#and to expect this all to happen in a month's time

[nadvs]

the power play (part five)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

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You haven’t spoken to Rafe since he angrily left your dorm three nights ago.

You’re sitting in your booked study room, waiting for him to arrive, wondering if he’ll be regretful of your argument or be ready for round two or pretend it never happened.

Either way, you’d prefer to make light of it and move on. He may no longer be your fake boyfriend, if he really meant what he said, but you’re still going to be seeing him every week.

You hope that you can just give him back his jersey and leave what happened in the past.

The guilt that Rafe has been running from catches up to him once he walks in and sees you. He blew up the other night and you met him with understanding he’s never been given before, softness he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Let’s just get it out in the open,” you say as the door clicks shut behind him. “We fought. I was expecting a bouquet of apology roses, but maybe they got lost in the mail?”

He huffs. Typical of you to make a joke about it.

He sits down, slouched back as he unpacks his things, his long legs stretched out beneath the table. He doesn’t know what to say and is relieved, for once, that you fill the silence.

“I get why you got annoyed,” you say, “but I haven't changed my mind. This doesn’t have to be weird. No hard feelings, right?”

His jaw tenses as he sets your copy of We Have Always Lived in the Castle on the desk. He got through it quickly. And he actually didn’t hate it.

He’s sure it was only because reading killed the time he’d normally had spent training, but he figures this is a good enough topic to start with.

“I finished it,” he murmurs, looking down at the paperback. “It was good.”

“Oh. Wow,” you say, perking up. “You liked it?”

He nods, earning a prideful smile from you.

“Because…?”

“It was short,” he says.

“You walked into this room, I think a month ago to the day, and looked insulted when I asked you if you liked reading,” you say. “And now you’re telling me you enjoyed a book. That’s huge. I need way more than it was short.”

“You’re being a lot right now.”

“I know.” Your smile doesn’t falter. You motion for his laptop, he hands it to you, and you open a new document. “Keep talking. What did you like about it?”

“It got to the point.”

“The prose is very clear,” you agree, typing in the note. “What’d you think of the twist at the end? Did you see it coming?”

“No.”

“This is why I love this class. It introduces you to books you might’ve never picked up,” you gush, then take a breath. “You better not be trying to trick me. You knew I’d get excited about this and forget that we argued. But I’m already over it. Okay, I’m talking too much. Your turn.”

The relief of seeing you act like you normally do has lifted the weight that’s been sinking into Rafe since the night he snapped at you.

Now that he’s with you again, confined in a room he didn’t think he’d ever not mind being in, there’s no avoiding the fact that you have an effect on him.

Against his expectations, he cares about what you think. About how you feel. And he just wants to fix this.

“You don’t know what my fights with her used to be like,” he says. “I’ve heard it all.”

You still for a moment, then rest your elbow on the table, chin in your hand as you gaze at him through compassionate eyes.

You can sympathize that not knowing what Emma said is irritating him, but you couldn’t repeat her cruel words, even if you wanted to.

“I understand,” you say, “but I can’t bring myself to tell you something that’ll just hurt you.”

“That’s my point,” he scoffs. “It won’t hurt me.”

“It could.”

Rafe sinks into the realization that he’ll just have to take the loss here. You’re not going to tell him what he wants to know, because you don’t want to wound him. Even though he kind of deserves it for his outburst.

“I know I…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know I didn’t have to lose it on you like that the other night.”

“Yeah,” you breathe a defeated chuckle. “You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

He fans through the book just to have something to do with his hands.

You take in the remorse etched into his handsome face and you admire that even though he can be rash, he tries to clean up the messes he makes, pushing aside his ego when he needs to.

“We’re past it,” you conclude. You look at the laptop screen again, glad this will be a clean break. “Let’s write what we can about this book first and then go back to the other essay. What else did you like?”

Rafe expected that you’d bounce back after your rift. Your positivity is so relentless that it almost tires him out. But he needs to make sure you know he uttered those words out of disingenuous impulse.

“I didn’t really mean that we should end it,” he clarifies.

You look at him again, a crease formed between his brows.

“Are you trying to un-break up with me?” you tease. “This is awkward. I already started pretend-dating one of the other guys I tutor.”

“You tutor other guys?” he asks before thinking.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” you play along.

Rafe’s chest pinches. He doesn’t know why he assumed you exclusively tutored him. He thought he was the only one you see like this, the only one you ramble to and nag and joke with. Why does he hate that he’s not?

“Come on,” he murmurs, shoving past the unwelcome thought. “I know you miss me.”

You laugh. His typical brand of humor is detached and blunt and it’s nice to see another side of him, a playful side that makes him seem warm.

“I have to think about it.” You shrug. “Okay. We’re back together. I had a feeling you were just being mean the other night anyway.”

Rafe’s lips fall into a guilty frown. Without thinking, he scratches the back of his neck, grimacing and letting out a sharply exhaled fuck as his shoulder stings in pain.

“Are you okay?” you ask, serious now.

“Yeah,” he grunts.

“Convincing,” you say. “What is it?”

He sees no reason to hide it. You did tell him that he can vent to you and if there’s anyone he’d complain to about this, it’s you.

He���d rather not tell anyone on the team. Not even his closest friends. He doesn’t want to look weak.

“My shoulder’s fucked up,” he admits.

“Is it from that board check the other night?”

He nods and says, “Physio said it’s a strained muscle.”

“How bad?”

“I’m benched. He’ll look at it again before game two.”

“You mean you can’t play the first game of the championship?” you surmise.

Rafe’s tight expression tells you that you assumed correctly. You grimace sympathetically.

“Did he say if you can use anything to help with the pain?”

“Heat when it gets bad,” he says.

“I’ll be right back,” you say.

He watches you rush out, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. Moments later, you come back with an instant hot compress and place it on the desk in front of him.

“The library has a bunch of first aid kits,” you tell him, sitting back down.

“How’d you know that?” Rafe squeezes the package in one hand, the subdued pop cracking through the small room. “You really like it here that much?”

“A student of mine got a papercut once,” you explain with a laugh. “But yes, I do enjoy being surrounded by books.”

“Right,” he huffs, still in disbelief of how different you two are. “Thanks.”

He rests the package on top of his shoulder, comforting heat spilling through his t-shirt.

When Rafe lets out a velvety, satisfied groan, you find yourself flustered within half a second. Your mind sprints away from you. A mere sound has never made every inch of you tense like this before.

Your imagination can’t keep doing this to you, but it feels impossible to ignore the physical pull you’re starting to feel towards him.

You swallow hard and look at the laptop again, blinking.

This is bad.

You’re crossing the line and you need to yank yourself back into rationality. Rafe is a friend and all the affection he’s given you has been a sham and it’s disconcerting that you keep having to remind yourself of that.

You know he could never give you what you need in a relationship. The last time you saw him was cold, hard proof of that. He’s much too volatile to make a good boyfriend.

And that’s accompanied by a very big if he even likes you like that, which you highly doubt, given how easily you frustrate him. You refuse to overthink, to tumble into infatuation with another man who’ll just hurt you.

“Anyways,” you say, your eyes locked on the screen. “We really should get to work.”

════════

With ten minutes left of the session, Rafe’s laptop dies. You slide it towards him, disappointed you couldn’t upload the essay you’d just finished before the battery drained.

“Make sure to submit it before midnight,” you say. “Oh, and Lyla and Beck’s parents are hosting their birthday party on Saturday, so consider me unavailable for fake girlfriend duties that night.”

Rafe opens his backpack, pushing his laptop in as he mulls over your words. That sounds like the type of event you’d want him to come to.

“Do you need me there?” he asks.

“You were invited,” you say, “but I’ll say you were busy. You’d hate it. It’s an hour away, with a bunch of strangers you’d have to impress, and there’s obviously no way your ex would be there. I can do this on my own.”

Rafe stills before he speaks again.

“Do you need me there?” he repeats, more evenly.

It riled him up to see Emma leave the last party with another guy. To see his arm around her at the game. He hoped he’d be able to count on you to be by his side if he sees them together again this weekend.

But mostly, and more importantly, picturing you at that birthday party alone, in the same room with the guy who hurt you, all because you didn’t want to make Rafe feel forced into going, gnaws at him.

You stare at him, trying to make sense of his tight expression. It’s confusing that he’s still even in this room, asking if you want his help after you’ve given him an out.

“Are you sure?” you ask. You’re positive you’d be fine without him, but he’s sort of become a security blanket.

“I’ve… seen her around with some guy,” he tells you. “It’d be good to get away from campus. And I owe you for losing my cool the other night.”

“Do you even have a cool?” you chuckle.

Rafe glares at you, but it’s proven disingenuous by the small, dimpled smirk he chooses not to stifle.

“I hope I’m with you the next time you see them together,” you say. “Anyways, we can drive up together, then?”

Your eyes brighten with your smile. He doesn’t know if anyone has ever looked at him like that, purely and truly excited to spend time with him.

“A bunch of friends from high school will be there, and obviously Beck and Lyla’s parents, who basically consider me their daughter,” you continue, “so we’ll need to be convincing. It’s a casual dinner, then we’ll just hang out as long as we want. Can you pick me up at five?”

“Yeah,” he says. He stands up, pulling his bag over his good shoulder. “See you.”

You watch him pace towards the door, relieved that you’ll have him there, grateful that he's doing this for you even though you’re certain he really doesn’t want to.

“Hey,” you mumble. He looks at you again. You motion to his injury. “Be careful with your shoulder. And… you’re going to call me corny, but I’m really glad you’re coming.”

A few seconds of silence pass between you.

“You’re corny,” he replies.

You share a smile before he steps out of the study room into the quiet library.

Emptiness abruptly digs into his chest once he’s not with you, growing deeper the farther he walks away.

You’re unlike anyone he’s known. You don’t try to hide how much you care about him and you see things in him he didn’t know were there and you combat his temper with humor and with tenderness and with reassurance that makes him feel like he’s not irreversibly fucking up all the time.

He’s never felt like this before. Like the void he’s always trying to fill isn’t bottomless after all.

════════

Your exhale is shaky as Rafe exits the freeway with only a few minutes left of the drive to Beck and Lyla’s home.

You pull down the sun visor, gazing at your reflection. You’re suddenly quiet and fidgety after you’d chattered for most of the ride.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “And why the hell do I have to ask?”

You chuckle, catching his implication that you typically blab about what’s bothering you without him having to check in.

“I don’t know how I’m going to look their parents in the eye and lie.”

“It’s that hard to pretend to like me?” Rafe murmurs. He’s glad there’s no edge to his tone, glad he can hide that your words stung him a little.

“No,” you chuckle. “When you’re being nice, I like you. Just not like that, obviously.”

Obviously. It’s happening again, the painful crook in his core, the tangled feelings that just keep twisting together.

He used to not care if you liked him. Because he didn’t like you. But your last conversation did something to him, something that was already quietly building up, something that he needs to strip before it sticks.

After every fight he had with Emma, he sensed the palpable cracks forming between them. With you, things felt stronger once you moved past your argument.

Fuck. Why is he thinking about you like you’re his actual girlfriend, comparing his last relationship? This is the last thing he needs.

“It just feels… official. Like I’m bringing a boy home,” you continue. “Nobody’s seen me in a relationship before and they might question your intentions and I don’t want it to be weird.”

You look in the mirror again.

“And I think I’m having a bad hair day. And a bad face day. And I kind of hate my outfit.”

Rafe can’t take your nonsense. Insinuating that you’re anything short of beautiful is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard you say.

He shuts the visor and utters, “You’re doing that overthinking shit again.”

“Okay, so, that’s a perfect example of you not being nice,” you laugh.

You know if you really liked him as more than a friend, his curtness would hurt you. It’s reassuring, the realization that your attraction to Rafe will never be more than physical.

You breathe a sigh, anticipating being with your friends again after you’ve parted ways to different colleges. You wonder if anyone’s changed in the few months since.

You glance over at Rafe.

“What were you like in high school?” you ask.

“The same,” he answers.

“So, just as warm and cuddly?” you tease.

He smirks. You smile like you do every time you crack his facade. It always makes you feel a little proud.

“Better when I started playing hockey,” he relents. “How about you?”

You purse your lips in thought.

“What do you mean better?” you prod.

Rafe’s in no mood to elaborate, stiffly repeating, “How about you?”

You roll your eyes. It’s like pulling teeth, getting this man to share anything.

“I haven’t really changed much,” you reply. He finds himself thinking that it’d be a shame if you ever did.

Rafe follows the GPS to pull into a quiet suburban street. He slows down in front of the house and parks. You gaze out your window to see helium balloons surrounding the front door and reach for the handle.

“Hey,” he rasps.

You turn your head to meet his eyes.

“You don’t need to freak out. We got this. And you…” He looks away. “You look good.”

The words are tight coming out of his mouth, like he really didn’t want to have to say them.

You start to thank him, but he’s already stepping out of the car.

════════

The party is so busy that you and Rafe disappear in the crowd. He stands close by as you catch up with your friends, remembering details about where they’ve gone after graduation, asking questions, making jokes.

When it’s time for dinner, you sit next to him at the table, diagonal to Beck, who has done nothing but flash you awkward smiles here and there.

He’s hardly spoken to you. You wish you weren’t doing it again, second-guessing if he really is jealous.

You feel a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I didn’t get a chance to say hi,” Lyla’s mother says. You smile at her and sit up to give her a hug.

“There’s a lot of people,” you say understandingly.

“My kids are too social,” she jokes quietly, leaning over. She looks over at Rafe. “You must be…?”

“Rafe,” you say. His smile is faint, but believable.

“I hope you know I have to grill you a little,” she tells him.

“I know,” he says, glancing at you. “She warned me.”

He’s playing it entirely cool. You’re relieved. You had nothing to worry about. He has this handled.

“How’d you meet?” she asks.

“I’m his tutor,” you tell her.

“Always been a smart one,” she replies, squeezing your hand. “Is that what made you like her?”

Your eyes land on Rafe again, nerves pricking your spine.

“It’s… one a lot of things, yeah,” he says.

“What else?”

Rafe’s heart thrums.

“I don’t know anyone like her.” His eyes soften as he looks at you, the amusement in them replaced by a depth you’ve only ever seen in glimpses, when his guard slips a little. “And she has a good heart.”

“She does,” Lyla’s mother says, straightening to stand. “You better treat her right.”

“I will,” he says with a nod. When she steps away, you nudge his knee with yours.

“That was amazing,” you say. Your praise gives him a high.

“I’m a great liar,” he replies.

You nudge him again, laughing.

“I don’t care,” you say. “You can’t take any of that back.”

He wouldn’t want to anyway. It was the truth.

════════

After dinner, Beck and Lyla’s mother brings out an ornate cake, prompting the room to break out in song. You watch Beck and Lyla blow out the candles as everyone applauds.

“I’ll never forget what the nurse said the day you two were born,” their father announces as he stands by the head of the table, holding a glass up. “Even when they’re big, you’ll picture them this small. And it’s true.”

He looks down, nodding curtly, lips twisting.

“Here we go again,” Lyla laughs.

“He cries every year,” you explain to Rafe in a hush.

He gazes at your profile as their dad continues his toast. He was aware you knew Beck for a long time, for years, but seeing this makes it real.

He can picture it now, you spending your adolescence in this house, making memories with this family, falling for the guy sitting on the other side of the table who brushed you off, who’s blind to how happy you make everyone around you.

The night you sat on that kitchen counter in that frat house back on campus, your eyes deepened with a sadness that hardly ever comes across your face, and you told him what you saw in Beck. What made you fall for him.

Fun. Kind. Nice to everybody.

And it’s a reminder of why this fire that’s growing inside Rafe for you needs to be put out. He’s the antithesis of the guy you’re in love with. You’d never want him like that.

“I’m so proud of both of you,” their father continues. “Happy birthday.”

Rafe looks down at his plate, wishing he’d been prepared for the wave of pain that’s crashing down on him as the sounds of conversation and dishes rattling and joyous laughter ricochet across the room.

He hates to admit it to himself, but Beck has everything he wants, down to a father who’s proud of his son.

He glances over at you again, but you’re still looking at Beck, your smile both happy and sad, your eyes trained on the one person you’re doing all of this for.

════════

The party moves to the rec room after Beck and Lyla’s parents wish everyone a good night.

Rafe’s hand is in yours as you lead him down the carpeted stairs, then settle on the plush sectional couch next to him as you chat with your friends.

He always hated his impulsivity. He was just telling himself to put out the fire, but he only throws fuel onto it when he curls an arm around your waist, pulling you closer the moment Beck walks in.

You nuzzle in, shifting to look at him again, your noses nearly bumping from how close you are.

“It’s the other shoulder?” you confirm softly, making sure you aren’t putting pressure on where he’s hurting.

“Yeah,” he says.

You nod and absorb yourself back into the group’s conversation. Your back is pressed against his chest and he hopes you don’t feel how hard his heart is pounding.

But he knows that the way you make him feel isn’t unique to him. He sees it now that you’re with your friends. You make everyone feel this way, like you want them around.

Drinks start getting passed. You look at Rafe again.

“I’m staying sober tonight,” you tell him. “Thought I should reassure you that I won’t be inviting myself over for another sleepover.”

He wants to ask why that’d be such a bad thing and it’s like he left his sanity upstairs, because now he’s wondering what the hell he’s doing wanting to flirt with you.

“Everyone’s playing,” Lyla announces as she places a box in the middle of the coffee table. “And nobody’s allowed to sit out. You legally can’t say no to the birthday girl.”

“It’s my birthday, too,” Beck says.

“Who cares?” Lyla jokes, opening the box. “It’s truth or dare. We’ll take turns picking a card and reading it out loud and if you won’t do either or you fail at a dare, you have to drink.”

“Oh, no,” you whisper to Rafe.

“Just be happy you found a way to read at a party,” he replies.

You crack a genuine laugh. His lips pull into a smile as he watches you, gratified that the joy you’re feeling right now is entirely because of him.

You feel Beck’s stare on you from his spot on the couch a couple of people away. You look up at him and he looks away and it’s like a discombobulating shove into the past, reminding you of when you’d catch him staring and let your mind run away with daydreams.

The feeling of Rafe’s arm tightening around you grounds you in reality, but it also sends a rush of heat through you and you hate that it does that.

“Truth: what's something you're glad your family doesn't know about you?” Lyla reads out. “Or dare: keep your eyes closed for three full minutes. Easy. Dare.”

She closes her eyes, then points to her right. The game continues around the circle and when it’s your turn to pick, you select a card, feeling everyone but Lyla’s stare on you.

“Truth: what’s the last excuse you used to cancel plans? Dare: don’t laugh or smile until your next turn.”

“Worst dare you could’ve gotten,” Rafe murmurs.

“You’d never manage,” your friend, Marcus chuckles.

You laugh, then laugh again when you realize you just proved both of them right.

“Damn it,” you say. “You know what? I’ll take the dare.”

You put the card down on the table and exhale deeply, trying to focus.

Rafe’s eyes flit to Marcus, whose eyes stay on you longer than he’d like them to.

“Your turn,” you say to Rafe, stone-faced.

He’d rather not play this, but he’s supposed to be acting like a good boyfriend. Besides, there’s something about disappointing you that makes him feel worse than disappointing anyone else.

He leans forward, his arm lifting off of you for a moment, and picks up a card. His hand settles on your hip again as he reclines, his bicep hard against your back.

He’s only staring at the card, so you tilt your head back to read it aloud for him.

“When was the last time you cried? Or, let someone in the room write whatever they want on you with a permanent marker.”

You look at him, holding back your smile, knowing you’re both thinking the same thing. As his girlfriend, it’d make sense that you’d be the one to mark his body.

He would never admit to crying, especially to a group of strangers. The reminder of Emma’s words, of how she’d said he called her in tears, makes your stomach drop. Suddenly, not smiling doesn’t take any effort anymore.

“Dare,” you answer for him. “I need a marker.”

“I’ll get it. Someone help me,” Lyla says, her eyes still shut as she stands. She feels for her way around the room as one of your mutual friends stands up to accompany her. “Keep playing!”

The next person starts their turn, and you take Rafe’s free hand and rest his arm across his lap, gently to not tug too hard and strain his shoulder.

It’s a shock how instinctually you did it, how touching him is natural now, yet still manages to make your heart race a little faster every time you do it.

“I’m going for a meaningful one. I’m thinking my name,” you tease, running your finger up the length of the inside of his forearm, eyes travelling over the faint lines of veins, “from here to here. Sound good?”

“No,” he answers gruffly. You crack a smirk. “And you lost your dare.”

“Don’t tell,” you mumble, forcing your smile away. “You know I can’t hold my alcohol.”

When both girls come back downstairs, Lyla blindly hands you the marker. You meet Rafe’s stare before you look down at his arm.

“The card said whatever I want,” you say quietly, mischief in your tone.

He watches you lean in, eyelashes fluttering as you blink, lips pursing in thought. The wet ink hits the inside of his wrist and his stomach goes numb when you start to slide the smooth, thin end of the marker over him, your thumb gently pressing into his skin as you hold him steady.

Rafe stares as you concentrate, and he starts to breathe a little deeper simply because the way you smell has become a comfort now, a familiarity, a hit of dopamine.

You sit up seconds later. He looks down to see Room 205 written in small, black characters. Your study room.

“You’ll never forget where to go,” you say happily. “Well, until it washes off.”

You finally meet his eyes again. He’s wearing the same concentrated look you’ve seen before, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“What, did you really expect I’d write something that bad?” you say as you snap the cap back on the marker.

The group continues with the next round, and when it’s your turn again, you have to choose between sharing your biggest insecurity or whispering a secret to someone in the room.

“Dare,” you decide, putting the card on the table and leaning back, lifting your chin to whisper into Rafe’s ear.

He slightly angles his head so that nobody can read your lips, shivers spreading over his skin from the feeling of your cheek on his.

“You’re probably my favorite student that I’ve ever tutored,” you say quietly.

It’s not a lie. Even with all his flaws, Rafe has given you something you’re not sure anybody else would have. He came into your life at the perfect time, came up with the perfect idea, and you’re deeply grateful for it.

He hastily cups your jaw, his hand so large it covers your cheek completely, as he tilts your head so he can tell you something, too. His lips brush over the shell of your ear.

“Just probably?” he whispers back. “That’s bullshit.”

You pull back, laughing, your eyes lingering on him.

“Don’t start making out, please,” Lyla teases.

You roll your eyes and look at the group again.

“I’ll spare you all the PDA,” you reply.

“Why start now?” a friend jokes.

“Yeah,” Beck quietly huffs. An ache of confusion rattles through you.

The game carries on, but Beck’s eyes linger on you. He’s never looked at you like this before. And it makes you believe what Rafe has been telling you this entire time.

════════

You leave the party holding Rafe’s hand and untangle your fingers from his the moment you’re out of the house, the moment there aren’t any eyes on you.

Rafe’s palm is cold now that your touch is gone.

Again, he’s powerless to the way his heart does whatever it wants and doesn’t give his head a chance to catch up.

He wasn’t supposed to like you.

He never expected to.

But when he looks at you as you tread towards his car together and the hushed moonlight bathes your features in its glow and you offer him that smile that makes his heart splinter in a way it never has, he yields to the truth, unable to put up a fight any longer.

He’s hopeless. You’ve pulled him under. And he had no choice but to let you.

(to be continued)

>>> new parts drop every friday at 8:30 pm eastern

author’s note and the yearning (that eventually turns mutual) begins 🙂‍↕️

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[joelsmeadow]

Forbidden Fruit [Part 2] - Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

Summary: this is the fix it chapter. Joel and Reader are in an established relationship as he heals from his injuries, and the younger members of the family make a guest appearance for family movie night.

Contents & Warnings: spoilers for 2.02 but That didn't happen. Age gap unspecified but exists. Established relationship. Unprotected PIV. One (1) degrading pet name from Joel. Praise. One (1) spank. Mentions of traumatic injury. PTSD implied/briefly mentioned. Creampie/unsafe PIV. Reader is AFAB but no physical description beyond being able bodied (or at least moreso than Joel).

Notes: we can all collectively agree 2.02 was not a vibe, yes? Cool. I offer my contribution to the fix it stash.

Word Count: 2.7k. || Part 1 Here

- x. -

You've lost count of how many times you've thanked whatever God is still listening for Joel's life.

Having lived through and existing in the world of the outbreak, you thought you knew fear. Nothing could have prepared you for the sheer terror that had come with Ellie and Jesse riding back into Jackson after the blizzard, Dina half conscious with Ellie, and Jesse supporting a literally comatose Joel.

A group of five, they had explained. Military, maybe. Former Fireflies. One with a vendetta. She had beaten Joel half to death before Ellie and Jesse had arrived. Had had the element of surprise and sheer fucking luck on their hands.

He had been unconscious for the better part of a week, and you? You had felt frozen in time with him, barely moving from his side unless you had to, whilst the town doctor and medics moved around you like bees.

That was months ago now. Joel's eyesight was worse in one eye, it had taken him a while to recover from the concussion, and he walked with a limp - would walk with a limp for the rest of his life, if the doctor was right.

But he was alive. Alive and with you. Alive and reconciled with Ellie, who had not only managed to work out their issues, but had finally started calling him 'dad'. Joel hadn't made a huge deal out of it, but you knew it meant the world to him. More than the world.

He had expected you to leave; you're young, he had said. You didn't need to be saddling yourself with a broken old man, he had said. You had kissed him until he had shut up, changed the butterfly bandage on his forehead, pressed a featherlight kiss to his uninjured temple. And eventually he had realised you meant it. That you weren't going anywhere. That you, and Dina, and Jesse, were all a part of his family now.

The months ticked on; Jackson slowly rebuilt, Joel slowly healed, and you moved into his house. Every night that you fell asleep beside him, every morning you woke tangled together, and you didn't take a single one for granted.

Ellie wanted to make fun of you, wanted to tease in the way that only a young adult watching a parent fall in love could manage, but she had come so close to losing Joel too that any joke or comment about acting like it was the last day you'd get together seemed to hit a little too close to home.

The weather is warming, though it's still cold outside. Still a faint chill in the air. The day is slowly turning to evening, and you have a pot roast on the stove ready for later.

Dina has made coffee; everyone has a mug. Joel sits on the couch, his glasses a little crooked as he tips a spoon of sugar into his coffee cup. Ellie sits on one side of him, Dina with her head on her shoulder. You sit on his other side, leaning into him like you're one person instead of two.

All that's missing from this scene is -

"Fuckin' hallmark postcard in here." Jesse shakes snow off his boots on the porch and hangs up his coat as he walks in, ignores the middle finger he's given in greeting from Ellie.

"You're late. We were gonna start without you." Dina says, clearly ribbing him.

Jesse looks mock horrified, turns to Joel as if to clarify that such blasphemy would occur. Joel just offers the younger man a 'I just live here' sort of shrug and a grin.

You get up to fix Jesse a coffee, come back to him sprawled in the armchair, Die Hard loaded up on the television waiting. It's an old movie. A classic, really. The sort of thing you can all lose yourselves in.

Which you do, for the next few hours; the five of you lose yourselves in the action movie misadventures of John Maclane, quoting your favourite lines to one another back and forth over the dinner table long after the credits roll.

The five of you eat the pot roast, the strawberry tarts you made especially for movie night because they're Joel's favourite. It's close to nine when the girls - women, really, but they'll always be girls to you - retreat out to the garage for the night. You offer the spare room to Jesse but he just grins, says he has to be up early for a patrol anyway, and bids you goodnight.

You wash the dishes and Joel leans against the bench top to dry them, both of you packing everything away before you go up to bed for the night.

He's still a little slow on the stairs, much to his own chagrin, a step behind you with muffled cursing.

"Fuckin' leg. Bitch knew where she was shootin', dammit."

Wordlessly you stop so you can help him. Ignore the attempt to muffle the sigh he makes, because he hates needing help. Hates that he accepts it, even though he loves you dearly.

"I know what you're thinkin', that I'm damn lucky to still have my leg," Joel grouses as you reach the bedroom, help him with the flannel shirt that he's wearing.

"Actually, no." You say, as you hang up the well loved green and blue plaid, "I'm thinking I'm lucky you're still here, bad leg, complaints and all."

You turn around to see him shaking his head with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Make it fuckin' hard to complain about shit when you put it that way, sweetheart."

You sigh, worried you've upset him as you cross to the bed where he's sitting, wrap your arms around him.

"You can complain as much as you like. I'll be glad to listen. Because it means you're still here with me." You press a soft kiss to his mouth. Inhale the wood and gunpowder scent of him.

Joel wants to tell you that that's lame, that he's too old to be worthy of that sort of affection. But he doesn't, because he's been so close to death he can taste it, and if for some reason you feel the same way about him as he feels about you, well. That's your issue.

So what he says instead is:

"Sorry, sweetheart. Ain't getting rid of me that easy."

Wanting to make you laugh. Only, you don't. You manage a weak giggle, only your eyes well up a little and it makes him feel like shit, because while he's at a point where he can joke about how close to death he was, it still upsets the hell out of you and Ellie.

"Aw, shit. Don't cry, darlin', I'm okay..." he pulls himself up off the bed so he can wrap you up in his arms, pull you against his broad frame and let you feel the warmth of him, his steady breathing.

You bury your face in his chest and listen to his heart, strong and steady, until you don't feel like you're about to break into a million pieces or hyperventilate. Then and only then do you look up at him.

You want to tell him he scared the hell out of you, but what good is that? He knows that already, and it's not exactly his fault. So you go for something else instead, something equally true.

"I love you, Joel, you know that?"

His thumb brushes away a stray tear that's still on your cheek as he nods.

"Yeah, darlin', I know. I love you too."

Maybe before the incident at the lodge he might have taken your words less seriously, but now, with a far too close call under his belt, Joel knows how much he means to you. How much you mean to him.

How, as he had been sure he was going to die, he had hoped somehow you would feel that he loved you as he left the world. Only to come to a week later with you on one side, holding onto his hand like you thought he might disappear if you let go, Ellie on the other.

How the first words out of his mouth had been "my girls okay?" before you'd dissolved into relieved sobs and Ellie had begun berating him about how he'd scared her to death and was he stupid and how fucking dare he do that to them all, as if he had had any say in his own attempted murder.

"Joel-"

You barely get his name out of your mouth before he's on you, his lips covering yours, gathering you up in his arms again, because fuck if he isn't going to savour each and every one of these moments with you now.

The kiss is long, intense. Half because he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of kissing you, and half because he doesn't want to hear your protests about how he still needs to take it easy. He can take it easy when he's in his eighties and on his actual deathbed. Having been there before, he knows he's nowhere close at the moment, and nothing is going to stop him from being intimate with you.

"Joel, we have to - mm - be careful," sure enough, you get the words out as he pulls your shirt off, nuzzles into your collarbone and kisses the side of your neck.

"Fuck being careful." Joel growls into your skin, somehow soft even after the harshness of the outbreak and the weather. "Keep tellin' me to be careful I'll tie you to the bed and fuck you like the mouthy slut you're actin' like."

He's rewarded with heat rushing to your cheeks, the knowledge that he can toe the line between sweet and filthy just right without actually disrespecting you. Only -

"Your back would give out before you could, old timer." You tease, and he laughs, lays a heavy swat to your ass with his big hand.

He can't even be pissed about it because you're right. Twenty years ago he could have bent you over every surface in this house. Maybe even ten. But now, rough sex between you involves you on your hands and knees, maybe his hand around your throat.

He's become softer with age, more gentle in how he handles his lovers. Even moreso with you.

"Shut up," he mumbles, though he's still kissing your throat so you know you're off the hook this time as you thread your fingers through his soft curls.

Even between kisses and the slowness that comes with his damaged leg, you manage to get every layer of clothing between you off, tossed to the floor of the bedroom with very little regard for it. You'll probably grumble about it in the morning when you go to do laundry while he laughs at you, but for now it's the furthest thing from your mind as you collapse back onto the bed, tugging him with you.

He might still be recovering from an injury and older, but he's still strong, still able to prop himself up on one hand as he leans over you, cages you in.

Your hands wander, gentle, reverent almost, as you lightly touch each and every scar on his body. Less than a year ago, he barely let you see his torso, see the map of brutality time has left across his olive skin. Now he almost hums and purrs under your touch as your hands move back up to his face. Cup his cheeks as you lean up to kiss him, moan when he licks into your mouth.

His free hand moves between your thighs, finds you soaked for him already, just from a few kisses, a few touches. Joel doesn't think he'll ever get over that, that feeling of elation that comes with being so easily wanted by someone, without any sort of stipulations.

"Joel..."

He doesn't think he'll ever get over that, either. That soft, whimpering plea of his name that somehow manages to be so full of equal parts love and lust.

Normally you both make an effort with foreplay, take pride in it, enjoy it. Taking your time with one another. But there are times like this where you just need each other, need to become one too much to bother with anything beforehand. All he cares about in this moment is that you're wet enough to take him, and God knows you are.

He slides into you in a single, fluid motion, grunting with satisfaction as your tight heat welcomes him, your fingers flying to his curls and knitting there as you inhale sharply.

Joel loves that fucking sound. That sweet little intake of breath when he fills you up with his cock, knowing it's almost too big for you. Almost too much, and yet you're always begging for him to keep going.

"You good, sweetheart?" He knows you are, can feel your warm inner walls constricting around his cock, can feel how wet you are. Can see the pleasure on your face even without him moving.

Still, you nod, confirm your pleasure with him before he moves, rolling his hips against yours. He has to be careful, doesn't want to piss off his stupid damaged leg, doesn't want you to worry, so he goes for slow and deep rather than fucking into you hard and fast like he once used to.

You don't mind; find you prefer this pace anyway, the intimacy of it, of his broad frame caging you in as he moves above you. You draw your knees up so he can get deeper, moaning when he hits your sweet spot.

"Fuck, good girl, such a pretty sound-" he groans, runs his thumb over your lower lip before he leans down to kiss you.

Eagerly you lean up to return the kiss before you fall back against the pillows, settle yourself there as you pull him close. His mouth finds yours, before he kisses down your throat.

Pressing his cock in deep, he grinds against you, drawing obscene moans from your lips as his mouth finds a peaked nipple, sucks it into his mouth greedily. Only when you're trembling beneath him does he release it with a lewd pop before giving its twin the exact same treatment, still grinding against you, getting the entirety of his thick length deep inside.

He isn't playing fair, is pulling every single trick he knows to make you cum, and it's working. Before you even realise it, you're almost there, a whimpering, trembling mess as he devours your mouth in greedy kisses.

"Go on, sweetheart. Go on an' cum for me now."

It's that soft, still dominant demand that sends you. Your entire body trembles beneath his as your pussy tightens around him, fluttering and weeping around the cock splitting you open.

Joel doesn't last much longer, knows you don't give a shit whether he lasts three minutes or thirty, groaning and cursing as he spills inside you, using the very last of the stamina he has to prevent himself from collapsing on top of you.

It's only after, when he's rolled off of you and you're curled under the blankets together, his arms around you, that the thought strikes you.

"Do you think Jesse didn't take the guest room because he knew?" You ask.

Joel fixes you with a look that can only be described as amused.

"Yeah, darlin', I think he knew."

You dissolve into a fit of laughter, mildly horrified by the idea that the younger adults in your lives are, God forbid, aware you have a sex life.

He shakes his head, presses a kiss to your forehead as you curl into his side. Maybe tomorrow you'll go into town, trade some strawberries from your garden for something. Bread, maybe.

One thing is for certain. Neither of you take these little moments for granted, nor the love you have for one another and your strange little family.

[hughes-your-daddy]

Luke has been a little bit of a helicopter dad because it’s their toddlers first time at the lake house since learning how to walk. All week, Luke has been telling their kid “no,” so their baby decides that they’ll ignore dad all day and just stick to mom. Luke feels a bit upset that their kid doesn’t want to listen or talk to him, but his family and y/n assures him that he’s just a concerned parent and did nothing bad. When the thing that Luke has been warning their kid about happens, like maybe running and tripping on the dock, he’s surprised that their baby runs to him for comfort rather than y/n. He softly explains to them that this is why he was telling them not to run and asks if they’re okay kisses the little scrapes on their palms.

diapers and docks

pairing: luke hughes x fem reader

summary: requested above 🫶🏻

warning: a little suggestive

you smile seeing luke play with ellis, down in the docks, jack and quinn around him as you sit on one of the small deck chairs bundled up in luke’s hoodie and a pair of shorts, hair tied up in a messy bun.

this had been the first year you had brought ellis to the lake house since he could walk now at 18 months, and luke, well he had been a bit worried.

ever since he first learned to walk luke made it his mission to baby proof absolutely everything in your guys apartment even being cautious of the elevator.

you both didn’t plan to have ellis, it was a bit of a surprise when you found out you were pregnant so living in an apartment t wasn’t great but you’d made it work. with luke baby proofing everything ellis could reach, also came with baby proofing you from opening cupboards as you could never figure it out.

so coming here to the lake house was sending his stress levels through the roof, a dock that ellis could fall into the water from, a pool table with heavy balls, a whole kitchen that he could access, for luke this was living hell, which has meant you’ve barely had anytime alone together since he’s so worried, but you didn’t really mind.

so here luke was now sat on the dock with ellis in his lap playing with some toys with jack and quinn, while you watch. you hear the young boys squeals and calling out for his “daddy” or “quinny” or “jack jack,” but what you didn’t expect to hear was luke’s panic.

“ellis no running.” he calls out as ellis runs out of luke’s lap to grab the toy car. the harsh sound causing ellis to freeze before erupting into loud wails, luke immediately moving to grab him but ellis only screams louder at luke’s hold.

you sigh, getting up and quickly heading down ellis reaching out for you as soon as he can see you.

“hey baby,” you coo, taking him from luke’s grasp, ellis immediately burying himself into your chest as you bounce him, “it’s ok, daddy didn’t mean to shout.” you soothe, pressing a small kiss to his head.

you look up at luke seeing guilt all across his face, “hey, it’s ok, he’s fine, will be wanting to play again in like 5 minutes.” you say with a small smile, luke shaking his head.

“he didn’t even want me when i tried to hold him.” he mumbles, wincing at his own words.

“luke, he loves you ok, you’re his dad.” you say, your free hand cupping his cheek seeing him give you a small nod.

“how about you guys go out on the boat, relax a bit.” you say looking between the three brothers, “well chill a bit, watch a movie, he needs a nap anyways.” you say the three nodding.

“you sure you’re fine with him for a few hours?” he asks, hand grazing your hip, pushing under your tshirt to feel your skin, grounding himself.

“babes, i carried him for 9 months, we’ll be fine.” you say causing him to laugh before he’s pressing a kiss to your lips as you head back inside.

“ok baby, you wanna nap with mommy?” you ask ellis, moving through the kitchen to warm up some milk for him. you keep him on your hip, his cries now died down to hiccups, as he rests his head on your shoulder.

you quickly warm up his bottle before moving over to the small living room area, grabbing a blanket before laying down, ellis against your chest with his bottle before turning on the tv, playing an old disney film.

you lay the fluffy blanket over both of yous, ellis falling asleep in no time. you gently remove the half drunken bottle from his grasp placing it on the floor beside you before switching the tv to netflix playing ‘you.’

you find yourself starting to drift off, letting your eyelids droop and fall asleep. you manage to get a few hours sleep before you wake up to the front door being open and closed voices drifting down the hall.

you look down at ellis seeing him still asleep and gently move yourself away from underneath him, tucking him back into the blankets and cushions before walking through to the kitchen seeing the three of them with ellen and jim unpacking groceries.

“hiya baby.” luke smiles as you come round to hug him, “you were sleeping when we came back so thought we’d run out for some groceries.” he smiles, pulling you into his side, press a kiss to your head.

“you mind watching him, i’m gonna take a shower.” you ask and he nods, letting you go upstairs. you make your way to his bedroom, grabbing a towel and heading into the en-suite.

you turn on the shower letting it run for a while before stripping of your clothes and stepping in letting the warm water run over your body. you let yourself relax for a while before starting to wash your hair jumping when you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around you.

“oh my god luke you scared-“ uh start before turning around and seeing his red eyes, tear stained cheeks, “oh my god honey what happened?” you ask, taking his cheeks in your hands.

he tries to get words out but he just shakes his head, leaning down to hug you, arms tightening around your waist. “talk to me honey.” you say, running your fingers trough his now wet curls.

you feel him take a breath against your neck before pulling away looking down. your hands find his cheeks, lifting his eyes up to meet yours.

“ellis, he started kicking and screaming when i tried to wake him up, he wouldn’t let me touch him, my mom had to take him.” luke explains, his voice wobbly.

you nod, before taking him in your arms again, letting him relax against you.

“baby, go get dried and hop in bed. i’m sure ellis would love a night with his grandparents, we’ll just relax for tonight.” you say, feeling him nod against your neck before taking one last look at you, pressing his lips to yous before getting out, wrapping a towel around his waist.

you quickly wash the shampoo out your hair forgetting about the rest of your routine and just get out wrapping a towel around your body.

you walk through to his room, seeing him bundled up in bed, hoodie on with his hood up, only a few stray curls poking out. you quickly dry off your body, sliding on some panties and one of his hoodies before getting in bed beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

you feel him tense against your hold before relaxing, as you press your face into the back of his neck, pressing a small kiss at the nape.

“wanna watch a movie?” you ask, before hes turning around to face you, pulling you close against his chest.

“maybe, i don’t mind, just want to relax for a bit.” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your temple. you hum against him in agreement letting yourselves just breathe for a minute.

your evening pretty much is the same, apart from emerging for some food but you just spend the evening relaxing and taking a break, luke grounding himself.

the next day yous are both back out with the family, you quickly change ellis’ diaper to a swimming one before sliding on his little trunks ready for the day.

you carry him on your hip, out to the docks in the back garden. this time jack and quinn are swimming about, with luke sat at the end of the dock, feet in the water, as you sit back watching with ellen as ellis jumps in the water with his arm bands and life jacket on, jack and quinn taking turns catching him.

luke’s still a bit tense, but ellis isn’t kicking him today so you take that as a win. you just enjoy hearing the happy squeals of ellis as he keeps jumping in absolutely loving the water.

“luke feeling better?” ellen asks, taking a sip of her water, as you put down your book, moving your sunglasses onto your head.

“i think so, i just think he’s became really overwhelmed,” you say ellen nodding as she looks over at her youngest, “i think because we didn’t expect ellis, he’s even more protective over him, like we weren’t ready.” you finish, watching as ellis babbles away down on the dock.

“it’s your first kid, and luke’s the type to overthink everything as you know, but just keep reassuring him,” ellen says as you smile agreeing, “and if you ever need reassuring honey you can talk to me yeh?” she says, as you nod.

“we’re really grateful for you guys-“ you start before being interrupted by a loud smack.

you look over in shock to see ellis face planting the wooden dock as he runs over to luke. you’re up in an instant running down the small grassy hill, to hear ellis scream, “daddy!”

yoh find yourself frozen for a moment, luke’s eyebrows raising before he’s quickly sweeping the small boy into his arms, meeting you in the middle.

“what happened?” you ask, moving to look over your son, but he hides himself in luke’s chest.

“he tripped, was too excited.” luke says, and you can hear a mixture of emotions in his voice. yous take him inside, sitting down on the couch, you kneeling infront as ellis continues to cry.

“it’s ok bub, your ok.” luke soothes, rubbing the small boys back, as you let your fingers run through his wet hair.

his cried eventually die down to small hiccups and sniffles, luke gently bouncing him on his knee.

“bubs, did you hurt anything?” luke asks, ellis turning to look at him, showing luke his hand with a few scrapes on.

“hwurt.” ellis says, luke taking it in his hand pressing a soft kiss to his palm.

“you see, if you run then you can get hurt,” luke says softly ellis nodding before resting his head back against luke’s chest, “getting hurts no fun huh?” he asks, ellis shaking his head no.

“i’ll go grab a few band aids.” you say, luke nodding while continuing to soothe ellis.

you move into the kitchen, seeing everyone gathered as you grab the small first aid kit.

“he ok?” quinn asks and you nod, pulling out some band aids.

“just a few scrapes,” you smile before quinn chuckles softly.

“we meant luke,” jack says, seeing you chuckle to yourself.

“oh, yeh he’s fine,” you nod, “i’m not longer the favourite now.” you shrug sarcastically before heading back through to the living room seeing luke sat back against the couch cradling ellis to his chest like a newborn, life jacket and arm bands on the floor beside the couch.

“he’s exhausted huh?” you whisper, his head snapping up at your voice.

“just glad he’s ok.” luke whispers, cradling the boys head with his spare hand. you find yourself smiling at the sight before walking over, gently sitting next to luke, sideways, carefully applying the bandaids to ellis’ hands before pressing a kiss to the boys head and then turning to give a kiss to luke.

“told you he loves you.” you whisper, resting your head against luke’s shoulder, cuddling into his side.

“yeh, guess you were right.”

[sh4nksslvt]

maybe i need a whole fic with luffy x reader married now... i'm not charging you, maybe i'm just in love with your writing

a/n: thank u <3 hope u like this~

Wait… Luffy’s WHAT?!

Luffy reunites with his childhood sweetheart, who also happens to be his secret spouse. The crew thought he was joking… until they weren’t laughing anymore.

LUFFY X GN!READER | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, ooc, marriage, reader is opposite of luffy

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 1.3k

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Thousand Sunny drifted through the final tunnel, water glistening against its protective bubble as Fishman Island came into view.

“WOAAAH!” Luffy yelled from the deck, eyes wide. “It’s so shiny!”

“I can’t believe it’s real!” Chopper spun around.

Robin smiled behind a hand. “The architecture here is said to be older than the Grand Line itself.”

“I heard the royal family is pretty generous,” Nami added. “If we play this smart, we could stock up for weeks.”

But Luffy? His mind was somewhere else entirely. Or rather, on someone.

He leaned against the rail, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I wonder if they’re here…”

“LUFFY, GET BACK HERE, YOU CAN’T JUST–!”

“NAMI!, I SMELL MEEAAT!”

He was already gone. Sprinting like a man possessed through the bustling bubble streets of Fishman Island, eyes wide, tongue out, arms flailing in glee.

“Captain,” Robin said with a small smile, “seems excited.”

“He's always excited,” Zoro muttered, arms crossed. “But this time he’s extra stupid.”

Brook hummed thoughtfully. “Yohohoho, I wonder if the meat will marry him too.”

“Wait, did you say marry?” Usopp blinked. “Oh yeah! Didn’t Luffy say he was married once?”

“…Didn’t we all think he was joking?” Franky asked, brows raised.

“Yeah,” Chopper added with a little snort. “He said something like ‘I already got a wife, and they’re way stronger than all of you!’ and we just laughed.”

The crew exchanged glances.

“…You think he was serious?”

MEANWHILE.

Luffy skidded around the corner, bonking a coral lamp post with his forehead. “Ow–!”

“Still no sense of direction?”

He froze.

That voice.

He knew that voice like the back of his hand — or the taste of meat. Slowly, his wide eyes turned toward the source.

There, standing with arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, was you.

Stoic, calm, one eyebrow raised, and totally unamused as always.

“Y/N!!” Luffy beamed, bolting toward you. “Y/N Y/N Y/N! YOU'RE HERE!!”

Before you could scold him, he’d wrapped you in a tight hug that nearly knocked you back.

“Still a hugger as usual, huh?” you mumbled, eyes softening just a bit.

“Missed you! SHISHISHI,” he grinned into your shoulder.

“You saw me six months ago,” you said, deadpan.

“Yeah!, but that’s like…so long!!”

You sighed, though your hand was already resting on his back, grounding the chaotic ball of sunshine that had stolen your heart all those years ago.

“…You never change.”

FLASHBACK - Windmill Village

“You’re so noisy.”

“C’mon Y/N, let’s go punch that tree again!”

Putting your book down, you sat with your arms folded, watching as young Luffy jumped up and down with excitement, a stick in his hand like it was the strongest sword in the world.

“We’ll get stronger together! Then we’ll go on adventures and eat meat every day!”

You blinked. “That’s your dream?”

“Yup! What’s yours?”

You shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

“Then make one with me!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Make a dream with you?”

He nodded seriously. “We can share. Like best friends. Or… like married people!”

“…That’s not how marriage works.”

“Then I’ll change the rules!”

You stared at him.

“…Fine.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

“What now.”

“If we ever get married, can I still eat meat at the wedding?”

You looked up from your book. “Obviously. I won’t marry someone who doesn’t love meat.”

He blinked, surprised. “So you will marry me?”

You went back to reading. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

His heart exploded like fireworks.

BACK TO PRESENT

“Wait,” Sanji whispered from the side of the plaza, crouched with the rest of the crew behind some candy-colored seaweed. “Is that them?! MELLORINEE~~”

“THEM?!” Usopp whispered. “You know them?!”

“I’ve heard rumors,” Sanji sighed dreamily. “That’s Y/N — calm as the sea before a storm. Feared in the Grand Line and cold-hearted~"

“Yeah, but they’re…” Chopper tilted his head. “Letting Luffy carry them like a backpack right now.”

“Are they… cuddling?” Zoro’s eye twitched. “In public?”

“I’m SUPER! emotionally confused,” Franky muttered.

“Yohohoho,” Brook said softly. “So our captain is… married.”

“And he was serious,” Robin added, intrigued.

Luffy still hadn’t let go. You were currently being dragged around the island as he loudly pointed at every fish-person, street food stall, and bubble coral with endless excitement.

“Look, Y/N, look!! That octopus is playing drums!!”

You nodded. “Mm.”

“And that shark guy has THREE swords!”

You blinked. “Impressive.”

“Oh! That candy shop sells meat-lollipops!! Want one?”

“…Fine.”

He gasped, eyes shining. “You said yes! You never say yes to candy!”

“It’s for you, dumbass.”

He beamed so hard it could’ve powered the Sunny.

LATER, WITH THE CREW

“LUFFY!!”

He turned mid-bite of his meat-lollipop. “Huh?”

“WHAT. IS. GOING. ON?!” Nami shrieked.

You were sitting beside him, sipping seaweed tea calmly. “Can I help you?”

“YEAH, YOU CAN EXPLAIN HOW YOU’RE—MARRIED TO LUFFY?!”

He tilted his head. “I told you guys already.”

“YEAH BUT YOU SAID IT WHILE EATING A SEA KING LEG!!”

Franky pointed dramatically. “That’s not the time for SUPER confessions, bro!”

You raised a hand. “We’ve been married for years. It’s just not something we flaunt.”

“…You married Luffy. As in legal.”

“Technically yes. I still have the officiation snail photo. Luffy drew a mustache on it.”

“HE LOOKED SO FUNNY!! SHISHISHI” Luffy grinned, remembering it fondly.

“WHAT ABOUT YOUR PERSONALITY?! YOU’RE THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE!” Usopp flailed.

You stared at him. “What about it?”

“I dunno!! It’s just… Luffy’s sunshine! You’re like… moonlight. That can kill people.”

Zoro finally snapped. “Okay, no offense, but how do you even deal with him?”

You sighed, placing a hand over Luffy’s head as he practically melted beside you.

“…I’ve dealt with worse than a meat-goblin with a hero complex and zero sense of personal space.”

“That’s me!!” Luffy said proudly.

Robin giggled. “You really are opposites.”

“They’re so cool,” Sanji whispered, nose bleeding. “They’re scary. But like, in a hot way~”

“Are you crushing on our captain’s spouse?!” the crew hissed.

“Can’t help it~”

LATER THAT NIGHT ON THE SUNNY

You sat at the edge of the deck, legs dangling above the water, watching the glowing sea beneath.

Luffy flopped beside you, resting his head in your lap like he always did when the sky was quiet.

“You’re really okay with all this attention?” you asked, fingers brushing his hair.

“Mmhmm. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You never cared about showing people.”

“I didn’t think I had to. You're mine. That’s already the best thing ever.”

Your hand paused. Then resumed slowly.

“You’re still dumb.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I’m your dumb.”

“…Yeah. You are.”

He yawned, curling closer. “Remember the promise we made?”

“Which one? You made a lot.”

“The one about sharing dreams.”

You looked up at the stars. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I still wanna do that. Even if it’s dumb. Even if I die trying.”

You tapped his forehead.

“You won’t die. I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

NEXT MORNING — FISHMAN ISLAND MARKET

“I WANT TO BUY THAT ONE!”

“Luffy, that’s a pearl the size of a cannonball.”

“I WANT IT!!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Luffy, if I have to carry another crate of your ‘souvenirs’ I will drown you.”

He gasped. “Y/N!! That’s mean!”

“…You like that.”

“I DO!”

“Ew, please stop flirting where I can hear you,” Nami groaned as she walked by.

Zoro muttered, “Every time I think they’ll kill each other, they end up flirting again.”

“Do you think they’ll ever kiss in front of us?” Chopper asked innocently.

Sanji's eye turned into fire. “NO WAY! I'LL KICK YOU! YOU DAMN MONKEY!!!"

“Luffy, stop licking the pearl.”

“You know,” Robin said later that evening, watching you drag Luffy back from trying to arm-wrestle a sea king, “they’re oddly perfect together.”

“Opposites attract,” Franky nodded.

“They’re like fire and ice,” Brook added.

“More like hyper gremlin and emotionless murderbot,” Nami muttered.

“…Still somehow works,” Zoro said.

Sanji sobbed. “WHEN WILL MY TURN COME?!"

.

.

— A FEW DAYS LATER

“Hey, Robin,” Usopp whispered as the ship cruised along the current.

“Yes?”

“…Do you think we should throw them a wedding party?”

She sipped her tea. “I think if you try, you’ll die.”

“Right.”

“Besides,” she added, glancing at the couple watching the sunset at the bow of the ship, Luffy wrapped around you like a sleepy octopus, “I think they already had the only wedding they needed.”

[prythianpages]

I'd Be There | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader | Growing desperate in his search for you, Eris reaches out to Lucien, only to be settled over with more worry.

a/n: This is pt.8 and takes place a bit after the war with Hybern, a time jump from pt.7

warnings: angst, reader is pregnant/ hidden pregnancy trope

The war with Hybern had ended and a small, fragile peace began to settle over Prythian. While others slowly stitched their lives back together, Eris remained torn. That sliver of calm never reached him.

For weeks, he had searched for you. He’d scoured what felt like every corner of Prythian, drained every resource, and even hired a witch skilled in blood and bond magic—just to ensure the letters he wrote and gifts he’d gotten for you would actually find their way to you. He didn’t know where you were, where Azriel had taken you.

Well, he did have a suspicion. 

By the second month, Eris began to lean into the grim possibility that Azriel had hidden you in the one place he could not reach you. Velaris. The city that had been unveiled by Rhysand but still shrouded by ancient wards. Without the High Lord’s blessing, Eris could not so much as step across its borders. At least not without causing further conflict and Eris could not afford to draw attention to himself in that way. Not when so much was at stake now.

He considered approaching Rhysand, even rehearsed the conversation in his head, but doubt held him back. What if Rhysand didn’t even know about you? Speaking your name could expose you… put you and the child you carried in danger.

The night Nesta was thrown at him in the Court of Nightmares confirmed this theory.  If Rhysand had known he had a mate, would he have dared to try and seduce him with Nesta? No. That meant Azriel had kept you hidden. From everyone.

Which led to the next, darker thought: why?

Why had Azriel kept you to himself? What was he planning? What was he hiding? Were you safe? Was the baby? 

Eris’s hands trembled at the thought. Every possibility spiraled, dragged him deeper into the pit of dread he couldn’t escape. He felt caged and utterly useless, pacing the same prison of thoughts over and over again.

And yet, the last image of you he had—the way you'd clung to Azriel like he was your lifeline—it offered a small, bitter balm. You trusted Azriel. As well as the careful way Azriel had looked at you–held you–told Eris what he desperately needed to know. Azriel wouldn’t hurt you.

Still, with every unanswered letter, your silence grew heavier and the weight of uncertainty pressed harder. He teetered closer to the edge, torn between secrecy and the aching need to finally speak your name to anyone who might listen.

Then, he remembered someone. Someone who hadn’t spoken to him in years, but whom he trusted more than Rhysand. Someone who just so happened to reside in Velaris. Someone he’d been longing to reach across the silence to—if only pride hadn’t stood in the way. And now, with desperation outweighing pride, he could only hope his brother could push away his own pride to hear him out.

So Eris wrote to Lucien.

One letter. Then another. And another. He did not beg, but came really close to.

At first, there was nothing. Just silence. The same one that had settled between them years ago—when Lucien fled Autumn. He didn’t expect a reply, considering the loathing stares Lucien still cast his way whenever their paths would cross. Eris couldn’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, Eris might’ve felt the same.

All he could do is cling to the hope that Lucien would eventually answer. And that maybe, just maybe, he’d be willing to hear him out. Not only over you but over everything else.

There were truths Lucien still didn’t know. Secrets that still haunted Eris from that fateful night. That night his brothers had ripped Jesminda from him and killed her in cold blood, right before his eyes, planning to do the same to him. They had always seen the youngest as a threat.

But not Eris.

And what Lucien didn’t know was that Eris had silently worked against their cruel brothers, ensuring Lucien had just enough time to slip free from their deadly grasp. That Tamlin had been tipped off and patrolling the borders, arriving in the nick of time to save Lucien from the same devastating fate as Jesminda’s. Those truths remained buried. For now.

Then, finally, after weeks of waiting, Eris got a reply. It was brief, only the name of a tavern located in Hewn City with a date and time.

Eris found himself in a musty old tavern wedged into the lower cliffs of Hewn City. The cavernous place reeked of damp stone and spilled ale. It was terribly dim, a few flickering lanterns lining the ceiling. Somewhere near the back, a bard plucked out a mournful, off-key tune that made Eris grit his teeth.

“This song that I sing, my friends, is another one… about pain,”

With a sigh, he stepped further inside, even though it made dread settle into his gut. He was uncomfortable being in a place like this, even more with the way he was dressed. He replaced his usual regal fashion for clothes that were threadbare and muted in color.  A rough stubble shadowed his sharp jawline and the unmistakable hollows beneath his amber eyes marked the toll of sleepless nights.

He looked nothing like the future High Lord of Autumn he held himself to be.

Lucien was already there, seated at a far corner table. Unlike him, he hadn’t bothered to dress down. He wore a fine green embroidered jacket that complimented his red hair, which was pulled back into a loose braid, a few strands falling freely to frame the sharp lines of his face.

Eris’s lip twitched at the sight. Some things never change…

Lucien’s golden eye glittered as it tracked Eris’s approach. The younger male leaned back in his chair, sipping from a chipped tankard. “Cauldron above,” he said as Eris dropped into the seat across from him. “You look like utter and complete shit.”

“Thanks. You’re as charming as ever,” Eris replied drily, gaze sweeping in a wary manner across the room before settling back onto the younger male. “It’s… good to see you too.”

Lucien let out a small snort. “Didn’t say it was good to see you. I’m actually surprised you let go of your pride to show up in a place like this and looking like that.”

Eris’s mouth quirked, letting the jab roll off him. “Maybe I left my pride somewhere between month one and letter six.”

A flicker of something—guilt, maybe—passed over Lucien’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. “So, ” Lucien said, setting the tankard down with a thunk. “What is it that you want?”

Eris met his brother’s gaze. “To talk.”

Lucien huffed a dry chuckle. “Since when do you talk? I thought you only schemed and postured.”

Before Eris could reply, a discordant strum of lute strings cut through the air, far too close for comfort. 

“I have a grief and weep in my soul that I can’t hold anymore,” a voice wailed dramatically.

A bard, likely the same one Eris had spotted slinking about earlier, stumbled toward their table. His tattered robes reeked of smoke and sour wine. His teeth were stained and grin was wide and unhinged, despite the sorrowful song he sang.

“Is just that I love her so much but this was my turn to lose.”

Eris stiffened. He shot the bard one of his death glares, hoping to silence him. However, the bard swayed dramatically. He let his lute hang from the strap hung around his neck, extended a hand upwards before slowly extending it towards him.

“And now I have to forget her and tear her out of my soul and of my being.”

With a clenched jaw and no patience for auditory torment, Eris reached into his coat and pulled out a small pouch of coins. His fingers clenched around it as the bard launched into his next line.

“From the love that burns my skin–” 

The pouch hit the bard square in the chest with enough force to knock the wind from him. He stumbled back with a choked squawk, nearly swallowing his own verse. Blinking in surprise, the bard caught the pouch before gravity could claim it. He fixed Eris with a bitter glare of his own.

With a huff and a muttered, “Sore loser, I see” he turned on his heel and continued his song elsewhere, picking his lute back up again.

Eris turned back to Lucien, face pinched and expression unreadable. “His voice was absolutely grating, was it not? I’d pay 500 gold marks if it meant he’d never sing again.”

Lucien raised his brow. He’d seen that look on Eris’s face before. It was subtle. It always was with Eris but Lucien had grown up watching his brother polish that mask of control until it gleamed. And he’d also seen the cracks in it. He knew what it looked like when something, or rather someone, struck a nerve.

“Oh, yes. I’m sure it was just his voice that got to you.”

There was a long pause. The bard’s muffled crooning in the distance—thankfully, a new song—mingled with the dull clinking of tankards and low tavern chatter. Lucien leaned forward slightly, arms crossed over the table. “Well? Let’s not pretend we enjoy each other’s company. Say what you came to say.”

“I need your help,” Eris finally said.

Lucien suspected this much. His russet eye narrowed ever so slightly as he studied Eris, a small worry beginning to settle in his stomach. “Is mother alright?”

“Yes,” Eris answered and then paused. That hesitation alone made Lucien’s stomach knot further.

“Well, she’s the same,” Eris continued, more quietly this time, lips curved into a slight frown.. “No better. No worse. Still missing you, of course.”

Lucien exhaled through his nose, the tightness in his shoulders only easing slightly. Hearing that she still missed him made something ache in his chest. But, knowing that at least she wasn’t doing worse and not in imminent danger, his interest visibly waned. He leaned back again in his seat, reaching lazily for his tankard and casting a sideways glance at the bard.

“Then I can’t imagine what sort of mess would drive you all the way down here.”

Eris exhaled, slowly and heavily. “I have a mate.”

“Okay,” Lucien replied. “And?”

His tone wasn’t mocking, just genuinely confused. A mate? That was… news, yes. But Eris hadn’t accepted to meet in some dingy tavern, half-disguised and stripped of pride, just to make an announcement. Lucien himself had a mate, one that most of Prythian probably knew of by now and not by his own doing.

So why would Eris single him out just to tell him this? Especially after years of being estranged with one another. What does he even say to that? Congrats?

“She’s pregnant and Azriel took her.”

Lucien choked.

He sputtered on his drink, amber ale misting in a fine spray and hitting Eris square in the face. Eris blinked slowly, expression deadpan, as he reached inside his coat to retrieve a monogrammed handkerchief. The only refined thing about him tonight. 

Lucien wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, still recovering from his spit take and coughing. He didn’t bother to apologize. His russet eye was wide with disbelief, darting over Eris like he was trying to figure out if this was some sick joke.

The tormented look on Eris’s face said otherwise.

“Whose child is it?”

“Mine,” Eris answered gravely, amber eyes swirling with a mix of grief and guilt.

Lucien went still. He’d never seen his older brother like this, so unraveled and vulnerable.  “And Azriel took her?” he repeated, slower this time, as if giving the world a moment to make more sense.

“Yes,” Eris muttered, anger flaring into his tone. “Can you believe it? Stealing one mate wasn’t enough for him. It appears the bastard is making a hobby of it.”

Lucien’s interest was piqued once again. His russet eye gleamed, something dark and contemplative behind it. The bond in his chest stirred like a sleeping beast, roused by the mention of Azriel meddling with the Cauldron’s design.  He felt for Eris, not being able to ignore the quiet desperation beneath Eris’s anger.

“Where did he take her?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here asking for your help, dressed like a desperate fool.”

Lucien’s gaze lingered on Eris. “And what makes you think I would know?”

“You live in Velaris, don’t you?”

“Kind of,” Lucien replied with a half-shrug. “But still, I don’t even know who she is.”

Eris didn’t say anything at first. He just reached across the table, slid Lucien’s drink far from him. Then, he finally said your name. 

Lucien’s body jerked in surprise, his chair creaking under the sudden shift. He stared at the older male like he’d grown antlers. “Y/N? As in Varek’s little sister?”

A beat of silence. 

Lucien exhaled, slow and disbelieving, russet eye going wide for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. “There’s no fucking way,” he murmured, more to himself, as he tried to make sense of all of this information. “Y/N slept with you?”

Eris’s eyes narrowed, slightly offended. “Why are you saying it like that?” 

“I’m just shocked she looked at you.”

“Oh, she looked at me, alright.”

Lucien gagged. “Spare me the details.”

Eris’s lips curled faintly, the amusement in his eyes dull beneath layers of exhaustion. For just a moment, it felt like they were back in Autumn. Bickering over nothing. Teasing each other in the small moments between duty and obligation. Before the world became too cold and too unkind.

“Well, now I understand why you didn’t bite when Rhysand dangled Nesta in front of you,” Lucien said. “And why Feyre is insistent on keeping a careful distance between you and Azriel. She’s convinced you two are one breath away from ripping each other apart.” He paused in contemplation. “You have every right to, you know. If he took your mate… you could call for a blood duel.”

Ah, yes. The Blood Duel of Autumn Court. An old tradition, one so sacred and savage that it was only invoked in the most dire of situations. It was a challenge fought to the death, often for honor, vengeance, or defending a mating bond.

Lucien was right. Eris did have every right to summon it.

Perhaps, he would’ve. Azriel was lethal, but Eris was no less. He would win it for you. But to call the duel would mean revealing everything. That he had a mate. That his mate was carrying his child. It would expose you and your unborn child to the very monsters he spent his whole life keeping at bay.

Beron. Jayce. They would pounce at the first hint of weakness. The same way his other brothers did with Lucien—when they slaughtered the female he loved just to torment and punish him.

Eris’s jaw tightened. “It’s not that simple. Even if I survive, the risk of–of losing her is far too great.”

Lucien’s expression shifted. He looked down at the table, brow furrowing as the weight of Eris’s words sank in. He understood. Cauldron, he understood too well. The danger of love in a court ruled by cruelty. The pain of caring too deeply, only for it to be turned against you. He remembered the blood, the fire, the echo of the scream that still haunts his dreams.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien said at last, quiet and genuine.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Eris replied solemnly. “I should’ve done more that night. There’s some things you–”

“Don’t,” Lucien cut in gently, though the warning in his eye was sharp as ever. “Don’t go there right now.”

“Okay,” Eris breathed. He didn’t push. He only hoped that one day, when Lucien was ready—if he was ever ready—he’d let him say the things he should’ve said long ago.

“So what now?” Lucien asked, quick to change the subject away from old, unhealed wounds and back to the present.

So Eris sighed and told Lucien everything. He told him how he fell for you, how he became afraid and pushed you away. How the bond had snapped for him then, and how he came to find out you were pregnant and how Azriel had somehow crept his way into your life. And Lucien listened, the usual walls between them slowly dissolving. 

“I think Azriel took her to Velaris. But I don’t know for sure. I was hoping you’d know something.”

“You do know Azriel and I aren’t exactly having tea and biscuits every morning in Velaris, right? I barely even talk to him.”

Eris gave him a look. A knowing look. Because if his youngest brother thought for one damn second that Eris didn’t know Lucien was keeping tabs on Azriel—especially with Elain in the mix—then Lucien wasn’t half as clever as he believed.

Lucien held that gaze for a long, tense moment before releasing a slow, tired breath.

“She’s not in Velaris.”

The certainty in his voice hit Eris like a blow to the gut. “You’re sure of it?”

“Unfortunately,” Lucien said.

Eris nodded slowly, trusting Lucien’s word.

 “He has an apartment of his own in Velaris but it’s–” Lucien’s nose wrinkled in aversion–”it’s no place for a lady like y/n. No place for anyone, really. His mattress is literally on the floor, the only decorations in that place are the spider’s webs and…” Lucien trailed off, unable to finish.

Clearly, the place Azriel had was not one he used much himself.

“Azriel spends more time at Rhysand’s properties,” Lucien continued. “But Feyre hasn’t mentioned any guests—and I’ve seen no new faces in town. If she’s with him, he’s keeping her very well hidden.”

And that, Eris thought grimly, was exactly what terrified him most. He knew he fucked up and now the distance between you was not just physical, but a fortress built on his own mistakes. Would he ever find you at all? Be able to see you again and beg for forgiveness? And what of the tiny life growing inside you? 

The baby who was a part of him as much as it was a part of you. Would he ever have the chance to meet his own baby and cradle it in his arms?

Leaves crunched beneath Eris’s boots as he moved steadily along a worn path. His hounds were with him. Two padded beside him, their coats gleaming in the late afternoon sun, while the others ran freely, wild with restless energy and chasing scents of the forest. Every so often, one of the two beside him would nose at his hand or glance up as if sensing something in him was off.

And something was.

Eris’s mind was far from the forest. His meeting with Lucien had not soothed any of his worries. If anything, it only exasperated them. More questions than answers. More silence from you. Not only had you not responded to his letters but you seemed to have learned how to shut him out through the bond.

How far along were you now? Was the babe growing well? Had you felt the first flutter of movement in your belly?

Though the weather was constant in Autumn, Eris knew the nights in the Night Court were going to grow colder soon. Would you be warm enough?

If only you'd reply, let him know where to find you. He'd be there in a hurry. He’d be everything you needed, everything he should’ve been from the start. The male you deserved. The father your child deserved. He’d somehow figure it out—how to keep you safe and still never leave your side.

Because it should be him by your side. Not Azriel.

Was Azriel even treating you well? Did he know you preferred chamomile to peppermint and that you never drank tea if it wasn't hot enough? Did he know you hated thunderstorms? Did he--did he kiss your brow when nightmares clung to you in the middle of the night?

Eris's hand clenched around nothing as his thoughts circled tighter, his nails biting into his palm. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking until his hounds paused beside him, whining softly. One of them nudged his thigh with a wet nose.

Then, there was movement. A flicker of shadow at the edge of his senses. His hounds stiffened, low growls rumbling in their throats as the others barked sharply, muscles tensing and eyes flashing with alertness.

Eris turned sharply, following their gazes.

Azriel emerged from some trees, shadows forming a protective barrier against his hounds. The shadowsinger raised his hands up slowly. Eris’s brows furrowed as he assessed him.

There was something different about Azriel. Something that had Eris silently commanding his hounds to stand down.

Azriel looked grim and worn, his jaw clenched tight. His shadows were growing frantic, circling him like bees disturbed from their hive. He met Eris's gaze.

And for the first time in a long while, there was no anger in it. No challenge, no icy rage simmering beneath them.

“I need you to come with me now,” he said, his words strained as if forcing the words past a wall inside him. “It’s y/n. She’s–the baby…”

Azriel’s words caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, eyes clouding over with a fierce sense of urgency.

And Eris’s heart sank to his stomach, the silence that followed clawing at him worse than any fear he’d ever faced.

a/n: Fun fact, the song the bard was singing in the tavern scene was one of the songs that inspired this series (translated into English since the original song is in Spanish.) Anyway, any guesses as to where Azriel is keeping you? I've love to hear them or your thoughts in general👀 Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger, the angst is not ending any time soon. The next part will actually be in reader's POV but you won't find out what's wrong with her until pt. 10 😈

These are the vibes for this pt and pt. 10

The gif attached to this reblog is how I picture Eris looking at Azriel after pt.7

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

@anainkandpaper, @icey--stars, @moonlovefairy, @hellohauntedturnstudent, @lucia-valentinaa,

@wrenisrad, @smol-grandpa, @sleepylunarwolf, @63angel, @anuttellaa

@anon1227 @paleidiot @thatacotargirl, @queenoffeysand , @slut4acotar @awkardnerd

@blueroseava , @lovetia , @historygeekqueen , @idk1027 ,@naturakaashi

@blightyblinders , @wolvesnravens , @galaxystern08 , @faeofthemoonandstars , @antisocial-architect

@elisha-chloe, @cwallace02sblog, @randomramblesfanfiction, @moonlitlavenders, @booksnwriting

@sunny1616, @holb32, @gamarancianne, @daemyratwst, @ratgirl2020 @balufy

[myfairstarlight]

craziest thing about jayvik to me still is how anyone, after spending circa 6 months in pure hell, would have grown to resent whoever put them there. But Jayce? He saw it was Viktor and melted on the spot and swore his devotion instead. I wonder if a part of Mage Viktor expected resentment, wanted it even. What if he did all this also so Jayce would have the motivation to kill him and make sure this future would never happen. But no, every single time, Jayce chooses love in the end.

There's always a choice, and Jayce made his the moment they met.

[lynbels]

29 mr nishimuraaaaaa

whiplash (m)

#29 You tease the quiet boy in your friend group too far, and he snaps—fucking you hard enough to make you cry and then cuddling you like nothing happened.

niki x reader · prompt request list

synopsis: You thought teasing the quiet boy in your friend group was harmless—until Ni-ki finally snapped, fucking you hard enough to make you cry, then pulling you into his arms like nothing ever happened. ✉️ 980wc - ‼️ friends to lovers, size kink, rough sex, crying kink, overstimulation, breeding kink, aftercare, quiet boy snapping, bratty teasing, manhandling, creampie

📝: niki manhandling me pls

Ni-ki was always the quiet one in your friend group—stoic, reserved, always watching but rarely talking. It wasn’t that he was shy, necessarily, just… too chill to participate in the chaos. The rest of the group was a walking circus: Woonhak always yelling, Sungho deadpanning, Jaehyun micromanaging everyone’s snack bags, and you, the mouthy one who never shut up. Especially around Ni-ki.

“Do you even speak?” you snorted one day while everyone was lounging around in Leehan’s basement, half-buzzed on soda and sleep deprivation. Ni-ki just glanced at you, face unreadable, while the others burst out laughing.

“That’s not fair,” Riwoo piped up between bites of seaweed chips. “He talks. Just not to you.”

“Ouch.” You clutched your chest mock-dramatically. “I’m offended. Actually, I think I’m his favorite. He’s just playing hard to get.”

Ni-ki didn’t say a word. Just kept sipping his drink with that same maddening calm.

But you liked getting a rise out of him. Over the next few weeks, the teasing escalated.

“Blink twice if you’re real.”

“You’re like an NPC, you know that?”

“I bet your phone autocorrects everything to ‘k.’”

He never snapped. Not once. Not even when you flicked a popcorn kernel at him across the couch and it landed in his hoodie.

But something changed the night of Jaehyun’s birthday party. The group had rented a karaoke room, and somewhere between terrible rap verses and awful renditions of ballads, you and Ni-ki ended up sitting alone in the hallway. The others had gone back in to sing “Love Dive” at full volume.

You nudged his arm with your shoulder. “You know, if you ever decide to speak to me, I might faint.”

Silence.

“Like, actually. Flat on the floor. Need CPR and everything. Might be your only chance to touch me.”

And that’s when it happened.

He turned. Looked you dead in the eye. And said, “You should shut the fuck up for once.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low and calm—too calm. “You act like you want attention, but I don’t think you’re ready for what happens when you actually get mine.”

Oh.

Oh.

You weren’t expecting him to stand up, take your hand, and lead you down the hall like it was nothing. Weren’t expecting to end up shoved against the wall of an empty storage room, lights dim, his hoodie off and jaw clenched.

“Still think I’m an NPC?” he asked, fingers already under your skirt.

“Ni-ki—”

“Be quiet,” he said again, this time pressed against your ear. “You’ve been talking all month. Time to listen.”

And listen you did.

To the sound of your own whimpers as he bent you over a forgotten couch, shoved your panties aside, and fucked into you like it was something he’d been planning—mapping out in that silent mind of his for weeks.

“You always run your mouth,” he muttered, pulling your head back by your hair just enough to kiss your throat. “So loud. Always poking me like I’m not gonna do anything.”

“You never—ah—said I had to stop—”

Ni-ki didn’t hesitate. One of his large hands gripped your waist, the other fisting in your hair, forcing you to arch your back just enough. You barely managed a breath before he shoved the thick head of his cock against your entrance, pressing in hard.

The stretch made your mouth fall open in a silent gasp. He didn’t ease you into it—he drove himself inside you all at once, splitting you wide open on his cock in one rough, overwhelming thrust. Your nails dug into the couch cushions, back bowing under the sudden, brutal pressure.

“Fuck—Ni-ki—” you whimpered, the force of it nearly knocking the air from your lungs.

He wasn’t gentle. His hips slammed into yours over and over, heavy, relentless, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room. His cock pounded deep inside you, thick and hot, making your pussy spasm around him with every brutal stroke. Each thrust forced needy, broken sounds from your lips, louder than you could even think to control.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, spilling over when he fucked you harder, chasing the tight clench of your walls around him. You cried—not just from the stretch, but from the pure overwhelming feeling of being used and filled so perfectly, so completely, you couldn’t even think straight.

“You wanted attention, right?” Ni-ki growled low against your ear, voice a deep, dangerous rumble. His hand slipped between your legs, fingers rubbing fast, brutal circles over your swollen clit. “Take it.”

You sobbed, legs trembling uncontrollably under the weight of him, mind blank from how good it felt, how rough he was giving it to you. Every part of you was reduced to raw sensation: the thick drag of his cock splitting you open, the helpless clenching of your cunt around him, the burn in your thighs from how hard he kept you pinned in place.

Your orgasm hit you like a slap, sudden and devastating. You wailed his name, body convulsing, squeezing tight around him as he fucked you through it mercilessly. His pace grew frantic, sloppy, chasing his own release. With a broken, low groan, he slammed deep one last time and came inside you, cock pulsing thick spurts of hot cum against your walls.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, just breathing hard.

When you finally collapsed forward, boneless and dazed, Ni-ki gently pulled you onto his lap, his cock still buried inside you, softening slowly. His hands roamed your back soothingly, like he hadn’t just wrecked you five minutes ago.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice soft again, brushing a kiss to your temple.

You could only nod weakly, mind swimming.

He smiled faintly, arms wrapping tighter around you. “You talk too much,” he said, a little smug. “But I guess I like you anyway.”

wanna read my longer ffs? check out @shy9-29 || prompt req list

[ducktoo]

Sweet

Dreamcatcher's Dami x M!Reader

Note: Hey! Sorry for not updating for like a month-ish, and May will be the worst month yet personally. But appreciate everyone for waiting, and I will be trying to get all the requests here!

Also, happy 800 followers!

For the first time in a while, Dami wakes up to silence. Not the eerie, post-apocalyptic kind, but the kind of silence that has birds chirping somewhere far off, a breeze politely brushing the curtains, and not a single person yelling about makeup calls or dance rehearsals.

12 pm

No alarm. No schedule. No morning manager texts with twenty exclamation marks and a picture of her half-asleep face attached. Just… the countryside.

Dami sits on the edge of the futon, stretching her arms above her head as the sunlight slips through the wooden blinds and kisses her skin like it’s apologizing for yesterday’s heatwave. Her hair’s a little messy, one sock's missing, and her bucket hat is tossed haphazardly on the windowsill like it, too, needed a vacation.

“So,” she says to the room, which contains nothing but a suitcase, a folded map she still doesn’t know how to read, and one very confused-looking butterfly that’s been following her since last night, “what do people even do out here?”

She grabs her phone. Barely any signal. Of course.

And honestly, good.

She didn’t come out here to scroll through news articles or check her tagged posts. She came here because something inside her—something small and sharp—had been aching for quiet. For stillness. For a chance to hear herself think without the echo of someone else’s voice layered on top.

Still, she hadn’t exactly planned anything. One minute she was signing off her final company commitment with a polite bow and a box of donuts, and the next, she was staring out the window of a bus heading toward some random, green-splashed town with more cows than people, with now waking up after an interesting sleep in a small inn.

Her stomach growls. Loudly. Dramatically. Like it also wasn’t expecting to be in the middle of nowhere this morning.

Dami pats her hoodie pocket, pulling out the scrap of a tourist brochure she’d snagged from the bus stop. The ink’s smudged, one corner’s ripped, and the translation is… well. Creative.

She reads aloud.

“‘Try taste our sweet store candy: handmade with love and sugar of honest heart.’”

She blinks. Then reads it again.

“Sweet store,” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes at the fuzzy little photo beside the text. It shows a small, wooden-fronted shop with faded awnings, jars of pastel-coloured candy lined up on the window display, and a blurry figure sweeping the porch like they’re trying not to be in frame.

It’s oddly charming. Like something out of a slice-of-life drama where everyone has a tragic backstory and nothing really happens except people discovering the meaning of life through tea.

Dami pulls on her bucket hat.

“Alright,” she mutters, half to herself, half to the moth still chilling by the curtain, “let’s go and get sugar rush.”

The wooden door creaks when she pushes it open, and a small brass bell tinkles from above—soft, delicate, the kind of sound that makes you instinctively lower your voice even though no one’s around. The place smells like nostalgia and melted sugar, warm and heavy, clinging to the air like a childhood memory that refuses to fade.

Shelves line the small space, some slanted from age, others patched up with duct tape and what she assumes is leftover washi paper. Glass jars filled with brightly coloured sweets gleam under the filtered morning light—barley candies, flower-shaped jellies, dried persimmon gummies, and those ridiculously addictive sesame crisps that break your teeth but heal your soul.

It’s quiet, except for the low whirr of a fan in the corner and the soft crackle of something cooking behind the counter.

And then she hears it.

That very familiar string of muffled curses.

“Motherf—hot—why is everything so sticky—”

She rounds the corner just in time to see you—you, apron on, sleeves rolled up, face flushed from the steam of whatever candy cauldron you’ve got bubbling away. You’ve got your hair slicked back with a fork (an actual one, probably stolen from last night’s takeout), and your fingers are expertly folding a ribbon of molten sugar onto a wooden board with practiced ease.

“Wow,” she says before she can stop herself, leaning against the counter. “You actually did it.”

You jerk at the voice, almost drop your taffy paddle, and turn with the slow, wide-eyed look of someone who just saw their midterm professor walk into a karaoke bar.

“…Yubin?” Your voice cracks a little on the last syllable.

She grins. “Told you I’d haunt you eventually.”

“You—you’re here?” You look around like you forgot where here is. “In this town? In my shop??”

“Your shop,” she repeats, letting the words roll off her tongue. “Didn’t expect to see you here either. Last I checked, you moved out of our hometown right after middle school. I figured you’d be somewhere in the city by now, overworked, underfed, and buried in a pile of part-time jobs.”

“I was,” you say, still trying to process the fact that Dami, middle school buddy/crush turned K-pop idol, is standing in your candy shop like she just walked in off a sitcom set.

“But then my aunt handed me the keys to this place last year and dipped to Jeju, so now I’m here. Day job: sugar gremlin. Night job: dying over assignments.”

Dami’s laugh is quiet, a little nostalgic. “So we both escaped.”

You blink. “Huh? What do you mean?”

She shrugs, walking slowly around the small shop, fingers skimming along the counter. “Contract ended. No rush to renew anything. Figured I’d disappear for a week. Rest. Breathe. Maybe find myself in a bag of chestnut toffee.”

You smirk. “That one’s on that shelf on the left, right next to the emotional damage gummies.”

Her eyes light up. “Ooh, limited edition?”

“Hand-pulled bitterness,” you say with mock pride. “Best seller. The damn kids kept buying it for challenges.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, grinning like it’s still math class and you’re trying not to get caught passing notes behind your textbooks.

“Small world, huh,” she finally says.

“Stupidly small,” you reply.

And just like that, the years between middle school and now feel like they’ve folded into something softer. Like saltwater taffy stretched thin but never snapped. You both left the same town. Took different trains. Ended up back at the same platform anyway.

“Hey,” she says, suddenly sheepish. “You mind if I hang out a bit? I didn’t really have a plan for the day.”

You glance at the clock. Your next batch of plum jellies still needs to set, and your current batch is probably imploding as you speak—but honestly?

“Only if you help wrap these,” you say, nudging the pile of cooling candies toward her.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re putting the idol to work?”

You toss her a spare apron. “You’re the one who walked into my shop, miss.”

Dami catches it midair, laughter trailing behind her like powdered sugar in the wind, and just like that, your quiet little candy shop becomes something warmer.

-

If there was a camera in the shop right now—just one, even a dusty old CCTV one—you’re pretty sure this moment would go viral. Dami, former girl group cool-icon, multi-talented performer, deadpan queen of stage presence… is currently fighting for her life against a roll of wax paper and losing.

“Why is it curling like this?” she mutters, brow furrowed, as the sheet she’s trying to cut keeps flipping back onto itself like it has a grudge. “The hell is this? Did you curse it?”

You, very professionally, do not laugh.

At least not out loud.

You’re by the counter, refilling the sesame crisp jars, trying to focus on literally anything other than the sight of her trying to measure and fold wax paper with all the grace of a kitten learning to walk on ice. Every few seconds she mutters something to herself—some half-hearted insult aimed at the paper, your shop, or gravity—and it takes every ounce of willpower not to burst into full, wheezing laughter.

“I thought idols were supposed to be good with their dedicate hands,” you say mildly, glancing over just in time to see the tape dispenser get caught in her sleeve. "…and not cursing."

“I was,” she shoots back, trying to wrangle it off with one hand. “This is bullshit. You’re sabotaging me. This is revenge for the time I told everyone in class you had a crush on that substitute teacher.”

Your eyes narrow. “You mean Ms. Park? The one everyone had a crush on?”

“She wore collared shirt and glasses,” she deadpans. “To be fair, it was the look.”

"Still is, you know that." You scoff and toss her the little candy label stickers. “Here. Just put these on the wrappers. It’s harder to mess that up.”

“You say that like it’s hard,” she mutters, peeling one off with exaggerated care.

You both settle into a rhythm—her sitting at the low table, tongue peeking out a little in concentration as she sticks labels onto neat little plastic-wrapped candies, and you at the counter, folding paper boxes while the soft hum of an old fan and the distant chirp of birds fills the air.

It’s oddly peaceful. Domestic, almost. If someone walked in, they’d probably mistake you two for co-owners or an old married couple running a family shop passed down for generations.

“How long have you been here now?” she asks suddenly, her tone gentler this time.

You pause, thinking. “About…nine months? Moved in right before spring. My aunt used to run this place, but her knees started acting up. Gave me the keys, said, ‘It’s your problem now, kiddo,’ and ran off to Jeju with her yoga group.”

Dami huffs a laugh. “Sounds about right. You always said you wanted something quiet.”

“I said I wanted peace,” you correct her, holding up a half-folded candy box like it’s proof. “Didn’t realize peace included burning my hands on hot syrup every week.”

She smiles, but there’s a softness behind it now. “Still… I get it. The quiet. The slowness.”

You glance at her, noticing the way she’s leaning slightly forward now, elbows on her knees, the faintest crease between her brows.

“Was it hard?” you ask, voice lower.

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Doesn’t deflect with a joke this time.

“Maybe a bit,” she admits. “It’s weird. You’re surrounded by people all the time, but… you get so used to performing, it’s like you forget how to just be. No cameras. No pressure. Just… existing.”

You nod, slowly. “Well, you’re existing now. And apparently waging war against packaging.”

"Shut it…" She snorts. “It’s humbling.”

"Well, you're welcome, missy." You throw a jellybean at her. She dodges it with the reflexes of someone who’s been through years of dance practice and too many fan-thrown plushies.

“Ya,” she says, suddenly grinning. “Remember that time we had to do that candy fundraiser in school and you accidentally dropped a whole tray of lollipops down the stairwell in front of everyone?”

You groan. “Please don’t bring that up. I’m still emotionally scarred.”

“I think you cried.”

“I twitched,” you say defensively.

“You sobbed.”

You stare at her. “You’re never helping in this shop again.”

She laughs—really laughs—and the sound fills the little space like something old and familiar, something you didn’t know you missed. You lean back against the counter, watching her with an amused smile and a warmth settling quietly in your chest.

It’s strange.

How someone can be gone for years, grow up into someone bigger, brighter, more distant—and yet still sit here, in your little candy shop, struggling with tape and teasing you like no time passed at all.

Maybe the universe isn’t so bad.

Maybe it brought her back right when you both needed something sweet.

-

By day two, you’ve already made a sign that reads:

“Yubin’s Specials – Limited Edition”

You prop it up right outside the door.

She sees it.

She groans.

“You’re seriously using me as clickbait,” she says, holding a tray of chestnut taffies she just helped wrap.

“Of course I am,” you say proudly. “And you’re doing amazing, Lee Yubin.”

“You didn’t even…fcking…train me.”

You shrug. “Trial by sugar.”

It turns out people really like candy made by a former Dreamcatcher member. Even if her wrappers are a bit lopsided and she keeps messing up the ribbon curls. Tourists stumble in with giddy grins, locals pretend not to fangirl too hard, and somehow even the old grump from the vegetable stand next door stops by for two packs of barley candy and whispers, “Wasn’t she on TV?”

You nod solemnly. “She’s our intern now. We pay her in red bean mochi and my yapping.”

Dami, who’s been quietly tying goody bags in the back, shouts, “I heard that!”

And so, business booms.

Your little shop starts getting lines out the door. A couple from Seoul asks if this is the place that sells Dami’s Panda Honey Drops.

You blink. “That’s not a real thing.”

They pull up a blog post on their phone on Dami's Insta.

...Okay, apparently it is now.

Meanwhile, Dami slips further and further into her “intern” role. You catch her giving free samples to a group of shy high schoolers, writing little notes on wrappers like “Don’t forget to rest” and “Fighting! ”. They leave with red cheeks and stars in their eyes.

“You’re stealing my customers,” you tell her.

She looks too smug. “Your fault for using me as clickbait.”

“You’re fired.”

“You can’t afford to fire me,” she says, stretching with a yawn. “The people love me. I’m your brand now.”

"Tsk." You try to glare, but end up grinning instead.

The rest of the day is a blur of sugar, laughs, and the occasional candy-stick swordfight during slow hours (you lost, tragically). By the time the sun starts setting, the shop’s pretty much wiped clean.

You hang the "Closed" sign and wipe your hands on your apron. “We survived another day, Yubin.”

She stretches again, slower this time, her frame outlined by the golden hour light streaming in through the door. “You’ve got a good thing here,” she murmurs. “It’s cozy.”

“Cozy?” you echo. “That’s your review?”

She shrugs. “Cozy. Honest. Kind of… nice.”

You blink at her. That was a bit more real than expected. But before you can say anything, she’s already slipping past you to hang up her apron.

“Where you going?” you ask.

She turns around with that trademark poker face, then lifts her brows. “Obviously to help you out in the neighbourhood, boss. You said this gig comes with overtime two days ago.”

You snort. “Of course. It’s not a full experience unless you also carry bags of flour for Mrs. Hwang and untangle Mr. Jang’s fairy lights that have no business being up in spring.”

She grins. “Lead the way, boss.”

So you both head out to the warm neighbourhood. A few kids run past with grape lollipops from your shop still clutched in sticky hands. A dog you only kinda know jumps up on Dami and she laughs, crouching down to ruffle its ears.

Mrs. Hwang waves from her porch and hands you a small plate of rice cakes. “For the idol girl. Tell her thank you for helping me bring in my laundry yesterday.”

You smile. “She’s right here, you know.”

Mrs. Hwang squints. “You won’t pass it on?”

“Ma’am, she’s—never mind.”

Mr. Jang yells from two houses down. “I tell you two, those lights are seasonal! They just work better than the porch lamp!”

“They blink like a horror movie!” you shout back.

Dami’s laughing the entire time, shoulders shaking, eyes bright. Not in that polite, polished way for cameras, but in the way you remember from middle school—when she fell off the jungle gym and laughed before she even hit the ground.

And you realize… she fits here.

A little too well.

Like she’s always belonged in the quiet lull between candy jars and nosy neighbours. Like maybe this week off wasn’t a random break, but a breadcrumb trail back to something she forgot she needed.

Later that night, you’re both back at the shop.

She’s lounging at the back table again, sipping warm barley tea, while you log sales for the day. The numbers are ridiculous. You glare at her from behind your laptop.

“You made more money for me in two days than I did in a whole month,” you say flatly.

“I accept my payment in roasted rice crackers and lifelong bragging rights.”

You throw her one from the snack shelf. She catches it easily, smirking.

You watch her for a moment. The way she sits so comfortably in this space, even after years of stages and screaming crowds. The way she hums under her breath without realizing it.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You really okay out here in the middle of nowhere?”

She looks up. Meets your eyes.

“Yeah,” she says after a second. “It's nice.”

And somehow, it would be nice to have her here with you too.

-

The next morning, you woke up to birds chirping way too cheerily for someone who spent all night boiling malt candy until their soul nearly evaporated. You barely cracked your eyes open before tossing a hoodie over your head, grabbing a cooler, and jogging to her place and banging on Dami’s dorm door like the tax collector.

She groaned from the other side. “It’s not even 9 am.”

“Exactly. Prime beach hour. Let’s go.”

You didn’t wait for her to protest.

Half an hour later, you were both trudging across soft sand, you with your cooler slung over your shoulder, and Dami squinting at the ocean like it personally owed her money.

“What are we doing here?” she muttered.

“Shut up and relax,” you said, tossing her a can from the cooler. “That’s an order.”

She looked down at the cold beer in her hand, eyebrow raised. “Is this really allowed?”

“Do you see cops?”

“No—wait, actually, that guy over there—”

“That’s a fisherman, Yubin.”

“Same energy.”

You rolled your eyes and sat down first, your legs stretched out toward the water. The tide was lazy today, dragging the foam in and out like it was breathing. Beside you, Dami plopped down with a sigh so dramatic it could've won an award.

Then she opened the can.

And for the first time in days—maybe weeks, maybe months—she really breathed.

The kind that filled her lungs, her chest, her ribs. Not just the automatic inhales for survival. No, this one was different. Deep. Slow. Like she hadn’t realized how little air she’d been taking in until now.

Her eyes drifted toward the horizon. “God… it’s quiet here.”

You cracked your own beer open with a soft hiss. “That’s why the shop is here.”

She sipped. Then again. “This might be the best thing I’ve tasted all year.”

You nudged her shoulder with yours. “It’s not the beer. It’s peace, Yubin.”

“Cringe.”

You both laughed. But then, slowly, it settled. The silence. The soft rhythm of waves brushing the shore. The clink of aluminium as your cans tapped the ground.

And her voice came quieter this time. Less of a joke. “I’ve been thinking.”

“You think?”

"Shush, you." She ignored you. “What if I didn’t go back?”

You blinked. “To Seoul?”

She nodded, eyes still on the sea. “To that life. Schedules. Spotlights. Deadlines. Everyone watching everything I do… waiting for the next thing to eat me alive.”

You stayed quiet. Let her talk.

“I could stay,” she said softly. “Here. In the countryside. Wake up when I want. Help out. Run a small café maybe. Or just… nothing at all. Isn’t that enough?”

You took a slow sip. “You’re drunk.”

“I’ve had three sips.”

“Exactly. Drunk. Aren't you lightweighted?”

She turned to look at you fully now. “I’m serious.”

So were you. Because you leaned in just a little, reached out, and smacked her on the head.

Harder than you meant to.

She yelped. “What the hell?!”

“You don’t get to say that like it’s simple,” you snapped. “Like you’re just tired of singing and poof—you’re gone. You worked your whole life for this. And now what? You want to throw it away because you got a week off and tasted quiet?”

Her expression shifted. Something between hurt and frustration. “You think it’s that easy for me to let go? You think I haven’t been thinking about it for months? Every single day? When I wake up feeling hollow, go to sleep feeling watched, smile until my jaw hurts because someone says I’m their happiness and I don’t even know how to find mine anymore?!”

You froze.

The beach didn’t.

Waves kept folding into themselves. The wind teased your sleeves. The gulls cried like nothing had happened.

But something had.

“…Yubin.”

She shook her head, looking away. “I’m tired,” she said again. “Really tired. And I know I joke about retiring, but it’s not a joke anymore. I want to stop. And this place… this stupid, quiet, peaceful place… it’s the first time I felt like I could breathe.”

You stared at her. At the way her fingers curled around the can like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. At the sea salt sticking to her lashes. At the familiar slouch of her shoulders—the one you remember from middle school, when the world was too much even then.

And you got it.

Of course you got it.

You just hated that you got it.

“…Then stay,” you said finally. Your voice barely louder than the tide. “But don’t stay just because it’s easier. Stay because it’s right. Stay because this is where you heal, not where you hide.”

She didn’t answer for a while. But she didn’t move either.

The beer grew warm in your hands. A breeze passed, cool and calm. And the sun, despite everything, kept rising.

-

You knew she was leaving the moment she woke up early without you knocking.

The sun wasn’t even up yet, just that soft grey light smudging the edge of the sky. You were already at the shop, brewing tea and boxing up the last batch of barley and chestnut candies from the night before. Dami came in, hair still a little damp from the quick shower you assumed she took to hide the puffiness in her eyes.

You didn’t say anything.

Just slid over the warm cup.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

You smiled. “So. You’re ditching me.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Like you didn’t say yesterday that I shouldn’t stay just to hide.”

“I meant it. Still doesn’t mean I gotta like it.”

Dami smiled into her cup.

The next hour passed the same way the last few days had—quiet banter, easy rhythm, sugar and wrappers and sweet scents hanging in the air. Except now, the silence had a ticking clock beneath it. You felt it in every glance. Every pause.

When the bell above the door jingled, you looked up mid-wrap and nearly dropped the entire tray.

Because walking into your shop was Dreamcatcher’s Jiu In the flesh. And not just her—soon behind came a few more heads peeking in. Siyeon waved politely. Yoohyeon smiled wide and said, “Ooh! It smells good in here!” like it was a surprise your candy shop did what it said on the tin.

You blinked at them. Then turned to Dami with your most exaggerated fake scowl. “So this is the kind of company you’ve been keeping, huh? Surrounded by literal beauties while I’ve been over here stirring malt syrup and burning my fingers.”

Dami, bless her, turned a shade redder than the strawberry jellies. “Shut up,” she muttered.

You grinned.

“Seriously though,” you leaned back, arms crossed, “you didn’t tell me they are this pretty. Makes me feel like the ugly duckling.”

JiU chuckled as she stepped further in. “You must be the friend she wouldn’t shut up about all week.”

You shrugged. “Guilty.”

There was a calm in Dami’s expression now. The quiet kind of peace that comes after a storm. After words were said and decisions were made. She helped you pack the final tin of candies—her batch, the ones she kept burning the first day until she learned how to mix in rhythm with yours.

You handed it to her.

“This is for the road,” you said softly. “Don’t eat them all in one go. Maybe share with your unnies if they behave.”

Dami took it. Her hands lingered against yours just a second too long.

Then she hugged you.

Not quick. Not awkward. Not half-hearted.

No, she buried herself into your hoodie, arms tight around your middle, like she was trying to memorize the way you felt. Like if she let go too soon, she’d forget how you laughed when she burned her first sugar pull. Or the way you dragged her to the beach and told her to breathe like it mattered.

And it did. It mattered more than she’d ever say aloud.

“…You sure?” you whispered.

Her answer came against your chest, muffled and soft. “Yeah. I think I gotta come back.”

You nodded, even if she couldn’t see it.

Even if some part of you screamed to hold on.

“Just know,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “if you ever wanna come back—not just for a week, not just for candy—you’ve got a place.”

She looked up at you then, eyes a little glassy but smiling. “You’d take me in like a stray cat?”

“I’d exploit you like an unpaid intern again.”

She smacked your arm. “You’re the worst.”

“You hugged me for a full minute, dummy.”

“Shut up. You're lucky you're cute.”

"Wait huh-" Before you could question, she playfully pushed you back and walked out, ignoring the blushes crept to her cheeks.

The others waved their goodbyes, polite and sweet, as Dami stepped outside. The car door shut with a gentle click, and just like that—she was driving off, a blur of black van and sunlight catching on the windshield.

You stood there for a while.

Letting the silence settle. Ignoring the tears left your eyes.

Letting the wind carry away whatever she left behind.

The candy shop was quieter now. But your fingers still smelled like sugar, and your chest still felt full.

Because sometimes, even goodbyes can taste sweet.

Especially when you know it’s not the last one. Just… not yet. Not today.

Maybe you will actually tell her next time she comes back.

[himbopunk]

for hakim:

the loss of harding and the realization of the loss of varric were a 1-2 punch for hakim. they were the two people there that knew him before anyone else there, they started this together, the rogue squad!! even with neve saying her bellara harding and him started this its like, yeah, but it goes a step beyond that for him w these two, they travelled together for Months, and he knew varric for years before that. (he thinks of isabela, of whether she knows, whether he has to tell her, does everyone know about varric but him?). idk the loss of both are so intertwined to me and while i think a part of hakim Did know i think the denial he wouldve wanted to cling to only made it easier for solas's illusion to settle in. and hes so fucking pissed off for harding, hes glad she at least got to bring back the memory of her people to some extent but she didnt deserve this. he would never take the choice from her if he could go back, its antithetical to everything he is, but she didnt Deserve it. and god does he still feel responsible (it was her choice but if he had been quicker, smarter, would she have had to make it?) especially once he goes and talks to taash. theyre really the only 'family' the other has left. maybe they both got isabela? but still. theyre still grieving their mother, he cant imagine what theyre going through.

which leads into the everyone else of it all. taash is a mess, understandably so, i think emmrich and davrin were the main force of holding everyone together but even theyre falling apart at the seams... lucanis will not leave his side for fear of losing him again if he looks away for even a second, like hes not sure its real, neve is overjoyed to have him back but is scared to hope for bellara as well. (this was already a result far too happy ending-y than anything shed expect, should she hope a second time or should she be happy that hakim is here. if she does hope does she worry about not seeming glad hes back..? idk. she shows it in her own ways but the distance while she 'grieves' bellara is still felt)

i think hakim would love nothing more than to check on everyone else and keep an eye on them but nobody is really letting him, not like before. especially once they hear what happened with the fade prison, what hed been dealing with with varrics spectre... even taash is like dude ive had weeks for this, and yesterday i thought i lost /all/ my family. but today i still got you, stop worrying about me lets just kick blighted god ass already.

for iktom:

i am evil and terrible to him and sacrificed davrin (&assan) despite them being together. only one warden gets to have a new lease on life in this house i guess. i think hes like. absolutely so fucking sick with grief. like, he reasons w it a bit cuz davrin knew the risks, they all did, even before the vg they were both wardens, even if theyd met each other in better circumstances there was the possibility that things would always end up this way but it doesn't make it hurt any less. i think he tries to go to davrins room and nearly vomits off the side of the lighthouse, harding and taash comes and brings him inside the main hall. bellara maybe tells him that theyd been working on contacting his clan, if he wants to meet them after the battle. (also like, assan is not a child he is an animal but i feel like davrins comments about him being their half bird half cat kid and the combination of losing them both adds a level of retraumatizatikn wrt losing his daughter on Top of everything. this will probably lead into some relationship conflict with emmrich in the future but.. not right now)

varric was less of a mentor figure to iktom, they were closer to being peers/just plain old friends. it still hurts, but i think of the blows here its not as much of a gutpunch to him. especially when varric seemed in this nonrecovering limbo for months, like.. i think iktom kinda saw the writing on the wall at a certain point, like sure yes some injuries take time to bounce back from but.. idk his relationship with grief is super complicated but he did get a type of closure with varric that hed never gotten before with any loss hed experienced (or at least from the impression of him that solas's blood magic left in his mind). letting go of a ghost feels a bit different is all.

with the others... i think about lucanis w blighted neve and how quick iktom is to check in on him, suggest she may still be alive and i think he wants to help especially cuz theyre very close friends by this point (and he did think he saw lucanis fall as well i forget that happens right before the fade prison too whoof) but to some extent i think checking on everyone else is a sort of deflection esp with the davrin stuff. taash and harding i think have been taking point in this version of events (bellara and lucanis are reeling from neve, emmrich nearly loses both his partners and drives himself mad on the dagger thing the second he realizes there may be a chance at getting iktom back. for just this once he can defy the inevitable). they kinda clock iktoms thing for what it is, talk to emmrich about it. emmrich and iktom take a moment to themselves which i think emmrich already wanted to do but this kind of makes it Necessary. obviously iktom needs to process still, but that was important for him to have his head back in the game, and redirect his and everyones focus on the new game plan. i think theres a slight bit of concern still in how quickly he tries to bounce back into the offense but.. if there was ever a time for it ykno?

*banging pots and pans together*

Yoo-hoo! People who love angst!

Tell me what happened when your Rook got back to the Lighthouse after being trapped in the Fade prison and had to deal with the realizing

1) their friend they just spent their whole adventure with was dead

2) Varric was actually dead and they were talking to a magical projection that whole time

3) everything had gone to complete shit while they were missing and their friends were having an extended (but productive) panic attack

[lavottino]

Self-indulgent but mandatory "What if the strawhats were Italian" because it has been plaguing my mind for months.

I'm putting some context (and also some headcanons) for each drawing under the cut for anyone interested in better understanding what is going on, so expect a lot of yapping 😭

I think I will draw more Italian strawhats shenanigans in the future (I'm sorry for sidelining you like that Jinbe...), we'll see...

1. Italy is divided into 20 regions, and I associated the 10 strawhats to 10 of those regions. The regions I chose have been mainly picked on instinct based on whatever felt right to me, so I wouldn't look too hard into it 😭

2. Tortellini are a type of stuffed pasta specifically from the Emilia-Romagna region (where I see Robin coming from) and even more specifically from the Bologna and Modena provinces; while fiorentina is typically from Florence (Tuscany) and Luffy would eat at least 10 of them a day if he could

3. Alberto Angela is a paleontologist and history and science communicator, and he runs some TV programs that mainly focus on history and science. He's well-spoken, he's educated, developing a little crush for him is basically a canon event, he's the IT Italian man if you ask me. Robin is watching Ulisse - Il piacere della scoperta, which is also the TV program that introduced me to him when I was like 9 😌

4. Table football is quite common in Italy (all my life I've called it biliardino, but apparently its name is calciobalilla? whatever 😭). I don't really have a lot to say about this one, actually. I just think that a Zoro and Sanji team up would be unmatched (just like in animanga). Like 10-1 (AT BEST) kind of unmatched. If they receive a goal (which was definitely a fluke) they're going to mercilessly trash talk each other into scoring the most diabolically aggressive goal ever witnessed in the history of mankind (Chopper is scared of them) (Luffy thinks it's kinda funny) (Nami decided they won't play at the same time until they learn to chill out).

5. Paolo Fox is a famous astrologer in Italy and basically there used to be this Sunday TV program (Mezzogiorno in famiglia, they discontinued it some years ago but it's the show that Nami and Zoro are watching), where he was called in every week as a guest to rank the signs from 12th to 1st based on the luck, love, money etc. they were going to get during the following week. And whether you believed in astrology or not, you were still going to eat that shit up regardless because you just wanted to know where your sign was going to be placed.

6. Easter eggs in Italy are this big chocolate egg that contains a "surprise", which can be toys or various trinkets (bracelets, keychains, that kind of stuff). When Easter is coming, the supermarkets have full aisles of Easter eggs because there are multiple brands and multiple themes (for example, the ones specifically targeted towards children could be One Piece/Pokemon/Winx etc. themed, containing a surprise that is related to them). I like to think that Chopper would be so excited about the chocolate that he would eat it all without even looking at the surprise 😭 (it's lying somewhere on the ground, a forgotten soldier amidst the raging battle)

7. Neapolitan songs can go pretty hard when you don't have someone in your ear telling you how corny and cringe they are. Franky has a whole arsenal. If during a conversation he hears a word that reminds him of one of his songs, he will start singing it. Brook joins him whenever he hears him, and if he doesn't know the actual words to the song, he will still string together some notes with his guitar. Luffy and Usopp will join at a certain point, while the other strawhats enjoy the little show. If Franky is singing and Robin appears in his line of sight, he will switch to a romantic song and start serenading her. When this happens, Sanji joins too (not because he's trying to woo Robin, but because he will never miss a chance to serenade a woman 😌).

8. I just know Brook has en entire repertoire of love songs that he sings whenever Zoro and Sanji are fighting. In this case he is singing "Bello e impossibile" by Gianna Nannini, whose chorus goes something like "handsome, handsome and impossibile, with black eyes and your Middle Eastern taste" and then again "handsome, handsome and invincible, with black eyes and a kissable mouth/a mouth to be kissed" (it sounds more poetic in Italian I'm sorry 😭). They get mad and flustered every time. It doesn't matter if they are still dancing around each other or are already together. Brook has the time of his life.

[heeseungiez]

love letter | chapter 1

— with love, your admirer

your whole life, you’ve only known one thing: relaying love letters. but what happens when one of those letters is addressed to you?

— pairings! enhypen hyung line x fem!reader: heeseung x reader; jay x reader; jake x reader; sunghoon x reader

— featuring! enhypen members, haewon from nmixx, yuna from itzy

— genre! romcom, high school au, found family, fluff, angst

— warnings! profanity, lots of self-doubt and low self-esteem, possessive hyung line

— a/n! to celebrate the fact that i managed to get vip1 for one of the european stops, we shall celebrate with the first chapter to this fic, i actually wrote this months back but since i didn't have the motivation to write the other chapters, i left it be... ANYWAYS now i'm writing the update to Tower by the Forest and will make something of this series, we trust!!!

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Dear Y/N,

I know you might think this is a cowardly way of expressing my affections toward you, but I’ll admit I don’t know how else to do this.

I don’t think I’m anyone you would normally notice, considering the company you keep, but I’ve noticed you. I see you every day, always laughing and keeping your chin up even when you’re upset.

My heart has been acting up since the first day I saw you, running across the school courtyard just to tell one of your brothers that you aced your English exam. I remember the way your eyes sparkled as if they had stars in them. I remember the way your voice carried through the air like the sweetest lullaby, and I remember your smile and your giggle — something a picture nor a video could not capture in its raw beauty. 

If I’m being completely honest with you, I’ve been drafting this letter for over a month, so I hope you can accept it, and the sincere feelings I am trying to convey. 

With love, your admirer.

“That’s…”

“Cheesy,” Sunoo says, giggling to himself. “I can sense the glasses on this guy. He totally wears them.”

“Based on a letter?” You raise your brow at him.

“It kinda sounds like something Jay would write. In one of his songs or something,” Haewon points out with a shrug. “He wears glasses, doesn’t he?”

“How does that make this guy someone with glasses, though?” You wave the love letter in the air, your friends all gathered around you to have a clear view of it. 

“It’s the aura,” Yuna agrees with the rest of your friends. “And he said he’s someone you wouldn’t notice, so what if this guy’s a nerd or something? You don’t really notice the studious types…”

“He could be the Heeseung type of a nerd, though, so not a bad thing at all.” Haewon grins, nodding her head.

“We have to find out who wrote this,” Sunoo claims, snatching the letter from you. He stares at it mischievously, examining the handwriting — the strokes of the pen, the spacing, the tilt of the letters — it can say a lot about a person. 

“Who wrote what?” 

You turn abruptly, surprised to see Jake at your lunch table. But when he hands you a small pack of sour gummy worms (your favourite brand, too), you think that you should’ve expected this. Jake never misses a day to give you a snack. 

“Thanks,” you mumble under your breath, but Jake’s attention is already elsewhere. Giving you snacks is a tradition so embedded into his daily routine that he doesn’t even expect you to be thankful. But you are, every single day, you find it quite touching that he always makes the time to think of you.

But now, he’s become invested in the letter in Sunoo’s hands rather than you. “Are you reading a love letter? Did someone give you one? That’s awesome.”

“It’s not mine,” Sunoo replies, not even looking at Jake before giving it back to you. “It’s for Y/N.” Grinning proudly, Sunoo’s hands reach for the envelope instead. 

“She has a secret admirer,” Haewon explains giddily. 

“You don’t know who it is?” Jake’s brows furrow in distaste. “That could be dangerous, Y/N. Who knows what kind of person that could be if they can’t even put their name on a stupid letter.”

“Do your letters always have signatures?” you ask, looking him in the eye.

Jake pouts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Usually, they do,” he says, but you’re already rolling your eyes. “I’m serious, Y/N. This guy could be a weirdo.”

“But they don’t have to be,” Yuna says, disagreeing with Jake. “It’s not like she’ll be meeting him right now or anything.”

“There’s no point, Jake. I already tried,” Jungwon sighs, shaking his head. “Let them do whatever they want. It’s probably going to die down the moment they find out who it is.”

Jake runs a hand through his hair, a frown forming on his lips, though he does his best to pretend like it doesn’t bother him when you glance at him.

“I’ve never had anyone interested in me,” you say rather matter-of-fact, shrugging. “I’ve always been giving you guys love letters. So I’m allowed to be a little curious, don’t you think?” you ask with a raised brow, the corner of your mouth raised in a tiny smirk. 

And if there is a spark of a certain emotion in Jake’s eyes then you both choose to ignore it because why would he be bothered by some random guy being interested in you? Oh, right — he’s supposed to be like an older brother to you. He’s supposed to be protective of you because he doesn’t want to see you hurt. If there are any other reasons for these feelings of anger, then he is totally unaware of them.

“You’ve had plenty of guys that were interested in you,” Jake claims confidently, and your brow shoots up. Because it occurs to him then that those plenty of guys he speaks of never dared to approach you. He knows of them, but you don’t, and he really fucked up by letting the fact slip. God, if the other guys find out that he told you, they’re going to kill him.

“I mean, like, probably,” he adds nervously, but the damage has been done. Your eyes are narrowed at him, wondering what exactly he meant by his words. 

“Of course, there’s plenty of guys. Y/N is pretty as hell!” Yuna exclaims, grinning at you. “But, the fact is, none of them have ever approached her or tried to give her a love letter until now, so…”

“This guy’s special,” Haewon finishes, agreeing with her friend. 

“Not that special, or he would’ve signed it,” Jake mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes. 

Jungwon, the only person who heard him, pats Jake’s back with a resigned expression on his face. “Just let them be. The more you’re against it, the more they’ll push toward it.”

“So who do you think it could be?” you ask your friends.

You spent the whole day walking around school, trying to figure out who could possibly be the author of the letter you received, but neither you nor your friends came to much of a conclusion. The letter was fairly vague and you had nothing to go by other than your own theories of what the person could look like.

So, obviously, your mood is slightly down when you’re heading home with Jay and Sunghoon walking by each side of you. They seem fairly clueless, so Jake probably hasn’t told them about the letter yet, but it might be better if you are the one to tell them. All of them, in fact, not each of them, one by one. But Jake and Heeseung both have practice for the respective sport they play, and as soon as you, Jay and Sunghoon reach your building, they also have responsibilities to get to — the band and figure skating. 

It’s okay, though. You’ll tell them later. After all, this is something to gloat about — but you would rather know who gave you the letter first.

“You’re strangely quiet today,” Jay points out, nudging you with his elbow. He chuckles softly, when he sees your glare and the slight pout on your lips for daring to hit you. “I mean, it’s normal for him, but you usually have things to say about school.”

“Right. Yes,” you say, nodding. But there isn’t much you want to tell them besides the situation with the letter — and you can’t tell them unless it’s all of them. It’s not the right time yet. Instead, when the three of you stop at the bus stop together, you take off your backpack to pull out the new letters you received for Jay and Sunghoon.

“Here, take this.” You put their respective paper bags in their hands with a grin. “Today’s been pretty productive. I mean, I guess all the girls just felt like I’ll pick it up since I was kinda walking around school like an idiot, but it’s whatever,” you explain with a shrug. “Gosh, I really am becoming an office worker. Is this my calling?”

“You can do better than that, Y/N.” Jay shakes his head, laughing softly. “You can just tell the girls to stop giving the letters to you, you know? He doesn’t read them anyway.” Jay pushes Sunghoon teasingly.

“And you do?” Sunghoon raises his brow at him, rolling his eyes.

“Of course! It’s inspiration,” Jay says, grabbing a handful of the letters from his bag. “As long as they’re not full of mistakes and actually well written.”

“That just sounds like you’re just plagiarizing your own love letters,” you mutter, and Sunghoon chuckles, giving you a fist bump. “Do your letters have signatures? So you can give credits, you know.”

“Most of the time it’s at least initials.” Jay shrugs, not thinking much of your question, but you hum. “And their numbers, so I can contact them if I’m interested, but that’s pretty dumb. Who becomes interested in anyone over one letter?”

You frown. “Well, maybe people who don’t have many other options,” you say defensively, crossing your arms.

Jay and Sunghoon furrow their brows, exchanging looks but say nothing about your attitude. Instead, Sunghoon shakes his head and says: “There are always options, Y/N.”

“For people like you,” you remark, driving the guys’ confusion even further as they stare at you. 

“Where’s that coming from? Did something happen today that we should know about?” Jay asks, examining you with the gaze of his that tells you he can read you like an open book. But you shake your head.

“No,” you lie, and Jay knows it. “Nothing much happened today.”

“If someone told you something…” Sunghoon starts, puffing out his chest, “I can fight.”

“So can I.” You roll your eyes, shoving him with your shoulder. “But no one said anything. I’ve just been thinking,” you try to explain yourself, waving your hands in disinterest to move on from the topic. “Ah, look, there’s our bus.” You welcome the distraction with a smile.

“We’re hanging out at Jake’s place tonight, right?” Sunghoon asks, affirming the plans for after dinner.

“No, Heeseung’s. He said he’ll be cooking ramen,” Jay replies, looking pointedly at you. Tilting your head and smiling innocently, you bat your eyelashes, well aware of the fact that you are the reason why. But you’ve been craving ramen for what feels like ages now, and Heeseung makes it the best.

After the three of you get on the bus, you mostly listen to Jay’s extensive rant about math homework that he didn’t do and was promptly punished for. Because, yes, it’s totally the teacher’s fault that he didn’t do the homework he had an entire week to work on.

You enter the Lee apartment without knocking or any kind of warning, really. But the door is usually unlocked, and since your families are used to all of you constantly coming over, nobody makes a huge deal out of it.

Heeseung is in the kitchen, already preparing his things for ramen. There are seven packs of Shin Ramyun scattered across the table, and you watch Heeseung beat the eggs in his own weird — unique — way that he says makes them taste much better than if he did it like any other normal person would. His dedication to making ramen properly is unyielding, though, and you smile as you watch him move around the kitchen.

“Need any help?” you ask with a raised brow, and Heeseung startles at the sound of your voice, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N, you’re here already?” he asks, and you shrug.

“I had nothing else to do. Parents are still working.” The thing is, while you appreciate your parents for constantly working to put food on your table, you’d appreciate it if they could also be at the table sometimes. But you got used to either cooking for yourself, or going over to any of the other guys’ homes to eat dinner with their families.

Heeseung gives you a look, sighing. “You didn’t eat at all, did you?” he asks knowingly, shaking his head in disapproval. “It’s an unhealthy habit, Y/N, you know that, right?”

“I’m just not hungry,” you defend yourself, but Heeseung smacks his lips together.

“That’s not a reason not to eat. You should always eat at least a little bit,” he sighs, crossing the kitchen to open a cabinet. “Come here,” he says, handing you a protein bar. “Eat that first. I’ll make the ramen fast.”

“Hee,” you call his name, and when he looks at you, you give him a downturned smile. “Thank you.”

Heeseung chuckles and shakes his head. “Just eat it. I couldn’t possibly let you eat ice cream on an empty stomach.”

“There’s ice cream?” Your eyes widen.

“Not if you don’t eat.”

You pout. “Then cook faster.”

“Do you want to make the ramen yourself?”

“I don’t know who said that. Maybe you’re just hearing voices.” You look around yourself, pretending not to have made any remark earlier. Heeseung rolls his eyes playfully, his focus half on you, and half on the ramen he’s preparing. 

While Heeseung measures the water for the portions, you open each pack of ramen, taking out the seasoning for them, so you can combine it together in the water. Every time Heeseung glances at you, you also make a big show of taking a bite from the protein bar he gave you earlier, making him laugh each time.

“Yoi, I’m exhausted!” Jake barges inside the Lee apartment with a huff, heading toward the living room without as much as a glance toward you and Heeseung in the kitchen. He plops down on the sofa, completely taking over the piece of furniture while nobody else is here. “Coach made me do laps around the field for no reason, and then I had to stay longer to help Riki — the new kid that got onto the team.”

“He’s crazy good and has a lot of potential but… still needs a lot of work.” Jake runs a hand through his hair, finally bothering to glance at you and Heeseung. Although you’re both listening, the two of you also focus on making ramen together. 

“Maybe he’ll be the captain after you go to college. If you teach him right,” Heeseung says, cutting some spring onions to put into the broth. 

“Maybe,” Jake hums. “You got anyone for basketball captain yet?”

“Nah. But we’re figuring it out,” says Heeseung confidently. “I’ve got my eye on Jihoo and Nicholas. They’ve got potential too.”

Jake hums, nodding. He stretches his body out on the sofa, head hanging over the armrest. “Hey, Y/N, have you mentioned—”

“Not yet, so please, keep it to yourself,” you stop him before he gets to finish the sentence, glancing at Heeseung uneasily. The boy is already looking between you and Jake with his eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell you when Jay and Sunghoon get here,” you reassure him with a sigh. 

“Then why does Jake know?” Heeseung’s voice is hurt, the tiny pout and his large eyes making your resolve falter. But you shake your head with a soft giggle. 

“Good timing on his side,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at the boy sprawled on the sofa. He just makes a silly face in return. “Which actually reminds me, I need to go get your letters!”

Since you’re waiting for the water to boil, you want to run the few meters to your home, but Heeseung grabs your wrist and stops you. The expression on his face says enough you need to know — he doesn’t want the letters. 

“But—” you want to argue, not entirely sure why you want to defend the work of random girls at school, but your heart dips into your stomach with Heeseung’s hand still wrapped around your wrist. The least he could do is appreciate the work people put into admiring him. 

“I’m not interested anyway.” Heeseung shakes his head. 

“But I got so many today. I need to—”

“Just trash them, Y/N, it doesn’t matter.” Heeseung shrugs nonchalantly, and it bothers you.

Maybe you’re overreacting because for the first time in your life, you also received a love letter of your own, and you actually treasure it. But you’d expect Heeseung to take them at least. So he can throw them out himself. Not have you do it. 

“Y/N?” Heeseung notices your frown, of course, he does. But he figured since you’re partially bothered — though never say so — with people constantly making you relay love letters that it would be easier to just tell you to throw them out and let it be. 

Maybe it would be easier to say that reading them doesn’t do anything for him. It isn’t a productive way of spending time anyway, when he knows that he won’t be interested in any of the girls trying to reach him. But that would mean he’d also have to explain why he’s so uninterested. And he’d rather keep that secret to himself. All while he watches you pout, staring up at him with the biggest puppy eyes known to man.

You look so cute, and you don’t even realize what it does to him. So he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Just… bring them. I’ll watch the ramen.”

The corners of your lips instantly lift in a grin, and Heeseung feels like tearing his hair out as he watches you run away. 

Jake, who watched the whole interaction, laughs sympathetically. It’s almost comical how oblivious you are to them, but it makes sense in a way. After all, it’s you who’s been calling them your family. “You shouldn’t have said to trash the letters, man,” he says with a shake of his head. 

“I thought it’d be easier,” Heeseung says defensively. 

Jake purses his lips in disapproval. He’ll respect your wish not to tell Heeseung about the love letter yet, but there is another confession he has to make because there are almost no secrets between the five of you.

“She thinks nobody likes her, y’know.” Jake stares up at the ceiling as he says it, slightly in disbelief. “And I may have accidentally let it slip that a lot of people do like her, actually.”

“Did you—”

“God no, she’d kill us.” Jake shakes his head vigorously, glancing at Heeseung whose attention is back to the ramen. “I mean, we can always just say the guys at school totally respect us so much they don’t wanna mess with our younger ‘sister’,” he says the last word with such disgust it makes Heeseung chuckle. 

“Damn, it smells amazing in here.” The door opens with new guests coming inside the apartment. Jake and Heeseung greet Jay with an acknowledging nod. “Did Y/N not get here yet?”

“She’s just getting our letters,” Heeseung replies with a sigh. “I told her to get rid of them but she didn’t like that.”

“Oh yeah, something’s been kinda off today. Did she tell you anything?” Jay furrows his brows, glancing between his two friends. 

Jake and Heeseung exchange glances. “I think we all need to talk later,” Jake sighs just as the door opens to you giggling about something with Sunghoon on your tail. 

“Oh, hello, Jay,” you greet the boy with a smile on your face.

Crossing the room, you put Heeseung’s bag with letters on the kitchen counter. Jake’s ends up on the coffee table. But one letter remains in your hands as the boys’ attention remains on you. Jake recognizes it immediately, while the others stare with narrowed eyes, tilting their heads in confusion. 

“Look, guys!” You wave the letter in the air with a grin. “I got a love letter today.” Your giggle reverberates through the open space of the apartment. “Can you believe it? Someone actually likes me.”

Jake huffs in disappointment while the others gape in disbelief. On one hand, they do not like the fact you received a love letter, but their frowns only deepen at the soft, excited tone of your voice that reveals how little confidence you actually have in yourself. 

“Yeah, we believe it,” Jay mumbles under his breath, glaring at the paper in your hand. “Is that why you were so upset earlier? I mean, love letters don’t really mean much if the person can’t just face you.”

“It doesn’t even have a signature,” Jake adds, still spread over the sofa. Though he changed positions and is now resting his head on his arms. “What is the point if you have to guess at who it is? Shouldn’t he be the one to come to you?”

“Yeah, I’d also rather have someone come up to me and just tell me to my face that they like me,” Sunghoon agrees with the guys, nodding. They’re not jealous, obviously, because they have no reason to be, but they definitely want to protect you.

“One of your letters from today is from Jang Wonyoung, Hoon.” You frown, not sharing the same opinion as the others. “You could read it, at least.”

Heeseung remains quiet, attending to the ramen that is finished by now. 

“Why? It won’t change the fact that I’m not interested.” Sunghoon shrugs and your frown deepens, shoulders dropping in disappointment.

Why are they trying to make you feel bad about this? Just because they get love letters every day and it’s not as meaningful to them anymore, it doesn’t mean your love letter isn’t a big deal. 

“But it’s Jang Wonyoung,” you say weakly. “She’s the prettiest girl in my year, and she’s so sweet… I actually don’t even know why she bothers with you, really.” You shake your head, dropping your letter on the counter next to Heeseung’s full bag of letters. Your one compared to his twenty or so feel so… sad. And it makes you furious, too.

Sunoo is right. You really do live your life only as the girl that talks to them. “And you! You have a letter from Huh Yunjin in that pile! But all you’re going to do is possibly use it as inspiration for one of your songs without actually caring about her.” You point at Jay with a pout before aiming your glare at Jake. “And you! There’s a letter from Ningning, but why would you care with the amount of letters you get anyway, right?” 

There isn’t much the guys can say to defend themselves. To be fair, they have nothing to defend in the first place, but you’re upset, and they realize that they are the source of it all.

“It’s not that we don’t care, Y/N,” Heeseung says softly, while still attending to the ramen, now portioning it carefully into five bowls. Yours gets most of the eggs since he knows you love them. “We’re just not looking for relationships. It’s our last year at school, and we have other things to focus on.”

“But why is it so wrong to like someone?” you cry out desperately, throwing your arms in the air with a dramatic huff. “People like you. Nobody actually likes me.” 

You hate being emotional like this, your eyes glossy with unshed tears, but you’ve never actually spoken any of these words out loud. It’s something that has been brewing and festering within you for years as you tried to ignore it. Now it’s overflowing, it seems. People don’t actually like you, though. They like the fact that you have a direct line to Heeseung, Jay, Jake and Sunghoon.

“At least not for me,” you add, your voice breaking.

“Y/N,” Jay tries to approach you, reaching out for your hand, but you pull away, yanking your arm out of his grip. He doesn’t let the hurt on his face show when you do that, respecting your space. 

“I need to be alone,” you say, wiping away a tear that has barely escaped. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

They can only watch you swiftly walk away from them, stunned by your words. They never realized how much this whole situation truly affected you, and they hate that they haven’t noticed earlier. 

Jake fully sits up once you're gone, another sigh leaving his lips. “I told you,” he says to Heeseung. “But we can’t exactly tell her the truth.”

“She’d kill us,” Jay agrees quietly, staring at the letter you left behind. A letter that slipped past them — that, if they were more careful — would have never reached you.

“But she will find out herself if she starts asking around,” Heeseung says pragmatically, rubbing his eyes defeatedly. He stares at the bowl he made for you that you also didn’t take, which means you haven’t had dinner yet.

“We can’t tell her.” Sunghoon’s tone is firm. 

How do you tell someone that you’ve been blocking every single person that ever liked them from approaching them anyway? How do you explain that you nearly punched some guy for saying that they’re hot? Exactly. You don’t. 

“Whoever this guy is, though, we have to find out who he is before she does.” Heeseung looks at the letter that started this. “Just to talk to him…”

“It doesn’t change the fact that we made Y/N feel awful about herself, though,” says Jay, staring at the ground. 

“Maybe we can explain to her that no one at our school is good enough for her,” Sunghoon tries to reason, but Jay and Heeseung both shake their heads. “They don’t deserve her,” he adds under his breath. 

“I mean, we never told her that,” Jake takes Sunghoon’s side, but the two older boys already decided that it wasn’t a good excuse. “Okay, so what else do you want to do?”

“We need to let her know people do like her.” Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, glancing at each of his friends. “Just… in our own way. No surprises. And find out who the fuck is trying to give her love letters under our radar because he can, respectfully, back the fuck off.”

Jay nods in agreement. Then, noticing Heeseung playing with the bowl that was to be yours, he purses his lips. “She didn’t eat dinner yet, did she?”

Heeseung shakes his head.

“I’ll take it to her.”

“Be nice.”

“I always am, dickhead.”

You lie in bed, staring at your phone. Sunoo, Jungwon, Haewon and Yuna are currently doing their best to cheer you up while berating the guys, and you try to smile through your tears. 

You just can’t understand why they can’t be happy for you. Sure, you understand caution, but the way they spoke — it was more than that. You know for a fact they hated it. They hate the idea of someone liking you. They are probably disgusted by it. So it hurts, obviously it hurts, your heart aching to the point you wish you could make yourself disappear off the face of the earth. 

Are you really that unlikable? Is your only good trait the friendships you made when you were a child?

You quickly hide your phone when you hear a knock on the door, followed by Jay’s voice. He opens the door to your bedroom without waiting for your response. “You’re not that upset if you didn’t lock any of your doors,” he says softly, taking only a few steps inside. 

Your back is turned to him, and you cover your head with your duvet. He doesn’t move — or at least you can’t hear him move — until there’s a small thud. The sound of him placing something on the desk by your door. 

“Heeseung said you didn’t eat yet,” he murmurs, walking toward your bed. He just stands in front of it, facing your back for a good few seconds before crouching and speaking again. “And for the record, it’s not that we don’t care. Or… don’t like people or whatever,” he sighs. 

“But when— I mean, let’s say hypothetically, if there already was someone you had in mind, would you also entertain the idea of liking someone else? Or indulge them because they wrote a love letter to you?”

Jay pauses, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. “We— I— people do like you for you, Y/N. You might not see it but you are the prettiest girl in your year.”

That makes you turn around. You stare up at Jay, into his eyes, a frown still settled on your lips. 

“That’s not true,” you argue, but Jay smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, wiping any remaining tears from your cheeks. “It’s Wonyoung. Everyone says it’s Wonyoung,” you claim, shaking your head. 

“Well, then I guess I disagree with everyone,” Jay whispers softly, his hand resting on your cheek. You absentmindedly lean into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his skin on yours. “I’m really sorry we made you feel like that one love letter was insignificant and like you’re not… likable. ‘Cause that’s honestly the last thing you are, Y/N. There’s so much to like about you, you know? And the most important thing is that you are aware of it.”

Your frown only deepens, but not because you’re upset anymore. You reach out for Jay’s hand on your cheek and squeeze it. He smiles, flipping his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. 

“Then why doesn’t anyone do stuff like… y’know… the girls that like you guys?” you ask rhetorically, but Jay chuckles regardless, an answer already in his mind. Not the one where he admits to threatening death to anyone who dares to even take a step in your direction or look at you wrong, obviously, but the other one — the real, vulnerable one.

“Because truly liking somebody is scary,” he says matter-of-factly. “We’re going to college soon, and falling in love is a terrifying concept for all of us.”

“But loving somebody should be a good thing,” you claim with a pout. “All the movies and books say that.”

“But that’s just the end of each of those stories.” Jay shakes his head, shifting in his position. Crouching is starting to hurt his knees, but he tries his best to hide his discomfort. 

You notice, though, moving on your bed just the tiniest bit before letting go of Jay’s hand and patting the space next to you. You open your duvet, inviting Jay in. Cuddling is not something you do often, but you can use the comfort of somebody next to you.

Jay’s hesitant at first, his brain going a mile per minute as he comprehends the whole situation. His eyes widen the slightest bit as he stares at you and the open invitation to join you on your bed. 

He does accept it, however, fitting himself on the bed meant for one person only. Though it barely bothers you as you smile and wrap your arms around Jay’s waist as if he were nothing but a plush toy. His heart nearly jumps out of his chest at the action. 

In his head, he has to remind himself that you don’t see him that way. That to you, he’s just a brotherly figure, and this doesn’t mean anything. Not really. And yet his body refuses the fact as his cheeks and ears warm up the more you pull yourself closer. 

Your words only further prove his point. “You don’t think the person who wrote the love letter for me is a creep, right? Because Jake said that and I don’t want to believe him.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Jay sighs, carefully wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “It’s hard to tell with letters that people don’t actually sign their name on. Why does this guy want to hide from you if he likes you?”

“Gosh, this is annoying. Why can’t things be simple?” you whine, moving away from Jay. “I want to like someone who also likes me back. That would be nice.” You stare at your ceiling, and the glow in the dark stars your parents stuck on there when you were a baby. 

“Yeah… I wish things could just be simple and easy like that,” Jay agrees with you, only to be interrupted by your sudden movement.

You sit up on the bed, feeling faint, your arms slightly shaking, and you know for a fact the lack of any food is starting to get to you. But you also don’t feel hungry at all.

“The ramen,” Jay says instantly, getting out of bed to give you the bowl with a set of chopsticks and spoon. “I’ll just— I think I should go back to the guys, but… just remember what I said, okay?”

“Yeah.” You smile. The ramen Jay brought is still warm, so you should probably eat it fast. “I’m sorry for—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N. Just eat, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jay places a kiss on the top of your head.

“See you tomorrow,” you mumble, digging into the food. 

If Jay lingers at the door a bit longer than he should just to make sure you are eating, you ignore it. But deep down, you are glad that at least someone cares. 

You honestly don’t know what you’d do if Jay suddenly disappeared from your life. Out of the four, he’s probably the one who spends most of his free time by your side, and you’ve gotten so used to it that if Jay isn’t with you, you often feel like a huge piece of you is missing. 

But then his piercing stare becomes a bit too much, and you giggle. “Okay, get out already,” you say, barely glancing up at him from your food. 

Jay laughs, trying to ease the atmosphere. “Don’t choke on the noodles when I’m gone.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Goodbye!”

permanent tags! @moonpri @addictedtohobi

tags! @wildtigerlili @ancnymcnzjy @ikaw-at-ikaw @vegahrid @justalittle-hee @sadenchiladas @semisemirin1i82 @raavenarmy-blog @haechsworld @sievenderz @bananna-12 @firstclassjaylee @antoinettenotfount @immelissaaa @woniefull @sunooqvrlsx @leehslvr @lighthouseraven34 @yjwxfxr @atydlupout1234 @mora134340 @starfallia @tinyteezer @m1kkso @right-person-wrong-time @seuuns @leeymws @aespaqq @naevisringring @sievenderz

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[cobaltperun]

Love Song Requiem - No Roads Left

Mabel x Female Reader

Story summary: Damn near everything in your life was purely business. So was this. Just go in, get the job done with the girl that's been building a reputation of her own, and that was supposed to be the end of it. And it was the end of something, you just didn't think it would be the end of a whole damn drug empire!

Chapter summary: "If I could do this all over again, I'd still make the same decisions," because they led you to her. You never truly believed in love, or that it could change you, but it did, she did. Lives neither of you chose connected, and the chain of events that would follow could not be stopped.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k

-When did I lose my sense of purpose? Can I regain what's lost inside?-

You sat at the table, looking at the landline phone in front of you. Seriously? What was this? Last century. You sighed, figuring you should have gotten used to it by now as you dialed a familiar number. Every week, at the same time, the same number, the only number you still had the right to call and expect a friendly voice on the other side of the line.

Mabel picked up immediately, just like she always did these past eight weeks. “Y/N!” she exclaimed your name, and it almost hurt to hear. It sounded so much different than it did a few months ago, the excitement and flirty tone were replaced by longing and relief, but it was worth it.

It had to be worth it.

"Hey,” you smiled, forcing the negative thoughts out of your mind for a moment, hoping that Mabel would take this all a bit easier if you didn’t show how this was affecting you. “Is everything okay there?" you hoped you'd be able to notice if she was hiding anything from you.

And Mabel was doing the same thing, focusing on the positives. "Mhm," there it was, that casual got-everything-under-control response that made you relax. "Me and Charlie are just fine. He's a bit cautious and jumpy, but he'll get used to the new apartment," an unreasonable rage filled you.

"Charlie? Mabel, you know I love you, but quit trying to rename Charcoal," you whisper-shouted at her, ignoring the warning looks people around you gave you. It was worth it, especially since Mabel laughed, actually it was more of a semi-evil cackle.

"By the time you come back he'll only respond to Charlie!" she promised.

And despite the awful future she promised, you still smiled, wishing that future would come soon. At least your cat, Charcoal, would be happy with Mabel and not left to fend for himself. That cat wouldn’t last a day on the streets.

“It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” Mabel suddenly asked, the light-hearted tone was gone, and though you could hear Charcoal hopping onto the table and purring as Mabel pet him it did little to ease your pain.

“Yeah, it all ends tomorrow,” your smile was just sad as you sank back into the chair as much as the phone cable allowed. You couldn’t even have that without tugging at the technology from a past era.

Mabel paused, but you knew what she would say before she even began speaking. “I should come,” she kept insisting, even if you argued against it.

“It’s not safe. Besides, you know what I want you to do,” you reminded her of the promise she vowed to break, even if you made her say the words. In her own words it wouldn’t be the first lie she had to utter.

“And you know I won’t do it,” she reminded you, but then she sighed and you could hear her burying her face in her hands, and you could picture her sitting at her new table, in a new, still unfamiliar apartment, away from everything happening here, her hair tied and messy, and her lower lip trembling slightly due to the emotions she tried to bottle up. “Did this have to happen?” she asked, and even though it was a rhetorical question you still answered.

“If I could do this all over again, I'd still make the same decisions,” those decisions led you to Mabel, led you to turning your life around, and to her finally finding a way out of the life she had before. You’d pay the price for her second chance, and maybe eventually you’d get your own second chance as well.

~X~ Eight months ago ~X~

Whoever decided that morning was the right time to start a day needs to be held responsible. And whoever decided that your cat needs to be fed at six in the morning also needs to be held responsible. “Come on Charcoal, I fed you last night, let me sleep a little longer,” you pleaded, seriously considering just never getting up again. An ashtray hitting the floor made you groan, which only prompted the black menace that snuck into your life to knock something else off the table. Judging by the heavy thud it was probably your notebook. “I’ll buy a table with raised edges, just to spite you,” you muttered under your breath and sat up like you were pulling the weight of the whole continent up with you.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to wake up as your body ached. Charcoal jumped from the table onto your lap and sat there, just looking at you with his sharp, alert eyes. “You’re too awake buddy,” you scratched his head with a tired smile, once again promising you would never sleep on the couch again. You were just too tired to reach your bedroom last night.

Stupid deals.

Stupid crimes you couldn’t pull out of anymore.

Charcoal purred and you figured, what the hell, he was comfortable on your lap, so surely, he wasn’t that hungry. You fell back on the couch and closed your eyes, hoping to go back to sleep, only for the damn black cat to hop from your lap onto your chest and tap you right on the chin.

You opened your eyes and looked at the ceiling. “Fuck,” you accepted your fate, picking the cat up and dragging yourself off the couch so you could go and feed the ungrateful, impatient, adorable, lovely cat that happened to be the boss of your life. “I’ll sue you, you know. Don’t know which court can find you guilty when you’re that cute, but I’ll find one,” you leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched as your one-year-old cat devoured his food.

Little glutton.

“Get up or go to sleep?” you wondered, glancing at the drawer where you kept your laptop, safely tucked away from your cat, because nothing in your apartment was safe from Charcoal unless it was under lock and key. Glasses? Plates? Anything breakable? Locked! Decorations? Almost nonexistent, aside from plastic ones that either didn’t break easily, or were easily replaceable. Other decorations? They were proven to be unable to resist Charcoal’s need to push them off whatever they were placed on, thus they had no place in your home. The number of TVs you had to either fix or replace because he’d scratched the screen was so high you no longer had the will to count.

You may be rich, but new TVs were not something you wanted to keep spending money on.

The thought of all those TVs drained you of what little energy you had this early in the morning and you headed toward your bedroom, with Charcoal, now fed, running after you. Work could wait, you needed sleep, and as you slipped under the covers with your cat choosing to spread on the bottom of the bed you figured that was the smartest decision you made in a while.

The heavy feeling that always came with big jobs made it difficult to sleep well, but Charcoal near you helped with that.

You still felt like you were missing something.

~X~

Around noon you walked into a almost empty bar near the edge of the city. Away from prying eyes, with just enough privacy to be acceptable for your job, but casual enough to pass it off as regular meeting between two law-abiding citizens. You came in early, about fifteen minutes before the scheduled meeting time. It was a habit you picked up along the way, wanting to be more careful of your surrounding and notice any potential problems before they could even happen.

Yet twenty-five minutes later you were annoyed and getting impatient. The woman you were supposed to meet with was nowhere to be found, hell, the only person that was on their own was a beautiful girl sitting in the corner. Despite her beauty you dismissed the girl, not really willing to get involved with anyone right now. Your life was a bit too messy for your liking, too tangled up in all the crime going on in the city to risk pulling an innocent woman into all of this. You noticed her right away, she couldn’t blend in even if she tried, she just stood out too much, drawing attention with her beauty and demeanor.

You glanced toward the girl again, noticing she was annoyed, frustrated even. As if she was waiting for someone.

‘No fucking way,’ you thought, nearly spilling your drink when the thought that she could be the person you were supposed to meet crossed your mind. She was too young! Well, that was rich coming from you, but your circumstances were different!

You approached her, a bit too hastily to your liking and she looked at you, cautious right from the start. And your heart sank, that cautiousness probably meant you were right. This was Mabel. But her eyes, there was just something in her eyes, serious, intense, dark eyes drawing you in, threatening to drown you in a sea of black. “Mabel?” you asked and those dark eyes widened slightly before she regained her composure.

“Y/N?” she was just as surprised as you were, definitely not expecting this. The two of you, close to same age, maybe even the same age. In this situation.

You nodded and then tilted your head toward the chair across from her. “May I?”

Mabel raised an eyebrow, as if she didn’t expect the question. She probably didn’t. She was here to meet with you, it was business; asking if you may sit was actually quite stupid, it was a given that you may sit, that this meeting would happen. Yet you asked, maybe out of some obligation, maybe subconsciously giving her a way out. “Not a question I expected from the daughter of one of the bosses,” she pointed out and you shrugged, silently waiting for her to allow you to sit down.

When she remained silent you smirked slightly. “I’m a vampire, you need to tell me I can sit before I can do it,” you joked and she snorted at that.

“Not how it works,” but she waved dismissively at the chair. “But sure, go ahead,” you couldn’t tell if she was amused or not, but you sat down.

“I come from a long line of vampires, I make my own rules,” you joked, making her roll her eyes.

“You come from a long line of criminals,” she huffed, suspicious, not trusting you one bit, which was fair, if you were being honest. You heard of a new girl, efficient, quick, bringing in money, even if she was still a small-time drug dealer mostly working with Weeks. You also heard she was dragged into this either by or because of her family, which would explain her disdain toward you. Born into privilege, choosing to continue the family tradition because it brought you money. You couldn’t blame her for thinking that.

“We suck people dry. Whether it’s blood or money we’re sucking hardly matters,” yet you kept joking. Though people do tend to believe there’s some truth in each joke.

Mabel raised her glass of wine, probably cheap, considering where the two of you were. “To vampires then,” you accepted, raising your own glass, filled with the first non-alcoholic drink you saw on the menu, happened to be some juice that you were yet to try.

“To vampires,” you agreed, not knowing this meeting would change the course of your life. You took a sip of the juice and immediately winced at how sweet it was. “I’m sorry it took me a bit to approach you,” you ignored the sweetness and regret over not getting literally anything else. “I didn’t think you were, well, you,” you admitted. “How old are you again?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

She gave you a flat look, as if she was already tired of your bullshit. “Twenty-two,” she still answered, so she was the same age as you. “I didn’t figure out I was supposed to meet with you either, you look like you went for a run, not to talk about deals,” she pointed out, even if she herself was dressed rather casually.

You grinned a bit as you looked down at your choice of clothing, you really did look like you went for a run and stopped by to grab a drink on your way back home. “Better to look like I’m going for a run, than to catch someone’s attention and be on a run instead,” you pointed out, finally making Mabel crack a tiny smile.

“True,” she agreed, her smile spreading even as she tried to suppress it. Guarded and not willing to show even a hint of weakness or vulnerability in any way. Your parents would be proud if you had this kind of composure instead of making everything a joke. Well, jokes had their own advantages. Most of the time you seemed like you were so in control you could afford to mess around.

Yet her smile made your heart beat faster and you realized just how dangerous she could be if you didn’t play this right. “So, is everything going according to plan?” you asked, getting serious mostly out of some barely developed sense of self-preservation. Mabel nodded, confident, sure of herself, and you could physically feel the power balance shifting as she gained control.

She drank wine with smooth elegance, practiced ease, and with the glass still covering her lips she made her offer, all the while looking right into your eyes. “I can get it to you a week in advance if you pay extra.”

“I can pay you double if you deliver it tonight,” you countered, matching her gaze.

Mabel whistled. “Deal,” she agreed.

“Liar,” but you weren’t that naïve, or green, you’ve been dragged to these meeting for years before your parents made them your problem to deal with.

Mabel leaned back a bit, shrugging. “Worth a shot,” she figured and yeah, you supposed it was.

“Was it really? Staining our relationship with a lie right from the start is a bold move, Mabel,” yet she didn’t flinch.

“Expecting honor among thieves, Y/N?” she challenged you, not backing down for a single moment, and damn did you like that.

“I’m no ordinary thief,” you leaned forward. “I’m the thief in charge, and I don’t like being lied to,” her confidence wavered for a split second, before it returned with a smirk as she leaned in, almost too close, so close you could feel her breath tickling your skin and she stood up to close the distance further, putting her lips right next to your ear.

“True. You’re not in charge of me, though,” she whispered, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, but then she pulled away, taking a few steps away from the table. “We’ll fulfill our end of the deal, make sure you and your thieves pay on time.”

You heard her, but what really caught your attention was your drink that was now in her hand as she drank it, winked at you and left you with her wine and the bill.

“The fuck just happened,” you blinked a few times and then noticed the bill. “How the fuck do these guys have this wine?!” you exclaimed and could hear Mabel cackling in your head. How did you even figure she would cackle? Not that it mattered, what was this overpriced bullshit?! Did she order the most expensive wine the place had? “Damn, she’s good,” you leaned back against the chair, chuckling slightly to yourself, she got you good.

~X~

You entered your apartment, feeling tricked but somehow satisfied. Mabel’s actions were stuck in your head like an annoying song you couldn’t get rid of no matter how much you tried. “She really got me good,” you muttered to yourself as Charcoal hopped into your arms. “Hey there buddy! Did you make a mess while I was gone?” you asked, scratching the cat’s chin as he meowed and purred in your arms, and sure enough, there was quite a number of things knocked over. Pretty much anything that wasn’t locked up was on the floor. It wasn’t that many things, you learnt your lesson a long time ago, but it was still annoyingly endearing to see.

Some small plastic figures, a couple of notebooks, university guide you picked up a few years back, before your life’s path was decided for you. How did Charcoal even get it? Why wasn’t it stuck in the back of some drawer, never to be seen again until you had to clean it? Maybe Mark left it in your line of sight when he conducted a search of your apartment the last time? That was probably it.

Good old Mark, always trying to get you to turn your life around. “A life worth living,” he would often tell you while he and his partner questioned you at the station, trying to get you to crack under the pressure and the good cop bad cop dynamic because they had nothing definitive to prove your involvement.

“You’re awful, you know that?” you scolded the unbothered cat and figured you could clean the mess up tomorrow morning, after good night’s sleep. Perhaps morning would make your thoughts more coherent.

A/N: And here's a story I meant to write like a year ago. Taglist? Anyone?

[666thtoolofhell]

That Kingdon slow burn is coming 😭😭😭 all I think it’ll take for Patrick and Taylor to get on board is Langdon separating or divorcing cause wdym Taylor says she thinks Mel will probably be one of the only people not judging him 😭

I just listened to the whole interview and here are some bits that weren't transcribed to the written version:

The reaching up and tapping of the door header on their way to STEMI wasn't in the script - it was all Patrick and Taylor. Patrick would always do it and Taylor thought it was funny and "boy-ish" and copied him to tease him. She didn't even think they'd keep it in the actual episode.

Apparently all the staff will be behaving as if nothing out of the ordinary happened and one of them isn't suddenly not there anymore, just going about things as normal without even touching the subject and sidestepping the Langdon-shaped hole in the room, and Mel will be surprised at not seeing him and then very confused about the whole thing. (Until the reason why is eventually explained to her, I assume. Since she won't be judging him upon his return she'll have to be in the know regarding the basics by then, no?)

Mel will be genuinely excited when Langdon comes back next season, very much like she was when she saw him again after he'd been - unbeknownst to her - fired and away from the ED for a short while. (Imagine if the joy and enthusiasm were to be proportional? If she was that elated after he'd been gone for an hour, how would she react after ten months? Fic writers, you know what to do.)

That man needs to be at the very least separated and in talks of divorce if not already signing those papers by July 4th. We won't survive the slowly burning colleagues to friends to lovers wrapped in soulmatism these two are bringing to the table. [wishful thinking]

I have no real expectations except for the powers that be to continue to focus - as much as possible with the time allotted to them as characters and as a duo - on their wonderful bond and dynamic, still partnering them up for cases as well as for breaks and significant downtime moments, letting their wholesome relationship progress further, growing and flourishing as naturally as it did during the first season.

Since Langdon is going to return fully believing he's failed her and that he's no longer deserving of her trust I foresee Mel disabusing him of that silly notion so thoroughly and so fast he won't know what hit him. Mel treating him the same, without disappointment or betrayal or pity in her eyes, still wanting to work closely with and learn from him? Being supportive and there if and when he needs someone? Just being unapologetically herself in all the ways that immediately drew him to her in the first place? That is going to be a huge help and relief for him, I think, and ease his reintegration into their workplace and team if only a little bit.

I'm hoping their friendship solidifies as something that isn't exclusive to the hospital and that we'll get a teeny tiny blink-and-you'll-miss-it hint that it'll extend into their personal lives. Something like Mel telling Langdon more about Becca and their parents; or him telling her about Abby, the dog, the kids. Sharing and commiserating. Getting to know each other better. Finding only acceptance and understanding. That'd be nice.

Baby steps.

[timeslipcamp]

thoughts on episode 16

vibrating in my seat over a new sinostra chapter I CANT WAIT

typing this as i read it so let's go live reaction!!!

spoilers for episode 16

first of all taiga in a crop top is something i didn't know i needed but now it's all i'm gonna be thinking about forever thanks

SHO BRINGING US LUNCH right off the bat we are truly blessed to see him right away. where's that bingo sheet someone made cross off vagastrom cameo. sho is such a sweetheart ugh. interesting that he encourages us not to talk too much in front of the teachers.

hodge and podge have animations now!! good for them!! however that was completely overshadowed by this lil tidbit

only three months??? thats WAY less time than i thought we had. is the game moving in real time then? or are we going to get back to the loop that much sooner? also i love that the dialogue mentions different things and events that happen off screen. maybe we'll see them in the time loop. shoutout for the warding card though love that

how DID they see us alone in the infirmary? 👀 perhaps a clue as to why hyde's eyes are covered, he can see everything?

also quick shout out to my favorite thing romeo's ever said

lawyers or the yakuza aka ritsu or taiga

WAIT WE'RE GOING TO DIONYSIA????? oh i'm screaming actually i can't be doing this at work

a burglary? the same person who broke into jabberwock maybe?

ITS A FUCKING FREAKY CARNIVAL????

okay this place sucks but i'm kicking my feet and blushing at walking around with the janitor. i don't trust him AT ALL but he's hot idc

interesting that it's only been abandoned for six months, but we've been on campus for nine, and the clash was presumably just a few months before that. also double confirmation that the janitor is elias HELL YEAH. but wtf haru

DIONYSIA HARU holy shit not what i expected. he would be a little circus freak wouldn't he? ngl when they brought up romeo's family i was like "if they mention a sister istg..." but do you think taiga actually hasn't returned haru's calls? or was this him playing up the act again?

dude wait wtf is the winchester mansion doing here hahaha this is so funny. actually no the US branch being incompetent is funny too i like this.

history moment - for those who don't know, the winchester mansion is a real place in california. this mansion was built by sarah winchester and construction continued on the house all the way up until she died. popular myth says she was compelled by spirits to continue working on the house forever. she was plagued with crazy bad luck (family members dying, random tragedies) and another popular myth states that she was cursed because her family created the winchester rifle, and her bad karma was to repay for all the deaths the rifles caused. if you're in cali, highly recommend a visit, this place is huge and SO insane, there's hundreds of rooms. love what they did with this location in the story. might do a whole post on this mansion here later.

anyways

MC responding on reflex to kitten GIRL GET YOURSELF TOGETHER me too though me too...

ritsu is so fucking funny i love this nerd. i missed sinostra man. i do enjoy the brief cameos of other students though. lyca saying "ok bye" was so funny i love that guy

the sinostra turf war was killing me. living in this house would be so exhausting. at least ritsu has the hague convention agreements memorized too 😭

genuinely having the hardest time focusing on the story when this is on screen. wait hold on does taiga have a fake ponytail on lmao. HARD CUT AFTER YOU CHOOSE WHO YOURE ROOMING WITH????

i actually just went back and did that chapter three times so see all the options and they are exactly what you would expect. taigas gonna kill me. ugh

lyca calls him harurin because of rui 😭😭 bro ill cry STOP lyca youre so good bb

taiga im gonna strangle you--are you feeding into my time loop theory or are you just so apathetic that it bleeds into everything???? i doubt that, especially considering evetything this episode points to him knowing more than he's letting on, but he really has been apathetic about everything. ugh

also romeo being pegged as the villain by the hundun....... 👀 inchresting

nvm we literally almost got set on fire

i bet it's after taiga but because of his weird lucky precog thing it keepa avoiding him. god i need to know what his stigma is so bad. "it changed again" he and i are gonna fight istg

hot ritsu moment congrats ritsu stans

hey hold on

this sounds a lot like. the faculty....

the campus was almost destroyed by the ghouls and now theyre being super strict and using severe discipline to keep them in line...

that might be a reach but that felt poignant. hm

also idk if this is important to note or not but ritsu basically has the opposite stigma as haru. makes him harder/heavier while harus makes him faster/lighter/more fragile

anyways the END OF THE EPISODE UGGHHH

literally five hundred thousand thoughts running through my head at the end of that. elias definitely heard and he's about to go tell someone. LOVE sinostra those some ride or dies (heavy emphasis on the die). fuck you hyde i wanna know what you're planning. UGH such a good episode i wish it was 900 hours longer

gonna take an hour to collect my thoughts and then i'll be back with more. love you taiga fuck u

asks and dms always open!!

[grimmusings]

Given the recent resurgence in purity culture and anti-villain sentiment on Tumblr, this feels like a good time to talk about censorship and bullying. This is not a call-out post for anything that's happened recently, just some commentary on what, to me, is a disturbing trend and some general guidelines for how to conduct yourself in fandom spaces.

Essentially, it boils down to this: You have the right to not interact with anything you choose in a fandom. You don't have the right to make that choice for anyone else.

Do you know why AO3 doesn't have content bans? It stems from anti-censorship beliefs and First Amendment rights, and it also comes from a long history of watching things like this go down in fandom. The thing about banning one kind of content--or that kind of mindset--is that it hardly ever stops with one thing, until fandoms are so scrubbed from anything that has the potential to be problematic that they collapse under any perceived threat to their rigid moral standards. If you doubt that, consider how it's taken less than a month for this to jump from Marvel to include other groups of villains and fandoms. Guaranteed, it will not stop there. (And that's to say nothing of how, historically, censorship leads to silencing marginalized groups, but that's a different post.) Conservatism is insidious and takes a lot of forms, but censorship is ultimately a conservative, even a fascist, action.

The fact is that what you enjoy reading or writing is actually no reflection on what kind of person you are. There's even an argument to be made that exploring darkness in fiction a) makes you a more empathetic human and, b) makes you better-equipped to handle those topics in real life (but that's another post too). I don't care what you want to write on your own blog. I don't care how controversial your muse or your ship is or if you write the darkest of dark fic out there. I may not want to write it, engage with it, or even see it on my dash, but I'll defend your right to write it.

Writing fascist characters (HYDRA, Empire, Death Eaters, etc.) doesn't make someone a Nazi any more than writing Hannibal Lecter makes them a cannibal or writing the Punisher makes them an advocate for gun violence. Saying they are breaks one of the primary tenets of roleplay: that mun does not equal muse. It's widely accepted in the roleplaying community that we don't agree with our characters' views, and we would never in a million years condone the things they do in real life. That rule doesn't go away just because you personally don't like the character.

So let's talk about what to do when you come across writing you don't agree with.

What you have a right to do: Feel however you feel about it. Ask for tags and readmores (they have a right to refuse). Decline to explain or justify why it makes you uncomfortable. Decide not to associate with people who write that thing. Blacklist. Unfollow. Block. Add to your DNI list. Vent about it in a safe space with your friends. Take a step back from the internet. Remember that the people on the other side of the screen are real, actual humans, while characters are imaginary. Embrace the fact that engaging in fiction is optional, and you can choose to stop any time you want. Trust that grown adults have the basic media literacy to understand the difference between reality and fiction. Remind yourself of the first rule of fandom, the one AO3 is built on (Don't like; don't read). Recognize that it's perfectly valid to not want to engage with something, but that expecting other people not to write it at all isn't your call to make and can lead down a dangerous path.

What you don't have a right to do: Bully or doxx other writers. Shame them for their choices when they don't agree with you. Demand explanations or justifications from them. Gaslight them into thinking nobody else will write with them if they continue to write this thing. (You don't speak for the entire fandom. You are a very small minority making a lot of noise.) Create call-out posts. Participate in witch hunts. Send anon hate or death threats. Make people feel unsafe in their own spaces. Police other people's content.

If you descend to bullying someone because you don't like what they're writing, you don't have the moral high ground. I can't believe it needs to be said, but real bullies are worse than fictional antagonists. Bullying and censorship are far more alarming threats than people who enjoy exploring dark topics in their writing. Nobody's asking you to like it, agree with it, or even look at it. And if you don't? Now is the perfect time to say nothing about it, block, and move on. Rest assured, we don't want you on our blogs any more than you want us on yours.

[mrs-alphahotel]

It’s kinda funny, but also kinda sad that Spencer managed to resist turning to Dilaudid after Emily’s supposed death, yet now, when you are alive and perfectly safe, he can’t help himself. He needs his old drug to survive, to forget about what he knows now.

It all began two weeks ago, when the team was away for a case in Austin. They were all tired, both mentally and physically, and he only wished to reach his room and fall face-first into the bed. But on the way there, he spotted you in the hallway, and he was ready to call after you with a wide smile. A smile that melted away the moment you knocked on Hotch’s door, who soon welcomed you with a kiss.

This wasn’t new, he knew that from the way he held you, kissed you, and his brain began to go through the events of the past weeks and months, trying to pinpoint the time when this could have begun. But he didn’t know. He couldn’t figure it out.

But there is something else that’s been bothering him since then. How come Hotch, a man many years your senior, gets a chance to be with you? Is it because he’s your boss and you’re drawn to that professional power he holds over you? Or is it because he’s a typical alpha male? Even though he’s a genius, he simply can’t wrap his head around this.

Why?

What’s worse is that you noticed something was wrong. You noticed that he was on the edge all the time, snapping at people for no reason, and every time you tried to ask him if he wanted to talk about whatever was going on, he had to bite his tongue not to talk to you like he wouldn’t hesitate to talk to others. 

Deep down he knows it’s pathetic that he can’t move on, but you are so nice, and smart, and kind, and his brain, his thoughts have been focused solely on you for who knows how long. His feelings for you are bordering obsession, he knows that, but there is nothing he can do about it. By now, he notices the tender moments between you, the stolen looks and gentle touches, the way his voice changes the moment he talks to you.

How could he ever compete with that?

“I’m worried about Spence,” you suddenly say after swallowing the first, delicious piece of your dessert.

Aaron’s brown eyes soften at the mention of the young genius, and you know he feels the same way. Ever since Gideon left, he’s been trying to be some sort of a father figure to him, guiding him and teaching him to be better. This was a trait you always loved about him, even before anything happened between you.

Then, after a short break, he picks up his glass of wine and swirls the liquid inside it. “Yeah, I noticed he’s been acting strange too. There was only one time when he acted like this, and I hope it’s happening for a different reason now,” he tells you mysteriously, not going into details about what he was referring to.

But it’s not like you will let him get away with saying something like this. “What was that reason?”

“His addiction to Dilaudid,” he responds, and then goes on to explain what happened to Spencer back then.

The genius Dr. Spencer Reid as an addict? That’s most definitely not what you expected to hear. You thought it would be something lighter, like a broken heart, or a tough case, but reality surpasses your wildest ideas. “You think it’s possible he relapsed?” you wonder out loud, poking your cake with the fork.

Before saying anything, Aaron reaches out to take your hand. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? Let’s focus on each other tonight. Please,” he says, and you know it’s not because he isn’t worried about Spencer, but because he’s too worried, which is why he probably finds talking about it hard.

Even though you’re not sure if you’re ready to let this topic go, you nod.

Spencer went to the roof for some fresh air, preparing himself for another few hours in your company, because the team is heading out in forty – a surprising change from the usual twenty or thirty – and he had enough time to give himself some medicine up there. When his drug of choice kicks in, all his problems melt away, disappearing somewhere deep inside his mind, out of reach, out of touch, safe from the outside world.

Your desk is next to his, so he doesn’t only see you all the time, he’s close enough to smell your perfume, to hear every breath you take, every sigh that leaves your lips, and it’s driving him crazy. And so does the fact your things are slowly invading the empty parts of his desk, from stacks of paper to your bag. It’s hard to exist so close to you, he knows he can’t do it without being high.

As he’s sitting on the ground with his back against the railing, Spencer closes his eyes and tries to think about anything but you. Instead, he’s focusing on the way the drug slowly spreads in his system, the comfortable warmth and calm it brings to his mind. It’s so quiet up here, so nice, no wonder he got used to coming here to get high – way better than the restrooms, that is.

“Spencer?”

At first, he thinks he just imagines this, that he only hears your voice because he wants to hear it. But then he hears the hesitant footsteps, the light click of heels as they get closer to where he is. To his luck, he has enough brain capacity to hide the syringe that lies next to him and even roll down the sleeve of his dress shirt to make sure you don’t see the signs.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound casual when you find him.

Your eyes narrow as you take a better look at him, and before saying anything, you crouch next to him. “What’s wrong? You don’t look good, and you’ve been weird lately, and–”

Without even thinking about what he’s doing, Spencer grabs your hips and moves you to sit on his legs, and he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you. The drug is doing wonders to his confidence and common sense, he doesn’t even think about the fact you’re taken, although, as far as he knows, you’ve been single for a long time.

At first, you return it, maybe because you’re following some primal instinct, maybe because somewhere deep down you do like him this way, but that changes soon, because you push him away from yourself. “Spencer, don’t,” you say quietly. 

“Why?” 

Maybe he sounds desperate, but he doesn’t care, because he is desperate, he just wants to kiss you again, and he wants to spend hours just sitting with you in his lap. Why can’t he have that? Why can’t you give him a chance and see if he’s a better choice for a boyfriend than Hotch, who can’t even make things official with you due to being your boss? 

And then, out of nowhere, you cup his cheeks and your eyes lock. “Are you high?” you ask him, sounding almost mad at him. He wants to protest, he wants to say he’s not, but no word leaves his mouth. To you, that equals a confession. “For fuck’s sake, Spencer.”

You try to move, but he only tightens his grip on your hips, but even though he wants to kiss you again, he only rests his forehead against yours. “I can’t do this. I can’t just be around the two of you without thinking about… Never mind,” he says with a sigh.

“Thinking about what?”

His green eyes find yours, and his thumbs are absentmindedly drawing circles into your skin through your pants. “You and Hotch.” Your eyes widen from shock, your lips parting slightly as you draw in a breath, but before you could ask how he knows, he speaks up. “I saw you go into his room in Austin. I saw him kiss you. And I can’t help but notice the little signs since then, and it’s killing me.”

You tilt your head to the side as you put your hands on top of his. “Why?” you wonder quietly. 

“Because I love you. Because all I can think about is why I didn’t make a move on you before, why I decided to be a coward–”

“You’re not a coward.”

A desperate laugh erupts from him. “I am, I couldn’t even kiss you or tell you without being high,” he tells you. 

“Do either of you feel like telling me what’s going on? We’re leaving in twenty, yet you’re both here, doing… I don’t even want to know what.”

Spencer can feel your body tense up just from hearing Hotch’s voice, and his hands, before he could stop himself, move up to your waist. Your mouth stop to him, but he doesn’t care, he can’t care at this point, and he kisses you again, as if he was marking his territory. 

“Reid!” Hotch shouts at him, and when he doesn’t react, the other man walks over to where he is and gently pulls you up. “What is wrong with you? I should fire you right here and right now,” he says angrily. 

“Fire me for doing what? Kissing my colleague? Don’t be ridiculous, Hotch. If anyone, you should be fired for fucking a member of your team!”

You immediately know what your boyfriend wants to do, that’s why you spin around and put your hands on his chest to stop him. “Aaron, don’t. He’s high. He needs help, not whatever you were planning to do,” you tell him quietly. When his brown eyes meet yours, you gulp and nod. “Please. Let us stay behind, I’ll find him a place where he can get the help he needs.”

Hotch’s eyes flick over to him, then he runs a hand through his hair before looking back at you. “I’ll stay with him, Morgan will lead the team.”

“I don’t need help. Especially yours.” Spencer hisses.

After letting out a long sigh, Hotch turns to you. “Go, tell Morgan he’s in charge. I’ll handle him.” And then, when he sees the almost guilty look on your face, he goes on. “Hey, it’s not your fault he’s in love with you. You’re not responsible for his decisions.” You nod, then you walk away without another word, leaving an exasperated unit chief behind. “Come on, kid, let’s get you some help.”