#and that he had to watch her suffer it without being able to comfort her

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane - Part Three

{Emma blinks in surprise but manages to hold eye contact with Max. “I wasn't aware 'emotional support assistant' was my new job title.” She quips, grin ghosting at the edge of her lips. For what feels like the first time all weekend, Max laughs. It’s loud and genuine and sends a shiver of pleasure dancing over Emma’s skin. He shakes his head, scrubbing at his tired face with his rough, calloused hands. “I don’t want to be alone and I don’t want to go with anyone else.” }

warnings/notes: no warnings in this one, its pretty fluffy. thank you to my writing therapist @lestapiastrisgirl for holding my hand as i crash out on a nightly basis and reassuing me that i do not, in fact, suck at this whole writing thing. pairing: max verstappen x emma meyer (fem original character) word count: 4.6k words

read hurricane on ao3 hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

Max slept in the next morning, something he didn’t often allow himself to do. He was drained from the past week, despite it being an off week, so he figured he had earned a little respite. Between the struggles he’d been having in the car since mid-last season to the drama around the second Red Bull seat, Max felt wrung out emotionally and just wanted to have a moment to breathe. Leaving Milton Keynes early the day before had been a start and even just one night in his own bed had him feeling back on the road to feeling better. 

The earthy scent of his favorite coffee brewing mixed with the smell of something sticky sweet drew him out of the deep sleep he’d been in. After coming home last night and hearing Emma play, the pair had spent a quiet evening with takeout and a movie before Max had turned in early, exhaustion from the week’s excitement making his bones ache. 

He’d woken up around 1am to the sounds of Clair de Lune floating through the cracks in his bedroom door and had stayed up longer than necessary listening to Emma play. It was a song he knew well and he had recognized it the second his eyes blinked open. His mother had played the song frequently when he was growing up along with a lot of classical music and the strains of the song provided him with a sense of nostalgic comfort that he’d been craving lately. The memories that the notes elicited grounded him in a way that nothing had been able to do in a very long time. 

The sunlight streamed into the bay windows that lined one of the walls of his bedroom as Max dug around in his closet for a clean t-shirt and shorts before wandering out to the open-concept kitchen. He paused in the archway, just out of Emma’s sight, as he watched her float around the kitchen. All four burners on the stove were switched on and Max strained to see that there were sausages and bacon sizzling away, what looked to be French toast nearly ready to be flipped, and scrambled eggs frying up in a pan. Two coffee mugs sat on the counter, one full of the dark liquid, the other sitting empty, presumably waiting for Max to wake up. 

Emma had on an ancient looking crewneck sweater, the vibrant crimson color faded to almost a purplish pink, sleeves shoved up above her elbows to keep them out of the feast she was in the middle of preparing. Half of her hair was tied up and away from her face, secured in place by a giant claw clip that managed to handle the thick locks without breaking. Her legs were nearly bare, the sleep shorts she wore were sinfully short, her mile long tanned legs on display for only Max to see. 

He swallowed thickly at the sight in front of him, the sheer domesticity of it making something in his chest ache for a life he never knew he yearned for. He’d never been one to dream about the day he settled down, got married, had kids and a home. It wasn’t him, wasn’t how he was raised. Jos always told him there would be time for that after racing and that if he allowed anything to get in the way of his laser sharp focus, Max’s career would suffer. 

The song Emma hummed in the back of her throat was familiar but not something he could totally place and the look on her face was open, bright, beautiful. She seemed so comfortable in his space, so at home in a kitchen that was usually sterile and bare and the way she brought life into Max’s home with barely any effort made Max’s chest ache in the most unfamiliar way. 

Max didn’t know how long he stood there, watching Emma move around his kitchen with a practiced grace that spoke of quiet confidence in a space where she felt like she belonged. It was heart achingly familiar and brightly brand new all at once, almost too much for Max to handle.

Eventually though, the spell was broken as Emma sensed she wasn’t alone anymore. When her eyes snagged on his frame, the smile that fluttered across her face nearly sent Max into cardiac arrest. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” She teased, turning around to take the waiting coffee pot off the warmer and pour a generous amount into the waiting cup. “Milk? Sugar? There wasn’t any creamer in the fridge when you left so I didn’t know how you usually take your coffee or what to buy as a replacement.” 

The gesture was nice on the surface but Max knew there was an underlying anxiety to her monologue. From the short amount of time he’d spent with Emma, he’d clocked the fact that Emma was a textbook definition of people pleaser, almost to a painful level. She was constantly looking to him for approval, for confirmation that she’d done a good job or that Max wasn’t mad at her. The history behind those habits were an unknown to Max but he recognized a coping mechanism when he saw it.

“Whatever milk you have is fine. Sugar too.” 

Emma looked relieved as she turned to the fridge to get the small carton of milk. A bowl of sugar appeared shortly after too, in a ceramic dish that Max hadn’t even known he owned. They were quiet for a beat as Emma turned away to make sure the sausage wasn’t burning. 

“You’re in a good mood this morning.” Max commented over the rim of his mug, eyes not leaving Emma for a moment longer than necessary. 

Emma turned around, gaze instantly flicking towards the piano in the corner of the living room before darting back to look at Max. Those normally stormy gray eyes were bright this morning, happier than Max had seen them the entire time she’d been staying with him. A small smile tugged at the corner of Emma’s lips as she took a sip of her coffee. “Yeah,” She breathed, the sound sending a shudder down Max’s spine, “I guess I am.” 

There’s another lengthy pause, the silence blanketing the pair comfortably before Emma pushes a plate of French toast towards Max. “I know you’re probably on some sort of super strict diet for the season but once I start cooking it’s a little hard for me to stop.” 

Max grins as he stabs a piece of French toast with his fork before reaching for the butter. Emma slides the syrup over. “I think we can make an exception for this spread. Everything looks so good, Em.” 

Emma preened at the praise that tumbles from Max’s lips like it was the first time she’d ever heard a positive affirmation in her life. Not for the first time since Emma had come to stay with him did Max want to throttle whoever had caused her to behave like she was constantly making mistakes. 

 After one bite, Max hums, the sound low and satisfied, working it’s way across Emma’s skin. “And it tastes even better.” He says around the mouthful of food. 

As he digs into the plate Emma had piled high with food, his eyes wander around the expansive kitchen and living room. For the first time since arriving home, Max noticed something was different about his apartment. Nothing obvious, just a few quiet things that anyone else might’ve never notice. It was still his apartment of course. Nothing major had been moved or tucked away, it still felt like the place that he had settled into over the last few years.  

The cords on his sim right were a little more tidy, the brand new citrus candle that was burning low in the living room, the twin cat beds that had appeared underneath the piano while he had been gone. It made the apartment feel cozier somehow, like the place had been missing these small, gentle touches of a feminine hand. It should have had the hackles on the back of his neck rising, having someone that deep in the place he guarded so closely but having Emma there felt natural, like she was the last piece of the puzzle he’d been missing. 

Swaying a bit at the overwhelming realization, Max blinks and shakes his head in a desperate attempt to clear away the cobwebs of dangerous attraction that had no business being in on his mind. 

“I hope you don’t mind the cat beds I bought. Jimmy and Sassy kept trying to climb into the piano while I was playing and it was the only way I could keep them out and still practice.” Emma says halfway through the meal. 

Max grins in that genuine, open way does when he’s truly pleased. The corners of his eyes crinkled up, lips curling up in a lopsided boyish smile. “I appreciate you taking care of them, they’re social cats and I hate leaving them. They seem to be quite taken with you.” 

Emma leaned down scratch at Sassy’s ears after she had wandered into the kitchen as if she knew she was being discussed. “They kept me company while I had my quarter-life crisis on your couch for two days. We bonded.” 

“And what did you come up with while experiencing this crisis? Anything life changing?” Max hadn’t wanted to push last night to talk about the future. He hadn’t want to bring up Emma leaving because if he was being honest, and he quite often wasn’t with himself, he was enjoying having her here. It had been less than a week but she’d already imbued herself deeper into his life than he could have ever anticipated. 

“I’ve decided I’m going to marry rich and become a trophy wife.” She announced, eyes glittering as a wicked smirk kicked up at the edge of her mouth.

Max was so startled by her declaration, he choked out a laugh so loud Sassy went flying across the kitchen floor in a startled terror. 

Emma made a sound of offense before rolling her eyes. “I’m insulted you think my goal of being a trophy wife is so lofty. Am I really that hideous?”

When she sticks out her bottom lip in a pout, Max had to physically restrain himself to keep from reaching out and swiping his thumb across her outstretched lip, his fingers digging into the sides of his chair so hard his knuckles went white. Before he can come up with a response though, Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Reluctantly pulling it out, he’s unable to bite back the groan that starts in the back of his throat. 

“Everything okay?” Emma asks before popping a bite of bacon into her mouth. 

“Christian won’t stop emailing me about the stupidest shit after hours and on weekends. Marko too. It’s never anything important and most of the time could wait until I see them again.” Max frowns, reading the subject line: ‘NEW PR IDEAS FOR YUKI’. “I’m about to block them both.” 

Emma reaches out with her hand, motioning for him to hand over his phone, “I have an idea, can I try something?” 

Max easily slides the phone across the counter and watches, mesmerized, as Emma starts tapping away at his phone for several moments, her eyes fixed on the screen. As she works, she catches her bottom lip in between her teeth, nearly sending Max into another spiral so quickly he has to look away. 

“And…done! There you go, that should take care of your problems.” Emma looks up, sly grin stretching across her face as she hands back the phone. “I created a few rules in your inbox. Now anything that Christian and Helmut send you after hours will go directly into a separate folder instead of in your main inbox so you can choose when you want to look at their stuff instead of being bothered by their lack of boundaries.” 

Max tilts his head, eyes narrowed as he lifts his gaze from his phone to meet Emma’s eager expression. He’s quiet for so long that Emma shifts uncomfortably, wondering if she’d crossed a line. Maybe he didn’t like his things messed with. Maybe she had gone too far with her desire to help and it had made him angry. 

Why was she always messing everything up?

“Marry me.” Max mutters finally, half joking and half deadly serious and Emma blinks over at him. “Marry me and become my trophy wife, please.” 

Emma can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her at the sheer ridiculousness of the request. “You’re insane.” 

Max just smirks, sinking into the sound of her laughter. It’s light, sweet, and everything that he craves as the sound rakes itself over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I’m serious. You come in here, clean up my place and make it look like someone actually lives here, fill my fridge with all of my favorite things, and banish my bosses emails to a folder I never have to look at? That’s wife behavior right there, schat.” 

Emma’s cheeks go crimson but she manages to roll her eyes, “That sounds a lot like personal assistant behavior to me and if you need a lecture in the differences between wifey and assistant behavior, we have bigger problems on our hands, Verstappen.” 

“Then be my assistant.” 

Emma doesn’t have a response to that because she can’t quite tell if Max is still teasing her or not. The look on his face shifts into something more serious though and she struggles to catch up. She was still trying to recover from the faux proposal moments ago, the thought of marrying Max suddenly making her throat feel tight and cheeks feel hot. “Wait. What?” 

Max shrugs, feigning nonchalance as best as he can. “Horner has been after my ass for years to hire a personal assistant. He claims I miss too much and am spread too thin. To be honest, he’s probably just bitter I never return any of his emails but he does have a point.” He pauses, flipping his phone around in his hands as a way to channel the nervous energy buzzing through his veins. He hadn’t meant to ask her to be his assistant but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he didn’t want to take them back. 

“I don’t have any experience in your world, Max.” Emma says, worrying the corner of her lip. 

“You don’t need experience in motorsport to help me run my life. You need a job, a place to stay, a steady paycheck, right? I can give all of those things to you, Em. Let me help?” 

Emma drops her gaze away from Max’s for a moment, contemplating the offer. He was right, of course. She had nothing holding her back, no prospects. She’d spent the better part of the time alone in Max’s place searching for something, anything for her to do. Jobs that she was qualified for were few and far between in Monaco. The thought of going back to teaching and the politics that came along with it, made her stomach churn. Working for Max would save her from having to go back home with her tail tucked between her legs. 

“At least until you figure out what you want to do going forward.” He says quickly to fill the silence that filled the space between them. “You don’t have to be my assistant forever, just until you get back on your feet and decide what’s next.” 

A small grin ticks up at the corner of Emma’s lips and Max knows he’s got her.

“Alright, yeah.” She pauses, drawing in a deep inhale. There was a significant shift in the air as she studied Max sitting across from her, it was charged with something that neither of them were quite ready to face yet but they both knew was meaningful in a way they hadn’t ever anticipated.

“And who knows, maybe I’ll even find a rich race car driver to trophy wife me up, right?” 

Emma winks over at Max but the only thing that scuttles through his mind in response is ‘yeah, and that man will be me.’ 

The sun in Bahrain was relentless. While Emma considered herself relatively well traveled, she’d never been to the Middle East before. After going to Japan last week with Max, her head was spinning with how different her life had become literally overnight. 

After she had accepted Max’s offer, it had been decided that the easiest thing to do was hire Emma via Red Bull and pay her that way. This protected everyone involved and gave Emma the stability she’d been craving since being fired from her nightmare of a nannying job. It also gave legitimacy to her being in the paddock and the access to places where Max needed her to be. 

It was a simple enough job when it all came together. Manage Max’s email and personal schedule, make sure his meals were what his trainer needed them to be, when they needed to be there, ensure Jimmy and Sassy were visited by the pet sitter 3 to 4 times a day, handle his personal appearance requests that didn’t go through the Red Bull PR department. The tasks were easy for someone as organized and type A as Emma and she fell into the role seamlessly. 

Japan had been easy because Max had a mega weekend and the team was on the upswing. 

And then Bahrain happened. 

Emma was walking towards the parking lot of the paddock after the race Sunday night with another Red Bull employee when the shouts of someone calling her name stopped her in her tracks. The race had gone horribly wrong for Max and he’d told her to go ahead to the hotel without him because he’d be at the track for hours pouring over data with GP and the engineering team. Emma had wanted to get a head start on packing, for both Max and her anyway, so she had agreed and found a ride back with someone else. 

She turned around to see one of the PR interned sprinting after her, wild panic in her eyes. 

“Laurie, what’s wrong?” Anxiety fluttered in her chest briefly. Max had made it out of the car in one piece and as far as she was concerned her job was finished for the night.

Laurie struggled to catch her breath as stopped short of Emma and Rachel, the engineer she was getting a ride with. “Max. Refusing to do media. Won’t talk to anyone but you.” 

“What?” Emma shot a confused look at Rachel before returning her gaze back to the young woman. “Laurie, take a few deep breaths. Did you run here from the media pen?” 

Laurie nodded before dragging in a few more ragged breaths. It took a few more moments but eventually, her chest stopped heaving like she had just finished a marathon. 

“Ok, now slow down.” Emma started, placing a hand on Laurie’s shoulder. “What is going on? Where’s Max?” 

“He’s refusing to go to the media pen and do his interviews. The FIA officials are threatening fines, Horner is about to combust, and he says he’ll only talk to you.” 

Emma’s brows rose into her hairline as she exchanged another surprised look with Rachel. “Well, I guess I’m not going back to pack right now, am I? Go ahead without me, I’ll get a ride back with Max. Thanks Rachel.” 

Rachel nodded before wishing her good luck and turning back towards the parking lot. 

Emma turned back to Laurie, “Okay, where is he?” 

“Driver’s room.” 

“Okay, go to the pen and tell everyone Max wasn’t feeling well after the race. Blame the heat or something? And that he’ll be along in less than 20 minutes.” 

Laurie nodded before jogging off towards the media tent. Emma turned down a quiet alleyway on her way to Red Bull’s hospitality. 

It only took a few more minutes before she was standing in front of Max’s drivers room on the second floor of the suite. She’d spent most of her time in the room this weekend, watching the practice sessions and qualifying while working on getting Max’s inbox under control (something that was still a work in progress and causing her almost as many headaches as the driver who was currently throwing a tantrum). As she stood in front of the closed door though, there was a heavy air of anxiety and anger that hummed through the space. She knew what she’d find behind the door, had seen the way Max had looked furious when he’d gotten out of the car. 

Emma only had to wait a few moments after knocking softly to hear a strangled “Come in.” 

Pushing the door open with a gentle shove, Emma took a few steps into the room before spotting Max. Her heart ached when she saw the way he was folded in on himself, shoulders hunched, race suit still half-on, head in his hands. Despite it being a rough weekend for the team, Max had tried to take most of it on the chin. His temper had flared a few times here and there, a few stiff words for GP during the race, a few angry glances lobbed at a mechanic that happened to be in his way. No one had thought much of it as it happened. They were used to his moods, GP assured Emma a few dozen times there was nothing she could do to help. It was just something Max had to work through on his own. He’d done it before and he’d do it again. 

But this? The way he was curled in on himself like he wanted to shrink down to a size that couldn’t be seen, the way he refused to look up when Emma stepped into the room, the way his fingers gripped at his hair like he was trying to rip the pain away from his head? This was all a new side of Max that Emma had the feeling not many people had ever seen. 

In a flash, she was crossing the room before crouching in front of him. She doesn’t touch him, despite every inch of her body screaming that she should. She didn’t quite trust herself in that moment. Didn’t quite trust herself to be able to stop with a simple touch on the back of his hand. Emma was worried she’d want more and that? That was dangerous. 

“Max, what’s going on?” 

“I can’t do this.” He laments, eyes finally lifting up to meet hers. 

The pain and embarrassment sitting so plainly in his eyes had Emma’s heart squeezing painfully.  

“The car is just…I can’t drive it. I lost count of how many laps I spent stuck behind a fucking Alpine. An Alpine, Emma!” 

Emma nodded like she knew what that meant as Max stood to pace the small room. “Max,” She tries to placate, knowing that the time is limited and he was staring down the face of a hefty fine. “I bought you some time with the FIA but they’re out there yelling about fines and I think Horner might be close to having a stroke.” 

Max turns on her, eyes wild with rage and something else that looks a lot like anguish. “Well that makes two of us then.” He says miserably. “I’m not going to Jeddah.” 

The statement stops Emma in her tracks. “Wait, what? Max, I know the race was bad but you can’t just quit four races into the season.” 

“I’m not quitting, Em.” He says with a roll of his eyes and Emma resists the urge to swat at him for the sass. “I just need a few days to clear my head before I go straight into another race weekend.” 

“Okay, I can work with that. Let me get on the phone with your pilot and see what your options are while you’re doing media. I’ll figure out a place where you can go for a few days while I head to Jeddah to make sure everything is set up for you.” 

Max shakes his head, “No.” 

Emma pinches at the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. “Oh, God bless it.” She sighs deeply, shaking her head. “The hell do you mean, ‘no’? You literally just said you didn’t want to go to Jeddah?” 

“I’m not going without you.” 

Emma blinks in surprise but manages to hold eye contact with Max. “I wasn't aware 'emotional support assistant' was my new job title.” She quips, grin ghosting at the edge of her lips.

For what feels like the first time all weekend, Max laughs. It’s loud and genuine and sends a shiver of pleasure dancing over Emma’s skin. He shakes his head, scrubbing at his tired face with his rough, calloused hands. “I don’t want to be alone and I don’t want to go with anyone else.” 

Again, Emma found herself narrowing her eyes in a vain attempt to understand the man in front of her. “That��makes no sense. You want to be alone but you want me to come with you?” 

“I don’t want to go with anyone else.” Max pouts. 

Pouts. The four-time world champion that was known to make even the most experienced mechanic cower pouts at Emma. 

“Will you go out to the media pen and not be a sarcastic brute to the reporters if I agree to this?” 

A sly grin slips onto Max’s face as he nods, realizing he’s won. 

Emma sighs, the fight draining out of her as quickly as the tension seemed to be leaving Max’s body. “Fine.” She relents, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “But you owe me, big time. I had planned to spend the next few days comatose in a hotel room doing nothing but watching bad reality tv and eating even worse takeout.” 

Max’s grin widens, the relief evident in his suddenly brighter eyes. “I promise I will make sure I buy you the best takeout wherever we end up and you can even pick the TV we watch.” 

Emma levels a pointed look at him as she throws a bottle of water his way, “And you! You will be polite out there. You will answer their questions, even the stupid ones, without rolling your eyes so hard you risk a sprain. And you will not, under any circumstances, blame Jack or Pierre for your…unfortunate race. Got it?” 

“Deal.” Max agrees quickly, already moving towards the door. The heavy cloud of anger that had clung to him all weekend seemed to have lifted, replaced by a restless energy that was something Emma could make work. “What are we thinking? Somewhere with a good beach? I haven’t spent a day near the ocean in too long.” 

Emma follows him, grabbing his discarded team jacket from the back of a chair before wrapping herself up in the oversized garment. “Hold your horses, Verstappen. You still have about fifteen minutes of explaining to do to a very angry and tired contingent of journalists. Lets get through that first and then your ‘emotional support assistant’ will work her magic and find us the perfect escape.” 

As the pair walks out into the paddock and towards the media tent, a small smile plays on Emma’s lips. Emotional support assistant. She had to admit, the title had a certain ring to it, even if it made her sound completely ridiculous. And if it meant seeing that genuine smile on Max’s face again, she was willing to take on the role. Jeddah could wait an extra few days. Some bad TV and questionable takeout with a surprisingly vulnerable racing driver suddenly sounded like a far more interesting proposition. 

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[jenscx]

LUCID DREAM — ning yizhuo

it’s been years without ning yizhuo in your life. it feels surreal; the day you walked out without an explanation. but just the thought of being able to see her again, it draws you back into the endless loop of loving her.

TAGS — angst, exes to ???, insecurity, model!ning, ambiguous ending, mentions of alcohol, making up, jmj wedding (we don’t actually get to witness it tho)

WORDCOUNT — 7.4k

you stare at the wedding invitation, written neatly at the top, the invitation is addressed to a ning y/n. you want to cry. the invitation clearly stating your ex’s name makes your heart clench uncomfortably. it’s a blaring reminder that your relationship ended and you’re no longer living in your childhood fantasy.

“fuck,” you swear, “fuck you, kim minjeong.” you want to murder minjeong, but who were you to ask minjeong to stop reminding you of your bitter ending? especially since it was your own impulsiveness that had ended the relationship. you could have been more understanding towards yizhuo, could have tried her best to resolve your conflict, but no. instead, you ran. ran like the coward you were.

you remember the brokenhearted look on yizhuo’s face, the devastated glimmer in her eyes before she had flipped her expression to another, like a switch. or more like a broken one, your brain offers unhelpfully. of course, the quiver of her lips had given yizhuo away almost immediately. you had known yizhuo for a third of your life, obviously you could tell when your soulmate– or in this case, ex, was about to break down.

you wish you had stayed, and simply comforted your soulmate like old times, but you couldn’t bear to watch yizhuo cry, because of you. you remember the look on your friends’ faces when you told them that you broke up with yizhuo, all the words they had yelled at her for betraying yizhuo. you remember the anger directed at you by yizhuo’s parents when you had sent them an apology letter. through the post, yizhuo had told you, letters felt more sincere than emails.

but perhaps the worst reaction wasn’t from any of them, it was simply from your own cat. meowing viciously when you had picked him up, bringing him together with you. the scratches lining your arms only serve as a constant reminder. mao, your british short haired, was desperately attached to yizhuo (and she was the one who named him too. what absolute luck.) his hostility could only be reasoned that he knew his owner had hurt yizhuo. if a silly little cat knew the extent of the breakup, what could that mean for you?

“wallowing in your grief again? that’s not good for you,” you peer up at chaewon, the only friend that somehow wasn’t connected to yizhuo. chaewon takes a quick glance at the invitation and giggles, “you’re going? i hope you survive, you haven’t paid this month’s rent yet.”

you merely sigh.

“the place’s gonna be filled with people who hate my guts, you really think i’m going? minjeong probably only sent this to piss me off.”

chaewon frowns, “you don’t seem pissed off, just sad. honey, you have to let me know if they’re bothering you, like actually. it’s not your fault, well– maybe it is, but you’re suffering too. it isn’t nice for them to do this to you.” you shrug in response. you deserve it. you deserve every stab in your heart, you deserve the tears that escape in the middle of the night.

“let’s drink tonight, okay? we’ll put on titanic or something and cry about life while eating ice cream,” chaewon offers. maybe it’s the thought of getting drunk, or titanic, or crying in your friend’s arms, but the offer is appealing and you find yourself agreeing too soon.

you can hear chaewon do a silent cheer. it makes you smile slightly and gives you enough energy to pull yourself up from the floor.

“i’ll go get the soju, just lie on the couch and relax!” you follow as your friend says and lie on the sofa you had picked out together after mao’s claws had sunk into the leather, ripping it to shreds. the cat was a brat.

doesn’t this remind you of something– or someone? the voice in your head quips. you groan, why couldn’t your head shut up sometimes? your heart drops as you recall the conversation between your parents when you had told them you broke things off with yizhuo. you remember your mother’s expression; disappointed and upset, a stark contrast to when you had told her that you finally found someone. the proud look on your father’s when you introduced yizhuo to them, god, why the fuck was yizhuo such an amazing girlfriend?

you caused this. you want to scream ‘no’. you’re the one who dumped yizhuo. who are you to be upset over thi–

“y/n? hey, stop thinking about it,” chaewon pouts, “don’t make yourself even more sad!” you blink back into reality and at the sight of chaewon puffing her cheeks out, holding two bottles of soju and a large bowl of popcorn, make you want to coo at the girl. you push the thoughts of yizhuo to the back of your head as soon as the opening to titanic appears on the screen.

you two laugh sometimes, mostly chaewon, but it’s quiet throughout the movie and you can’t tell whether you’d rather have chaewon’s comments about how cute the actors are or the silence that allows you to delve deeper into your thoughts. you take a sip whenever chaewon mentions how in love jack and rose are.

when you blink, it’s already at the part where jack allows rose to get onto the wooden door, while he stays in the freezing water. chaewon throws popcorn at the tv, apparently already drunk, screaming at rose to quote, “fucking move her ass,” for jack to get on. you take a large gulp of soju in the midst of chaewon’s sniffles.

“y/n…i can’t believe it… she just let jack die!” chaewon cries out, “the love of her life, she just let him go! how could she just let him die?!” you nod, trying to drink the already empty bottle of soju.

when you stand up, the whole room swirls and you stumble back onto the couch. “don’t let her go, y/n!” you jump at the close proximity of chaewon’s voice, “don’t let the love of your life go!”

you hum in agreement and scream, “i won’t let her go!” determined, you pick up your phone and the selfie of you and yizhuo greets her. you miss her, don’t you? of course not. you don’t miss her at all. change your homescreen then. you wouldn’t.

you roll your eyes and enter kakaotalk.

y/n [11.38pm]:

i kiss you

i miss you*

read [11.39pm]

“i did it, chaewon!” you exclaim, “i didn’t let her go!”

drunk you is apparently an idiot, since we all know, if a ‘i love you’ can’t solve a crack, obviously a ‘i miss you’ wouldn’t be able to solve an earthquake.

i miss you too. i miss you so much it hurts. but how could you say that, when you’re the one that left me first? yizhuo doesn’t cry as much anymore. she doesn’t sob into her pillow in the middle of the night anymore. the couple posts that appear on her instagram feed doesn’t make tears well up in her eyes anymore.

it still hurts. hurts as much as it did before. and yizhuo might just have to live with that pain everyday. the misspelt word makes her heart throb, in affection and pain, because she could imagine your voice in her head. are you hurting as much as she is? it doesn’t make the stabbing pain in her chest any better to know that the one she loves is suffering.

yizhuo stares at the glaring light from her phone. i miss you. really y/n? she wants to scoff. you were probably drunk out of your mind and sent that text on a whim. or maybe it was meant for another girl. the thought makes yizhuo want to cry.

is there someone else you call ‘baby' now?

fuck, you think, oh fuck. the read blaring on your phone, as if mocking you.

“shit,” chaewon groans, holding her head, “what happened last night? did we accidentally kill someone?” you wish you did. you take a deep breath, and scream. if the neighbours show up the next moment, it’s totally because of the night before, and not your scream at 8 in the morning.

you calm down. eventually. you calm down after chaewon grabs your shoulders and wiggles you back and forth, yelling for you to get your shit together. it only worsens the raging headache the both of you have. if rent wasn’t so high nowadays, you would have immediately fled and lived alone. kim chaewon with a hangover was not a good sight.

“whatever! you drunk texted your ex! whatever! hashtag yolo right— ah fuck, the room is spinning,” chaewon shrieks, “ugh, why did we drink so much?! but! your life isn’t over! so what if you texted her? it’s okay, we stay delusional and pretend things never happened!”

despite the wacky talk chaewon gives, it actually helps. texting yizhuo, while drunk, was a mistake. you nod hastily, “i get what you’re saying, but please let me go.”

chaewon loosens her grip, pursed lips as she huffs, “the most badass thing you can do now is go to the wedding.”

your eyes widen, “what the hell? kim chaewon, are you crazy? no, you’re insane.”

your roommate only grins lazily, “it came with a plus one invite, right? i’ll go with you. it’ll be okay! and don’t you wanna see your friends again?”

“i do, but most of them hate my guts,” you wince, recalling the angry messages left by aeri and minjeong, none from jimin, that probably speaks for itself what she thought of you, “they were yizhuo’s friends first, and mine second. when it comes to things like this, they would, rightfully so, take yizhuo’s side.”

chaewon whistles, “yeah it’s not looking too good for you right now.”

you flop onto the couch, sighing, “if i see yizhuo, i’ll freeze up and make a fool of myself.” your hands fly to rub at your eyes, groaning miserably, “i guess i’m not over her.”

chaewon slides into the space next to you, scoffing, “you think? having her number saved and pinned is crazy and the last time we talked before this, you were in love with her. what happened?”

your heart constricts painfully. you never spoke about your breakup to anyone, only asking chaewon if she still needed someone to split rent with. the moment you had uttered those words, you had left the shared apartment with yizhuo, not turning back to watch the love of your life collapse.

“i…” your throat dries up, “i was in love with her, i guess i still am. i don’t doubt that she felt the same for me, but maybe not anymore. our relationship was the best thing to ever happen to me. the happiest years of my life were when i was with yizhuo. she made me feel alive.”

tears prick at your eyes involuntarily. chaewon’s gaze is full of pity and comfort. sympathy. no one else gave you that.

“she wanted to get married, chaewon,” you whisper, “she was ready for marriage. i wasn’t.”

“oh.”

“i saw her looking at engagement rings one day and god, it was like, how have i never noticed before? she always shows me videos of weddings and how she would want her wedding to be like, but i never stopped to think whether i wanted marriage. i didn’t know what i would say if yizhuo just proposed. would it have hurt less for her if i said no rather than breaking up with her?”

chaewon presses a comforting hand to your shoulder, sighing, “i’m sorry, i literally see two of you right now but i’ll try to articulate this as best as i can.” her words draw out a hollow laugh from you. “you just weren’t ready yet, and yeah, you should have communicated that to her before jumping in to break up, but have you ever thought that you weren’t ready because you didn’t love her enough?”

you swallow, tears flowing down your cheeks freely, “n-no, i love her. she’s my favourite person. i love her so much, too much even. but getting married? that’s a lifelong commitment. i just didn’t know if she was sure that she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with… me. she has her whole life figured out. she’s a rich model who could have anyone else. we were childhood friends first, before girlfriends. and now she’s certain that she wants to marry me? what if there’s someone better for her out there? she’s only been chained to me because we got together so young. i just… had to let her go.”

“commitment issues,” chaewon states, “you have severe commitment issues.”

“i guess so,” you let out a watery laugh. your roommate chuckles, “you want her back?”

“yeah, i’m desperate.”

“let’s go to the wedding.”

you send a small smile to chaewon, “thanks, roomie.”

“i saw the invite by the way, and damn, are your friends rich? don’t get me wrong, i’m going as your moral support but the free buffet too—”

“i’m literally going to strangle you.”

yizhuo twirls the pen in her hand, watching it glide across her fingers and abruptly landing on the wooden table with a thud. she couldn’t stand seeing all the wedding preparations and chose to hide in jimin’s study. the door creaks open, a figure stands by the doorway.

“hello jimin unnie, aren’t you meant to be looking over the finishing touches of your wedding?” yizhuo asks, her smile dimming as she thinks about marriage. jimin frowns, “minjeong’s doing that. she told me to come check up on you.”

“me?”

“i know how you feel about weddings. we all do,” jimin says bluntly. yizhuo’s lips fall into a thin line. of course her friends were aware. they helped pick out the ring for god’s sake. the weight of a velvet box lying in her bedside table haunts her dreams.

yizhuo stands up from her desk, inching closer to jimin, a faux smile on her face, “you don’t have to worry about me. it’s your special day after all.”

“not yet, but let me worry about my friend for a while more before i get married,” jimin mutters, “minjeong sent an invite to y/n.” yizhuo’s whole body tenses up. a blurry image of you appears in her brain. she immediately shuts that down.

biting the inside of her cheek, yizhuo turns away from jimin with folded arms, “and? did she say she was coming?”

yizhuo hears jimin’s hesitance.

“just say it.”

jimin clears her throat, “she’s coming with a plus one.”

a distant thought forms. a plus one. your new girlfriend? did you find someone else? were you coming to the wedding to flaunt your new lover? yizhuo wasn’t dumb, she knew that her friends disliked you, heavily. minjeong most definitely sent out that invitation with disgust. jimin told her what minjeong had said to you. aeri had barely brushed it off, saying you weren’t worth her time scolding, despite the chain of messages she sent. she knew that you were aware they hated you. why would you come to the wedding?

“i-i’m not sure what’s their relationship, but her name is kim chaewon and oh my god, minjeong’s gonna kill me, y/n requested for a shared hotel room,” jimin utters out nervously. yizhuo’s eyes turn into slits. a shared hotel room?

“i see,” yizhuo says indifferently, contrasting the feelings bubbling inside her, “that’s good to know.”

jimin places a hand on yizhuo’s shoulder, “hey, it could all mean nothing, i don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“does it matter when i’m already like this?” yizhuo retorts back.

“i hope you don’t do anything stupid. before everything, you’re still my friend. if y/n showing up makes you uncomfortable, i’ll tell her she’s not invited,” jimin says softly, “minjeong will understand. you come first.”

“it’s your wedding, jimin. i won’t be a burden to you guys. it’s your day,” yizhuo mirrors jimin’s frown.

jimin’s shoulders slack.

“it’s not about that,” the older girl retorts, exasperated.

“what is it about then?”

“i don’t think minjeong will stay neutral and be calm when she sees y/n,” jimin groans, “she’ll probably pick a fight with her and i don’t want my wife to be stressed and angry on her wedding day.”

yizhuo can’t help teasing jimin, “wife, huh?”

jimin smirks, “yes, wife. you know last week, minjeong called me—”

“oh kay! i think you should go!” yizhuo yells, saving herself from the details of her friends’ intimate lives. jimin cackles maniacally as she leaves the study. yizhuo sighs and leans her head against the wooden door. jimin’s footsteps can be heard as she walks downstairs, along with the voices of her friends. they’re all scattered and anxious, she hears the distant shouting of minjeong and aeri. despite the noise around her, yizhuo feels somewhat at peace. for now. she doesn’t know what she’s going to do the moment you come to the wedding.

because despite what everyone else says, yizhuo cannot move on. you were literally half of her life and more. when you had uttered those words of devastation, it was like the world had ended. a terrible nightmare that tortured yizhuo every single day. was she too overbearing? sometimes— well, last time, you had mentioned that she was a very affectionate and clingy girlfriend. was that the sole reason? yizhuo frowns. no, that couldn’t be. you were equally as physically needy as her.

maybe you had found someone new? the plus one that was coming? that didn’t seem plausible either. if you were cheating, yizhuo would most definitely know and you abhorred cheaters anyway.

as she wrecked her mind for reasons, a common past time she developed after you had left, the constant rewinding of the conversation had been engraved in her brain eternally.

(yizhuo had just gotten off work, a smile on her face as she entered the house, heels clacking against the floor. the thought of you waiting at home impatiently for her only brought her smile to widen. maybe you would run up to her and embrace her warmly, complaining about how long she took. yet, neither of those happened and she’s left staring at you, hunched over, at the dining table, a suitcase packed by your side.

“what are you doing?” she had asked curiously. were you going on a trip? begrudgingly, you had gotten up, a sombre look on your face as you whispered, “yizhuo…”

that ticked yizhuo off. you never called her yizhuo. it was always baby, honey, sweetheart. but never yizhuo. it sounded so foreign and cold coming from your lips.

“what’s wrong? is everything okay?” she asked.

your face contorts into one of utter desperation and heartbreak, “i think we should break up.”

yizhuo’s mind had gone blank. she had never anticipated hearing those words from you. break up? that wasn’t in her future with you. her heart clenched uncomfortably against her ribcage and her throat constricted, to the point she couldn’t mutter a single word.

taking advantage of her silence, you run your fingers through your hair, the hair that yizhuo would so lovingly comb through every night as she whispered words of devotion into your ear, “i want to break up.”

“no.” is the only thing yizhuo can say. wide-eyed and stupefied, “no.”

you look as stunned as she is, yet the stark difference between the two of you, are the tears that threaten to tip over at every passing second in your eyes.

“yizhuo,” you pleaded, “i’m sorry. i can’t.”

“why are you doing this?” she croaked out, demanding an answer. the weight of the velvet box in her purse felt like it was dragging her down to the darkest pits of hell. she couldn’t imagine something like this ever happening. you were meant to be her happily ever after.

“i—”

yizhuo couldn’t stand it anymore. “tell me why you want to break up!” she yelled, the confusion and fatigue of her body overwhelming everything.

“i… please… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“you don’t love me anymore? you found someone else?” yizhuo accused. of course, none of these were the true reasons. you couldn’t even look at yizhuo in the eye before murmuring an apology again and grasping the suitcase in your hand.

“i love you,” you had whispered at the door, “i’m sorry.”

yizhuo doesn’t even respond. pure shock overtaking her as she watched you leave. the moment the door had closed, sobs took over yizhuo as she collapsed on the floor, heartbroken and devastated at losing the love of her life.

if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t have left so easily.)

that statement plagues yizhuo’s mind for the next few years. it replays in her head repeatedly, like a broken mantra. she knows that it’s unhealthy; to be thinking of you every night before she succumbs to a dreamless sleep. yet, sometimes, yizhuo prays that she might be dreaming, and when she wakes up, you would be right by her side. jimin thinks she should get a therapist. but yizhuo doesn’t want to get over you. she fears that you might just become a hazy memory, lost in anger and grief. she doesn’t want that to happen. because despite everything, the pain you have caused her, she still loves you.

it’s strange, the way love works. yizhuo hates you for doing this to her; ruining her for anyone else because if they even bore a similar trait to you, she would just break down. like the blind date aeri had set her up on long ago. fresh out of the breakup, and with extreme bribery and convincing, yizhuo had met shen xiaoting, one of aeri’s friends, over dinner. aeri had said that maybe yizhuo needed someone closer to her culture, and with the homesickness she felt constantly, the lack of comforting words that you provided, yizhuo agreed.

that date was the whole reason aeri stopped asking yizhuo to go on blind dates, for when xiaoting had mentioned that she liked cats, yizhuo had started bawling, the memory of you playing with your own pet cursing her mind.

it was embarrassing to say the least, and even more embarrassing to explain to xiaoting that it wasn’t her fault. the poor girl had thought yizhuo had something against cats. aeri apologised endlessly as yizhuo cried, with an awkward xiaoting patting her shoulder. at least they became friends.

maybe, with the support of her friends, yizhuo would be able to stand the sight of you at the wedding. it would be totally fine! and if she sees you with someone new, maybe, just maybe, it would give her the motivation to finally get over you.

honestly, screw everything. you literally hate chaewon right now. thankfully, jimin and minjeong had provided a one night stay at the hotel. your apartment (and mao) was being taken care of by sakura, one of chaewon’s friends. there was apparently a party before the actual day. you assumed they would just want a shared bachelorette party. however, your self-proclaimed wingman was cozying up to one of the guests. by her straight posture and gentle expression, she was probably nakamura kazuha from high school. yizhuo was friends with her, you remember.

you couldn’t believe that all those words of encouragement had flown out the window the moment chaewon locked eyes with the ‘love of her life’. you roll your eyes, already annoyed with your friend. somehow, you still hadn’t spotted yizhuo amongst the crowd.

most of them, you didn’t recognise. some, from high school and college. the rest, probably family members. maybe some faces stood out, like shin ryujin from history class or jang wonyoung, the valedictorian. but mostly, unrecognisable. from the various mops of hair in the crowd, you spot uchinaga aeri’s infamous smirk. you wonder where the rest of the group are.

you sigh, taking a lonely sip of the champagne they provided. at least it was good.

chaewon’s obnoxious laughter fills the area. it’s loud and irritating, or maybe you’re just easily annoyed right now. kazuha just stares at her, all confused. it’s a little funny.

“y/n.” a steely voice rings out from the crowd. you whip your head, heart racing at the familiar but dreadful tone.

“oh,” you whisper, horror-stricken. you weren’t prepared to meet them now!

the older girl merely stares at you, before you bow your head hesitantly, “congratulations on your marriage.”

jimin visibly loosened up, her eyes twinkling and shining with adoration, “thank you.” perhaps out of all of yizhuo’s friends, jimin was the one who hated you the least. she didn’t bother scolding you or cursing you out, only choosing to glare at you.

“i think we should talk,” she finally says after a moment of silence. you wholeheartedly agree with her. if you were meant to see yizhuo tomorrow, you definitely needed another friend that wasn’t chaewon.

she brings you out of the function room, the starry night sky being the only company outside. jimin takes a long gulp of her champagne.

“why’d you really break up with yizhuo?”

the patiently and dedicated stitches of a sewed wound are ripped apart, directly exposing your bleeding heart and emotions. everything comes falling apart the moment she asks. you can only stare at her.

“i… i made a mistake,” you shake your head, “i wasn’t ready.”

jimin, patient as always, hums, urging you to continue.

“she wanted to get married. i didn’t,” you say, with grief and regret lacing your every word, because everything would be fine if you had just talked to yizhuo.

“we helped her pick out the ring,” jimin adds. you only feel more guilty.

“i can’t give her the life she wants, unnie,” the endearing term of intimacy slips out, a cry filled with desperation, “she deserves the world and i can’t give her that.”

“you were her world. it’s that simple. she only ever wanted you.”

hurt gnaws at your heart, it’s palpitating with raw stabs that echo of your heartbreak.

“i don’t deserve her,” you sigh, “i had to let her go. i couldn’t bear to see the look on her face if i refused her engagement.”

jimin nods, “i understand your fear. but i hate the fact that this could have been solved with an explanation.”

you groan, anger coursing through your veins. you were so upset and narrow-minded at the time. the only solution was to seemingly break up with yizhuo. it would spare her the everlasting pain from a rejection of her proposal.

“i know, i just couldn’t at that time.”

the older girl tries to smile. it’s akin to one of those encouraging ones she would give right before an exam or test. it sparks a shiver of nostalgia.

“jagiya, where are you— oh.”

jimin quickly straightens up, swiftly turning around to face minjeong with a grin, “hey, mindoong.”

you tense up, your fingers wrapping around the glass tightly.

“glad you could make it,” minjeong’s eyes flicker up and down your body, venom evident in her tone as she hisses, “y/n.”

nodding, you reply, “thank you for inviting me.”

the tension is overbearing; with minjeong’s glares, jimin’s beaming smile and your awkward shuffling, you couldn’t wait to retreat to the comfort of your hotel room.

“where’s your girlfriend?” minjeong suddenly asks. you stare at her, confused, “my what?”

jimin’s eyes widen as she hastily pulls minjeong aside, frantically whispering in her ear. but like the past, jimin has never been a good whisperer. you catch phrases like ‘she might not be her girlfriend’ and ‘what if yizhuo hears?’. a looming sensation brews in your stomach.

“kim chaewon? is that her name?” minjeong asks harshly, “didn’t take you to like korean girls, i thought you liked chinese girls instead.”

you’re visibly taken aback. what was minjeong saying? chaewon? your girlfriend? since when was chaewon your girlfriend?

“uh,” despite your fear of minjeong yelling at you, your words come out firmly, “chaewon isn't my girlfriend.”

minjeong falters slightly before scoffing, “yeah right. you don’t have to lie now. we all know that you left yizhuo for some other girl.”

your heart stops. what?

what was she saying?

leaving yizhuo for another girl?

“i— i would never… that’s—”

“minjeong unnie, that’s enough.”

you’ve thought of this moment forever. every single day after the break up. you’ve thought of running back into her arms, apologising endlessly for even thinking of breaking up with her. you’ve thought of how she would accept you graciously with murmurs of comfort, because that was just how she was. a gracious and generous girl who deserved the world. you’ve thought of her bright smile and gleaming eyes.

you’ve never thought of her staring at you, a dull and saddened look on her face.

“ning—”

“minjeong unnie,” she pleads, “please.”

the watery gaze must have swayed minjeong over. you would know, having fallen prey to her puppy eyes before. yizhuo slides the door open, watching intently as minjeong and jimin leave.

“good luck,” jimin whispers just before she steps away. you think you need all the luck in the world right now.

yizhuo lets out a heavy sigh once the door slides closed. she gazes at you for a second. you’re taken back to your younger days, where every day was spent just staring at yizhuo. you had proclaimed confidently that yizhuo was the most gorgeous girl on earth. you aren’t wrong. the years you spent apart from her had done her generously. it had only been two, yet, yizhuo looked more mature and sure of herself.

“did you really find someone new?” she whispers, shattering the glass of ignorance. you swallow, shaking your head, “no.”

yizhuo thinks back to the drunken message you had sent.

“was that on purpose? that text you sent,” she asks, eyes wide and afraid of your answer.

you shake your head again, “i was drunk. i’m sorry.”

“i hate you, you know that right?” yizhuo says. before, you had imagined the piercing stab of pain that came with those words. you had thought it would be the end of your life, with the girl you loved the most saying she hated you.

it’s understandable now, and inevitable.

“i know,” you whisper.

yizhuo continues to stare at you. somehow, this all feels like a fever dream, one that she’ll wake up from soon. it feels unreal to have you in front of her again.

she takes in the sight of you, memorising every detail for if you leave again.

“why’d you come then?”

there are many reasons that you can say, with varying degrees of truthfulness; to congratulate jimin and minjeong, to see your friends again, to just visit your hometown.

“i wanted to see you.” it’s the truthest thing you’ve ever said.

“you can’t,” yizhuo inhales sharply, “yo-you can’t just show up like this.”

“i know, i’m sorry.”

your head hangs lowly.

“tell me the real reason why you left.”

you had expected this.

she would want closure.

your throat constricts uncomfortably.

“i… yizhuo…”

“tell me.” it feels similar to your past.

yizhuo looks as beautiful as ever. she’s the only thing you can think of right now. her lips are moving, yet you don’t hear a single thing.

“i didn’t want marriage.”

oh.

the girl’s eyebrows furrow. her eyes turning into slits of anger as she takes in a deep breath. you know she’s about to start tearing up. maybe you should quickly explain yourself.

it’s your only chance.

“i saw you looking at engagement rings and i knew i wouldn’t be ready if you got down on one knee. you’re a model, for god’s sake. you had a prospering career, being tied down to someone like me wouldn’t bring you any benefits,” you finally say. it’s not the full reason why, but you hope yizhuo would understand even a semblance of your choice.

“i know that it’s a shitty excuse. i know that i’m a coward. but what else was i meant to do?”

yizhuo huffs.

“talked to me. you could have talked to me.”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“would that stop me from breaking your heart?”

the love of your life stands before you. yet, it seems like the only words of devotion you’ll exchange is how devoted she is to hating you. yizhuo crosses her arms, frowning, “yes. i’d much rather have a minute of heartbreak than years of it. you’re such a prick.”

“yizhuo—”

“no, you don’t get to do this,” she points a finger at your chest, prodding the area where your head resides ferociously, “you can’t just come back, explain yourself with an extremely stupid reason, and expect that i would be okay with it. you sent me a drunk text, saying you missed me. how come i don’t feel anything?”

“i love you, yizhuo. i just did what i thought was right in that moment—”

the only thing you can hear is your heart shattering into pieces at the sight of tears falling down her face. yizhuo sniffles, her voice becoming shrill as she adds on, “you’re an asshole. you think you’re the only one in this relationship? you didn’t even explain yourself properly. you think you’re making the right choices for us? for me?”

you continue to stare at her blankly.

the next words come out like a gunshot, “then you don’t know me at all.”

it snaps onto your skin, leaving a scathing burn and engraving ning yizhuo’s name into your body. your insides coil up painfully. hearing yizhuo’s cries as you left years ago had been torturous, but nothing beats her breaking down in front of you right this instant. you’re overcome with a striking urge to pull her into your arms and whisper words of affection into her ears, promising her to never leave. the pet name leaves your mouth quicker than you can think.

“baby—”

a sharp stinging sensation sears in your right cheek. you can feel the affected area heating up, scorching hot and red. yizhuo’s handprint is evident, singed in your skin.

an onslaught of tears rises, but you’re determined to not let them fall.

“okay,” you whisper, unable to say anything else to the equally stunned yizhuo, “i’ll leave. i’m sorry.”

the girl just stands outside in the cold, her eyes bloodshot and cheeks rosy from the wind. before you go, the slight shiver that runs through her body makes you hesitate. the comfort of your jacket feels like a heavy burden now.

maybe you would get slapped again. but at least yizhuo wouldn’t be cold.

gently taking it off, you encase yizhuo in your jacket, biting your cheek (which still hurts!) to resist a smile at how it covers her small figure. she gazes at you like a deer caught in headlights. you sigh and try to move your legs, but they feel like jelly. with much difficulty, you finally make it to the door, using the frame to stabilise your wobbly walking.

when you turn back, yizhuo isn’t staring at you, but she’s staring at the night sky, more specifically, the moon. you take one last look at her. the weight on your shoulders is gone now. and all that is left is a longing feeling to have yizhuo back in your arms again. but maybe, you could live with that.

sliding the door open, you go back into the function room. the crowd had dispersed, leaving just a few people chatting around. you spot jimin and minjeong talking while drinking. aeri’s at the bar, engaged in a conversation with a waitress. chaewon, god bless her, is relatively nearby, while kazuha is nowhere to be found.

“chaewon,” you breathe out, relieved. she turns to you, startled, “oh damn, what happened to your face? you look a little…”

“i know,” you laugh dryly, “i think it’s time for us to leave and go to sleep now.”

chaewon doesn’t argue and instead nods, her eyes drawn to the reddening mark across your cheek. even in the dark light, she could still notice the imprints of someone’s fingers.

“she slapped you?” she asks while you head towards the elevator.

“yeah,” you scratch the back of your neck, “we kind of… argued.”

chaewon laughs heartily at your misfortune. you’re glad at least this brings someone joy. maybe minjeong too. she would love to see you in pain.

“i think you should get some rest buddy,” she pats your back. you nod, feeling as if sleep was just an arm’s reach away.

the conversation with yizhuo had drained you significantly, both mentally and physically. and maybe you should put some ointment on the red area too. you might wake up with a bruise or something tomorrow.

the urge to flop into bed is too strong as chaewon slides the keycard into the slot. the door opens, revealing a luxurious hotel suite with a king-sized bed. you remember requesting for a shared room. it was to mainly prevent yourself from doing anything reckless when drunk. you’d have chaewon to keep you grounded.

“did you get kazuha’s number?” you ask as chaewon throws her face cleanser at you. the girl giggles, “yeah. she’s so cute.”

you subtly cringe at the lovestruck look in her eyes.

groaning, you head into the bathroom. your eyes widen as you prod at your cheek, shocked that yizhuo landed such a heavy hit. damn, has she been going to the gym lately? the yizhuo back then barely had any strength to resist your tickles. there wasn’t any surging hot anger left from yizhuo slapping you, just a dull and yearning hope for her. maybe you should calm yourself down by taking a cold shower.

after dowsing yourself with water, you padded out of the bathroom, only to discover that chaewon wasn’t hunched over her luggage anymore.

you check your phone.

chaewon [10.27pm]:

zuha texted me, staying w her for the night

there’s ointment on the bedside table

for ur stupid face

bye :p

wow. chaewon had managed to do that within a day. staying at a girl’s hotel room? you whistle lowly. maybe she was onto something. but with her departure, the hotel room feels too quiet now. only the breezing and fluttering sounds of the airconditioning accompanying your thoughts of self-loathing. collapsing onto the bed, you reach out for the ointment.

just as you unscrew the cap, the doorbell rings. you don’t recall ever ordering room service. maybe it was chaewon and she forgot something?

you turn the door knob, not bothering to check who it was.

“chaewon—”

ning yizhuo stands before you, glassy eyes and a look of desperation that you’re familiar with.

“oh.”

she shuffles awkwardly, gesturing at your cheek, “are—is it okay? does it hurt?”

gulping, you shake your head.

“can we talk?” she asks, in the quietest voice ever, her words coming out shaky and breathless.

you open the door wider.

yizhuo mutters a soft, “thank you,” as she enters the room. you quickly send a text to chaewon telling her not to come back.

“did you put any cream on it?” she asks.

“no, not yet. i was just about to,” you reply quietly. the tension from the heated argument from before had disapparented, only leaving a strained relationship behind.

“can you sit down?”

you follow her instructions dutifully, sitting right at the edge of the bed. yizhuo lifts the ointment up, squeezing a bit on her finger before gently rubbing it into your cheek. it hurts, but the softness of her touch heals the area.

wincing as she applies more pressure, you can only stare at the girl.

“i’m sorry,” she whispers.

“it’s okay.”

you want to pull her into your arms.

you want her to lean onto you.

you want the feeling of her skin against yours.

“i was really hurt.”

“i know.”

yizhuo sighs, her hands dropping.

“i can’t believe you left me so easily.”

your chest tightens at the devastated tone in her voice. it wasn’t easy, you want to say. but it doesn’t feel right to defend yourself now.

“i thought it was the right thing to do.”

yizhuo lifts her head up, “why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to get married?”

“i don’t know,” it comes out in a hushed murmur, “i didn’t want to tie you down. you had a lot more things to accomplish.”

“i’d rather have you and nothing than losing you and having everything.”

the confession goes unsaid. because you’re her everything.

“i’m sorry. you just had your whole life in front of you and i was in the back. i… i didn’t fit into your life.”

the girl takes everything in. you were just so afraid then. scared that once you said yes to her proposal, yizhuo might realise that you weren’t the one for her. you’d rather be away from her, than be with her and make her unhappy. you didn’t want to live a miserable life where you hated each other.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me.”

“i know, yizhuo.”

yizhuo’s eyes are brimming with tears. her raven hair covering her face partially, but you can feel the pain radiating off her.

“you know that i would have been happy just being with you?”

“i know.”

“god, you still left like it was the easiest decision of your life.”

no it wasn’t, you again want to protest.

“you know that even in another life, i would choose to just have you by my side, even if i lose everything else? don’t you understand the extent of my love for you?”

it’s so surreal— the way yizhuo is practically begging for you to realise that leaving her was the worst possible choice for you to make.

“i love you too much.”

“then why’d you leave?” she asks.

through tears, you shakily breathe out, “because i love you too much.”

the lack of past tense doesn’t bother you, nor does it bother yizhuo. it’s a given that you’re still madly in love with the girl, and vice versa. it only leaves the question of what will happen now. yizhuo doesn’t say much afterwards. it’s the truth. you love her too much that you couldn’t bear to see her suffer because of you.

“i was so ready to marry you, i bought a ring,” yizhuo mutters, shedding tears. her sniffles aren’t concealed by the low humming of the air conditioning. it feels too real.

“forgive me, please,” you say.

“i can’t.”

the hotel room goes quiet.

“that’s okay,” it’s hard to say. you want to protest against everything, beg yizhuo to take you back and you could live your happily ever after with her.

it doesn’t happen. you don’t fall to your knees and plead.

you only stare at yizhuo in a mix of fear and longing affection. it pains you to see her so broken, and it only drives the knife further into your heart to know you’re the reason why.

“i’m so tired, y/n.”

you nod, feeling the fatigue seep in.

“me too.”

“can i sleep here tonight?” yizhuo asks softly.

you nod. there were still things to talk about, but you think you’ve done a decent job so far. pulling the covers over your bodies as yizhuo slides into the bed, you relish in the warmth and comfort of having her beside you again.

she turns her head to look at you, uncertainty filling her voice, “let’s talk more in the morning. i’m tired now.”

you agree with her wholeheartedly, inching closer to fit against her back.

as yizhuo’s eyelids flutter shut, you caress her skin tenderly. your index finger writes against her back, strokes lining her skin.

我爱你.

i love you. it’s one of the many phrases you’ve picked up throughout the years of being with the girl. she only taught you silly words and swears, but yizhuo had insisted you learn how to say and write those very words.

it’s fitting, because it’s all you ever feel for her.

because of yizhuo, you’ve had the opportunity to experience having a soulmate for almost your whole life. because of yizhuo, there’s no lingering doubt of being unlovable. because of yizhuo, you get to spend your days filled with happiness.

because of yizhuo, you understand what love is.

you just hope she understands you too.

[xtreme-shipper]

Just Don't Give Up

Azriel (ACOTAR) x FReader (Human)

WC: 1.5K (Oneshot)

Summary: When it all becomes too much to keep going, our favorite Shadowsinger shows up just in time.

Warnings: Mentions of (and attempt at) suicide, angsty, I think, canon divergent, not proofread, lol, hurt/comfort, English is not my first language. Let me know if I should add anything <3

N/A: Hi! This is my first ACOTAR fanfic, so constructive criticism is really appreciated :) It's been a while since I've written fanfiction, but recently, I've been obsessed with Az, so here we are.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The night sky was blinding in the best way possible. Another year had passed, and you could see from the distance how your friends were celebrating another Starfall, a drunken joy filling the air, their voices full of excitement. The preparations started early this year, and the night court went all the way in, with concerts throughout the city and free drinks for all its citizens. You could tell the party would go on until sunrise and wondered, not for the first time tonight, why weren’t you down there with them?

“Is everything alright?” Az had asked you earlier that day. You nodded, smiling brightly at him.

“Just had a long night.” He nodded, not fully convinced, but he didn’t push the subject, which you were grateful for. You didn’t need to ruin the mood because of your problems.

 Nightmares from under the mountain still plagued your sleep, making it almost impossible to get any rest, and it was starting to show. The things that you had to see while not being able to do anything haunted your every second.

You didn't expect to survive when you escaped from the human lands, but Rhys found you not long after you crossed the border. He wanted you to turn around, warning you that Prythian wasn’t safe, but the alternative—going back to town—was not an option; anything would be better than that, even certain death. So you stubbornly refused to, claiming you knew how to take care of yourself. The problem was that one of Amarantha’s minions watched the interaction and wanted you for its own entertainment, so Rhys had to pretend that he had taken a liking to you and wanted you as his pet.

Word got to Amarantha, and she wasn’t particularly happy with her plaything taking a liking to someone else, so she punished him while you watched, unable to do anything. Useless.

After that first time, Amarantha decided it was a fun idea to have his “beloved” pet watch the suffering she had caused. So, every time you did anything she deemed disrespectful (which was basically everything), a torture session would take place. You couldn’t help but think that if you had just stayed where you belonged, Rhys wouldn’t have suffered as much as he did. It was your fault, even when he insisted that it wasn’t.

Shaking your head, you try to get rid of the memories.

You turn your eyes to the stars, the same ones you prayed to every night. Always the same wish without any answer from them and wonder, like you so often do, whether you should still be here.

The inner circle had never treated you as less or excluded you from anything. They were your support when no one else would lend a helping hand, and with the years, they became your family, yet even now, you still feel like an outsider. You weren’t Illyrian like Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. Heck, you weren’t even Fae to begin with. You ended up being in the way most of the time.

You took your jacket off, letting the cold breeze hug your bare arms, where scars of silent battles painted them. A shiver ran down your spine as you stepped closer to the edge of the building.

In the human lands, your family never cared for you, and even when you left, no one mourned your “death”. Here in Velaris, you had people looking out for you, yet you felt like you didn’t quite fit in.

Would they notice? Would they care if you just… disappeared? Fae's lives were so endless that compared to them, humans’ existence must seem… insignificant.

Another step. You had slipped from the party when it all became too much. Your feet were moving on their own accord. Another shiver, another step. They would probably mourn for a while but then move on. You could stop the nightmares and the pain, and they could move on; Rhys wouldn’t have a living reminder of every time he was abused and had to endure the shame. Or when he was beaten, and you had to patch him up with your scarce medical knowledge.

Az and Cass could stop pretending that you didn’t cause their brother more suffering. That your recklessness didn’t make things worse. That they didn’t believe you weren’t brave enough to help him.

You are standing on the border of the building now, eyes fixed on the stars above, “Please,” you whispered. “Please.” You weren’t sure what you were asking for any more. Relieve from the pain, the guilt? Maybe you didn’t need an answer from the stars to fulfill that. You could hear the music all the way up here, a serene tune drowning the rest of the noise. You start walking on the edge, arms stretched wide to give yourself a bit more balance. One step, then another.

Letting go… should you… just one step…

A cold grip settles on your ankle and another on your wrist, pulling you carefully away from the border while a sad smile paints your lips.

You were used to Az’s shadows clinging to you from time to time, so you welcomed the touch but didn’t budge. You knew their master was standing a couple of steps behind you. “You know, you aren’t very sneaky for a spymaster.”

“I was looking for you.” His voice wasn’t more than a whisper. “I was worried since you left so early.”

“I’m fine” was all you said. A lie you had perfected over time.

He led out a humorless laugh. “You don’t seem fine.” You hear his steps, careful but loud, so you know he is getting closer. “Can you please step away, Sunshine?” You tense at the use of your nickname. So familiar by now, yet so unfitting.

“It’s fine, Az. I’m just admiring the night sky.” You can feel him right behind, you know. “It’s a beautiful sight.”

“Y/N… why are you here?” You knew he meant at the rooftop, but your mind couldn’t help going to a darker place.

You take a moment to answer, weighing your options. After a couple of silent minutes, you decide to be honest. “Did you know…” You pause for a second to try to stabilize your breathing. “That I was not only responsible for treating the High Lord's wounds? I was also tasked to inflict them.” You choke at your words, your throat feeling like it's closing, and it’s getting hard to breathe, but you push the words out anyway. “I am responsible for every scar that never fully healed, for every messed-up nightmare he has at night. I can still feel the way his muscles tensed every time I inflicted pain.” The world was spinning before your eyes, and the words were coming out in short breaths. You were gasping for air, struggling to get any inside your lungs, but still, the words wouldn’t stop coming out of your mouth.

“I’m the reason he suffered. If I hadn’t been there that day, or maybe if I had put up with my life at the… maybe he wouldn’t… he saw his… and I couldn’t… anything…” you close your eyes again. “How am I supposed to live here and accept all his help and love whe—”

A strong hand grabs you by your waist, interrupting your words and yanking you away from your doom. “It wasn’t your fault.” Az’s whisper came breathless, and his arms, though firmly hugging you, were shaking.

Tears were running down your face, staining his shirt. A protective wing wrapped around you, offering shelter. Giving you a protection you didn’t deserve. “I need the guilt to stop, Az. I’m a broken reminder of his pain, and selfishly, I can’t take it anymore.” You felt so tiny, so… shattered, fragments of yourself falling to the floor with every tear shed. He was silent for a moment, trying to hold you together while you crumbled.

Then his words reach your ears. “He once told me you remind him of his sister, you know?” One of his hands starts caressing your hair while the other firmly supports you against his body. “That your bad jokes to lighten the dreary mood and your constant presence were some of the things that kept him from giving up. That thanks to you, he was able to survive long enough to find his mate.” A loud sob shakes your entire body, hands fisting his shirt as you grab onto him for dear life. “Do you know why I call you ‘Sunshine’?” Az pauses, so you shake your head in response. “Rhys had been suffering long before you got there, and when he told us how you gave him hope, even when you yourself were silently breaking apart, how you would sing to him and brighten the mood with your warm voice, I knew. I knew you were like the sun he had been deprived of for so long. You saved my brother in the way that mattered the most. You were his light, and ever since you started living with us, you became my light, too.”

You were speechless at his words; raising your head from his chest, you looked into those beautiful hazel eyes and found nothing but tenderness. “You are my light, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to say it, Sunshine.” He places a kiss on your forehead. “I won’t say it will be easy, but I promise to be here with you. We will get through this. I promise, ok?” You nod as his grip tightens. “Just don’t give up, Sunshine.”

[wordsarelife]

—call it what you want

pairing: theo nott x fem!potter!reader

summary: in a school filled with people that have a watchful eye on them like they're celebrities, theo and y/n try to keep their relationship private

notes: this just came to me and i thought it would be cute! also theo calls reader belle as a nickname sometimes

-> let me know if you want to know more about their relationship, i think they're my favs now

"can you turn the page, please?" you were laying cheek down on the table in the library, your boyfriend next to you

he sighed before he did turn the page. "we could just stop studying if you're tired" theo suggested

"absolutely not!" you protested sitting up straight suddenly and nearly loosing your balance, theo catching you before you could fall off the chair.

"why are you so determined to study till you're sleeping?" theo asked, while he pushed you back into a comfortable position "i don't even think this is healthy"

"i just know what all of them think" you narrowed your eyes at two whispering two years across from you

"okay" theo said confused, following your line of sight "and what would that be?"

"oh look at y/n potter" you changed your voice to sound more like one of the whispering people in the school "she's doing worse in class than her brother since she got a boyfriend. proves that you can't be smart and pretty"

theo broke into laughter at that and was immediately shushed by madam pince. he quickly apologized before he shook his head at you. "no one is thinking that"

"really?" you asked sarcastically "because i just heard someone say exactly that on the way here"

theo sighed "so what's the plan, baby? you're gonna break up with me?"

you shook your head and rolled your eyes "obviously not"

"okay, then what?" before you could answer, the girls across from you started giggling and theo send them an irritated look, which seemed to be enough for them to leave you alone. they quickly gathered their books and left the library, but not without sending another look in your direction

you ignored what had just happened and buried your face back into the potions book. theo gently pushed the fallen down hair out of your face. "i just have to study until i'm sure that i'll be better than harry. i don't want to be the one whose grades suffer only because she had sex"

theo tried no to laugh, because he noticed that you were actually concerned about that. "i know that you're incredibly smart, belle" theo mused "you will be amazing without studying the entire night, and even if harry is a little better than you, it's just one class, isn't it?"

"i suppose"

"good" theo closed the book and slid it under his arm, standing up and holding his hand out for you to take "let's get you back to your common room"

you sighed, but nodded and took your boyfriends hand, who walked you directly to the gryffindor common room. "don't think about what they're saying anymore, okay?" theo said softly "only you and me know the truth and no one else has to know it"

"i know" you smiled "it just feels so weird that all they seem to do is talk about us"

"we knew that they would, sweetheart" theo reminded you "you're the chosen ones sister and i'm like your very own forbidden fruit"

"no, no, no" you giggled "you will not get away with calling yourself my forbidden fruit" you laughed again and theo smiled, happy that his plan to make you laugh succeeded

"fine" he nodded. he held the book out for you to take "that reminds me.." his hand wandered to his pocket, taking out a small box

"theo...." you said slowly

he detected what you thought immediately "i'm not going to propose" he deadpanned, before he held the box in your direction, taking the book once again so you could look into it.

"theo" you said, but happy this time. in the box was a beautiful gold necklace with the letter 't'

"i don't mean it in a possessive way" he explained "it's just.. eh i don't know.. i'm always next to you, okay? i'm always on your team" he paused, not being able to interpret your expression "you know what? it's stupid, you don't have to keep it" he outstretched his hand, ready to grab the box, but you pulled it away before he could reach it.

"are you daft?" you asked and theo gulped "i love it" his smile returned as quickly as it had vanished a few seconds before. "can you help me put it on?"

you turned around and theo quickly closed the chain around your neck, plastering a featherlight kiss on it, before he took your hair that you had been holding and gently pulled it down. you turned around to him and smiled "thank you" you kissed him and theo felt like his heart could burst.

"of course, belle" he smiled and waved you off, when you entered your common room. then he turned around and walked back to his own.

[vigilante-3073]

Slice Of Heaven

Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Summary: Logan's happy place.

TW: Pre-established relationship, mentions of death and injury.

Logan had experienced a multitude of pain and suffering in his very long life. It seemed like he moved from one battle to another without any form of respite. He lived his life in a constant state of hypervigilance, never being able to fully relax or rest because he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Logan had a hard time forming relationships and trusting those around him despite his best efforts. A lifetime of betrayal had taught him to be on his guard in every situation and it was exhausting.

Logan knew never to take a good thing at face value and he had never questioned that assertion until he met Y/N.

She was soft, warm and kind. She had no experience with violence and she always saw the best in every situation. Y/N was his polar opposite and Logan couldn't get enough of her.

Some may call her naive, but Logan found her innocence to be endearing. He promised himself that he would protect her and keep her from losing that sparkle that made her shine so brightly. Y/N made Logan appreciate the good things in his life, showing him that no situation is as dark as it may seem.

They shared a small house in the countryside, located almost an hour away from the nearest town. Logan enjoyed the privacy and peace that came from being so far removed from other people.

He took care of the repairs and the yardwork, enjoying the simplicity of monotonous chores opposed to the chaos he usually contended with. Y/N did all of the cooking for the household and she loved to try out new recipes, she even grew her own herbs and vegetables on their property.

Logan had always longed for a simple life of comfort and safety, but he could never bring himself to fully enjoy it. He knew that his past experiences meant that there would always be a part of him that was waiting for everything to come crashing down. Logan didn't have many good things in his life and he had learned that nothing lasted forever. No matter what happened, Logan knew that he would do whatever it took to protect Y/N.

Logan loved her more than life itself and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to her.

...

Y/N hummed softly to herself as she chopped up vegetables on a marked up wooden cutting board. She set her knife aside and picked up the cutting board before moving over to the stove. Y/N held the board over a simmering pot of soup, gently sliding the vegetables from the board and into the broth.

Logan watched her work from the doorway, he had been outside doing yardwork all day and he was exhausted. The peace he always found in their home brought him a kind of solace that he never thought he would experience in his lifetime.

Every day he spent with her healed some of the trauma he had endured in his past. Y/N was piecing the broken sections of his heart back together and she had no idea.

Logan moved away from the doorway, slowly approaching her as she peeled some of the carrots from their garden. His hands rested on her hips as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "Smells good in here, baby," He muttered.

"Thank you, honey... Weather is starting to get cold and I thought some soup would be nice," She said.

Logan looked over, eyebrows raising when he saw the loaf of bread cooling on the countertop, "Did you bake bread?" He asked.

"Yeah, I think it turned out pretty well," Y/N said, cutting the stems off her carrots.

"You are amazing. Is there anything you can't do?" Logan asked.

"I can't reach the top shelf in any of the cabinets, but other than that I'd say I'm pretty awesome," Y/N smiled.

"Damn right," Logan chuckled, "Do I have time to shower before dinner is ready?" He questioned.

"Of course. Take all the time you need," Y/N said.

"I'll be quick," Logan said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before stepping away from her.

He washed the sweat and dirt from his body before dressing in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Logan made his way out into the kitchen as Y/N was scooping the soup out into two bowls. A few pieces of bread had been sliced from the loaf and set on a plate in the middle of the table.

She carried both bowls over to the table and set them down before taking her seat. Logan sat down across from her and they began to eat in silence. It was never an uncomfortable silence with Y/N, it was pleasant and reassuring to have each other closeby.

Logan looked up at Y/N, watching her eat the meal that she spent all day preparing. He set his spoon down in the bowl, she looked up at him.

"Do you not like it? I can make you something else," Y/N offered.

"No, baby, it's great. I just- I want you to know that I love you and I appreciate everything you do," Logan said, Y/N smiled.

"I know... I love you too, honey," She replied.

...

Logan stood outside, taking slow puffs from his cigar and blowing the smoke up into the night air. It was quiet, the only sounds coming from the crickets in the grass and the howling of coyotes in the distance. The dew on the grass glittered in the dim moonlight, chilling the wood of the deck that Logan leaned against.

He knocked the ash from the end of his cigar and into the glass ashtray resting on the deck railing next to him. Sleep had never been an easy thing for Logan, he struggled to rest when he was always thinking of what could go wrong.

Logan heard the soft sound of her footsteps through the house before the door squeaked open. Y/N made her way outside, wrapped in his flannel to keep herself warm, "Logan, are you okay?" She asked tiredly.

"Yeah, baby, just couldn't sleep," Logan said, lifting his arm and pulling her into his side gently. He wrapped his arms around her, chin settling on the top of her head as he rubbed his hand over her back to keep her warm.

Her arms slipped around him as she let out a soft sigh, resting her cheek against his chest and listening to the soft thump of his heart.

"Did I wake you up?" He asked.

"No, but I think I could tell that you weren't there," Y/N said.

"Sorry, baby," Logan said, hand running up and down her back.

"You know that you can talk to me if something is bothering you, right?" She questioned.

"I know," He muttered, looking out across their property.

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, "Is there something bothering you?" She asked.

He huffed a laugh, "No, baby, I just never thought that my life would end up like this after all the shit I've been through," Logan said.

"You deserve to be happy, Logan. You know that, right?" Y/N questioned.

"Yeah, it's just taking me a minute to settle in," Logan said, hand rubbing over her back.

"Do you miss the fighting?" She asked softly.

He shook his head, "No, but I know that I'll have to fight again at some point and I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop," Logan said.

"I'm sorry you feel like that, honey. You should be able to relax and enjoy the life you fought for," Y/N said.

"I'm enjoying every second, trust me... All the shit I've been through makes me realize how quick a good thing can go bad," Logan said.

Y/N rested her head back down on his chest as she silently debated his words. Logan had seen a lot of tragedy in his life and it was a drastic shift to suddenly be living a peaceful life without danger.

Logan looked down at her when he noted her silence, "Hey, where'd you go?" He asked.

She shrugged, "You've just been through so much hardship... Do you ever think you'll be able to fully let that old life go?" Y/N asked.

"I hope so, baby. There is nothing I want more than to be in this with you for as long as you'll have me," Logan said.

Y/N smiled, "How about forever?" She asked.

"I think we can swing that," Logan smirked.

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- Sanemi simp posts masterlist

I know I always give Sanemi a happy ending in my little headcanons and drabbles, but imagine this instead.

After suffering all the losses, Sanemi finally finds love again. He marries, his wife quickly becomes pregnant with their child and he couldn’t be more happy. For once, he thinks to himself — the universe seems to give him something to smile about.

He counts down to the due date, making sure to really pamper his wife and the baby, going out of his way to protect, nurture and prepare.

The pure joy and excitement he feels the first time the baby inside her belly kicks beneath his palm. How he boasts to everyone about his baby being a strong and fucking bad ass.

It’s the first time since forever that Sanemi find himself genuinely feeling joy and delight. He’s humming, dancing and twirling his very pregnant wife around (gently of course).

Life for Sanemi is truly good. About damn time too. I mean, he’s suffered so much, experienced pain, torture, abuse and whatnot, so of course it’s his time to be happy?

False.

The day he had counted down to, looking forward to and had boasted about to everyone. The day he would finally meet his little bundle of joy, his future and the beginning of the family he’d start with the love of his life…

That day never came.

Or, he did hold his child, but not how he wanted or thought he would. Instead of crying, babbles and squirming — or a healthy shade of pink of her skin…

What Sanemi is holding is quiet, cold, pale and a sight that breaks his heart in ways he never thought possible. After all the tragedy in his life, he didn’t think he’d ever feel pain that compares to it, but boy was he wrong.

He grits his teeth, trying and failing to hold back the tears. But it’s impossible when he gaze down at his little girl that never got the chance to draw breath or even experience life… Never opened her eyes.

With a gentle finger he traces over her features, committing every detail of her little face to memory. Sanemi can’t help but wonder what she would’ve looked like. The small tuffs of white atop of her head reveals she had inherited his hair, but what about her smile? Her eyes? Would her smile be as beautifully as his wife’s?

That day that was supposed to be the start of something new and bright, has now become a painful reminder of how cruel and unfair life can be. He remembers the sound of his wife’s agonising cries, how they’d pierced his heart. He had held her, let her tears drench his clothes while his own soaking her hair. Their little one, bundled up between them, looking like an angel that’s sleeping peacefully. Even with her pale skin, she’s the most beautiful and precious thing they’d ever laid eyes on.

After the funeral and everyday since, Sanemi and his wife continues to visit their little girl’s tombstone. And as the years passes by, the pain is still just as raw and heart shattering, however, being able to bring her younger siblings to visit her, telling them about their big sister in heaven who’s watching over them has now becomes a comfort.

Sanemi, a man who has experienced pain beyond measure and never thought he’d smile again, managed to make it through once more. But he knows he never could have done it without his wife.

[secondarysefikura]

Imagine this after Cloud is injected with J and S cells he ends up having some sort of unique reaction to them with causes Hojo to want to study Cloud more and ends up taking him back to Midgar, leaving Zack in the Shinra mansion’s lab. When Zack wakes up and frees himself, he immediately starts trying to find Cloud but can’t and comes to the unfortunate conclusion that Cloud had died from his injuries after he killed Sephiroth. So Zack goes to Midgar alone. Because he doesn’t have Cloud to carry around Zack makes it there a lot sooner but he is barely keeping it together mentally, not only was he alone for months as Shinra hunted him down but Zack blames himself for Cloud’s death. Because if he had only been strong enough to kill Sephiroth himself, then Cloud wouldn’t have had to and got injured as a result.

Zack does reunite with Aerith who is able to bring some life back into him, as well as meeting Tifa again which causing him to join AVALANCHE. It’s a lot like the beginning of FF7, but with Zack instead of Cloud. So when Aerith gets kidnapped by Shinra Zack, Barret, and Tifa rush over to the Shinra building to rescue her. Aerith is saved, and Red XII ends up joining the party, but as the party trying to get out of the science department they find Cloud kept in the very same pod Zack had woken up in. Without a second thought Zack frees Cloud who is still suffering from Mako poisoning and keeps saying reunion and master. After that Zack goes on the warpath trying find Hojo and kill him for what he’s done to Cloud, and does not hesitate to kill any of the infantrymen and SOLIDERs who get in his way which causing him to get covered in blood.

While Zack’s rampage threw the building is happening the rest of the party is trying to escape the building while also trying to protect Cloud and keep track of him, because even though he’s suffering from Mako poisoning Cloud can still walk, and he keeps trying to wander off.

Eventually Zack and the party reunite just in time to see Sephiroth appear out of nowhere like a ghost, and for some reason Cloud desperately wants to go to him, crying out to him as the party try to keep him away. Which Sephiroth responds to this having his arms out telling Cloud to come him, that he care for and love him, and he will protect him from those evil people. Especially Zack.

Oh this is tragic for Zack. Imagine him watching helplessly as Cloud is removed from the mako tank and hauled away by Hojo. At first he thinks it’s just like any other time one of them are taken out of the tank. It’s horrible knowing Cloud is experimented on, but Zack believes he will be back beside him before he knows it.

But Cloud doesn’t come back. Not later that day, or two days later, or even a week later. All he can assume is that Cloud has either died during one of the professor’s experiments or that Cloud was taken out of the tank specifically to be killed. He prays every moment that Cloud died a quick and painless death, although knowing Hojo he fears Cloud died scared, alone, and in some horribly cruel way.

Then, eventually, he escapes. He manages to make it to Midgar without being killed and manages to join Avalanche. He reunites with Aerith and maybe even Kunsel, but the happiness he should feel is dampened by knowing that Cloud is dead. He couldn’t protect his poor little Cloud. He couldn’t save anyone.

It’s why he reacts so much worse when Aerith is taken. She’s the only person he has left to protect, and he refuses to fail her like he failed Cloud. He will save her or die trying. And if he dies, he will die only after taking as many lives as possible.

You’d think his vengeance would settle once he finds Aerith and discovers Cloud is alive, but it only becomes so much worse. He had hoped Cloud was resting peacefully for all this time. His only comfort was knowing Cloud had reunited with his mother and was happy in the lifestream. But in truth Cloud was suffering, and Zack isn’t happy at all.

Meanwhile, Cloud is not happy to just follow Avalanche and politely stay away from the battles. Despite being weak and dazed, he’s surprisingly agile in short bursts. He keeps breaking away from the group, shaking off whoever is holding his hand to wander a different direction or darting away when the party engages an opponent (before stumbling into a wall). Eventually Barret just picks Cloud up in one arm and holds him like a baby or a young toddler while using his other arm to shoot at anyone who gets close. He’s not happy about having to fall back some from the battle in order to “babysit”, but it’s clear that Cloud is going to keep trying to wander off if he’s not being held.

When Zack rejoins the party, Cloud seems wary of him and clutches tighter to Barret. Zack is hurt that Cloud isn’t happy to see him, but mostly chalks it up to him being a rather intimidating sight. He’s covered in blood and carrying a giant sword, of course Cloud is going to react with fear when he’s approached by someone like that in his dazed state!

But then Sephiroth appears, and Cloud suddenly wants out of Barret’s arm. He’s squirming and trying to smack Barret with some very uncoordinated punches. When he can’t get Barret to let go of him, he begins to cry and call out to Sephiroth. Which of course causes Sephiroth to smirk and reach out for Cloud, calling him to his side by name and promising to make Cloud feel better. He tells Cloud there is no need to cry, because he has finally returned to save him—not just from Hojo but from anyone who wishes him ill.

With a burst of strength, Cloud breaks free from Barret’s hold and stumbles towards Sephiroth. Just as he gets close to falling into Sephiroth’s arms, Zack gets between Cloud and Sephiroth and tries to reason with him. Cloud’s eyes dart between Sephiroth and Zack as something akin to panic flashes across his face.

Sephiroth calls out to Cloud again, promising to keep him safe from Zack. Doesn’t Cloud want to feel safe and loved? Sephiroth will cherish him like no other, and those who have abandoned him will suffer the cruelest of fates.

Determined, Cloud makes his way to Sephiroth and nuzzles his face against Sephiroth’s chest like an affectionate cat. He doesn’t even flinch when Sephiroth scoops him up in one arm, instead happily wrapping his arms around Sephiroth’s neck and burying his face into the crook of Sephiroth’s neck. With his free hand, Sephiroth holds out Masasume and dares the party to challenge him.

[numinousher]

CHANTAJE! (xxv)

SUMMARY: being under the watchful eye of the media and your fans, your managers are in desperate need of regaining back your popularity after other influencers who hate you cause mayhem to your life. what best way to do so by having you pretend to be in a relationship with the popular 7 who are known to be intensely wealthy and stoic? will you be able to regain their trust or will they go with their promise of damaging your reputation even more?

WARNING(S) FOR LATER: gore/blood/murder, harassment/bullying, mental health talks (nothing badly triggering), child endangerment (mc was a child actor, again nothing badly triggering. if there is, there will be a warning)

NOTE: ahhhhh next chapter will need to be listened to with wildflower by billie eilish pls

TAGLIST (CLOSED): @parapiop7 @an-ever-angry-bi @softforyoongles @thenaverse @chansatlan @juju-227592 @skyys-universe @carolinexkpop @reallysparklychaos @namjooncrabs @savagemickey03 @drunkzseok @svnbangtansworld @2ne1unni

“That star is orange.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Jin, I get you’re old and you can’t see, but that star is for sure orange or some type of color,” you said, pointing directly at the star you were pointing at so Jin could see.

You two were night seeing stars for some reason. You two had wanted to go out to eat, but he had messed up the time and reservation, so he just ordered food to your place and you two put some blankets on the grass.

“You’re fucking with me that’s it,” Jim scoffed out, squinting his eyes to see the star you were pointing at better. “Girl, I cannot see shit.”

“You have such a potty mouth for one that is the oldest,” you said with amusement, looking down at his figure lying down on the grass. “Also, remind me to get you some binoculars or some shit because how can you not see it?”

“Leave me alone,” Jin groaned, softly pushing you away. “I see it now. Happy?”

“Well, now I feel like you said that out of pity,” you said with a noise while simultaneously crossing your arms dramatically. “We suck at this. We can go inside to look at some movie.”

“Can we see one of yours?” He suggested, standing up and sticking his hand out to help you get on your feet. You scrunched your nose as you two got the food to take it inside. “Come on, I haven’t seen one.”

“Fine,” you dragged out. You two walked back inside your room, heading immediately towards the living room so you could put one of your movies. “Sad, rom-com, action, or psychological horror?”

“Sad, I feel like crying today,” he replied. He sat down on the side closer to the door and waited until you put on one of your sad movies. It was everyone’s favorite genre so of course you had more than one. Just like how so many actors were given a title, yours was “she’s mostly known for being in sad movies.” You didn’t know whether you should take it as a compliment, but you did. It was nice being known as that since you did a good job causing tears.

You and Jin sat on the couch for 2 hours, watching your film, “Color Blue.” He went watching it without knowing the plot (you didn’t want to tell him) and now he was suffering the consequences. You were sobbing, he was sobbing, tissues were spread everything (just the table), and he was left hurt at the ending.

“That was it?” He sniffed. “What the hell? He just leaves? He just disappears like that?”

You sniff. “It’s insinuated she met the love of her life shortly after he left. He was her first love but, it was never supposed to be a forever thing due to this circumstances.”

“I hate your fucking movie, what the fuck?” Jin continued to sniff before a sob escaped his mouth. “That’s enough. I don’t want to see more.”

“Can you drive?” You sniffle, placing the tissue on your nose. “Should I call one of the boys?”

“Yeah, call one of those idiots,” Jin said considering the fact you two have been together since 8 AM.

You two didn’t do a lot. He and the others find so much comfort in your home they love lying around on your couch or on your bed. You don’t know why but he and the others have said your house smells like pumpkin and cinnamon, which would be a nice scent for fall.

You took it as a compliment.

You couldn’t help but swoon over Jin’s looks and the way he truly was an awkward person like you have been told. He does have some confidence, but he mostly uses that when he needs to. He used that when you two went to the store to buy some things you two needed for dinner.

You two had to leave, though, when it got a bit swarmed with fans.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you sniff before you and Jin simultaneously sobbed at the credit scene. You had forgotten a montage of your character and his favorite character was shown.

“Are you two okay?” Yoongi asked, standing up from his chair to look at his wristwatch. He looked at Jimin, gesturing for him while he grabbed his keys. “Hey, why are you two crying?”

They could just hear you both sobbing.

“He didn’t deserve that!” Jin exclaimed.

“It needed to end like that so she could meet him!”

As you two cried, Yoongi, Jimin, and Taehyung (they didn’t know where he came from) headed to the car parked in front of their house.

“Hurry up,” Jimin hissed. He had forgotten how slow of a driver Yoongi was.

After 10 minutes, they arrived to your house. Yoongi did break a couple of laws here and there but, they did get to your house unharmed.

Yoongi and Jimin had gotten out of the car when Taehyung did, which Jimin immediately stopped him for.

“What?” Taehyung scoffed as soon as Jimin stood in front of him, hands placed on his chest to prevent him from walking any further. “Let me go.”

“No,” Jimin replied with a frown. “Stay here. I’ll come get you once I make sure they’re fine.” Taehyung opened his mouth to argue but Jimin shushed him with a glare. “You will go crazy if you find out they’re hurt. Stay here. I am not fucking kidding.”

Once he made sure he wasn’t following, Jimin hurried into your house with such speed he was surprised he didn’t trip over your front stairs.

“They’re fine!” Yoongi exclaimed. Jimin appeared next to him, out of breath, chest heaving up and down. “They’re crying over a movie.”

“I-” Jimin gaped. He eyed the two figures on the couch hugging each other, holding on for dear life, almost as if they were to detach one would disappear. “What movie did you guys watch?”

“Color Blue,” you and Jin sobbed out, hugging each other tighter.

“Isn’t that your movie, Y/n?” Yoongi asked, eyebrows furrowing together. He glanced at your face on the screen, smiling at another character. “Why are you crying? Don’t you know the plot?”

“It still hurts, okay?” You cried out, throwing him a plushie. He easily caught it with one hand. “I’m such a good actress.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jin agreed, nodding his head rapidly.

Jimin sighed. “Okay, okay, come on.” He separated you two, letting Yoongi comfort you while he comforted Jin. “You big babies. Why are you watching a sad movie?”

“Jin said so,” you answered, grabbing another tissue and dabbing your nose.

“Of course he did. Jin loves sad movies.”

“I love the feeling it gives me.”

Jimin shook his head at his words. “See?” He placed a hand on the back of your head, lightly scratching your scalp while the other scratched Jin’s. “It’s okay, honey. Your movies are great. It’s just fictional.”

“It didn’t feel fictional,” Jin said, calming down. His eyes did tear up, though. “Oh, my God. They deserved their happy ending.”

“Jin, they did get their happy ending,” you sniffed. He looked at you and you gesture at the movie. “The guy at the end, his voice matches the other guys. Why do you think?”

He stayed silent before he gasped. “No way!”

“Yes!”

“What is the movie about?” Jimin whispered to Yoongi while you and Jin babbled.

“He ends up disappearing at the end,” Yoongi quickly answered in hopes you two wouldn’t listen. Just in case you two burst out crying again. “No one knows why he disappeared but, the next scene takes place months later after that. The movie ends with the audience hearing a voice that sounds just like his.”

Jimin frowned. That sounds sad.

He sighed.

“Okay, guys, come on,” he said, ushering Jin to stand up. “It’s late and we have work tomorrow so you mister,” he patted Jin’s shoulders, “need to sleep early.”

He nodded.

“Where’s Taehyung?” Yoongi asked, watching Jimin grabbing onto Jin as best as he could. His head swerved side to side. “I thought he was behind us.”

“I told him to stay in the car or else he was going to go—”

“Are they okay?” Taehyung exclaimed, coming inside the home. Jimin gulped at the intensity of his voice and let Yoongi reply that yes, you and Jin were crying and were fine. A movie of yours just made you two cry.

“Stop him before he heads to her,” Jimin rushed out, the two of them—Jin, too—heading towards Taehyung’s way to stop him from seeing you.

Yes, he loved Jin, he loved him so much. But he has never seen you cry, unlike Jin. So, he was definitely going to head to you with his heart hammering against his chest, his hands balled up into fists, his lips slightly parted, and his need for you stronger than ever.

“Taehyung, she’s fine.”

Jimin blocked Taehyung’s path, but that didn’t stop the man. He softly pushed Jimin away, eyes set on you.

“Taehyung.”

Taehyung ignored the calls for his name and took long strides to reach you, hand traveling down to grip your wrist, and his other helping you stand up.

In a blink of an eye, his hand slithered around to wrap it around your waist, letting his palm rest on the small of your back. He brought you closer, his other hand traveling up your arm, to your shoulder, until it reached the back of your head. His lips were brushing against yours, breaths tingling and intertwining with the others, and you swore your lips were pulling to his like they were magnets.

His thumbs brushed away your tears.

“Give me permission to kiss you and I’ll do it,” he breathed out, holding you like he was inhaling you. “If that’s what will make you better.”

“You’re not asking,” you mumbled in a breath, your nose being hit by the faint smell of his cologne.

“Fuck, I just need to kiss you so badly, please,” he pleaded, fingers slightly gripping your hip until white dents were left behind in their wake. “Please.”

You nodded rapidly against his hold.

He breathed in and kissed you with such intensity and desire, almost as if he had been holding back for years from kissing you. Soft, muffled moans escaped his mouth into yours, his hand gripping your hair a bit tighter to bring you even closer.

“He’s devouring her,” Jimin whispered to the others while they watched you two make out almost in need. “I told you bringing him here was a bad—Taehyung, put her down.”

They watched Taehyung pick you up from the ground, hand situated on your ass while the other gripped your thigh. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck, and your lips still on his despite the change of position.

Kissing Taehyung felt like drinking water after being dehydrated for days, you noted.

His lips felt soft and the way he held you, touched you, and talked to you was enough for you to feel everything all at once. Every single guy made you feel more than you bargained for and you don’t know how to act. None of them knew how to act, either.

“No,” Taehyung dismissed Jimin, placing you on the wall with his hands still in his desired places. God, kissing you was a blessing itself, but having you in his hands all to himself was enough to keep him so happy and relieved. Kissing you was something. “She’s mine.”

“Okay, possessive bitch, leave her alone,” Jimin scoffed out, crossing his arms. Though, he couldn’t help but admit he loved watching you two fully make out in your home. Your safe place. “Make some space for me.”

Jin and Yoongi watched you and Taehyung go from kissing each other to now taking turns kissing the other person added. Your legs had unwrapped themselves from Taehyung’s waist, your feet now placed on the floor, and you were in between both men, caged in their arms, your lips smacking against Jimin’s and then Taehyung’s back and forth.

“This is a bad idea,” Yoongi sighed, shaking his head. “They’re eating her alive.”

“At least they won’t come to you every second of the day to ask for that,” Jin said with a chuckle, finding the scenery amusing. He glanced down at his watch. “It is getting late. Oh, God. That movie has some type of magic, my chest hurt for a sec, I swear.”

Yoongi nodded in agreement. “I know. I watched the movie by myself when I was sick and I couldn’t finish it. It was too painful.”

They continued to watch you three make out, their eyes following your guys’ hands touching and yearning for each other.

They weren’t going to lie but, they felt something in the pit of their stomachs just looking at you three.

Jimin and Taehyung’s hands gripped your waist, bringing you closer. Their breaths intertwined with your own, their moans, too. They kissed you as if you were going to leave, as if you would disappear if they stopped. What did you do to ever deserve this? And what did they ever do to be blessed with you? Not enough. They’ll do more for you. If you want the moon, they’ll find a way to buy it and name it after you. If you want the stars, they’ll buy every sparkly little piece of shit and name it after you. Your name deserves to grace beautiful things because you are the most beautiful of them all. Everyone deserves to utter your name when they look at the things the universe has graced them with.

“I need to breathe,” you softly breathe out, your hands on the back of their heads. You softly gasped as Taehyung’s lips trailed down your neck and Jimin claimed your lips again, both equally as bruising.

Jimin chuckled at the noise and looked at Taehyung. “Taehyung, let her breathe.”

Taehyung shook his head, teeth grazing the skin of your neck to suck on it. His lips kissed each mark he left behind before looking at you with the same hooded eyes he looked at you with.

“Do you want to breathe, angel?” He muttered, holding your face closer to his while the pad of his thumb ran itself over your bottom glossy lip. “Hmm?”

“Just for a sec.”

He smiled before he rubbed his lips against yours. “One.” As you went to ask him what he meant by that number, he kissed you. Jimin snorted and backed away, shaking his head.

“He’s much more tamer compared to when he got together with us,” he noted, very amused. “Should we warn her about that?”

Yoongi scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re going to scare her off before she could kiss us.” He gave you two one more look before he turned around. “Let the poor girl breathe, Taehyung. Pretty sure she’s about to faint.”

“I think I’m about to faint because of how it feels,” Taehyung muttered out loud, taking you back to the wall so he could feel you up better that way.

“He’s acting like a starved man,” Jin whispered rather dramatically, looking at you with worry. “I feel like we would lock him away for her safety, God.”

“Taehyung!” Jin snapped.

Taehyung didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned back a bit, looking at them over his shoulder. He hummed, staring back at you and kissing your lips softly.

“Come on, you can see her tomorrow,” Jimin snorted out, loving the way you were much more comfortable.

“Why?” Taehyung muttered, tracing your lips. He couldn’t like away from them and your eyes. Your pretty eyes, such pretty eyes. He softly groaned. “God, don’t look at me like that please.”

“Taehyung.”

“You drive me so fucking crazy I’ll do anything for you,” he whispered as if it was a secret.

“Taehyung.”

“The way you taste and smell,” he continued to speak in a hush voice, lips trailing from your jawbone to your neck, “I could devour you whole.” He raised his head to look at you from under his lashes, his hand bringing up one of yours to kiss. “Will you let me?”

You smile and could see over his shoulder that the boys were looking at you three with happy eyes.

“Taehyung, if I say yes,” you started, “will you go home and go to sleep?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until I have you,” he said, not looking away from your lips.

“Okay, you can see her tomorrow,” Jimin scoffed with a smile. He dragged Taehyung away from you, ignoring his attempts to convince him to let him go so he can stay here in your home. Yoongi grabbed him away. “Sweet dreams, pretty girl.”

Jimin kissed you on the lips, backing away to taste your chapstick. “Wear that flavor. It tastes good.”

You snorted and led them out, watching Yoongi and Jin place a desperate Taehyung on the backseat. You stood on your driveway and waved. Jin came back to give you a kiss on the forehead and Yoongi, much to everyone’s surprise, gave you a quick peck. His left you gasping in surprise. You couldn’t even enjoy it.

“Bye, angel.”

“Bye…”

Everyone was busy the next day Taehyung swore he would die if he didn’t see in that exact moment.

He was tugging on his hair until Hoseok had to intervene, slapping his hands away.

He was dozing off, thinking about you and the pillow talk you would have after spending the night together.

He was loving the way his brain would visualize how life would be with you in their relationship, complete. He can die happily knowing that he has all the loves of his life with him.

Jin couldn’t stop thinking about you, on the other hand. None of them could stop. You were so embedded in their brains, they swore they could hear your voice until they snapped their heads and you weren’t there.

What have you done to them?

What type of spell have you put on them?

They didn’t know what but, they loved thinking of you, and they couldn’t complain. No. They couldn’t and they wouldn’t.

It was 6 PM.

You have been “together” for 2 to 3-ish months today.

You maintained lowkey and on the low, and managed to convince everyone that you two were in a relationship. You had doubters here and there but nothing serious.

As for your allegations, there hasn’t been an improvement. It’s hard knowing who did it and not being able to point fingers because you do not have evidence or anything valuable of some sorts.

6:30 PM.

You were in a meeting with Jae and Jake, talking about the new movie you were with Hyung-min that you two have been going over with together. He was there, too, but he was a bit farther away from you. He didn’t want to even hug you just in case he accidentally hurt you.

At 6:32 PM, your phone went off.

At 6:33 PM, your phone went off again.

And again.

At 6:36, Jae’s went off next.

Then Jake’s.

Jae looked at her phone once she noticed you simply shut yours off and just as she was going to shut it off, too, she eyed her notifications.

Her eyes widened and she stood up.

“Oh, no.”

You frown and look at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Y/n… do not go on your phone,” she strictly told you, still looking at her phone. She was typing away and Jake, having looked down at his phone, too, felt his shoulders tense. “Call her PR team. Call the president of the company and alert a meeting ASAP.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” You frown, standing up alongside Hyung-min who had glanced at his phone, too, to see what had his girlfriend panicked. “Jae?”

“Babe, it came out,” Jae stressed, fixing her glasses slipping from the bridge of her nose.

“What did?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, your hands becoming clammy at the thought of something of yours coming out. “Jae?”

“That stupid thing Namjoon was threatening you with,” she snapped. She calmed herself down. She didn’t even feel this stressed over your bullying allegations. “Remember he said he had something about your sister?” You nodded. “Honey, it got leaked. It’s everywhere.”

“What?” You froze. Your brain froze. Your thoughts were not circulating no more, and you felt numb. “What? Give me the phone.”

You snatched her phone away from her hands and read the article she was reading.

Your chest heaved up and down at coming to see she was telling the truth.

“This can’t be happening. This can’t.”

“I know…”

“I hid that for a reason!” You exclaimed, starting to pace. Hyung-min stood next to you, comforting you. You breathed in and out harshly. “Oh, my God…”

Your secret was out.

< before - after >

[spudangle]

Companion Bed/Sleeping Preferences

Lae'zel. Brought up as a warrior she definitely prefers practicality over comfort. Big luxurious soft beds are not for her, they’re too much of a hassle to get in and out of, not proficient at all. But if she has to, then she can pretty much sleep anywhere, be it while lying down, sitting, or standing. If she were to choose, she would probably prefer a hard surface over a soft one, so that her back feels nice and straight in the morning. She’s probably the companion who goes to bed first if she’s not on watch duty, and were it not for the elven companions then she would also be the one to wake up first quickly getting ready for the day. However she’s NOT allowed to sharpen her sword until after everyone else has gotten up.     

Shadowheart, too, has been trained to be able to sleep under most conditions, and a comfortable bed hasn’t really been commonplace for her under Shar.

But unlike Lae’zel, Shadowheart would actually enjoy having a bit of comfort in her life, especially after leaving Shar. It’s just something that she has to rediscover gradually. The feeling of the soft warm bed that she has at the Elfsong—a stark contrast to the cold stone of her old bed—is nice, but she almost finds it too warm at first quickly having to throw off her duvet to not overheat. The smell of clean linens however is perhaps her favorite thing, reminding her of a childhood long forgotten. Post-game she would probably enjoy having her own sleep rituals that she can do for herself and not to appease some cruel goddess. 

Astarion is a man of luxury. That means that he wants as big and soft a bed as possible, he practically wants to drown into the mattress. And it HAS to have clean silk sheets, he is done with damp dirty sheets that smell like they’ve been fucked to death. The bed is preferably a curtained four poster so that the warmth can’t escape, because obviously the bed has been warmed up by a bed warmer before he gets in. I know that there are several takes about the wooden board that he has in his tent, but I personally believe that it's there so he doesn't have to place his bedroll directly on the dirty ground. Anyways, Astarion wants a comfortable bed because he is a creature of comfort, and if can’t rest peacefully then he can at least suffer while in a comfortable bed. 

Gale also is a man of comfort when it comes to beds. His bed in Waterdeep has at least ten pillows, however he can only sleep with one otherwise he gets neck pain. The extra pillows are there so that he can sit comfortably while reading in bed. The bed itself is probably also really pompous looking, not exactly like the one from his last night alive scene, no it’s more pompous than that, it’s probably round. Yes it’s round. It’s a round four poster, decorated with golden constellations and heavy velour curtains hoisted up with thick tasseled ropes. And boy did he miss his bed when he had to leave Waterdeep. It’s not that he can’t sleep anywhere else, it just takes him a while to get used to new surfaces. ALSO, Gale most definitely talks in his sleep. Has he ever set something on fire in his sleep? He would never admit it, but he also can’t say no.    

Wyll. Since being cast out by his father Wyll quickly got used to not having a regular bed. He’d either be camping or he’d be offered shelter for his heroic deeds by the people who he helped. He probably enjoys camping quite a bit, finding the quietness of nature relaxing. Either that or he’s too much of an optimist to admit to himself that he misses having a warm bed. Wyll is also most definitely a morning person. Early bird gets the worm and all that. In fact he gets restless if has to laze around in bed for too long. Lastly, sleeping after he gets his horns is, if not a struggle, then at least something that takes some getting used to. For instance, he can’t lie down without a pillow. Not on his back. Not his side. Not his stomach. So pillows are a must, or at least just something that takes the strain off his head/neck while lying down.    

Karlach is probably the most restless sleeper of the gang. Not in the sense that she doesn’t sleep well—because she does—but she is a very animated sleeper, either kicking or punching the air, or she gets those weird twitches while dreaming. So unfortunately she’s not just a bad bed partner because of her body temperature, which sucks because she loves spooning before falling asleep. So, she’s either cradling Clive or her blanket for comfort. She also prefers sleeping in cold environments, which was fine when the group hadn’t reached Baldur’s Gate because when you’re outside then there’s always a draft. However the Elfsong doesn’t offer that same luxury, but at least she gets to sleep next to the window.

Halsin can also pretty much sleep anywhere, not because it’s practical, but because he’s always comfortable, at least when out in the wild. After all, the perk of bear form is that you’re well-padded for any surface. And he is a heavy sleeper. Give this man a good hearty meal, and he’ll sleep for 12 hours. This also means that any bed partner of his should be careful that they don’t get smothered under him, because if he is in deep sleep then you cannot wake him. He has also most definitely talked himself to sleep when telling his children goodnight stories before bed, only to then wake up and find that he’s the one that's been tucked into bed.

(If you’re interested in more bed thoughts then I also have this post)

[cabinetofquriosities]

The Ritual

Agatha x Reader || Warnings: Smut, violence

Done for an exchange with @marril96 who made this gifset as a preview for my upcoming detective Agathario fic. Check her stuff out!

Agatha hadn’t been able to use her magic for months.

She couldn’t sense a hex or a binding spell. If there was one, it was intricately done. No, there was a block. Regular people had the flu, witches had blocks. It wasn’t often and it typically never lasted more than a few days.

It was sometimes brought on by being near overpowering magic while your own was unstable. Other possible causes were new overwhelming emotional changes, mental torture, or lack of practice for more than a few decades. It was often psychosomatic, caused by the mind rather than anything external.

Agatha had never suffered from it, given that her major life changes were almost immediately followed by absorbing the powers of a coven. Nicky died, she created the con of the road. Rio left her after brief reunions, she would find more witches to use. The pair had finally let go of one another decades ago, so it couldn’t have been Rio.

When she met you, though, her entire world shifted. She was finally feeling grounded by someone who wasn’t running off for a greater purpose like her ex did. You both made each other your purpose.

She had plunged the depths of her mind to figure out what the cause of her block was, but couldn’t find anything. She researched every text on the subject of blocked magic. All it said was to find the cause and make peace. Agatha had always considered peace to be overrated.

Agatha had moved in with you a few months prior, right around the time of her magic freezing up. You both lived in an old victorian at the edge of the woods. You found yourself holding her at night, whispering words of comfort in her ear. You would help her look for answers while reading up on your own healing magic. You supported her the best you could. She was happy with you, but incomplete without her purple. It was a new thing for Agatha to feel happy and to feel powerless. Both were unnatural states for her.

One day, you were working on a new healing salve as the sun set outside. You plucked a bloom from the dried flowers you had hanging over the kitchen island amidst the pots and pans. You dropped it into the boiling water, watching the color change.

A crash yanked you out of your focus. You froze, conjuring a ball of energy in your palm as you listened for a possible threat. Instead, you heard a familiar groan. You extinguished the orb before running to the source of the sound.

Agatha had collapsed after opening the door. Blood poured from a wound in her side. She had bruises and cuts all over her form. You knelt down, moving her onto her back so you could get a better look at the damage.

“What happened?!” you asked in a panic.

Agatha let out a pained wheeze. Your heart raced and your chest tightened.

Agatha coughed up some blood before saying, “A warlock… he followed me from the magic shop in town… he knew who I was. Wanted to… be the killer of the witch killer.”

As if she had summoned him herself, a tall man appeared in the doorway. He was unable to come inside due to the sigils surrounding the house. He smiled and laughed.

“A healer? Oh, this is going to be far too easy. I am surprised the great witch Agatha Harkness couldn’t find a protection witch to keep her s-“

You cut him off with a powerful beam of destruction shooting out from your palm. So many mistook healers for being peaceful or having passive magic. They didn’t realize that such witches also held command of the opposite end of the spectrum. While you could heal, you could also harm more harshly than other types of witches. It was the balance of magic that some so easily forgot.

The warlock landed in the dirt like a ragdoll. You stepped out onto the porch, looming over him. He winced, opening his mouth to say something before you shot him with another blast, holding this one until it left him a blackened husk of meat.

Once your were assured of his demise, you ran back to Agatha’s side. She wasn’t doing well. You knelt down, having a second look at her injuries. She gasped sharply in pain as you moved her shirt up enough to see the wound. It was definitely one that could prove to be fatal with how much blood was being lost. You were too far from any hospital, so you would have to find a way to somehow heal an injury that was damn near impossible to do with magic.

You were a healer, yes, but you were a healer of witches. You could only help so much with fixing regular people, especially when they were harmed by a witch or warlock. With witches, she could channel her magic into theirs to heal their bodies. The fact that Agatha no longer had access to her power meant that you couldn’t save her life without going to extreme lengths. Even then, there was only a chance of success.

You stood up and ran to the kitchen, leaving Agatha on the floor in the entryway.

“Oh no… it’s fine… I’ll stay right here…” she called.

You would have smiled if not for your fear. As long as she was being her sarcastic self, she was still alive. You already had half of the concoction done since you had been working on healing salves already, but the substance itself wouldn’t be enough. It needed a ritual to go along with it.

You threw in more ingredients and let them boil as you ran to the living room to retrieve candles. You rapidly and clumsily set them down in a circle around your girlfriend. You noticed her eyes had drifted closed. Your stomach dropped and you bent down, shaking her awake. Agatha woke, groaning in pain.

“Owww! Damn it!” she scolded.

“Good! Keep yelling at me. Keep your eyes open. I’ll be right back,” you said before running off.

She did just as you said, finally following orders for once. You ripped a page out of one of your spell books. She loudly complained about everything she could as you brought the serum, gemstones, matches, and chalk out. You set them all down and got to work. You drew sigils in chalk between each candle before lighting it. The gemstones were placed in a specific order.

You consulted the torn page that detailed the ritual. You had never attempted this ritual before. It was too risky for both parties involved. If it went wrong, your own form could be drained of life along with hers. Agatha, who had been bitching just a moment before, recognized the preparations.

“No…” she said.

“Yes,” you said back while lighting the final candle.

“No… there has to be another w-“

“This is the only way.”

“My love, you can’t…”

“I can and I will,” you said with an assuredness that you weren’t sure you completely felt.

You moved into the circle with her, stripping her clothing from her. She gasped and winced, but neither of you had the luxury of being delicate. You carried on, taking the serum and pouring it from the pot over her torso, coating the injury. Her back arched as she screamed out in pain. You hated that you were unable to let it cool properly. The salve instantly healed the burns caused by the boiling temperature. She passed out from shock, but you slapped her awake.

“Agh! What the fuck?!” she yelled, “You couldn’t have BLOWN ON IT or added ice before giving me THIRD DEGREE BURNS?!”

“Oh, hush, they’re already gone,” you chided.

You began chanting in Sumerian as the energy around them shifted. The ritual was older than most, something that was created before Latin. The candles would be the first measure of how it was working. The flame shrank to nearly nothing, signifying a lack of effectiveness. A second passed before the wicks re-ignited with bursts of fire. You felt your body relax slightly as you kept chanting.

You then changed your chant, moving to her wound. You hovered your hands over it as they glowed. The imbalance of power created a vacuum, with Agatha’s lack of magic causing your own to begin breaking down. Your face began to lose color and your arms shook. The gemstones vibrated against the wooden floor as a warning that you swiftly disregarded. Agatha realized what was happening, watching your lips turn blue as her own body began going cold. You doubled over, your face close to her shoulder.

“S-stop,” she whimpered, wanting at least one of you to survive the ritual.

You simply kept chanting, even as your voice constricted. Agatha brought her hand up and cupped your cheek. You turned your head to face her, knowing in that moment that you would rather die with her in an effort to save her than sacrifice her to save yourself. The only way out was through, for better or worse.

You leaned into her touch as your skin began to warm again. You watched pink returning to her lips and cheeks. The wound was also beginning to heal slightly. You could tell from Agatha’s smile that you looked better as well. You finished the chant and looked back at the page showing the steps of the ritual. A sly smile tugged at your lips.

“I doubt we will have an issue with this part,” you said.

“What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer as you hiked up her loose skirt. You said an incantation before bending Agatha’s legs. You leaned down, your eyes gazing into your girlfriend’s as your tongue slipped inside of her. Agatha whimpered before arching her back. She shook from the shooting pain of the wound, but the pleasure outweighed it.

You slid two fingers into her, curling them with every thrust. You needed to bring her to the peak of pleasure to essentially give her body a jump the way you would a car. It would give Agatha a magical influx on par with adrenaline in combination with electric shocks to the chest. With nothing to work off of on Agatha’s side, you had no clue if you would survive this. Her climax could restore her or it could drain you both depending on what the universe allowed.

Although you would never tell Agatha for fear of giving her a fatal case of performance anxiety, Agatha was familiar enough with the ritual to know the stakes. She looked down at you with so much love. She had been so terrified of having someone who she loved like this in her life, but this risk you were taking for her cemented what she should have already known. You were devoted to her more than anything and would never leave. As that realization clicked into place, something finally changed within herself.

Just as you were beginning to feel another drain, Agatha’s body began to emanate energy. The magic rushed through her, finally flooding in after months of being blocked. Her acceptance of you as a constant in her life sparked it.

You could taste the power restoring itself as you devoured her. You sucked aggressively on her clit as your fingers thrusted faster. Both of your eyes locked, your magic balancing with hers. The wound healed with a blinding glow, closing completely with her orgasm.

She had never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment with her energy visibly engulfing her. Shades of purple licked at the outline of her form. Her eyes shone with violet and gold. Her walls clenched and pulsed around your fingers.

One candle flame extinguished itself after another. The stones stilled. The aura of Agatha’s power absorbed back into her. She took a shaky breath, lifting herself up on shaking arms. You crawled over her before kneeling, straddling her lap. Your palm rubbed over her now unharmed skin. You couldn’t believe it had worked.

Her hands held your face and guided you to look at her. You beamed at her like you had fallen for her all over again without knowing.

[ni-idea-07]

Hey there, hope you're all good! I really love your writing, especially your fic for Hannibal. Would you consider writing a one-shot or hcs for me featuring a romantic yandere hannigram and a female reader, It would be cool if the reader had a gold digger and narcissistic personality due to past trauma, fearing dependence on others due to her abusive childhood. She's career-focused and always looks for rich men who can give her material comfort and stability. I understand if this is not something you are interested in writing, and I apologize for my English as it is not my first language.

Thank you so much!! I really appreciate it. I also want to clarify that I enjoyed writing this. I hope you like it and it met your expectations.

Enjoy.

Love.

TW: mild yandere, manipulation from both sides, childhood trauma represented in adulthood, the english is not my first language.

Since you were a little girl, your mother’s friends always told you how pretty you were. It made you feel good, but nothing could improve your family situation.

You grew up in a neighborhood forgotten by everyone, where the nightly fights between your parents were more frequent than the laughs. Your mother, trapped by financial dependence, silently accepted every insult and blow, while you watched from a dark corner, swearing to yourself you’d never be like her.

You couldn’t rely on school supplies or new shoes like most of your classmates. It made them laugh at you for using pencils you found in the lost and found box.

You were still small, but clever enough to reach one conclusion: money was important, and the lack of it only led to suffering and humiliation.

You needed it to gain respect, to stop being someone people would mistreat.

That little innocent girl turned into a teenager who took advantage of boys from other courses to buy things you wanted. With those things, you were able to improve your appearance even more.

But when you started university, the naive hormonal teenagers you used were replaced by rich men – most of them married. But you’d pull away without explanation every time they wanted to take the next step and formalize the relationship.

You were a “gold digger,” yes. But you wouldn’t marry anyone, no matter how rich they were. You couldn’t afford to emotionally depend on anyone. You didn’t want to be like your mother, who continued living under your father’s shadow.

Everything changed when you met HIM. Or rather, THEM.

After ending your last relationship, you needed to remind yourself why you did what you did. You decided to go to the gala, a place filled with wealthy, familiar faces, where you could hunt without much effort. You liked that world; even though you didn’t belong to it, you knew how to move like you did.

You were lucky, you always were. You were the most beautiful woman in the entire gala, and you really caught attention in a good way.

That burgundy dress beautifully accentuated your figure, combined with your confidence and that look you had—it was very alluring.

Will was the first to notice you, his gaze analyzing you as if he wanted to decipher every secret you kept. Hannibal, noticing his interest, let out a slight smile. To them, you were more than attractive; you were a challenge, a new piece in a game both of them dominated.

The game started subtly, as it always did. Hannibal and Will knew how to take control without their prey noticing, and with you, it would be no different. They watched you from afar, measuring your movements, calculating your intentions. You were good at playing with others’ emotions, but they were masters of manipulation.

Hannibal was the first to approach, impeccably dressed. He spoke to you in a soft, refined tone. Will joined soon after, with a smile that hid the intensity behind his blue eyes. They seemed like the perfect balance: Hannibal, the confident, methodical predator, and Will, the mask of vulnerability that disarmed any defense.

They treated you like the most precious gem of the night, their attention intoxicating and constant. And you, used to being the hunter, didn’t realice they had already turned the tables. Every word, every look, every gesture was perfectly calculated to trap you.

That night, when the gala ended, they both offered to take you home. You accepted, playing with the idea of how far you could go with them, but what you didn’t know was that they had already decided they wouldn’t let you go.

In the following days, you saw them more frequently.

Hannibal’s invitations always came with unsettling precision, as if he knew exactly when you needed an escape from the monotony. At every dinner, he offered dishes that not only delighted your palate but made you feel important, special. On the other hand, Will seemed to read your emotions before you could express them, always with a kind word and a look that promised understanding. Each of them, in their own way, was breaking down your defenses without you realizing.

The intensity with which they looked at you, as if you were a possession rather than a person, began to overwhelm you. More than once, you’d found them talking in whispers, exchanging looks that seemed to hold secrets you couldn’t decipher. But you assumed they were just planning some gift for you; you had mentioned a specific car model recently.

You weren’t stupid; you knew something was going on, but you couldn’t deny how much you liked the attention. Hannibal and Will gave you everything you had always wanted: security, admiration, luxury… even a kind of stability you had never experienced.

However, the true nature of their obsession came to light one night when you tried to distance yourself. You started to feel trapped, as if they were closing all your exits. You tried to pull away, inventing excuses and telling them you were studying for your upcoming exams at the university, but they weren’t willing to lose you.

–“Darling, you don’t need to worry about anything”– Hannibal said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. –“Everything you need is here with us.”–

Will, with his apparent sweetness, added –“Yes, darling, we give you everything you want, don’t we?”–

It was then that you realized they weren’t going to let you go. And the worst part was that, even if you wanted to fight, a part of you was enjoying what they offered too much. You had spent your entire life manipulating others, but now, for the first time, you felt the weight of being manipulated.

The problem was that you didn’t know if you wanted to escape… or if deep down, you were already completely theirs.

Despite everything, you chose to stay and have a good night with them. They were so skilled, so experienced, that they left you breathless with pleasure.

You woke up in the middle of the night in the enormous empty bed, so you decided to search for them.

It was bad luck that you entered the basement at the worst possible moment. When you opened the door, the air changed; the metallic smell hit you before your eyes could process the scene. Hannibal, covered in blood, worked with surgical precision on a body. Will, beside him, held a glass of wine, watching you with a calmness that froze your blood.

–“I thought you were asleep, love”– Will spoke.

You were in shock. The body, the calmness of the two men, Hannibal’s blood-stained apron.

Your breath became erratic as your vision blurred. Words died in your throat; all you could do was stand there, frozen, as the weight of reality sank in like a stone in water. Fear was one thing; what you felt now was something deeper, darker.

–“Love…”– Will spoke as he set down his wine glass and walked toward you.

This was too much. The idea that these two people, whom you had started to consider a constant in your life, were so far from the reality you knew filled you with a mix of terror and… something else. Because, even though you hated to admit it, a part of you understood what they were saying. And, worse, a small voice in your head whispered that maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Hannibal removed his apron and approached you, wanting to touch your hands as he always did.

–“Don’t touch me…”– you managed to say, stepping back, though your legs felt like jelly.

Hannibal tilted his head, watching you as if you were an interesting specimen under a microscope. –“Not? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Security, stability, the certainty that no one and nothing can touch you. We’ve given you that, and much more. We wouldn’t like to lose you.”

–“We can explain everything, love”– Will added, his tone now almost pleading. –“But we don’t want this to ruin what we have. We couldn’t bear to lose you.”–

You had always been independent, needing no one, proud and beautiful. But since they entered your world, you couldn’t get them out of your head. You loved them. You needed them as much as they needed you.

You had built your life on fierce independence, a shield against the pain of depending on someone else. But now, that shield felt fragile. Hannibal and Will had accomplished something no one else had: they broke you. You didn’t know if it was love, obsession, or just need, but you couldn’t deny that without them, the emptiness would be unbearable.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading, and I’d like to remind you that there are still open requests. Please leave your request, and I’ll be happy to fulfill it.

Best regards.🫠

[stsgluver]

I'M HERE – gojo satoru

synopsis. reluctantly, you agree to a new life with two children and your ex. PART TWO OF FOUR.

wc. 3.4k

tags. angst, swearing, happy ending-ish, spoilers for s2

“get out.”

satoru flinches at the coldness in your tone, and you want to scoff. as if though he gets to be the one who’s hurt right now. your hands ache and your head feels like it’s imploding as you struggle to take in everything he says. it’s too much, too important, too soon.

a year has passed but you’ve barely had the chance to accept how cruel he’d been when he pushed you away, like you had meant nothing. like you hadn’t spent almost three years side-by-side, majority of that as his girl. 

gojo satoru is someone who always got what he wants – and he got you. he had all of you: mind, body, and soul… but that wasn’t enough for him. you weren’t enough for him. 

“yn–” again, he tries reaching for you and, again, you reject the advancement, standing up abruptly to ensure you can keep the space between the two of you. you swallow thickly and point towards your half open door. gojo’s eyes don’t follow the direction of your hand, instead staying intently on your face as he indulges himself in his favourite picture, even if that picture is stained with damp streaks.

“get out,” you repeat slowly. he needs to leave you in peace again – or whatever peace you’d come to accept after his sudden departure from your orbit. as much as you hate him, your body and mind is still intuitive with his. it feels wrong to watch him cry and not try and comfort him, and from his actions and the way his hands remain stiff at his sides, fidgeting with the material of his pants, you know he feels the same.

after all he just confessed his love for you, you’re aware of how he feels. but you don’t know what he’s thinking and that terrifies you.

“please.” he is begging, the strongest sorcerer alive is pleading for you, but you’re not sure what he expects you to say. i love you? let’s get back together? yes, i’ll totally take care of that monster’s children with you? i’m totally fine even though my best friend decided to murder a tonne of people and then you broke up with me and then i spent 12 months trying not to die on insane missions that i was sent on because the higher ups hate me and i don’t have you as a buffer anymore?

you scoff, arms crossing in front of as you roll your eyes at his ignorance to your suffering, “gojo satoru, i swear to go–”

“woah, woah, what’s going on in here?” 

your eyes dart to the door and you have never been so happy to hear the voice of your dear friend, shoko ieiri. in one hand is her usual unlit cigarette (she swears she’s quitting for real this time, she just needs the comfort of one in her hand), and in the other is her phone. you assume she must’ve been distracted by a call and that’s why he was able to come into the room and not her.

since satoru had put up this wall between the two of you, shoko had been your shoulder to lean on and you know she wouldn’t have just let him waltz in without her support. you thought he was your person, and shoko had watched as you fell apart alone and without him.

you don’t want to know what you look like if it’s anywhere close to how horrible you feel right now. your heart aches and every stitch you had made to patch back together your heart are slowly coming loose. there’s probably mascara running down your cheeks by this point and you’re thirty more seconds of being in satoru’s presence from breaking down into full on sobs as you relive the loss of him and geto.

shoko, your saviour and rock for the past twelve months, comes to your rescue. “what are you going here?” she asks in an accusatory tone towards satoru, head tilted with a raised brow. it hadn’t just been you that satoru had pushed away twelve months ago – it had been everyone. but you know that shoko has still managed to maintain some relationship with him, and from the way his shoulder deflates, he’s smart enough to not burn that bridge too.

“leaving,” satoru responds curtly, brushing past shoko as he makes his swift exit. well, his infinity brushes past shoko and she flips his back the middle finger as she’s gently pushed aside by the invisible force.

you drop down onto your back on your empty bed, both hands covering your face as you try to relax your heartbeat again that runs high wire. you’d be lying if you said you don’t miss satoru; miss seeing him in your room after a long mission or long day of lessons; miss waking up to his raspy voice as he pokes you in the side to wake you up for class; miss being loved by him.

“i thought he was still giving you the silent treatment.”

peeking between your fingers, you glance over to shoko who’s flicking through your open boxes full of your life of the last four years. “i wish he still was,” you admit, voice a little more stable now that you’re not in the middle of crying. the tears have stopped but your cheeks are still flushed red. “has he really taken in fushiguro’s kids?” 

“one’s his, the other is his step daughter,” shoko responds, as though that is common knowledge.

you frown, sitting back up, hands in your lap. “you knew then?” shoko pauses her snooping but doesn’t look back at you. if there’s one thing you and satoru still have in common, is lashing out when you’re upset. ironic given how much you hate him for it. 

“he has… changed. y’know, since geto,” shoko clarifies. the name itself makes you bite down on your tongue and the never ending ache you’re enduring reminds you why you need to leave this place.

“no shit,” you bite back and shoko gives you a blank look. “i’m sorry.” she’d been with you every night for the first month following the break up, she is the reason you are still alive following your sudden increase in mission difficulty. she had been the first to talk shit about satoru or throw random objects at him and just hope his infinity just so happened not to be active (it always was).

“don’t apologise, say whatever you want to me,” shoko shrugs, offering you a sad smile, “i’ll never leave.” three simple words that hold more meaning than you could’ve ever comprehended twelve months ago.

“thank you, love you always.” the two of you share a brief hug (shoko’s never been one for overtly physical affection). 

“good,” shoko pulls back first, checking her phone before waving it in your face. there’s a message but you can’t make it out as she shakes the screen, “now more importantly, are you ready to go? nanami said that he wants to take the next train into the city.”

“can you just give me a minute?” you gesture to the last boxes that you needed to close up – the school had been kind enough to sort out the removal of your belongings (shocker) so all you need to do is just get to the airport and make your plane. 

“of course,” shoko nods understandingly. the split in your class had only led to the two of you coming closer. blood aside, she is and would always be your sister. you know she isn’t happy that you’re quitting sorcery but she knows she can’t keep you happy here, so she’s kept her complaints to herself. 

there’s a soft click as your door closes and you breathe out a sigh of relief. satoru’s words still sit at the back of your mind (‘i love you, i’ve got two kids’ – like what?!), and then you flinch as you remember the wounds that have only just healed on your arm – one of which being a large gash that would’ve killed you had you not been so close to the school when you’d been caught off guard by the curse. this world isn’t for you. 

maybe in another life, one where geto never left the school and satoru never left you, but that is not this life.

grabbing your tape, you go to close the box that shoko had been flicking through when the flash of a familiar photo catches your eye. you hesitate but ultimately that feeling of home consumes you and you can’t stop yourself from lifting the frame from the box. 

it’s you and satoru and geto and shoko and nanami and even haibara.

you remember when the photo was taken: the middle of summer in your second year. satoru and geto had forgone their uniform jackets, the former having one arm around the latter and the other around you. shoko is next to geto and the two second years follow after them. she’s wearing satoru’s glasses as she often did steal them. you’re all smiling – even nanami – and you can’t stop yourself from mirroring the same expression.

those were better times, one where the responsibility and stress of being a sorcerer was only a whispered warning. within a short period that would all fall apart. your teenage years cut short and your innocences stolen following fushiguro toji’s attack.

fushiguro…

you think of his children, the life they will never be able to have because of the thing they are associated with, and the power they've inherited. the children that your ex boyfriend has oh so generously taken in. 

it’s still ingrained in your mind; the sound of geto’s voice over the phone as he struggled to breathe, let alone speak. riko is dead, satoru is dead. that’s all he could repeat over, and over, and over, again. it had been shoko he’d called put you’d been there as she put it on speaker. if it weren’t for nanami being beside you you would’ve collapsed to your knees as you refused to accept what he was saying.

the next few hours were a blur, shoko saving geto, geto going to retrieve satoru, satoru being alive… 

he changed after that. it wasn’t overly apparent, not just to anyone, but you were his girlfriend. he’d reached a state of ‘enlightenment’, as he called it, his cursed technique now far superior to any other sorcerer alive (not that it wasn’t already).

the seven of you never deserved what happened to you – haibara especially never deserved to have his life cut short and the more you remember, the more you decide these children don’t deserve that either.

you bite down on your lip as you realise the conclusion that you’re beginning to come to. one that you’re not 100% sure you won’t regret in the coming months. 

to nanami: i’m sorry i’m not going to make it on the train

from nanami: don’t worry, shoko already let me know you’d probably changed your mind

from nanami: stay safe x

you smile down at your phone. nanami is the closest you’ll ever get to a little brother and even if you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life, you’re glad he’s escaping this hell.

to unknown: meet me at the old park.

from unknown: what about your plane?

to unknown: 2pm

it’s for those kids, you remind yourself, not for him.

despite being the one to choose the meeting location and time, you’re late and you’re already almost in tears yet again. the park was a regular for you, satoru, geto and shoko as teens. shoko and geto would climb up onto the roof of the public bathrooms to smoke whilst satoru made you push his lanky frame on the big swings. those nights practically always ended at dawn, and no matter how sneaky the four of you thought you were, yaga always caught you sneaking back onto the school campus.

things were so much simpler and you were so happy. a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions your experiencing now.

you’d chosen the park to give yourself an advantage, to remind satoru of the memories he could only remember and never relive. it was his fault he’d lost that…

…though even as you think that you know that you’re putting him at too much fault. everything was lost the second geto chose to make the first kill. none of you could’ve stopped that.

shaking your head and brushing your hands down the front of your clothes to brush off the invisible dust and compose yourself, your eyes scan the park for a white haired beanpole and two children. 

it’s not difficult to find the children as the boy – megumi, you think shoko said (she’d given you a quick debrief of what satoru had told her about the children over the phone on your walk there) – is a mini version of his dad. a shudder ran down your spine involuntarily the instant your eye caught sight of the spiky-haired boy. you try to push away the unease; it’s likely megumi barely even knows or remembers his dad, or at least you hope for his sake he doesn’t. either way it’s not far for you to cast judgement yet. the sister is close behind him, running circles around a slide four times their heights.

satoru is sitting on a bench, his gaze focused on the two small children. well, you assume so since that's the way his head is turned. he’s wearing his usual black glasses and tokyo uniform. to any outsider, he looks bored, like an older brother forced to take care of his siblings as his long limbs lounge on the bench. but you know better – his knee is bouncing and he keeps running one hand through his white hair, revealing an undercut beneath it. he’s just as stressed as you are. 

good, as he should be.

he knows you're there. he’s a special grade sorcerer after all, probably the most powerful of them all, he must’ve sensed your cursed energy the second you came within a mile of this place. still, he doesn’t turn his head, even as you walk down the path to him. 

though somewhere deep down you still long for him and what you had, every step closer you feel the same anger and resentment towards him bubbling up and threatening to spill over the surface. meeting him in a public area with impressionable children’s ears around is definitely not your finest idea. you’re within several yards from him now and you’re really starting to think this is a bad idea. 

satoru is a bad idea.

sitting gingerly on the edge of the bench next to him, you pick quietly at the skin around your nails. neither of you speak for several minutes. satoru still seems too afraid to even acknowledge that you’re there. he’s woken up too many times from a dream with you in his arms to an empty bed that he lay in alone, no trace of your perfume on the other side of the bed anymore.

the tension between you two is thick and palpable. 

“they’re cute kids.” you’re the one to break the silence as the two of them begin climbing a spider web apparatus. satoru hums in agreement and his knee slowly halts its bouncing. 

there’s two beats before you let your frustration spill over the edge. “you’re a dick you know that?” so much for your concern about doing this in this locatiom.

satoru’s mouth slacks a little, and he begins to utter something but you shake your head at him to cut him off.

“that was rhetorical. there’s no defending or denying that. it’s fact,” you laugh dryly, crossing your arms in front of yourself as you watch on at the park. in the corner of your eyes, you can see satoru slip off his glasses revealing his own cerulean eyes to you. you avoid them though, if you are going to stay and make this work you need to get all of this off your chest. and preferably without balling your eyes out again. 

“i cried a lot at first,” you continue, “blamed myself for suguru turning away,” he winces and does so again when you cement that point, “blamed myself for taking your best friend from you. i started having those nightmares of haibara calling me a murderer again.” he knows every word you say is true – he caused the former and he would be the one you’d come to when the latter had first started. it breaks his heart to be reminded of the agony he caused you – how he wasn’t there to pick up the pieces from the damage he caused.

following haibara’s death, there were some nights neither of you would get any sleep. you were afraid of what you’d see when you closed your eyes and satoru was afraid of losing you. so he would stay up with you, more often than not sitting against the backboard of the bed, your body curled up tightly against his as you watched funny compilations on his phone (he thought they were hilarious, you just wanted to hear his laugh). for satoru to throw that back in your face after geto’s defection tarnished any comfort you’d ever associated with him. 

it didn’t matter that he’d carved a permanent spot in your heart, the idea of letting him in that close again sends shudders down your spine. he had you in the palm of his hands and he destroyed you.

you take a deep breath and dare to glance over at satoru. his expression is blank but his eyes scream how he feels, the swirls of blue glassy as you relay all that he put you through. 

he had been aware of the hurt he’d caused you – of course he had, he felt it too – seen it on your face when you’d pass him in the hallways. you lacked enthusiasm in class and often went on missions alone without complaint (something you never previously did because how dare the higher-ups send you on a job hours away without anyone to talk to).

“and then i nearly died.” satoru’s brows furrow at this, he’d still kept tabs on you to a certain extent. so how had this slipped through the cracks? “two grade one curses among other nuisances,” you hum, “i shouldn’t have been there alone… but i wasn’t surprised the higher ups had sent me.” there’s something else missing there, how you would’ve never been sent on such a mission of satoru was still with you. the higher ups hated the power you held over their special grade, but they weren’t stupid enough to put you in significant harm’s way when you were together. 

“i’m sor–”

“gojo! can we get some ice cream?” tsumiki runs up to the two of you, cutting off his futile attempt at an apology. her little cheeks are flushed red from the exercise and megumi pokes his head out from behind her, eyes zeroed in on you. 

“who are you?” 

you flicker your gaze between satoru and the children who are awaiting your answer. for once, the white-haired sorcerer is at a loss for words. you want to scoff. 

standing up, you offer a small smile, “just a friend.” you point to the ice cream parlour on the opposite side of the park and nudge satoru’s shoulder gently, “go treat them to ice cream. we can talk about the logistics of this later.”

“this?” he repeats, sitting up straight, and a flash of hope dashes across his features. “so you’re staying?” 

tsumiki’s eyes are bright and full of excitement at the prospect of a treat and it reminds you of haibara. you blink harshly and quickly as you try not to let a tear slip past.

“they deserve better than what we had.” what you had.

series masterlist

a/n. next part will defo be the longest part!! expect fluff, angst, some spice, the whole SHEBANG. I have mocks coming up soon but I'm hoping the next instalment will be up in the next 3-4 weeks. thank you all for being so patient and I hope this meets expectations &lt;3

also a massive thank you to @bontensh0e because they massively helped with the inspo for the rest of the series. ly loads <333

taglist. @sanokiss. @dummyf. @erenssin. @makiuchiha97. @sosoa. @cole-silas. @fenrysashryver. @istanuwow. @dovahkiinsbitch. @mor-pheus. @creolequeen11210. @thefictionalcharacterssimp. @mariapierce789. @cynopcis.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Heya ^^ ! This is my first time ever making a request so pardon me senpei for any mistake ! =^_^= * blushes * Can you plz plz plz write a scenario about a female reader who is treating and taking care of Zoro/Sanji/Law ? After being exhausted from battle with wounds and high fever and being dizzy .

I've searched a lot about this scenario but no one wrote about it T○T so it will be amazing if you do ♡_♡. Arigatoo senpai ~♡

Hey hey! I picked Zoro from the three, because like, vulnerable Zoro? *drools* …but if I have time I might do the others! I made this a wee bit smutty (ok maybe a lot) but... I hope you still enjoy!

Tender, Loving, Care. (+18)

Pairing: Zoro x afab!reader

Summary: Zoro suffers serious injuries. You provide him comfort in the ways he needs it the most.

Trigger Warnings: sex, injured sex, p in v sex, sponge bath porn?? I didn't proofread this my apologies. <3

You saw him go down. You could tell by the way he wasn’t getting back up that Zoro had been severely injured. You held your breath watching his body in a pile of smoldering rock. He still wasn’t moving.

“Zoro! Zoro you need to get up! Please!”

Still nothing. You started to run towards his body, not caring about the danger around you. You had to get to him. You screamed his name while you were running hoping he would pick up his head. Eventually, after what felt like both an eternity and a single moment, you reached his still body. 

“Zoro it’s me, I’m here! See? I’m right here! We’re gonna get you to Chopper and you’re going to be fine!” You lifted his massive shoulders up to try and prop him up on his knees. This was the point where you saw the amount of blood. Maybe he wasn’t going to be fine… no. He had to be okay. There was so much left unsaid between you. He couldn’t go now. 

Struggling to hold him up you tried to look his face. 

“Please… Zoro… I need you… I need you to be okay…”

Zoro’s swollen eyelids fluttered open.

“Y/n…?”

The tears in your eyes that were welling finally spilled over. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re gonna be okay.”

You barely remember getting him back to the ship. Especially with his condition progressing as much as it was. By the time you had found your other crew mates Zoro’s skin was burning up, you worried his wounds were already getting infected. 

You handed his heavy body over to Chopper and an annoyed Sanji, irate that he had been chosen to help carry this green lump back to the ship’s med bay. 

“Waisshh…. Y/n? Where’shh y/n going?” Zoro slurred out, eyes darting around in all directions, clearly dizzy with pain and fever. 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, moss head I will drop you on your ass and sail out of here without you.” Sanji bit back. 

——

You paced in front of the med bay for an hour biting your nails, waiting for Chopper to come out with news on Zoro’s condition. 

Nami popped her head into the hallway. 

“You seriously need to chill out before you wear holes in the floor going back and forth like that. He’s gonna pull through, he always does.”  

“You don’t know that. You didn’t see how bad it was…” Tears pricked at your eyes again. 

“Yeah but it’s Zoro.” Nami made a good point. The man hadn’t become the world’s greatest swordsman, there’s no way his heart would give up on him without achieving it. 

She ducked her head back into the hallway and you continued pacing. After a few moments your tiny fluffy doctor came out of the room taking the rubber gloves off his han-… hooves. 

“He’s going to live.”

You shakily exhale, finally feeling able to breathe again.

“Luckily I had the type of antibiotics he needed on hand and I was able to suture up the wounds across his chest and clean them up. He’s going to need to rest for awhile but-“ Chopper diligently explained his course of treatment. You interrupted him by scooping up his tiny body and squeezing it. 

“Oh thank you so much! You’re the best doctor in the whole world, we’re so lucky to have you!” You set down the reindeer and asked, “Could… could I see him for awhile?” 

Still heart-eyed at your praise, he agrees. 

“Sure y/n, it might do him some good to have a little company!”

You nod and grab the doorknob and open the door to the med bay. Zoro lay on a hospital bed low to the ground. You barely recognized him under all the gauze bandages, some showing old blood stains. You carefully tread over and kneel beside the bed… You had never seen him so fragile. He was always so forceful, so confident, so unbreakable. But here he was, sweating and wincing in a hospital bed. You were scared that just breathing too hard around him would make his pain worse. You were so mesmerized by his state that when he spoke you jolted upwards. 

“Y/n…”

You let out a sigh, “I’m here.”

“You saved me-“ He could barely make out the words, straining for each breath.

You shushed him quickly, “No. No talking. You need to save your energy. Please, just rest.” You reached out and gently placed his bandaged hand in your shaking one. He struggled to get out a protest before lolling back into a deep sleep. 

You waited until he started snoring to let go of his hand and head over to the sink and grab a washcloth. You dampened it with cool water and returned to Zoro’s bedside. You spent the next few minutes dabbing the sweat beading his forehead and clearing up patches of blood on his body that Chopper had missed. 

You were so worried about him, but you couldn’t help enjoying this intimacy. There had always been something between you and Zoro. Neither of you would ever acknowledge it, but it was clear to everyone that you were special to him and he to you. He always passed the first plate of food to you at dinner (if Luffy didn’t rip it out of his grip), he would stick close by you in difficult fights in case you got into a jam, and he would hold your gaze longer than he would with anyone else. 

You slept next to him that night. In fact, you slept next to him every night for the next week. After each long day with your crew, you returned to Zoro’s side, silently switching places with Chopper as his attending. You would freshen his pillows, re-wrap his bandages, all while telling him about your day. Each day his strength grew and he was able to move more and engage in more conversation. He was still too weak to sit up or lift his arms for more than a few moments. After 7 days in the infirmary and however many days before that you had to insist…

“I’m giving you a bath. You smell like literal shit.” You sidle up next to his bed on your knees with a bucket of water and a fluffy sponge. 

“The hell you are, woman! You’re going to drop me in the tub and I’ll crack my head open!” Zoro tries to sit up on his elbows.

“I know I would, that’s why I’m going to wash you here.” You begin to soak the sponge and wring it out over the bucket of warm water. "I don’t care what you say, you reek.” You reach your spare hand over his chest and start removing his bandages. You unwrap them to his waist and start moving the damp sponge gently over his broad chest. He let out a hiss at the sudden moisture on his skin. Silently you continue to wash him, nearly knocked backwards when you lifted his massive arms to scrub the pits. After awhile his upper body was sufficiently clean and you moved your position a few feet down on the bed to begin at his lower half. 

You felt your breath quicken and your heart start to beat faster. Your intentions were to care for him and his health but you failed to realize this would involve you seeing him completely naked. You hands hover over the bandages on his pelvis before reaching forward. 

“Y/n… you really don’t have to…” Zoro protested, his cheeks tinged pink at the awkwardness of the situation and how close you were to touching him there…

“I want to, Zoro, it’s fine. Please just relax. Let me do this for you.”

He flopped his head back onto the hospital bed in frustration, knowing he was far too weak to argue with you or stop you. You hands starting removing the bandages around his lower half, trying not to stare at his penis even thought it was directly in your line of sight. 

*hmm… carpet does match the drapes…* You chuckled to yourself. He was impressive, even soft. 

His breathing quickened as you starting washing his lower stomach. Trying to stay platonic, you zone out and stare at a point across the room. You slowly moved the sponge in circles, trying to eradicate his body of any filth left behind by fierce battles. You felt something tap the outside of your wrist. You snap out of your focus and realize it was the tip of Zoro’s cock. He had become hard from your hands on him, his huge dick leaking and bobbing up towards his stomach.  

You were shocked, your head snapped up towards his face. You felt your face turn red. He felt his cock brush you again and moved his wounded arm to cover his eyes. Zoro groaned into the pit of his elbow. 

“I am SO sorry about this y/n… I just can’t help it… You’re just so… you know… ugh” Zoro turns his head to the side to further hide from your gaze. 

You couldn’t believe he was like this… so shy and tender in front of you. You decide to push it further. 

“I’m so… like what, Zoro? Tell me… You can trust me…” You lower your voice to barely above a whisper. You needed to hear him say it. 

“Fuck, y/n…” Zoro still covered his face. “You’re so fucking hot, okay? You’re so pretty. Look at you, beautiful, even? I mean of course you are, I don’t know, okay? And your hands are so soft… and you saved my life, y/n…” He finally moved his arm and turned his head to look at you. 

“How could I not feel like this around you?” He finally said.

Your brain went haywire and you could have sworn you blacked out. You jumped up, dropping the sponge back in the bucket and caged in his head with your arms. You met his eyes for a moment, so soft and pleading, unlike anything you’ve ever seen in him. You smashed your lips on his in a frantic kiss. Zoro returned your action as much as he could in his state, not able to move his arms or neck the way he wants. He wishes he could have his hands all over your supple body, round and heavy breasts, your plush ass… But he couldn’t… not tonight at least.

You pulled back from him for a moment to remove your clothes. You were so needy for him that he didn’t even get a chance to enjoy your naked form in full before you jumped back on top of him. Zoro groaned as you slid back and forth across his thick length against his stomach as you worked yourself up on him. You were letting out soft pants, grinding your pussy on his member at a quick pace. As you moved on his body your breasts dangled dangerously close to his face. He was so close to being able to suckle your soft pink nipples, just begging to be kissed, but his injuries wouldn't allow for it. Damn it.

“Slow down woman…” Zoro breathed out, he never suspected you as someone who was so bold sexually. “What are we rushing for? I’m half dead, baby.” Zoro panted out a laugh.

“I-I’m sorry Zoro it’s just I need you so bad… been waiting so long to have you like this… and when I thought I lost you? I-“ 

Realizing that this situation had affected you greatly as well, he simply must oblige to your needs. 

“Okay then, baby, you can have it. Take it. It’s yours.” 

You held your hips up and lined his fat cock up with your seeping hole. You sunk down and sighed dreamily as it filled you better than you had ever imagined in your wettest dreams. 

“Fuck-“ Zoro groaned and slammed his eyes shut. You cunt was fluttering around him and he thought that was going to be it for him. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You had your head thrown back, hair dangling down to your ass, lips parted in an open mouthed slight smile. 

“Oh my God Z, why didn’t you say it was this good before?”

Zoro smirked at your praise. 

“You never asked.”

You start to bounce up and down shallowly on his cock. The way it was deliciously filling you to the brim each and every time had your head swimming. Your belly was starting to tighten with each bounce and he could feel your pussy gush more and more down his balls. 

“You’re close babe, you’re so messy. I had no idea you were such a dirty little girl. You in here every night, taking care of me like you’re so innocent. But really? You wanted to be here riding my cock, huh? Such a perfect, nasty little thing. You wanna cum for me? Make it even messier?”

You had no idea he could be so dirty! He had been barely alive a week ago and now he was reading all your filthiest thoughts through telepathy with his dick buried in your womb. 

“Yes please, yes I want to cum please! Wanna make a mess on you, Zoro, please!” You tried to grind yourself to your own release, but you felt two large scarred hands grab your waist. Zoro was using what little strength he had left in his body to push you down further on his cock and grind it into your sweet spot. 

“Oh my god I’m gonna-!” You scream. The pressure releases and your pussy rapidly spasms, each bringing you a wave of pleasure as you gush onto Zoro’s pelvis. Zoro never lets go of your hips, wanting to make sure he is working you through your full orgasm. 

“There it is baby, I know,” He coos at you as he grinds your body into him frantically. You were whining incoherently.  “I know baby, I need it too, I’m almost there… fuck, y/n” 

Zoro groans as he pumps your body full of his cum. He was gasping for air, he had never cum like this before. 

He looses his grip on your waist and you fall towards him, landing on his huge chest. He splays his arms out as his sides and you wrap your arms around him. Both of your chests were heaving. After a few moments Zoro looks down. 

“Fuck… I think one off my wounds opened up…” He touched his chest and brought his fingers up to his face. “Shit…”

You were immediately brought out of your post coital bliss and jumped up to grab your clothes. 

“There’s no time for that! What if I die here!” Zoro shouted at you. 

“Oh you’ll be fine! And I am NOT explaining to Chopper why I’m leaving this room naked! And frankly, you better not either.” You snap back at him.

“Fair…”

“I’ll be right back.” You say as you finally pull your shirt over your head. You reach for the doorknob and pull the door open to leave. 

“Oh hey y/n?” Zoro hollers at you from the bed in the center of the room. 

“Yeah?” You respond.

“Love you.”

You smile back at him. 

“Love you too. 

[cuffmeinblack]

Smile In Your Sleep

Sebastian Sallow x f!MC (she/her)

Tags: explicit | non-con | somnophilia | dark!Sebastian | delusional thoughts

3.1k words

Summary: Sebastian watches her when she sleeps, safe in his arms as she seeks comfort from her nightmares. Beautiful, perfect, and utterly irresistible; who could blame him for indulging?

A/n: *sweats* I'm so sorry, Seb. I made him completely delulu and predatory, this boy is fucked up.

When had merely watching her sleep become not enough? Sebastian pondered the question as he lay in bed, willing her to crawl in with him through some hitherto unheard of telepathy; a cruel thought, as she only ever did so when suffering from particularly horrendous nightmares. He missed her warmth, particularly on these cold Winter nights, though he was restless when she did make an appearance.

He closed his eyes, picturing her laying next to him—eyes shut, her dark eyelashes fluttering as she dreamed, cheeks flushed from the heat under the heavy duvet and those kissable lips just barely parted to aid soft breaths. His memory conjured images of the slow rise and fall of her chest beneath those gorgeous breasts that regularly featured in his own dreams. Sebastian gripped his aching length, his clothes long banished as he lay in the confines of his bed. He lingered on the thought of pushing himself into her mouth, parting those lips further as he slid down her throat. In his fantasies, she didn't react; merely lay still, statuesque, perfect as he violated her.

"F-fuck…," he stuttered as he came hard, spilling over his hand and stomach.

The shame that so usually flooded his mind had gradually dulled over the weeks, making way for a resignation that this was no passing phase. What bothered Sebastian now wasn't the activities he conducted in private—that was his own business, after all—it was the desire to act out his fantasies, growing ever stronger each time she made his way to him during those hard nights. That spurred his guilt, more so because she was particularly vulnerable in those moments, being subjected to horrors she begged him to be able to forget.

He cleaned himself up with a sigh before heading to the shower for a more thorough cleanse, though it did nothing to wash away the unease settling in his stomach. Once dressed, he walked down to the common room with Ominis, spotting her leaning casually by the window and prompting his insides to squirm. She greeted them cheerily as they approached, running her fingers through her hair to sweep it out of her face, like some sort of temptress meant only to torture Sebastian. It was no secret that he found her attractive, except maybe to the woman herself, but not a living soul knew the depths of his depravity when it came to his lustful thoughts.

As she sat across the table from him at breakfast, he felt as if she could read his mind the way her eyes seemed to scrutinise everything he did, and he silently prayed to Merlin that she wasn't a secret legilimens.

"You okay, Seb?" she asked.

Sebastian smiled and nodded, heaping porridge into his bowl and shovelling it into his mouth to avoid speaking. He was far too distracted for small talk, and besides that, he could barely look at her these days without imagining his cock in her mouth.

"How did you sleep?" Ominis asked.

"Better," she smiled with a sigh of relief. "Maybe my nightmares have stopped."

Well, that wouldn't do.

Sebastian peered over his bowl and caught her watching him, her piercing eyes seeming to want to communicate something. Would she be disappointed, too? Would she lament the fact that she no longer had an excuse to sleep next to him?

"That’s good," Sebastian remarked whilst idly stirring more honey into his breakfast.

She hummed in assent, never taking her eyes off him.

-

Not three days later, her presumption was proven false—her nightmares were far from finished tormenting her. She slid into his bed once again, shaking slightly, whether from the cold, shock or fear he couldn't tell. He bundled her into his arms as soon as she hit the mattress, curling into a fetal position as he enveloped her back in a blanket of warmth and calm.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Yes, I'll be alright. It wasn't as bad as…"

She couldn't finish her sentence, instead lapsing into silence as Sebastian stroked her hair and the last of her sobs subsided. He knew the nightmares she had alluded to; he had them too, sometimes.

She drifted off to sleep quickly, leaving Sebastian once again in an internal struggle between giving into the temptation that roared behind his ribcage, a beast waiting to be sated, and the simple duty of respecting his dearest friend. He told himself that he was disgusting, depraved, a monster, but the words meant nothing as he gazed down at her sleeping form in the dim light, noticing the gentle swell of her breasts underneath her cotton chemise. Her nipple had slipped, tantalisingly close to being exposed by the smallest of shuffles. Once again, Sebastian rationalised his actions, downplaying their gravity—he simply wanted to hasten the inevitable.

Propped on his elbow as he leaned over her, he delicately peeled the fabric down, revealing her soft, pink nipple. Saliva pooled in the well of his mouth as his cock twitched against her perky cheeks, and Sebastian suppressed a groan that would surely wake her. Just a quick touch, then he'd stop. His thumb brushed her nipple, her body responding even in unconsciousness as it formed a stiff peak at his touch. Fuck, he wanted to take it into his mouth, swirl his tongue over that perfect little mound. The thought sent blood rushing away from his head—and whatever part of his brain that was responsible for his self restraint—and straight to his cock.

Sebastian slid a hand under the chemise to gently cup her breast, her flesh perfectly filling his palm. His dark eyes flickered shut as he felt the weight, brushed the silken skin and gently pinched her nipple. Perfect. He was impossibly aroused now, his cock swelling at an alarming rate in his pyjama trousers. The only relief lay in her warm body nestled against him, and the temptation was simply too strong. His eyes opened again to watch her face, for any indication that she was waking as he rolled his hips into her backside.

She was so fucking soft. Her perfect arse moulding around his erection like it was meant for him. Still she slept as he palmed her breast, growing bolder every second with a firmer grip and a harder push of his hips. He wanted to moan into her ear, tell her she was such a good girl, but of course he couldn't; his game was one of stealth and silence. He couldn't stop his heavy breath or involuntary hitches as he grinded gently against her, but it soon became apparent that this gentle caress wouldn't be enough to rid him of his painfully throbbing desire.

Sebastian shuffled back slightly, taking the arm trapped under his body and wrapping his hand around his length with a shudder, whilst his other stayed firmly glued to her breast. He massaged her in rhythm to the strokes he gave his cock, his orgasm building so quickly from just how fucking wrong this was. Still he pumped himself, smearing the slick that dribbled from the tip down his entire length, filling the canopy with wet slapping sounds that were far too loud—but he couldn't stop, he was so close. He looked down at her face once more, eyes fixed on those plump lips so ready for the taking, and she moaned. A gentle sound, almost a breath, as she shuffled on the mattress slightly, bringing her knee higher and face pressed into the pillow.

No, Sebastian couldn't stop the inevitable, not even if he'd tried, which he didn't. He shot his load all over her clothed back, fucking his hand furiously as cum spurted in thick ropes across her pretty cotton chemise. His head was spinning, barely able to breathe from the intensity of his release. It was fucking incredible. It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours as he gasped quietly through the pleasure, but eventually he was empty, oversensitive and completely spent. He slumped back on the pillow, looking down at the mess he'd made of his hand and the sheet beneath them, his post-orgasm clarity ruining the perfect moment.

Shit. He removed his hand gently from her breast, pulling the top up to cover her still stiff nipple and groped around outside of the curtain for his wand, trying not to move too much. After an agonising few seconds of patting his nightstand, he finally found it, casting a non-verbal cleaning charm to vanish the soaking mess. It wasn't quite perfect, but he daren't utter the incantation aloud. This was his bed, as such, the slightly crusted layer on his sheet wasn't too much of a problem, but the same couldn't be said of her pyjamas. As she started to stir and the light began filtering through the gap she'd made in the curtain, Sebastian hoped against all odds that she wouldn't notice his shame smeared across her back.

-

Sebastian watched her over breakfast for any indication that she knew what he'd done, but she was apparently none the wiser, her usual self. He thought she may have lingered a little longer on his eyes as she looked at him that morning, her face a tad more flushed than usual, but she said nothing. If she had known, she had decided to allow it, which made Sebastian all the more bolder.

Night after night, she told him her nightmares had returned, though he noted the absence of any tears after a while. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, or a desperate need to justify his actions by telling himself that she wanted this, but he had almost convinced himself that it was true. He'd held back from doing what he really wanted, from truly claiming her whilst she slept, but his apprehension was melting away with every night she willingly found herself in his bed.

"Are you okay?" he asked once again as she lay curled up in his arms.

"Yeah. I'm better now."

Better with me.

She offered herself so willingly, such that the flickering flame of guilt was extinguished the moment her soft snores met his ears. Too beautiful to resist, and so responsive to his touch. His breath ghosted her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps prickling her flesh. Over her shoulder his gaze roamed and his fingers followed, the featherlight touch he employed barely registering to her nerves.

Sebastian’s ear was pricked for any variation in her breathing as he delved under her top, this time a less attractive buttoned shirt; but no matter, it was what lay underneath that counted. His hands provided and her body responded just as he’d hoped. This, he was used to now. This, was safe. He could caress her breasts and barely satisfy himself with his hand, but the allure of what lay next to his throbbing length was what kept him awake even on the nights he spent alone.

He dared to go further even as the bile rose in his throat, planting a kiss on her neck whilst his eyes stayed fixed on her peacefully resting visage. Illuminated by the strip of moonlight cascading through the gently rippling waters, she looked almost ethereal. There could be no snarky comments or irritating little habits; in stillness and silence she was captivating, absolutely perfect.

Another kiss, and another, until his brain was no longer capable of rational thought amongst the onslaught of hormones, and he licked the skin at the crook of her neck. Not a tentative dab with the tip of his tongue but a thick, wet stripe. She tasted of the tang of her perfume and partially of the sweat brought on by her night terrors; so enticingly forbidden. There was no stopping now—he was bordering on crazed, his mind addled with lust and a reckless disregard for any consequences.

His hand slid down her clothed back as he ignored his straining erection; there would be time for that soon. With gentle tugs, he worked on shimmying her pyjama trousers down, the soft skin of her cheeks that brushed his knuckles sending his head spinning. Faster he moved until she was exposed to him, and he took a moment to drink in the soft curves before cupping her behind with both hands.

What he wouldn’t give to dig his fingertips into her flesh, to leave bruises and indents along her hips. His fingers flexed involuntarily at the thought, barely pulling himself back before he acted on the impulse. He needed to be gentle, just like the steady breaths she continued to exhale. His hand glided down, slipping between her thighs where he was greeted by her slick entrance.

Sebastian could have spilled just then, messing his pyjamas from simply feeling her arousal. He took a deep breath as his middle finger gently stroked his prize before slowly pressing inside her. She had no reaction, none whatsoever—both reassuring and deeply disappointing. He was up to his knuckle, teasing her open with strokes of his finger. In the near-silence every squelch was audible, and deliciously obscene.

"So fucking wet for me," he whispered, barely audibly.

She shuddered, and Sebastian flinched and stilled his hand as his heart almost leapt out of his chest. That had been a sudden reaction to his words, not his slow and steady movements. He waited, but her eyes stayed shut and breath remained steady as she appeared to sleep on. Resuming his rhythm, he had the sneaking suspicion that she was at least partially lucid. She was letting this happen.

He slipped another finger inside her, growing steadily more reckless as he felt himself lose control over his desire. The minutes spent preparing her felt like an eternity, but once he was finally satisfied she could handle him, Sebastian was barely holding it together. As his hand wrapped around his cock to guide his way, a tiny moan fell from his lips before he could stop himself. Still she didn't stir, an invitation to continue.

He pressed his head against her dripping entrance and pushed, stopping as just the tip was enveloped in her warmth. So fucking perfect. All Sebastian could think of was filling her up completely, letting her drip his seed onto the sheets as she slept on, completely oblivious. The thought was almost enough to end him, and he willed himself to move, screwing his eyes shut in some pathetic attempt to delay his release.

He was doomed as soon as she began to stir at the first thrust. He moved slowly, gently, but he hit her deep, and those soft, rhythmic breaths became quicker and uneven. And then she moaned. Not a breathy sigh but an exclamation of pleasure that his roommates would no doubt have heard. He wished then that he could delve into her thoughts, to see what her unconscious mind had conjured in response to his intrusion. He was sure that he would see himself, pleasuring her as he did now.

"I'm so fucking close, please let me come," Sebastian whispered in her ear.

He didn't expect a response, at least not a lucid one—even if she'd given him one, he was too far gone to have processed it. The flutter of her walls around his cock was almost too much, and a confirmation that she was enjoying this just as much as he was. Every heavy breath against her neck and every shunt across the mattress brought her further out of her deep sleep. At that point, Sebastian cared very little about what might happen if she did wake, clinging to the belief that she would welcome his advances with open arms.

"Oh…wha-…?"

A confused and hoarse whisper escaped her throat, her eyes still glued shut.

Fuck.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Please say no.

"Don't…don't stop…"

Sebastian willed himself to last just a little longer, not merely seeking his own gratification but determined to have her fall apart by his touch.

"Come on, beautiful…," he encouraged with the smallest whispers.

She was so tight, her muscles gripping his cock as her abdomen clenched under his palm before she reached her climax. She writhed against him with heavy breaths and involuntary moans, the pulsing around his length enough to tip him over the edge with her. Sebastian groaned as he stilled, allowing the grip of her slick cunt to tease every drop of cum from him. The light was too dim to see clearly, but his finger found where they joined and his vision faded to black at the utter euphoria of the feel of his seed dripping from her.

Once the ringing in his ears subsided and he propped himself up on his elbow, he'd half expected her to greet him with a dozy smile, but her eyes were screwed tightly shut. Her body still twitched against him, but her breath was slowing once again, her limbs limp against the mattress. She was still asleep, and whatever words she'd uttered had been a product of her unconcious mind.

Shame washed over him once more, tempered by the knowledge that she'd been dreaming of him. He'd told himself this was the last time, now he'd been satisfied, though she looked even more angelic now that he'd had his way with her—she had a slight sheen of sweat across her deeply blushing skin that glistened tantalisingly in the light from the celestial bodies. Reining in the desire to taste her again, he let her rest, performing his cleanup ritual in silence. His spells were much more effective now, though he hesitated when he pointed his wand at the pool of cum dripping from her violated cunt. He rubbed his fingers into the damp fabric, carving the memory into his brain before it vanished.

Sebastian slept soundly that night, holding her tightly as he waited eagerly for morning.

-

She looked positively elated, if slightly abashed, and Sebastian knew why. She must remember the dream, the mind-blowing orgasm he'd given her—he could practically feel the heat coming off of her.

"What's got you smiling this morning?" Sebastian asked over the breakfast table.

"I had a strange dream, that's all," she said, barely suppressing a smirk as a blush crossed her cheeks.

"Oh? What about?"

She lowered her voice to barely a whisper, casting furtive glances around the table for anyone listening in.

"It was quite scandalous..."

Sebastian looked up at her from his dipped head with a knowing smirk, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Yeah? And who, pray tell, did this dream involve?"

"Garreth Weasley," she giggled.

The colour drained from Sebastian's face and a burning rage coursed through his veins. His mouth formed a hard line as he looked back down at the table and hoped she hadn't noticed his reaction. Oh, last night wouldn't be the last time, not by a fucking long shot—Sebastian's pride wouldn't allow it. He would have her dreams reflecting reality, until she moaned his name in her slumber.

[librathefangirl]

Still, Always

ao3 | The Seven Deadly Sins | Chapter 1/1 | 5.2k+

It was a coincidence that Meliodas was even there, but it happened. This wasn’t something Meliodas could just ignore. Meliodas had been a big brother for far longer than he hadn’t been one. /Meliodas tries to take a moment alone to breathe, away from Stigma – instead, he comes across a fight between a goddess and a demon. A choice needs to be made.

Some First Holy War hurt/no comfort demon bros angst for y'all who wanna suffer with me <3

Read on ao3 or under the cut!

It was a coincidence that Meliodas was even there. He wasn’t supposed to be. It hadn’t been planned, he hadn’t been asked to be; he’s just... needed a break. Being around Stigma was a lot harder than Meliodas would ever admit to Elizabeth. Staying in the Fairy King’s Forest for too long became overwhelming. It was like setting his skin on fire. Every little glare like a papercut, leaving his body a stinging, bloody mess. He couldn’t tell Elizabeth. (She didn’t deserve that). Meliodas could handle it – he’d dealt with worse before. And it wasn’t anything new, Meliodas was used to being hated. He was familiar with the looks and the not-so-quiet mutters behind his back and the constant feeling of having to look over your shoulder. It wasn’t new, but it was different here. In the Demon Realm, Meliodas was home. He had more allies than fingers (or at least he used to). There used to be admiration mixed with that hatred. Now there wasn’t, neither here nor there. Things were more similar than they had ever been before (neither demon nor goddess trusted him), but it was still different here. It was one thing being hated for who you were, and another to be hated for what you were.

Meliodas was used to the first. He was becoming used to the second (or so he told himself. So he had to be. There was no other option).

Being away from the forest gave him a bit of respite. It was like releasing a breath you’d been holding for hours without even noticing. Away from the rest of Stigma, and all alone, Meliodas could breathe. He had a moment to just breathe. It was a relief Meliodas felt ashamed by. One he could never voice aloud. He knew it hurt Elizabeth to see; every snide comment, every hateful glare, all the animosity and distrust thrown his way. If he told her how much it got to him too– Meliodas couldn’t do it. He didn’t want her to know. (The pain, the exhaustion, the tiny little voice in his head asking him if he made the right decision). Elizabeth didn’t need to know. Meliodas wasn’t a fool, he had known what the consequences would be when he joined Stigma as a demon. And he still chose to do it. (He chose her). It was fine. Meliodas could handle it – but sometimes he needed a break from it all. (That was also different. It was something new Elizabeth had helped him learn. It was okay to take breaks, he was allowed to have moments to just breathe).

Unfortunately, that day he wouldn’t be getting to do much breathing. (Not in a calming way at least).

It was a coincidence – that Meliodas was there, in that part of Britannia, close enough to notice – but it happened. He was there. (It was only time that would be able to tell if that was for better or worse). Meliodas had found solitude in a tree. He had climbed up a good way, giving him a nice view of the quiet afternoon, and was leaning back against the tree trunk. He was watching a couple of birds a few branches away that had dared approach his dark energy. They were cautious yet curious – their fear almost innocent (caused by instincts and not hatred). 

That’s when Meliodas felt it. Sharp chirps sounded from the birds as Meliodas suddenly sat up fast. It was too far away to hear, but Meliodas could feel it. His gaze scanned the area – it was too far off to see too, but he couldn’t help but try. This– There was a new presence. (It shouldn’t have mattered. There were lots of presences, lots of magic, residing just at the edges of his senses). Meliodas knew this one. This presence, this magic – it was achingly painful in its familiarity. He knew this one. There was a second presence too, one that Meliodas almost missed with the way the first one demanded all his attention. This was...Meliodas abandoned his sanctuary. Anxiety swirled in his gut. (Why? Out of every demon, why did it have to be...)

There was a clash of energies, of dark and light; demon and goddess. This was nothing out of the ordinary. A fight between a demon and a goddess was probably one of the most ordinary things happening in Meliodas’ life lately. (That was the root of the problem, wasn’t it? The thing that made ending this war feel so daunting and nearly impossible). This fight was normal, and none of Meliodas’ business. If you cared about every fight happening in Britannia, you would do nothing else. This wasn’t his fight. Meliodas had no business interfering in a fight like this. Neither part would want him there – besides Elizabeth, no goddess would call him their ally, and neither would a single demon (not anymore). In a fight between a demon and a goddess, Meliodas was a lone leaf caught in the wind of a storm; pushed and pulled in every direction without any root to call home.

This fight had nothing to do with him – except it did. It shouldn’t (not anymore, right?) but it did. This wasn’t something Meliodas could just ignore. Zeldris was there. Meliodas had been a big brother for far longer than he hadn’t been one. It didn’t matter what Zeldris said, this wasn’t a part of himself that Meliodas could just turn off. He didn’t know how to do that. (He didn’t want to do that).

It wasn’t hard locating the fight. Meliodas could have picked out his brother’s presence in a crowd of demons with both eyes closed. (It was instinctual; it was a law that wasn’t supposed to apply to him anymore). It was also very obvious – anyone could do it as long as they had any senses left. Goddess-on-demon violence was just that – violent. Violent and loud and unmistakable. It was ground-shaking, trees-falling, mountain-splitting violent. The very definition of destruction. It felt like an eternity, but within a few moments, Meliodas arrived at the scene of the crime. His stomach clenched at the sight of his little brother – crushing the tiny, naïve hope that he had been wrong. He wasn’t. Zeldris was there.

And Zeldris was hurt.

The fight didn’t look as bad as Meliodas had imagined. By the looks of it, the goddess had done her best to avoid a head-on fight. (Of course she did, or she would have already been dead by now). Rationally, this should have been less of a fight and more of an execution. This wasn’t an archangel. This was just... a goddess – and Zeldris was an excellent fighter. (Meliodas had to remind himself of that as he watched the blood spots on Zeldris’ clothes – the goddess or his own Meliodas couldn’t tell). Zeldris was one of the best the Demon Realm had to offer. Between  Cusack and Meliodas himself, they’d made sure Zeldris could handle himself. And he could. He could take care of himself, Meliodas knew this. Zeldris didn’t need his big brother to fight for him. (Especially one who didn’t have the right to do that anymore). He didn’t need his protection, nor would he want it. Zeldris didn’t want him near. That much he had made clear. (Even if Meliodas didn’t want to think about it, it didn’t change the truth. Zeldris hated him as much as the rest of the demons.)

It wasn’t even that dire of a situation either. It wasn’t life-or-death. Not for Zeldris. The goddess – Meliodas vaguely recognized her – maybe could put up a challenge for a bit, but Zeldris would walk away victorious. Meliodas had no doubt about that. The goddess was in worse shape than Zeldris was. Whatever the goddess had tried to do today, she hadn’t been able to avoid the fight. Now her only way of winning was making sure it wasn’t a fair fight, and she knew it. Zeldris was winning (but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get hurt – he already was. There was a cut on Zeldris’ cheek, coloring his skin red as it bled. Meliodas couldn’t stop staring at it. As he did, he could make out the tell-tale signs of an arc showing in the singed edges of the wound.)

Zeldris could take care of himself– but Meliodas wasn’t thinking rationally right now.

The goddess threw a cheap shot at Zeldris’ back and Meliodas just reacted. He moved before the blast hit its home, before either of them could even notice his presence; he moved before he could even think about it himself. This wasn’t something he should be doing. Nobody wanted him here. But Meliodas was still Zeldris’ big brother.

Meliodas crossed the distance between where he’d stood observing the fight and Zeldris in record time. Meliodas had always been a fast flier, but it was a completely different thing when you did it without thinking. Anxiety and panic seized control of his bones, his body, his actions. Normally something like that would break him. He would curl up around it, pressing it back into the black pit in his stomach where all the bad thoughts and feelings found their home. Meliodas would become acutely aware of himself, staring at his own body as the rest of the world faded out till nothing. Just a buzzing white wall with eyes observing every little inch of his body, every flaw in his actions. This time, Meliodas didn’t matter. The goddess, the trees, the world didn’t matter. Only Zeldris did. His little brother became the focal point of Meliodas’ every thought. (How could that be? How could Zeldris become his entire world so instantaneous, yet Meliodas wasn’t supposed to be his brother? This wasn’t supposed to happen anymore, was it? Meliodas wasn’t supposed to care... He didn’t know how to do that. Why did he have to do that?)

Meliodas’ mind was finally starting to catch up to what he was doing. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. It was too late now, he had to keep going. (He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to be allowed to do this.)

Countering the attack was easy enough – return to sender and the goddess was done. The magic slammed back into her with enough force to send her through multiple trees. She had been striking to kill. That had been supposed to be a killing blow even without Meliodas’ doubling its force. She had been fast on her feet, though, twisting as the blast was directed back at her. She had avoided the brunt of it, yet it didn’t seem to have done her any miracles. (If Meliodas had been thinking rationally, he would probably have worried about that. He should be worried about that. A dead goddess would do him no favors. It would be a horrible picture for any member of Stigma. For him? It would be a death sentence. He should have cared about the consequences). Feathers littered the ground between him and–

She wasn’t dead. Maybe she had pulled a miracle after all. (Meliodas should have cared about that, right? He didn’t want more blood on his hand. He didn’t want to be a bringer of pointless destruction. He... He didn’t care. This wasn’t pointless. She had attacked his little brother - In a fair world, his actions would have been justified). She didn’t get up. Not yet. The smell of blood and bleeding trees filled his senses. Beyond the remains of the trees was the faint glow of goddess magic. She was healing herself, or trying to at least. (That should be a good thing. Meliodas wasn’t supposed to kill goddesses anymore. He wasn’t supposed to protect demons. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be these days. His role, his purpose - what was there left for him? He had never been meant for peace. This is what he died. He killed and he destroyed... Elizabeth deserved better than this).

It felt like the world itself was holding its breath. Meliodas wasn’t. He couldn’t – his breaths forced themselves out of him in a too quick pattern. It was- It was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be breathing like that. It hurt. It sent his mind spinning. Why was breathing so difficult? Since when was it difficult? It wasn’t supposed to be. Gods...Meliodas could barely think above the sound of his own heartbeat. Seven hearts beating loud, loud, louder in his ears. Was that normal? (What even was normal? Meliodas had never been normal. That was gifted to other people. Demons who didn’t share blood with a god. Humans who didn’t matter. People who had a choice. Meliodas had thought he had a choice. He had taken his twisted shadow of normal and thrown it out the window... and he had gotten this instead.

What was he doing?)

“You-” The goddess had gotten back to her feet. She still looked rough, leaning heavily against a tree. She took a few stumbling steps closer. Her voice sounded as if someone had scraped it out with a knife. She fell against another tree, unable to keep herself upright without support. She was close enough for Meliodas to hear the strain in her breathing. (It sounded worse than his). She had escaped death by a hair today. Anybody could see that. She stared at Meliodas. And she probably wasn’t the only one to do so. It was anybody’s guess who looked the most shocked at what had just happened. (Meliodas hadn’t dared turn around yet. He couldn’t face Zeldris – the last time they spoke, Meliodas had left the Demon Realm to join Elizabeth and Zeldris had declared them enemies. Now Meliodas had just saved Zeldris from a goddess’ attack). Who was the most surprised? Who was the most mad?

The goddess scoffed – blood coating her lips. She wasn’t staring. There was no shock left in her eyes. Instead, Meliodas was met by a glare full of pure, unbridled hatred.

“Traitor!”

That word. It had been thrown at Meliodas a lot lately. (Perhaps that was all there was left of him? All that he could be. Meliodas the Traitor.) He was a traitor to the demons for choosing a goddess, for leaving, for joining Stigma. He was a traitor to Stigma for being a demon, for attacking a goddess, for choosing his little brother. He was a traitor for his violence and he was a traitor for wanting to protect the people he loved. Traitor, traitor, traitor. Always a traitor. He was letting Elizabeth down. He had turned his back on his home and friends. He had abandoned his brother. Would there ever be an end to this? (There had to be. There had to be an end. Eventually it had to be enough. Meliodas wasn’t sure what he would do if there wasn’t.) Meliodas had no home to call his own anymore. All that was left were his bleeding hearts; blood painting a red ground redder, his own mixing with the blood of all the victims of this pointless war. Demon. Goddess. Fairy, giant, human. All the five races. They all bled and they all died in this war. There was no winning. Nothing to gain. And for what? The only thing any of them would be left with if this continued was the sins they had committed and the blood on the ground. There was no point.

(Meliodas’ hands had been clean once. They had to have been. Even if he could hardly remember it anymore...)

Maybe it should have hurt more hearing that word leave the goddess’ lips than it did. (It should have hurt hearing it at all; when had it stopped hurting?) Maybe the accusation should have caused Meliodas’ more panic, too. This was a pointless war – but each choice had its consequences. This one would too. This one could change everything. (Or maybe nothing would change. Maybe Meliodas’ would be the only one.) This one choice could destroy everything Elizabeth had worked so hard to achieve. Despite all that, Meliodas couldn’t worry about the consequences. This was not a choice he could regret. Even if Zeldris had been fine on his own and Meliodas’ interception hadn’t been needed. If Meliodas had turned his back to this, there truly wouldn’t have been anything left of him. (Just the shell of who had once been, kept together by the threads of who he wished to be, and gouged out by his father, by the war, by everything he had to do or couldn’t do at all).

The goddess was still glaring at him, waiting for a reaction she was not getting. There was a challenge in her gaze; a dare to dispute her word. Meliodas should say something, shouldn’t he? If not to dispute it – he couldn’t, it was the truth. (Meliodas was a traitor. The word had seemingly become synonymous with his name) – then to stop her. She would leave, people would find out, and Meliodas would be stuck with the consequences of a choice they expected him to regret. He should be explaining himself. Maybe he should ask her if she was okay (she clearly wasn’t, but she wasn’t dead either). He could have killed her. He almost did kill her. (To protect a demon; his brother). There was no way this would go over well. If– When Ludociel found out... The archangel might actually snap because of this. In a way, it would be interesting to see. What would the oh so great Ludociel do if the final line was crossed. They had been inching closer and closer to it ever since Elizabeth brought Meliodas to Stigma. This might be it. This might actually be more than what Ludociel could take. In his eyes, it certainly would be proof of the fraudulence of Meliodas’ eyes. (Ludociel had been looking for a justified reason for killing Meliodas, and Meliodas himself had just handed it to him).

The goddess pushed herself off of the tree, finally regaining enough strength to stand on her own. (Meliodas really should stop her). Meliodas didn’t move. (This would cost Elizabeth everything.) He didn’t say anything. (At least, Elizabeth would still have Drole and Gloxinia). There was nothing he could say. (Maybe, without Melidoas there to screw everyone over again, they could get their peace). Nothing could change the facts; the truth laid bare between them. (Meliodas; the traitor, the disappointment. He wasn’t meant for peace. It wasn’t his to make).

Trembling blood-tinted wings were lifted into the air. The goddess clearly had no desire for Meliodas’ excuses. Not that he had any. Excuses made it sound like Meliodas’ actions were wrong and illogical. They only were that to her. To Meliodas they were the conclusion of two and a half centuries worth of history; of him and Zeldris. (Meliodas couldn’t save anyone – but he would be damned if he didn’t try. He had to try).

Meliodas had hurt his brother enough as it was. He had hurt him to the point of losing him. (He wasn’t his brother anymore... right? He wasn’t supposed to–) There had to be some limit. Some end. Some point where the universe said enough. (Zeldris deserved so much more than this failure of a big brother).

The goddess paused for one more moment – was she actually expecting him to respond? – but Meliodas said nothing. He couldn’t. So instead, he just let his weapon clatter to the ground. It wasn’t even a weapon. It was just a stick he had grabbed on his way to intercept her attack. (His broad sword was still stuck in the ground underneath the tree Meliodas’ had initially taken refuge in. He had left it there, forgotten along with the birds in his haste). It didn’t matter. Meliodas doubted that him attacking a goddess with a stick would be viewed much better than if he’d done it with an actual weapon. The goddess scoffed. (Meliodas was out of time. His choice was a permanent part of history now. Meliodas, the demon, a member of Stigma, protected a demon against a goddess he’d claimed to be his ally). The goddess took off. Her flight was a bit shaky and uneven, but she would manage. She would make it back to the Light of Grace to seal Meliodas’ fate.

With the goddess gone, the silence became suffocating. (Wasn’t that ironic? A standoff with someone who wanted him dead was more bearable than facing his own little brother). It was just him and Zeldris now. Zeldris who hadn’t made a sound. Meliodas wasn’t even sure he had moved once during this whole ordeal. Meliodas wished they could stay like this for just a little longer. He didn’t want to have to turn around and let this all play out. Meliodas would rather take the silence, as suffocating as it was, over having to see that same look on his little brother’s face. Hatred, contempt – it didn’t matter if it came from a goddess or anyone else – anyone but two people. There were only two people whose gaze and words could still break Meliodas where he stood. Traitor. This time the word would hurt. (Just like it had the last time Zeldris said it). Meliodas wanted to stay right there and then, but he knew they couldn’t. The universe had made it clear it didn’t care about what Meliodas wanted.

They moved at the same time. Meliodas finally turned around, and Zeldris rose to his feet from where he had been half-kneeling on the ground. They ended up face-to-face. (Close. Too close. The last time they had been this close Zeldris had yelled at him, disowning him as a brother, and then walked out of his life, and–) Meliodas still didn’t know what to say. All of this had been his choice (a choice he would have done again), but none of it had been planned. Meliodas hadn’t expected to see Zeldris today. He didn’t know how to talk with his brother anymore. (Had he ever? Had things always been this wrong? Had he ever been the brother Zeldris deserved?) He didn’t know how to bridge the trench that had been dug between them. People always talked about the cost of war, but  nobody mentioned the sacrifices that peace took.

Zeldris took a step back, almost stumbling, and crossed his arms over his chest like a shield (a shield against Meliodas); “...why?”

Meliodas had expected Zeldris to yell at him. Hell, he had expected him to punch him. He wasn’t sure what to do with a whisper. Of all the scenarios that had flashed through his mind since the goddess left, this hadn’t been one of them. Meliodas had expected anger, he had expected hatred – and it was still there in Zeldris’ eyes, but hidden behind a whirlwind of emotions, each one passing quicker than Meliodas’ could name. Most of all, Zeldris just seemed lost. (And that hurt more than any word the goddess could have called him). It was as if Meliodas’ protecting him was this unfathomable phenomenon that would only exist in fairy tales. Zeldris looked like he couldn’t understand it.

(Why? – Meliodas didn’t know how to put a part of his soul into words that Zeldris could comprehend. He didn’t know if those words existed. Not anymore. Last time, Meliodas had thought that Zeldris would understand. If he didn’t then... What would make today any different?)

Meliodas shrugged feebly. It seemed to be the only answer he had to give. It also seemed to infuriate Zeldris even more. He stepped closer – the falter to his steps gone. His breaths struck across Meliodas’ face like they had no other way to go. Zeldris was breathing hard now – like Meliodas’ had earlier. (Somewhere along the way, Meliodas’ own breathing had changed. It had been too quick, now he could barely detect it himself. As if all of Meliodas’ strength had disappeared with the goddess, or fallen to the ground with the stick. His fingers shook.

Meliodas was tired).

“Why?!”

There was nothing wrong with Zeldris’ strength. If anything, he seemed to have too much of it if the way his jaw was clenched was any indication. The word this time was also hard; spit out through clenched teeth. Zeldris’ voice was closer to the growl Meliodas had expected. Zeldris had found his anger. He glared at Meliodas, his gaze unwavering and burning with something Meliodas didn’t want to place (the fury and hatred that Meliodas deserved). The way he spoke, the look in his eyes, the tight furrow of his brow. Zeldris should have been perceived as a threat, (they were supposed to be enemies now after all), but...

Melodias smiled sadly, “I might not be your brother anymore, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t still mine. Zel, you will always be my brother.”

“Don’t–” Zeldris looked away, nails digging into his arms. He breathed in – the sound sharp and close to a gasp (it hurt Meliodas to hear). “Don’t call me that.”

Meliodas’ hearts broke in two. (How many times could they do that before there was nothing left?) He sighed. Unlike Zeldris, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. So much had changed, yet Zeldris still looked the same. (The same little brother Meliodas had always wanted to protect). Except now, he couldn’t stand seeing Meliodas. Except now, Meliodas’ very presence brought wrinkles to his forehead and a tightness to his jaw. (He couldn’t stand Meliodas, period). Zeldris would have rather taken an arc to the back than be here with his brother.

Brother...

The wound on Zeldris’ cheek was still bleeding. Meliodas’ fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out. He wished he would be allowed to help – but he knew he wouldn’t.

(Would he ever be again?)

Don’t call me that.

“Then I can’t answer your question...” Now it was Meliodas’ turn to whisper. The words were barely audible to his own ears. He couldn’t... It was like the air had followed his strength and leaked from his lungs into the late afternoon.

You are no longer my brother!

(How was there anything left of his hearts?)

Next time we meet, it will be as enemies!

It didn’t matter what Zeldris said. Meliodas couldn’t do it. He couldn’t just... stop. The only reason he was here right now was because of Zeldris. Because Zeldris was his brother. How was Meliodas supposed to turn his back on that? (He had never meant for that to happen). Everybody – almost everybody – expected him to, but Meliodas couldn’t do it. (He didn’t want to!)

“Why-!” Zeldris cut himself off. His hands fell to his sides, curling into fists, shaking. Meliodas could see it – the way Zeldris could barely suppress the want to scream, to fight (to cry). Gods, it hurt seeing his little brother like this and not being able to hold him (like he used to do, a long, long time ago; when things were much simpler). He almost tried to just so Zeldris would look at him again.

“ Zel...” Meliodas didn’t know what to say (he never seemed to anymore). Was there even anything he could say? Zeldris had walked away that day, taking a piece of Meliodas’ hearts with him. There were no words that could undo that. (Nothing that would make them whole again).

“You really think I need your help?” Zeldris snapped – and then he did it; he looked at Meliodas. (Meliodas almost wished he hadn’t). The tears in Zeldris’ eyes alone could have brought Meliodas to his knees. (Another piece of his hearts broke). “I didn’t ask for this!”

“I know...” 

(Once you used to. Why did you stop asking?

Why did I stop offering?)

“I know, Zel. I–”

“I didn’t– I don’t need you!”

“I know.”

“I don’t!” Zeldris was screaming, tears falling down his face. (And Meliodas’ hearts fell with them). Maybe Meliodas was crying too. He couldn’t tell. He could barely remember how to breathe (again). He could barely get his tongue to move enough for those two, small words.

“I know...”

(I seemed to be the only thing Meliodas could say. He should say more. There was nothing else he could say).

“I don’t–” Zeldris took another gasping breath that made the lump in Meliodas’ throat triple in size. Zeldris swiped at the tears with his fist. Blood smeared across his cheek as he did. 

(What was going through his mind at that moment? Was it horror at the tears? Annoyance? Fear? Zeldris shouldn’t be crying. Tears were an emotional reaction; tears were only reserved for the things that mattered. Zeldris shouldn’t care about him anymore... right?

Or maybe Zeldris was just so angry he cried and Meliodas was the fool for daring to think anything else...)

“This doesn’t change anything.”

(Gods, Meliodas knew).

There was no fixing this. Meliodas had lost his little brother. (When he had left the Demon Realm, when he had met Elizabeth, or had it happened long before that without him even knowing?) It was the one sin Meliodas would never be able to atone for; the blood that would never wash from his hands. It didn’t matter what he did today. There were no words, no action that could change what had been done before...

The fight bled from Zeldris. (He looked just as exhausted as Meliodas felt.) Zeldris’ voice trembled as he asked the first thing he had said to Meliodas since Meliodas had left; “Why?”

Meliodas closed his eyes.

(Why? What was so important? What was worth this?)

Meliodas searched for Zeldris’ eyes. (He longed for the familiar green... He hadn’t been allowed to see them all day, hidden behind a wall of darkness. He hadn’t seen them since–) Zeldris avoided his gaze again.

“...I want it to stop.” The words sounded pathetic, foolish. “I need the fighting to end.”

(Peace... It was a fairy tale more absurd than the son of the Demon King falling for the daughter of the Supreme Deity).

Zeldris scoffed, his gaze locked on the horizon. The sun was setting. Beyond the trees light and dark clashed together once more. Contrary to a goddess and demon, it lacked violence; it seemed almost tranquil. (Yet soon enough only one would remain...)

“It can’t.” Zeldris met Meliodas’ naïve desire with the cold, harsh reality. “Father would never– It isn’t possible.”

(It was naïve. It was insanity incarnate. It was the one thing keeping Meliodas going.

And for a fleeting moment, Zeldris had felt it too. Meliodas had seen the hope in his eyes that day in the Demon Realm; the desperate want to believe. Then it had been pushed down. Choked and drowned by darkness and anger.

The shackles of fear too heavy for the hope to take flight).

“You can’t.”

To Meliodas’ horror, black wings formed behind Zeldris’ back. (Gods, please, no!) Meliodas’ hand shot out, fingers brushing across the top of Zeldris’ hand. (It was too late. He was too late.)

“You made your choice.”

Zeldris left, taking the final remains of Meliodas’ hearts with him. There was nothing left, (there couldn’t be), yet his blood kept pumping through the holes in his soul.

You will always be my brother (even if I can’t be yours).

[the-bear-and-his-sunbird]

Hi! (late) happy thedas weekend! how do you feel about Neverookanis and "sooner or later, the things you love, you lose" from the A taste of Heavenly Light Prompt List ?

Hey!! Thank you for the prompt for @thedasweekend! I have angsted myself close to the sun and woke up from the blur of that writing with 2k words of sadness. Rook is an unnamed Qunari Rook who uses she/they pronouns.

Pairing: Neverookanis (Neve x Rook x Lucanis)

Words: 2,240

Warnings: Major character deaths (mind the plural), Assassination, grief, funerals, loss, angst, hurt/minimalistic comfort, Spoilers for endgame, the whole Veilguard is here

Rook was the first to die.

This took both Neve and Lucanis by surprise, as both of them had bigger targets painted on their backs. Lucanis was the first Talon and thus had many enemies both inside and outside of Antiva, especially after using money and resources on helping the Shadow Dragons.

Neve was still an inspiration for Docktown, freeing slaves and speaking out for the people trying to get by, who suffered from injustice.

Rook was the savior of Thedas, with a warm and shy personality, her horns painted in both turquoise and purple, just so that Neve and Lucanis would always be with them.

But even Rooks personality, her bad jokes and tight embraces could not save them. It was poison, when Rook was eating while Lucanis and Neve gone out on missions. Rook, who always helped strangers, who cried when seeing a hurt cat, who cared so much that their heart bled out of their chest at anything they found to be unfair.

She had wanted to take on a new mission, Neve had been told by Davrin, who had accompanied Rook after Bellara had been taken by the blight three months ago. His head hung low as if expecting Neve to go in for the killing blow, as if she would lunge and tear at him for not being able to stop it. But how could she? Both of them already tried to find the fault within themselves. So Neve choked on words of comfort until she felt there was no air anymore. No one said anything when she left for outside.

The poison was quick, she probably felt no pain, Emmrich said, soothing voice dripping with grief, as Lucanis only nodded along, as Spite clawed and screamed at his insides and then at the wall until his voice was horse and his nails bled. He knew this was a lie. A kind one, maybe, yet all he could see was Rooks face, grimacing even in death. He knew the poison brought pain beyond imagining.

Their shared bed was too empty, to spacious without Rooks tall frame in it. Arms and wings wrapped tighter around each other, holding each other in grief and anger and sadness and numbing loss. Still their mornings were too quiet without Rooks chatter and the nights too long as they worked without pause on finding the one who took their beloved from them.

They found him before Rooks funeral. It felt too easy. There was no grand surprises, only bland truths. People who were vocally against Rooks work, against her being with the first Talon and the inspirational Detective, against her having saved the world as a no good- er from a faction they did not even care about.

Rook was not that loved anyway, he claimed.

He was so very wrong.

So many people came to their funeral. Friends from the Veilguard, friends from all their factions, people who were blessed with Rooks bright personally, who looked up to her, cherished her. When the send the ashes off into the sea Lucanis and Neve held hands, the same way they held hands when the raised a light for Rook.

It was only a few months later when Neve held onto Lucanis’ once more. Only this time his hands were unnaturally cold.

As someone told her the circumstances of his death with a too empathetic tone, as if she was a wounded animal, Neve watched her tears pool on his knuckles; wondering on how they could be so stiff when just this morning they were wrapped around a mug when making coffee, wrapped around a spatula when making food, wrapped around her when making love.

He had gone out on a rumor of someone else being involved with Rooks death and the failed assassination attempt on Emmrich and Strife.

Someone seemed to get rid of the Veilguard and he was adamant to find out who.

Why did she not go with him? Why did she let him slink away from her when she was still drowsy from the happiness they shared in that not so quiet, not so sad moment this morning.

Rage. But her rage was not born of fire and embers like Taash’s was, Neve's rage was icy and unforgiving; slow and dark She could not see Spite but she knew he was there, all demonic fury as lights flickered wherever their shared fury trailed.

She worked tirelessly, finding clues, trying to make sense of it. The rest of the Veilguard helped her, held her close as she had to watch how Caterina, who Neve was convinced just refused to die out of sheer stubbornness, conducted a lavish second and final sendoff for her grandson and refused to allow Neve there. The words and threats she had thrown at her head were nothing in comparison to not getting to say goodbye.

There may have been no official goodbye for her, but Teia and Viago were kind enough to offer her to find a hidden nook, a safe place to watch from afar.

Neve had declined. Both of them attended the small wake they held in his name, when Neve raised a light for him next to them for Rook and Bellara and Harding. She tried to take some comfort in the thought of them having Book clubs and new adventures in the afterlife. If something like this even existed.

This time she did not return home for weeks. She dreaded it, dreaded the silence, the memories, the vague outlines of someone that were etched in her heart and in the mattress.

Neve threw herself into work. It took years to take apart the people who did this, who had formed just to take apart everyone she had let too close.

Davrin helped until his own calling came, Assan pressed close to him. Taash ventured out on a lead, their eyes fire and anger and never returned. Their lights shone bright next to the others’.

Rana held Neve some nights and helped her in the days. Emmrich called upon any corpse and any connection he could find to help them stop this, his eyes darting worriedly to the scars Strife bore from the attack on them. Neve recognized the fear of loving the one you love and when Emmrich caught her eye, he always made sure to touch her shoulder and sit with her in shared grief.

Their friendship grew even closer over every loss and she was thankful for it.

The news that Emmrich had died did not take her by surprise. It was a broken heart soon after Strife left the world.

He loved him so much. Neve would not have wished to see him go on without his other half. Yet she missed her friend, missed his warmth and the comfort of being the last ones together.

She attended their burial together with Fred, who only hissed sadly in her embrace.

“I know,” she whispered as hot tears fell from her eyes, as if words could soothe their terror. “I know.”

When she finally caught the organization who was behind all of it her mouth tasted only of ash. It tasted like everyone she lost, of every brutal loss, every word unspoken.

It had been years since they defeated the elven gods but not enough to justify her being the very last of them.

She had gone back to the Lighthouse but found it unbearable. She had gone back to the Rivaini Sea but had found it too salty and vast. She went to Nevarra and to Arlathan, but their weirdness was no comfort with none of her friends to make sense of it anymore. She was less welcome by the wardens with every year, as known faces were slowly replaced by new ones, ones who would never experience the calling but still held the title with pride. She had no place among the crows.

In the end it was Docktown were she stayed, the place she always returned to. She took on work for next to no money and saved whoever she could.

With every reunion her ritual began.

She would start at the place of their lights, making sure that every one was still afloat. It took some time to light up the group and say hello to everyone, but it was well worth it. When Fred was around, he would join her, but nowadays he was hauled up in the Necropolis, studying and learning. Curiosity and his never tiring feet had so many nooks to uncover still, Neve could not blame him.

Then she would go to where Hal’s was. Her footsteps on the wood seemed wrong without two other pairs of feet alongside her but on a good day she would try to conjure up the sound. Lucanis silent steps and Rooks jumps. Then she would look to the spot the Viper would always sit at, missing his presence around. She would imagine Lucanis making a joke about him being less a Viper but a Crow with how he perched above Docktown.

She would imagine smiling so hard one of her lips curled up in reality before venturing on. She would give some money to the begging people, still too many, still too hungry, and sit with whoever was willing. She learned their names and made sure to always bring something for them.

Then she would go on to the first place she and Lucanis kissed in public. It was heated and full of fear of loosing him after some Venatori nearly took out his jugular.

She remembered how Rook stumbled upon them holding hands; how her eyes lit up. Neve also remembered how many kisses it took to get Rook to stop hiding her insecurities behind bad puns, the first time Rook and Lucanis kissed in front of her.

Their beginning was messy, full of fear and longing. Imperfect but it had been theirs.

She went to all the places they had shared. The place they skipped stones, the place they would drink at, the places were they shared secrets and touches.

With every place she would think of the memory, put it behind ice so it would not wither away. She would imagine Rook and Lucanis being there, Horns and crows trailing next to her.

At the end she would sit on a dock and share a moment with their memory as she watched the ships go by. She smiled when she could hear Lucanis bemoan her choice of food and making coffee, thinking of the way he could spend hours on perfecting his beverage.

She thought about Rook reading the newest filthy literature to her, imagining the way her lips curled up and cheeks reddened, all toe curling and joy. Seeing Neve like this would turn her face into the frown she knew so very well, the one that they always had when they tried to work out the solution to a problem.

Neve chased the memory in her hollowed out heart through Docktown until she reached the door to their shared apartment, rent still payed by an “anonymous friend” who she knew to be Dorian, until she bolted.

It took years until she was ready to go in again.

When she did, she wept. Wept with rage, wept with sorrow, wept with the bitter aftertaste of having something so sweet and so vulnerable only to have it pulled away from you.

She fell asleep curled into dusted blankets, holding onto them like a child. Just for this one moment she wanted to feel small again, in the vastness of everything that was too horrible and too lonely.

Her dreams were full of happiness and the lighthearted feeling of having her loved ones around her, both romantic and platonic. Her dream self did not understand why everyone was so sad for her, she did not understand why they told her they would wait for her.

In the morning she only felt heavier for it, as if the ice she wielded had settled into her blood tying her to the bed, as it dawned her why they were there and she was all alone.

She took the whole morning to go through their memories, to pick things she wanted to bring along and to discard others when her eyes fell on a piece of paper. Even after years she recognized the lopsided handwriting: Rook.

“Hey love, if you find this it’s because you are gloomy and going through our stuff again. I would tell you to look at the bright side of things, but I know you too much, so I have drawn you Lucanis and Spite who are bickering right now about how to make your favorite dish for your birthday. We will be waiting for you and surprise you with it. When you find this, you will probably be able to remember what a blast this was, so dry your tears. We will always be waiting for you, because you’ve got the love we need to see ourselves through. I love you, Lucanis does too. See you soon.”

She should cry, Neve thought to herself, but she could not bring herself to do it. Instead she felt the most genuine smile come to her face she had in so very long.

There is still so much to do before she could see them again, but until then she would carry on.

Neve knew that they would wait for her.