost like you’ve thrown him off his usual game, and for once, he’s left without a comeback.

you walk off with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, feeling a mix of amusement and satisfaction. you can almost hear him still trying to piece together your name, the frustration written all over his face.

as you round the corner, you glance back once, just to see him standing there, still a little lost in thought, probably overthinking the whole thing. you shake your head, trying to hold back a laugh. you’ll let him stew on it for a while.

wc: 880 :D

notes: did yall expect me to write this chapter or nah... bc surprise! YIPEE!!! its only chapter 3 too... anyways finally miss y/n and haechan meet! highly suggest listening to mr. useless in the playlist while u read this bc the song literally represents the situation between those two deadass

taglist: @4amirwin @wonbin-truther @hearts4hee @jungaji @sundamariis @urlovelily @n0hyuck @dudekiss3r @injunnie-lemon @luvvhaechan @douqhnxtss @tynlvr @blamingontheboogie @haesluvr @hcluvie @pinknjm @nanaxwi @catpjimin @slayhaechan @awktwurtle @myfavoritedelusion @stqrgr7 @t-102 @jianreadsaus @haechanhues @gomdoleemyson @hyuckmoon @haechology @mystverse @hyuckies18

[sunderwight]

Thinking about an SVSSS AU where, after Shen Qingqiu self-destructs, Luo Binghe does successfully resurrect his dead shizun.

But it's the wrong shizun.

Shen Jiu doesn't remember anything after his actual death, so the last thing he knew, Luo Binghe was his much-loathed teenage disciple, Liu Qingge hated his guts, and his reputation was maybe not the best in the cultivation world but he certainly hadn't been outed as a mass-murderer or embroiled in some twisted, perceived love affair with his least liked student, who it turns out is also some kind of over-powered demon. He doesn't adjust well to the developments that occurred while he was out of operation.

Meanwhile Luo Binghe at first thinks it's reverse amnesia or something, that whatever memories SQQ lost before have been regained, but also that he's lost other memories in the meanwhile. Struggles a bit with the idea that he apparently became the new traumatic thing that his shizun wanted to forget. And then he starts to think that it might be worse than that, and that his shizun has Come Back Wrong, because he does know what Shen "Qingqiu" is like when he's stressed out and furious and struggling, and it's still not like this vitriolic snake of a man he's somehow ended up with.

Eventually, Luo Binghe pieces together that something else must have happened when his shizun qi deviated all those years ago. That this soul is just flat-out not his shizun's soul, but it is also clearly Shen Qingqiu's, which means that Luo Binghe's actual shizun was some kind of spirit that took possession of Shen Qingqiu's body for a while. This is intensely distressing news, although not for any of the normal reasons -- how can he resurrect Shizun if he can't even use this body to call back his soul?!

Meanwhile Mushroom Shen Yuan is trying (and failing) to talk himself out of going to just like, check on Binghe. Quickly. Before he finalizes his whole disappearing-into-the-horizon thing. Which he is definitely absolutely going to do. Once he's just, y'know, sure that Binghe is okay now.

[disneyprincemuke]

too young to know it gets better * fem!driver

there has to be someone out there that can snap her out of it, right?

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver

notes: HI AFTER THIS THERE's one left and i promise that's not AS angsty as this one and i'm thinking of adding one or two more bonus chapters?? lolsie but idk we'll see!

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

rockster has disconnected.

that’s the notification that had brought logan and oscar together some random afternoon. they stand in the confinements of the elevator in silence, not a single word uttered since they’d met one another in the lobby after sending a simple text out.

but they know what they’re here for.

logan hadn’t moved that fast in concern for her, dating back 3 years ago when mick had supposedly texted him about marrying his crush in vegas. he had sprinted 2 blocks from his apartment building to hers in the span of a couple of minutes.

and oscar had been running errands with lily prior to getting the notification. when she’d noticed her boyfriend staring down at his phone with distress all over his face, she’d immediately pushed him towards the exits to attend to the girl. she’s also a close friend, so she notices.

if you asked oscar, he’s been worried for months. but with her tendency to keep rejecting his initiation for small talk, it’s difficult to try and find the words to try and pry a confession out of her. but this disconnection from an application they’ve had for years raises red flags that they didn’t even know were possible.

“we’re not overreacting, right?” oscar mutters as they step out of the elevator at her floor.

logan nods, lips pressed into a thin line as he counts the steps he takes down the familiar hallway. “she dropped kidnapper off at my apartment like a week and a half ago. i haven’t heard from her since.”

oscar turns to him. “you’ve heard from her?”

“barely,” logan grimaces with a shake of his head, eyes trained on the hallway. “i invited her in for snacks but she declined and left immediately.”

“i haven’t seen or heard from her since the summer break began.”

“she hasn’t been picking up my calls either.” he turns to oscar. “that’s weird, right?”

logan almost wants to laugh at their conversation. if he didn’t consider that their best friend was the person at stake, he would have laughed the loudest he’s ever. they simply sounded like they were answering one another for copium in hopes that their best friend hasn’t lost her mind just yet.

when he unlocks the door to her apartment, they’re taken aback by the sight they’re immediately greeted with. and for logan, it’s whiplash — he’s only ever had fond memories of this apartment. to find it absolutely thrashed almost breaks his heart a little bit.

in his mind, he can hear the girl always scolding him for being messy when they were living together.

the curtains, typically letting the sun seep into the room, are drawn in to block the light out. the floor is littered with her things and there’s a chair toppled over on the ground. a picture frame on the entertainment system beneath the tv is faced down against the counter and if logan can recall perfectly, it’s their picture from when they were kids.

“what happened in here?” oscar mutters, stepping around the items of stray pieces of clothing on the ground. “should we call someone? do you think someone broke into her apartment?”

“let me call her and see if she’s alright,” logan sighs, fishing for his phone in his back pocket.

he hadn’t expected the situation to be so concerning. have they really let her run rampant on her own all this time?

he dials her number, just about to press the call button when a lock clicks and a door opens.

the girl, albeit slightly unrecognisable at first, steps out of her bedroom. she’s still in her pyjamas, cheeks wet and eyes puffy with her hair in a messy ponytail talling apart on her shoulder.

“who- rocky?”

she flinches back at the voice, catching her off-guard. she sighs tiredly as she pushes her hair out of her face, wiping her cheeks dry on the sleeve of her pyjamas. “what are you guys doing here”

“what are we- when did you get back?” logan tilts his head in confusion. he gestures towards the mess around them, “and what happened? have you been crying?”

she sighs again, eyes fluttering as she turns to look away from them. “you guys should really go. it’s not a good time right now,” she says softly, gesturing them towards the front door of her apartment.

“we can stay and help you clean everything up,” oscar mutters, mirror logan’s stare at the ground, “we’re just curious. you don’t typically let your apartment get this messy.”

“mate,” another sigh comes with her pinching the bridge of her nose, “it’s really not a good time right now.”

oscar’s head snaps up. “are you avoiding us?”

she stares at him tiredly. “what? no, it’s just-”

“you are, aren’t you?” oscar cuts her off, feeling an overwhelming wave of frustration takes over him. months of what feels like a one-sided friendship finally catches up to him.

every single rejection of plans reminds him how neglected their friendship has been, every time she’s ‘forgotten’ to look for an ice cream parlour makes his blood boil. it is such a one-sided friendship as of late and it feels like she’s no longer honouring the years of friendship they have.

“but why? did we do something? did we say something to upset you?”

she slouches her shoulders. she takes a deep breath to recompose herself. “please just go,” she croaks out, feeling a knot in her throat at the realisation of where this entire conversation might be heading. “not now.”

“but what is it? is it us?” oscar frowns. “at least tell us before you start ignoring us.”

she clenches her jaw as her patience runs thin. and she tries to hold on to the last string of patience she has. all these past months, she’s tried her damnest not to be this way to anyone that’s involved in racing.

just to save some face, to show that she’s not completely lost her mind. apart from the fact that they’re all practically colleagues, they’re also her friends.

but as oscar continues to edge her on for an explanation for her behaviour, it’s increasingly getting more difficult to keep her outbust at bay.

“rocky,” oscar calls out to grab her attention. “what is it? i’m so tired of you beating around the bush; if we did something to upset you, speak up. it’s not fair — what you’re doing. you’re cancelling plans, you’re bailing, you’re leaving us hanging… we’ve known each other half of our lives. you can’t just do this.”

logan shifts uncomfortable where he stands. “do you hate us?”

she tries to stop herself, really. but she should be allowed one outburst in her life.

“yes, yes, i actually do!” she admits, venom lacing her words as she starts to explain herself. “it sucks. i’m so fucking jealous of all of you right now. i’ve tried to feel happy for you guys but honestly?” a dry laugh passes her lips, tears falling out of her eyes. “i resent all of the success you’ve found this year.

because you’re doing great and i’m not. it’s annoying because i should be doing great too. because between every single one of us, no one’s worked as hard as i have to get to where i am today. you’re my best friends but i can’t get myself to be happy for you and i hate myself even more for it.”

oscar blinks blankly at her. her chest heaves as she finishes speaking, fists clenched by her side as she starts to cry a little harder.

she’s swallowed down every single drop of resentment she feels towards her friends, all doing well while she’d sunk deeper into the trenches of her own demise.

speaking ill of them that one time they achieved a podium without her haunted her for weeks on end. she couldn’t get herself to speak to them like she hadn’t spent 20 minutes speaking behind their backs about how much she hates that they’re on podiums without her.

“it was easier to avoid you than say things i can’t say.”

it was truly one of the last times she spend with them; the guilt of speaking on them ate her up. she’s apologise out of the blue and they’d have no idea what she was talking about.

admitting it now feels like their friendship would truly never be the same. like this is the one fight that’s been waiting to happen after their years of friendship and would lead to her eventual loneliness.

but she doesn’t expect oscar to start laughing. “are you fucking stupid?”

“excuse me, what?” she scoffs, throwing her head back slightly.

logan sighs next to socar. “come on, don’t be like that. she’s clearly having a hard time right now,” he mutters, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

oscar turns to logan, pointing a hand over to where the girl stand by her bedroom door. “really, logan? you don’t think she’s being so mind-numbingly stupid right now?” he glances at her then immediately looks away. “she’s so insensitive right now. the last thing she should have done is isolate herself but she’s gone ahead and done exactly that.”

oscar huffs and turns back to her with a frown. “you would think that she would fall back on the people who understand her the most. and you still don’t believe she’s being stupid?”

logan sighs again. “oscar.”

“you don’t fucking get it!” she screams.

“we’re the ones who don’t get it? out of everyone you know, we’re the 2 people who understand the most!”

he has a point, she starts to think. but it’s not the same — they’re not the same. their predicaments are different.

they never had to go through and be on the receiving end of words that tried to tear her down as she grew up.

“no, you don’t!” she says with slight amusement. “you’re oscar piastri. everyone’s kissed the ground you’ve walked on; you came into the sport and everyone’s been acting like you’re a prodigy changing the course of the sport. you don’t know what it’s like to be this way!”

“and you thought that pushing away every single person who wants to help you is the solution to your problems?” oscar snorts. then it hits him. “is that why i haven’t seen matt around lately? you drove him away? finally cracked, didn’t he?”

“you don’t know the half of it,” she scoffs. there’s no need for oscar to remind her of the cardinal sin she’d acted upon to drive matt away.

she lives with the repercussions of it every single day: coming back to an empty apartment. just an apartment, a shell of what used to feel like home.

“all of this over a bad couple races?” oscar rolls his eyes and another mean scoff passes his lips. he was unaware how bad it had gotten for her. “how immature. there’s more to fucking life than your position in f1.”

she sucks in a deep breath. “you’ll never understand.”

“oh, i do,” oscar points out with a small grin. “i grew up with you, rocky, i know how you operate. you break down the minute you’re not the best at something. you get scared and hide away when you don’t feel like you’re on the top of your game.”

“what do you know about what i feel?” she tilts her head with a small smile. “that’s so fucking pretentious of you to say so, oscar.”

“you’ve already made it to the top.” he picks his feet up and starts to walk over to her, shoving away logan’s hand that tries to stop him from threading any further. “it’s unnecessary that you’re still this hard on yourself. you’ve proved everyone wrong by making it this far. there are people on your side,” he jabs a finger into her shoulder and she stumbles back, “there are people who miss you- we miss you!

“do you even realise how lucky you have it right now? you’ve got sebastian helping to push your narrative because he believes in you. do you think everyone’s got that luxury?” he points back at logan. “do you think he had that luxury fight for his life in this sport? did that even cross your mind or are you just so far into your head?”

“oscar,” logan repeats. oscar glances back at logan who has his lips pressed into a thin line, unamused by the scenario he’s choosing to bring up. “don’t even go there.”

but oscar ignores him. oscar turns back to the younger girl and grabs her shoulders, squeezing them firmly as he draws a soft sob from her.

“i thought that because you weren’t entirely alone, it was okay that we take a step back and stopped meddling with your life. i thought you were going to be fine; i thought you knew ho to handle yourself and continue to keep your feet on the ground.”

she shakes her head, bottom lip pouted out. “you don’t-”

“i don’t understand?” oscar scoffs. “how far into your head have you gone to push yourself into a corner? do you realise that you’re in the trenches because you put yourself in there? have you looked in the mirror and actually,” oscar shakes her, “looked at yourself?”

and it seems that something finally clicked in her head. she stares blankly up at him, tears finally running down her cheeks. her chest heaves with constant sobs as she no longer can find the words in her head to prove her point.

“okay, that’s enough,” logan mutters, yanking oscar away from the girl. he shoves the younger boy towards the kitchen. “go and get some air and drink some water — you’re scaring her.”

oscar sniffles, wiping his eyes and stumbles towards the kitchen. he spares her one last glare before turning his back on her. “whatever.”

logan can only sigh when he looks down her head. she’s got her head in her hands as she sobs. she lifts her eyes to look up at him and scoffs. “what? do you have something to say to me? about how deranged i’ve gotten?”

“i don’t know what got into you to think we wouldn’t understand how you were feeling,” he says softly, tears flooding his eyes.

it’s difficult to watch someone you think is so strong be half the person you watched her grow into. he pulls her into his arms, squeezing her into a tight hug and rests his chin on her head.

“i’m sorry,” she cries in staggered breaths into his chest. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know. i didn’t-”

“it’s okay,” he mutters, squeezing her tighter. “we’re here.” he pulls away slightly and cups her cheeks, wiping her tears away with a small grin. “we’ve got you, okay? we’re here now.”

she nods through her tears, “okay.”

“we’ve got you, i promise,” logan hums, pulling her in again. he sways gently as he feels her sobs slowly dying out. “you’ll be okay.”

logan turns around at the sound of things shuffling about. oscar has a trash bag in his hand, picking up empty bottles on the ground and throwing them into the bag silently. she pulls her head back and watches oscar slowly navigate her littered apartment.

sensing their stares, oscar glances over his shoulder. “are you going to help me or are you just going to let me do this by myself?”

she glances up at logan with eyebrows raised and in return, he shrugs with a small smile.

for the next 2 hours, they clean up her apartment in silence. no music, not an utter of another word, just a heavy silence pushing down on their shoulders as they shift about her apartment like a well-oiled machine.

oscar throws his dirty piece of tissue into the bin right by the coffee table and sighs, leaning back into the couch he’s sat on. he’s in a single seater while logan and her share the bigger couch.

her apartment finally looks the way they all remember it. pristine with all her things neatly slotted into their respective slots.

oscar hasn’t spoken to her much since he’d gotten the bright idea to start helping her clean the apartment for her. he’d briefly asked her if she wanted pizza for dinner, to which she simply shrugged and said okay, then asked which toppings she wanted. then they returned to their silence.

he picks up her can of pepsi, popping it open before extending his hand over to her. she turns stiffly and looks at his offer with a blank stare. “oh, thank you.”

she takes it into her hands and glances over at oscar who turns away from her immediately to grab logan’s drink next. “i’m sorry,” she says first, just barely above a whisper. her head is dropped slightly, eyes trained on the slicer of pizza in her hands.

truthfully, she’s not very sure how to apologise for her behaviour. while she’s broken down over things said about her and her progress is a sport that barely had a spot for her, it’s never gotten this bad.

she hadn’t even realised that they still cared with their own lives now.

“no, i’m sorry,” logan says immediately, turning his head to her. “that we didn’t foster an environment where you felt like you could come to use and be honest about how you’re really feeling. you did it for me all the time when we first started out and i’m sorry i couldn’t do the same for you.”

“it’s not even your fault,” she sighs shakily. “i pushed away everyone who tried to extend their hands out to me to help. oscar’s right.”

oscar sighs audibly, sinking into his seat. he turns his head to look at her and purses is lips. “i’m sorry i called you stupid,” oscar says, “we grew up together… i just thought that if you didn’t feel right, we’d still be the people you know you don’t have to put up a facade with. be brutally, disgustingly and painfully honest with.”

“i really didn’t wanna worry anybody,” she frowns. “you have your own lives now, you know? i thought i could handle it on my own.”

“don’t even say that,” oscar turns to her with furrowed eyebrows, “you’re practically my little sister — i’ve driven you to the hospital after you writhed in pain from dislocating your shoulder playing volleyball. i’ve beaten up guys from school for you so of course you’ll always have a place in our lives.”

“i didn’t want you to know that i was a sore loser,” she shrugs with a small grin. she gestures towards logan. “he took our first 2 years in the sport so gracefully. it was embarrassing that i couldn’t do the same when it was my turn.”

“what?” logan scoffs. “you seriously think i wasn’t jealous seeing you guys being glorified by everyone? i felt like shit watching you guys get accepted in the sport with open arms and make new friends without me.”

he gives her a knowing stare when she turns her head to look at him. “i lvoe you, but i seriously despised you so much for being better than me at everything. i felt like the smallest man who’s ever lived when i was next to you. and dude… we were always together.”

she chews on the inside of her cheek. “i didn’t know that… i’m sorry…”

“but at the end of the day, you were always there for me,” logan frowns, poking her arm gently. “i’m sorry i couldn’t give you the same level of comfort to not spiral this bad. the only reason i hadn’t was because you were there for me all the time.”

“well i’m sorry that i was so mean to you,” oscar sighs. “but you know you needed it, right?”

“i know,” she shrugs, “thanks.”

“i don’t wanna be the one to bring it up, though,” logan hums as he reaches forward for another slice, “but what happened with matt?”

she chuckles with a soft snort. she lifts her head and puffs her cheeks out. “i wasn’t very nice to him when everything was falling apart,” tears flood her eyes, “he called for a break. but honestly, i think he wants to break up with me.”

logan raises an eyebrow. “he asked for a break, didn’t he? that’s not a breakup, mate.”

“you weren’t there. i wouldn’t want to be with me either if i had to endure what he went through with me,” she admits with a sigh. she wipes her tears away from her eyes and smiles slightly. “i think he’s just trying to soften the blow.”

oscar laughs. he laughs the loudest and heartiest he’s ever since he’d bolted from lily while they were running errands together. “do you seriously think that?”

she blinks at oscar. “i thought we were done being mean to me, mate.”

“we are!” oscar beams, forcing himself to falter with his laughter. “i’m sorry, i’m not trying to make you feel worse. but do you seriously think that matt — the guy who’s in your garage every single weekend, literally comes into the paddocks with ice cream for your entire team, texts logan and i to ask about things to surprise you with — wants to seriously break up with you?”

“well, you weren’t there,” she explains with a frown. “well, you were, once when i was crying in the paddocks. but i was so mean to him.”

“but a break isn’t a breakup,” oscar explains as he points at her knowingly. “you were arguably at your worst, i doubt that he wants to leave you when your mental was that bad. it happens, you know?”

“if he didn’t want to be with you, he would have broken up with you instead of asking for a break,” logan sighs, patting her on the shoulder. “just approach him.”

“i don’t know how to,” she admits, sliding down the couch to lie down slightly. “there’s no gesture big enough to makeup for the things i said… the way i treated him…”

“say you’re sorry,” oscar says with a small grin and a nod. “start there and i’m sure you guys can work it out from there, you know?”

“i’ll try.”

“okay, enough with this,” logan throws his head back with a grunt. “let’s go karting!” he stands up and smiles at her widely. “you sound like you need your edge back. i’ll even let you win this time.”

she scoffs, “as if i’d ever lose to you in equal machinery!”

“aw, she’s back! she’s fighting back now!” oscar cheers, hopping up as he claps his hands. “come on! then let’s get ice cream where we always get it! i haven’t been there in forever.”

“okay, okay!” she laughs, watching the 2 of them jump to their feet and start to clear out her table. she feels a warmth in her chest watching them in her living room. “just let me shower, okay? we kinda cleaned a lot tonight. i won’t take less than 15 minutes, i promise!”

there’s a chorus of heavy sighs and arms thrown in the air. “we might as well cancel karting.”

“but you take forever to get ready!” oscar jokes with a frown. “if you pass 15 minutes, you’re paying for ice cream.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @c-losur3 @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @green-thots @tinyhrry @iwilleatyourgod @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[pbaz7]

It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 5

AN: I’m trying to write consistent enough so I can publish at least once a day. Can you guys leave live reactions and comments so I know what people like/don’t like and which direction I should go!

TW: Verbal abuse, mention of death

Word Count: 3.3k

The hum of conversation filled the athletic lunchroom as different teams gathered around tables, laughing and sharing stories. Paige sat with KK and Ice, her tray of food untouched. Her gaze was distant, her thoughts completely occupied.

KK nudged Ice with a smirk. The two of them trying to figure out who’s going to break the ice with the senior. KK decides to speak, “Alright, Paige, spill it. What was up with you and Azzi the other night? The tension was crazy.”

Ice leaned in, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Yeah,it was impossible not to notice. Your eyes were glued to her all night.”

Paige’s cheeks flushed as she looked down at her tray. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled.

“Oh, come on,” KK chimed in, laughing. “You were raking her over like she was the last piece of dessert. And don’t even get me started on how you two just happened to disappear together.”

“And when you came back?” Ice added, raising an eyebrow. “Both of you looked flustered. Something definitely went down.”

Paige groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “You guys are impossible.”

KK grinned, leaning forward. “We’re just saying. It’s obvious there’s something there. So, what’s the deal?”

Paige sighed, her hands dropping to the table. “Look, what happened that night stays between me and Azzi. That’s all you’re getting.”

KK crossed her arms, giving Paige a mock glare. “Girl boo, keep your secrets. But you’re not fooling anyone. I know something happened”

For a moment, Paige stayed quiet. Then her expression softened, her voice dropping. “I really like her,” she admitted feeling vulnerable.

KK’s teasing demeanor shifted to curiosity. “Like, really like her?”

Paige hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah... maybe even something more.” Her eyes grew distant as her thoughts drifted to Azzi, her best friend for years. Memories flooded in—late-night talks, shared victories, moments where Azzi’s laughter had been the only thing to pull her out of a funk. It all swirled together, making her chest ache in the best way.

KK and Ice exchanged a look, their teasing forgotten.

“Wow,” Ice said softly. “That’s serious. So why haven’t you made a move?”

Paige sighed again, leaning back. “Azzi and I talked about it. We’re waiting until I can break things off with Jess. She’ll be back soon, and I owe her that conversation first.”

KK frowned. “That’s... responsible, I guess. But it sounds rough.”

“You have no idea,” Paige said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Azzi’s intoxicating. When we’re together, it’s like nothing else matters. But I want to do this right. Azzi deserves it”

Ice reached over, squeezing Paige’s arm, surprisingly being serious for once. “You’re doing the right thing. It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it.”

KK nodded. “Yeah. We’re here for you, P Boogers. And honestly? We’re rooting for you and Azzi. After all I need my parents together”

Paige chuckles slightly and smiles, her heart feeling a little lighter. “Thanks, guys. I just hope I don’t lose my mind in the meantime.”

KK chuckled. “You got this. But hey, if you ever need to vent, we’re all ears.”

…

The rhythmic thud of the basketball echoed through the empty gym as Paige sprinted from one end of the court to the other, her breathing heavy and her shirt clinging to her from sweat. Each shot she took landed clean, the ball swishing through the net. She wasn’t keeping score—she was too lost in her own head. Her emotions were a storm: guilt over Jess, frustration with herself, and that overwhelming pull toward Azzi that she could no longer ignore.

Her muscles burned, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The gym was the only place where she could let everything out without saying a word.

Azzi stepped through the gym doors quietly, her sharp eyes immediately spotting the familiar figure of Paige moving across the court. She lingered for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, watching Paige in her element. The 6'1 blonde was a force, her movements fluid, her focus intense.

Azzi smirked. There was something captivating about Paige when she was like this, pouring all her energy into the game. After a few moments of quiet admiration, Azzi decided to approach, her footsteps light as she sauntered across the gym floor. “You trying to make the hoop fall in love with you too?

Paige startled slightly, not fully processing what the younger girl said, stops mid-dribble throwing Azzi a half-smile. “Just needed to work some things out.” She bounced the ball once more before tucking it into her arm..

Azzi smirked, stepping closer. “Seems like you’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

Paige shrugged, her eyes dropping to the ball in her hands. “Yeah, well, sometimes it’s the only thing that works.”

Azzi’s eyes softened as she reached out, gently taking the ball from Paige and setting it aside. “Or maybe you just need a better distraction.”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You offering?”

“Always,” Azzi said, her voice playful but her expression serious. She took another step closer, her hand reaching out to brush against Paige’s. Without hesitation, she intertwined their fingers, giving Paige’s hand a gentle squeeze.

The gesture was simple but grounding, and Paige felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. She glanced down at their joined hands, her heart skipping a beat.

Azzi tilted her head, her voice softer now. “You’ve got this look on your face, like the world’s sitting on your shoulders. What’s going on, Paige?”

Paige hesitated, her thumb unconsciously brushing over Azzi’s knuckles. “It’s...complicated.”

Azzi smiled gently. “When isn’t it?” She leaned in slightly, pressing a soft kiss to Paige’s cheek—the same spot she has been gravitating towards lately when she wanted to offer comfort without pushing too far. “Take your time. I’m here.”

Paige closed her eyes briefly, the warmth of Azzi’s kiss lingering. “You make it sound so easy.”

Azzi chuckled. “That’s because you make everything else look so hard.” She squeezed Paige’s hand again, her thumb now drawing small circles against Paige’s skin. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now, you know.”

Paige let out a shaky breath, her gaze meeting Azzi’s. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“It’s a gift,” Azzi said, her smirk returning. “But seriously, Paige. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Paige looked at her for a long moment, the weight of Azzi’s words settling in her chest. “Thanks, Az,” she said softly.

Azzi smiled, leaning in just a bit closer. “Anytime, P.”

For a while, they stood there, the only sound the faint creak of the gym floor beneath their feet. Azzi finally broke the silence, her tone lighter. “You know, as much as I love seeing you like this—sweaty and intense—you really should take a break. Recharge that beautiful brain of yours.”

Paige chuckled, rolling her eyes. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nope,” Azzi said, grinning. “But that’s why you love me.”

Paige’s breath hitched slightly, but before she could respond, Azzi gave her hand one last squeeze and pulled away. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. I can tell you’re not done. Meet me later?”

Paige nodded, her voice quiet. “Yeah. Like always.”

Azzi winked before turning to leave, her presence lingering even after she disappeared through the gym doors. Paige stared after her, her hand still warm where Azzi’s fingers had been. She knew she wasn’t ready to say everything yet, but she also knew one thing for sure—she didn’t want to let Azzi go.

…

After spending a few more hours in the gym Paige opened the door to her room, expecting a quick stop before heading to Azzi’s, but the moment the light flicked on, her stomach dropped. Jess was sitting on Paige’s bed, her shoulders hunched and her eyes red from crying.

Paige froze for a moment, a knot forming in her throat. The sight was unexpected. “Jess?” Paige asked softly, trying to mask her discomfort.

Jess looked up at her, her gaze unfocused, but when she saw Paige, she stood up quickly. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know where else to go. I—I just… I didn’t want to be alone.”

Paige’s heart clenched, but she kept her voice calm. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Jess’s face crumpled again as she took a breath, barely able to hold it together. “My dad… he passed away,” she whispered. “I had to take a break before the funeral, and I just—everything’s falling apart, Paige. I don’t know who else to turn to. I really need you right now.”

Paige felt the weight of the words settle in her chest. She wanted to be there for Jess, truly, but at the same time, everything inside her screamed that she couldn't keep pretending anymore. She’d been doing that for months now, and the reality of what she’d been hiding, the feelings she’d been trying to push aside, were too strong to ignore.

“Jess, I’m so sorry,” Paige said, her voice soft, though the words felt foreign in her mouth. “But I don’t think that’s the best idea… I think we should break up.”

Jess blinked, her face going from shocked disbelief to something darker, a mixture of anger and pain. “You’re kidding, right?” she spat, standing up from the bed, pacing. “You’re doing this now? After everything?” Her voice trembled, but it didn’t take long for the hurt to turn into sharp, biting fury.

“I just—” Paige started, but Jess cut her off, her voice rising.

“You’re fucking heartless, you know that?” Jess’s words sliced through the room, and Paige flinched at the venom in her tone. “I come to you in my worst moment, and you just walk away?” Jess’s eyes were wild with rage now, the tears mixing with her anger. “I’m here grieving, and you’re just dumping me? You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t know how you’ve been with her? How you’ve been fucking her behind my back?”

Paige’s stomach churned. She never expected the words to sting this much even if they weren’t true, but Jess wasn’t done yet.

“You think I don’t see how you look at her?” Jess continued, stepping forward, her finger jabbing toward Paige in accusation. “You don’t even care about me, do you? You’re just some selfish bitch who thinks she can do whatever the hell she wants and leave me hanging when I need you most!”

Paige opened her mouth to speak, to explain herself, but Jess wasn’t finished.

“Don’t fucking act like you’re the ‘good person’ here,” Jess sneered. “You’re not. You’re just a slut who can’t keep her hands off her best friend. God, I knew I was always second choice to her, but this? You’ve been making excuses for months. You’re such a fucking coward, Paige. You’ve been playing me this whole time.”

Jess’s words hit harder than anything Paige had expected. She stood there, frozen, feeling the sting of each insult. But despite the tears welling up in her eyes, she didn’t fight back. She didn’t say anything. She just stood there stoically, taking it, letting Jess’s words sink in.

“You think you’re better than me, but you’re just as fucked up as the rest of us,” Jess spat, her chest heaving as she took in a breath. “Maybe worse. You’re a fucking liar, Paige. Always have been. Always will be.”

The room fell into an unbearable silence, except for the sound of Jess’s heavy breathing. Her face was twisted in a mix of grief and disgust, and Paige could barely look at her. She wanted to say something—anything—to make this stop, but all she could do was stand there, feeling the weight of what felt like the world on her shoulders.

Finally, Jess’s voice broke, though it was laced with rage. “You know what? Fine. You’re done with me. I get it. But don’t you dare pretend like you’re some fucking angel when you’re just as much of a mess as I am. Go to her. Go be with your precious little Azzi. I hope she’s worth it.”

Jess stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The sound of the door banging against the frame echoed through Paige’s mind like a hammer.

Paige stood there for a moment, her chest tightening, her heart pounding. The silence in the room was deafening. And then, as if on cue, the tears came.

They started slow at first, the first tear falling down her cheek like a steady drip. But once the dam broke, they came in a flood, her entire body shaking as she collapsed onto the bed.

She just wanted it to stop.

She buried her face in her hands, her body trembling as the weight of everything she’d been holding in finally spilled out. She had waited so long to try and do the right thing. She’d tried to be a good person for Jess, to make things work, she basically forced herself to be with Jess so she wouldn’t be embarrassed but it was never right. Not in the way she felt for Azzi. She had put herself in this impossible position, and now, after everything, she was being told how awful she was for trying to make things right.

Her breath hitched, and the sobs came harder. She slid down onto the bed, curling into herself, trying to catch her breath. Her head spun, and she just wished Azzi was here. She wanted to feel Azzi’s warmth, her gentle touch, something to remind her that she wasn’t as terrible as Jess had made her feel.

…

Azzi paced around her dorm room, glancing at the clock. Paige should’ve been here by now, she had texted Azzi that she was leaving the gym a while ago. Her stomach twisted, a strange unease settling in. She’d tried calling, but Paige didn’t pick up. A flash of worry crept up on her. After a few moments of hesitation, Azzi grabbed her phone and decided to checked Paige’s location—her friend was just a few doors down in her suite.

Something wasn’t right.

Azzi threw on her jacket and grabbed her things. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. As she started walking toward the door, her phone buzzed. It was Ice.

Azzi’s pulse spiked.

"Hey," Ice’s voice came through the phone, a little strained. "You need to come over. Paige... Paige has been crying. I don’t know what happened, but she won’t talk to me about it."

Azzi didn’t wait for another word. She practically ran out the door, not even bothering to grab her keys as she bolted for Paige’s suite.

When she arrived, Ice was standing by the door, giving her a strained smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "She’s in there," Ice said, stepping aside to let Azzi in. "I don’t know what’s going on, but... just be gentle with her, okay? She needs you Azzi."

Azzi nodded, her chest tight as she made her way to Paige’s room. The door was cracked open, and as she stepped inside, the soft glow of the neon lights illuminated the chaos of Paige’s room. Paige was curled up on her bed, her face streaked with tears. Her eyes were swollen and red, and her expression was a mix of exhaustion and devastation. The sight alone was enough to break Azzi’s heart into a thousand pieces.

"Paige," Azzi whispered, her voice cracking. She moved to the side of the bed, kneeling down beside the blonde, her heart shattering even more when Paige didn’t even look up at her. "Baby, what’s wrong?" Azzi whispered again, slipping into a familiar tone as she reached out to gently touch her friend’s cheek.

Paige didn’t answer immediately. She just sniffled, her body trembling as she fought to hold herself together. Azzi noticed this and, without hesitation, slipped under the blankets next to her. She eased herself into a comfortable position, pulling Paige gently against her chest. She wrapped her arms around the older girl and traced small hearts on her back with her fingers, just trying to offer comfort, to let Paige know she was there.

It didn’t take long for Paige to begin speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jess... Jess came to my room today," she began, her words broken. "Her dad... he passed away. And she was asking me to go with her for the funeral. But I... I couldn’t. I can’t be with her anymore, Azzi. I—" Paige hiccupped on a sob, her voice cracking. "She just... she called me horrible names. Told me I was a player basically, that I’ve been lying to her, that I’m a terrible person. And the worst part is... I kind of believe her. Pretending to like her was selfish."

Azzi’s jaw clenched as she listened. Her heart ached at hearing Paige speak so softly about something so painful. The thought of Jess saying those things to her, especially in such a vulnerable moment, made Azzi furious. She could feel the anger building in her chest, and if she ever saw Jess again, she’d be sure to make her know just how wrong she was.

But that wasn’t her priority now.

Azzi tightened her grip on Paige, lifting her chin to make their eyes meet. "Paige, stop. You are not a bad person. You never have been. It’s okay to put yourself first. And you’re not a player for having feelings for someone else. You deserve to be happy, to be with someone who makes you feel good—who makes you feel safe."

Paige’s lip quivered, and her eyes welled up again. "I don’t know anymore, Azzi. I just feel... I don’t know who I am."

"Yes, you do," Azzi reassured, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair away from Paige’s face. "You’re Paige. You’re strong, you’re kind, you’re brave. You’ve done everything you can for Jess because you care, but this? This is about you now. You deserve to be loved the way you’ve always dreamed of. And I can’t sit by and let you think you’re anything less than incredible."

After a while Paige finally let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly, the tension beginning to ease from her shoulders. Azzi’s words settled in her chest, a warmth spreading through her as she realized just how much she needed this—needed Azzi.

"I’m so sorry, Azzi. Thank you for dealing with me." Paige whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Azzi returned the smile, brushing her lips against Paige’s forehead in a soft kiss. "I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’ll always be here for you."

Paige let out a soft chuckle, the sound almost foreign to her after the storm of tears. "You’re such a tease," she murmured, her voice lightening.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her smirk playful. "What? I’m just showing you some love."

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. "Yeah, love, huh? I think you’re a little too comfortable with that, Azzi."

Azzi grinned. "Maybe I just can’t resist you."

Paige’s smile widened, her gaze softening as she leaned in slightly, her voice low and teasing. "Well, you’ll just have to try harder, then."

Azzi’s lips curled into a smirk, her eyes gleaming.

They spent the rest of the evening together, the weight of the world slowly lifting from Paige’s shoulders as they joked, flirted, and just spent time in each other’s company. Eventually, they settled in to watch a movie. Paige’s head rested against Azzi’s shoulder as the movie played, but it wasn’t long before she drifted off, a peaceful smile on her face. Azzi kissed her cheek gently, watching her sleep with a tenderness that filled her chest.

The movie continued playing, forgotten in the background, but neither of them cared. Paige was safe, and Azzi was right where she belonged—by her side.

[makingqueerhistory]

Spooky Queer Books

Since spooky season is starting, I thought I would share a list of my favourite queer books that are great for this time of year.

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It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror

Joe Vallese

Horror movies hold a complicated space in the hearts of the queer community: historically misogynist, and often homo- and transphobic, the genre has also been inadvertently feminist and open to subversive readings. Common tropes--such as the circumspect and resilient "final girl," body possession, costumed villains, secret identities, and things that lurk in the closet--spark moments of eerie familiarity and affective connection. Still, viewers often remain tasked with reading themselves into beloved films, seeking out characters and set pieces that speak to, mirror, and parallel the unique ways queerness encounters the world.It Came from the Closet features twenty-five essays by writers speaking to this relationship, through connections both empowering and oppressive. From Carmen Maria Machado on Jennifer's Body, Jude Ellison S. Doyle on In My Skin, Addie Tsai on Dead Ringers, and many more, these conversations convey the rich reciprocity between queerness and horror.

Into the Drowning Deep

Mira Grant

The ocean is home to many myths, But some are deadly... Seven years ago the Atargatis set off on a voyage to the Mariana Trench to film a mockumentary bringing to life ancient sea creatures of legend. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a hoax; others have called it a tragedy. Now a new crew has been assembled. But this time they're not out to entertain. Some seek to validate their life's work. Some seek the greatest hunt of all. Some seek the truth. But for the ambitious young scientist Victoria Stewart this is a voyage to uncover the fate of the sister she lost. Whatever the truth may be, it will only be found below the waves. But the secrets of the deep come with a price.

The Devouring Gray

C. L. Herman

After her sister's death, seventeen-year-old Violet Saunders finds herself dragged to Four Paths, New York. Violet may be a newcomer, but she soon learns her mother isn't: They belong to one of the revered founding families of the town, where stone bells hang above every doorway and danger lurks in the depths of the woods. Justin Hawthorne's bloodline has protected Four Paths for generations from the Gray--a lifeless dimension that imprisons a brutal monster. After Justin fails to inherit his family's powers, his mother is determined to keep this humiliation a secret. But Justin can't let go of the future he was promised and the town he swore to protect. Ever since Harper Carlisle lost her hand to an accident that left her stranded in the Gray for days, she has vowed revenge on the person who abandoned her: Justin Hawthorne. There are ripples of dissent in Four Paths, and Harper seizes an opportunity to take down the Hawthornes and change her destiny--to what extent, even she doesn't yet know. The Gray is growing stronger every day, and its victims are piling up. When Violet accidentally unleashes the monster, all three must band together with the other Founders to unearth the dark truths behind their families' abilities...before the Gray devours them all.

Tell Me I'm Worthless

Alison Rumfitt

Three years ago, Alice spent one night in an abandoned house with her friends, Ila and Hannah. Since then, Alice's life has spiraled. She lives a haunted existence, selling videos of herself for money, going to parties she hates, drinking herself to sleep. Memories of that night torment Alice, but when Ila asks her to return to the House, to go past the KEEP OUT sign and over the sick earth where teenagers dare each other to venture, Alice knows she must go. Together, Alice and Ila must face the horrors that happened there, must pull themselves apart from the inside out, put their differences aside, and try to rescue Hannah, whom the House has chosen to make its own. Cutting, disruptive, and darkly funny, Tell Me I'm Worthless is a vital work of trans fiction that examines the devastating effects of trauma and how fascism makes us destroy ourselves and each other.