#all they know is that hes sad :( and they are filled with love for him :( so they want to be close to him so hes less alone :(

[amnmesias]

𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞

word count: 6.5k

summary: On September 1st, 1971 you were sorted into Slytherin, putting you on the map as the first Potter to do so, and the first time James Potter turned his back on someone he claimed he loved dearly. You’re slowly drifting away, turning the Potter twins into a sad tale, but after one deadly incident close to Christmas break, James decides to put an end to the distance he unknowingly created. 

How can you say that you love someone you can’t tell is dying? 

cw: suicidal ideation, but hinted. scars and blood mention, nosebleed. angst, very heavy on the angst. potter!reader, fem!reader. platonic marauders and rosier twins. background jily.

a/n: sorry if this too much… just had this idea for a while and i needed an outlet. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. enjoy! xx 

···

You sighed, the bandage around your shoulder suffocating you to the point of tears. As much as you tried, you wanted to keep your compartment warm and toasty with the blanket over your seat and legs, but your efforts were in vain at the mere lack of human heat. The fogged window seemed an acceptable distraction as you dragged your finger around, drawing meaningless doodles as the train passed by beautiful landscapes you barely registered. 

Something shifted on your other side, and you turned to find people walking past your compartment, pointing and whispering about you and your sad state. None of them dared to open the door, making the lump in your throat grow with each breath you took. You looked down at the cassette player in your lap, hands too shaky to change the cassette into something more cheerful.

In time, you looked up to find a pair of brown eyes staring at you with both curiosity and pity, you frowned, desperately wishing your brother’s friends would stop pestering you. Their mere presence was a bitter reminder of your brother's abandonment, the pain you suffered seeing them fill your place, share laughter together like you both did many years ago. You looked away, luckily for you, Remus got the signal and made to move past the compartment; but to Remus’ ill luck, James followed his gaze and opened the door.

“Mum said Dad won’t be able to come, but will be waiting for us at the Manor.” He murmured, his eyes pointedly trying to not stare too hard at the bandages peeking through your jumper. You nodded. “She will meet us at the station.”

“Okay,” You said, not moving to take your headphones off, nor to look at him to meet his gaze. You feared you would cry if you looked at him, a reminder of the despair in his eyes when they brought you into the infirmary. “I knew that, you know we still write to each other, right?”

James nodded quickly, swallowing hard at your voice devoid of emotion. “Yeah, just… Just wanted to make sure,” He paused, quickly stepping in to fully enter and close the door behind him. You finally turned your head to him with surprise. “You alright?”

You scoffed, finally taking your headphones off your ears, “What do you think, James?” This time, he has no qualms about studying you completely, eyes skimming over your poor posture as a result of the accident. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes, your blood boiled as you spat. “Yes, I’m fine. Will that be all, or…?”

James closed his mouth and schooled his face, something desperately needing to be said. You bit your lip, your insides filling with regret but having no intention of backing away from the incoming disagreement. Something in you stirred with hope, hope that he would finally give you your place and sit with you. However, the bespectacled boy simply nodded and left the compartment. 

You let out a breath, disbelief and disappointment in your heart as you placed the headphones back in your head. A tear slowly rolled down your cheek and you quickly cleaned it, your shaky hand almost poking your eye as you desperately tried to swallow the possible panic attack you felt looming over you. The countless letters addressed to you from your mother heavy on your satchel, most of them asking you to fix your relationship with James, the other begging you to take care of yourself, you weren’t sure which ones hurt the most. 

The moment the word Sectumsempra left Snape’s mouth, a curse filled with magic so dark not even the boy could understand it, you almost felt bad for the relief you felt in your chest at the pain that took over your body. That morning still felt like a far away memory, a dream that shook you up so much you still recalled after you woke up; McGonagall’s surprised gasp and the students that were unfortunate enough to witness the moment your fellow housemate almost made you cut into pieces. You were brought up in a rush to the infirmary where your brother and his friends recovered from a rather violent full moon, James had almost passed out at the pure rage he felt when he was informed of the situation. You weren’t proud to admit that your brother being angry on your behalf was a nice memory to die with, a redemption that came almost too late. 

You weren’t even prouder to admit to the sinking feeling in your chest when you woke up to find nothing had changed, the only remains that someone still cared about you in the form of Madam Pomfrey’s gentle touches. James hadn’t stayed back to check on you, and you couldn’t blame him. To that day, you couldn’t fully stare at your reflection in the mirror without your eyes filling with tears, had it not been for Pandora, promoted to friend as of lately, you wouldn’t have been able to even put the healing potions in your scars. 

Just in time, three knocks came at the door, you turned, ready to yell at your brother or his friends to fuck off, but Pandora’s gentle smile made you pause. She pointed at the seat across from you, cold and empty, and you nodded dumbly. She stepped in, arms filled with sweets from the trolley and smiled at you as she made herself comfortable in the seat. 

“Hi, how are you feeling?”

Why is everyone asking me that?, you thought bitterly. Immediately feeling regretful when Pandora presented you with a Chocolate Frog. 

“I’m okay,” you murmured, shyly taking the sweet from her hand. She had a different color in each of her nails, you noted. “Thank you.”

Her platinum white locks fell to her shoulder as she sat back, her own Chocolate Frog in her hand. She smiled at you and picked her book, and you wanted to cry tears of happiness. Comfortable silences were Pandora’s main form of love language, you quickly learned, and you were eternally grateful for the company. You weren’t sure if you had it in you to put up with your self hatred for another moment, let alone the rest of the train ride.

You looked up from your cassette case, eyes lingering a beat too long on the compartment door. 

“He’s two compartments over,” She said breezily, noticing the hesitance in your movements. “I passed them on my way here, he seems gutted.”

“Oh, please,” You made a scoffing sound, your shaky hand struggling to take a new cassette off its box. “He just feels bad for me, but he’s going to do absolutely nothing about it.” You poked your cheek with your tongue, satisfied when you finally got the cassette out. 

“Have you thought that maybe,” Pandora started to say, fully closing her book now that she had your undivided attention, “maybe… he thinks it’s too late? You have been a bit too cold to him…”

“It’s the least he deserves,” You spat, then cleared your throat. If Pandora felt offended at your anger, she didn’t show, she never did. You looked back to the window, feeling the train had noticeably slowed down. “I just… I’m so tired of waiting for him, I don’t… I don’t know how to feel, I so badly wanted him to get close but now that he’s trying I don’t…” To your utter horror, you felt tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. “I’m so confused.”

Pandora’s lips curled in an empathetic smile, she reached and held your shaky hand, gently sweeping her thumb across your knuckles, you took a deep breath, trying to collect yourself as students began to empty the train. 

“I’m sorry,” You dared to meet her heterochromic eyes. 

She shook her head, chuckling quietly. “No need to be sorry, keeping those feelings bottled up must be so tiring, I’m sure.” You laughed weakly, and used your free hand to discretely clean your cheeks. “You might’ve accepted your loneliness a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean it has to be permanent, sweet girl. Evan would agree, though he’s more shy to actually say it. You got more people in your corner than you realize, only if you let them…” She turned to the door, and you followed her gaze where you found James and Sirius walking past with a troubling look in their eyes. Pandora stood up, “You need help with your trunk?”

You opened your mouth, but were interrupted by the door opening. “Ready to go?” Sirius asked, and you frowned.

“I can carry it, thank you.” You smiled at Pandora, pointedly ignoring his question. She nodded, and reached to give you a quick hug, gentle and careful to not hurt you. “I’ll see you next term.”

“Write me?” She smiled, passing you a small box and you nodded, eyes in a daze as you tried to read the note. She walked to the door, and smiled at both boys. “Happy christmas.” 

You watched her go, shaky hand still holding the box. James frowned, and studied you for a few more seconds before Sirius, who wanted to leave the station immediately before his parents would show up to drag him and Regulus away, cleared his throat rather loudly. 

“Are you ready to go?” He repeated, making a move to take your trunk but you swiftly picked it up. Your features a mix of anger and, if he had more time to look at you, he would also find pain. “Don’t be stubborn, I can take that.”

“I can take my own trunk, Sirius. But thank you.” You spat, then turned away from both boys. “I’ll meet you in the platform in a moment, let me just put everything away.” You pointed to your little cocoon, the blanket and cassette player tossed aside in your previous vacated seat. “Just remember to—”

“To not tell Mum anything,” Finished James for you, an edge to his voice. “We know.”

You nodded, fear settling in your chest at the prospect of your brother picking up the argument you had nights before. Him begging you to tell your parents about what happened with Snape, to prepare them for your almost deadly state, but you met him head on, not willing to back down until he dropped the matter. He had walked away mid argument, his friends staring at you both with something akin to sadness, watching the distance grow impossibly longer despite James’ recent efforts to fix it. You had cried that night in Pandora’s arms as she and her brother watched you with both sadness and regret, you, for your part, seemed blind to the fact that they had been the reason James had breached that subject with you.

The bespectacled boy nodded, and stepped out of the compartment with Sirius close behind. You took the cassette player and put the headphones back on, Billy Joel’s Piano Man a fitting soundtrack to the way you felt. You took your satchel and hurriedly put the messily folded blanket inside, made an assesment of the compartment to not leave anything behind and silently walked out of the compartment towards the platform.

You watched with a sinking feeling as your mother enthusiastically greeted James, grabbing him by his cheeks and showering him with kisses, Sirius and the rest of his friends in line to receive the same treatment. He says, Bill, I believe this is killing me, Billy Joel sang in your ears and you readily agreed, walking towards the bunch with a tiny smile and your insides filled with dread. 

Euphemia Potter’s bright smile dimmed when she met your eyes, and noted the sadness that, evident to everyone but you, radiated off your body as you placed your headphones around your neck. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, your brother and his friends watching the exchange nervously, as she practically balanced herself over you in a tight hug.

“My lovely girl,” You were horrified to almost hear her voice breaking, the least you wanted was your mother to worry for you. “How I missed you, oh, look at you.”

“Hi, mum…” You muttered, bitting your lip as she accidentally squeezed precisely around your middle, where your most painful scar was located. “Missed you too, Dad too, of course.” You patted her back awkwardly and she pulled back.

“You’re so small, oh, my girl, please be honest with me,” She grabbed your cheeks the same way she did to James, and you successfully swallowed the lump in your throat. “Have you been eating properly? I knew that veganism nonsense simply  wouldn’t do.”

Her eyes studied you much like James did earlier, and you bit your lip nervously. You knew what was coming, and you wanted to take off and disappear from her searching eyes.

“I’m actually quite hungry…” You said quietly, hoping it would be enough to distract her. 

Your mother, however, couldn’t be deterred. “What happened here?”

Unconsciously, you met James’ eyes. “Quiddtich accident.” You replied quickly, the lie easily slipping past your lips. “Fell off my broom, doesn’t hurt, though. I’m okay.”

“Quidditch!” She exclaimed, chuckling as she turned to James who smiled in return to avoid giving you away. “Honestly, what is it with my children and Quidditch? Can’t wait to see your dad’s face— Speaking of! He must be driving himself mad waiting for us! Come, come! Dear, you need help with your trunk?”

“I’m okay—” You replied and she quickly turned to shepherd everyone out of the plaform. 

“Here,” Remus walked to you, taking the handle from your shaky hand, hard to notice to the blind eye, but he knew better, he was familiar. You frowned, and he made his voice extra quiet as he spoke, “I know you can manage but you’re going to make them worse, and by the time we get to the manor everyone will notice. It’s no problem, really.”

You stared at him, then at James who pretended to listen as Sirius and your mother fussed over Regulus, who would join you for the first time for the holidays. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and you forced yourself to look back at Remus, he smiled kindly as you nodded mutely and trailed behind the group. A comfortable silence falling between you both.

—

Potter manor seemed to stay stuck in time, with its beautiful pillars and big stained glass windows letting in colorful rays of sunshine when the english countryside allowed it. You looked through the window at your mother’s lovely garden she devoted herself to during springtime, surely to kill time when your dad was busy at work and her children away at school, her caring nature evident in the way all the flowers grew beautifully, despite the current cold weather. You sighed, and walked away ready to face your hideous fate, your secret stash of healing potions and your scars ready to be tended to.

You stopped short in front of your bed, Pandora’s present small in contrast to your belongings sprawled all over your bedding. It had her touch all over the decoration, even if the card claimed it was from both Rosier twins, the silver bow and colorful wrapping paper showing her peculiar taste. Your shaky hand hovered over the ribbon and gently tugged it to open the box, where you found a pretty aquamarine necklace along with a soft pair of green knitted mittens sitting neatly enveloped by tissue paper. You smiled and wasted no time to try and put the necklace around your neck, ignoring the fact that your shaky hands would make the task nearly impossible. 

You were about to throw the necklace across the room in desperation when you heard a light knock on the door. 

“Yes?” You managed to speak out, a sob begging to leave your lips. There was silence on the other side and you briefly wondered if you imagined the whole thing. “What?”

“Can I come in?” Sirius said quietly, and you frowned, but replied a quiet yes before turning your back to the door. “Hi,” He said as he stepped in, careful in his movements.

“Hi,” You echoed quietly, looking around the room to avoid meeting his eyes. 

Sirius stared at the necklace in your hand and the discarded box in the other, “Need help with that?”

“I’m okay,” You followed his gaze and shook your head, knowing well it was a losing battle with the piece of jewelry. “I was just untangling it,” You said, barely believing it, and by his face, Sirius didn’t seem to believe you, either.

He stepped closer to you, his movements more confident. “Let me help you,” You opened your mouth to protest, but ended up handing him the necklace, knowing it was a losting battle arguing with him, too. “Stubborn thing you are, trying to put on this tiny necklace when your hands are shaking like a leaf.” He pointed as he stood behind you.

A silence followed, and you stared down at your hands, suddenly insecure in the way they trembled, another souvenir from your fellow housemate’s attack. 

“I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“They’re not very noticeable,” He allowed, gently tugging your shoulders to make you face him. “But sadly, love, I am very familiar with these kinds of things.” His grey eyes pointedly looked at the blood dots peeking through your bandages from your jumper. “I would change those before supper if I were you.”

You swallowed and nodded, “Thank you. Is this why you came here? Is the food ready?”

He opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it, and nodded his head. “Yes, um… Mum told me she made you some of your vegan requests.”

“Oh,” You frowned, and he chuckled quietly at the surprise in your face. “I’ll be down in a moment… I have to…”

“I know,” He nodded, then made to walk out the door but paused on the threshold, turning to face you once again. “You know… James, he’s really trying, it’s just… He doesn’t know how to reach out.”

A beat. 

“Was it hard for you? To reach out to Regulus? After everything?”

He seemed to be taken aback with your question, frowning and very clearly about to tell you to mind your sodding business, but then his eyes got a very sad look that you despised. You both dreaded and hoped for his answer.

“It was difficult, yes, but because of the way we were raised, not because there wasn’t love, it was just very tangled with other things, confusion, anger and resentment… But the love persevered. I think… I think that’s what made it bearable, that at the end of the day we loved each other despite everything.”

You nodded, visibly not satisfied with his answer. “I get that, but… you said it yourself, it was hard because of the way you were raised so… what is stopping James?”

Sirius seemed pretty close to tears himself, feeling for you and frustrated at the way James acted. Honestly not even himself could explain the way James handled everything since you both were sorted, admittedly he hadn’t known him long enough back then to be confused by the evident indifference towards you, but as he grew to know you both, that confusion grew in significance. It couldn’t have been the same James that offered him his home without thinking twice when he learned the hell that was Grimmauld Place, it was hard for Sirius to think that James held some resentment towards his sister for being sorted into Slytherin when he himself despised Sirius’ parents for disowning him for being a Gryffindor. You didn’t seem to be particularly fond of the pureblood supremacy ideologies your house held, either; keeping to yourself and to your friends, the Rosier twins and occasionally Regulus as of lately, and the gentle way you carried yourself through the hallways. He often wondered if the Sorting Hat had made a mistake. 

“I… I don’t know, sweetheart,” He sighed. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, I don’t think this is a conversation for me to participate in.” 

“It’s alright,” You nodded, once again swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’ll be down in a minute.” You said before marching towards your bathroom, pointedly closing the door behind you. 

Sirius sighed, feeling very angry at himself for the way he managed to mess it all up in a matter of seconds. A hand squeezed his shoulder and he turned his face to meet both Remus and his brother’s sad eyes, he shrugged sadly and closed the door to your room quietly. A few seconds later, Lily walked out of her own room, immediately taking notice of the three boys sadly staring at your door and ushered them all to the dinning room, a sad look in her own eyes as she pointedly tried to ignore the knot in her stomach. 

—

You stared blankly at a spot next to your father‘s face as you pretended to listen to his very heated debate with James about where should the next Quidditch Cup be. The food long gone and conversations passed in a daze as you ate supper and managed to participate here and there and answer the questions directed to you. You unconsciously thumbed the precious gemstone resting in your chest, the repetitive action helped you make the shakiness in your hands less evident. 

You sat in a wingback chair, making a cocoon of yourself as you watched your brother and his friends happily chatting away to different topics, you watched as he occasionally grabbed Lily’s hand and kissed it, or the way he reached over his girlfriend to shove Sirius’ shoulder, mischief glistening behind his glasses. You knew you were being a killjoy, your pain almost an imposition in their delightful conversation had they noticed, if they ever did, or let them notice, you bitterly thought. 

“Oh, darling,” Suddenly you had a handkerchief shoved to your nose. You frowned, but let your mother’s hand cradle your face back. “You almost stained your jumper,” Horrified, you noticed that your nose was bleeding, a common occurrence since the incident. 

“Sorry,” You mumbled, trying to look away from her eyes, slowly filling with worry. “Don’t know what happened there, strange.”

“Good thing your mum has good reflexes,” your dad pointed, chuckling and blissfully unaware of the sudden tension in the room. “Growing up with you lot gave her reflexes of steel, she would’ve been a killer Seeker.”

“Let that go, honey,” Your mum added distractly, looking into your eyes, searching for… what? You were not sure, but her scrutiny made you nervous. “Are you okay?”

You inhaled deeply, suddenly feeling very warm. “Yes, I can take it, mum–” You made to raise your hand to take the handkerchief from her, her eyes falling on your hands.

“Are you cold?”

“What? No. I’m fine.”

“But you’re shaking.” She argued, and you found yourself slowly losing your patience at her questioning. “Are you sure you’re—”

“Can everyone stop asking me that? I said I’m fine.” You spat, shocking everyone into silence, even yourself. “Sorry, I… I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, I…Yes, I’m alright.”

Somewhere from the floor came a scoff and you felt dread recoiling around your ribcage. You lowered the handkerchief from your face to see James dryly chuckling at you, his hazel eyes holding a fire that was only reserved for… Horrified, you realized he was about to tell your parents everything. 

“James,” You whispered, pleading with your eyes to force him to take a step back. But your brother seemed done covering for you. “Please don’t.”

“James?” Your mother turned to him, who in return stood up from his spot on the floor, Lily reached out to pull him down again. “Is anyone going to fill me in as to what’s gotten into you both?”

He stared hard at you, then, “She was attacked.” 

And just as the words slipped past his lips, chaos ensued with your parents, neither of them expecting those words to leave James’ lips. The air was sucked out of your lungs, and you reached to press the heel of your hand to your sternum, as if that would help your lungs accept the air you desperately seeked. You were not sure where you got the strength, but you marched towards him, betrayal in your eyes. 

“You have no right,” You sneered, meeting his stormy gaze, he looked down at you, both your bodies pulsating with unresolved anger. “You promised!”

“I did not promise a damn thing to you. You’re my sister, and I cannot simply sit back and watch you fade away from us, can I?”

You scoffed. “It didn’t stop you before, hasn’t it?” He stepped back, as if your words alone had slapped him across his face. Your parents watched the scene with horror. “You’re my sister, you’re a liar. You made it very clear I am very much not your sister, James. In fact, I think you made it very clear to everyone that anyone can be accepted into your fucking marauders club except me.” 

“Wait, so this is why you’re so miffed with me? Because I didn’t let you in the Marauders?” James had the nerve to laugh, and you stared at him in shock. “You have officially lost the plot, grow up, I beg you.”

“James!”

“No, James,” You met him head on, stom in your eyes as you tried to find your words. “Contrary to what your ego-driven mind might think, not everyone wants to be part of your glorified freak show.” You said, not at all regretting the venom in your voice. “You left me. You… you don’t even try, you think that just because you fought for me, breaking Snape’s nose, everything would be forgiven?”

“Look at what he did to you!” He pointed, squirming a finger inside the neckline of your jumper, pulling down to show everyone the bandage in your shoulder. You slapped his hand away with anger, but he grabbed your hand and raised it for everyone to see. “You can barely function with these shakes, look, you can barely put on a necklace!”

“James, stop,” Came Remus’ stern voice from somewhere in the room. 

At this, your glossy eyes turned to Sirius, who, until that moment, had managed to sit back calmly and not let the whole ordeal get to him. He looked away as your betrayal was evident in your eyes.

“That wasn’t for you to tell, Sirius.” You said to him quietly, anger barely contained.

“Well, I, for one, am glad he told me. You could’ve gone the entire break hiding it from us had it not been for Sirius.”

“Like hiding it is such a hard task.” You snapped. “You barely notice my presence let alone a silly shake in my hands. I could’ve died that day and you wouldn’t have noticed at all, James.”

“You damn right could’ve bloody died! Go on, show them,” He stepped closer, and you barely registered his intention until it was too late. 

With the help of his reflexes, you were a beat too late to stop him from lifting the hem of your jumper, exposing some of the fully healed scars in your stomach, the biggest one cutting through your navel in a nasty gash. Your mother gasped and her eyes filled with tears immediately, your father stared in shock, despair evident in his eyes. You pushed James away with all the strength you could muster, accidentally pushing your mother in the process, and pulled your jumper back down. 

“You’re a complete, utter, dickhead, James.” You stared at him in shock, so did everyone in the room. “Fuck you, seriously, fuck you.”

“Darling,” Your mother stepped to you, but you were too mortified to even accept her hug. “How long… How did this…” She seemed desperately finding the right words to go, but a sob left her lips instead. You finally allowed the tears in your eyes to trail down your cheeks. “Why didn’t you say?”

“What would I even say?” You said desperately in between shallow breaths, your usually calm demeanor breaking. “That I was so depressed I riled him up so he could hurt me? That I didn’t even fight back? How was I supposed to explain that, mum? Tell me,” Before you could even process it, the feelings you had bottled up for months seemed to be done being held back in your chest. You chuckled humorlessly, “How would that conversation even go? That I’m so miserable, though I have no reason to be, that I walked towards the one person who would surely hurt me and enjoy it? This, exactly, is why I didn’t say. But here comes bloody James Potter who has to be everyone’s fucking hero! Are you happy now, James? Is this what you wanted? You wanted me to thank you in front of everyone that you saved my honor by hurting Snape? Well, there you go. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

Had you been less blinded by your anger, you probably would’ve waited for anyone to speak, or at last apologize for the amount of curse words you managed to say in a span of 20 seconds, but you simply exhaled deeply and stormed off towards your room, where you surely would spend the rest of your days crying away in embarrassment at the situation. Your tears fell hot and fast as you slammed the door behind you and sat on your bed, ignoring the stinging sensation in your shoulder by your harsh movements. Your hands shook impossibly harder to the point of actual pain in your joints, and pressed your face to your hands as you cried hard. Your sobs loud enough to drown the chaos from downstairs, your own doing, you thought angrily. 

The door to your room opened, your brain too shaken up and confused, you opened your mouth to speak but a pained sob left your lips instead. Remus’ brows pinched with sadness as he walked to you, your disheveled hair, tear streaken cheeks and the dried trail of blood down your nose an exact mirror of your inner turmoil. He stepped closer and stretched his arms out, an open invitation in case you didn’t want to be touched, but you desperately needed something or someone to ground you before you could definitely reach a full blown breakdown. A breakdown days in the making.

“You’re okay,” He said as you stepped into his arms. He carefully caged you in, keeping you secure as you felt your chest shreding to pieces as you let out sob after sob. “No one is mad at you, we’re not, I promise you, not your mum, not your dad, no one. You’re okay.” He whispered, close to tears himself. 

Soon, you felt a hand rubbing your back carefully, then, Lily’s gentle voice spoke, “Take deep breaths, honey,” 

“I… I can’t,” You scraped out, voice raspy and worn out. “I…”

“Do it with me,” She instructed, and you pulled away from your hideaway to meet her gaze. Lily smiled sadly as she gently grabbed your hand and raised it to her own chest, where you felt her own heart beating, “Follow me, okay? You can.”

You inhaled and exhaled deeply, and she did it with you. As she busied you with breathing exercises, Remus walked to your bathroom to grab a cloth and damp it with warm water, when he walked back to your room, you seemed visibly calmer. He silently passed the cloth to Lily and sat beside you on the bed, she looked into your eyes and gently pressed it to your lips and under your nose, no-doubtedly cleaning the blood and snot off your face. None of you dared to speak, the only sound in the room the occasional hiccup leaving your lips, the fight leaving you tired and numb.

“I don’t know what crossed his mind to do that,” Began Lily, pointedly keeping her voice monotone to not spark another collapse from you. “That was very…”

“Barbaric?” Remus supplied, him not trying to keep his anger away from his tone. Lily frowned at him. 

“Unlike him.” She said, then turned to you. “What he said, what he did… That was very cruel.”

“Yeah, well… I seem to always bring out the cruelest parts of him.” You finally spoke, and she hushed you to not strain your voice more. 

“I think he’s very angry at himself, and he stupidly managed to show it in the worst way possible.” Remus pointed, the fight leaving his body as he gingerly placed a loose hair behind your ear. “It was very obvious to everyone that you were struggling but it passed right above him…”

“He didn’t need to make such a spectacle of himself though, and me. We could’ve talked it, if he had asked.”

Both Remus and Lily gave you a deadpan look. 

“Okay, maybe not at first but why is it always me the one that has to reach out? I’m tired of embarrassing myself seeking for his attention.” 

“You’re right,” The three of you looked up to find James standing at the threshold of your bedroom, a mix of feelings displayed in his face, regret being the most evident. “And I’m sorry.”

Lily looked at you, and you met her green eyes. She frowned, are you sure? Her eyes asked, and you nodded, grabbing the cloth from her hand. Both stood up and walked to leave, Lily ignoring the pleading look from her boyfriend as she closed the door behind her. The room fell eerily quiet as you stared at each other, assessing your stances. 

“I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said,” You mumbled, looking down at the cloth in your hands. 

“I’m sorry,” He repeated, as he walked closer, you tensed immediately and something inside his chest cracked. “I shouldn’t have… I… It wasn’t my place.”

You closed your eyes, succumbing to the tears forming in your eyes and brought the cloth to clean your cheeks. 

“I told you to not say anything, James. Why didn’t you listen? I… I don’t want mum or dad to get in between our mess.”

“Our mess,” He echoed, sitting next to you on the bed when you showed no signs of backing away again. “I did make a mess of everything, didn’t I?”

“It has always been, I was just the only one willing to see it as that.”

James frowned. “That’s not true.” He exhaled deeply, searching for your eyes. “I… I know I haven’t been the best brother to you but, but I wouldn’t say it reached a point where you feel like you can’t tell me anything.” 

“James,” You chuckled dryly, not even trying to argue again but to get him to see where you were coming from. “You don’t even acknowledge me back at school, you practically pretend I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry.”

“See, you keep saying that, but I don’t hear reasons why I should forgive you.” 

“You shouldn’t forgive me, angel. In fact, what happened downstairs is the least punishment imaginable you could throw at me.” His chest filled with hope when you chuckled wetly. “I just… When I saw you in that cot, bleeding out and barely conscious, I felt like a part of me was being torn away… I had never felt so helpless in my life, knowing you would be taken away from me that easily and that I never tried to reach out? It’s been eating me alive, especially when you have been so calm about it, now I know why,”

You looked away, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to say that, I don’t know why I said it.”

“See, I think you did mean it. And it’s okay,” James scooted closer, his hand reached to yours in question, you placed it over his. He squeezed it four times, and you smiled despite the sadness in your heart. The mighty Potter duo, your own way of consoling each other when you were children. “Just, let me try again? Be a brother?”

“You never stopped being my brother, James, not to me.”

“To me neither, I’m still your brother, even if I haven’t shown it how you deserve it. But,” He paused, searching for your eyes, “Promise me that you’ll stop drifting away, that you’ll be in a distance where I can reach you.”

You swallowed, but nodded. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to have it get this bad, I just, I just wanted you to notice me.” Something inside you broke, and so did your voice. Thankfully, you were close enough for James to reach over and hug you gently. “I didn’t realize you wanted to talk to me, or… or get closer. I’m sorry, I’ll stay close. I promise.” You whispered, and reached out to squeeze his hand, four times. 

“I hope you can forgive me for what happened downstairs, too… I don’t… I just got so angry at myself, and… and you, but I shouldn’t have aired your pain like that.” He spoke after a long silence, voice barely contained as he fought back his own sob, not because he didn’t want to cry, but to get his feelings known. “It’s okay if it takes a while, too, I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and I regret it… I do.” I regret everything I did, it’s the bit he didn’t say, but you heard it clear in the pain in his voice.

You nodded, feeling satisfied with the heart to heart, “It might take a while, but thank you.” You dropped your head on his shoulder, and closed your eyes, finally letting your body relax against your brother. 

Your brother, who was there, willingly, hugging you. It was a nice feeling to fall asleep to, you thought as you drifted off. James looked down as your head got heavier, and noticed in your parted lips that you had fallen asleep at some point of your shared silence. He smiled, and helped you get fully into the bed, carefully placing your belongings away. 

He made to leave, but you pulled him back, your voice heavy with sleep, “Stay?”

And James, even in his drowsy state, couldn’t fight back the happiness he felt in his heart. He nodded, though you couldn’t see him, and laid next to you, your hands clasped together as you both drifted away holding onto each other, very much like you did once upon a time when you were little. 

In your desk, messily thrown along with your things by James, was Pandora’s gift, and a note in neat handwriting that said: 

Happy christmas sweet girl. Aquamarine, your birthstone, is said to possess healing properties known to cure even the most devastating of heartbreaks and tame the most powerful oceans into tranquility and peace. It also gives the bearer hope and clarity.  Love, Evan and Pandora Rosier. 

[angelltheninth]

Friends with Benefits with Love and Deepspace Men

Pairing: Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, creampie, friends with benefits, protectiveness, love confession, fingering, realization of feelings, denaial of feelings, mating press, desk sex, jealusy, flirting, referanced cunnilingus

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I would legit want to be their friends. The benefit is heaing me yap about how pretty they all are and whatever my newest hyperfixation is.

FwB!Zayne always tries to keep things strictly professional beween the two of you. There's him when he is your friend and collegue and him when he's making love to you on the surface of his desk. It's easy for him to cross between the lines, one moment he's giving you advice or talking about problem he has and the next he has his hand down your underwear and the other over your mouth, keeping you quiet. He's actually very good at going between the two modes and will never cross a line without your permission. Any feelings he might develop he will only show when he's being your lover, not when he's your friend.

FwB!Rafayel hides behind the flirting he does to make you belive he;s not as serious as he is. There will always be a time for him to be your friend and listen to any problems you make have, go on movie dates with you, take you shopping and order your favorite food when you're sad. And then there is the time when he offers to take your mind off what ever is bothering you by holding you close while you ride his cock and breathe heavily against his neck. Ocassionaly you have said you loved each other, and both of you know it's true, but you want to take a bit more before your relationshp takes that next step.

FwB!Xavier gets too into his own head about the whole deal becuase how is supposed to act that he wasn't balls deep in you the night before when you walk funny in front of him. Downright impossible for him to ignore the signs you give him. And he really does try his best but he doesn't want to make it seem like he only wants you for sex so he ends up texting you a lot while you're apart. Which only confuses things more. Truly he wishes there was an easy way for him to deal with this. Perhaps the best thing is for him to confess that he wants to be your boyfriend, not just the guy who makes you come and then never talks about it again until the next time.

FwB!Sylus teases you so much that you have no idea when he wants to be your friend and when he wants to fuck. There have been times where he deliberately made you think one thing only to do the other. Mindgames like these are fun for him, and watching you get all out of sorts because of it is even better. For as many times as he's fucked you into the bed he was also the one to comfort you when you were full of doubts and wanted nothing in return. Part of him hates that you still see him as a friend after all of that but he also won't force you to see him as anything else. Besies it's only a matter of time before you do.

FwB!Caleb is too jealous to stay just friends after the very first night you spend togeteher. Stares at othe guys that flirt with you so much a few of them actually took off running in the opposite direction. He didn's spend the whole night eating you out until you could no longer scream his name just for some other guy to swoop in and take you home. Try as he might to hide his jealus side it's very much impossibe, his smile gets sour and tight every time you tell him a guy flirted with you. A man like him can only tolorate so much before he confesses to you while fucking you. Not even romantically, he growls it out while having you folded in half and just as he fills you up with cum.

[beijodefrade]

Caryn goes to the kitchen to make coffee. In the way, Filbrick passes by her, stomping towards the pawn shop. His face is impasse as always, but his anger is evident on his loud steps.

Ahead, she sees Stanley. He looks awful. There's blood on his mouth from a split lip, blood on his nose that's looking slightly crooked, and his left eye is turning purple.

"Stanley! What happened to you?”

He gives his mother a small smile. It's hesitant, as if he's ashamed.

"Pissed off the wrong person at boxing practice. You know how I am.”

"Oh, sweetie, what did you do?”

He laughs it off. It's a rough sound, and her worry grows at the insincerity of it.

"Believe me, Ma, you don't wanna know.”

She disagrees, but doesn't push the subject. Instead, she frets.

"Let me fix you up.”

She takes him to the bathroom, where they keep the first aid kit. They'll need to buy a new one soon, it's contents almost all used up. Always on Stanley. He gets hurt a lot, ever since he was a little kid.

He has a a knack for getting into trouble. Sometimes he can't help himself, and takes things that don't belong to him. Most of the time, it's because he got into a fight.

He has a short temper (it runs in the family).

Caryn sees a small gash on her son's cheek. It makes her think whoever punched him was wearing a ring.

But at boxing, they wear gloves.

Maybe it was after practice.

As she looks at the gash, her hands starts to shake. When she cleans it, she knows it stings. Stanley doesn't flinch from the pain.

There isn't much she can do for the bruises, other than icing them. Taking a closer look at his nose, it might be broken.

Someone broke her little boy's nose. The tremor in her hands gets worse, because as she's looking at his face, there is no anger. He simply looks sad.

"We might have to go to the hospital... I think your nose is broken, dear.”

Instinctually to hearing an idea he doesn't like, Stanley wrinkles his nose. Then he forgets himself and hisses at the pain.

She hears the sound in her heart, and pets his hair. The affection, somehow, makes it easier for him to breathe. He hadn't noticed the strain of his lungs.

Suddenly, he feels small.

"Ma, do you..." he swallows, eyes glued to the floor. "You'll always love me, right?”

Caryn gasps.

"Of course!”

"Promise? Even if I never stop screwing things up?”

She uses her other hand to lift his head, her fingers under his chin. She needs him to see her face.

"Oh, pumpkin, nothing could ever make me stop loving you. I promise that'll never change.”

In this moment, he believes her. He smiles. She thinks about a hand and a ring.

Caryn sighs, feeling a little scared.

"Your Pa looked quite angry when I saw him... Right before I found you." she moves her hand from his chin, and puts it on the side if his face. The one without the gash. "I know he's harsh on you.”

He leans into her hand, comforted in her warmth. Even so, his eyes fill with tears. So do hers. Shiny eyes meet shiny eyes.

"C'mon, Ma..." his voice trembles a little, and they both pretend they don't notice. "You know Pa wouldn't go this far.”

A few tears escape her. His tears stay trapped. She nods, and kisses his forehead.

Caryn can't stop shaking for the rest of the day. She avoids looking at her husband's hands.

Stanley starts to get used to a heavy feeling inside his chest.

[yv0nn1e]

"we were born to a world with dead ends."

gravity — rafayel

summary: to be betrayed in one timeline, to find out the truth in another, and now, to seek revenge in the current.

pairing: rafayel x non!mc fem!reader

cw/tw: angst? mean reader, some twists from the myths and the actual lore itself.

note: an alternate version of my backburner rafayel fic where instead of falling in love with rafayel, reader gets angry when she realizes lemuria's fall is actually because of rafayel.

word count: 2k+

non!mc reader who remembers the excruciating pain of losing her life in every single timeline where rafayel was involved.

non!mc reader who, in the current timeline and at eleven years old, starts to get flashbacks of her past lives, not knowing what they were until the memories fill each other in as she matures. the older she gets, the more refined those visions become, until she reaches the age of fifteen where a rough vision of rafayel, her beloved, gives up his heart, and lemuria for this strange yet certainly unforgettable girl. non!mc reader who, realizes that she might have died at rafayel's hands— that lemuria fell under rafayel's sacrifice and love.

non!mc reader who, at fifteen, decides to walk away from the sea and from her dearest friend who, she now knows, had betrayed their people in their past lives. she goes to land with her aunt, finding solace in her passion for acting and the dramatics. rafayel had tried to stop her, or at least, get him to accompany her yet he could never forget the underlying anger that had filtered her eyes.

"you're really leaving? but why?" rafayel asked. he wasn't sad, not exactly. perhaps just a tad bit melancholy at the thought of his truest friend walking away, leaving him all alone to face the pressure of the sands and seas all by himself.

"i can't achieve anything here." she replies, the duality of the meaning behind her words floating above rafayel's head. she can't achieve anything if she stays right where she had always been after all these years, after all these lives: right next to rafayel. she will be bound to the same ending if she stayed any longer.

they bid each other goodbye, and non!mc reader was more than ready to start a new life. perhaps, if she stayed away from rafayel, if she had stayed away from lemuria, then she cannot befall the same painful fate that she would during her previous lives.

non!mc reader who physically and internally experiences the actual pain of the lemurians' sufferings in her past lives whenever she would get a vision despite the fact that she had already stirred far far away from the sea.

her aunt talia looks at her worryingly as non!mc reader sits on the plush of the luxurious couch, her hand in her chest as she took in deep breathes— each and every inhale activating that painful tightening in her chest, the same sensation of internal stabbing.

"did you get another vision?" talia asks, her soft and delicate fingers rubbing non!mc reader's back. the girl could only nod as she takes one last deep breath before slumping her back towards the headboard of the couch.

"how much longer will i have to endure this? do you even get visions like mine too?" non!mc reader chokes out as she takes a glass of water. her aunt talia visited her on set today. it had been long since non!mc reader had decided to live above water and join the humans. she's an adult now, in her twenties, and a successful young actress at that.

"dearest, you know i don't. we've spoken about this. you're— you're different." talia says in a hesitant tone. these two have tried to figure out the root of non!mc reader's visions, how do they happen, and why they're happening in the first place. but nothing. they have nothing. the only thing they were certain about was the fact that the visions are highly implied to be true. the tales and myths about lemuria align with the visons and flashes.

"perhaps, there is a reason that you, out of everyone, has been bestowed such gift." talia comforts, a gentle pat glides over non!mc reader's shoulder blades.

she could only scoff. "this is no gift. this is a curse."

non!mc reader who falls into shock as she stumbles upon a familiar purple set of hair on a tall figure during a banquet. could it really be— "yn!" her name rolls off his tongue so softly, gently. all so familiar and nostalgic that for a second, non!mc reader forgets that the man whom her love transcended one life over another for had been the cause of her impending doom.

"rafayel?" she minds his presence. he looked a lot older than she'd last seen him. he was a lot taller, his lean figure built stronger with grown muscles, his aura being more elegant and confident. and yet, she questions whether or not he had changed. "what are you— why are you here?"

he tells her that he's settling in linkon for a while. he says that he's got a lot of business advocates and opportunities to stumble upon the city as he pursues his artist career. he then reveals to her that he too had left the sea not long after she had gone, saying something about how the sea's weight felt a little too heavy under ground.

"does it really get easier up above the water?" she throws the question out rhetorically as they find themselves in a secluded seating area of the banquet.

rafayel wasn't dumb. surely, he felt the venomous tone in her voice or the unwelcoming glare from her gaze. he wishes it would be his mind playing tricks on him but the more he stares deeply into her eyes, the more he feels as though something was not right between him and his dearest friend.

"i don't really think so." he replies to her rhetorical question.

one thing about non!mc reader is that she isn't entirely certain that her snarky remark wasn't applicable to her. over the years, she often doubts whether or not trying to escape her home was better for her.

the both of them stare at each other. one pair of eyes gazing at the other's figure filled with confusion and nostalgia. wondering where he went wrong or if he had done something wrong. the other set of eyes staring in regret, unsure of whether or not joy or anger should control her thinking as of the moment.

the silence was louder than ever, until it was interrupted with that even louder ringing in non!mc reader's ears, that stabbing pain becoming stronger— probably the strongest she's ever felt as every fiber of her being was aching.

and yet she was too stubborn to let a slither of her vulnerability and truth slip past the cracks of her facade.

"i have to go." she tries to say confidently or rather, in a more composed way as she stood up, grabbing her purse and clenching her chest with her free hand which earned her a concerned and confused gaze in rafayel's face.

"are you okay? i can take you—"

"im fine, rafayel." she insists, pushing past him as he stood up to reach her.

"it was certainly something to see you again." she coughs out a fake scoff as she takes one step forward, only for a gasp to slip past her lips when her ankles bend, cause her whole body to not only pulse in excruciating pain, but to fall.

she feels the pain take her away from consciousness, a flash of white turning into a silhouette of a younger boy, his hair the same shade of violet as rafayel's, his voice more playful, as the image of her childhood in the prosperous kingdom of lemuria in a previous life takes place in her mind for a while, but the realization did not go unnoticed.

no, it does not get easier above water. as long as gravity exists, the weight of the world will always pull you down to the ground where one must acknowledge the truth.

non!mc reader who realizes that the pain she feels whenever she gets visions started when she left the sea.

she finds herself waking up in a bed of soft silk and fluffy pillows. this wasn't her home, the ambiance was rather softer and cleaner as the sun's rays painted dawn against the windows.

"you're finally awake." she gets taken out of her trance as she turns her head to the doorway, a smiling rafayel leans against the frame of the door. "you good now? maybe next time, don't insist that you're fine when you're not."

"what?" she's confused. she's never passed out from a vision before. sure, at first the pain was unbearable, but years of endurance has built her some kind of immunity or rather, suppressants that makes the ache less painful.

"you had a really high fever last night. what's worse is that, the tides weren't even low. we don't usually get that sick but i guess you're just a bit helpless without me, yeah?" rafayel teases as he brings her a tray of food and medicine. she stares at him in awe, that buried affection for him attempting to break past the cracks, but she does not let it go.

non!mc reader starts to see clearer visions now that rafayel is back in her life. with the added age and maturity, the flashes are longer and less vague. so when the moment a full vision of what happened during the sea god's ceremony played, anger resurfaces her mind.

non!mc reader who swore to avenger herself and lemuria, her beloved land. which is why, when rafayel introduces his new bodyguard, she immediately knew that she was the sea god's bride. that rafayel's miss bodyguard had his heart. literally.

and if it was what's needed to restore lemuria, she would stop at nothing to have it in her hands.

non!mc reader who is staring as the main lead in a new linkon tv series that depicts a tale about an ancient underwater civilization called lemuria. she could only laugh hysterically at her role. was she really playing the role of the sea god's bride? the sole thing she could never be in whatever universe or timeline she was in? oh how destiny loved to mock her.

non!mc reader who asks rafayel for help, feigning vulnerability and saying that she needed his bodyguard too, saying something about her old bodyguard going away for a while, even offering to pay double what rafayel was paying her.

non!mc reader who takes this chance to let her suppressed anger over the centuries and lifetimes that have passed out. it started with complicated coffee orders to fetch then upgraded to delivering her wardrobe, only to accuse miss bodyguard of practically sullying the dress with her reckless actions. in general, just treating her like the worst. miss bodyguard could quit whenever she wanted but rafayel had asked her so persuasively to induldge in non!mc reader's request since she was one of his closest friends.

non!mc reader who gets attacked by one of her visions, the pain stronger than what she assumed was the strongest attack when she met rafayel in that banquet before. what's more severe was that she could practically feel and hear the screams in her more recent visions.

non!mc reader who is sick and tired of suffering the regrets of the past, tired of carrying the weight of a future that is clearly telling her to take responsibility. so, one day, she flat out says to rafayel to do something about lemuria. to take his heart back, to end his people's sufferings. and yet, rafayel, like in all those visions she would see and remember, only replied with the same thing: that there would be other ways.

non!mc reader who damns it all, never stopping at one ask to convince rafayel to take his heart back. every chance she could, she would try to bring it up with rafayel which results into the man questioning his bestfriend's eagerness. she wasn't usually like this. she was never this insistent. despite the rejections, non!mc reader is thankful that rafayel was asked to be an illustrator in her new project because it makes it easier for her to bother him to own up to his responsibilities.

yn lets out an exhausted sigh as she looks at herself in the mirror. this costume was ridiculous, she thinks, as she analyzes the decor of the dress— the director said it would be a close-to-accurate replica of lemurian bridal attires. her top, a delicate yet structured piece, bared her midriff, emphasizing her poise, while bands of gilded accents traced the contours of her shoulders and arms. a flowing sash, transparent like morning mist, hung from her waist, its shimmering fabric embellished with ornate patterns that mirrored ancient symbols of wisdom.

fuck, they were right. it was close to accurate. so much so that non!mc reader starts to pity herself, thinking that the only moment she would have gotten to dress up like a true lemurian bride would be in a show, a fictional, unrealistic series that depicts the story of her beloved and the other woman he had chosen and would choose in every other life.

she steps out of the dressing room, the staffs getting the scene ready as the director yelled out orders. rafayel was with his bodyguard in a corner, discussing with the other illustrators what to do or add into the scene to make it more vibrant.

"it's a wedding scene, it's supposed to be colorful." he rolls his eyes, his bodyguard chuckling in amusement at his sulking. non!mc reader wonders how the producers even got the rafayel to agree to being part of the project. initially, she would've thought that rafayel thinks they would sully the lemurian culture and tale itself and yet, here he was, ever so passionate in the intricate coloring of the set.

"honestly, these people look like they're trying to disrespect the lemurian legacy—" rafayel stops speaking as he turns around, only to be met with non!mc reader in that traditional wedding gown. she looked certainly beautiful in it, he could not deny that. in fact, it looked rather fitting on her, as if she was meant to wear it.

she was currently distracted, practicing her lines with her partner in the show so rafayel's gaze goes unnoticed.

non!mc reader who has to poorly go through a physical and actual demonstration of how the end of lemuria was met because of this stupid show that somehow, got every detail accurately correct.

the way her limbs trembled at the set, the lines, and the impending remembrance of what was to happen after the ceremonial scene in the story. her terror was so obvious that her stutter and shaking figure immediately warned the director and everyone else that something was wrong.

the recreating of the scene in a different perspective terrified her so much, the trauma of reliving that kind of pain and watching it replaying in her mind. the fear was strong enough to trigger another vision, clearer than ever.

"excuse me. i'll be back." she manages to speak, immediately running back to her dressing room to handle the pain all by herself.

non!mc reader who has never told rafayel about the visions. the only person who knew about them were talia and herself. so one could only imagine the feeling brewing in rafayel's guts when rushes to open the door of her dressing room, only to see the actual pain his yn has to go through. all alone. all by herself.

it only then hits him. this must be why she had been so insistent on taking his heart back. this must be why she had left. why she had been so distant— why she acted the way she did.

she was angry at him. albeit, she was literally hurting because of the actions, the bond, the devotion he had sacrificed and given away.

his beloved yn was suffering because of him.

in every universe, he would give his heart to his love, causing him the loss of his kingdom and his entire being. in every universe, non!mc reader has to endure the physical manifestation of the regressing feeling of neglect and abandonment from the one true person that holds her protection in his hands.

in every universe, they were always bound to be met with dead ends.

[kisses4reid]

collage | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

crying?? moving in w spence and realising how happy u are

another short one <3 not proof read, literally written in 10 minutes and then posted.

You’re sat still, staring blankly at the pale blue walls that you had only painted last week. There were hooks in place for photos of you and Spencer, views you loved on your holidays together, other cool photos you both found at thrift stores. A collage of who you two are, and your love, and your life.

You sighed, a panging in your chest pushing a weight down in your stomach as waves rolled under your rib cage.

You hadn’t checked the clock on the opposite wall, or your phone, for you don’t know how long. Before you knew it, you were still staring at the blank wall when Spencer came home.

“Y/n?” He called out, not used to the absence of your warmth or voice. A tear rolled down your cheek.

“I’m in the bedroom.”

The bedroom, not his, not yours.

You heard footsteps behind you and smelt a waft of his favourite cologne fill the room. He didn’t speak for a moment, setting his work bag down on the bed behind you and shrugging off his jacket.

You breathed, and stared at the blank pale blue wall.

“Are you okay?”

His figure appeared in your periphery.

Spencer’s heart picked up as he saw your low shoulders and solemn gaze. It was as if you were lost in a trance, and your bare but pending collage wall seemed to be the subject of your burning gaze. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Are you regretting… the wall?”

It was a bigger question than that. Spencer was worried that something as small as hanging up photos had made you change your mind about moving in together. About going this far this fast, about being with him at all. Your silence only made it worse.

He sat beside you, the bed dipping which caused your shoulder to brush with his. The contact sort of snapped you out of whatever cloud was looming over your head, and you turned to face Spencer.

Spencer.

Nothing else, just Spencer.

“I’m not regretting the wall. Or moving in, or being with you,” you smiled slightly when his eyes widened, “I’m not regretting anything. Well, I regret not doing this earlier.”

He sighs and cocks his head slightly, “Then why do you seem so… sad?”

“I’m happy, not sad. I’m happy that I found you, finally.” You placed your hand on his thigh. “I never thought… I never thought I would love someone so much, enough to move in with them. I especially never thought that I would end up with someone as great as you, Spence.”

Spencer smiled, the corner of his lips only wobbling slightly.

“I’m happy that this collage wall won’t have to stay the same, that we can… put new pictures in each frame as our life goes on. I’m happy that something as simple as a wall and some frames can make me feel so happy that it brings me to tears.”

You smiled at him and he nodded his head silently. You could hardly contain your pride, but you tried. You laid your head on his shoulder and you sat still, staring lovingly at the pale blue walls that you had only painted last week.

taglist - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[trevorsgodmother]

𝑯𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓮 #1 (C.S ☁️)

☞ Masterlist

Warnings: Idrk bruh, cheating suggested..? (but there's none), bit of crying, swearing, reader being an idiot, yelling POV: First person (reader and Chris) Summary: You find a contact on Chris' phone...

(Chris' POV)

"CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO"

My whole body violently jerks when I hear my full name being yelled from the other room. Wide eyes turn to Nick and Matt, who look at me surprised, and a bit scared. My girlfriend sounds mad. And I don't even know why.

My throat bobs as I swallow, nervous as hell. What had I done? "Um...yea?"

"GET YOUR ASS IN HERE RIGHT NOW"

I flinch. She never usually yells. Nick gives me a 'look' and a thumbs up for good luck, while Matt stifles a smile and looks away. I sigh and walk into my bedroom, where my girlfriend is waiting.

(Your POV)

I'd been searching through his contact list for a number he'd gotten a few weeks ago from a mutual friend. I'd wanted to call her to meet up. But that's all that I was doing. I didn't even open any other apps, I trusted him to not cheat, and I knew he never would.

Right?

As soon as I saw the contact, my face froze in shock. Under the 'H' contact list.

'Hottie #1 💞'

I'd never clicked on anything faster in my life. Scrolling down through the info, I looked for the number.

It wasn't mine.

Chris, my boyfriend, had someone else saved as hottie. Who was it? When did he meet her? Why hadn't he done a better job of hiding it? Though i'm glad he didn't.

And now i'm pissed.

I'm sitting on the bed, tapping my foot. One hand holds Chris' phone, the other fists the bedsheets.

The man himself comes in, lowkey looking terrified at how i'd called him.

"Hey babe-" "Shut up and come here. Now"

He looks scared. Good. Maybe he'll feel really bad for it. I promise myself to not get emotional.

I raise an eyebrow. "Well?"

He scratches the back of his neck, looking confused. "Well...what?" I sigh. "You think i'm stupid Chris?"

His eyes widen and he shakes his head so fast i'm worried he'll get whiplash. "No-" "Bullshit. I know what you did"

I prayed this wouldn't be the reaction. But when his face drops into guilt, my heart shatters. It couldn't be. "Ok..i'm sorry..."

Despite my self-confidence, tears fill my eyes. "How could you...I loved you Chris" (lowk cringed myself out)

He sighs. "I didn't mean to get her dirty I just...I'm sorry. Then I had to throw her away. She was covered in mud and shit. I couldn't get it out." His voice is sincere and sad.

I blink. "What?"

He looks up. "What?"

I'm a little confused as I hold up his phone. "I meant who's 'Hottie #1'?"

His expression morphs into... even more confusion? No recognition, no remorse, just curiosity.

And then a grin breaks out on his face.

And now he's laughing loudly, in that obnoxious, contagious way of his.

My brow furrows. "Chris, this isn't funn-" "Call the number."

His words catch me off guard. "Huh?" "Call the number babe. Trust me."

I hesitate. Why was he telling me to call it? His gaze is amused and challenging. Fuck it. I call the number.

I immediately hear ringing from outside, and Matt yelling out. "Dude why the fuck are you calling me?"

My eyes widen. Chris starts laughing again. It was his brother.

Hottie #1 was Matt (Rs tho).

My face flushes as Chris collapses in giggles. I throw his phone at him, a smile tugging at my lips. "Shut upp, you scared me. Your obsession with Matt is concerning by the way."

Chris just rolls around, chackling so hard he could choke, but then he suddenly stops and his face pales a little as I speak again.

"Wait, you got who dirty?"

A/N: Just smth a lil short and goofy 😝 ALL FLIRTING BETWEEN CHRIS AND MATT IS A JOKE, THEY ARE SIBLINGS (THE MATTY B FIC IS COMING PROMISE (i'm js making it extra good yk)) TL: @hearts4werka @stvrnzcherries @spaghetti835928383 @pvssychicken @snowysosturn @sllutty-sturniolo @sturnmeovr No stealing gang Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws <3 -Ropitipop 👁👅👁

[jazzy96scorpio]

A Spark in the Darkness

Chapter 2 Attitude

Description: You continued your trip with Joel and Ellie. You came to Bill and Frank's house. Joel hates your attitude, but he loves how you handle things 😉 Little smut at the end.

Pairing: You / Joel Miller

Warnings ⚠️: mention of death, angst, dirty and bad words, jerking off.

🖤

After a long day of walking, Joel suggested you stop at his old stash spot. "Need to check on things and leave a somethin' " he said, his voice gruff.

Ellie, eager to explore, announced, "I'm gonna see if there's anything left."

"Everything's already picked over," Joel grumbled, but Ellie was already slipping inside room.

You sat there, watching Joel, a curious glint in your eye. While he was checking his stash, you rummaged around and stumbled upon an old box of condoms. You couldn't help but laugh. "Well, you always need these," you teased.

Joel looked at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and annoyance. He called for Ellie.

Ellie emerged from the small room, looking disgruntled. "Picked over my ass," she muttered, holding up a box of tampons. You laughed.

After that you continued your journey, heading towards Bill and Frank's house. Joel assured you that these two men would be able to help you.

While you were walking through the fields, Ellie, ever curious, turned to Joel. "How did this all even start?" she asked.

Joel sighed, a grim expression on his face. He explained everything her.

Then he stops her saying "We are crossing our path through the wood."

Ellie asks "Why are we going through the woods?"

"There are some things you shouldn't see," Joel said gruffly.

"Well, now I need to see," Ellie declared, and before anyone could stop her, she took off running.

You looked at Joel, a flicker of concern in your eyes. He watched her go, a grim look on his face.

Ellie soon reappeared, her face pale. She had stumbled upon a ditch filled with the skeletons of people. "What… what happened to them?" she stammered. Joel explained. "The army…they killed them."

Ellie looked at you, her eyes searching for answers. "Those people weren't sick?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"No, probably not" you confirmed, the memory of those dark days flooding back. "Our government…they were fucked up. I've seen worse things than this."

You pulled Ellie close, hugging her tightly. "Let's go," you said softly.

Joel watched you both, a sadness etched on his face. He wondered about the things you had seen, the horrors you had endured. You were a survivor, tougher than you looked, but the weight of the past was clearly evident in your eyes.

🩶

The house was eerily silent. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light that pierced through the boarded-up windows. "I'm gonna check the other rooms," Joel said.

You nodded, watching him disappear down the hallway. Ellie, sitting at the worn wooden table, picked up a folded piece of paper. She read it slowly, her brow furrowed. Then, she handed it to you. Bill and Frank were gone.

Joel returned, his face grim as he saw letter. "They're dead, isn't? he said, his voice barely a whisper. Ellie showed him the letter. "You read it," he said.

As she read, Joel watched you, his eyes searching your face. You felt sad.

He went outside, checking the garage and a truck. He returned a short while later.

"I found a car battery," he said, "Should be charged up soon."

He looked at you. "I have a brother, I need to find him" he said, his voice rough. "He is in Wyoming. He was with the Fireflies… maybe he knows something, maybe he knows where that lab is."

You nodded, understanding.

"If we're going together," he said, his voice firm, "there will be rules."

"Number one: Don't mention Tess. Ever. We keep our history to ourselves."

You agreed, though the words felt like a bitter pill to swallow.

"Number two," he continued, "You don't talk about your condition to nobody. Understand?"

Ellie nodded solemnly.

"And third," he said, his eyes fixed on you, "You are gonna do what I say, when I say it. Are we clear?"

Ellie said, "What you say it goes."

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, "I fuckin' hate that rule." Joel shook his head.

"You'll get used to it," he said.

"Hell I won't." you say it with harsh voice.

"What are we going to do now?" Ellie asked, her voice small.

"Let's grab what we can," Joel said, already heading towards the basement.

The basement was a treasure trove of supplies. "Shit, this guy was a genius," Ellie muttered, her eyes wide with amazement.

Joel was at the computer, methodically turning off the radio signal and silencing the music player. "Grab some canned food," he instructed.

Ellie, however, was drawn to the wall, a veritable arsenal of firearms. "Dude," she exclaimed.

Joel looked at her, his expression hardening. "No."

"But there's a whole wall of them!" Ellie protested. Joel continued to stare at her, his jaw clenched.

You, ever the opportunist, stepped forward and grabbed the largest gun you could find. "What?" you said, grinning. "I like them BIG! Look how it fits perfectly in my hand." You raised the gun, inspecting it with a predatory glint in your eye.

Joel was taken aback. He was both angry and surprised by your audacity. Ellie burst out laughing.

Joel, after a moment of stunned silence, simply shook his head. "Alright, alright," he conceded, a grudging smile playing on his lips. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop you anyway.

You spent the next hour collecting supplies.

Joel was at the garage, tinkering with the truck. Ellie was in the shower. You returned to check on him.

He was at the work table, fixing the car battery. "Ellie's in the shower," you announced, "and I'm next."

You paused, a mischievous glint in your eye. "And I think you really need one."

"Cuz really, pfff. You smell bad."

He looked at you with that mad face.

"What? You don't like jokes?" you asked.

"No, I don't," he growled, "And I don't like your attitude."

"Oh really?" you retorted, "Well, I really don't like yours either, grumpy asshole."

He got more mad, coming closer to you. "What did I tell you about talking to me like that, darlin'?" He grabbed your wrists, pinning you against the wall.

His touch sent a jolt through you. You were close, dangerously close, and for the first time, you felt a raw passion emanating from him. He was angry, yes, but there was something else there – a simmering intensity, a desire that surprised you both.

"Oh yeah, Mr. Miller," you teased, a playful glint in your eye, "will you teach me a lesson?"

He leaned closer, his breath hot on your face. He growled, his body burning with a lust. He still held your wrists firmly against the wall, his grip tightening. You liked his attitude.

He looked at your face, then lower, his gaze lingering on your breasts. "You… you wanna see them again, don't you?" you continued to tease him.

"Shut up," he muttered, his eyes darkening.

"Come on, Mr. Miller," you purred, "I bet you've dreamed about this, don't you?"

You managed to free your hand from his grip. Then, with a mischievous grin, you placed your right hand on his bulge. He was rock-hard, he enjoyed in your earlier teasing. "Ooh," you breathed, "impressive for an old man like you. So hard, and I didn't even touch you."

He leaned closer, his eyes burning with desire. He liked your touch, liked the way you were pushing his buttons. "Don't stop, please." He muttered.

You started rubbing his pants, a slow, deliberate motion. He groaned, his head thrown back.

"Imagine what I could do if you'd let me," you whispered, your voice husky with desire.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice rough.

You add "I feel it's the big one."

He looked at your face."You… you like them big, don't you?" he growled.

"Fuck yes, I do," you whispered, your eyes locked with his. You slipped your hand into his pants. He was so hard and throbbing, already leaking with precum. He groaned, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips. He hadn't felt this in years. He enjoyed your touch, the way your hand explored his length.

"Your hand is so soft," he whispered, his voice hoarse, "You handle a cock just as good as you do a gun, darlin'."

"Fuck, I really wanna have this cock in my mouth," you breathed, your voice husky with desire. He groaned again, "I'm so close…"

You increased the pressure, your movements faster, harder. He arched his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Then, he erupted, a wave of pleasure washing over him. He came hard on your hand, a low moan escaping his lips. He was breathing heavily, his body trembling. You slightly move a thumb across the tip of his cock.

"Looks like your cock likes my attitude, Mr. Miller," you teased, a triumphant glint in your eye.

He cursed, "Fuck, that was good."

"Well, look at the mess you've made," you said, a playful smile on your lips. "Can I get some kind of compliment at least?"

He stammered, "I… I'm sorry. Thanks…" He didn't know what to say. He was still reeling from the intensity of the moment.

You found a rag and cleaned your hand, then left the garage, heading towards the bathroom. You left him standing there, his breath still ragged.

His mind reeling like What the fuck was that?

You went into the shower, your mind still reeling from the ongoings in the garage. The way he looked at you, the way his body had reacted… It was exhilarating and strangely satisfying. You wanted him, badly.

After showering and dressing, you came downstairs. He showed up looking surprisingly sexy and clean.

"Well, don't you look pretty," Ellie teased, her eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, like some DILF from a magazine," you added, a playful smirk on your lips.

He blushed slightly, "Shut up," he muttered. You went into garage, then you climbed into the truck. Ellie squeezed into the passenger seat beside Joel, while you settled into the back. Joel glanced at you from the rearview mirror, his eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary. He was still surprised, still processing what had almost happened back in the garage.

"Here," you said, handing him a small CD case. "Play this. It's my favorite."

He slipped the CD into the player, and as the music began to play, a soft melody filling the truck, you leaned back against the seat, a comfortable silence settling between you. You glanced at Joel, who was focused on the road, but you could feel his eyes on you every now and then.

And as the truck rumbled down the road, disappearing into the fading light of the setting sun, you knew that this journey, already fraught with danger, was about to become a whole lot more interesting.

Thank you for the reading 💜

Please like, reblog and comment. Send me your reviews. ❣️

Chapter 3

Chapter 1

[the-unidentified-author]

The Lord, The Lady and The Long Winter | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Chapter 1: House Baratheon

cregan stark x reader

🚨SLOW BURN🚨

I need to come back and add tags and stuff.

Summary: You’re betrothed to Cregan Stark. The pair of you navigate this relationship of convenience and perhaps even find love.

"What do you think the Warden of the North is like?" your younger sister inquired; her eyes gleaming as she admired the fine gowns your father had procured. She was only seven years old and completely obsessed with dresses and pretty things. These gowns were not a token of your fathers' kindness; rather, your mother had insisted on them, knowing your southern dresses wouldn't keep you warm in the northern chill. You'd barely had a chance to glance at the garments before your two little sisters burst into the room. The youngest, Alanna, was already sifting through them, fascinated by the thick, elegant fabrics crafted to withstand the harsh climate you’d soon call home. She pulled a pair of fine but warm leather gloves from the ornate wooden trunk and pulled them on. They were made for your hands so dwarfed her own, but she didn’t seem to notice, playing with the expensive fur at the cuff.

"I heard that the Northmen are all savages." Ellyn remarked, her arms folded as she sat on your bed, her gaze distant, a scowl adorned her face.

She was the middle sister, your mother only having three girls. Your five older brothers had all been born before yourself. Your mother always joked that the gods gave the three of you to her after she had carried out her duty to the Baratheon house. And as such, your upbringing had been relatively indulgent, with your mother often doting on you and your sisters more than perhaps she ought to have. She had a soft spot for her daughters, allowing little luxuries and moments of leniency that your brothers might not have experienced. This favouritism wrapped your childhood in a blanket of warmth and comfort, granting you a sense of security that only a loving mother could provide. Such spoiling may have shielded you somewhat from the harsher realities of life, but it also meant that facing the impending changes and responsibilities of your new life in the North felt even more daunting.

You knew that Ellyn's comment had not come from a place of spite but rather sadness. The weight of change lay heavily upon Ellyn when the news of your northern betrothal reached her, she was not one to embrace change but rather shy away from it. Ellyn was unsettled by the tides of change and the unsettling murmur of an uncertain future. The betrothal, while a grand step for you, felt like a shattering of the familiar bonds she cherished so deeply. It wasn't just the inevitable separation that gripped her heart, but the unnerving thought of standing on shifting sands, where duty once stood firm. She dreaded the solitude that might creep into the corners of her life, casting long shadows on the once warm and light-filled halls of her existence. It wasn’t just your future that tugged at Ellyn’s heartstrings, but the looming prospect of her journey into the unknown, leaving familiar comforts behind. Inwardly, you promised resilience for your younger sisters, showing them that the shadows of uncertainty held no real threat. Yet, with your wedding day fast approaching, each tick of the clock seemed to unnerve your resolve, making it a true test of strength to maintain composure in the face of impending change.

"Northmen are just different from what we are used to, we have all heard the stories that surround Lord Cregan Stark. He is a fierce warrior and a noble leader. You shouldn't speak so cruelly about him, or you might not be allowed to visit." you stepped forwards, looking at Alanna, who had stopped rifling through your clothes at the mention of a visit.

"May we come and visit you?" inquired Alanna, her large, bright eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought.

"If she's not too busy raising a Northerners babies," Ellyn countered, her tone slightly harsh yet carrying an undercurrent of teasing sarcasm. Alanna's face, previously alight with excitement, now sagged with disappointment.

"If you continue being so cruel, you won't be welcome at all." you muttered, your tone harsher than you had intended. Her harsh words mixed with the stress you were feeling, bubbling up into anger that shouldn't have been directed at her. The words had slipped past your lips, unintentionally carrying more bite than you had wished for. Guilt swam in your gut as you watched Ellyn's crinkle into a frown, the impact of your harshness becoming all too clear.

Ellyn's frown deepened as she stood up from the bed, tears brimming in her eyes. "I hate you," she spat, storming towards the door. "I can’t wait to never see you again.

Your mother appeared at the door as Ellyn left, brushing, past her.

Your mother looked at you with a raised eyebrow, and you let out a weary sigh and moved to follow your younger sister. But instead of letting you pass, your mother stepped forwards placing her hands on your shoulders. You looked at her, and the look she returned threatened to collapse the walls you had been so carefully building after your betrothal.

"Let her go, you know what she is like. She will come around." your mother said, gently pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back.

Wrapping your arms around her, you let her hold you for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of her lavender perfume. A lump formed in the back of your throat, and you fought to swallow it, lest you become a blubbing mess in her arms. She pulled away gently and cupped your face with her hand, offering reassurance in the warmth of her touch.

"You will be okay," she nodded, her voice soft and comforting. Then, turning her attention to Alanna, who was still fussing with the clothing sprawled out on the bed, she added, "Alanna, can you return to your room, please? It's getting late."

Alanna sighed, wanting more than anything to watch you try on the beautiful garments, but she nodded. She moved around the bed and stepped into your mother's waiting arms, hugging her tightly. Your mother kissed her on the head and then ushered her out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. You had always admired your mother; she never once wavered from her duty to your father. Their match, though one of convenience to unite two noble families in the south, had blossomed into a deep and sincere love.

"What if this marriage is different from what you and Father have?" you whispered, unable to hold back the wave of emotions that had been brewing since the announcement. "What if he is as cruel and cold as the Northmen are rumoured to be?"

The weight of uncertainty pressed down on you, making your heart race. It was a daunting realisation that life outside the warm embrace of your home was fraught with danger and unpredictability. All the fears that fluttered in your mind formed a dark storm, and you found yourself wishing for the comfort of familiar surroundings, for the laughter shared with your sisters, and the safety that came with loving arms. The thought of marrying a stranger, of stepping into the unknown, made everything feel so much more overwhelming. You yearned for reassurance, a sign that everything would turn out well, but all you had was the chilling whisper of doubt echoing in your thoughts, leaving you questioning what lay ahead.

"Do you think your father would wed you to a man people thought of as cruel?" your mother asked gently, her voice laced with the soothing wisdom that had guided you through so many dilemmas in the past. Her eyes, often seen brimming with pragmatic resolve, now softened as they searched your face for the fears you tried to mask.

"I think that the love he has for me doesn't always eclipse the honour and duty he must uphold to the kingdom," you replied softly, your words carrying the weight of understanding that had settled upon you. Your gaze rested on the floor, tracing invisible patterns as you spoke, a forlorn truth wrapped around each syllable. As the ambient light cast flickering shadows around the room, you lifted your eyes to meet your mother's, seeking solace in her steadfast presence. Her patient nod encouraged you to continue. "I understand yours and fathers' situation is unique. That people of our station do not often find love and must settle only for companionship, but is it so wrong for me to hope for love?"

"Oh, my love," she murmured, stepping forward with a tenderness that enveloped you, and you dropped your head to her shoulder, allowing yourself to be held by her warmth. Her embrace was a sanctuary, a familiar place that offered solace against the waves of uncertainty crashing within. "It is not a silly thing to wish for at all," she reassured, her voice a gentle balm over your growing concerns. She rubbed soothing circles on your back.

*****

The cold was biting, surprising for early autumn in this part of the country. The air held a sharpness, to it, your breath leaving your lips in a cloud. You felt its sting on your cheeks, turning them a rosy hue as you breathed in the crisp, frosty air. The ground beneath your feet was firm and dusted with a light frost, the leaves crunching softly as you moved. It was as if the North were reaching out, giving you just a taste of the winter you would soon experience, a forewarning of the snowy embrace that awaited you. Even the distant howl of the wind seemed to carry a whisper of winters yet to come, hinting at the icy realm that would become your home.

You stood in front of the carriage that was to take you to the North, to your future husband and home. Your mother had spent the last night in your room, stroking your hair the same way she had when you were a child, suffering nightmares. In that quiet moment, you realised how difficult this must be for her, her first daughter being sent so far away. Not once did she mention her heartache; she simply held you through the night. When morning came, she was back to her usual self, folding the clothes that had been bought for you and packing them back into the chest with a practiced efficiency that spoke more of love than words ever could.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," whispered Ellyn as she stepped forwards and wrapped her arms around you. Her grip was both firm and gentle, as if trying to say that she never really wanted to let go.

"It's okay, I know you didn't mean it," you whispered softly, letting the hug linger as long as she needed it to, feeling her breath steady against you.

She stepped away, and you could see the tears threatening to fall from her eyes, but she was holding them back as well as she could.

"Will you build a snowman?" Alanna asked, stepping forward to hug you tightly. "I heard it's something you can do with snow, and it's supposed to be fun!"

You wrapped your arms around her, lifting her from the floor. She didn’t quite grasp how far you were about to go or how long it would be until you saw her again. It was something your mother would have to handle when reality set in, knowing you wouldn’t be returning to the family home in the same way you had left it. You placed her gently on the ground, and she untangled herself from you, stepping back in line with Ellyn. Your brothers had already bid you goodbye in the days earlier. The nature of their duties meaning that it would almost be impossible for all of them to wave you off. You felt a slight relief that they weren't all there, knowing that watching your whole family fade into the distance as the carriage carried you away from your childhood home might have been too overwhelming to bear.

Your mother stepped forward and gently cupped your face, her touch warm and tender against the coolness of the morning. She nodded at you, a silent acknowledgment of the strength she wished to convey, before pulling you into a close embrace. As she pulled away, you caught a glimpse of the emotion flickering in her eyes, revealing the struggle beneath her composed exterior. Turning to your father, you saw the hint of a smile playing on his lips, though his eyes betrayed the softer emotions he rarely displayed. He extended his hand, steady and reassuring, guiding you as you took the step-up into the carriage that would carry you toward your fate.

Your father stepped up behind you just as you weer about to sit down, the carriage groaning under the shift in weight. Settling himself across from you with a calm certainty, he leaned back, observing the interior with a faint, practiced disinterest. With a deliberate motion, he closed the door behind him, his hand rapping firmly on the side to signal your departure.

The wheels began their slow, laborious turn, the carriage lurching into motion with a rhythm that echoed the unsettled beat of your heart. The time that you had been dreading all summer was finally upon you. Every fibre of your being pleaded for you to wrench open the door and run back to your family. But you sat there, your hands folded in your lap, ignoring every instinct to flee. Each rotation of the wheels pulled you further from everything you had known, as the grim realisation settled deep within your chest—this journey marked the end of your old life and the beginning of your new one.

As the carriage picked up speed, you moved to the window, drawing back the heavy drapery for one last glimpse of your family. There they stood, clustered together in the chilly morning light. Your mother with a solemn expression, your sisters wrapped in cloaks, waving with both excitement and trepidation. You watched as your mother stepped slightly apart from your sisters, clasping her hands as if in prayer, while your father's Stoic demeanour couldn't hide the softening of his eyes.

Each familiar face, lined with love and farewells, imprinted itself onto your memory—a cherished keepsake tucked away in the corners of your heart. You didn’t know when you would next see them all together. Your lives now would be fast-paced, your sisters when they reach your age also fated to be wed off to a distant Lord. The next time all three of you would be together would likely be in the event of a death in the family, not something that you were going to look forwards to.

With a resigned sigh, you let the curtain fall back into place, drawing your hands into your lap as the chill of anticipation prickled along your skin. If it were cold, here, what would it be like up in the North? Across from you, your father watched with a quiet understanding. He didn’t speak, perhaps not knowing what to say, so the space between the two of you was filled only with the soothing rumble of the carriage wheels.

[liquorflower]

𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 — 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨

cw: just pure angst, canon divergence, post-jjk, mentions of death, gojo and you have children, plot-twist.

a/n: this is just a little writing exercise.

the table was just set at this moment. in this icy morning, water, breakfast and honey, decorate the table and coffee brewed fills the house with its well-known smell. your children enjoy playing outside with yuji, megumi and nobara. in this cold morning, you thank having bought those cozy jackets in the mid-summer. now you don’t have to worry about visiting full department stores in this time of year.

poor nobara. by the way little ike is inspecting her eye, grabbing with her tiny hands the jovial cheeks of the girl, she right now might be asking her how she got to lost her eye, how it felt like, how it is to just look with one eyeball, and other sorts of questions, that for you, are merely childish imprudences — perhaps a behavior inherited from your husband, who was about to arrive.

takeshi, by the way he seems to grab both megumi and yuji marks, may have the same curiosity as his sister.

water, for when they have finished eating the western breakfast: scrambled eggs and bacon, to refresh your mouths after the meal and children can drink milk and the adults enjoy the hot coffee.

honey, to spread it in the recently baked biscuits nanami will bring from his trusted bakery shop.

now you just wait for satoru. the kids will be happy to see their dad again and then, in the afternoon enjoy the sweets you are sure he will bring for them. though you don’t have a sweet tooth, you recognize how vile it would be to deny them a sweet treat from time to time.

“hey, there.” a cocky voice can be heard from afar.

“satoru?” you turn and that albino hair, those blue pupils, and...

why he’s not wearing any jacket, with the awful cold is making outside?

after the divorce, when nanami didn’t serve as a therapist for both of you, you managed to keep your worry for him as a formality when you were in front of the children. “have you checked your teeth?” “it’s cold outside, i think you should wear a jacket.”

“i’m glad to see you too.” he gets near and, grabs your knuckles with such delicacy, inviting you to get up from your chair.

“i can tell the same.” you look away, not wanting him to wonder what goes through your mind, not wanting your eyes to betray you. you both had to admit that there was still a spark. it’s just that satoru’s busy lifestyle didn’t allow you to consummate your love, enjoy the children. just curse there and there.

it was unbearable.

“you’ve been missing me?” he teases as always. nanami would always say things like: “i think there are things you need to solve by yourselves.” “i’m not any kind of messenger that you can use as you please.” the blonde man, in some way or another, implied how much he made you suffer, even though you asked him not to tell him that you waited for him every day, just to see if he would change his mind.

then, he notices it’s just not the way he wanted to let you know he also missed you, but also despite how you tried to hide it, you, trying not to cry and hold tears back, is present.

“i think i sounded cruel, didn’t i?” he murmured.

you gasped, as now an enormous and overwhelming sadness consumes you and can’t understand why. he’s here with you and all you want to do is to tell him how much you’ve been longing for him to come and stay with you. that doesn’t matter how much you’ll be waiting for him, the three of you will be blissfully anticipating his arrival.

“hey, it’s okay, i’m here.” he hugs you and instead of feeling any sort of comfort, it’s like a mass of ice is hugging you and that sheds more tears, accompanied by uncontrollable sobbing. “you know? could you please tell the children that they’ll live forever in my heart?” he mumbles in your ear.

“i don’t want you to leave, satoru.” you protest. your whimpers and sob crack your voice.

“hey, hey.” his frozen thumbs try to clean your tears. “i’ll be here, with you. looking after ike and takeshi, you were the most precious thing that could ever happen to me. you have no idea how much i would have liked to enjoy you more. i wish i could go back in time.”

“don’t bullshit me. you still can do it. we can...”

your hands intertwine. “tell them i would’ve loved to take them to eat all the candies in the world.”

you look at his hands. the hands of the strongest man. a vague: “yes” comes from your mouth.

and then, nanami enters with the bread and the trio of young students enters with your children. who quickly noticed your face full of tears and tried to distract the children for them.

nanami, of course knows what happened.

yeah, you have forgotten. now nanami just can’t go and tell him about how your feelings. even if you were at verge of tears, you tried to hide it from nanami, who of course, tired of other things that were happening in his life, tried not to be attached or pay attention to them.

now you just wished you could have been brave enough to speak directly to satoru and no after disgrace just happened.

[itsnesss]

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 | peter sutherland × fem!reader

summary | a quiet evening with peter turns bittersweet when an urgent call forces a temporary goodbye, but both share their love and a promise to reunite soon

warnings | temporary separation, emotional tension, mild angst

word count | 1.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

It’s a quiet night when you arrive at Peter's house, the soft light from the lamps reflecting a comforting atmosphere in the room. The door opens almost immediately after you knock, and he’s there, standing with a smile that seems to brighten the room even more than the soft lighting. "Good to see you," he says, and his voice feels like a whisper of calm amidst the chaos that always surrounds his life.

You simply nod, your nerves calming just a little as you take in how cozy his home feels. It’s hard to imagine someone like him, so deeply involved in politics and security, also having such a serene refuge. "How was your day?" you ask as you take off your jacket, feeling his eyes on you, but not with the pressure you might expect. It’s a soft gaze that makes you feel at home.

Peter closes the door behind you, and without saying another word, he leads you to the kitchen. The simple things seem to be what you both enjoy in these moments. He, always so serious and focused, allows himself a break when he’s with you. He’s told you before: you’re his peace, his small escape.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asks as he pulls out a bottle of white wine, one of his favorites. There’s something in the way he moves that always captivates you. Every gesture, every movement seems calculated, yet still so natural when you see him with those bright eyes of someone who, even though tired, is always present. As if he’s ready to enjoy the simplest of dinners or a conversation that could stretch for hours.

"Yes, please," you reply, smiling softly. You lean against the edge of the kitchen table while you watch him pour the wine. The way his hand moves, elegant, assured, makes you think of everything he’s been through to get to where he is. But in this moment, it doesn’t matter what came before. All that matters is now. Here. With him.

When he finally hands you the glass, his eyes meet yours, and the world outside that kitchen seems to fade away. There are no threats. No conspiracies. Just him, you, and a small corner of tranquility you’ve both built, even if only for a few hours.

"Sometimes," he starts, as if he’s been thinking about it, "all I want is this. Something simple. Something that’s not filled with complications." He looks at you as if he’s searching for something in your eyes, as if waiting for an answer, even though you know he’s not asking a specific question. You just need to listen. He needs to be heard.

"I get it," you say softly, and take a step closer to him. "Sometimes I just want to be here too. Not having to worry about anything else."

Suddenly, the sound of a phone ringing interrupts the silence in the room, and you both glance at it with a mix of frustration and resignation. Peter steps away from you slightly, his expression shifting instantly, the seriousness he always carries returning quickly.

"Sorry," he says as he glances at the phone screen. "It’s urgent. I have to take it."

You nod, though inside, you wish he didn’t have to. The contrast between the peace you’d just shared and the sudden pressure that seems to envelop him again leaves a knot in your stomach. You know it’s part of his life, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

"It’s okay," you reply, though you can’t help but let a slight hint of sadness slip into your voice.

Peter looks at you for a moment before answering the call, and for an instant, he seems to hesitate. As if he wants to stay with you, as if what he has with you is more important than whatever the call represents. But in the end, he answers the call, his voice firm and professional, returning to that role that sometimes seems so foreign to the man you know.

"Peter..." you say softly, before he walks too far away. He looks up at you, his expression softening.

"I know," he replies, his eyes shining with a mixture of regret and understanding. "It hurts, but I can’t avoid it."

You sigh, walking over to him and touching his arm. "I know. And I understand."

The call continues in the background, but he doesn’t pull away completely. For a second, it seems like he forgets everything else. He’s just there, with you. It’s as if time slows down, and you both allow yourselves to savor those last few seconds together before reality pulls you apart once more.

"Promise me that when this is over, you’ll come see me," you say, your voice thick with contained emotion.

Peter nods, his expression soft yet filled with quiet determination. "I promise. As soon as I can."

The moment doesn’t last much longer. The call persists, and finally, with one last look between the two of you, he’s forced to step away, to respond to whatever it is that’s called him back to duty. But before he takes another step, he grabs your hand, and his fingers tighten around yours with a firmness that speaks volumes more than words could.

"I love you," he whispers, and those words hang in the air, suspended in the space between you both.

"I love you too," you reply, your voice barely a whisper, as if those words could break the spell of distance that’s beginning to open up between you.

He takes the call, but looks at you once more, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. And even though his words are directed at someone else, the echo of his promise to return still lingers in your mind, reminding you that, even though the goodbye is temporary, what you shared will never fade.

Finally, you pull away from him, feeling how the emptiness starts to settle in your chest, while his words still throb in your heart.

[techhiz]

Can do Resquest TFA Longarm/Shockwave with femme cybertronian reader, where both are married and the reader is a housewife and is also pregnant and she doesn't know that Longarm is a decepticon spy but one day when she goes to the elite guard because Longarm forgot something but she discovers him in his true form and Longarm kidnaps her and puts him in the nemesis where later Bumblebee helps her out, and Y/N visits Shockwave in the prison letting him see the Sparkling

Deceptive Ties.

Y/N hummed softly as she moved about the cozy quarters she shared with Longarm Prime, her sparkmate. Life as a housewife in the heart of Cybertron wasn’t always exciting, but it was filled with moments of warmth, like preparing his energon cubes or decorating their space with trinkets and mementos. And now, with their sparkling on the way, her days were filled with a sense of purpose and quiet joy.

She placed a hand on her gently rounded abdomen, a smile tugging at her lips. Their sparkling’s arrival was only a few cycles away, and the anticipation filled her spark with both excitement and nerves.

“Y/N,” Longarm’s calm and familiar voice called from the doorway, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Longarm! You’re back earlier than usual!” she exclaimed, moving to greet him. He smiled, his gentle demeanor masking the darker truth that lay beneath.

“I needed to grab something before heading to a meeting with Ultra Magnus. Important Elite Guard matters,” he said, leaning in to place a kiss on her helm.

“Take care, love,” she said softly, watching as he left.

Hours later, Y/N realized Longarm had forgotten a data pad. “He’s always so organized. This isn’t like him,” she mused. Deciding it might be important, she resolved to take it to him.

Arriving at the Elite Guard headquarters, she was met with the usual pleasantries and directed toward Longarm’s office. As she approached, she noticed voices inside and paused, not wanting to interrupt.

Her optics widened as the conversation unfolded.

“I’ll report to Megatron shortly,” the voice said, its tone chillingly different from Longarm’s usual calm cadence.

Y/N peeked in and gasped silently. Before her stood a figure she barely recognized—Longarm, but in a new form, darker and more menacing. His frame was bulkier, his optic a glowing crimson. Shockwave.

She stumbled back, unable to process what she had seen. The mech she had bonded her spark to, the father of her sparkling, was a Decepticon spy.

The slight noise of her movement alerted Shockwave, who swiftly turned. His optic locked onto hers.

“Y/N…” His voice was devoid of pretense now, cold and calculating.

Before she could flee, Shockwave closed the distance between them, grabbing her wrist.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he growled.

“Let me go!” she pleaded, struggling against his grip.

“I can’t,” he said flatly, his optic softening for just a moment before hardening again. “You know too much now.”

Despite her protests, Shockwave used his abilities to create a ground bridge, pulling her through to the Nemesis. The dark, imposing warship was a stark contrast to the home they had shared.

“You lied to me!” she cried, her voice trembling with anger and betrayal. “Everything we had—was it all a facade?”

Shockwave’s expression flickered with guilt. “Not everything,” he admitted. “I did love you, Y/N. I still do. But my allegiance to the Decepticon cause comes first.”

Her spark ached at his words, but she refused to let him see her break.

The Decepticons were quick to isolate her in a secure chamber, though Shockwave ensured she was treated with care. Despite his actions, he couldn’t bear to see harm come to her or the sparkling.

Days turned into weeks. Y/N grew more withdrawn, her spark heavy with sadness. She spent her time speaking softly to her unborn sparkling, finding solace in the life she carried.

One day, she overheard the Decepticons planning an attack. Determined to escape and warn the Autobots, she used the little freedom Shockwave allowed her to send a coded distress signal.

Bumblebee was the first to intercept the signal. His energetic nature and determination drove him to act quickly. With the help of Optimus and the team, they launched a daring mission to retrieve Y/N from the Nemesis.

The battle was fierce, but Bumblebee managed to locate Y/N’s chamber.

“Y/N! I’m here to get you out!” he called.

Relief flooded her systems as she ran to him. “Thank you, Bumblebee,” she whispered.

Shockwave appeared, blocking their path.

“Leave her, Bumblebee. She’s safer here,” he said, his voice void of emotion but his optic betraying his internal conflict.

“She belongs with the Autobots!” Bumblebee retorted, shielding Y/N.

A tense standoff ensued, but Optimus arrived, forcing Shockwave to retreat.

Back at the Autobot base, Y/N was safe but emotionally shattered. The weight of Shockwave’s betrayal and the safety of her sparkling consumed her thoughts.

Weeks later, Shockwave was captured during a mission and imprisoned in a high-security facility.

Y/N visited him one last time, her sparkling cradled in her arms.

“This is your sparkling,” she said softly, her optics filled with sorrow.

Shockwave’s crimson gaze softened as he looked at the tiny mechling. “I’m… sorry,” he said, his voice breaking.

“You should have chosen us,” she replied, her voice firm but filled with pain.

As she turned to leave, the sparkling cooed softly, unaware of the weight of the moment.

Though life was never the same, Y/N found strength in her sparkling and the support of her Autobot family. The past lingered, but she vowed to protect her child from the shadows that had once consumed her life.

Shockwave remained a prisoner, haunted by the life he could have had.

[akugumi]

Why Shrike by Hozier is The Jayvik Song

In the past few days this song has carried itself through my room so many times that it can be practically heard in the walls even when it isn't playing. There isn't a song by Hozier that I do not love but I do have favourites, and Shrike has to be one of them. And given the fact that my hyperfixation on Jayvik has taken residence in the deep hallways of my mind, I was unable to stop myself from thinking of them while listening to this song. So, dear reader, enjoy my analysis of the song and my first contribution to Jayvik nation.

If you'd like to listen to the song as you read this I highly recommend the Live at Windmill Lane Studios version.

Shrike is a song conveying the story of someone who could never fully articulate the affection hidden within their ribcage to their lover. The melodic and gentle music stands as a contrast to the not so gentle imagery of the lyrics. And together they wove the tapestry of a love realised too late. That said, it is far from a gentle love - "hung like the pelt of some prey you had worn; by your grounded and giving and darkening scorn." But despite the darkening scorn of their lover, and the image of them as a hunter, they yearn for them, covering them with adoration - "your sharp and glorious thorn." And isn't that the essence of human existence (that is if you believe that everything is, indeed, about love - in any shape or form that it takes)? We love despite knowing that it might never be enough. We love despite knowing that love is a thorn that could impale us.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird about it now

The realisation of a love gone by sinks its teeth so deep it meets his very bones as he grieves the lack of affection bestowed upon his lover. All that is left is to wonder what to do with all this grief. Where to put it? Realising he can no longer keep it hidden inside his chest where it might bleed into his liver, he sets it free like a songbird.

Words hung above but never would form

The weight of affection that rests on one's shoulders is like a blanket of warmth. But a blanket is so easy to reshape unless it's carved out of stone. Lovers, like blankets, can also slip away from us if we are unable to convey the feelings we hold for them.

Like a cry at the final breath that is drawn

The realisation that crystalises too late. Already after their time has come to an end. It is the realisation that the sadness that now crawls its way into his existence leaves him hollow - a gosh of a person awaiting death so that he could be reunited with his lover once again, and perhaps for the first time in all its intensity.

Remember me, love, when I'm reborn As a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

These have to be some of my favourite lyrics ever written, for they sing of a love greater than romantic love. It is a love closer to devotion. A love that has loved, and has failed, and now it will spend decades yearning and starving - the same way a shrike will starve without its thorn. And despite it all, it is a love that survives like a prayer. It is the devotion that leaves slightly parted lips longing for a kiss. It longs to repent for its mistakes, and it vows to do so in the next life as well.

He knows his lover isn't perfect - a sharp thorn - but as he thinks of them now, he dresses them with light. A glorious thorn. He finds beauty in their flaws and their possible cruelty, for one cannot be without the other. Life is terrifying, so is beauty, and so is love. It is a testament to the fact that he doesn't see his lover as simply one or the other but as a possibility of everything they have ever been and could be to him as he can no longer think of them outside of his love.

Then when I met you, my virtues uncounted All of my goodness is going with you now

Meeting his lover has shaped him into the person he has become - it has filled him with virtue and goodness, for love makes us gentle. And far more often than not, it replaces the sun with a person as they become the sole source of all warmth. And once they are gone, that warmth leaves with them.

Dragging along, following your form Hung like a pelt of some prey you had worn

Here the uncovering of the darkness of his lover takes a firmer shape. Dragging after his lover. Following wherever they want him to go like a prey that has succumbed to its hunter. And unable to move on, hung like a pelt on his lover. With this imagery he paints himself as the victim of their hunt. While the role of his lover as the hunter stands undeniable, he plays the role of the one who remains unmoving in his love far too late of his own accord.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

The urgency of fleeing to a crowded place and burying oneself in the words of countless others rather than constantly grieving so much. The return to his lover - flying free of all past regrets in this new shape that he has been reborn into. To the hedgerows where bodies are mounted as a shrike who relies on its thorn not only to survive but also to fully live.

I was housed by your warmth, thus transformed By your grounded and giving and darkening scorn

Here again he praises his lover's warmth, among others, for transforming him for the better. However, there is also much imperfection to his lover as there was much imperfection to his love. Like a gathering of storming clouds, a profound feeling of disdain hangs above him, thus diming the warmth his lover had previously carved within him.

Remember me, love, when I'm reborn As a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

Despite it all, the affection he has for his lover is of such intensity that he will carry it into his next life. And then he will live as a shrike to their thorn. They will no longer have to seek each other out. There will be no time or place for longing or fear or aching of past mistakes. Even if tomorrow isn't certain, a shrike only needs its thorn.

And is this any different from the story of Viktor and Jayce? Viktor, much like the lover in this song, has been the one to show Jayce that he can take the path that leads him to the magic he has always dreamt of. He showed him that despite the dismissive reaction of everyone, there is someone who believes in his dream. When the world has failed him and drained him of his light, Viktor was the one to relight the fire of his ambition - becoming the pulse Jayce could hold onto instead of succumbing to the shrieking of his doubts. And he was also the one to remind him of the goodness of his intentions. It seems natural then that, when Viktor was taken away from him by death herself, Jayce could only think with a mind clouded by emotion. For how can one stay tender and true to his word with blood staining his hands? When faced with the fact that Viktor could be taken away from him, Jayce was unable to cling to principles - willing to go so far as to bring him back no matter the cost. There is no clearer declaration of selfish love than this. But something is wrong. When Viktor awakes the betrayal is stronger than Jayce’s longing, and so he leaves. It is too late. Jayce has realised his love, as it truly was, once his lover has already been destined to be taken away from him. Viktor leaves, and Jayce waits. One is selfish as he brings his love back, the other selfless as he leaves his love behind. A shrike and a thorn. And then Jayce is thrown into the alternate universe where he becomes prey haunted by the ghosts of the glorious evolution and observed by another version of his lover. Despite all his heartach, he drags himself up to meet him and he devotes his life to amend the mistakes of the past as well as the ones he has yet to let happen. It might have been his selfishness that has caused all this, but it is his selfless devotion that saves them both. And as he holds Viktor through his grief in their final moments together, as he presses their foreheads together, he is not worried for what is about to come next. Even if tomorrow isn’t certain, a shrike only needs its thorn. 

[twstfanblog]

Hey there my lovely oomf <3

can we have some lovely bonding time with Jamil during Chinese new year?

like maybe they’re making a dish to celebrate and it ends with a kiss or smth.

thank you for your time!

Chinese New Year Prep

Jamil x Reader

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing"

The prefect could only glance to the side, smiling sheepishly, "Okay. But...sorry-"

Jamil sighed, closing his eyes as he poured cooked redbean paste filling into a waiting mason jar to be cooled, "Prefect. It's fine."

"...Okay, but-"

"Look me in the eyes, right now."

They, of course, weren't going to do that. So they turned away from the annoyed vice, focusing on cleaning the third whole fish for the festivities. The prefect had made what could only be deemed a cardinal sin, mentioning their homesickness to Kalim. He had been more than willing to hear them out, offering his shoulder and ear to their plight as they talked about their home.

Making the terrible mistake of explaining Chinese New Year to the housewarden.

Now Kalim was set on throwing a New Years party, no matter what they nor Jamil did to stop him. Jamil was only willing to let them help with the sudden prep because they had insisted to the vice there were rules. And as nice as Kalim was, they were not going to let him fuck up their New Years luck.

"I just...even back home it's a lot sometimes. I can only think how big Kalim is going to make this." They finally glance to Jamil's annoyed expression, "Just...sorry..."

Sighing, Jamil reached a hand out to gently tuck a hair behind the prefect's ear, "Don't apologize for being homesick. From what you told me and Kalim, this is a big celebration for family and friends. It only makes sense you'd get sad."

"Yeah..."

"..." Jamil used the back end of a spoon, scooping up a bit of cooled lotus seed filling and offering it to the prefect's mouth, "Try this, I want to have the expert's opinion."

Laughing a bit, they opened their mouth to let Jamil feed them by hand. Humming, they felt the homesickness ease at the familiar tastes, "It's really good. How many fillings did you make again?"

Jamil looked to the multiple sealed jars of various fillings along the countertop, "Most likely too many. You gave us two traditional flavors, but the dough is so simple that I agreed with Kalim you could really fill them with anything. So I made...a lot."

"You're lucky there wasn't enough time to make salted egg yolks. They're the best, but I think with all the other fillings it should still be balanced."

Jamil hummed, turning to the prefect, "I've been meaning to ask. This is a lot of prep and regulations for a single day of celebration. I know it's a big holiday, but why can't we clean until it's been five days since the new year?"

"Ok...so...I told you there were a lot of rules...and there are...because its the new year, a lot of things are reset and set up so you have to prep your luck for the year."

"Ok? That doesn't answer why I can't clean-"

"It's bad luck. You can only clean once the fifth day happens. And afterwards the other days are good to clean as you need-"

Jamil snaps over to them, eyes narrowed in suspension, "Other days...what other days?"

"..." The prefect touches the tips of their fingers together, smiling nervously as they attempted to step farther away, "The New Years Festival lasts fifteen days..."

"..." Jamil grabbed their arm, pulling them closer and placing a hand to their cheek, "The one you behold is your master."

"J-jamil!?" They laughed, trying to pull and turn away from the vice.

"When I ask you a question, you will answer." He didn't release them, wrapping his arms around their waist.

"Jamil, calm down! I'm not going to tell Kalim, I swear!"

[fjkszkdhx]

I was once frigid. I didn’t understand what had happened to me. I thought I might be gay. I thought I might be asexual. I’d been reading about women’s frigidity all over the internet, combing through voices of confused women, what’s happening to me, and resentful men convincing themselves of some imaginary deception — she pretended to be a nympho in the beginning to trap me. Now? Nothing.

But there was no trick, only a death.

—————————

I wasn’t gay. I wasn’t asexual.

It was him.

He wasn’t a man. He was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, the stale, musty scent of a hamper filled with dirty laundry, an unmade bed with sheets covered in sex as mechanical and mundane a chore as emptying the dishwasher or taking out the trash.

He wasn’t a man. He was the sneering contempt of the golden son still latched to his mother’s breast, and a relentless campaign of criticism — his mother didn’t fold his shirts that way — and more criticism masked as well-intended advice.

I don’t think you’d make a good mother, he’d told me one afternoon as I was staring out the window of the high rise I was trapped in, grieving my own recently deceased mother in a peaceful silence, eating a bowl of cereal. I was remembering how I inhaled her deeply one morning a few months earlier as she lay dying in her bed, hoping to be comforted by her signature jasmine scent. instead, I smelled her imminent death. She was ashamed when she felt my deep inhale into her neck, and said to me in a sad voice that she didn’t smell like herself anymore. I told her she always smelled beautiful to me — and I was staring out the high rise window thinking about how I wasn’t lying when I said that, hoping she knew, promising her once again that I meant it.

When I opened my mouth to cry, Oedipus explained that he only said it out of love. And how lucky I felt to be loved, despite all my faults he readily pointed out everyday.

I’ll be better, I scolded myself daily, determined. I’d convince him of my worth and in the meantime be so grateful that he could love me in all my incompetence and inferiority.

But despite the millions of excuses I made for my situation, or because of the millions of excuses I made for him, my fault, my fault, always my fault — I fell sick.

At first, I didn’t notice the creeping anger — I thought I was happy, I told myself it was like playing house just as I had when I was a little girl.

He noticed, though, when he asked me one day why I always cringed when he touched me.

More and more days passed gazing out the window, daydreaming of jasmine, daydreaming of escape, the only intrusion, his voice—a pinprick to my skin. I realized I wasn’t a little girl playing house; I was playing captive, staring out the window, jealous of the birds.

My mind was fully checked out, but my body changed. I started feeling a nameless ache. It took on a name in time: eviscerating rage. He’d taken me, a woman with undomesticated passion and transformed me into a bubbling vat of acid. Food lost all taste, the only taste I knew was the battery acid in my mouth. Sex lost all its texture and caprices.

I was done. I realized this one night gazing at him asleep.

I loved him most when he was sleeping.

I wished he would just sleep forever.

I began plotting my escape and two years and three attempts later, I jumped out the window. My death was a quiet one.

—————————————

It’s four years later.

I forgive myself now. I like to take long baths. I submerge my body into the hot water with just my nipples exposed, the cool air making them hard. I splash around. I touch myself and I feel pleasure.

Now that I know cold black rage, deadly as it is, I’m careful.

I like my rage white-hot, transient as it is intense.

[whatchareadingnow]

Daryl Dixon x Fem Reader

Daryl couldn't exactly pin point the exact moment he realized he loved you.

He'd always had a soft spot for you sure, the moment he laid eyes on you he took it upon himself to be your protector, even when you didn't need him.

But at some point he stopped seeing you as just a close friend. At some point he noticed little things about you that makes his stomach flutter.

You're beautiful, anyone with eyes can see that. Your bright eyes, the curves on your body, the way you always smell like something sweet... It's enough to make him come in his pants.

He'd never tell you. Oh God no, he couldn't dare to ruin your friendship like that. Because that's the only way he'll ever have you; as a friend.

The thought makes him want to shut down, retreat into himself. Daryl's not an idiot, he knows that you won't always be single. One day you'll meet someone, someone that's not him.

He stands on the sidelines in the church. He's never liked these functions that Alexandria throws, too many people, too much noise.

The only reason he came was for you. He knew you'd be upset if he didn't at least make an appearance, and goddamn it he's never been able to say no to you.

He sips from his whiskey glass, his pale blue eyes following you on the dance floor. You're radiant tonight, your dress swirling around your legs as you dance with some guy, your melodic laugh carrying out over the room.

He grips the glass tighter as he watches the guy dip you, the band playing some upbeat song that contrasts against his foul mood.

He wishes it could be him dancing with you, even though he doesn't know the first thing about dancing, he would try for you. Only in his mind you're not dancing in this room filled with people, you're dancing alone in the living room; just the two of you. Away from prying eyes and judgement, where he can be himself around you.

He's pulled out of his self loathing thoughts when he sees the guy you're dancing with lean in to whisper something in your ear, whatever he's saying makes you giggle and blush.

He can feel his face crumble, a sharp pain shooting though him at the sight of you flirting.

He has no right to feel this way, you're not his, you never will be. And yet he still feels like you've ripped his heart out, unknowingly of course.

He sets his glass down, unable to finish the amber liquid, he feels nauseous enough already.

He pushes through the crowd and makes a beeline for the church doors, ignoring the sounds of friends asking what's wrong.

He steps out into the cool night air, leaning his hands on his knees as he finally lets the emotions out.

A tear slips down his face, making him feel like an even bigger idiot. You're inside dancing; completely unaware of the effect you have on him. And he's outside on the verge of a panic attack.

He wipes his face roughly with the back of his hand. He wishes he had a cigarette right now.

He looks back at the church doors he just ran out of, he can still hear the music playing even outside.

He bites the inside of his bottom lip, a habit you've always gotten on to him about.

He heaves a heavy sigh as he takes a step back, he can't go back inside. How can he? When all he wants to do is kiss you, hold you, keep you safe and happy.

But it will never happen, not in this lifetime. No matter how much he wishes things were different.

He turns and walks away from the church, away from you. He wants you to be happy; that's all he's ever wanted.

Even if it's not with him.

Author's note: This is my little attempt at getting back into writing. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this, should I make a part two? Is this too sad for our baby boy?

[sturnssan]

𝓒𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓷

Chris x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Argument, some crying, break up.

Word count: 1909

Summary: Chris and Y/N have been together for a couple of years, but what happens when all that love suddenly fades away?

Chris and Y/N had been together for years—years filled with whispered dreams, late-night laughter, and promises that once felt unbreakable. But somewhere along the way, the love they held so tightly had started to unravel, thread by painful thread.

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓽.

It happened on a rainy Thursday.

The air between them was thick with tension, the kind that made even the silence feel like screaming. Y/N stood in the doorway of Chris’s apartment, her arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold together the pieces of her heart that were already breaking.

“This isn’t working,” Chris finally said, his voice raw. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “We fight all the time. We hurt each other more than we love each other.”

Y/N swallowed, the words slicing through her. “So that’s it? You’re giving up?”

Chris looked at her—really looked at her—and for the first time, she saw the exhaustion in his eyes. The love was still there, buried beneath all the hurt, but it wasn’t enough anymore.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “But I can’t keep pretending we’re okay.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring his face. “I hate you for this,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “I hate that you’re okay with letting us go.”

Chris flinched as if she had slapped him. “Do you think this is easy for me?” he snapped, his own voice cracking. “I love you, Y/N. But love isn’t fixing us.”

And just like that, the fight drained out of her. She had no more words, no more energy. Just heartbreak.

So she turned and left.

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓱

The first few weeks were unbearable.

Y/N avoided places they used to go together, ignored his texts, and pretended she didn’t flinch every time she heard his name. Nights were the worst—staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment, every argument, every kiss.

The flowers he bought for her on their anniversary were now wilted on a vase in her room.

All the polaroids of them that she had in her room were now lying on the floor as if they had never meant anything.

She felt broken, unloved.

She felt like she was drowning, crying wasn't enough.

She cried herself to sleep more times than she’d ever admit.

But time, cruel and kind in equal measure, kept moving.

She started going out again, laughing at things that weren’t forced. The pain dulled, day by day, until one morning she woke up and realized she hadn’t thought about Chris the night before.

She was healing. Slowly, but surely.

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓸𝓷

Months later, they ran into each other at a coffee shop.

Y/N froze. Chris did too.

She had expected to feel the ache again, the suffocating weight of what they had lost. But instead, there was something softer. Nostalgia, maybe.

“Hey,” he said, hesitant.

“Hey.”

And then, somehow, they ended up sitting at a table, just the two of them trying to find common ground in the ruins of what they once were.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Chris admitted, stirring his coffee.

Y/N offered a small, sad smile. “Yeah… me neither.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Do you think we could be friends?” he asked, carefully.

She thought about it. About all the pain, all the love, all the history between them.

She knows she's healing, that she still loves him, even if he doesn't feel the same way. But can you pretend to be friends with the person who made you love him and then broke your heart?

After a few minutes of thinking, she nodded.

“Yeah, Chris. I think we can try.”

Trying didn’t mean it would be easy. But for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end of their story.

Finally the wilted flowers went to the trash and the polaroids were kept in a box where she knows she will never look at them.

She thinks she's finally clean.

TYSM for reading!! I loved writing this, I hope you loved it!

Dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

—𝓐𝓷 𑁍