#and that feels like… the only way that should ever work??
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Two professors and a student (Part 3)
Word count: 2700
Warnings: phone sex (kinda?), smut, masturbation, sex
It’s the first Monday of your winter break, and you’re back on campus. Rio had sent out an email to everyone in the course saying that if anyone wanted, she would be in her office all day so you could look at your graded exams. She hadn’t put the grades into your student portal yet, so your heart is pounding as you climb up the stairs to the science building.
From nerves, yes, but also at the prospect of seeing Rio again.
You hadn’t heard from her since the text Saturday morning, and yet, you had been able to think of little else. Thoughts of her and Agatha had plagued your mind all weekend and now you weren’t sure how to interact with Rio in an educational setting.
Should you bring up the dinner tomorrow night? Or just pretend that you were her student and nothing more?
What if there were other students from your class in her office right now? You sort of hope that’s the case and then you won’t have to stress about it.
But of course, when you knock on her office door and then push it open, it’s only Rio.
She’s sitting at her desk, looking expectantly at you, like she knew you would be coming.
“Hey,” you say, voice sounding more shaky than you intended.
“Y/n, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She asks, tone silky and suggestive. You gulp and take a few more steps in the office, not missing the way the door clicks shut behind you.
“I wanted to see my exam?” It comes out as a question instead of a statement. God, it’s almost embarrassing how much this woman affects you, especially after the other night.
“Of course you did,” Rio says smugly and stands up. She moves some papers around on her desk. Once she finds it, she holds it out to you so you’re forced to close the distance and take it from her.
Inhaling deeply, you chance a peek at the top and are pleasantly surprised to find a 97% scribbled on the paper. You exhale slowly and you can almost feel the tension seeping out of your body. All the effort you had put in had paid off.
You flip through the pages of the exam to see where you messed up. You’re so focused on reading her feedback that you don’t notice Rio has moved right behind you until you feel her hot breath on your neck.
You stiffen and you can feel goosebumps creep up your body.
“You did so well,” she says, practically whispering it into your ear. “Your attention to detail, the amount of care you put into your work, it’s impressive.”
“Thank you,” you manage to squeak, hands wrinkling the paper from how tight you’re holding onto it. Her fingers come up to lightly play with your hair and you’re having trouble reading the words on the paper. All you can think about is Rio.
“What do you think about going to Herb’s tomorrow night?” She murmurs. Herb’s is probably the fanciest steakhouse in town. You whirl around, startling when you realize just how close she actually is to you. Her lips (not that you’re looking) are probably three inches from yours. You can see the little specks of gold in her dark eyes.
“I couldn’t, that’s too much,” you protest, but she puts a finger to your mouth. You freeze.
“Agatha and I want to reward you for being such a good girl for us,” she says and a thrill runs through you. “That’s who you are, right?”
You think you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You nod ever so slightly, afraid to move too much since her finger still hasn’t left your mouth.
And then she grabs your chin with her hand, causing you to gasp at the sudden roughness, her thumb coming to stroke lightly at your bottom lip. You part your lips reflexively and she smirks, delighting in the obvious effect she has on you.
“Say it,” she urges.
“I’m your good girl,” you rasp, heat now flaring in your stomach. Her eyes are locked on yours and you can see desire clouding in them. You’re positive yours look the exact same. Her thumb swipes against your lip again, and this time, you flick your tongue out to brush against it. Her eyes flash and she opens her mouth to say something but there’s a knock on the door and you jump back from her.
Rio chuckles sardonically, tongue pushing against her inner cheek, and calls out, “Come in!”
A kid you’ve only seen once or twice in the entire semester pushes open the door and walks in.
“Um, well, thanks for this,” you say, flustered more than you’ve ever been in your life, and hand the test back to Rio.
“Professor Harkness is in her office, if you want to stop by and say hi,” she says casually and you don’t know how she is so composed. Is she telling you to go see her? Did Agatha ask to see you?
You wouldn’t be surprised now if they were counting on you coming to see Rio to see your test. If this whole thing had been planned.
But if anything, you feel like this is confirmation that they want you too.
“Okay,” you say, still a little breathless.
You take a moment to collect yourself once in the hallway again and then in almost a daze, walk to Agatha’s office.
You had spent so much time there in the semester earlier that you could map it with your eyes closed. And even now, when you haven’t been there in months, it still looks the exact same when you finally arrive and go inside.
Sitting at her desk, Agatha looks positively ecstatic that you’re there.
“Rio said–” you begin, but trail off because you’re not sure how to explain what just happened. You’re not sure if Agatha will be jealous. You awkwardly walk over and sit on the couch where you spent so many afternoons.
“How’d you do on her exam?” She asks, but from her grin, she clearly already knows.
“Really good,” you say. “I think better than I did on your final.”
Agatha pouts mockingly. “Trying harder to impress her more than me?”
“No! I don’t – no – that’s not –”
She laughs. “Sweetheart, I’m teasing.” She stands up and comes around to sit next to you on the couch. Her body is tilted towards you and her legs come up so her thigh is against yours. You bite back a gasp at the contact. “Did Rio talk to you about dinner tomorrow?”
You nod and try to contain the blush that is surely spreading on your face, but the memory of Rio calling you a good girl and tasting her thumb on your tongue makes that impossible. “Herb’s?”
“Have you been?” She perches her elbow on the side of the couch and rests her head in her hand, leaning in closer.
“No. It’s too fancy for a broke college student like me,” you answer in a lame attempt at a joke. “You guys really don’t have to take me there.”
Agatha’s other hand comes up to cup your cheek and rub her thumb against it. “Hon, you are so much more than that. And yes, we do. We want to. It’s been awhile since someone has caught our attention like this.”
Your breath hitches. “Like what?” You dare to whisper. You find yourself also leaning in closer and can’t help from glancing down at her lips.
She smirks. “Like this.”
And then she closes the gap and your eyes close in anticipation. But her lips stop when they’re a breath away from yours, maybe just to make sure you want this too. You want this more than life at this point, so you’re the one who makes the first real move and you kiss her. It’s featherlight, just a ghost of a kiss lasting mere seconds, but when you pull back, her normally-blue eyes are dark and hooded.
Her hand on your cheek tangles itself in your hair and she pulls you in to crash your mouths together in a bruising kiss.
You moan into her open mouth when her tongue parts your lips and licks against yours. Her fingers move to scrapple at your hips and you figure out what she wants so you maneuver yourself into her lap without breaking the kiss. Her hands slide under your shirt and just rest against your skin, but you have to pull away to throw your head back and moan at the hot contact. Agatha doesn’t hesitate before kissing down the side of your face and then down your neck. She sucks a bite into the juncture of your neck and shoulder and your hips cant in her lap.
“Fuck,” you gasp and her nails dig into your back. You drag her mouth back to yours, panting into the kiss. You can feel her losing composure as well when her teeth nip aggressively at your lower lip. It turns you on beyond words that you’re having this kind of effect on her.
“Well, would you look at this?” A voice says from the doorway and you jerk back so hard that you topple off Agatha’s lap and onto the couch. Fear spikes through your body as you look and–
–it’s Rio.
Part of you is relieved that it wasn’t anyone else, but then again, you were just caught making out with her girlfriend. Agatha doesn’t look worried at all, though. If anything, she looks proud of herself.
“I didn’t realize when I told you to come here I was giving you permission to whore yourself out,” Rio says cooly as she walks over to the couch.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper and you scramble off the couch, smoothing your shirt down from where it had ridden up. Agatha rolls her eyes amusedly. “I’ll, um, see you guys tomorrow night?”
“Six pm, don’t be late,” Rio says, eyes burning into you as you scurry out of the office.
Your plan is to get to your dorm as fast as possible so you can touch yourself to the memory of the kiss, desperately needing to relieve the ache that has built up in you.
You haven’t even left the building though when your phone rings. You pull it out of your pocket and, much to your surprise, it’s Rio. Is she calling you to tell you to come back? To scold you?
You swipe to answer it and hesitantly lift your phone to your ear. “Hello?”
At first, you don’t hear anything specific, just some muffled sounds. You say something again, but you don’t hear either of them. Did Rio butt-dial you?
You’re about to hang up when you finally hear Rio. But she’s not talking to you.
“How was it?” She says. Her voice sounds far away. Is she asking about you?
“Fuck, Rio, it was so hot,” Agatha says. Your entire body tenses. They’re talking about you.
Your head starts to spin and you frantically look around for somewhere you can go.
“Yeah? It looked hot. She looked so good with her tongue in your mouth, Aggie.”
There’s a bathroom a few yards away. You duck into it and lock yourself in a stall. You’re not sure you could hold the phone any closer to your ear.
“I thought you were going to kiss her, too,” Agatha admits. “I wanted to watch.” Someone scoffs and you think it might be Rio.
“I would’ve earlier if one of my idiot students hadn’t interrupted. You should’ve seen her, so desperate for it.”
“Oh, I think I know what desperation looks like on her.” You can practically hear the smirk in Agatha’s voice and you blush. “And I know what it looks like on you, too.”
Another huff. There’s silence for a moment and you strain your ears so you don’t miss anything. And then there’s the faintest of sounds, almost like a smacking noise. Your eyes widen. Are they kissing?
“Can you taste her on me?” You hear Agatha mutter between breaths and you think you’re about to combust on the spot. You can’t resist from sliding a hand down your shorts and you gasp at how wet you are.
The sounds continue and you hear soft moaning, but you’re unable to distinguish who they’re coming from.
And then: “Get on the desk,” Agatha orders roughly. “I never thanked you properly for Saturday morning.” Rio chuckles breathlessly and you can hear things being cleared off the space.
You are completely overwhelmed now, by the knowledge that Rio had fucked her the morning after you had seen them (was the dinner invitation before or after?) and now Agatha’s about to return the favor.
And you are listening.
“Are you going to tell her about your dream?” Rio asks. You hear the sound of a belt buckle and a zipper.
“Should I?” Agatha retorts. “Do you think she could handle knowing I had such a good dream about the three of us that you had to take care of me in my sleep?”
You moan involuntarily and clamp a hand over your mouth. If they catch you listening there’s a chance they’ll hang up and you cannot take that risk.
“I think she could,” Rio says, words turning into a groan at the end of the sentence. You wonder if Agatha is touching her now. “I saw how much she needed you just now. I think she’d be a good girl and let us do whatever we wanted to her.”
You nod enthusiastically like they can see you.
“Fuck, Agatha,” Rio gasps and you think if you listen closely enough, you can hear her wetness. You slide a finger into yourself and mirror what you’re imagining Agatha doing.
“She is our good girl, isn’t she,” Agatha muses conversationally. You have to bite down your lip so you don’t make any other noises. “Can you picture her doing this to you? Making you feel good with her fingers?”
Your ring finger joins your middle finger to thrust into you and your thumb rubs at your clit. You are embarrassingly close after making out with Agatha and now this.
It seems like Rio is, too. “Yes, fuck, I want you both.” You can hear her breaths coming out short and fast and Agatha laughs.
“You both are so desperate. What am I going to do with you? I have some ideas.”
You almost beg to hear them. But Rio has that covered for you.
“Oh yeah?” She whimpers.
“I’m going to teach her how you like to be eaten out. How you like to be fucked. And then we’ll see if she’s as good of a learner in bed as she is in the classroom.” Rio’s moan is so loud it cuts out the next thing Agatha says. You can’t be mad though because her sounds are just as hot as Agatha’s words. “And then we’ll fuck her. She’ll look so pretty stretched around your fingers. With my tongue in her pussy.”
You taste blood from how hard you bite your lip after she says that. Your hips stutter and you are so close.
“Fuck, Agatha,” Rio swears. “I’m going to cum.”
“Yeah? Cum for me, Rio. And you too, sweetheart.” You can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips when you register that Agatha is talking to you and hearing her say that sends you over the edge. Rio as well, from the sounds of it. Your orgasm is explosive, even though you’re fucking yourself in a college bathroom stall. You pant and rest your head against the wall, thoroughly ruined.
Your cheeks are flushed at being played like a fool. Of course they didn’t accidentally call you right before they just happened to have sex.
There’s movement from Rio and Agatha’s side and then Agatha’s voice close to the speaker. “You okay, honey?”
You cough to clear your throat. “Yeah,” you say weakly and they both chuckle.
“We’ll see you tomorrow night,” Rio says. “Wear something pretty for us.” And the call disconnects.
You laugh in disbelief. Fuck.
#agatha harkness x fem!reader#agatha harkness x reader#agatha x reader#agatha x you#agatha harkness smut#agatha harkness x you#kathryn hahn x reader#agatha smut#agatha all along#rio vidal x agatha harkness#agatha x rio#rio vidal x reader#agathario#agathario x reader
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Yandere academic rival who really, really wishes he could just get you out of the way.
Dead dove Do Not Eat! MDNI ! NSFW !
Tw. Dubcon/Noncon, bullying, academic pressures, blackmail, oral sex, explicit photos, mentions of baby trapping, yandere, stalking, forced relationship, AFAB reader
Elias had a certain level of respect for you.
You both attended a prestigious university crammed full of students vying to make connections and nab a cushy position for themselves in the future, and while it was easy for him to be on top of the social and academic scenes, he knew you had to work a bit harder. He came from a very wealthy household, one where needing something was merely a concept and not something he ever actually encountered. You, on the other hand, definitely come from a lesser background than him and his circle. Your scholarship and just above the average academics seemed to have pushed you into a good spot to be hoisted into the same realm as him.
But he didn't really think of you much at first.
You were some nameless face that wasn't really worthy of being around him. Maybe he would catch glimpses of your hair, or someone woud mention you in passing and he'd pretend to be intruiged.
It was really when you started to be compared to him of all people that he started to really pay attention.
You were smart, cunning, and ruthless when it came to your assignments. Just like him. Normally he worked overtime, paid industry professionals to help review his papers, his study materials and poured blood sweat and tears into his academics. And yet you somehow managed to be on his level with less than half the resources. It drove him up a wall because if you were nearly as good as him now, then what could you be like if you had the chance?
Elias was like a man obsessed after your sudden, explosive rise in the minds of professors and lecturers alike. He spent hours studying, shirking his friends and other responsibilities just to make sure he was still better than you, to keep you in your place.
He started to focus in more on your personal life, too.
Where on earth did you come from? He's half convinced that you were genetically designed in a lab to piss him off. But the more he glares at the back of your head when you're not looking, the more he's transfixed. You're like a black hole, or some kind of other abyss like metaphor. Fuck, you had him writing poetry in his head. He hated poetry. He hated you. Or at least, he would really like to hate you, but he couldn't. You had the same amount of drive as him, maybe even a little more. No matter what he did, he was forced to acknowledge you, forced to be aware of every twitch of your hand or every flutter of your eyelids. To him, you were something that demanded attention, even if it was taken from him through gritted teeth.
The only reprieve from his spiraling was the fact that you felt the same way about him. He liked to imagine that you were just as obsessed with him, sitting there in the late hours of the night writing down equations with him as your sole motivator.
But then he finds out that he's not even occupying your mind, and he loses his shit.
"Oh Elias? Yeah I guess he's fine. Huh? Rivals? What the- no way I just want good grades. He has nothing to do with it haha."
You just said it in passing when someone teased you about it, and he knew that he shouldn't linger on your words for too long. If anything, it should make him feel better. You had nothing against him, so it meant everything was fine, right? Wrong. It was so wrong.
Elias was seething, nearly throwing a tantrum. How could you not even think about him. Him! You were some piddling, pathetic excuse for a human being, and you had the audacity to not even regard him when he spent nearly every waking moment thinking about you.
He was fine just watching you from the corner of his eye. He was fine knowing that on some level, the two of you had a respectable if not distant relationship. Just because in some aspect, he wanted a piece of you all to himself. And if you weren't going to let him just have a little bit of your life, your passion, your drive, he would just take all of you instead.
He follows you into the library late one night. You're sitting there, glowing in the warmth of the nearest lamp while your pen makes soft scratching noises against the paper. You look pretty. You've always looked pretty to him. You don't notice him as he approaches, and he feels any vestiges of doubt or restraint float away. Even now, as he loomed over you, you didn't even spare him a glance.
The library was empty. He made sure it was so before hand, and he's glad he did. The quite air was shattered by the sound of him shoving you over the priceless lacquered wood desk. Your eyes go wide as you take him in, and his hands fly up to your throat.
"Augh! What are you-?"
"Shut up." He hisses and narrows his gaze. Your pulse is racing underneath his fingers, and he has half a mind not to crush your windpipe into oblivion so that he can be the last one to feel it. "You have no idea," He mutters and leans in close. Your frightened breath ghosts over his skin, and he shudders. Now that he thinks about it, this is the first time he's ever been so close to you. It feels so right. He never wants to be away from you again. Not when you look so damn alluring with tears rolling down your cheeks and your clothes rumpled on the floor by his feet.
He wants you like this always, with your twitching cunt stuffed full of his fingers and your cries filling his ears. Soft, wet squelching noises met each of his ministrations, and a cruel, wonder filled grin spread across his face.
"You have no idea how much you've driven me wild," He laughs. It's a sharp sound that grates on your ears. "How much you infuriate me," Each word is punctured by a thrust, by a curling motion that has you gasping and seeing stars.
If this is what he has to do so that you notice him, so you will just fucking care about his existence more than you would any other speck of dust on the street, then so be it.
It only gets worse from there.
Elias takes photos of you. So many. Ones of your crying face, ones of your leaking pussy, some of him shoving his dick past your puffy lips. Once the camera shuttered and they were in his hands, it was all over.
He played the role of your boyfriend after that.
There wasn't a moment where he wasn't hovering over your shoulder, whispering threats into your ears. He gets you to start doing worse in your classes and on your assignments, and for once, he's happy. He finally has your eyes on him, and if you ever try to leave him or say anything, then he'll make sure you can never show your face around here again. Don't worry, though. He's kind enough to keep it so you won't fail outright. In fact, he'll just slip some money to some of the professors so you don't have to do anything other than sit on his lap and pay attention to him while he actually works for the top spot.
Elias takes you out on fancy dates as if it's any way to soothe the sting of having your life ruined. He pays for everything and practically preens under the feeling of finally getting what he wants. He's such a brat, and he doesn't even care about hiding it when he's with you. Part of the reason why he likes you is he can be his nasty, awful and conniving self and you have no choice but to accept it. He doesn't mind if you're reluctant or stubborn. In fact, he kind of likes it because in the end, you still gave in to have a chance to graduate from a prestigious school. And plus, now you're living the high life with him! It's kind of a win win if you think about it.
He loves having you sit on your knees (a cushion underneath them of course. He wouldn't want you to ever actually get hurt) and taking his cock in your mouth while he studies. You look so cute like that, with your eyes all narrowed in mildly hidden frustration, and he loves it even more when he thrusts into your throat. You always make these little spluttering noises that just drive him wild, and he clamps his thighs around your head to keep you there.
Elias who soon becomes the university's beloved model student. He's not going to let anyone get in his way ever again, especially not after he has you to provide for now. After all, he's got plans for you. Once he manages to put a baby in you, he'll know that your future family is secured, and he's got to support all of you. There's no way he can fail now!
#my writing#yandere#yandere x reader#tw yandere#yandere male#yandere x you#x reader#dead dove fic#stalker yandere#yandere rival#male yandere#yandere x darling#yandere boyfriend#fanfic writing#darlingcore#yandere concept#yandere character
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Yknow what actually i have thoughts on this
A non exhaustive list of ways magic can screw up a user with overuse
[Plain text: A non exhaustive list of ways magic can screw up a user with overuse]
ELECTRICITY
Due to the nature of the nervous system and brain being a series of electrical signals to certain parts of the body, its more than like your character will have muscle spasms or tics as they approach their limit. Overusing by too far could lead to seizures, brain/nervous system damage, so on.
The obvious option of lightning scars/electricity burns.
NATURE
Plant life growing over/in the body- for example, roots growing in the circulatory system in the hands or feet or even reaching the heart, until the body's natural magic breaks it down- which may be hard when you barely have any magic reserves left.
Plants in your surroundings being... aggressive or avoidant. Plants attacking you that normally should not, because your burnt out aura is so fucking nasty to them + you're abusing the magic of nature.
WATER
Dehydration! Really. Really bad dehydration. Something water and fire would actually share! The human body is roughly 70% water last i checked, so what happens when you run out of MANA to go off of? It starts to use YOU instead as the fuel.
Potential aqua/hydrophobia (these are different things), until the body regulates itself or your character receives treatment. Or the opposite, where you cant LEAVE water or stop drinking it until you feel better, which could be hard depending on the setting
FIRE
Again dehydration! Being surrounded by fire at all times will dry you out eventually. This could lead to heatstroke/sickness in fire users especially, because of the added heat factor.
Burns, obviously! The only question is what gets effected? Fire breath affecting the throat/lungs, making it difficult to eat or drink or even breath. The hands, making any further casting or even regular usage of the hands painful. The list goes on.
Either running so hot you're steaming and burning others, or being so out of fire that you're almost FREEZING. For the latter, the magic that is killing you from overuse is also the only thing keeping you warm now. No choice but to use it until a: someone sets a fire, or b: another pyromancer takes over for you.
NECROMANCY **AND** HEALING
You are recreating life, or reshaping the remains of it. It only makes sense that this comes at the cost of some of your own life. Healers and necromancers have a higher death rate than most casters, due to their magic taking such an epic toll on their bodies that, even once they retire, they will feel the effects forever.
Speaking of: chronic pain and health issues. OP brought up healers being affected by the injuries of those they heal if they push it, but. I think of it like scurvy? Yeah you're taking on their wounds in exchange for giving them some of your own life. But you're also giving up what holds you together. Hypermobility as the body begins to give itself away, your very connective tissue and even SOUL wearing away. Necromancers who dislocate harshly as they give what pieces them together to their work, or have increasingly poor bone density and shit like that. Healers who have scars and pains that they cant remember ever getting.
AIR
Struggling to breathe and fainting from lack of oxygenated blood to the brain.
Your skin is so dried and cracked that you can't be touched or you start bleeding, or it feels like lemon juice any time you do heavy work.
If your ability/magic involves any form of flying, taking so many falls that you get various (sometimes very serious) injuries. Broken bones, concussions, the works.
Your magic starts to throw you around as you lose control of it. Strong dust devils whipping up fallen weapons and rubble to basically throw back at you, as if you weren't already fucked up.
You start becoming less... tangible. The air is taking you with it now.
METAL
Your armor, if you wear any, beginning to.. merge with you. Your blood, depending on your race, is FILLED with iron, after all. After a certain point, if you dont stop fighting, its all you'll ever be able to do. A living weapon or shield. A warforged of the worst kind.
Speaking of iron in the blood, blood problems! Screwing up your circulation and passing out OR WORSE during a fight! Wounds getting way worse than they could ever get naturally because of the blood magic!
AND THERE IS SO MUCH MORE!! AUGH.
I loveee fantasy settings doing magical exhaustion:
burnt out pyromancers emitting steam and smoke
tired cryomancers shivering with visible foggy breath
weary necromancers looking ill and hearing voices
frazzled healers receiving the same cuts, bruises, and injuries of their patients
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❝FIDELITY❞ |part6
MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank
Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.
Warnings: pregnancy symptoms
previous - next
You're sure it’s all coming to an end.
This is how things will wrap up. You didn’t expect to experience these days like this. You hoped for a nice pregnancy, one full of flowers—no, not flowers, they wouldn’t do. You’d imagined a cozy, cushioned, perfectly comfortable pregnancy.
You were sure you could handle anything that came your way. There was nothing you couldn’t accomplish. At least, that’s what you believed.
But today, you’re convinced the world is ending.
Everything, everyone feels like an enemy. It’s not that you think the world revolves around you, but you’re pretty certain that everything in it holds a grudge against you.
It’s the moment where your life seems to be unraveling, every piece of familiarity breaking apart. As if every sense you have has turned against you, you stand in a moment that should be ordinary, but instead, it feels as though the universe has designed a unique form of torment just for you: an assault by smells.
At first, it starts small. A faint, floral scent wafts in on a gentle breeze. You take a breath and recoil—suddenly aware that every scent you’d barely noticed before has escalated to the level of catastrophe. And this assault feels custom-made for you.
It’s not just annoying; it’s tragic. The life-wrecking kind. As if the whole world conspired to make you sense every odor within a fifty-kilometer radius. Maybe you’re exaggerating, but with good reason. Even the air itself feels like it’s joined a scheme to turn your life into a living hell.
“Is this really how it’s going to end?” you wonder, brows knit in frustration and disbelief. “Not with some grand, heroic moment, but because of the lovely scents of spring flowers and who knows what else?”
You tug the collar of your shirt over your nose, hoping for some relief, but it’s no use. The smell is still there, ruthless and unavoidable. Every little thing—each faint whiff of grass, distant barbecue smoke, even that fresh ocean breeze—seems to assault you from every angle.
You wonder if you’ll ever be able to step outside again. Ever. What if this is your reality now? The girl who can’t even stand a pleasant spring breeze.
Before going to bed, you’d hoped today would be a good day. With the cooler weather, you figured you’d finally be able to sit on the balcony and enjoy the day. But the moment you woke up, you knew that was never going to happen.
You didn’t wake up normally. It was more like waking up in a storm. Your hair a tangled mess, all those stupid smells already churning your stomach. For a moment—a brief, ridiculous moment—you thought the smell was coming from you, and you ran for a long shower, hoping to wash off whatever it was that haunted you. But even in the shower, every scent seemed so overpowering—you honestly thought you might die right there.
You barely remember dressing and making it out of your room. You didn’t even have time to dry your hair. Even though the warmth of the air was no real threat, you normally liked taking time to do your hair. But today, you hated it. Just like you hated everything and everyone else.
Your parents had already left for work, but the lingering scent of their perfume filled the house. Not like a fading scent, either, more like they’d moved in. They might as well have been living with you now…
Just one more thing to hate.
And the worst part? Even if you threw up, the nausea wouldn’t subside. It was killing you from the inside, torturing you. Almost as if it were enjoying watching you suffer.
Of course, you hated that, too—classic.
You can’t deny that stepping out onto the balcony brought a bit of relief. The only smell that didn’t bother you was the salty sea breeze. But even if the sea and salt provided some comfort, those damn blades of grass. The green monsters.
You hated every single one of them—every blade of grass on the planet.
This world reeked. You definitely needed to move to a different planet.
Your phone lights up with notifications, and you glance at it, rolling your eyes at the useless updates. You hate the sound they make, but you’re too lazy to turn off the notifications.
The first video on Instagram has you widening your eyes.
You really might die.
Right on the screen are juicy cherries and strawberries. Right there, in front of you. You want to lean in and take a bite. Just seeing them makes it feel as if their scent is reaching you, and for once, you don’t hate it. For a fleeting moment, you think the world might be a good place again.
It doesn’t take long before you’re in the kitchen, searching every possible spot for fruit. You scour the fridge, praying there’s just one, but there’s nothing.
If you don’t eat a cherry or a strawberry right now, you know you won’t make it. And the fruits staring back at you from your phone screen aren’t helping.
Your pregnancy has been…unique. You’ve turned against the things you once loved. You used to be a banana fanatic, but now even seeing one makes you queasy. The smell alone is enough to make you throw up. You could catch the scent of a banana even from the other side of an open field.
Thank goodness your family finally understood and stopped buying them. You didn’t want to see or smell them.
Chocolate was a different story. You used to love dark chocolate, but now it was a love-hate relationship. Some days, the smell was unbearable, and others, you felt like you couldn’t get out of bed without it. Milk chocolate was fine. A classic. You always loved it. But white chocolate…that was your sworn enemy. You hated the greasy feel it left in your mouth; it didn’t even taste like real chocolate.
Disheartened by the lack of cherries or strawberries in the house, you leaned against the counter, your gaze fixed on the screen. They looked so inviting. Juicy, fresh, bright red—they were calling your name. They were crying out for you. They wanted you.
You couldn’t hold back—
You tried to calm yourself. You could ask your family to pick some up on their way home. But waiting until evening felt impossible. It wasn’t just that you needed the fruits; the fruits needed you.
Besides—it wasn’t you, it was the baby. Right?
Without thinking twice, you dialed JJ’s number. You didn’t have many friends. JJ wasn’t really a friend either, but they knew you were pregnant. And since they’d brought you ice cream the other day, you thought maybe—just maybe—they’d do this too.
If they didn’t, well, you’d just hate them.
They whined at first, like a baby. And you hated them for that. You’d asked politely. In your way, but still polite. But the call ended in a minor argument, and you hung up on them.
Yet about twenty minutes later, as you lounged on the balcony watching a video, you noticed a blonde figure approaching your house from afar, a smile creeping onto your lips.
You still hated him. But if there were strawberries or cherries in that bag he were carrying—well, let’s be honest, you’d still hate him, but just a little bit less.
“Don’t get too excited,” JJ said, climbing up the steps to your porch with a cardboard bag in hand. You quickly closed your laptop and nudged it aside.
You could’ve hugged him, but that would’ve been too much. And unnecessary.
As you got up and walked over, he looked at you with a smug grin. His hair was tousled from the wind. He looked a bit…tired, but still the same, with that empty look in his eyes—the one that always made him seem a bit clueless.
As you pulled the bag toward you and peeked inside, your eyes sparkled at the sight.
He’d gotten you the fruits you wanted. He practically glowed before you. You could almost hear them calling, “Mommy!” or “Eat us!”
As you gazed at the berries, you heard JJ muttering, “It’s for the baby, not you. And do you have any idea how expensive these were? The guy ripped me off! Told me they were organic and pesticide-free—these better taste good, or I’m going back to give him a taste of my punch.”
Honestly, you couldn’t care less about what he were saying. Even if you wanted to listen, your eyes and mind kept drifting to the fruit. JJ, noticing this, just smiled as you slipped a strawberry from the bag.
Before you could even get the strawberry to your mouth, JJ’s hand shot out, grabbing yours. You turned a questioning look on him, but he was staring at you in horror.
“Don’t eat that, dude! Are you crazy?” he practically shouted.
“Let me eat it! What is wrong with you?” You tried to pull your hand away, but JJ let the bag drop to the floor, using his free hand to pry the strawberry from yours.
“Wash it first, will you? You’ll make yourself sick.” You made another grab for the berry, but he jerked back, hiding it behind him. Was he playing some kind of sick game? You could just about strangle him.
When he still wouldn’t give it up, you lunged for the bag on the floor, but JJ was faster, snatching it up and holding it out of reach. “You’re acting like you wash every berry you eat! Give it here; one berry won’t hurt me.”
JJ only smirked, raising the strawberry to his own mouth. You stared in disbelief, seriously considering murder as he bit into your strawberry. He had a special way of making even a good deed annoying.
You watched as he took a bite, juice dribbling down his chin. That should have been you. That strawberry was yours.
“Look, I get it, you think I’m crazy. But in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one eating it, and I’m definitely not pregnant, so if anyone’s getting sick, it’s just me, not some baby. Now, once you wash these, I won’t say a word,” he said with a sarcastic eye-roll.
Did he… did he just… gently parent you?
While he finished the rest of the strawberry, he nodded toward the kitchen. You took a deep breath, reluctantly heading inside, leaving the door open behind you. You heard JJ following, his footsteps close behind, and ducked into the kitchen as quickly as possible.
He let out a low whistle, glancing around at the kitchen. “Nice place you’ve got here. Get me a bowl. I don’t trust you with that, either.”
You rolled your eyes but grabbed a big bowl from the cabinet, handing it to him. He accepted it with a smug grin, eyes fixed on you. “Your hair’s wet.”
Was he stupid, or just messing with you?
“Yeah, and?” Did he think you didn’t know? You’d left it wet on purpose. Besides, drying it would’ve taken extra effort.
Setting the paper bag on the counter, JJ gave you another pointed look. “Idiot.”
Was it even possible to spend time with JJ and not roll your eyes?
Absolutely not.
That guy had a sixth sense for irritating you. So what if your hair was wet? It wasn’t the end of the world.
You hopped up onto the kitchen island, quietly watching as JJ washed the berries with exaggerated care. His back was to you.
As annoying as he was, you knew you probably owed him a thank you for going out of his way like this. Not many people would’ve done it, and if you’d asked anyone else, they would’ve asked too many questions. And then, somehow, everyone would know.
When JJ finally came over with the bowl of freshly rinsed fruit, a draft blew in from outside, bringing a horrible smell with it.. It was as if the air itself was rotting.
“What is that smell?” JJ looked around, half-thinking maybe it was him.
“What smell?” He was giving you a look, probably convinced you were imagining things. He’d just showered, put on fresh clothes, so he was certain it wasn’t him.
Watching you pinch your nose, JJ started sniffing around. You looked ready to bolt, but you clutched that bowl of strawberries like your life depended on it. Wherever you were going, they were coming with you.
“It reeks, JJ! Don’t you smell it?” You took your hand from your nose just long enough to give his a quick flick, making him wince. You hadn’t even hit him that hard.
“Are you crazy? There’s no smell—it’s the air freshener. You’re seriously losing it.” Your eyes widened as you realized where the stench was coming from. No way were you staying here a minute longer.
That air freshener—that evil little device—was getting tossed tonight. The second your parents got home. You weren’t about to suffer with that scent for another second.
You leapt down from the counter, sidestepping JJ and covering your nose as you rushed for the door. “Not going to die in there today.”
As you darted outside, you could hear him laughing behind you, and your brows furrowed. Was he actually finding this funny?
“Dying? Seriously? It’s just an air freshener—it’s not like it’ll kill you!”
Oh, it was going to meet its end in his mouth if he kept this up.
You dropped into the big armchair on the veranda, finally popping a strawberry into your mouth.
The taste was indescribable. Pure sweetness and flavor exploded as soon as you bit down, almost overwhelming. You actually closed your eyes, a satisfied sigh escaping you as you sank back, like you’d just tasted a little slice of paradise.
“You good?”
You opened your eyes, finding JJ grinning at you as he sat down in the chair next to yours. You smiled back, nodding.
“Thanks,” you said, popping another strawberry in, and JJ’s smile widened as he nodded, murmuring, “You’re welcome.”
Not going to lie, you wanted to keep every last one for yourself. But since he’d gotten them for you, it felt wrong not to share. You held the bowl toward him, and he took a cherry, tossing it in his mouth.
“You know what just hit me?” JJ looking at you with a glint in his eye as he munched on the cherry. You set the bowl between you on the armrest, curling up in the seat comfortably. “The air out here stinks.”
While JJ just looked at you, his brows raised. He paused for a moment, sniffed the air, and then shook his head. “Honestly—not trying to mess with you, even if I do enjoy annoying you. But there really is nothing. It doesn’t smell like anything.”
He looked at you seriously as he leaned back and took a bite of a strawberry.
Even though you stared at him like he was an alien, he just kept looking at you. You searched his face for some sign of judgment or that classic “you’re crazy” look, but nothing. Just seriousness.
“I hate these pregnancy symptoms. They ruin everything.” You leaned back, refusing to let go of the bowl. But when you heard sounds beside you, you looked up.
You watched as JJ pulled his phone from his pocket, and you popped a cherry in your mouth. Just as you thought he was bored with you and about to ignore you, you heard him start reading: “It says here: Eat smart. Leave your windows open. Sniff the good stuff. Distract your nose. Chew on a piece of gum or suck on a hard candy…blah blah blah. Show me the conclusion here—yep; Unfortunately, there’s no way to train your nose not to be super sensitive while your hormones are surging. This is one of those mom-to-be experiences you’ll have to wait out until the later months.” With a deep sigh, he tossed the phone aside.
Did he just… no. You weren’t even going to think about that. Not now, not ever. He actually just… no. Stop.
Eat a strawberry. Yes. Strawberry.
“To summarize, that’s all nonsense. I’m sure there’s a fix. Don’t worry.”
You took a deep breath, shoved a couple more strawberries into your mouth, and nodded. You weren’t going to stress about it. Of course, it would go away.
“Calm down, Strawberry Monster. They’re all yours.”
Feeling an odd pang, you looked down at your hand. Slowly, you put an untouched strawberry back in the bowl, sitting up and chewing the berries in your mouth as you brought a hand to cover it. JJ was watching you with that—idiotic expression. He really needed to stop looking at you like that.
You just… felt weird. In a way you’d never felt around him. Almost like—like… embarrassment.
You hated it. You hated this feeling. Who did JJ Maybank think he was to make you—feel embarrassed?
He… he couldn’t. It didn’t even make sense to feel that way. You didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Just—ugh.
“What did you do today?”
What did you just say? No, you didn’t. You didn’t actually ask him about his day, right? This was just a dream. Yes, a daydream. That’s all.
JJ looked at you in surprise, like you’d thrown him off, and you hated yourself for that moment of panic. Was there never a time you could actually think clearly?
Out of all the ways to switch the subject, out of all the things you could tease him about, you asked him about his day? Like you were close? Like friends who ask each other how their days went?
Why don’t you send a good morning text while you’re at it? You’re such an idiot.
JJ glanced at you in shock, fidgeting with his hands as he pursed his lips. He pulled his hand away from the bowl and set it in his lap, looking away thoughtfully. Then he turned back to you.
“Stayed home,” he said, lifting his hand to scratch his neck. Things had suddenly gotten so awkward. Had either of you ever asked this kind of casual question before? “Well, my dad’s place. I left the house this morning. Surfed for a bit; the weather’s getting colder. Feels like the last few days of the season. You should try it—before it’s too late, I mean. Took a shower, stopped by John B’s place. Was there most of the day. Then you called.”
Besides the strange awkwardness of the question itself, you listened carefully, actually a little surprised he answered. You expected him to tease you for it.
You nodded to show you were paying attention. But still, you couldn’t help but wonder. John B and his other idiot friends—did they see that you’d called? Did they talk about you? Did they know you were pregnant?
No. He would’ve told you if they did. You didn’t want to admit it, but you trusted him. He wouldn’t tell.
“You said’ JJ, please, please bring me strawberries. I’m begging you.’ And, because I’m a hero, I immediately grabbed the strawberries—” JJ barely managed to shield himself as a pillow you tossed at him hit him square in the face, and he let out a pained groan as you laughed.
You hadn’t begged him. He was exaggerating, as usual. You didn’t.
“You’re rude.” JJ took the pillow and set it in his lap, grabbing a cherry and biting into it. “You’re liar.” You chuckled as juice from the cherry ran down his white shirt. “And an idiot.”
As he looked at his shirt in dismay, he tossed the rest of the cherry in his mouth. “Oh, shit.”
As you both sat in silence, you handed him a napkin from the table, but there was no saving that cherry-stained shirt. It was a goner. A small part of you felt guilty, knowing it was sort of your fault. Hormones were a nightmare. Getting upset over a shirt was stupid. But you felt bad anyway.
“Want me to lend you a shirt?” You didn’t really care what he said. You were going to grab one anyway. You just asked to make him feel like he’d made the decision. He was still grumbling as you stood up. You grabbed a strawberry as you turned to go. You could hear him calling after you, but you didn’t look back.
“It’s really not necessary. Hey!” Whatever he said, it didn’t matter. Your hormones were all over the place, and you’d rather just give him a shirt than obsess over that stain for days.
In your room, you stopped to look through your closet, pausing when you saw certain shirts. It felt like the universe was playing a joke on you. There was Rafe’s shirt. And not just his—the one JJ had given you on that day at the beach was in there too.
Caught up in the memories, you took a deep breath. Without a second thought, you grabbed Rafe’s shirt and shoved it to the back of the closet. He didn’t belong in your life anymore. He’d chosen that, and you’d accepted it.
You didn’t want to see him. You’d gone out of your way to avoid certain places just because you knew he might be there. You weren’t sure if you were more scared of bursting into tears or slapping him if you saw him. You just didn’t want to see him.
You were afraid of people noticing your stomach. It was barely showing, still small enough that no one else would see, but you knew it was there. And you didn’t want anyone else to know. You were scared. You weren’t ready to tell anyone, so you kept to yourself.
You stayed home, knowing no one could see you here. But lying around all day had gotten boring. Your chest ached with growth, and your back was screaming. You needed something to distract you, anything to focus on. But instead, you let your fear keep you stuck here. And you couldn’t stand it.
Thinking of JJ waiting for you downstairs, you pulled yourself together and glanced at your closet. You could give him his shirt, but—your hand went to your own white T-shirt instead. For reasons you didn’t quite understand, you chose that over JJ’s sky-blue, detailed tee.
Shutting the closet, you pushed memories away, focusing on what lay ahead. Your future. Your small family. You and your tiny baby.
You promised yourself you wouldn’t get hung up on the past.
Straightening the shirt in your hands, you stepped out onto the veranda. JJ was out there, taking in the massive front lawn. Probably imagining he could play golf on it—it was that big. His attention turned to you as you came outside, his gaze settling on the shirt in your hands. Realizing you were about to make him wear it, he took a deep breath as he watched you settle into the big chair beside him.
When you handed him the shirt, there was a quiet understanding between you. Without a word, he took it, stood up, and, without hesitation, took off his own shirt.
So—he was undressing in front of you.
It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen a guy shirtless before, but it still felt...weird. You’d seen him like this hundreds of times—hanging out on the beach, at parties, surfing, or just swimming with you.
But this felt different. He wasn’t doing it for fun or the beach. He was changing clothes. And you felt like some creep, like you were spying on him.
You couldn’t remember ever looking at him this closely. His skin was smooth like porcelain, and he looked like he’d been drawn to perfection. But his shoulders were the most noticeable feature. His V-line was just barely visible above his low-riding short—
You were startled out of it when his shirt smacked into your face. “Stop staring, creep.” JJ chuckled as he put on the shirt you gave him.
You hated him for that. But, honestly, you deserved it. You’d been staring. And you hated that even more.
You knew JJ would keep teasing you, as always. Soon enough, he got a call from John B about something “urgent” and said he had to go. You didn’t stop him.
The rest of the day, you ate all the strawberries and cherries JJ had brought over. The day was so dull you thought you might pass out from boredom. You even tried to sleep just to pass the time.
Hours later, you were stretched out on the couch, arm draped over your forehead, letting out a deep sigh. You’d tossed the automatic air freshener out in the yard earlier, so the house finally smelled right.
The door opened, and you didn’t need to guess who it was—it could only be your parents. Your mom set her bag by the door and approached you with that concerned “mom look.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted with a soft smile. Too exhausted from battling weird smells all day, you barely opened your eyes. As her footsteps came closer, she sat beside you, stroking your hair.
She’d finally come to terms with the fact that you were keeping this baby. She was being kinder, warmer to you, and you were grateful for it. With your hormones already wreaking havoc, you couldn’t handle your family being harsh on you. And, honestly, you couldn’t blame them. If your own daughter had gotten pregnant, you’d probably react the same way. “How was your day?”
Turning to face her, you let out another dramatic sigh. Your mom was the only person you could let yourself be a little dramatic around. She’d even started indulging your mood swings. “It was awful. The air...smelled wrong. Like I was breathing in something sour and flowery at the same time. I wanted some fresh air, but everything outside felt too much. The neighbors’ lawns smelled like they were on fire. I even threw out that air freshener because it was practically a health hazard!”
Your dad, standing by the door listening to the conversation, exchanged a knowing look with your mom. That silent parent communication—they didn’t need words to be on the same page. They probably chalked it all up to pregnancy hormones. But to you, the world really did feel like a sensory assault.
He came over and sat on the edge of the couch, giving you that serious look he used when he really wanted to listen.
When he gently said your name, it caught your attention. Sitting up a bit, you looked over at him, and he took a deep breath. He seemed ready for a serious talk, but your mom beat him to it. “Have you...thought about taking a tour of the island, love? Maybe it’d do you some good.” You shook your head, rejecting the idea right away.
Not anytime soon, anyway.
You’d barely managed to go to the hospital, and only on the condition that it was on the mainland. The last thing you wanted was for people on the island to find out you were pregnant. The thought of anyone gossiping about you made your stomach churn, so no. You weren’t doing it.
“Couldn’t you just try?” Your mom’s voice softened. She knew what was going on, understood how you were feeling, but it bothered her to see you isolating yourself when your bump wasn’t even showing yet.
It hurt her to see you wearing yourself down like this. She already felt like she’d failed as a mom for not protecting you, and seeing you holed up inside just twisted the knife.
“I don’t want to. I’m...happy here at home. I’m not going outside.”
Your parents weren’t oblivious. They knew exactly what was going on. They shared another look, and your mom let out a deep breath, still stroking your hair.
Your dad, sensing he should step in, spoke calmly, saying your name again. He stood and leaned against the table in front of you. “Your mom and I...we know this is a tough time for you.” He glanced at your mom, who nodded, eyes full of tender concern. “We don’t want you feeling trapped.”
His words didn’t quite make sense. It was like he was speaking another language, and as you failed to understand his point, your mom straightened up and explained, “What your dad means is…” You sat up, looking between them both. “If staying here is too hard, we’re open to other options. Maybe somewhere quieter, where people don’t know you.”
You blinked, feeling a spark of surprise and maybe a little hope. Were you hearing this right? “You mean...move?”
A place where no one would judge you, where you could tell people you were pregnant without a second thought?
And they’d do this, just for you?
Your dad nodded, his voice steady and reassuring, his face calm with a soft smile. “If it’d make you feel better. Yes.”
Your mom smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, her face lighting up. She didn’t want to see her daughter feeling trapped. She’d rather you be happy somewhere else than miserable here. “We could find you a place. And even though your dad and I might not be able to leave because of his work, I could come see you whenever you needed, love.”
Watching the warm look they shared, a tangle of emotions filled you. The idea of changing things for something better felt comforting. You knew your parents had their work, friends, and lives here—roots in this town. But even so, they were willing to shift everything if it meant you could have a fresh start.
But then the reality of it hit you. Your dad’s work was here; your mom had built a life in this town. They couldn’t always be there. You’d have to face some things alone.
You pushed that thought aside and looked back at your dad. His face held that unwavering, supportive expression you’d grown up with. “If a new start is what you want, we’ll find a way. It could be short-term or long-term, whatever you need.”
Your mom reached out, holding your hand, her eyes full of encouragement. She only wanted what was best for you. They could find you a home and make sure you had everything you needed. “We want you to know you’re not alone, love. We may have made mistakes at first, but we’re here now, ready to support you however we can. We’ll be right here.”
You nodded, moved by the weight of their support. Your heart felt like it would break from gratitude. You almost wanted to cry right there. You felt like you could hug them forever. Moving to a place where no one knew your life, away from judgment and rumors, felt...right—a fresh start for you and the baby.
But as you imagined this new life, you realized that, even with their support, you’d be walking this road mostly on your own. They wouldn’t always be there. You’d told yourself you could do this alone, but the thought of being without them was still daunting. What if you needed them?
“Thank you… to both of you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with gratitude. There weren’t enough words to fully express your thanks for their decision to stand by your side. “I’ll think about it. I really will…”
Your dad reaches out to take your hand, giving you that reassuring smile. With your mom and dad standing behind you, you feel a strength you haven’t felt in a long time. “Whatever you decide, we’re here for you.”
Your mom nods, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “And if you change your mind, we’ll start packing those boxes,” she whispers, giving you a little wink, trying to bring a smile to your face. And for the first time in days, you find yourself truly looking at the future with a real sense of hope. This was real…
#obx#jj fanfiction#jj maybank#obx jj#jj serie#obx jj maybank#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron smut#obx pogues#kiara obx#obx smut#obx jj x reader#obx x reader#obx fanfiction#obx cast#obx fic#rafe cameron x reader#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe smut#rafe x you#rafe fic#rafe x reader#obx season 4#sarah cameron#kiara carrera#obx4#john b routledge
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Beta Reading and Fanfiction
I’ve been writing for a long time myself, but it’s only been very recently that I’ve immersed myself in communities online for it. I’ve been having so much fun really diving into Danny Phantom and DPxDC fanfic, and I’ve met so many great friends doing so.
I mostly do my own writing, but I’ve really enjoyed doing some beta reading as well, especially for friends! There’s something so fun about getting to dive into a work in progress and help where you can.
But I do feel like some people might really struggle to understand how to beta read, or what makes a good beta reader— especially where fanfiction is concerned. I’ve been extremely fortunate to have wonderful beta readers, but I’ve had some friends frustrated with the beta reading they’ve in turn received, or otherwise feeling uncomfortable in asking for a beta reader since they don’t know what to expect.
So, how should beta reading work? How do you do a good job?
Above all, the most important thing about beta reading is communication with your author. You are not in their WIP to prove how good of a writer you are, or to hammer their work into what you would personally be proud to present online. You are there to help, in whatever way the author has asked or communicated they're comfortable with.
Before you beta read anything it is vital to ask what the author is looking for in a beta reader. There are a number of things you can ask in particular, including:
What are you looking for help with?
Do you just want me to look for typos or confusing sentences?
Do you want suggestions for things to add?
Do you want suggestions on grammar, or other more in-depth writing suggestions?
Do you need help with characterization, or even the plot?
Depending on who you are beta reading for, you might have someone who only wants a very light beta touch. They might just want you to look for glaring mistakes, or for confirmation that a plot beat makes sense.
Other authors might want something much more involved! They might be trying to improve their grammar, or perhaps they're not very familiar with writing a new character and they would like suggestions for how to better capture their voice.
Regardless of what an author wants in a beta reader, you won't know unless you ask them! It's possible that you simply might not be compatible as beta reader and author, depending on their answer, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's okay to step back and say "I personally like to beta read things more in depth than this, so I might not be the best person to give it a look."
Otherwise, getting an answer about your author's preferences can help you figure out how to help them. Perhaps you would normally make more suggestions, but if an author has specified that they're not comfortable with that, then it's not your job as their beta reader to do so. If you are capable of sticking to the help they've asked for, then you will ultimately be fulfilling your role as their beta reader admirably.
"But I'm just trying to help. Their work has a lot of places it could improve!"
Again, beta reading is not about shaping a story into something you would personally present as your writing. It is about helping the author produce a story they're comfortable with and proud of.
It's not about being right, or heavily criticizing their writing and grammar abilities (unless this is what the author has explicitly requested!)
Especially while writing fanfiction, the work presented is not something that will ever see publishing, or that needs to have flawless grammar and syntax. This is work done for free, and it is done for fun.
And that's something very vital to beta reading—
A beta reader needs to preserve the fun.
It's very daunting, putting your work out there for others. It's especially daunting putting your work up for analysis of any kind. You're accepting that people might not understand your vision, or may judge you for what you've written.
It's all too easy to compare yourself to other creatives online, and to overthink and overanalyze your talents. Too often, it’s easy to get discouraged and feel like your work isn’t good enough.
Beta reading should never be done in a way that will discourage writing. Even if an author has asked for a lot of help, it’s important to pick your battles with what you choose to analyze, and to check in with them if you feel like you might be crossing boundaries or covering their work in too much metaphorical red ink.
When people are trying to improve their writing, you don’t always have to mark every little suggestion you think of. Unless the author is a friend you know well, or has explicitly asked for Extreme measures of help, it might be best to ignore some smaller writing issues and focus instead on bigger things.
If you’ve already marked a lot of issues in one paragraph, but have more things you could say, consider if the additional suggestions are vital or if it might be better to leave them be. After all, if your author is looking to improve, and if you are planning to beta read for them again in the future, then helping them with more glaring issues now will help them in a way that is not overwhelming, and will open the door for other kinds of suggestions to be better understood and absorbed.
You can always check in with your author if you’re unsure, too. Ask them if they appreciate the amount of suggestions you’ve given them, or if it’s been too much. Your author might be uncomfortable with telling you that they’re overwhelmed, and checking in is a good way to ensure that you’re both on the same page.
All that being said, though, it is also important to not always focus on things to fix and improve. You’re not just editing the story, you’re reading it. Part of keeping beta reading fun is engaging in that story as any reader would. It both helps morale, and helps let the author know what they’re doing right, when you take the time to tell them what you enjoy about the work you’re beta reading!
There are so many ways you can express positive things about an author’s writing. Consider:
“I love how you phrased this sentence here.”
“This body language feels natural and very in character!”
“I love this word choice here.”
“This part was really funny and had me laughing.”
“I’m excited to see where this goes!”
You’re reading a story, and you must have thoughts and feelings on it outside of suggestions. Let your author know! People thrive on positive feedback, and there’s just as much to be gained in marking Positive attributes to a story as there is in noting places to improve.
The last major thing I feel is vital to beta reading is respecting that it is your author’s work, and that your suggestions (however clever or helpful you feel they are) may be rejected. And that that is okay.
Suggestions are just that— suggestions.
What you might like in creative writing might not necessarily be what your author wants to express. You might love to use ellipses, or lots of different dialogue tags, while your author might prefer dashes and more standard dialogue tags. You might like to use more colorful descriptions of scenery and atmosphere, while your author might want to focus much more on the character body language and dialogue. You might like to use a lot of exclamation points and next to no italics, while your author might like a lot of italics and very little exclamation points.
You’re ultimately two different people, with two different ideas of what is an ideal way to tell a story. And while you can give many different suggestions on just about anything the author might add, remove, or change, it’s ultimately the author’s choice whether or not they accept those changes.
It’s not your job as a beta reader to double down and insist that they accept a specific suggestion. It’s not your job to make a case for why you think they need to change something. If an author has denied a suggestion— it’s best to let it go. Especially if you don’t know them well, and don’t have a very good rapport with them, pushing the issue will only serve to make you both uncomfortable.
It’s not just about picking your battles, but also about mutual respect. You’re not a teacher, nor an editor looking to make their work prime for publishing. You have to respect their decisions for their own story, even if that means they decide not to take a suggestion you felt would be impactful.
It’s also always important to keep in mind that writing style, particularly where creative writing is concerned, can vary wildly. The strict rules that you learn in school were made to be broken. You learn them to figure out how to break them and, particularly when writing for fun, it doesn’t even matter if you’re breaking those rules in a perfect way. It’s fanfiction. It’s freeform, it’s fun. If someone wants to make a habit out of going buckwild with their writing style, there’s really no reason to try and corral their writing into a box labeled “High School English 101”.
You can’t force someone to write their fanfiction like it’s going to go to a letter grade, nor should you try to unless they’re looking for that level of editing.
Be willing to listen, and pay attention to what is and isn’t working. It’s good to take note of suggestions that your author has already commented on. Have they thanked you for pointing out something in particular? Have they expressed they feel weak with something in their writing?
Is there a type of suggestion that you keep making that they have rejected multiple times?
Work with their strengths and with their style. Focus on suggestions that have been received well, and consider letting go of ones that the author clearly has no interest in, or that might conflict with their style.
Communicate and respect each other, above all else.
Beta reading is such a helpful and wonderful thing someone can do for an author. I’ve been so thankful to have it done for my own work, and I try my best to be helpful and considerate when I’ve beta read myself.
Having my work beta read has really helped me find things to improve upon in my writing, and has helped me feel more confident in the stories I’ve posted, just having another eye look over them before they hit the internet. I don’t always take all of their suggestions, and might disagree from time to time with the direction they want something to go in, but I’ve been thankful to have understanding, kind betas that work with me well.
And that’s one more point I want to touch on too, is that I hope that, as a beta reader, you find yourself with authors that show you mutual respect in turn. That they thank you for the work you’ve put in to help them succeed, and have made the experience positive for you as well.
It always makes me happy to see beta readers credited on posted works. It’s a kind thing for writers to show appreciation, and to acknowledge that someone helped shape the words you see on the page.
This got much longer than I intended it to, but I just hope that this post might help some people in some way. Either to understand beta reading and the purpose of it, or how to potentially go about it themselves.
I really recommend giving beta reading a try if you’re comfortable with it, especially if you have friends that write fanfiction! Even just an extra pair of eyes looking for typos can be a godsend for someone who has spent hours upon hours staring at a long fic and editing it.
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In the future when they meet again, does sero ever find a way to make amends? Does he explain what he was going through?
He enters the room with your name on his lips.
You still push up your glasses the same way you always did - your palms on the bottom of the frames- and Sero kicks himself for not seeing it earlier. You've changed, of course. Ten years have passed, but your eyes are the same. The downward curve of your lips and the round of your nose: it's all unmistakably you. When you push away from your desk, it's with a confidence you never had back then, and it almost makes him smile.
"Who told you it was me?" you ask. "Eijiro?"
"No," he says. "I remembered all on my own."
It's only a half lie. Bakugo had called you Cram School and the memories had flooded back. The late night anime sessions, the whispered confessions-
The way he ghosted out of your life without warning.
"What do you want, Sero?" you sigh. "How did you even find me?"
Sero had called for a couple favors to track you down. Luckily, you worked with Uraraka's organization now, as a therapist. All those nights at cram school really did work out; you're a doctor, apparently.
"I just-" He breathes in to center himself, hands jammed in his pockets. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. For just--"
"Leaving me?"
"Yeah." The takes that blow in stride, despite the sting. "For disappearing on you."
"Okay." You lean back in your chair, legs crossed. "I don't forgive you."
"Good. Right. Yeah." That hurts worse. "You shouldn't."
You sit there, hands folded, in silence, watching from over your glasses in silence. He wonders when you got so serious, how you lost that sparkle in your eye. Then, he wonders if he even has the right to know.
"I was a fucked up kid, I was going through a lot." Sero steps forward. "My dad was really -"
You interject. "Sorry, I don't offer therapy for anyone over the age of eighteen. Try Dr. Yun down the hall."
Fuck. God, you're witty. You always manage to steal the wind from his sails with a single cut.
"I'm not trying to-" He huffs, trying to remember to advice his actual therapist gave him. "I just want things to be right between us."
"To make yourself feel better?"
"No, because it's the right thing to do when you hurt someone."
This time, you're the one left silent. Your expression goes softer, wider, like you're genuinely surprised.
"I don't need you to forgive me. I don't think you should forgive me," Sero says. "I just want you to be okay."
He takes a half step in, then a full. Then you don't kick him out, he goes directly to your desk.
"Here. I got this for you. Back in high school." He places a little box in front of you, its label faded and partially ripped from time. "I messed up before I had the chance to give it to you."
It takes you a moment to process what's in front of you. It's a little pink figure, maybe a little less than pristine, but still standing there, arms splayed. The sure look on your face starts to drift, falling down, down-
"She's your favorite, right?" Sero urges.
Your expression doesn't get better. No, you look seasick, your legs suddenly untucked and your arms gripping your stomach.
"She's-" he falters. "You like Flora, I thought, was I-?"
"Get out of my office." Your voice is softer now too, closer to what he remembers.
"I thought you'd like it."
"Get out."
He backs up a step, hoping you'll change your mind. When you don't, he retreats down the hall, unsure of whether he did something right or not.
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i know this gonna break my heart... sigh... taking deep breaths... let's go ⬇️
It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.
first and foremost, i love the characterization of rafe. something about ur interpretation of him feels so lively and real, especially because it relates to his canon. when i was reading thru his thoughts, i was like, woah, rafe would act this way.
He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.
i love the line throwing grenades, waiting for who to blow up first. ur metaphors have always been some of my favorites, so i always love highlighting and pointing it out <3
Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty.
i love the turn of internal conflict, that rafe - who has always been loyal as a dog to ward - can have his own conflicting emotions about his father
Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. To Rafe, that meant something. Everything
but at the end of the day, rafe recognizes that he has to set his father on a pedestal because that's all he's ever done. all he'll ever do.
At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.
that actually hurts, the idea that you're dissociating, going somewhere where he can't follow u? oh the miseryyy
He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that.
i love u pointing out the validation-seeking 🙂↕️
Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?
this is such a bitter moment, but it's also shows how rafe just reverts back to his younger self in the presence of his father. that even if ward's death, he will continue to haunt the narrative. also, "shit, that was something, wasn't it?" was such a bitter realization.
Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.
HE SAW HIS FATHER
Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.
i love the depiction of seeing rafe as nothing more than a prop, an entertainment for the rest of the kooks. it gives u this zoo-like viewing of rafe rather than human.
It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.
he's so protective over his father
“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.”
I LOVE HER FOR THIS SOMETHING ABOUT THIS OWNS MY HEART
You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”
she's real and she should speak on it
“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”
i love her but god that must've hurt
His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”
i love that he only picked up the things that he hears, not the fact that he's blind to see it, but rather accusing him of being "dumb"
His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”
he has such self-destructive tendencies omg
“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”
i love their arguments so much, because it's so bitter, and resentful, and sharp and it cuts so deep. that's one of my favorite things about this series, is when they're talking, they're going all in
That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.
SOMETHINGS WRONG GO HELP HER
But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting?
my favorite line
He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”
he's hurt too (but he's a dick) but he's hurt too 🥹
He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here?
i love the lingering love, especially because i believe rafe to be the type of person who cannot mourn loss whatsoever, he keeps it in his chest forever, when he loves someone, he'll love them forever
“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."
ONE OF THE BANGER LINES OF THIS PART AHHH
“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”
oooo i love this, sometimes i be forgetting they're toxic.
💌 — i love love their argument in this one. i love how u manage to capture rafe's essence with this characterization, especially post-ward, because i often don't read a lot of fics with ward being a dead presence but haunting the narrative. and that make rafe's viewpoint so conflicting, especially since he's trying to grieve but come to terms on who his father is. i absolutely love how u build up to their breaking point, because they have all these things festering under the surface that neither are willing to talk about until someone breaks, and that's how their relationship dynamic is. every time we get to see an insider scope of rafe's head, i am amazed, because the way he analyzes things, flowing from one thought to the next, makes sense. he's insecure, he's grieving, he's angry, and all of these emotions are hitting him at full-force and no one is allowing him the proper space to actually deal with them—especially because ward never did. and when their argument was just bitter shots at one another, just to hurt each other, you know it hurt. oh oh, gigi, u amaze and fascinate me so much!!
LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX
pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;
Rafe had been clean for the past three years.
Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing.
It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.
He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.
Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.
It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours.
Until Ward died.
Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty.
Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect.
To Rafe, that meant something. Everything.
Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.
At first, you were there for him, no question.
He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.
You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.
At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.
He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around.
After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.
For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it.
Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.
He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that.
He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.
Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?
He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.
Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.
After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.
If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat.
It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.
This was different, a slower, quieter process.
Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.
So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that?
He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.
Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.
Grounded.
Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.
You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything.
Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.
She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.
But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.
He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.
Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.
“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”
It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.
“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”
The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.
It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.
He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.
“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”
Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face.
“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”
You were mad at him.
It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.
“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.”
There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.
As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.
His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.
By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you.
You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.
He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.
“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”
“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”
You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”
Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.
“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”
He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.
“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.
“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”
He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.
“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”
“I know what you deserve.”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”
“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”
He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.
“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”
You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.
“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”
His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.
“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"
You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.
“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.
His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”
“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.
He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.
“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”
"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”
Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.
He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.
“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”
“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”
You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.
That was it.
Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.
He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you.
That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.
He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.
He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.
But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting?
No, no, no.
Sofia was what he needed.
Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights.
She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.
He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.
It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it.
So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.
Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.
Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have.
He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.
Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her.
“I’m here because she called me.”
“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”
Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.
“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”
He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”
“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”
“Go away. I’m driving her home.”
She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.
“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”
A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”
“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”
He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.
But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.
“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”
Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.
It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came.
His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.
Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.
You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.
But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.
He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital.
Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.
His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.
He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here?
Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.
Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.
But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?
This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.
He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system.
He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.
Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.
If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.
He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.
He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.
With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.
He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him.
You’ll just prove her right.
He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push.
As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.
He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.
"Wake the fuck up."
He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”
But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.
“What the hell happened?”
Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.
Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”
Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.
Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.
“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”
If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm.
Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.
Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.
She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.
“Hi.”
You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?”
You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”
She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”
She’d made him leave.
You could imagine his face distorted with anger.
You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away, giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.
You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.
“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.”
Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.
You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.
Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.
“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”
You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”
“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”
You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.
"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”
There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.
You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.
Not like this, with the IV in your arm.
"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”
This.
You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside.
“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”
Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”
“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”
A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to.
“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”
You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.
This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.
"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.
Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.
“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.
"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.
But it didn’t.
You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away.
Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation.
Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.
“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.
You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.
“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"
You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.
“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."
“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.
“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”
Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”
You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.
“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”
“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”
The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.
“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”
“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”
Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”
“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”
“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”
She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”
“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.
“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”
You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”
She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”
“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.
“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”
You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”
When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.
You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.”
The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.
She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.
“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."
Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.
You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”
“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”
You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.
And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.
“Thank you.”
And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.
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Sharing a bed with Changbin
Chan; Lee Know ; Changbin; Hyunjin; Han; Felix; Seungmin; IN;
My Masterlist
Summary: What happens when Changbin comes to pick you up after a night out with your friends.
Warning: Chaos just pure Chaos. Cursing as always; Reader is a female; Both reader and Changbin are dummies. Literally idiots in love; Mentions of drinking, reader is a bit tipsy at the start. mentions of kissing. NOT PROOFREAD. Please tell me if I miss anything.
A/N- Heya babies I'm back! I really hope you'll like this, I really had fun writing this so I hope you will enjoy it. If you have any request of just thoughts to share please feel free to do so. Also if you want to be added to the taglist either comment or massage or even send an ask.
Word count- 3.5k
Sometimes drinking alcohol and getting drunk with your best friends was all that you needed to unwind after a hard week of working your ass off. However, as much as you loved feeling this light, carefree, relaxed and let’s just simply say euphoric, alcohol intake also had its cons. For example, this lightness and relaxation came with the price of being unable to stand straight on your legs and your crush looking way more yummy than usual.
You weren’t really planning to go out. After a day you had at work all you felt like was to go home, take a warm bath and snuggle in bed with some good movie playing on the background. Your best friend came up with the idea to go clubbing and getting some overpriced but tasty drinks. You were reluctant at first but after thinking things over you decided to go. And it was great! You had time of your life and it was just what you needed to fully relax and wash off the stress of your daily life. The only problem now was that you had a bit too much to drink and could barely stand on your legs and you felt really dizzy. Also watching Changbin help your friend (who was also wasted if not more than you) get to her door, and mind you he got every one of your friends to their houses because it was really late and he didn’t want them to go with cabs in the middle of the night while in this vulnerable state. You had to call mama Seo and thank her for raising such a gentleman!
Okay maybe you were a bit biased, It wasn’t a secret your feelings for Changbin had been more than platonic. You two had known each other for quite a while. You didn’t know when it started but you two had been flirting around with each other since forever but neither one of you made that final move to make things official. So here you were stuck in the middle ground, where you couldn’t really be called just friends but you weren’t dating each other either.
Of course you would be more than happy to get out of that situation. At least you would try and move on from him if he didn’t want to date and make things official. You just weren’t sure how you should make the first move, you always kind of expected he would be the first one to ask you out.
You were startled out of your thoughts when you heard Changbin return in the car, you couldn’t help but smile as you took in his disheveled hair and rosy cheeks from the cold.
“Are you sleepy baby?” – He asked as he noticed your dazed eyes.
“Yea, but I can’t sleep. I shouldn’t.” You sighed out as you watched him start the car.
“Why is that bubz?” He looked at you for a second before shifting his gaze to the road.
“If I close my eyes I can not look at your pretty face!” You made sure to whine as dramatically as possible. Changbin let out one of his notorious cackles.
“God that was so cheesy!”-He wheezed out after a few seconds of laughing like he had been possessed with a spirit of an ancient witch.
You grabbed your own cheeks making sure to smush them together just enough, blinked at him all cutely and continued to tease him like the sweetheart you were. “Shut up you love me.”
“I do.” Wow how the tables turn he just admitted it like it was the most common fact ever. Grass is green, sky is blue and apparently Seo Changbin is in love with you.
“Wait really?” You really couldn’t believe your own ears.
“Yeah of course.” Again, he was so incredibly casual about it! Oh no you couldn’t let it slide.
“Why aren’t you asking me out to date then?” There it was, there was no return now.
Changbin not only snapped his head so fast that there might have been a possibility that he could’ve broken his neck, but he also stopped his car so aburtly you had to thank god there was no one behind you.
“What do you mean ask you out?” Wow was it so horrible to even imagine it? You thought you two had a thing. Were you wrong?
“Oh my god have I been misreading the situation the whole time? This is so embarrassing. I am so sorry…”
It was his turn to panic now, which made you feel a bit relieved, because you felt like you were losing your shit! “No no it’s not that I promise!”
“When what is?” You couldn’t hide your desperation now. Maybe you could blame it on alcohol later and hope to move on?
“I thought we were dating?”
…
A blink.
Another blink.
“Changbin what the fuck? How the fuck did you believe we were dating?” You were full on yelling now because what the fuck did he mean he thought you two were dating! Since fucking when?
“I don’t know! I just did! We already act like a couple so what’s the big deal? Wait you don’t like me?” Forget all the sappy shit, you felt like strangling him.
“I do but…” God how did you manage to get yourself in this fucking situation? “God this is giving me such a headache.”
Changbin looked just as lost and even guilty. “I’m sorry. But I genuinely thought we were dating.”
“Since when?” You had to get in the bottom of this, or else your head was going to explode.
“I don’t know, like Han’s birthday party? You remember when you kissed me?” He tried to reason but the new knowledge almost made you choke on your own spit. God was really laughing at you.
“I fucking did WHAT?”
“YOU DON’T REMEMBER?” Changbin full on screamed in shock. Really what did you do to deserve this?
“NO!” You screamed back, and with it went last drops of alcohol remaining in your body and your sanity. Ain’t no way you could return to being normal after this.
“I mean I knew that you drank a little that day but damn! You don’t remember kissing me?” Changbin had his face in his hands, the car still ignited just casually standing in the middle of the road. Thank god there was no one around.
“Fuck me I gotta stop drinking. No I don’t remember kissing you.” Honestly nothing seemed more tempting right now than crying your eyes out at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
“Unbelievable.” Your heart clenched at Changbin’s sulky and sad voice. You were furious at yourself for not remembering kissing this cinnamon roll.
“I’m sorry. What happened? Tell me a full story.” You pleaded as if hearing the full story would magically return your memories and make the situation any better.
“I don’t know, I walked you home, we were about to say goodbye and you kissed me. I thought that you were drunk but you confessed that you liked me and it seemed so sincere, and we’ve been flirting for ages! How was I supposed to know you wouldn’t remember anything?”
“This is so unfair! You are telling me I have been literally dreaming about how would kissing you be like and in reality I have already done it?” Talk about unfair!
A biggest smile broke on his face and his whole mood shifter 180. “Aww baby you’ve been dreaming about kissing me?”
You really felt like pulling your own hair out now. How was he so calm all of a sudden? “Binnie, baby, respectfully shut the fuck up.”
“But you like me!” He looked so giddy now, what a precious dummy. You really felt like shutting him up with a fat smooch on his lips. You had to pull yourself together.
“Bin you had been convinced we had been dating I don’t know for how many months now. I had you THAT convinced. Of course I fucking like you.”
“Aww you said it again that you like me!”
“I swear to god Seo!” Changbin gasped like he had been slapped making you also flinch in shock.
“Not the last name! I liked it better when you called me Binnie and baby and love and all the sweet stuff.” Was he serious right now? A smile broke out on your face against your will, he was so cute.
You sighed in defeat. “Okay I won’t call you by your last name.”
“Also not the first name. I’m Binnie to you!” To make his point he even crossed his arms, his lips all pouty and cheeks all fluffy.
“Okay Binnie.” You held in your pinky as a promise, he immediately linked it with his feeling satisfied.
You two sat in silence for a few seconds, thankfully he started to drive again. “So like what do we do now?” He broke the silence looking at you with confused eyes.
“I don’t know Bin, let me think for a sec?”
“But” - He tried to protest but you didn’t let him.
“Please baby?” You gave him the best puppy eyes ever, knowing damn well he wouldn’t be able to resist. You just needed a second.
“That’s not fair, You know I can’t say no when you ask me like that!”
The ride to the home was quiet, with the only problem arising when you were in front of your house.
“Bin I Think we have a problem.” You sighed feeling way too drained to care about this new problem.
“Wait what? Why?” You cured yourself for making him feel anxious, you quickly leaned in and grabbed his hands.
“Calm down baby.” You tried to reassure.
“What is it?”
“I just can’t find my keys.” You admitted bashfully.
“Are you kidding? Did you lose them somewhere?”
“No. I gave it to my friend when we left the house, she just found it in her purse she just texted me.”
“Oh thank god I thought we had to change the locks. Do you want me to go back to her apartment?” Really who was this cute and adorable? This was so unfair for your heart.
“What? No, it would be such an inconvenience. I mean we can go at your house?” You already felt like a hassle you didn’t want to tire him more, It was really late too.
“My house?” Changbin sounded genuinely so surprised you thought you said something wrong for a second. Changbin returned to normal in a second. “I mean it’s not a problem but like our sofa broke, turns out you can’t just like wrestle for the better controller or something like that. Okay what am I even saying you can take my room, me and Hyunjin had shared a bed so many times anyways.”
“It’s fine tho.” Your voice was quiet almost like a whisper.
“What is?” You looked at his face, he looked genuinely confused. You rolled your eyes, he really couldn’t take a hint sometimes.
“I meant that we can share a bed.” You tried your best to sound as cool and as casual as possible even though your heart felt like bursting.
“We can do what now?” he really looked like he couldn’t believe his own ears.
“I mean apparently we had been dating for months now.”
“Hey don’t tease!”
“I gotta do something! My head feels like exploding! We managed to get ourselves in quite a situation right here!” You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “Anyway what I’m saying is that I’m completely fine sharing a bed with you. We’ve established that we like each other so I don’t see the problem here.”
“That’s what I thought the first time too! What if you forget again! What if you wake up in the morning not remembering anything and you’re just there in my bed with me in it! You’ll think I’m some sort of pervert and that I took advantage of you when you were drunk!” There he was being all dramatic and huffy all again.
“I’m not drunk!” Who would be drunk after this?
“You were a few minutes ago!” He had a a point but now you felt more sober than you were before you started drinking.
“Well not anymore! How can I be drunk after all that? And I was just tipsy! I was just fine! You were the one worried and insisting that you come and take me home! For which I love you and appreciate you but still!”
Changbin crossed his arms. “I’m still not sure.”
“What you want me to do a video proof that I fully consent to this?”
Changbin glared at you but then smirked suddenly looking smug. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea!”
“God you’re so petty sometimes.” Two could play the petty game, you took out your phone and pressed the record button. “Hello future me! It is exactly half past thee in the morning and I’m sitting in the car with Changbin who is driving me to his home. This is a reminder to you in case that I forget in the morning that I fully concent to sharing a same bed with Seo Changbin. And to avoid any further miscommunication I will say in this video that I like him like a lot and appartenly he does return the feelings. However if when we get there he doesn’t kiss me I will end this either month long or minute long relationship right then and there!”
It was his time to roll his eyes now, but he clearly looked amused by all this. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m warning you Seo!” Ain’t no way you wouldn’t get your kiss now that you two were aware of each other’s emotions. No way in hell would count the one you didn’t even remember as your first kiss with him.
“Whatever my love shall request my love shall get!”
***
The ride to his house was quick which was great you were dying to take off your shoes. Whoever invented high heels deserved to burn in hell. Thank god Binnie came to pick you up.
Speaking of which, being the perfect gentleman he is, he immediately got out of the car, ran to your side all cutely and opened your door for you, holding in his hand for you to take. You obviously took it, appreciating the kind gesture and also support because your legs really were hurting like a bitch.
Changbin helped you get out of the car, he even closed the door for you. You were about to thank him but something stopped you Something in his eyes.
You weren’t even able to question anything, before you even knew it, he wrapped his arm around your waist brought you close to his body and in mere second his lips were on yours.
The kiss was firm but also full of love, he kissed you as he was afraid to let you go. His lips were so soft and warm and his body… It was so firm and strong and warm. No wonder you felt so safe and loved whenever you were with him, You couldn’t help but cling to him as you tried to return the kiss with the same vigor. Both of your arms tightly wrapping around his broad shoulders.
Your whole body felt like it was melting, you were sure you wouldn’t even be able to stand straight if it wasn’t him holding you so firmly. How was he even so good at kissing? His kisses felt like a drug and you were getting addicted by the second.
After a while he leaned back and you couldn’t help but actually whine, god what was he doing to you? Seeing you chase his lips made the biggest smile break out on his face. God He looked so beautiful with his flushed cheeks and messy hair, his lips all pretty and pink. Changbin leaned in and gave you few short pecks.
After he felt satisfied with the amount of kisses he gave you he decided to just randomly sweep you off your feet, quite literaly. One second you were somewhat steady on the ground the next you were in the air desperately clinging onto Changbin confused out of your mind.
“What are you doing?” – You managed to huff out giggling at his cute antics.
“You’re feet are hurting.” He said it like a matter of fact.
“I mean yes, but are you going to carry me until we get to your house?”
“Why not?” Again so casual, like holding you and walking up to his house which wasn’t that near wasn’t a big deal.
“Binnie I’m heavy!” You tried to protest, even squirmed a little but to no avail.
“Not really, no.”
“Binnie it isn’t worth it, I’m really heavy.”
“What’s the point of working out if I can’t even carry my girl!” Wow your heart must have done a literal backflip because what the fuck was that movement in your chest?
“I’m your girl?” You didn’t even try to hide the lovesick expression that overtook your face.
Changbin glanced at you for a second, then leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose- “Of course you’re my girl.” So not mindful of your poor heart amusement clear on his face clearly enjoying your flustered state. He continued walking as it was nothing, like holding you was same as holding couple of grapes. He only stopped when you two were in front of his house.
“Can you ring the bell?” He asked with the cutest smile ever, how in your right mind could you say no? You rang the bell then it hit you, the situation you were in. You quickly covered your face as if Changbin wasn’t holding you like you were main dish on a platter. The cackle Changbin let out seeing your antics almost woke up the whole building.
Hyunjin opened up the door after a few seconds, clearly he just rolled out of bed. You felt bad for possibly waking him up. He looked at you two with unamused eyes, Changbin still proudly holding you refusing to let you down, and you looking through your fingers clearly shy.
“Huh so my wife is cheating on me with my friend.”
“Uh pretty much? You’re still number one in my heart you know that.” Changbin answered proudly.
“Hey hyun!” You greeted him shyly after you made sure to smack Changbin’s shoulder.
"Hey! Took you two long enough to get together tho.” Hyunjin deadpanned as he let you two in, Changbin finally letting you down on the armchair.
“Oh let me tell you a juicy story then!” You smiled mischievously completely ignoring Changbin’s protests.
After telling Hyunjin everything and him making fun of you two, mostly Changbin, you decided to get ready for bed. Honestly they would be lucky if the neighbors didn’t call the cops on them, they were so damn loud!
Anyway here you were now, laying on one side of the bed all snug in Changbin’s clothes as Changbin laid stiffly on the other. Honestly, he looked like he would fall of the bed any second now.
“Bin you’re about to fall off the bed!”
“I’m fine.” God even his voice was stiff.
“Bin you literally took my breath away the way you were kissing me earlier what happened now?”
“I don’t think I should get any more close.” He grumbled out after a few seconds of silence.
“Why is that?”
Changbin scoffed like he was baffled how you weren’t understanding what was wrong. “You’ll think badly of me!” Again grumbling inaudibly.
“I promise I won’t.” You tried to reassure him, even held in your pinky finger which he begrudgingly took.
“It’s just you’re here in my bed, in my clothes, looking absolutely beautiful and we were kissing and you look so kissable right now… How am I supposed to control myself?” This boy was going to be the death of you. Who the hell was this cute and adorable and so kissable on a random Tuesday night!
“Then don’t.”
“Baby I swear to god!” Changbin covered his face and almost fell out of the bed, thankfully you managed to drag him to the center of bed just in time. Also this gave you a perfect opportunity. You wrapped your hands around him and hugged him tight, Changbin immediately uncovered his face to wrap his arms around you and hug you back.
“I like you a lot bin.” You mused and leaned in to softly peck his lips, Changbin almost immediately melted into your arms.
“I like you a lot too.” He muttered before bringing you closer to seal your lips in a longer more passionate kiss.
“We’re really really dating now so don’t you start getting shy on me okay?” You couldn’t help but tease.
Changbin groaned at the teasing clearly not amused. “Brat!”
You couldn’t help but giggle as you got more comfortable getting ready to get one of the best sleeps of your life.
Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ❤️
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WAiTiN’ ON CALLS — S. JAEYUN 𓂃 ⭑
( 엔하이픈 제이크 ) : jake misses you — too much for his own liking. he tries to move on, and by doing so, he gives you one last call. usually it would go directly to voicemail, but instead, he was greeted with you on the other line.
──── ex!jake x gn ! r . . . ⌕ ex 2 lovers, second chance, angst, fluff ∿ 𝔀ord count 2.1K+ ( 2196 ) ╱ HAPPY BF JAKE DAY 🤍 i’ve been dying to write a fic using this pic of jake ever since it got posted … so this is for me and my jake baes 🤍
Jake knew he was beyond exhausted—so tired that all he could manage after work was to head straight for his bed, not even bothering to take off his suit.
But despite the dim lighting and the comfort of sinking into his mattress, sleep refused to come. He tossed and turned, tried counting sheep, but nothing worked. Frustrated, he sat up, turning on the radio to a soft, quiet tune as he stared at his phone.
He already knew what was on his mind.
His gaze settled on his contact list, focusing on one name—yours.
He missed you, more than he cared to admit. His eyes lingered on your icon, a picture he’d secretly taken during one of your dates. You’d demanded he delete it, but he never did. Instead, he kept it as a reminder of you, proudly showing it off whenever he got the chance.
A small, bittersweet smile crept onto his lips as his eyes trailed down to your name, the ache in his chest growing a little heavier.
My Love. He never bothered changing it—that name was reserved for you, and only you. Was it strange for him to keep it that way? He wasn't sure, but what he did know was that no matter what, you’d always be his love, even if he was the only one who still believed it.
Should he call you again?
His finger hovered over your name, hesitating—a rare feeling for him. He’d always called before, whenever he had a free moment. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, just a way to clear his head, but it had become a habit. Strangely enough, he found relief in those calls. They always went straight to voicemail, and he was certain you never listened to them.
That’s where he poured his heart out, leaving messages that no one would hear. It was sad, but in a way, comforting—like shouting into the void, knowing there'd be no echo, no response.
He often wondered why you hadn’t blocked him yet. Maybe, if you did, it would finally force him to move on.
Maybe that would give him the push he needed to let go.
But deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. He was the one holding onto the past, the one clinging to old habits. Why did he think calling you, of all things, would help him get over you? Even if someone asked him, he wouldn’t know how to explain it.
Maybe he didn’t really want to.
Maybe, just maybe, he was still hoping for something—anything—from you.
He just wanted to hear your voice again, even though it felt impossible at this point. Pressing his lips together, he finally tapped the call button. Placing the phone on his thigh, Jake ran a hand through his hair, unable to look at the screen as the rings buzzed in the quiet room.
As usual, he fully expected you wouldn’t answer.
Normally, the sting of disappointment would hit him when you let his calls go unanswered, but tonight felt different. Tonight, everything was going to change.
This would be the last time he stared at your contact, the last time he pressed your number, and the last voicemail he'd leave. Tonight, he was finally going to say goodbye.
Tonight—
"Hello?"
His body went still.
For a moment, Jake couldn’t believe it. Your voice, so familiar yet distant, cut through the static of the call. He had rehearsed this moment over and over in his mind, but now that it was real, his words were trapped in his throat.
"Jake?" you repeated, sounding confused, maybe even concerned. "Are you there?"
He swallowed, trying to collect himself. "Hey," he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I didn’t expect you to pick up."
There was a brief silence on the other end, making his heart race, before you spoke again. "I didn’t expect to get so many calls... or all the voicemails."
"You... you listened to them?" he asked, barely able to believe it.
“Caught up on all of it yesterday,” you admitted, your voice surprisingly calm. “You really sent a lot, huh?”
Jake’s heart was pounding so loudly that it drowned out his own thoughts. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The plan to say goodbye, the resolution he had built up in his mind, seemed to dissolve the moment he heard your voice.
He didn’t want to mess this up—he couldn’t.
“I still didn’t expect you to actually listen to them,” he said, his voice shakier than he wanted it to be.
“How could I not?” you chuckled softly, attempting to ease the awkward tension. It was strange, both of you knew it. Talking to your ex, someone you swore you’d never contact again, felt surreal.
And yet, here you were—on the phone, waiting for him to say something more.
Jake took a breath, the weight of his next words heavy on his chest. "I was planning on this being the last call,” he confessed. “Since you never really picked up... I figured I was just bothering you."
There was a pause on the other end, and he held his breath, wondering what you’d say next.
"Would it be wrong to say I had a feeling?" you finally replied, voice soft.
"How could you tell?"
"Just... a gut feeling," you said, as if searching for the right words. "Or maybe because… I knew you."
His heart couldn’t help but falter—he knew you were not lying. You did know him, deeply once. But that closeness had slipped away when life had led you down different paths.
"Yeah," was all he could muster, the simplicity of the word masking the storm of emotions within him. He wasn’t sure how to move forward, or if he even wanted to.
“Do you mean every single voice message?” you asked, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. Jake’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the question.
“Of course I do,” he replied, gripping his phone tightly, as if it could somehow bridge the distance between you. His heart was pounding; he needed to make this count. “There isn’t a single thing I’ve sent to you that I’d ever want to take back. Every word was real. It’s exactly how I feel about you... about us.”
For a moment, vulnerability hung between you, both knowing this conversation could change everything. Jake could only hope you’d feel it too, that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to turn this into something more.
“Come see me then.”
“Huh?” Jake’s breath hitched, unsure if he’d heard you right.
“You’re not going to leave me hanging this time, are you?” you asked with a light chuckle, though your voice held a hint of nervousness. You hoped the laughter would mask how your heart was pounding, racing in anticipation.
Jake barely registered the words before he was scrambling to grab his keys, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. “Not this time,” he stammered, his voice shaking with excitement and a touch of panic. He could feel his pulse hammering as he fumbled with his shoes, trying to keep his hands steady.
The thought of seeing you, of finally closing the distance he’d been feeling for so long, filled him with both anticipation and nervous energy.
"Take your time," you teased, though he could hear the faintest tremor in your voice, as if you were trying to calm yourself, too. But he knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—wait.
He barely managed to lock his door, nearly tripping as he rushed down the stairs. His mind raced, playing over every word, every message he’d sent, wondering if this was finally his chance to make things right.
As he reached his car, hands fumbling for his keys, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus, to drive safely. But his heart wouldn’t slow, each beat pushing him forward with a desperate urgency.
Jake barely remembered the drive over, his mind racing faster than the car itself. As he pulled up in front of your house, he felt a fresh wave of nerves settle over him. He sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady his breath.
This was it.
With a final deep breath, he stepped out of the car and walked up the path to your door, his heart pounding with every step. He hesitated before raising his hand to knock, his mind swirling with questions.
But before he could overthink it, the door swung open, and there you were, standing there in the soft glow of your porch light. For a split second, neither of you spoke, caught up in the quiet intensity of the moment.
“Hi,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips, though he could see the same nervousness reflected in your eyes. “Still in your work attire?”
Jake looked down, realizing for the first time that he was still in his slightly rumpled shirt and loosened tie, his rushed appearance suddenly feeling a bit ridiculous. He let out a small, embarrassed laugh, reaching up to grab his tie as if he could somehow hide it from you. But when he looked back up, he wore a shy smile, his eyes creasing in that gentle way that had always made your heart skip.
Before he could say anything else, you stepped closer, reaching up to fix his tie, your fingers brushing against the fabric with a delicate touch that sent a shiver down his spine. He swallowed, feeling his pulse quicken. It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt like slipping back into something deeply familiar, a memory that had never truly faded.
“There,” you murmured softly as you adjusted the tie, smoothing out the collar. Your hand lingered for just a second longer, and in that moment, Jake felt everything—the unspoken words, the history, the quiet yearning.
“Thank you,” he managed, his voice a little rough.
"I didn’t realize you wanted to see me that badly… especially after just finishing your shift,” you said with a hint of surprise. “You’ve always loved your job.”
Jake let out a small, wistful laugh, meeting your gaze. “Even after a long shift, that isn’t enough to distract me from you,” he admitted. You both knew how deeply he was dedicated to his work, how it had once been the thing that drew him away from you, consuming his time and energy. Something he loved had taken his real love away from him. But he couldn’t dwell on regrets now, not when this chance was standing right in front of him.
“Every time I get back from work, I have to leave a voicemail,” he confessed quietly, his words hanging between you both.
“Every night?” you asked, startled. You hadn’t realized just how much he’d been reaching out in those messages, hadn’t counted the days it had spanned. “That’s… a lot, Jake.”
He nodded, his gaze steady and sincere. “There hasn’t been a single day I haven’t thought about you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice raw with honesty.
You looked at him, noticing how he pressed his lips together, a nervous habit he’d never quite outgrown. His hair was neatly parted, and his suit fit him perfectly, accentuating the small changes time had brought to him. Somehow, he looked even better than you remembered—or maybe it was simply because you’d missed him more than you’d realized.
“Jake,” you murmured, almost as if testing his name again, letting it fill the space between you both. “I really missed you too.”
At your words, Jake’s face lit up, his cheeks lifting with a smile he couldn’t contain, no matter how hard he tried to keep his composure. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat, but when he turned back, his grin only grew wider as he saw your own smile mirroring his.
“Then… would you let me stay the night?” he asked softly, his voice hopeful, though almost immediately he seemed to second-guess himself. His smile faltered as he began to backpedal, a nervous laugh escaping. “Or, if that’s too much, we could just sit outside, or… in my car? Just to talk, to catch up—or maybe just to let me finally say all these things I’ve kept hidden.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, finding his nervous rambling unexpectedly endearing. It was hard to remember the last time you’d seen Jake like this—unsure, almost shy. Without another word, you reached out and grabbed his arm, gently tugging him inside.
“You can stay,” you said, a warmth in your voice that eased the lingering tension in the air.
Jake blinked in surprise, his nervous expression melting into something more tender as he stepped inside. The familiar warmth of your home wrapped around him, but it was the simple presence of you that truly eased him. He hadn’t realized how much he'd longed for this—just to be near you again.
As he looked at you, a quiet realization washed over him, clear and undeniable. He wasn’t just here because he needed to be; he was here because he wanted to be.
Wherever you were, that was where he wanted to be too.
‘💬’ ─── may active soph come back after this one 😖!
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i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1943 - wounds and whispers
chapter summary: After an attack on the battlefield, Logan wakes up to you as his nurse in Italy during World War 2.
word count: 8.8k+
pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader
notes: this one is short, and the ending is a bit abrupt, but i kind of wanted it to be that way- war is unpredictable. also, the ending is a tad bit different from the other endings, you'll see when you read! anyways, next chapter is when things get a little bit more interesting...
warnings/tags: mentions of injuries, fluff, angst, war, character death(s)
series masterlist - chapter 3 → chapter 5
A mere 43 years later and Logan was already in his second war since you died that last time. Part of him almost wished that he could die, maybe then he’d see you and get to hold you forever. But that just wasn’t in the cards for him; not when he had this healing, not when he was already 111 years old.
Logan's mind was swimming in a fog of pain as consciousness crept back in. The last thing he remembered was the deafening blast of gunfire and the sharp, searing pain that tore through his side as he charged forward in the midst of the chaos. War was hell, and he’d been through more than enough of them to know that. But this—this felt different.
His eyes fluttered open, the bright lights overhead blinding him for a moment as he groaned, trying to push himself up. His muscles screamed in protest, his entire body feeling like it had been torn apart and put back together again.
“Easy there, soldier.”
The voice was soft but firm, and it froze him in place. Logan’s heart skipped a beat, recognition flooding through him even though he knew it wasn’t possible. His vision focused, and then he saw you. Standing right over him, your face illuminated by the dim lights of the field hospital.
It was you.
Logan’s breath hitched, his mind spinning. He’d seen you die—he’d held you in his arms not long before everything faded. The memory of that night, the pain in your eyes, the blood pooling beneath you—it was burned into him. He’d lost you again. But now here you were, alive, standing in front of him like nothing had ever happened.
His throat tightened, but he forced himself to speak. “Y/N?” You probably didn’t hear him, given the quiet tone of his voice.
You smiled softly, stepping closer to him, your hands working with practiced care to check his wounds. “You’re lucky, you know,” you said, ignoring the way he looked at you, as if he'd seen a ghost. “The shrapnel didn’t hit anything vital. You’ll live.”
Logan swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours. He felt a pull, the same pull he’d felt every time he met you in a different life. But this time, it hurt even more. Because this was the first time he’d seen you since the last time you died, and now, here you were, again, as if the universe had decided to toy with him once more.
“Y/N…” he whispered again, his voice rough with emotion.
You glanced at him, your brows knitting together in confusion. “How do you know my name?”
Logan hesitated, his heart pounding. He couldn’t tell you—not yet. Not about the lives you’d lived before, not about the times he’d watched you die. He had to keep it together. You didn’t remember him, and that was both a blessing and a curse.
He cleared his throat, managing a tight smile. “Lucky guess,” he said, his voice strained, trying to mask the tidal wave of emotion crashing through him.
You gave him a curious look but didn’t press further. “Well, lucky or not, you should be more careful out there,” you said, turning your attention back to bandaging him up. “You’re not invincible, even if you act like it.”
Logan nearly chuckled at that. If only you knew. But instead, he gritted his teeth as you finished patching him up. The pain from the wound was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He’d spent so many lifetimes with you, always losing you too soon. Always feeling like there wasn’t enough time.
And now, here you were again, standing so close to him, your hands gentle as you worked. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing with memories of you—of your smile, your laugh, the way you’d always found him, no matter the time or place.
But this wasn’t the past. This was 1943, and you didn’t know him. He had to play it cool, keep his distance, even though every instinct in him was screaming to reach out and hold you, to make sure you didn’t slip away again.
“Thanks,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady.
You gave him a small nod, satisfied with your work. “Well, you’re still not cleared to leave yet, so you’re not gonna get away from me that easily.” You grabbed a small flashlight from your pocket and leaned in a little closer, shining it into his eyes to check his pupils.
Logan grunted, feeling the warmth of your proximity. It was almost unbearable how familiar you felt, even though you didn’t know him—at least not in this lifetime. His eyes followed your movements, the way you focused on him like he was just another soldier you had to patch up. But to him, you were everything.
“You know,” you started, your voice calm but a little teasing, “you really shouldn’t be throwing yourself into the line of fire like that. Kinda hard for us to patch you up if you don’t have any parts left.”
Logan gave a low chuckle, though his heart wasn’t in it. “I’ll heal,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His voice was rougher than usual, like the words were struggling to get past the weight of seeing you again, alive and breathing.
You raised an eyebrow at him. “Heal, huh? Well, you’re not invincible, soldier. Trust me, I’ve seen men think they’re untouchable, and they don’t last long in a place like this.”
Logan looked away, trying to focus on anything other than the sound of your voice. He didn’t want to make this harder on himself than it already was. “Guess I’ll just have to be more careful, then.”
You chuckled softly, finishing your check-up and tucking the flashlight back into your pocket. “Yeah, you do that.” There was a hint of amusement in your tone, but you were still clearly all business. “Now,” you looked at a clipboard in your hands, “James, you have a different name you’d like to go by?”
Logan grunted, his gaze fixed on you. The name ‘James’ felt foreign now, like a remnant of a past he didn't quite belong to anymore. His eyes flickered to the clipboard, then back to your face. The memories of every life you'd lived flashed through his mind, each one ending the same way, with you slipping away from him.
“Logan,” he said, his voice a bit rougher than he intended.
You looked up, scribbling something down. “Logan, huh?” You nodded, writing it down. “Suits you better than James… I think.”
Logan gave a small grunt, a mix of acknowledgment and the emotions he was keeping buried. He couldn’t tell you how much it hurt hearing you say his name, knowing you didn’t remember him at all. Every time he heard your voice, it was like a punch to the gut—a reminder that no matter how many times you came back, he was always starting over, and you… you were always slipping away.
“Glad you approve,” Logan muttered, his eyes drifting away from you. He was trying hard not to stare, trying not to let the overwhelming rush of memories take over. You looked the same, almost exactly as you had the last time—before George pulled that damn trigger.
You didn’t seem to notice the tension radiating from him, too focused on the task at hand. “Well, Logan,” you said, setting the clipboard aside. “You’ll need to stay here for observation, at least for the night. Make sure your body’s handling the recovery properly. We’ve seen some soldiers who think they’re fine, and then—” You made a gesture, mimicking someone fainting, a half-smile tugging at your lips.
Logan’s eyes flicked to the floor, suppressing the mix of emotions threatening to boil over. That small smile—the one you always had, no matter how many lives you lived—was painfully familiar. Each time, the same softness, the same warmth. But this time, it cut deeper because he knew how this would end. You’d be gone. Again.
“You’re real good at this, aren’t ya?” Logan said, his voice low, trying to sound casual despite the weight of everything between you two, or at least, everything he carried alone.
You shrugged, your smile widening just a little. “I’ve had a lot of practice lately. War isn’t exactly kind to anyone.” Your eyes softened for a moment, like you were remembering someone, but you shook it off, standing straighter. “But, yeah. It’s what I do.”
Logan’s jaw tightened as he fought the urge to tell you everything, to scream at the universe for pulling you into his life only to tear you away. But he couldn’t. Not this time. He had to play along, had to act like this was the first time he’d ever met you.
He nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Guess we’re both used to it, then. War and all.”
You glanced at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Yeah?” There was a pause as you sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. “You seem… different from the other soldiers I’ve patched up. Seen a lot, huh?”
Logan leaned back slightly, his hand brushing against the place where the ring still rested in his pocket. He hadn’t taken it out in years. “More than you’d believe.”
There was a quiet moment between you, your gaze lingering on him as if trying to figure him out. “Well,” you said, breaking the silence, “let’s hope you don’t add anything else to that list while you’re here.”
Logan couldn’t help the bitter chuckle that escaped his throat. If only you knew what was on that list already. If only he could tell you how many times he’d seen you die, how many times he’d watched your life slip through his fingers. But instead, he just nodded again.
“I’ll try,” he muttered, though the words felt hollow.
As you stood up, preparing to check on the next patient, you paused, glancing back at him. There was something in your eyes, something almost familiar. But then, you smiled again—kind, unaware of the history Logan held with you—and walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Logan exhaled slowly, the ache in his chest growing heavier. He had to stay strong, had to keep his distance. But deep down, he knew he was already caught, already tangled in the same painful cycle.
He slipped his hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the engagement ring he’d never had the chance to give you.
Maybe this time, he thought. Maybe this time, you’d survive.
But Logan knew better than to hope.
---
You checked in with one of the doctors when Sandra, your friend and fellow nurse, put a hand on your shoulder and turned you to face her.
“Does he have a nice voice?”
You snorted, shaking your head at Sandra. "A nice voice? That’s what you want to ask?”
Sandra grinned, unbothered by your sarcasm. “Well, I saw the way you were looking at him. Thought maybe he had some mysterious, deep, soldier-thing going on.”
Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a clipboard from the nearby desk. “He’s just a patient, Sandra.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” Sandra leaned in, lowering her voice. “You didn’t exactly hurry out of that room.”
You shot her a look. “I was doing my job.”
“Mmhmm,” she hummed, clearly not buying it. “So... does he?”
You sighed, unable to stop a small smile from creeping onto your face. “Yeah, okay. Maybe a little. He’s got that gruff, low thing going on.”
“I knew it!” Sandra nudged your shoulder, her expression smug. “You’re into the mysterious types.”
“Oh, come on,” you muttered, flipping through the papers on your clipboard, though none of it really held your focus. Your mind drifted back to Logan’s face—his eyes, the way he carried himself like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. There was something about him, something that felt... familiar. But you brushed it off. That wasn’t possible.
“I’m not into anyone,” you said quickly, snapping back to reality. “Especially not a guy I’ve known for like five minutes.”
Sandra raised her hands in surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it.” But the teasing gleam in her eyes suggested she wasn’t done with the subject.
You gave her a half-hearted glare before heading off to check on another patient. But as much as you tried to focus, your thoughts kept drifting back to Logan. The way his voice had this gravelly edge to it, how it felt like he was holding something back every time he spoke. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he recognized you, like you were someone important.
But that couldn’t be right.
---
You came to check on Logan later that night before you’d head back to your quarters for some rest. The makeshift hospital was quieter now, just a few murmurs from patients in the distance. Your shift had been long, draining, but something about checking on Logan felt... different.
You pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit room. Logan was sitting up on the bed, his expression unreadable as he stared at the floor. His posture was tense, like he was carrying the weight of more than just a few injuries.
“How’re you feeling?” you asked softly, keeping your tone professional despite the strange pull you felt toward him.
Logan looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment that seemed to stretch longer than it should. “Better. You know, thanks to you.”
You gave a small smile, stepping closer to the bed. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze drifting back to the floor. “Still, you’re good at it.”
There was that same heaviness in his voice, like he was holding back more than just gratitude. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something about him felt... familiar. It was strange, like you knew him somehow, but you brushed the thought away.
“You should get some rest,” you said, checking the bandage on his side. Your fingertips lingered on the spot where the bloody wound had been earlier, but there was nothing—just smooth skin, as if it had never been there at all. Your brow furrowed, lips parting slightly in disbelief. You’d seen the gash when they’d brought him in, deep and ugly, impossible to heal so quickly.
Logan’s muscles tensed under your touch, and when you glanced at him, his expression was guarded, like he was bracing for something.
"That’s... impossible," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "It was bad earlier. There should at least be... a scar."
Logan shrugged, trying to act indifferent, but the movement was stiff. "Guess I got lucky."
You pulled your hand back slowly, still frowning. “Lucky doesn’t cover it. I’ve never seen anyone heal like that.” You tilted your head, curiosity edging into your voice. “How?”
His jaw tightened. "It happens."
“That’s not much of an answer.” Your arms crossed over your chest, and the edge in your tone softened just a bit. “You’ve got to admit it’s... weird.”
Logan gave you a look, one that made you feel like he was sizing you up, trying to figure out how much he could say. Or maybe how little. "Weird, yeah," he muttered, voice low. "Not much I can do about it, though."
You knew a deflection when you heard one, but you let it go—for now. You weren’t sure why you felt compelled to trust him, but there was something in his eyes, in the way he spoke, that made it impossible not to.
Sitting down on the edge of his bed, you shook your head with a faint smile. "Well, however it happened, you’re lucky I didn’t call the doctors in to see this miracle." You gave him a teasing look. “You’d be their new favorite science project.”
A ghost of a grin tugged at the corner of Logan’s mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I’d rather avoid that."
For a moment, the two of you sat in silence. It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. There was something strangely easy about being near him, like you’d known each other for years. You glanced at his hands—rough, calloused, like they’d seen more battles than you could imagine—and wondered just how much he’d been through.
"Why do I feel like there’s more to you than you’re letting on?" you asked softly.
Logan’s gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable in his expression. "You ever meet someone and feel like you’ve known ’em before?"
His words struck a nerve, sending a chill down your spine. You swallowed, the strange familiarity between you two suddenly harder to ignore. "Yeah... I guess I have."
Logan nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. He rubbed his thumb against the curve of his knuckle—a nervous habit, maybe. Or just old memories surfacing.
"You should get some rest," you said quietly, almost reluctantly. It felt wrong to leave, like there was more to say, even if you didn’t know what.
"I’m not good at rest," Logan admitted, voice low.
You gave a soft laugh. "No one is these days."
As you stood up, Logan’s hand moved slightly—just enough that the tips of his fingers brushed yours, barely a touch but enough to make your heart skip. You looked down at him, surprised by how natural it felt, like you’d been standing this close to him a thousand times before.
For a moment, it seemed like Logan might say something—something important. His hand hovered near his pocket, where a small, heavy object pressed against the fabric. But then he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as if he’d changed his mind at the last second.
"Goodnight," you whispered, your voice softer than before.
Logan gave you a short nod, but his eyes followed you as you stepped away, like he was memorizing the moment—like it might slip away from him if he looked away for even a second.
---
The next morning, when you went to check on Logan, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, buttoning up his shirt over his white beater.
“Hey—wait.” You stepped in front of Logan, your hands instinctively finding his forearm as he finished buttoning his shirt. “You’re not cleared to leave yet.”
Logan’s eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, something passed between you��like the echo of a memory, distant but familiar. He gave you a half-smile, the kind that looked more like a grimace, and kept working on the last button.
“Gotta go,” he muttered. “Don’t do well sittin’ still.”
You crossed your arms, not budging. “Doesn’t mean you get to walk out of here half-healed.”
His gaze darkened, jaw clenching as if biting back words. You could tell he didn’t like being told what to do, but there was something more in his expression—something haunted, buried beneath that tough exterior.
“You think I can’t handle it?” he asked, voice low, gravelly.
“It’s not about what you can handle.” Your eyes softened, a hint of frustration slipping through. “It’s about what’s smart. I’ve patched up enough soldiers to know that leavin’ too soon isn’t.”
Logan’s lips twitched, like he might argue, but then he stilled, studying you with a strange intensity. The weight of his stare made your breath hitch for a second, but you refused to back down.
“Stay,” you insisted. “At least for another day. Let the wound close properly.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, like it was more trouble than it was worth to argue with you. “You always this stubborn?”
A smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah. Part of the charm.”
Logan huffed, a reluctant laugh buried somewhere in the sound. He leaned forward slightly, his knees brushing yours where you stood between his legs. The air felt heavier—charged with something neither of you could quite name.
“Y/N...” The way your name left his mouth was different. Familiar, almost reverent, like he was tasting the sound of it after a long time.
Your heart stuttered in your chest. “What?”
Logan’s hand drifted toward his pocket, hesitating just for a beat. He seemed to think better of it and instead leaned back, propping himself on his palms like he was trying to keep his distance.
“Nothing.” His tone was gruff, evasive, but you knew there was more he wasn’t saying.
You stayed where you were, close enough to feel the warmth of him. “You’re not really going to leave, are you?”
Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Shouldn’t stick around too long.”
“Why not?”
He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustrated. “I just shouldn’t.”
The words hit you harder than you expected, like they carried the weight of something unsaid—something important. But before you could push further, Logan shifted on the bed, brushing past you as if putting space between you would make it easier.
“Look...” His voice softened just slightly, almost apologetic. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I’ve been through worse.”
You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you have to go through this alone.”
Logan’s gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, the walls he kept up seemed to crack, just a little. He looked at you like you were someone he wanted to hold onto, but couldn’t—like you’d slip through his fingers if he let himself get too close.
You leaned in just a bit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let me help, Logan.”
The way his name fell from your lips sent a flicker of something through him—something dangerous, vulnerable, like it meant too much. His breath hitched, and for a second, you thought he might tell you whatever he was holding back.
But instead, he gave you a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You already have.”
It felt like the conversation was teetering on the edge of something, but neither of you were ready to tip it over just yet.
“You win,” he muttered finally, his tone rough but resigned. “I’ll stay... one more day.”
You grinned, victorious. “Good. I’ll hold you to that. Maybe I’ll even let ya accompany me to the mess tent for lunch.” You held up a finger, playful but firm. “But only if you’re good.”
Logan gave a soft huff, the closest thing to a laugh you’d gotten out of him all day. “You makin’ the rules now?”
“That’s right,” you said with a smirk. “I am the nurse, after all.”
He shook his head, amused despite himself. “Fair enough.”
You lingered a moment longer than necessary, and Logan didn’t move away. His hand twitched near his knee, like he was thinking about reaching for you. It wasn’t the kind of gesture that strangers made—it felt too familiar, too intimate, like muscle memory.
“See ya at lunch, then,” you murmured, trying to shake off the strange pull toward him.
Logan gave a small nod, but his gaze stayed on you as you turned toward the door. Just as you reached it, you glanced back over your shoulder.
“You better not sneak out while I’m gone,” you teased, though part of you wasn’t sure it was really a joke.
Logan’s lips quirked at the corner, but the look in his eyes was heavy, weighed down with something you couldn’t quite place. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
---
By the time lunch rolled around, you were half-expecting Logan to be gone—off on some stubborn mission to leave the hospital before you could stop him. But when you returned, there he was, sitting up on the bed and rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his forearms.
"Kept my end of the bargain," he said, giving you a crooked grin that was more shadow than smile.
“Guess that means you earned lunch.” You gestured toward the door, and Logan pushed himself off the bed with an ease that didn’t match the severity of the injury he'd arrived with. You gave him a skeptical glance but decided to let it slide—for now.
The two of you walked through the makeshift hospital in comfortable silence. You noticed how other soldiers gave him nods or muttered greetings in passing, even though none of them really knew him. Something about Logan just demanded respect—maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the way his eyes seemed to see right through you.
At the mess tent, you grabbed two metal trays, handing one to him. “Hope you’re not picky. The food’s... not exactly five-star.”
Logan smirked. “I’ve had worse.”
You sat together at a small table, away from the loudest group of soldiers. For a moment, it was almost peaceful, like the war outside didn’t exist. Logan picked at his food absently, and you couldn’t help but study him—how his hands moved, how his jaw clenched like he was always bracing for bad news.
“So... you’ve done this before?” you asked, breaking the quiet. “The soldier thing, I mean.”
Logan glanced at you, something flickering in his expression. “Yeah. A few times.”
A few times. The way he said it made it sound like more than just a couple of tours.
“Must’ve been rough,” you murmured, stirring your soup. “I can’t imagine coming back to it over and over.”
Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and for a second, you felt pinned under the weight of it. Like he knew something you didn’t. “You get used to it,” he muttered, but the sadness in his voice told a different story.
There was a beat of silence, and then you leaned forward slightly, your curiosity getting the better of you. “You ever... think about what you’d do, you know, if you weren’t here? If the war wasn’t happening?”
Logan stared at his tray, his jaw tightening like he was biting back something painful. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Once or twice.”
The way he said it made your chest ache, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, “What would you do?”
Logan’s thumb brushed along the edge of his tray—a nervous habit, like he was weighing whether to tell you the truth. “There’s someone,” he said slowly. “Someone I thought about settlin’ down with... a long time ago.”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. “What happened?”
Logan looked away, his expression hardening like a door slamming shut. “Didn’t work out.”
It wasn’t the whole story—you could tell that much. But you didn’t push. There was something in the way he said it, like the loss was still raw, even if it had happened years ago.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, unsure why you felt the need to say it.
Logan gave a small shrug, like it didn’t matter. But you knew better. It did matter. It mattered a lot.
---
After lunch, the two of you lingered outside the tent, neither of you in a rush to return to the chaos inside. The sun was warm on your face, a rare moment of peace in a world that had been anything but peaceful lately.
“You’re not what I expected,” you said suddenly, glancing at Logan.
He raised an eyebrow. “What’d you expect?”
You shrugged, smiling. “I don’t know. Maybe someone more... closed off. But you’re not as much of a mystery as you think.”
Logan chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “You’d be surprised.”
You bit your lip, studying him. “You feel... familiar,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Like we’ve met before.”
Logan went still, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off with some sarcastic comment. But instead, he looked at you with that same haunted expression you’d seen earlier—the one that made your chest tighten.
“Maybe we have,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
The words sent a strange chill down your spine. You stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. But Logan didn’t offer any more answers. He just stood there, watching you like he was waiting for something.
Before you could ask, Sandra’s voice called from the distance, snapping you both out of the moment. “Y/N! Doctor’s looking for you.”
You sighed, giving Logan a small, reluctant smile. “Duty calls.”
Logan nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Better get to it.”
You hesitated for just a second longer, something inside you screaming that there was more to this—more to him. But instead, you gave him one last smile before turning away.
---
When Logan was alone again, he pulled the ring from his pocket, turning it over in his fingers. The weight of it was familiar, comforting in a way that only hurt more now.
He’d carried it through battles, through lifetimes, always hoping—maybe this time. But hope had a way of slipping through his fingers, just like you always did.
Logan clenched the ring in his fist, his jaw tightening. He knew better than to hope. He always did. But still... here you were.
For now, at least.
---
The next day you begrudgingly cleared Logan and showed him to where he would be staying before he got called away for another fight. It was a small quarters, shared with some of the other guys, but it was better than the hospital bed.
You should know. Sometimes you’ve taken power naps on those beds—when the hospital got too busy or you needed a break but couldn’t leave. They were uncomfortable as hell, but after long hours, you didn’t have much choice.
Logan tossed his bag on the bunk, eyeing the cramped quarters. It wasn’t much—just a room with a few cots and a flimsy curtain dividing it from the rest of the barracks—but he didn’t seem to care.
“You’ll be all right here,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe.
Logan smirked, glancing at the bed like it was just another obstacle in his way. “I’ve had worse.”
You gave him a sideways glance, shaking your head slightly. “Yeah, I’m starting to see a pattern with you.”
He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound doing strange things to your heart. His presence was so... solid. Like he’d been through hell and back, yet here he was, standing in front of you like nothing could break him.
“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” you added with a smirk. “There’s always a chance you’ll end up back in the infirmary if you’re not careful.”
Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that made the muscles in his forearms flex under his rolled-up sleeves. “You worried about me, nurse?”
“Maybe I am,” you teased, keeping it light even though part of you was serious. “I don’t want to have to stitch you back up.”
He laughed again, softer this time, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than just casual. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal.”
The words hung between you, something unspoken settling in. There was always something deeper with Logan, like the surface of his words barely scratched at the things he carried underneath.
Before you could respond, a couple of soldiers passed by, giving Logan nods of acknowledgment as they went. You noticed the way they looked at him, like he was someone who’d earned their respect without even trying.
Logan pushed off the wall, moving past you toward the door. “Thanks for the room,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “But I could use a drink.”
You laughed. “Well, good luck with that. This isn’t exactly the Ritz.”
He stopped just outside the door, turning back to you. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer underneath. “You wanna join me?”
You paused, surprised by the offer. “Are you askin’ me out, Logan?”
His lips twitched into a half-smile. “Just tryin’ to be friendly.”
You let out a small huff of laughter, shaking your head as you grabbed your cap and followed him. “Fine. But if you’re looking for whiskey, you’re gonna be disappointed.”
The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of your boots crunching on the gravel road filling the air. The base had quieted down a bit as the sun dipped lower, the day easing into a calm that didn’t come often in a warzone.
As you walked, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Logan from time to time, trying to figure him out. He was so... different. From anyone you’d met. From any soldier you’d treated. And yet, he felt so familiar.
You found a small spot near one of the mess tents where a few crates had been stacked up like makeshift seats. Logan grabbed a canteen from his jacket, unscrewing the cap before taking a long drink. You raised an eyebrow at him.
“That better be water,” you joked, taking a seat beside him.
Logan handed you the canteen, smirking. “Try it and find out.”
You took a cautious sip, then immediately coughed, the burn of the alcohol catching you off guard. “God—what is this?”
“Something I picked up,” Logan said, eyes gleaming with amusement as you wiped your mouth. “Figured it’d help take the edge off.”
You gave him a playful glare, handing the canteen back. “Next time, a little warning, maybe?”
Logan shrugged, grinning. “Where’s the fun in that?”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re trouble, Logan.”
He chuckled, leaning back against the crate. “Been called worse.”
The two of you sat there in comfortable silence for a few moments, passing the canteen back and forth. The alcohol burned, but it wasn’t the worst thing you’d ever tasted—not by a long shot. And it did what Logan said it would—it took the edge off.
You studied him for a moment, the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when he was sitting still. “You feel familiar,” you said quietly, your voice almost drowned out by the soft sounds of the base around you. “Like we’ve met before.”
Logan’s expression shifted—just for a second. His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away from you and toward the horizon. “Maybe we have,” he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.
The words sent a strange, unexplainable shiver down your spine. You opened your mouth to ask him what he meant, but before you could, he stood up, stretching his arms over his head like he was shaking something off.
“C’mon,” he said, his voice lighter now, almost like he was forcing it. “You ready to head back?”
You blinked, still caught in the haze of the moment. But you nodded, standing up and brushing the dirt from your uniform. “Yeah, I guess so.”
The two of you walked back toward the barracks in silence, the air between you feeling heavier now. Something had shifted—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. But you knew it wasn’t nothing.
When you reached the barracks, Logan stopped at the door, turning to look at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
“Y/N,” he started, his voice rougher than usual, like he was wrestling with something inside him. “If... if things ever get bad, you find me. Got it?”
You frowned, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “Logan, what—”
“I’m serious,” he interrupted, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. “You find me. No matter what.”
You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Okay. I will.”
He held your gaze for a second longer, then nodded, like he was satisfied with your answer. “Good.”
Without another word, Logan turned and headed inside, leaving you standing there, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy blanket.
What did he mean? Why did he look at you like he knew something you didn’t?
You lingered there for a moment before finally heading to your own quarters. But even as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, Logan’s words echoed in your mind.
You find me. No matter what.
---
The next few days were a strange mix of routine and tension. Logan stayed around the base, mostly keeping to himself, but you found yourself crossing paths with him more often than you expected. Every time, there was that same intensity in his gaze, like he was watching you, waiting for something.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. But it did make your chest tighten every time you saw him.
One evening, as the sun began to set, you found yourself wandering toward the edge of the base, needing a moment to clear your head. The war, the patients, the constant pressure—it was all getting to you. And Logan... well, Logan wasn’t making things any easier.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice him until he spoke.
“Need some company?”
You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
“Jeez, you scared me,” you said, placing a hand over your heart.
“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, pushing off the tree and walking over to stand beside you. “You looked like you could use some company.”
You sighed, glancing out at the fading sun. “Yeah, I guess I could.”
Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there beside you, his presence solid and reassuring. After a few beats of silence, he spoke.
“You doin’ all right?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.
You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “It’s just... a lot sometimes, you know?”
Logan nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. “Yeah. I get it.”
There was something in the way he said it—something that made you believe he really did get it. Like he knew exactly what it felt like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.
“Thanks for asking,” you said quietly, your gaze still focused on the horizon.
Logan was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “I meant what I said before,” he murmured. “You ever need anything... you come find me.”
You turned to look at him, the seriousness in his voice catching you off guard. “Logan... why are you doin’ this? Why are you looking out for me?”
Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he spoke, his voice low and rough. “Because... you’re important. More than you know.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Important? How? Why?
Before you could ask, Logan stepped closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “Just promise me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Promise me you’ll come find me if you need to.”
You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I promise.”
Logan held your gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your head spinning with questions.
You’re important. More than you know.
What did that mean? Why did Logan feel so... familiar?
As the sun dipped below the horizon, you stood there, your mind racing. Logan had secrets—secrets you weren’t sure you were ready to uncover. But one thing was clear: whatever was between the two of you, it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
---
On another day, you spotted Logan on the outskirts of base, sitting against a truck’s wheel with a notebook in hand.
He looked almost peaceful, maybe the most peaceful you’d ever seen him since he got here. Judging by the way he was moving his pencil, you assumed he was drawing something. You hesitated, not wanting to disturb him, but your curiosity got the better of you.
"Didn’t peg you for an artist," you said, walking over and leaning against the truck beside him.
Logan didn’t look up right away, just kept sketching, but there was a small smirk on his lips. "You learn a lot when you’ve got time," he muttered.
You glanced at the notebook, catching glimpses of rough lines and shadows. “What’re you drawing?”
He paused, almost like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to show you, then turned the notebook just enough for you to see. It was a sketch of the base—a surprisingly detailed one, with the buildings and surrounding trees, even some of the soldiers milling about.
“Not bad,” you said, genuinely impressed. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”
Logan shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Like I said, a lot of time.” He looked at you then, and for a brief moment, there was something more behind his eyes, something deeper. “Keeps me grounded.”
You studied him, wondering what that really meant. Logan had always been a bit of a mystery, but there were moments—like now—where it felt like there was so much more to him than he let on.
“You ever thought about doing something with it? You know, beyond just sketches?” you asked, half teasing, half curious.
Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not the ‘show-off my art’ type. It’s just... for me.” He glanced back at the drawing, his expression softening in a way you didn’t often see. “Helps me forget.”
You nodded, feeling a tug at your chest. “Forget what?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he said, “Everything.”
The weight in his voice told you there was more to that statement—more than you could guess. You’d learned over the past few days that Logan was carrying his own kind of burden, just like you were. And yet, somehow, it felt like his was so much heavier.
“Must be a lot to forget,” you said softly.
Logan’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, you thought he might actually open up. But instead, he just gave a noncommittal grunt and went back to his sketching.
You watched him for a while, feeling the comfortable silence settle between you. It was odd, but Logan’s presence had become... something you looked forward to. Even with all the unspoken tension, being around him made things feel a little less overwhelming.
“I never thanked you,” you said after a while, breaking the quiet. “For, you know... looking out for me.”
Logan’s pencil paused again, and he glanced up. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do,” you insisted, your eyes meeting his. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”
Logan shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable with the gratitude, but his eyes softened. “I told you. You’re important.”
That word again—important. You wanted to ask him why, wanted to press him on what he really meant by that, but something in his expression told you he wasn’t ready to answer. Not yet.
“Just… stay outta trouble,” Logan said, his voice dropping into something rougher, more serious. “I’d rather not have to pull you out of any more messes.”
You smiled, trying to keep things light. “I’ll do my best. But, you know, being a nurse in the middle of a war, trouble kinda finds me.”
Logan let out a soft huff of a laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
The sky was growing darker now, the last traces of sunlight fading. You knew you should probably head back to the barracks soon, but something kept you rooted to the spot, standing beside him. The air between you felt charged, like there was something unspoken hanging there, waiting to be acknowledged.
“Logan,” you began, your voice quiet but steady. “Why does it feel like you’ve been watching me? Not just looking out for me, but... like you’ve known me.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. His eyes shifted, as if he was deciding whether to answer that. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, waiting for his response.
“I haven’t,” he said finally, though his voice lacked conviction. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
The way he said it made you frown. “What does that mean?”
Logan’s gaze held yours, intense and searching. There was a flicker of something there—regret? Pain? Before you could figure it out, he looked away, his fingers tightening around the edges of the notebook.
“It means… I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Not again.”
Again. There it was—a crack in the wall he’d built around himself. But before you could push him on it, Logan stood abruptly, tucking the notebook under his arm.
“You should get some rest,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes. “Long day tomorrow.”
You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift. “Logan—”
But he was already walking away, his back stiff and his pace quick. You watched him go, your mind spinning with more questions than answers. Something was going on with Logan—something bigger than you’d realized.
And you had a feeling you weren’t going to let it go until you found out the truth.
---
The next morning you found out that Logan had already gone on some mission to Sicily. You weren’t sure why you felt sad, maybe a bit betrayed that he left without saying goodbye, but you did.
You had only known him for a few days, but somehow it seemed longer.
You couldn’t just stand around and dwell on Logan leaving without a goodbye. There was work to do. You made your way to the medical tent where a doctor had been prepping for a surgery. As you stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic hit your nose, grounding you in the moment.
"Y/N, glad you’re here. We’ve got a soldier with a bullet wound to the abdomen," the doctor said, his tone brisk. "I need your hands steady and sharp today."
You nodded, pushing thoughts of Logan to the back of your mind. "Got it, Doctor."
The surgery went on for hours, the steady rhythm of your breathing matching the precise movements of your hands as you assisted. It was intense, but you had no time to be distracted. Life and death were real here, and your job was to fight for life.
When the surgery was finally over, the soldier stabilized, you stepped outside the tent to catch your breath. The sky was still overcast, and the damp air felt heavy. You leaned against a wooden post, your hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline.
Logan was gone, but the memory of him lingered. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left something unsaid. There had been too many moments—too many heavy, unspoken words between you. You tried to brush it off. It had only been a few days since you’d met him, after all. But somehow, it felt like more.
"Y/N."
You looked up to see one of the other nurses approaching. "Yeah?"
"You’ve been requested to assist with another unit. They’re setting up a temporary hospital closer to the front lines. It’ll be rough, but they need experienced hands."
You hesitated. The front lines meant more danger, more chaos. But the soldier in you—the part that was here to help, to make a difference—knew you couldn’t say no.
"When do I leave?" you asked, straightening up.
"Tomorrow morning, first light."
You nodded, giving a small smile. "Thanks for the heads-up."
That night, you tried to sleep, but your mind kept wandering back to Logan. To his last words before he’d left—"I don’t want you to get hurt. Not again." What had he meant by ‘again’? It kept echoing in your mind, nagging at you.
---
The next morning came quickly, and before you knew it, you were being packed into a truck heading closer to the front lines. The landscape passed by in a blur, and the closer you got to the new camp, the louder the sounds of war became. Shells exploded in the distance, and the ground seemed to vibrate with tension.
You spent the next few days in a haze of blood, bandages, and exhaustion. There was barely any time to think, let alone dwell on Logan. But still, every once in a while, your thoughts drifted to him—wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was safe.
It was late one night, a few days into your new assignment, when the unexpected happened. The sirens had started to blare, lights flashing around camp. That could only mean one thing- you were under attack. And judging by the loud engines overhead, none of you were going to make it out alive.
---
Logan had gone with other soldiers to Sicily for Operation Husky. He didn’t want to leave you, but part of him thought, hoped, that maybe he was your bad luck charm.
Logan stared at the coastline of Sicily, but his mind was elsewhere. The mission was straightforward—get in, clear the path for the troops, and secure the area. But no matter how focused he tried to stay, thoughts of you kept creeping back in. He wondered if you were safe. He hoped, for your sake, that you weren’t thinking about him as much as he was thinking about you.
It was torture, being away. But deep down, Logan believed it was better this way. Maybe him being around was what doomed you every time. You had died three times before, and each time, he had been there. Maybe this time, distance would keep you safe.
But that didn’t stop him from wanting you. The thought of your smile, your laughter, the way you challenged him—it made him ache with something deeper than just desire. It was like an old wound that never healed, no matter how fast the rest of him did.
One of the soldiers called his name, pulling him from his thoughts. “Logan, you with us, man?”
He grunted in response, nodding toward the others. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Good,” the guy said. “We’re heading out.”
Logan followed, but his thoughts drifted again, back to you. He had promised himself he wouldn’t get attached this time. But it was too late for that. He’d been attached since 1854, since that first smile, that first laugh.
---
It was a few days before Logan made it back to base, one closer to the frontlines. The mission had gone as planned, but something gnawed at him, an uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake.
As soon as the base came into view, Logan noticed something was off. Smoke still lingered in the air, and there were fewer people around than there should’ve been. His gut twisted. Something had happened while he was gone.
He found one of the soldiers he recognized, grabbing him by the arm. “What happened here?”
The guy’s face darkened. “We were hit. Bombing raid. Caught us off guard. There... there weren’t many survivors.”
Logan’s heart dropped. “Where’s the hospital unit?”
The soldier hesitated, eyes flicking away from Logan’s intense gaze. “It was one of the first targets. No one made it out.”
Logan felt like the ground had dropped from under him. “What do you mean, no one?” His voice was a low growl, almost dangerous.
The soldier shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. They didn’t stand a chance.”
Logan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. The world around him blurred as the words sank in. You were gone. Again.
Without saying another word, Logan turned and walked toward what was left of the hospital tent. He had to see it for himself, even though part of him knew it was true. There was nothing left but rubble and debris.
His chest tightened, the weight of it crushing. You were gone. And he hadn’t been there to stop it. Again.
Logan stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the wreckage. He felt that familiar, burning anger rising inside him, but it was mixed with something else this time—grief. Deep, raw grief. He wanted to scream, to punch something, anything, but all he could do was stand there, numb.
He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the small velvet box he always carried with him. The engagement ring. The one he had never used.
It had been almost ninety years since he bought it. And still, he carried it, hoping one day he might finally be able to give it to you. But every time, every life, you slipped through his fingers.
Logan swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. How many more times he could lose you.
“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with emotion.
He had thought putting distance between you two would protect you. But it didn’t matter. You were gone, just like the other times.
And now, once again, he was left with nothing but memories and that damned ring.
in this chapter logan is 111 years old and reader is around 24-27 years old.
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#james howlett x reader#james howlett x you#logan howlett#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett fic#i love you in every time
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This is a literal nightmare.
He can see her cheery orange sweater from the doorway, glowing under the sodium desk lamp. As if the library wasn't hateful enough, with it's enforced hush, they had to make everything hard to fucking see too. Ugh, great, she's got fucking note cards! Pink ones!
“Wheeler,” he growls at her, hoping to startle her with his slammed history book.
Unfortunately it doesn't work, only earns him a shush and a few annoyed glares from fellow patrons.
Wheeler looks up from under her lashes, quietly entertained if anything. “Munson. Glad you could finally make it.”
“Yeah well,” he straddles the wooden desk chair, “got caught up sacrificing virgins. You know how it is.”
She rests her pointed chin onto her hand. “So you trekked up to the middle school?”
Shit. Does she have a sense of humor?
“Yeah… Anyway, I'm here now. What torture have you got in store?” He eyes the note cards warily.
“Not these.” She swiftly wraps a rubber band around them and tucks them back into her bag. “I think I know what your issue is.”
“Childhood neglect?”
She gifts him with a snort. “Maybe. I was referring to your complete lack of interest in US History.”
“You can't make me care about it, Wheeler, that's not how this works.”
Her eyes do something that feels patronizing but also like maybe she knows something he doesn't.
It becomes apparent, hours later, that he shouldn't have thrown that gauntlet. Nancy Wheeler is a certified genius. No wonder St- Mmm, no.
“I can't believe you did it,” he admits after successfully passing her pop quiz. “How did you… I mean, I literally just learned all that against my will.”
“Easy. You like Tolkien, right?”
That takes him aback. He stares back at her for a second. “...yeah?”
“So you can absorb details when it's something you're interested in. All I had to do was make it interesting.”
Wow. Yeah, that actually makes sense now that he thinks about it. All she did was humanize the people involved, make them real. He couldn't care less about memorizing the dates of the battles but knowing forty-five hundred men died from Cholera that winter, seven hundred more from infection, it did something to Eddie's brain, forced it to latch on.
“Huh. What are you doing tutoring an idiot like me? You should be getting tenured at Yale or whatever.”
She does something no girl has done to Eddie since the fifth grade, she reaches out and holds his hand. He's too confused to pull away.
“You're not stupid. You're not even apathetic, not really. It's just that no one has ever bothered to teach you in a way that speaks to you. I want you to know that.”
He blinks at her. “Okay. Um. Kinda hard to keep hating you if you're gonna say shit like that.” He tries to laugh it off but she just keeps staring up at him with those big, blue eyes.
“You don't have to hate me, Eddie.”
What the fuck? Why is there a sudden undertone here?
“Sure thing, Wheeler. We should-” He doesn't have much to gather but he uses the little bit he did bring to avoid eye contact. She's gathering her things a lot slower and for some reason Eddie can't make himself leave her here. Fucking stupid white knight syndrome. “Hey, uh, how'd you know I like Tolkien?”
She doesn't look up from wedging a folder into her bag as she says, “Steve told me.”
Eddie’s nervous system goes ice fishing.
When he doesn't, can't, respond, she looks up, sees him staring, wide eyed and shaking. Instead of doing anything to calm him, she makes it worse by saying, “He talks about you more than he realizes. I might've actually been scared of you if I didn't know you have a favorite Christmas movie and that you stress bake.”
This is…cruel? He's not sure what her motive is. Shove their happy relationship in his face? She shouldn't want to do that, because she shouldn't know that Steve and Eddie were…anything. There's no way Steve told her that. The fact that he can feel that his face has gone white and he hasn't responded yet probably isn't doing him any favors.
“I can see there's some confusion happening.” Eddie nods, slowly, certain only that, if anything, he's confused. “Okay,” she drawls. “I feel like you're a cool person to talk to, that I can trust you. You're…safe?”
“Sure?” He has no idea where this is going.
“Right. You know my friend Barb,” she waits for his nod before explaining, “well we've been friends forever. Like, kindergarten forever. And one day, almost out of the blue, we get the idea to try out for Color Guard.” Yeah right. Wheeler and Holland are the last two girls Eddie can picture joining any kind of team sport activity, but he keeps following her story anyway. “We're practicing, right, and we've got our…flags…and we see each other's...flags...and we realize, we don't like…sports. So we quit and decided to do our own thing. Yeah?”
Holy shit. No way. There's no fucking way. Except Wheeler is nodding along with Eddie's shock, as if to say, ‘Yeah, you're getting it.’
He laughs, quiet so as not to alert anyone. The library is nearly empty but they're not the last ones left.
Eddie has to rub his eyes to stave off an impending headache but all in all this session has been quite eye-opening.
“That was pretty slick, I have to admit.”
She shoots him a wicked grin. “It usually is.”
“Ah gross! Don't make it weird.”
Now they're both laughing. Christ.
“I am cool. For the record. Scouts honor.” He holds up the devil horns just to make her laugh again, which she does.
“I know you're cool, Eddie. Inside scoop, remember?”
So much for their budding friendship. The reminder that Steve has said anything about their shared…whatever that was…puts him right back in the frozen pond.
“Steve and I weren't-” He lowers his voice. “That wasn't anything. I don't know what he told you but-”
“He misses you.”
Eddie's frozen guts shatter. Nancy doesn't even have the decency to let him scoop them up before she goes in for the kill.
“He'd be livid if he knew I told you that but it's true. He hates the way he ended it. Thinks you hate him for it, could never forgive him. But you wanted to hate me. Didn't you? Those aren't the feelings of a man indifferent to Steve's life.”
He trembles like an animal caught in a snare. “Why are you telling me this?”
A bittersweet look crosses her face, she looks over at the people sitting four desks over. “I know why he ended it. And…it's not like his reasons have suddenly disappeared. We both know things are precarious for us,” she meets his eye again to make sure he understands, of course he does, “but he's different now. Changed. A good friend. A person who deserves second chances. Deserves to be happy. He said you made him really happy.”
A traitorous tear slips down his cheek. He brushes it away, angry and embarrassed.
This was really fun, Eds, but I can't risk it anymore.
The worst part was, he couldn't argue the first bit. They did have a lot of fun.
God, he misses Steve too.
“If you've moved on, that's okay, I get it. No harm done, like I said, he doesn't even know we had this conversation. But, if you were wondering if he still thinks about you, the answer is yes.”
He nods. That's all he can do at the moment. She cups a tiny hand around his clenched fist and squeezes.
“Oh! Also, I'm thinking of starting an unofficial after school club. You too cool to hang out with me outside of school?”
Whiplash would feel like a pleasant massage compared to this woman, lord have mercy.
“What kinda club?” He asks gamely.
“Friends of Dorothy. You don't think it's just us waving flags, do you?”
Eddie's attention is caught mid-rant by the abhorrent sounds of Carol and Tommy H.
"Oh, Steve! Steve, oh, God, Steve-"
Eddie turns in time to see a pretty blush fill Steve's cheeks. Ah, he must have finally slept with the Wheeler chick. She's seated next to him, looking less than pleased about Steve's friends.
From what Eddie can remember, that's actually the opposite of what sleeping with Steve is really like. He's the noisy one, the one who moans and whines and whimpers when he's feeling so good.
"Fuck, Eddie, you feel so perfect-"
"Yeah, right there, Eds-"
"Keep going, I'm gonna, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie-"
"Eddie!"
"Yeah!" He turns away from King Steve and back to the rest of the Hellfire club.
"You were saying, about that cantrip?"
"Right," he says, shaking off old memories. Now isn't really the time to be revisiting them, anyway.
#hope this is okay#i was inspired!!!#eat shit depression!!!#i made this very much an AU#barb lives!#what do we think Eddie does with this new information?#🤔#eddie and nancy friendship ftw#steddie#ficlet#my writing
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I'm so feral about Nephite, like I want to just keep him on my lap for weeks.
Would he be okay with wearing a collar if reader gifted it to him, readers name engraved on the leather, Nephite's name in cursive letters on a pendant.
Idk man isk
i remember talking about omega collars with my friend awhile ago and i stumbled upon a post that tried to make omegaverse collars that work as guards for scent glands/marks. so i know you meant a more traditional dog collar but this is what made sense to me. and i even drew it!
the idea
cw;; omegaverse, religion, suggestive, marking
nephite was surprised when you mentioned a collar, you talked about it so casually like it was inevitable that he would wear a collar. the omega flustered, his face growing red as he struggled to find his words.
"wh-what do you me-mean? my-my collar..."
"oh. are you not ok with it? i knew a lot of omegas who would get collars to protect their scent glands."
"oh!! oh... ri-right! lots of... lots of other... omegas..." he shifted from side to side in your lap his hands fidgeting and fumbling.
"i want to get something nice that'll show off your bite without exposing your neck. what do you think?"
"uhm... o-ok..."
honestly nephite had only agreed because he worried you preferred omegas in collars. if he said no maybe you wouldn't want him anymore!! maybe you would run off with a collared omega, a more obedient one. so despite his own hesitations to be caught wearing such a thing he agreed.
until he saw it.
it was a genuine omega collar that covered up the crook of his neck in a beautiful white lace with golden patterns woven into it. the middle of it was chained together with a sturdy chain, towards the bottom of it was a beautiful blue gem that opened up to show your name and address. his own name was embroidered on the back of the collar that would be hidden by his hair. like his own name was unimportant in the face of your ownership.
"you won't have to wear turtlenecks anymore."
"oh-oh... i... we-well those were for modesty..."
"you don't have to be modest anymore."
his cheeks turned a bright pink as you stepped forward, your fingers undoing the collar's latches.
"maybe... maybe we should w-wait...?" he took a step back from you.
you tilted your head, concerned. "what's wrong? do you not like it? i picked the gold to match your eyes."
"i... i like it... i do!" he did. it was so thoughtful and intimate, his heart was racing.
"but...?"
"but... it feels... a little.... inappropriate..? sh-should i really wear that in public...."
"you don't have to but it's really not something perverted. you can see omegas in collars all the time in the city."
he fidgeted back and forth. "do you like omegas in collars?"
"i mean it's hot. I've always wanted to put a collar on my own omega and show the world I own you."
he shivered. "you... mmngh... you just said it's not dirty."
"it's not! just because something is sexy doesn't mean it's dirty. like wearing thigh highs or low cut tops."
"those both sound sinful."
"ok... but is it sinful for an alpha to own his omega?"
"no..."
"so it's fine!"
"i... mmngh... i really want to wear it... i do! i just... everyone will stare..."
you stepped closer this time reaching out to him with an empty hand, like you were approaching a startled cat. nephite didn't pull away this time instead he moved a little bit closer to your hand.
"everyone should stare at you. everyone should look at you and think 'wow there goes the prettiest omega I've ever seen'. and then they'll see my bright red mark under your collar and know that you're mine."
"I'm yours..." his cheeks were red as he nuzzled into your hand.
you reached forward with the collar and started to slowly slide it on him. he let out a little moan.
"I'm yours."
"mhm. my pretty omega."
nephite moved his hair out of the way as you tightened the collar around his neck. the cold metal laid against his windpipe just tight enough to always remind him of it's presence. he reached up to the blue gem and started to fiddle with it.
"uhmm.. i-i know you just put it on but... can-can we go to the bedroom... and m-maybe make more marks underneath...."
#replies#yandere oc#sub yandere#yandere x male reader#top male reader#male reader#yandere cultist#alpha reader#alpha!reader
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I actually need a part two to Yandere sugar daddy or I will die
Yandere sugar daddy who loves to spoil his baby.
MDNI!
Tw. Yandere, power imbalance, isolation, captivity, NSFW themes
What do you want honey? A new pair of pretty shoes? A designer bag? A car that costs more than your left leg? He'll give it to you with a snap of his fingers.
Yandere sugar daddy who loves becoming your main source of income. You shouldn't have to trouble yourself with anything hard like boring paperwork or stupid board meetings. That's for him to worry about. No, the only thing you should be concerned about is spreading your legs and murmuring understanding words when he comes home from a stressful day at work.
And sure, you've been kind of whiny and bratty ever since he started to limit the time you spent outside, but can you blame him? Yandere sugar daddy hates even thinking about you wandering through the big scary world without him there to guide and protect you. You're supposed to be his responsibility, so don't go thinking you can just run around without his explicit permission.
Yandere sugar daddy who likes to hide little gifts for you around the penthouse. It's like a little game. He likes sending you messages randomly throughout the day. Go check the third drawer in the study. It's a good way to make sure you haven't snuck out on him, but he also just loves it when he finds you with a new pretty gem settled on the column of your throat.
Yandere Sugar daddy who takes you on crazy, all expenses paid for vacations to tropical islands, different cities, and dream destinations. You'll have the best hotels, best views, best wardrobe as long as you sit pretty and snuggled up to him while you're flying first class.
Yandere Sugar daddy who shuts down any kind of arguments you might have about silly things like 'Why can't I see my friends' or 'Where is my passport and my credit card?' He just hands you stacks of cash or his own cards and tells you to go wild. Don't worry about all of that. Just go to the shopping outlet with the security guards he hired to keep an eye on you and have lot's and lot's of fun spending his money.
Yandere Sugar daddy who finds a way to blacklist you from the industry you used to work in. No one in their right mind will give you a job even if you wanted one (Not that he intends to even let you think about living life away from him). He's never, ever going to let you have even the slightest chance of being independent.
Though, he's sure that he'll feel much better when he can finally slip a ring on your finger and make this little arrangement more official.
#my writing#yandere#yandere x reader#tw yandere#yandere male#x reader#yandere x you#answered asks#yandere sugar daddy
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thinking about sleepy cuddles with human!alastor after he comes back from a kill. <3 imagining silky sheets sliding over your bodies, mouths roaming and fingers tracing. your eyes half lidded and pretty plush lips parted in ecstasy.
he’d slip in your shared room late at night, pitch black surroundings helping his sly endeavours as he did so, blood dripping down his chest and stained on his thighs, hair awry and heaving with adrenaline. “sweet girl, are you awake?” he’d whisper, breathy and low, a tone that would have your head dizzy and reeling if you were more awake.
a soft whine leaving your lips in response, eyes fluttering open to see your serial killer boyfriend kneeling at the side of the bed in front of you, his smile as charming and dreamy as ever. “what time is it?” you’d smile back at him before biting your lip and letting your gaze drool onto his body, “i love how you look when you get all messy.”
a raspy chuckle leaving alastors lips, checking his hand for any traces of leftover blood before stroking your hair, “late enough to know your pretty eyes should be closed,” he cooed before continuing, “he was a brute today, still no match for your darling husband though,” he placed a kiss to your forehead, “let me get washed up and you’ll have me all to yourself.” another kiss placed but this time on your lips, soft and gentle with a hint of dominance in the way he controlled it.
by the time he came back you were already letting out more soft snores, little puffs of air huffing from your lips as you cuddled into the duvet. if it wasn’t so out of character for him, he’d swear his pupils dilated to hearts when he looked at you. so domestic, peeling the covers back to slowly slide himself in and slot behind you, fully enveloping you. his slender frame omitting its electric heat all up the back of you, laughing as you subconsciously melted to him, backing yourself into his touch like you were made to crave it. “good girl, that’s it, come closer, let me hold you.”
his soft spoken and gentle voice slipping you into consciousness ever so slightly just to feel his presence, “took forever, made me wait too long to stay up.”
he wasn’t sure if you meant his earlier adventure or his cleanup. either way, he smiled, fanning his hot breath on your neck to whisper to you. “oh no, how dare i keep my pretty girl waiting.” his touch was feather light as he traced along your sides, his lips parting to kiss the waiting flesh of your neck, peppering them all over your back and shoulders, working his way to your jaw. claiming his way there. “if only there was a way to show her how much i crave her, how much i desire her affection.”
your head was now spinning, succumbing to every touch and whisper alastor would allow you, backing into him further, letting his mind shut off and waste the excess adrenaline on you and your body. the feel of his hands becoming firmer as he pulled you closer by your hips, impossibly closer, sliding his finger tips all the way up to close around your jaw, his mouth finally taking a break just to force you to face him. wide doe like eyes looking up at him like he hung the stars, as innocent as ever, your lips bitten and swollen and so kissable.
so alastor did just that. parting your mouth, claiming your kiss and relishing in your taste. the hand on your jaw guiding and leading you into it, sliding into your hair to lace into the silky locks there, kneading and playing with the strands. “so pliant,” he groaned, leaning further into the kiss with his tongue now begging for entrance. you couldn’t help but whine and respond in the only way you knew how, pulling him closer, fisting the soft fabric of his shirt, giving him everything he needed, letting him take from you and use you as desperately as he craved. turning your thoughts off and losing yourself in his touch, only to think of him.
and he did this until his energy faded, he did it for so long, he wasn’t even sure both of you were fully awake by the end of it. he did it until his arms found their resting place laced around you in a deathly grip, until you were both letting out soft pants and stopped the desperate trying need to feel eachother closer. and he would do it again. every night.
#mine ♡#⁺˳✧༚ dolly’s drabbles#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel reader insert#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel alastor x you#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#hazbin hotel you x alastor#hazbin hotel reader x alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin alastor x reader#hazbin alastor x you#hazbin reader x alastor#hazbin you x alastor#alastor#alastor hazbin#alastor x reader#alastor x you#reader x alastor#you x alastor#alastor altruist
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good luck charm!
things they do before a (winning) match
bllk boys x reader (reo, rin, sae): fluff, drabbles, pro!player, not proofread + likes n reblogs are appreciated!
reo mikage:
reo’s always thought of superstitions stupid: the way his parents ask fortune tellers about specific dates and time for certain events from business investment to even when to host meetings, the way his friends would follow superstitions told by their parents from crossing their fingers before receiving their results to avoiding cracks at the pathways in school, the way he recluntantly follow them because its “tradition”. but maybe he’s no different from them, he thinks. its the big match: one that will decide whether he’ll prove his father wrong - the world cup finale. he’s anxious: his hands are all sweaty and shaky as he puts down his water bottle, water still dripping from it from the mouth of it, his heart is beating the fastest its ever had as though he’s about to have a heart attack, and his mind is hazy with self-deprecating thoughts that practically chain him to the seats. he closes his eyes and tries to slow his breathing, he has only a few more minutes left before he has to get on field, a few more minutes before he either makes it and becomes a professional footballer or break it and be enchained to his family company for the rest of his life.
superstition. good luck charms. reo’s getting desperate, he’ll take whatever at this point. whether its removing that polaroid of you from the back of his phone to trace with his shaky fingers and press his lips against, or placing the cold matching necklace with you against his palm to cool his nerve down to focus onto the freezing sensation over the beating o his heart, or even taking your spare candies from his bag to chew on one or two. and he’ll let the sweetness burst in his mouth: ignore the drying of his mouth as he walks out on field, ignore shakiness of his entire being, ignore his heart failing him.
and when reo kicks the last goal, his eyes instantly search for yours in the crowd of people, recognising you within a few seconds amongst the millions cheering. and he thinks: you might just be his guardian angel, after all its with you that hes able to win. and perhaps, that cold necklace might calm him down more if it was a ring on his fingers, he gets real fidgetive before a match after all.
itoshi rin
in contrast to what others think, rin’s a nervous wreck before a match, especially one where hes now competing against his brother: no longer part of blue lock, but in a team, on the global stage. hes insecure, he knows he’ll never compare to sae, hes aware of that since he was a little kid he thinks by the countless of golden awards that people credit sae for rather him, countless of opportunities only given to sae and never to him. and his usual routine is thrown out of the window: he cant just rely on just motivsting himself to perform by thinking of those burning feelings im his chest, cant just rely on pure instincts he thinks as his legs turn into jelly, cant rely on himself solely. its not the first time either he feels like this: in his first match thst he won the night sae came back home for the first time, in his match at blue lock against u20 japan team, and now in his match against real madrid in the world cup finale. proving sae wrong: thats what hes been working on for the entirety of his teensge life, but for once, hes not so certain anymore. rin feels like a little kid, he feels lost, and he could run away: the door has always been open, and its not as though sae hasnt cursed him to this.
and rin’s spiralling again, the ring of his braclet that he bought with you the day before he first ever entered blue lock brings him back to reality: sitting on the bench in the locker room all alone when his other teammates are all chatting amongst themself a little further away from him. rin should go soon, he looks up at the clock, a few more minutes before showtime. and as always, like clockwork, he opens his phone and plays his favourite voice memo: one where you simply wish him good luck, telling him you believe he’ll win in that same cheery tune that he misses.
and when rin kicks the final goal, the world stops. silence, before the chant of the crowd overwhelms his ears and his teammate throw him on his shoulders: he made it. and yet, for the first time, instead of looking at his brother for validation, for his praise, for his reassurance: he finds you in the crowd and all he can think is now hoping you can rerecord that good luck message, maybe a video this time. after all, if your voice recording can help him to score two goals, he might just ace his next match with a personalised video from you: but for now, he’ll dedicate this win to you with a kiss to yours and his necklace.
itoshi sae
its just another match for sae: and yet he feels totally drained out compared to usual. no doubt, he’s lost his spark and passion that he used to hold on to tightly when he was a teenager, and he’s been playing simply for the sake of it. and maybe its tthe back to back matches that weighs him down like stones, or maybe its homesickness, missing everything he wants to chase back now that hes all grown, or maybe its simply the usual nervousness before a match. deep down, depsite his ambitions, hes insecure: hes no genius, he knows, it was a bitter revelation he finds out when he leaves, crying silently in the bathroom with no one around him but geniuses, and maybe it lingers in him: that hes never truly accepted his mediocrity. yet, he knows every and any match matters: he should get up now, join his teammates in those cheers, or at least get himself ready for the match starting in a few minutes instead of wallowing in his own misery, hogging the seats in the locker room. hes got all his usual routine done too: wearing the socks you bought him when he first came back from spain, stretched the way he was taught to, drank the water he needed to in the cute little water bottle he matches with you — but hes still missing something.
sae thinks its silly, he only does this ritual whenever its a big match, and this match is nothing special. logically, the opponents are much weaker and even at his current state, he’ll likely win them still. but he supposes he can indulge a little, after all its almost 6 months since hes seen you: with the season having started at the start of your internship. a minute before the match begins, and he hurriedly presses yours and his promise necklace onto his forehead as though a prayer and he walks with his teammates onto the field.
and when sae assists in the final goal, he smiles unconsciously in contrast to his usual self: he wonders if youre watching and he knows the answer when he opens his phone and sees you send a photo of news article speculating of his and yours promise necklace debut to the football world. he looks at the date, one more week, one more match until he gets to see you again — he cant wait already, but maybe while hes here in spain, maybe he should get you something special.
#reo mikage x reader#two weeks work attachment coming im cooked#mikage reo x reader#reo x reader#reo mikage fluff#rin itoshi x reader#itoshi rin x reader#rin x reader#itoshi rin fluff#itoshi sae x reader#sae itoshi x reader#sae x reader#itoshi sae fluff#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#bllk fluff#blue lock fluff#rin.<3
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– If you love me, then love me from the heart
tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )
pictures from pinterest → one, two, three
Slow down for a moment. Give your conscious mind a moment of rest, allow it to step back. Instead, listen to your subconscious mind, to that inner voice, to the intuition that is guiding you to the pile in which your message hides. A message about the love that your heart is longing for. The one that you are hoping to find…
This is our third reading from our divination jukebox, inspired by possibly one of the most beautiful songs that I've ever heard - "Yağmur Yağar Taş Üstüne" by Mustafa Güzel and Batuhan Fırat (feat. Belkıs Güzel). I'm so deeply grateful for the person that suggested this song and gave us the possibility not only to discover it, but also to have such a deep and tender message through this reading. It is difficult to find the correct translation for this song, but I strongly encourage you to listen and read it, as it is simply magical in the softest way. I will leave you the links that were recommended to me here, in case you would like to listen to it. And if you would like to see a pick a pile reading inspired by your favourite song, you can discover more about how to participate here↓♡!
♪♡♪ Divination Jukebox ♪♡♪
P.s. This is my first attempt at a longer reading, so if you feel comfortable please let me know in the comments what you think of it! If you prefer the shorter ones, if there is any aspect of the reading that makes it difficult for you to read it, or in case you will take a look at the extended version of this reading, if you would prefer to have something more specific in the additional messages of our readings - I will cherish your opinion and use it to get better with each post!♡
– Pile One,
{ The love that you are longing for }
the magician, the seven of swords, the page of coins
Love… you so often consider it just a feeling. A feeling that after all these years alive you still can really connect only to your own self. To you who seems to be the only one to feel it. To give it. While all that others do is receive it from you. Giving you back some gratitude perhaps, but never something that feels like what you gave them. Nothing that really fills in that part of you that was emptied for them… Making you really wonder if perhaps you got it wrong for all this time, if what you considered love never was it. If you imagined and expected it to be more, made it be more. Giving others much more than any person could ever give you in return, more than you ever should've done…
All that attention, that care, that genuine dedication that you put in, time after time, for every soul that was close, going out of your way to be there, right by their side for whatever might come… But still standing alone when facing your hardships, your difficult moments. Only you on the first line, out there in the cold, just you against this world… You genuinely never thought that this is what love would be. You expected something different from what you always received from others before. A complete opposite of having to do everything on your own, of that fear of what will happen to you if one day things in your life won't work anymore. You thought that it should be different from that because you know for sure that all those years of struggle alone never had even a bit of love in them, not from the people that were all that time around and close to you, but never did anything to help you, apart from telling you that this is how it works and that you should grow and take care of yourself on your own.
You alway imagined it, in those dark and painful nights, a hug, a caressing hand, a soft voice that assures you that everything will be okay, that it won't be forever this way, that you are not alone but you will always have them… So you did your best to be deserving, manifesting those tender and loving ways through your own self. Through the way you looked after others, the way you cared for them. Not only knowing that this is the right way to treat others, the way you genuinely want to be, but that it will be also worth it, that you will one day feel the love you gave, through others that will do the same… But it never came. You never saw your reflection in them, you never saw that part of your heart that you gave away being nourished and taken care of… it was always mostly just appreciated in the moment. And forgotten. Or worst, taken advantage of by expecting or asking more. So after all these tears, all the days dedicated to others instead of yourself, all your prayers for help and support, just a little comfort, that you never received because they are too busy to take a moment to give you back that love that you never declined them…. You started to think that you are in the wrong. That the love you always waited for is just a dream that the real concept of love can’t live up to. No matter how much you can look for it or want it. It is simply not something possible. And you are asking for too much.
{ What this is all for }
the judgement, the ace of swords, the lovers
This world, this life in general… has a really unique way of helping us to learn, of guiding us in or through the right direction and path, of letting us know that everything will be alright… Their language is so different from ours that we really struggle to understand it, those words that come in the form of pure feelings directly from within us. The ones that we should trust the most but never do so. Especially when it comes to love, something that we so much idealise, something that we have so much desire for.
Your heart is so sincerely tired, it went through so many betrayals and wounds inflicted by those that you tried to love. To the point that it simply feels that heaviness, that weight of this experience that you never really wanted to begin with. So you feel like you are ready for something else, for that love that you did all of this for, if it even exists at all. But are you really sure of it..? Of knowing so well the person that you would like to have by your side each day, their character, their behaviour, their values? Are you sure that you really did look for them and not just anyone who seemed to be able to love? Are you sure that you really know your worth and the one of your love, how one must love you in order to really give you all that your heart needs and wants? Or did you think that you knew it before, and now you are settling for much less than you are deserving of, because of the overwhelming loneliness and fear that it will be this way for the rest of your days unless you accept whatever one gives you in return? Are you sure that you are remaining loyal to your own self and your soul, instead of trying to “sell” it to whoever is close and good enough?
Because, even though perhaps you are not doing it consciously, but you are changing. Little by little. Not in terms of who you are, but in the ones of who you allow others to consider you. Leaving it up to them to decide how much you deserve, what is the worth of your love and care that you give them after letting them in, where only the most sincere, genuine and trustworthy should belong. You just give them your all. Every single time. Without any limit or hesitation. Not even when all that you receive is another rude phrase, some judgement, coldness and distance once they got up and healed thanks to your love. You just do it. For everyone. Not choosing carefully, but treating every soul as the right one. And not in a good sense. Instead, you are not listening anymore to your own intuition or feelings, not trusting your own mind that recognises the things that are too off. You are just rushing in this hunt for “the one” as the time passes and you feel more and more scared and alone. You are throwing yourself at every possible connection, all in, wandering each time that it goes wrong what you did too little or too much of. And not realising anymore that it is not about how you love, if it is in the right way or the wrong one… But rather who you choose, even force yourself, to love. And how they are simply not the right one, no matter how much you sacrifice of your own values and preferences, just to make them fit in the place that it is not theirs to hold.
All these bad endings, failures, mistakes that you consider yours to be responsible for… Are just a natural consequence of you settling for less than you really desire and need in order to feel loved. All that sadness, that loneliness… are only your subconscious, your own heart that you willingly ignored at first, but that after some time managed to be heard by you, letting you know that the way you are treated, the crumbs that you accept, will never truly be enough.
Those endings, those coincidences that are never in your favour, those interferences in your connections from the outside world… are just its efforts to protect you and communicate with you, trying to show you that refusing your own standards is not what can help you find them, that right person that you can truly feel safe and understood with… Adapting to another person and changing, it is not what will make them love you like you want. It will only keep you stuck in a play pretend. Put you in situations and relationships that you won’t feel appreciated and cherished in. It will consume you from inside out, slowly but surely, just because that one time you believed more others, than your own self that always knew what was best and right for you, what you really wanted to feel and who you wanted to have with you…
The time already passed, you already got through so much. You can’t do anything about it, and it is alright. But you can do yourself a favour and listen again to your own heart, before following that overwhelming fear and anxiety of being left alone in the cold and the dark. Your heart, your love, they are unique. But not at all the only ones. There is a soul, out there, that is your perfect reflection, someone who resonates so much with your ways of feeling love. And you can and will find them. The moment you stop seeing all that happened and you went through as the mistakes you made, ways that you can be better by being more or less… And start to see them as simply were and when the things didn't feel right for your heart, for who you are. Because those things that you felt the lack of, or perhaps as though it is just too much, are the ones that you need to hold onto, to look for in others. Instead of ignoring them, just so you can fit in the perfect version of love of someone and they can accept you, even though you are not theirs to love…
Although it seems so easy to do through words… We know too well that sometimes it is not enough to just choose to listen to our heart more. It is not always enough when we, in a certain way, forget its language, when we are not able anymore to comprehend it and separate it from the voice of our mind that we learned to follow… For this reason, there is an additional message for you, if you want to, in our extended version of this reading. What you need to know and remember as you continue on this journey, in this search of the right person for you, but also of the confidence and trust in your own heart, that will be the things that will change everything about the situation in which you are now.♡↓
{ a little message for you }
—
– Pile Two,
{ The love that you are longing for }
the wheel of fortune, the sun, the devil
It happened so many times… So often you felt overwhelmed, completely overtaken, by the life of someone you loved… Their problems, their difficulties, their fears that became yours. Yours to resolve, yours to take care of, yours to endure, even though you never could really influence them, not the things that depended on their actions, their decisions. Not when it was something that was purely theirs to create, destroy and live… It happened so many times, truly. You felt so often the urge to be there for someone, just because you knew them, just because you saw their struggle and couldn't help but to try to save them. Because this is what everyone deserves, yes… But with those that had a special place in your heart, those that you felt so close to you, so needed as the air you breathe, there never was a chance for you to say no. Not when your heart so ardently fought for them each day, no matter if it was your battle, your victory to take or not.
One by one they took a part of your life from you, gladly accepting your love, your support and help. And leaving it all to you, to your heart and mind that never were supposed to live so many lives, go through so many situations and emotions, bear so many consequences that were coming from actions that simply weren't yours. And they took it from you. That time and energy, the courage and strength that otherwise would have gone to you, to your own healing, growth and protection. They took it all from you and, worst of all, they were able to do so thanks to you. You who gave it to them, all that you had, in the name of the love that you felt. You that not even once regretted it. Not in the moment at least…
They took so much from you, making you get used to it, to have so little, to give away so much… That now, for once, you want to find someone different. Someone who will not take advantage of your heart. Someone who will understand that, no matter how much you want and try, it is not the right thing to leave it all up to you, to handle their life… Someone who, for once, just knows more, knows better. Someone who can teach you, gently, softly, as they protect you from your own self, from your own urge to disintegrate yourself for the happiness and safety of someone else.
For once… you want to be overwhelmed by someone's joy, their hope, their desire to be here and to live this life. Their strength to choose to see the best aspects of the things. Their strength to be patient, to have faith, to believe that everything will work out in the end. For once you want to receive that strength, not to give it away. For once you want to be protected, guided, as you trust someone who doesn't expect you to lead the way out of the darkness of their days…
It might sound selfish to some, so entitled to look for someone who has it all figured out, who has better and more control of their life… But you are simply tired. And a little lost, if one can say the truth. Tired of figuring everything out constantly, keeping others above the water, as they push you down, never thinking of the air they are taking away from you. It’s not about an easier life, about receiving constant help or guidance, leaving it up to others to make the choice for you… It is about just wanting to have something that is left for your own self too. A little time, a little love, that you can give yourself without being afraid that in the meantime someone would get upset or hurt. You just want to be able to take care of yourself too, not only of those that you love, of your connections, of your situations, that seem to be destroyed each moment you are not looking after them. You just want to have someone that is by your side, living their life, instead of living yours that becomes so scarily about them, their necessities, their dreams, their worry and losses. You just want someone to learn from, or together, how to live this life in the most right and healthy, loving way. Not to teach it. While you yourself don't have any idea of how you are still here, how you made it until now every day.
{ Will you ever find someone like them }
the justice, the eight of wands, the queen of wands
This new and almost desperate desire in your heart now, might feel a lot like frustration, the last realisation of how things should've been when everything already happened, when it is too late to change them… But instead of a tragic end, it is more of a hopeful and promising beginning. The one that you are creating with your each thought, with each moment of understanding of what it is that you really want to feel, when sharing your love. The taste of it, the feeling, the emotions it can give you. With each found answer in your heart you are changing your life, much more than you expect now. Because it really is all about your choices. Your decision of who you will be accepting into your life from now on.
There is a part of you that is growing, getting stronger, preparing to be vigilant and serious about its duty: the one to protect your heart. One little thought created by the tiredness, the sadness of all that you endured… was enough to move the waves of the whole world, of the reality around you. Of who will be brought right to you, and who will be pulled back, not being the right ones. Changing your connections one step, one person at a time. Giving you back the right to decide for yourself, making you remember that you can in fact do it, you can choose the ones dear to your heart.
And it won’t be delusion, entitlement, selfishness, or any sort of limit that you will put on your heart… It will be just you, all grown up, who will now know that it is okay to not take it all on yourself, whatever and whoever comes, because of the fear of what not doing it will cause. It will be your understanding that people can and will make it through on their own, even if they are so afraid or feel incapable of facing their life right now. And it will be also your acceptance that not every story you hear is yours to live, to feel, to make sure it has a good ending. Not everyone is yours to protect and help. Not everyone has the right to come before your own self.
It might be a change that will take its time to settle in, especially in your heart that is just so full of love. Love that you didn't give yourself for so long, pouring it all in the needing hands of those by your side. But it will happen. It will feel safe and right, to allow yourself to choose how much the realities of others influence your life. And as you will go through it, as you will seek that courage and strength… It will be enough to remember that everything will be okay. Even in those moments of uncertainty, it will be enough to hold on tight to the message that we will receive, if you want to, in the extended version of this reading. A message about how you can and will change your life.♡↓
{ a little message for you }
—
– Pile Three,
{ The love that you are longing for }
the ten of wands, the star, the death
It is so difficult to need to explain yourself, your actions, your urges, your reactions. It is tiring to open up your mind and your heart sharing them with others, again and again. Just for them to not understand it, to not pay the slightest of attention, to not take it seriously, all those things that are still consuming your soul… It just feels so useless to go through it, to come out of your comfort zone so hopeful that they would be that right person… only to see them walk away, who scared, who uncomfortable, who deluded or bored. Leaving you feeling like a poor seller who is unable to demonstrate the worth of your broken, lived, soul. When you don't even want to do it in the first place. When it is so ridiculous that you need constantly and so fiercely to defend or explain your wounds, as if they didn't already hurt enough.
It just consumes you. Consumes your every desire to go out there, interact and try to connect with people, creating with such dedication a relationship that - you know it too well - will just be destroyed. By your own past, your own frail soul that is too difficult for others to manage, to use or control. Too delicate to do anything with it without hurting it more.
Deep down you know that not every single person you met was truly so evil at their core. But it still hurts you like hell, being rejected, just put aside, simply because of the way you feel so strongly and deeply every detail about this world. Just because you have more depth to your feelings, more power to the emotions that simply overwhelm you, good or bad, every single bit of them that fills you whole. And that you welcome and feel completely, still remembering how cold and dark it was when there weren't any emotions in you at all.
It just would've been much easier, for once, to not have the need to defend yourself, the way you became. If for once the one in front of you focused on who you are now, and not on who you were or who you could become if only you suppress your soul. Because you changed, yes, and it might be sad to not have that spark that others adored so much about you anymore. But the you who survived still and always deserves the same admiration and love, perhaps even more, after all that you were able to endure. This you who is so different is still you. The you who gave you the strength and courage to face it all. The you who shouldn't at all be forced to explain yourself to those that can't even do one thing: just listen to you, hear you truly, at least for once.
Because it is not so difficult, in the end, to just accept someone and love them for the way they are, without any if or but. You know it well, because you always did it and always do with everyone that is close to you. But while they can be themselves, knowing that they will be truly safe with you, their every wound that will be taken care of without any judgement or expectation to receive something in return… You are always asked to be less or more. To hide your pain, to be more joyful. To not react too much to the things that hurt you. To, instead, be more understanding and patient, accepting, of the ways of others. Even though they never tolerate yours.
So you remain here, among so many of them but still feeling so lonely, so trapped, exactly like it used to feel before. You still are being hurt, even though you had so much courage in not hiding yourself, your scars. Even though you learned to have the needed strength to stand your ground when others didn't see that they were stepping on your heart… And you still hope. That one day, somewhere and someone, for once will just feel drawn to you. Not a memory of you or your potential change. Just someone who, for once, is gentle and kind in their ways. Not because you asked them to, not because they were forced by your tears… But just because they are connected enough to their own heart. Enough to recognise the painfully familiar stories behind your tired and scared eyes. Just one person, just one single time would be enough. Just one single moment in which you would feel loved and cherished the way you are, even with all those fears and doubts that everyone has always something to say about. Just one true and genuine connection. One single chance for your heart to find again the hope that you, exactly the way you are now after all your battles, not less not more, will be enough.
{ You are not in the wrong }
the page of coins, the strength, the six of cups
Finally standing up for yourself, taking your defence, pushing back those that don't make you anymore feel safe… it took a lot of courage, especially when every decision that was already hard enough was also met with judgement, with pure rage, just because for once you weren't ready to be there for someone else. But while you thought that the worst part will be this, finding the strength to prioritise yourself, the most difficult part revealed itself to be resisting the urge to take all your words back, bowing your head, surrendering to discourses of others about how you shouldn't ever do that again, and coming back to your old and consumed self, asking it to endure it once again. But this time with the full awareness of how it is wrong, to give away so much of you, remaining with so little that it is never enough to take care of your own heart and mind…
You are resisting it now with all your strength, but the single thought that they might be right, that you are indeed acting too selfishly, is already enough to shake you to your core, to fill you with the pure terror that you might be becoming one of those that hurt you, coming down to their level without realising what you've done.
But you are not. I promise you. There is nothing wrong in putting yourself first for once. There are no mistakes when you are acting from your heart, from the pure desire to protect yourself now that you are realising that it all just has been too much. You are not the villain here, even if perhaps there isn't one among them either. There is no evil in knowing what you deserve and want, and not accepting nothing less from others, even if they so perfectly mask it with words like “It is the way I love”, “This is the best for you, the best you can ever find or hope for”...
You’ve endured a lot, so much that it is truly non conceivable and admissible that someone belittles it. That someone doesn't give it the importance and incredibly powerful and heart wrenching meaning that you surviving all of that holds. Don't stop for them, for their fears that you will change. Because it has already happened, in the good and in the bad. And if someone can't accept and respect the new you, if they, even in the name of their love, can't accept you… then it is okay. There will be someone else. Someone else who will meet you, get to know you, and learn to appreciate and cherish you for the way you are now, not a memory of who you were.
It might be sad to let go of some people, to lose some connections. It might be frustrating to see their absolute conviction that you are the one in the wrong… But you are tired now, you feel weak after needing to fight against them again and again just to protect yourself… so don't waste your last remaining energy on them, on proving them wrong when they already ended this story as it is more convenient for them in their head. Let them go. Let them be. Not to allow them to think that they are right. But for your own self and to give you that space and time to rest and recover, to take care of yourself.
This world is vast, there are so many of us. Remaining now for a moment alone… doesn't at all condemn you to have all the days of your life lonely and cold. It is just a phase, just a precious moment that will sign a new step in your growth, in how much you consider your own worth and protect yourself at all costs. People come and go. Some are good and some are not. But you are unique, you are the only one you have, the most important person that you need to love and take care of. Even if it means to not accept the love of others, simply because it is so different from what you are longing for. Even if it means to reject the company that you so much want, because they never offer it genuinely but only when it is so convenient and needed for them.
Times will change, you'll start new journeys, go through different paths that will align with others, new and completely different persons. And you'll create new connections, better ones. Better because of the ways and motives of those that will come closer. Better because you will be much more rested, healed and confident after this focus on yourself and this pause. Better because there won't be any play pretend, endurance or feelings that will be ignored. It will be better. Simply because you will learn from your mistakes, you will grow. And so will those that you will let go of, but not at your own expense and endurance of the way your heart hurts for them. Because they might not realise it now, they might be so convinced that you are the one hurting them… but you are making the best decision not only for your own self, but even for them. You are giving all of you a new chance. A chance that you for sure will take and use it to nourish a new beginning in your life, new connections that will love you, cherish you, protect you at all costs. Exactly like it should be between truly loving souls.
And if it feels still a little too overwhelming, a little too scary and unsure, the decision to put yourself first… There is a little message about the future, at what it holds, in our extended version of this reading, right here, if you want or feel the need to hear more.♡↓
{ a little message for you }
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