#and watching everything they built up crumbling down anyway

[idolsgf]

it’s the blorbos

i spent way too long making these please listen

also shoutout to @seriousames for sending me a song i sculpted most of ashari’s personality around, bless you <3

the cover photos are from @/nakdraws picrew you can find on twitter, they’re cute and i wanted consistency

[risingode]

loml (loss of my life)

summary: in which ellie's only ever cried in front of you three times. yet the fourth is the most devastating of them all.

pairing: ellie williams x y/n

genre: angst

wc: 962

please comment or message letting me know your thoughts! it helps motivate me :)

once again inspired by taylor swfit :)

a/n: hello everyone! it has been quite a while since i have uploaded on here. i've had a lot of changes in my life since the last time i posted a writing of mine, primarily, i am now in my third (!!!) year of university. crazy to even think about tbh. anyways, i know i primarily write about jungkook from bts, but recently i was gifted a ps5 by my brother in law and the first game i bought was tlou part 2 remastered because i never quite got over the game, or more specifically, ellie williams lmaooooo. anyways pls enjoy this short little drabble, i am excited to get back into writing! and yes, i will keep writing for jungkook as well, i'm just mixing it up a bit!

Ellie Williams was an enigma to the world, and right now, her mystery is unfurling in the cruelest of ways. The room before you is a tapestry of shattered dreams, clothes scattered like discarded promises, each garment a silent witness to the betrayal unfolding before your eyes.

Your heart, once so full of trust and love, feels like it's disintegrating. A heart-shaped void appears on the floor beneath you, a grotesque reflection of the pain ripping through your chest. There, in the dim light, your fiancée lies entwined with another woman, their bodies a stark betrayal of the vows once promised to you.

It's almost absurd, the way a love that once made you feel invincible can crumble so easily, as if it was all a cruel joke. The sight is so surreal that you question its reality, your mind unable to reconcile the image before you with the life you thought you shared. Your feet are rooted to the ground, as if some invisible force has tethered you to this unbearable truth.

The diamond ring on your finger, once a symbol of unending love, now feels like a shackle, its weight a painful reminder of the promises that were so carelessly broken. You stand there, numb and hollow, the ache in your chest growing more insistent with every breath. 

Her voice is a faint murmur, drowned out by the protective haze your mind has wrapped around you, shielding you from the full weight of her betrayal. The woman who promised to stand by you for the rest of your life is now an almost surreal presence, a distant echo as the reality of the situation sinks in.

They scramble to untangle themselves from the bed—your bed. Clothes are hastily pulled on, and you feel a wave of nausea rise up, the bile surging before you can even hope to stop it. The force of the moment propels you into action, and you sprint through the house, your heart pounding with the realization that every corner holds a painful reminder of the life you built together.

The couch you assembled in your first apartment, the dishes you chose together, each one a piece of your shared dream, perfectly matching the white and royal blue of your kitchen. The kitchen where you cooked meals side by side, dancing to songs from artists you discovered together, 

“This one’s the song I want to walk down the aisle to,” you’d said, stirring the pasta as you both cooked together.

Ellie looked up from where she stood, buttering garlic bread. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling as you watched her. “Do you like it?”

Her eyes twinkled with that familiar warmth as she walked over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist. “I don’t care what song you walk down the aisle to,” her tender voice whispers into your ear, “as long as the person standing at the end of it is me.” 

The air is cold against your hot skin, a reminder of how real everything you just experienced was. You couldn’t seem to care, though, almost prying open the door to your poorly parked car. The silence of it deafening as you give yourself time to catch your breath, finally it was quiet. Still, the sounds of their shared moans and whimpers echoes in your mind. The silence doesn’t last long, a loud thump breaks you out of your dissociated trance. Your neck snaps towards your driver’s side window, Ellie’s tearful face is the sight you’re met with. You think back to all the times you’ve seen her cry before. You conclude it’s three. 

The first time was when she was drunk, confessing her feelings, afraid you didn’t feel the same. You had held her close, whispering reassurances. 

“Oh, Ellie, you’re silly to think I don’t like you too.”

The second was when you were rushed to the hospital after a fall at work. The memory is a blur of bright lights and pain, but Ellie’s tear-streaked face as she clung to you is vivid. 

“You scared me so bad, baby,” she had sobbed into your shoulder.

You had tried to lighten the moment, chuckling despite your discomfort. “I just have a mild concussion. The only thing I’m worried about is how I’m going to step back into that office without a bag over my head. I’m so embarrassed.” 

She pulls away to look at your pouting face, noticing a light purple bruise decorating your pretty eye. She frowns, leaning in to leave a kiss on it. “Shut up, you’re never leaving my side again.”

The third and only time you cried alongside her was the day she proposed, her hand shaking in your grasp as she got down on one knee. 

“You’re the love of my life, Y/N. I don’t care how many years pass, or how many hurdles we come across, I will always be there for you. I can’t imagine loving anyone as much as I love you, baby.” 

You’re choking on your tears, your hand feels almost numb at the tightening of her grip. You reach your empty hand up to your chest, willing your beating heart to still. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Now, in the cold car, you’re confronting the fourth time, a cruel twist of fate that you never anticipated would be this moment. You thought the tears would come on your wedding day, as you exchanged vows to love and cherish each other, for better or for worse. The irony makes you laugh, a broken, hollow sound, as you shift the car into reverse.

Ignoring the pleading sobs muffled by the glass, you drive away, each mile feeling like a mile further from the life you once knew and the promises that were so easily shattered.

[ovaryacted]

COMPLICATED

─ Javier Peña x fem! reader || WC: 3.2k

SYNOPSIS: You begin to realize Javier's position at the DEA is putting a wedge in your marriage. It was only a matter of time before everything you've built crumbled once you reached your breaking point.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST. Established relationship. Javier & Reader are Married. Marriage problems. Arguments & Confrontation. Thoughts of slapping Javi. Mentions to prior sex & intimacy. Javier is falling apart. Self-sabotage. Mentions of religion/faith. Mentions of the DEA & Javi's job. Both Javi & Reader are in Colombia. Reader's occupation is unknown. Spanish dialogue between Javi & Reader. Please proceed with caution if relationship issues/arguments/possible DV are a sensitive topic for you.

Disclaimer: I have not watched Narcos yet. This is all just my interpretation of another aspect of Javier Peña’s character. Therefore, it is not strict to the canon or details of the show.

A/N: I wrote this for @almostfoxglove's Angst Challenge for August and got Javier Peña, so this is what I came up with! I will admit, I rewrote this fic twice because my initial outline changed halfway, so I started from scratch and got this. It is angsty, and I do want to mention that this is a different take on Javier P., because I personally do not characterize him this way but I ventured out of the norm and put him through situations (I love him a lot though). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You waited for him, the same way you always did.

Sitting on the couch and staring idly at the TV screen, you tried your hardest to find something to occupy your mind again. The cigarette comfortably sat between the index and middle fingers of your left hand, the weight of the two golden bands on your ring finger enticed you to take another drag.

You always hated how much Javier smoked. The stress from working at the DEA compelled him to go through two packs weekly, an ashtray present in every room of your quaint apartment, probably another on his desk at work. You didn’t predict there would come a time when you’d consider yourself a smoker, much less of cigarettes, despite recalling the multiple times you reminded your husband of how bad they were for his health.

“Those things will kill you before your job does, Javi.”

The irony in your words, a hypocrite of your own making.

You don’t blame him for not listening, either. Now you think you get the appeal of going through the cancer sticks one by one. You crave the high of the nicotine rushing through your veins with every inhale and relieving your jumpy nerves. The peace you’d feel for a few minutes was the only tranquility you could get in the hectic mess of your crumbling life.

You wish you knew how things got to this point.

The years blended throughout your relationship with the charismatic Javier Peña, a fine man you bumped into on your way home and accidentally sent all your groceries falling to the ground. Apologies poured out of your mouth repeatedly, and he bent down to help you clean up your mess, offering to cover the expenses of the ruined food you just bought with a faint smile.

The curl of his lips and the sparkle in his brown eyes bewitched you from the start, and you took the money he offered in your palm before he walked off, your sight trailing down on the cocky sway of his hips and the broadness of his back.

He dwelled in your mind like a phantom, haunting you in your dreams and inhabiting your senses. You didn’t anticipate to bump into him two weeks later while running errands, the smug look on his face at the sight of reencountering you so quickly didn’t go unnoticed. It was a simple conversation, a brief introduction followed by an offer for drinks when you both had time with reassurance that you would meet him under better circumstances.

The rest was history.

Sure, you knew Javier was a busy man, always on the run due to his highly demanding job you didn’t initially know of. From how he carried himself, you gathered he was associated with law enforcement, not from Colombia naturally, but perhaps the United States. You didn’t suppose he’d be affiliated with the federal government of all things, and the thought of what he was doing in the country worried you the first few months of being with him.

But all of your apprehensions about his professional occupation went out the window when you got into bed with him, limbs tangling into the sheets, and hushed promises whispered sweetly in your ear. All you cared about were the words he’d say as he took you every which way, claimed you his all over his apartment when you’d meet him late at night after a stressful work day.

That was the most intimate you knew him, in the throes of passion in which he seemed to be an expert. His hands strung your body with ease, pulling on the invisible red string that connected the two of you whenever his fingers wandered between your thighs. He drank every moan and cry of his name, hips moving against you so reverently others would mistake you for a place of worship.

It was a matter of time before dates turned to sleepovers, and your stay in his life became more permanent when you moved in with him. You didn’t object when he got down on one knee and popped the question you’d been waiting to hear after a year, jumping in your heels with a broad smile and tears streaming down your cheeks once he slipped the ring over your finger.

You never got the wedding you dreamed of since you were little, and you didn’t go on the honeymoon he promised you due to his prior commitments. Instead, you settled on going to a courthouse when you briefly visited Javi’s home in Texas and stayed in his government-covered apartment while in Colombia.

The signs of stress were there from the beginning of the relationship, but the rose-tinted shades you wore were a perfect fit. To you, ignorance was bliss, and you refused to pop whatever abstract bubble you found yourself trapped in with the man you’ve come to know as your partner.

You stuck by him when he needed you most, never opposing him when he sought after you for solace following the close calls he had while chasing down Escobar’s men. You kept your mouth shut when you saw him cleaning up the wounds he hid from you, locking the bathroom door behind him to avoid worrying you to such an extent. You didn’t utter a word when he started coming home later and wouldn’t give you notice, blaming the job and the intricacies of the caseload he was assigned to manage.

“I’m sorry. It’ll get better.”

You wanted to believe him, to think that somehow the craziness that was happening with the business of narcotics in Colombia would be slowing down, and your life would go back to normal, the way it should be. That way of life was gone. Sometimes, you think you’ve never had it to begin with.

You didn’t ask for this. Neither one of you did.

The disconnect between you grew after another close call on a raid, causing your first full-blown argument. The aftermath resulted in harsh kisses and bruises on your thighs from when Javi fucked you hard against the wall, holding you tightly as you scratched down his back. The subsequent times were like that; you could only communicate with him when your bodies engaged in the best way they knew how. All the pent-up frustration was released when he was inside you, groaning apologies and curse words as he filled you to the brim over and over, and you took it with a smile of forgiveness.

At some point along the way, there was no more fun to this game of tension you’ve created to ignore the elephant in the room. Not after the bickering turned into disagreements, your pillowcase growing wet with suppressed tears after a yelling match. The touches turned fleeting, the nights were lonely, and the animosity that wedged itself in your marriage thrived in the dismissive regard you both held for one another.

Your touch burned him more often than not; the last time he caressed you with care was lost to the ravages of his anxiety. All that remained was the past, the memories that you shared before shit hit the fan, and frankly, you don’t think you could take any more of this torture.

The other side of your bed stayed messy and cold, barely catching him when he left in the mornings for work. The caseloads kept piling on, the raids got more personal and farther from home, and the cycle continued to repeat itself. There wasn’t an end in sight, not soon anyway.

Stuck in your thoughts, you missed the instant the front door opened and closed, stubbing out your cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. You glanced over to see Javier stepping through the entryway, peeling his leather jacket off and tossing it to the side while holding your gaze momentarily.

“You’re still awake?” Javier asked you, hinting an edge to his voice as he spoke to you.

“Hello to you too,” you responded calmly, asserting your tone. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d wait for you.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Somehow, the faux concern made you chuckle dryly, watching him walk past you to head right for the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and leaving his back turned to you.

“And what else do you need me to stop doing?”

Your question forced Javier to pivot and face you, his glass sat on the counter as you observed him. Keeping your distance, you stood on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the archway and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Tell me. What else do you need me to stop doing, Javier?”

He remembers when you only called him by signature terms of endearment. Baby. Honey. Amorcito; he particularly loved that one. Now, you addressed him by his first name as if it were its own curse word.

“What the fuck do you mean?” he raised an eyebrow as you continued to speak, malice brewing inside as you itched to say the things you’ve kept bottled up.

“It seems you want me to stop everything. You don’t even come home anymore. I forget you live here sometimes,” you said, trying to be sarcastic, but your words were as sincere as they were hurtful.

“I do come home when I can. It’s been busy at w-”

“Work. It’s always about work and your fucking job. Work this, work that. Do you ever get tired of making excuses for yourself?” His eyes narrowed, staring you down as his body became rigid.

“Do you think me going out there every day chasing down these fucking pendejos is a godamn excuse? No estás pensando con claridad.”

“Oh, I’m the one that lacks sense. That’s rich coming from you.” You started to laugh, standing straighter and looking at your spouse vexingly. “You don’t think going down this goose chase with your head cut off to catch Escobar is crazy? Te has vuelto loco, Javi.”

“I do this for you. For us.” You know he’s trying to convince himself of this lie more than you.

“There is no us if you’re not here! You haven’t been here for months! I don’t know shit about you anymore, and this job has turned you into a different person.”

It was wrong to raise your voice at him; the previous quarrels usually passed through intense conversations, and he’d walk out the door to leave you for the rest of the night, but it was never this intense. You think this time would be the dreaded catalyst you’ve prolonged to avoid, and there was no turning back.

“You knew what you were getting into when we started dating. I told you what I do for work, I told you how this was going to be. It’s not fucking easy. You know this.” He took another sip of his whiskey, gulping it down all at once, hoping the buzz would give him the strength to handle the onslaught of words he knew was coming.

“So now it’s my fault that our relationship is falling apart? What? I should’ve known better than to fall in love with you? Should’ve known better than to marry you?” You were inching closer, your hands flailing around as you spoke exasperatedly.

“Yes. Maybe you should’ve known better.”

The only thing that could be heard in the kitchen was the clink of the ice melting in Javi’s glass, reaching a stalemate as you stared at him in bewilderment and heartbreak. You stepped forward to meet him chest to chest, imagining yourself slapping the words clean out of his mouth. You opted for putting your pointer finger under his chin, the tip of your nail grazing the underside of his jaw as rage washed over you.

“You don’t get to say that to me. Not after everything we’ve been through, everything I gave up to stay here with you in Colombia.”

Tears graced your lash line when he looked at you again, your brows creasing as the mask you’ve worn for so long unraveled. You tried to stay the good wife; you did, but you were getting edged closer and closer to the breaking point. Javier wants to be surprised that you found the audacity to confront him like this, but he knows it was what he deserved. Perhaps he deserved worse for what he’s put you through.

“Why can’t you give this up? Why? You know how this is going to end. I’ll hear from Steve that you didn’t make it back from another assignment or worse. All of this and for what? Help me understand, please.” You begged him to see your pain, hoped to see things as he saw them, to understand why he was going to such great lengths to kill a man at the expense of everything else rotting around him.

“It’s complicated. Everything about this is complicated. The last thing I need is for you to get involved in this mess, too.”

“It’s always complicated with you.” You shrugged with a shake of your head, admitting your defeat.

“I sit here and wait for you to come home, and you don’t. You’d rather be out there, doing god knows what, while I stay and twiddle my fucking thumbs waiting for something to happen,” you looked down to the floor, staring at your feet as the emotions swirled inside you, losing control over the storm of their intensity.

“I don’t complain or say anything when you don’t come home. I get it, this is the job, this is what you have to do. But I don’t see you, Javier. You don’t talk to me, you don’t touch me, or even look at me…I don’t want this for us anymore.”

You didn’t think your words were getting through to Javi anyway as he remained quiet, the stinging bitterness festering before was forgotten and replaced by the dull ache of his heart. Hearing you say this to him hurt in ways grazed bullet wounds and rough tumbles to the ground couldn’t amount to. The self-loathing and anger that’s been building inside him after discovering all the corruption of his job settled in the pit of his stomach, bile rising to the back of his throat at the thought of it. He hated this.

“I don’t want this either. I don’t want to keep hurting you…”

I don’t want to lose you.

“Then why do you still do it?” You presented your left hand to hit his line of sight, gesturing to the two rings you wore, the ones he gave you when he swore to love you for the rest of your life. “Does this mean anything to you?”

It means everything to me. You mean everything to me.

The words were too heavy for him to say, refraining from confessing his true thoughts the way he wanted. His lips were sealed, but his eyes confirmed what you already knew. He was just too cowardly to do or say the right thing himself.

“I love you Javier, I do. So much that it pains me, but this is not a life we should be living. Don’t you want more than this?”

Of course, he wanted more. When he slipped that ring on your finger, he had already envisioned the life he had dreamed of with you. A quiet life somewhere in the countryside, away from all of the noise of the government and countries that were running rampant with issues he shouldn’t be responsible for fixing. He saw the distant future, a kid or two running in the yard while you sat on the porch to watch them, a look of peace on your pretty face as you peeked over at him from across the ranch.

A happy home, a happy life. That was what he wanted, what he prayed for.

Javier despises himself for being unable to amount to his dream for both of you. He’s so wrapped up in this nonsense with the DEA that he’s had tunnel vision so profound he can’t see the light anymore.

“I know you’re not going to stop until all of this is finished, I know that. But I can’t do this anymore. So I’m giving you a choice, the DEA or me.” His eyebrows shot up at the sudden ultimatum you’ve proposed to him, eyes growing wide as he comprehended the hand you’ve forced upon him.

“You can’t make me choose this, that’s not how this works. I can’t just drop everything for you, not now when we’re this close. Don’t do this to me, please…” his hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing them to make you rethink what you said before doing something you may regret.

“I don’t want to do this, but I have to,” your eyes met the brown irises you used to spend hours looking at and admiring, the spark in them long gone. “I can’t stay here and watch you destroy yourself, Javi. I love you too much to witness that. Please don’t put me through that.”

Walking away from him and heading to the bedroom, you knew nothing else was left to say. You couldn’t save him, your love couldn’t save him either, and you thought maybe backing him into a corner would knock some sense that he’s been missing.

As you entered your bathroom to look at your reflection, you heard the front door open and close again, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’ll be outside for the night, maybe stop by a bar and drown his sorrows before going to work again as if nothing happened. Your eyes turned bloodshot as you cried, your hands covering your face to muffle your sobs as you sank to the tiled bathroom floor with your back to the wall. You brought your knees to your chest, comforting yourself and hoping something would come in the form of a miracle.

Maybe you’ll wait for him a little longer. Maybe you’ll leave your ring on the dresser with a letter, find your way back to the United States, and rebuild your life, forgetting all about Javier Peña. Maybe there was nothing left to give, nothing left to save. Maybe you just didn’t know what you were doing, and you went over your head.

You prayed for whatever God existed to give you the strength to persevere through this troubling time. In that silent prayer, you wished for the man you still loved to come back home to you, for him to want a better life for himself and to end this torment he continued to put himself through.

Slipping into the empty bed like you’ve done so many times before, you tucked yourself in the sheets that still smelled like him, glimpsing at the window to count the rays of moonlight that peeked through the curtains to help you doze off.

You dreamed that in the morning, you’d wake up to strong arms wrapped around your waist, apologies and promises muttered alongside kisses to your temple as he reclaimed you as his, the way he used to do before all of this. You desired to give him what he wanted, be the person he needed to show him better and save him from himself. But that was wishful thinking.

The man you knew, the man you loved, wasn’t here anymore, and there was no way you could bring him back.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Spanish Translation: pendejos - idiots, No estás pensando con claridad - you're not thinking clearly, Te has vuelto loco, Javi - You've gone insane/you’re crazy Javi.

[nerdyenby]

Thinking about how Third Life was about suspense. Something is coming, we don’t know what or when, but it is on the horizon. You build a kingdom on shifting sand, knowing the ground is unstable but praying it will stay. It never does. The world was always going to crumble, we knew that from the start. The end was written before the beginning, we’re just here to watch how it happens.

Last Life was about dread. After seeing everything you built destroyed — with the image of your home on fire fresh in your mind — the world is darker from the start. You make bonds knowing they will break. You build kingdoms knowing they will fall. You create knowing destruction awaits. There is no peace, only the ever-building burden of the knowledge that this time won’t end any differently.

Double life was about fate. The illusion of choice is gone: you are bound to another human being, you have no control whether you live or die. You can try to protect them in order to protect yourself, or you can push them away - after all, what real duty do you have to each other anyway? Still you know that when it ends, it ends together. You cannot escape them, but somehow you still end up dying alone.

Limited Life is about inevitability. No matter what happens, no matter what you do right or wrong, you have an expiration date. No one is making it out alive. We’re here, watching the timer tick down, knowing this only ends one way. We’ve done this song and dance before, it’s only a question of what happens before the timer hits zero.

[jolalibrary]

vii. take care of me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut - p in v. reader has a bad day, soft romantic fucking.

word count: 4.7k

an: the biggest thanks to @thetriumphantpanda who read this before bake off and left me a bunch of comments that made me so excited, you almost had this chapter yesterday.

You had seemed downtrodden before he rocked up and ‘broke a rule’.

His pretence at forgetting all quickly seen through, as though he’s transparent. He had wanted to explain that he had only wanted to cheer you up, but you looked less in the mood for an apology than you did an explanation.

So he swallowed both.

From the middle of the week, he had suspected something was wrong. When he had finally managed to call you, you had sounded so close to tears, that he wondered whether he should drive back sooner.

Especially when you had barely laughed at a joke he made on one of his commutes back to the hotel—barely even answering when he asked it if was his movie choice or yours.

I don’t mind. You always mind. If I remember right, you have a real thing about me always pickin’ the movie, querida. Well, I don’t today, okay? You can pick—I—Frankie, I have to go.

When the end call tone flooded the bed of his truck, he’d strongly suspected that you’d fought your way off the phone with him so you could crumble. Cracking yourself open into a bunch of shards, all pressure-cooked by the weight of everything you take on, only to say you’re fine.

It’s why he had driven past your place the day before he had made plans to see you. Fighting with himself about getting out and going up to your door. Weighing up the options as to whether checking on you tonight or waiting for tomorrow would be best.

Then there was the fact he wasn’t sure if it was as your best friend or as someone who hopes for something more.

The lines blurred, practically erased. A speech is likely needed, but he’s as poor with words as he is with owning how he feels, so it’s easier to stuff them down—to drive away, wait.

It’s why he grabbed it to begin with. Why he’d been grabbing them since you put the darn rule in place anyway. A habit, a part of his routine seeing you—a thing he did to show you that you mattered, were important, cared for.

Which is why he’d wrestled with him again on whether to leave it in the car when he walked up to your front door or not.

“You broke a rule.”

You look glum, defeated. Whatever your working week had done to you, it had stolen more from you than you’d been able to—never mind willing to give.

And it fractured a part of him. Made his shoulders sink, his heart sinks—because nothing hurt him more than the look on your face. The one which should be full of smiles and twinkling eyes.

Kissing your cheek, he closes your front door behind him. “I think you’ll forgive me.”

You just snort. Momentarily smothering the sadness that had been there before he’d showed you the bottle—whatever had upset you buried, all of it being quickly hidden as you placed the wine down and picked up your water bottle.

It forces more confusion to swirl inside of him, more so as you begin to go back and forth with him on food, on what he wants to watch, and whether he wants to share a blanket or have his own.

He replies in his usual tone, even if his attention is split into equal parts—one part focused on the little things you do, the mannerisms you’re not aware to pretend. The other on the IKEA furniture he built, the memories pricking him, needling, making the zipper of his jeans suddenly feel uncomfortable over his cock.

“Work been okay?”

Your mouth falls open, all set to answer, but then something shifts in your eyes. A shadow—possibly—it dancing across the plain, suddenly all but desperate to thump its way out.

Then the words never come. Swallowing instead, discarding whatever you'd been about to say—pushing it back before any lingering parts of it are blinked away as you offer a nod.

“Yeah. Yours?” you answer, but your tone isn’t right.

It’s flat, without its usual infliction. There isn't any edge to your words, nor a tease or taunt, not even a Morales in sight. And, the smile you paint doesn’t quite reach the eyes.

It’s practically humming now, the fact something is wrong. It simmers, hanging around, whistling through the air.

Yet, you don’t break, don’t confess it all to him like you had once done with such ease. Instead, you just smear another smile on your face, nudging him, phone in hand as you mumble about food options and what he wants as you lead him to the sofa.

He knows on the surface, it looks the same—how the night is playing out. But it’s different. In all the ways he doesn’t want to put his finger on, and doesn’t want to acknowledge. Not as you order food, not as you chew the inside of your cheek as you wait for the order to be accepted.

Even less so when you mumble about the film, reaching for your remotes.

It's then he decides what he wants to do is take the remote from your hand as soon as you pick it up. Frankie wants to hold your fingers in his, even place a kiss on your wrist. He wants to place two fingers under your chin, and ask you again to tell him what has happened—wanting to be let him in, be shared with.

He wants you close, and not like friends do. A need to have your head to his chest, his fingers sliding gentle strokes against your cheek and neck, offering comfort, providing it in plenty.

His own head turns the options over, planning it out, trying to guess what the various outcomes are. Which, by the time he reacts, instead of managing to grasp your hand, he knocks the remote from your hand with a clatter.

Ears burning, he feels your glare before he truly appreciates it. It ripples out over him before it’s blinked away—a momentary flood of fire licking at his skin.

In the oddest way, it’s at least reminiscent of the person he knows. The sharpness in your eyes is more a friend to him right now than the gnawing going on in his chest. Especially, while the rest of you is lost to whatever you’re trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

“What?”

It’s simple, one word.

Almost feels normal. It's all sharp and layered, just like it usually is. Followed by your body sinking into the array of cushions you decorate your sofa with as you pull up his pick, rolling your head to him—nail-picking at the battery cover on your remote.

And he wants to ask again—just like he always would have done.

Instead, Frankie places his hand on your knee, thumb and index swirling over the cloth-covered bone as you look at the television briefly, before flicking back to him.

In the silence, it’s louder—the whistling. It's suddenly accompanied by the noticeable noise of your brain whirring, your cogs turning.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, but secretly he's pleading, begging.

He watches as your teeth pick at your lip, snuggling yourself further into the couch—knee abutting his leg as you sigh. “It's... nothing. Can we... can we just watch the movie?”

“Hey, of course we can. Is…”

He can't ask.

Fearful of asking. A lump forms in his throat, sticking, thickening second by second as he flicks his eyes over you.

Before you can blink it away, he spots it again. The shift in your eyes.

This time instead of a shadow, they fill with water. They vanish any part of your truth that wished to escape in its drowning. Before he can poke and push, you blink it away as quickly as it had first arrived.

And it needles him, pricks at his skin and stabs into his chest, twisting and twisting and twisting—

“I just… wanted my best friend,” you mumble.

“That it?”

You seem to fight it, whatever it is inside of you, before you curl against his arm again, tugging your blanket up closer. “I really missed you this week, that's all.”

It’s been on his to-watch list for ages, and yet he’s one hour into it and he has no clue what is happening.

The pizza box is still half-open on the coffee table, your plate still remaining with picked-at food that you never really made any dent in, and he blames that as to why he doesn’t even know who the good guy is and who is bad.

Because all of the parts of his brain that usually begin working on undoing and arranging what he thinks will and is happening, are working in overdrive on you.

It's also stopping his heart from hammering even louder down your ear. Because, even if the two of you have cuddled before—lots of times—it's not been post the whole sleeping together thing.

And, it feels nice having you against him, normal, right.

He likes the way your fingers occasionally clutch him a little closer, head turned in the direction of the television and the movie he should be watching.

Instead, he's piecing together the puzzle you've thrown on the floor. The one without the box lid, so no image to compare it to. Trying to assess where you missing him, lines up with the way your bottom lip almost wobbled as you confessed it, as though it was a sin and not a virtue.

Frankie tries to line it up with the fact he knows whenever he's found a moment to himself, he’s texted you. The sea of other unread messages piling up, collecting.

It adds to the knowledge that all of the normal conversation he has with you, quickly derails, slipping into something foreign yet wonderful. Casual phone calls, divert into him with his hand around his cock, listening to you breathlessly say his name and that you wish he was there.

And that somewhere between collecting the sweet noises you make and those innocent-but-not-innocent moments, are the soft moments he has where you’re resting—where Frankie has realised, decided and accepted, that there is nowhere else he likes being.

Not a single place.

Because he wants this.

Frankie wants the calmer person he is when he's around you, the thoughts which are less intrusive. He likes that the rain barely bothers him when he has you in his arms, that he doesn’t even overthink, if anything he just plans. Considering things, turning them over, thinking of a future that begins to sketch itself out and colour itself in.

Something which has been doing so since the time in the car.

Your words rolling and rolling, stitching themselves to other phrases you’ve let slip, until he’s sewing things together to create a gallery, a museum of moments he loves admiring and replaying when the world goes silent.

That's when he notices the movie, the shit-show of a plan formed involving a helicopter, and the words roll from him without stopping.

"That would never fuckin' happen. Not—can you imagine, if I said to you—" and he rambles. Feels himself doing so. So comfortable and at ease more and more things just flow and fall from his lips.

Even when the scene changes in the movie, more bright light than the softer one from before, forcing him to blink—he is still detailing how inaccurate it is. Only slowing to nothing when he realises you’re looking up at him. Hanging on to every word as though he's a poet reading something beautiful.

He feels the way they tracing him then, lightly glazing over all his features as he slowly holds your stare.

Because it’s the kind of gaze he sees in the movies you make him watch. The lingering ones—a blend of both fiery and craving. It all peppered with yearning, and swirling in so much he suspects you don’t want to say.

“You’re going to miss the movie.”

Blinking, you smile. Feeling you flick your eyes from him to his mouth. “Am I?”

Your smile slides further into your cheek, and he can’t help but brush his thumb over it. A dire need to touch you, brush your soft skin and remind himself how you feel.

He doesn’t expect it, but he likes that you curl into his hand. It allows him to trace his fingers along your jaw, down the side of your neck. Half-expecting you to tell him to stop, that tonight isn’t about that.

You don’t.

Instead, your hand cups his against your cheek, staring at him, lit up by the flickering scenes neither of you are paying attention to.

Faintly, blooming out in the shimmer of your eyes, he thinks he sees it again—what he thinks is adoration. It mixing, blending, swirling with care, love…

“Thought you wanted your best friend?”

“I do,” you say, low, just above a whisper, “So, take care of me.”

A second passes as your words drip into the air.

So take care of me.

His eyes flick over you. Likely needing you to say it again, give permission, tell him you want this.

You do. Fuck you do.

Your heart hammering against your chest like a drum because of it. All unable to speak, fearful, fucking petrified, with how much you want him.

Because all you do is want him, and if you speak, you worry you won’t stop telling him that.

Let it fall, leak. Slip out and stain like oil on a sheet.

Because you know it's only normal to miss him this much for one reason, and one reason alone. It's the same reason why you want him, crave him, and feel so desperate for him that you can’t think or breathe. It is all-encompassing, looming, forever there in between the days you don't see him and the waiting on replies to texts.

It’s so close to your tongue, held back only by your teeth.

It could come out, could escape. So you keep your mouth clamped shut. It is better, easier, and less bothersome than telling him you’ve been counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you could have your hands on him. Not for this, not because he makes you feel good and beautiful and wanted, but because you feel better. Happier. More you. You feel safe, like no bad work day could ever touch you.

“Querida…”

“I want y—”

The rest of your words are swallowed, stolen. Frankie seals his mouth over yours, barely needing a sentence, just enough.

And it’s searing, full of ache as his hands pull you close, your body singing, itching to come alive—has been since the scent of just him hit your nose.

The worst of days doesn’t matter when he’s around you, less so when his lips marry to yours, when he licks into your mouth, when he breathes you in, and you breathe him.

No one else has ever made you feel like he does.

Not the way your feet almost kick out when his message arrives, a smile gracing your mouth without control when he calls you.

Because he’s different, but then he always has been.

There's always been something, it thriving and growing, embedding vines you pretend are just because you're good friends. But you know, you do. It's hard not to.

Frankie saves you, oblivious to the silent plea for rescue—he just knows. He gets you. Understands every inch of you now, you're unsure how anyone else can ever read you as well. He's someone you could confidently rely on, knowing he’d never leave you alone, not even in the dark—forever a light, a way home.

You think you’re that for him too. Hope so anyway.

He moans your name. Kissing you like he never wishes to stop. He acts like he wants to drown in you, be overflowed by you, and fuck you want the same.

Mine. That’s what you want to say.

Instead, you bury it in a low moan when his mouth captures yours, tongue sliding past your teeth as his hands come to rest on your cheeks. Each touch softer, gentler—from the way he moves his fingers over your cheek, to the way he slides them over your jaw, landing on your neck.

Then, his mouth comes to your ear, breath dancing, all flooded with the flickering television—let’s go to your bed.

He doesn’t rip, he peels your layers off, leaving a trail leading right to your room. He smothers your body with his, his palm remaining flat to your spine, leading, hooking his fingers around the back of your neck as he steers you.

Careful, hermosa.

The consideration dripping from his lips like syrup, all adorned in affection, a taste you have to capture, spinning in his hold, hooking your arms around his neck as you pull him flush, close.

“Tell me you want me,” he hisses.

There's an edge that isn’t usually there but it’s pounding now, all sparkling and fucking shimmering.

You’re more sure of it when he lies you back on your sheets, his mouth exploring, taking his time, taking you to the edge with his mouth as you plead and plead—one hand sliding up over the softness of your stomach, as your back arches into him.

And you shudder, so close to your high—hips held down by his arm. “I want you, Frankie. Always want you. Want you inside of me.”

He pauses—cool air blowing over you as he flicks his eyes up from between your thighs, his skin flushes, a light beading of sweat at his hairline as he comes up onto his palms.

Watching him crawl up you, eyes enamoured, unable to look anywhere else even if they were commanded to. Because he’s more than a sight for sore eyes, he is the sight. He’s the best-looking thing you’ve ever fucking seen, clutching his face in your hands, feeling him drag the head of his cock through your slick walls, staring at you in waiting, like he couldn’t believe this is happening.

“Again,” he asks.

Taking your hand in his, he slots his fingers between yours, fitting, ever so perfectly, before he places your conjoined hands above your head. Eyes tracing up and down your frame, more so as you arch into him, hearing the breathed-out expletive as you wait for his stare to land.

“I want you.”

And, thankfully, Frankie doesn’t let you linger on it. Doesn’t allow you to hyper-focus on it, slowly sliding in, pushing in by inch until you’re full of just him—no more of him left that you can greedily take.

“Always take me so well, baby—“

“Frankie.”

You’re breathless. The air punched from your lungs—his hand remaining knotted in yours, grounding, your nails digging into his skin as his other hand finds a place on the back of your thigh, eyes dropping, all fixated on where the two of you are joined.

“Y'so good for me. Always so good for me,” he adds when his hips are flush with yours. “Take my cock so well.”

Letting his gaze return to you, you’re suddenly so grateful for the bedside lamp you’d left on hours ago because now you get to see him. Admire him, so much so, it makes your throat dry.

Able to watch his muscles contort when he moves, lips parting as he slowly cants his hips into yours, all deep strokes.

And, you know it’s still fucking, but it’s also not.

It’s a unique blend of need that feels right, and also wrong—lips messily finding yours, burying confessions as you eagerly swallow them.

Hoping your throat, lungs or stomach could begin to decipher them as you feel his hand slide down your wrist, and arm until it's cupping your face. His lips slide over your cheek, resting close to your ear, whispering compliments. Because he has to tell you that you’re gorgeous, he says; that you're always so stunning.

Each word that lands has more than an effect on you, as he stutters when you clench around him.

Mouth wrapped around an exclamation of his name as he slides out and sinks back into you.

Frankie has always felt big, but from this angle, like this—he’s somehow deeper, filling you more. He's in your soul. It all filthy and romantic and obscene, but it feels so good, makes heat bloom through your hips and up into your spine, it twisting, eroding the bad day, the bad week.

In a sense, he’s the perfect antidote. A person you trust, care for, lo—

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

Frankie’s hand slides back to grip yours, pressing it down—lightly against the pillow above you, before placing the other beside it. And he’s enveloped in part shadows and the light from the table, blessed in golden hues, giving just enough to see how wild his eyes are and how deep the brown in them goes, how blown his pupils are.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?”

You feel your cheeks warm, your ears—every bit of skin on show suddenly inflamed because of his words. His mouth lapping at your breasts, all arched into him, hips steadily meeting his.

“Always are, really.”

“Well. You’re handsome, Morales.”

It’s intentional, adding his surname. Taking the softness out of it, removing what you can, and adding barriers and throwing up walls.

He still sucks in a breath, eyes lingering on yours, fingers dropping to brush a line up and down your cheek as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you. You moan as the head of him keeps kissing that part deep inside you.

It’s different.

You know it; he likely does too. Thankful he slants his mouth over yours. Slowly rocking with you, thrusting into you as you murmur his name, it falling enriched in moans.

From the way you both kiss, to the way you keep an arm around his neck, desperate to keep as much of him against yours.

“You feel so good, Frankie.” Your fingers scratch at the base of his neck. “Always make me feel so full.”

Stuffed really. Packed in. Clenching around him, all tightening, purposefully wrapping your walls around him until he groans right into your ear. Each drag of his cock in and out feeling exquisite, perfect, amazing.

It’s never been like this with others, never been like this even with him. His fucked out face, the grunts and groans coming from deep within make your thighs unable to stop their twitching as fire floods up your spine and the way he plunges you in lust-filled brown.

And you clutch his face, feverish from him, quivering, shaking. Burying the words, “So close, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m close baby,” against his mouth.

Pressing each letter in, stamping it—ensuring he knows it’s him doing this to you. Making a mess of you. The only person you ever want to make a mess out of you.

It thumping inside of you, hammering—all balled up fists and desperation because you want to tell him. Shout it at him. Paint the walls in it as he paints yours in white.

“Need you, Frankie.”

It’s close to the truth. Barely an inch from it.

“I know, need you too. Need to feel you come around me, hermosa. I need it, please. Please give it to me. Let me feel—fuck—feel you coming around my cock.”

And you hear it, the way he pleads—as well as realise the double meaning. You in the car, whispering words so close to the ones he’s spilling now.

“I will if you stay.”

He doesn’t still, but he does jolt. A hesitation in his pistoning.

Then he drops to his elbows around your face, cradling you, caging you in, as he kisses you—sloppily, messily, sweetly. It’s soft, but also full of heavy moans he wishes to force down your throat. It’s indulgent, a thing you never thought you’d have so now you take as much of it as you can get.

“Course I’ll stay. Never—fuck—anywhere I want to be but here, baby. Nowhere else.”

His eyes fix on you, digging the words in.

And, even if you knew it before, you realise how under your skin he is. How he’s woven in around tendons and ligaments, found a home, left marks against your bones you never want to rid.

You’re sure it’s that and not the words which make everything else mute.

Even if it’s all you can hear. Not the television in the other room, not the headboard clattering against the wall, not the sounds you’re making each time he drags his cock through your walls.

Just his words. Whatever he blesses you in. Your thoughts are all incoherent other than that. All shaky, practically vibrating; all gasping and torturous heavy heat, all unable to breathe and yet never wanting any of this to stop.

His hand slides around your thigh, pulling on your knee, bringing it closer as his grip almost grows bruising on you. He’s deep. Fucking into you so hard, hearing the concoction of his hisses, gasps and moans, before his mouth lands back on yours.

It’s overwhelming. The height you’ve reached, the way your mouth is only able to say his name as you watch him lick his thumb and distinctly feel it slide between the two of you. Finding it. Barely struggling to press the pad of it to your bundle of nerves before you lock up, the knot tightening, almost ripping inside of you.

It fraying from how much you’re fighting it, so close to bursting—

Then he draws quicker circles, all persistent, expertly, and you snap.

It surging, all white-hot, all blistering and mind-melting. You become both light and heavy all at once, your nails finding purpose in his side and your sheets, twisting, knotting to root yourself in this, in him—in how much you fucking love him.

“Fuck, querida—that’s it.”

You can’t respond, can’t even think up a response, but you do yank his mouth to yours. Pressing those three words there, laying them down, as well as thanking him, over and over until you slide your mouth against his cheek.

“Be good for me now, Frankie.”

His eyes flick to you, all ablaze and engulfed in want. And so you nod, knowing he can see it, feel it.

“Look so good, baby,” you add.

The noise is strained that comes from him, all sucked in breath. Then, his hips stammer, convulsing, all strangled, tightly entangled in a mess of your name and fuck.

And you kiss him.

Happily licking into his mouth to taste how delicious his moan is.

You try to fight the way your heart drops when you return from using the bathroom. Biting the inside of your mouth as you see the bed empty, sheets a mess, your throat swallowing back whatever sob wishes to escape.

Because the edges of your happiness crumble, your arm wrapping around the other, bottom lip almost wobbling.

That is, until you feel his hand on your lower back. Your head turns quickly, seeing him there. All hair-wild, and soft smile.

“Water, baby?”

Smiling, you thank him, taking several sips before handing it back to him, watching him do the same. Studying the way his throat bobs as he does, the faint marks of your mouth still lingering there on his skin.

“C’mon,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “Let’s get in bed.”

“Oh, but the—“

“I’ve sorted it. Turned it off—folded the blanket, put the plates in water.” His hand wraps itself around yours. “So, let’s sleep.”

All you can muster is an okay. It leaves soft, slightly webbed at the edges from the way it catches on the growing lump in your throat.

It isn’t until you’re curled against him,

“Is this okay?” you whisper.

He lets out a laugh, little and breathy. “More than okay, hermosa.”

Guiding your leg to hook over his. Keeping his body flush as the two of you cuddle. His thumb swipes across your cheek, forehead close to yours as his fingers fan out over your hip, and he presses a kiss to the space between your brows.

You’re pretty sure your heart just tripled in size.

And those three words, the ones which have amassed into a chunk in your chest have suddenly begun pulsing all on their own—a beat completely separate, you find, to the one which pumps blood around your body.

CHAPTER EIGHT ->

[breadbrobin]

our little affair

james potter x reader — harry potter; marauders era

[gn!reader]

summary: before three months ago, you hated james potter, and everyone knew it. then everything changed. now, you’re meeting him in dark hallways and he’s leaving hickeys on your neck, and someone is going full private detective to find out just who you’re seeing.

warnings: swearing, kissing, reader and james are in love but they won’t admit it, allusions to sexual content—non-explicit.

word count: 1.2k

(it’s been a WHILE but i’m back and writing for a completely different fandom lollll anyway james has always been the loml and i think he deserves to get made out with in a hallway thank you for coming to my ted talk)

———————————

three months. that’s how long it had taken for someone to figure out you were in love.

to be fair to lily, it had taken you around the same amount of time, and you were inside your own head, with full access to all those innocent and not-so-innocent thoughts 24/7.

it was a little stifling, how she watched you like a hawk to see who you were smiling at, glancing towards, blushing because of. and it was a little more than a little embarrassing that she’d figured you out so easily.

it was stupid, really. a hickey left slightly too high and a shirt collar dipping slightly too low while you studied. that was all it took.

“what is that?” she’d asked accusingly.

“what?” you frowned, looking up at her across the table.

“that.” she jerked her head at you, her eyes locked on your collar. “that’s a hickey.”

“no, it’s not,” you’d hissed sharply, but you’d tugged your collar up far too quickly to play it off anymore. she shot you a look, and you had to sigh. “fine. yes, it is. don’t ask who, when, where or how, please.”

“so you’re embarrassed.” she’d nodded understandingly.

your cheeks had flared red as you caught sight of james—god, james potter and his magic lips and warm hands and—stop it—over her shoulder, looking back at her before she could realise your attention had strayed. “i’m not embarrassed. it’s just… private.”

“for now or for good?”

“for now,” you’d answered like you knew for sure. in truth, you didn’t. you’d avoided talking about the whole public relationship thing with james because, well, was it even really a relationship now? could you call sneaking around and leaving secret notes and making out in secluded hallways a relationship? you really didn’t know, and you also really didn’t want to deal with it very much.

regardless, lily was obsessed. when she’d inevitably asked, claiming it was her right as your best friend to know and threaten the poor person, you’d shut her down, and she’d become a woman on a mission.

it was like she’d turned from your best friend to your bodyguard. you felt like the president of the united states, with the secret service watching your every move. it was, honestly, tiring.

it also didn’t help that james was as subtle as a gun in an echo chamber. every chance he got he was smiling over at you, slipping you notes half as sneakily as he should, winking at you across rooms and teasing you every chance he got. it wouldn’t take long, you knew that. you also knew that the moment lily found out the truth, every shred of your reputation that you’d built up over the years would crumble away.

years of hating james potter’s guts had slipped away in the blink of an eye, leaving you floundering in the deep end, and him as your dashing lifeguard, saving you easily. it was infuriating, and what was worse, was that you liked it.

you liked his lips on yours. you liked his body pinning you against a wall. you liked his touch, his smile, his voice… you liked him.

maybe you were a little embarrassed after all.

but you couldn’t even think of embarrassment when james slipped you a note with a tiny doodle of professor flitwick falling off his stack of books, and looked at you with that goofy smile that made you want to melt and then kiss him stupid. ugh, it was ridiculous.

but he was addictive, and after class when you met in the same secluded side hallway as always, and his lips found yours like they needed to be there for him to survive, and his hands were on your hips, your waist, your back, your hair… it didn’t feel so ridiculous. and suddenly you didn’t care.

he always melted into you like he’d been waiting all day for your touch. his shoulders dropped, the tension slipping away from them. a soft sigh of relaxation left him as he touched you.

and it was only you and him in the world, and it was perfect and—

“oh my god!”

james jumped away from you like he’d been burned. you covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head frantically, meeting lily’s wide eyes.

“lily, i—“

“ew, guys, really?” you thought she’d be mad that you were kissing a marauder, but she looked positively gleeful. “i knew i’d be the one to find you two!”

you and james both frowned.

“what?” he asked.

“god, marlene owes me ten galleons.” she laughed, shaking her head. “thank you, guys, really. fucking hell.”

you just stared at her with wide eyes. “you’re not upset?”

“upset?” she snorted. “babes, why would i be upset?”

“because…” you floundered for a moment, gesturing at james. “he’s a marauder.”

he snorted. “wow, thanks.”

“you know what i mean,” you scoffed.

lily laughed. “i don’t care who you make out with. i just care that you’re happy. and you’ve been happy these last few weeks since you two got together.”

“months,” you corrected absently.

“months?”

“three months and four days, to be exact,” james cut in helpfully.

lily stared at you two for a moment before shaking her head in wonder and stepping away. “wow… first of all, i’m offended you didn’t tell me. second of all… you guys have got to find a better hiding spot. everyone knows. marlene and i placed bets on who would find you guys making out first.”

you stared at her. “wait, what?”

she turned and walked down the hall. “toodles! i have to go cash in. use protection!”

and just like that, she was gone, leaving you and james standing in the hallway, confused.

“did that…?” you started, trailing off.

“yeah, i think so.” he frowned, leaning against the wall beside him. “huh. so… if everyone knows already…?”

you looked at him curiously. “what are you suggesting, potter?”

“what do you say to me asking you out? officially.” he stepped closer, fingers brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

you couldn’t stop the stupid smile from breaking onto your face. “i say yes.”

“great. that’s awesome. really.” he grinned, lips mere inches from yours. “because i’ve actually been wanting to ask you out for ages, and—“

“would you kiss me again, potter? and stop talking for once?”

“oh, yeah, right.”

and his lips were on yours again, and his hands were holding you close, and unlike every other time you’d kissed, you didn’t feel the need to hide and pull him down an abandoned hallway. actually, you felt completely fine kissing him in the middle of one of the main hallways of the school, even when footsteps entered the hall, and even when sirius black’s voice started loudly complaining at the two of you. even then, all you did was smile against james’ lips, and revel in the moment. you’d be late for your study session with your friends, but you had more important things to do.

[megistusdiary]

hello, this is the anon who sent the smoking w 2000s arle ask. I'm back with more brainrot

so, I've been thinking ab being her roommate.

the first time you saw her you kind of went into shock; how on earth did you end up living with someone like *her*??? she's tall, baggy black clothes draping on her slim, toned body only giving a hint of what lies beneath. you'd love to stare for hours, but her bright ruby eyes boring into your soul stop any hopes of that happening. the almost-scowl on her sculpted features is a little scary, but you didn't mind, quite the opposite in fact.

despite the instant butterflies she gave you, you never worked up the courage to properly speak with her. you of course shared greetings in the morning from time to time, agreed on cleaning and groceries when necessary, but it never got much further than that.

part of the reason for that, was the seemingly unending amount of girls she would bring home. you know you should be upset, but honestly, you just wish it was you. it's obvious she knows what she's doing, just from the sounds you hear through the thin walls, you so desperately wish you just had one chance with her, but your rational mind is well aware she's far out of your league.

that's what you think anyway. you don't realise it, but there's a pattern in the women arlecchino brings home: they all look rather like you. same hair type and colour, same wide eyes, and the same gorgeous smile.

she closes her eyes and she sees your face, hears your voice. she's absolutely whipped for you, and to be honest, she doesn't know what to do with all of these new feelings and sensations you give her.

she may seem frosty and aloof when you look at her, but when it comes to feelings, she crumbles. she knows you like her. she's seen the looks you give her when you think she isn't looking. thing is though, she's completely and utterly terrified of the way you make her feel. she's never been in a relationship before, and of course, she does the only logical thing: push those feelings down as far as she humanly can.

the two of you keep on like this for a few months, neither of you brave enough to change this precarious balance of a routine you seem to have built.

this state of limbo does eventually see an end though.

you're something of a recluse, often opting to spend your nights at home, busying yourself with your studies. one night however, you don't really have that as an option. you owe a favour to a friend, and she's decided to take the opportunity to have you come out to a campus party with her. she declares that you "need to have fun and get out more", and encourages you to "get laid". you don't know if you're interested in anyone but your gorgeous roommate, not enough to make the effort to hook up anyway.

you dress yourself up nicely regardless. it's true you don't get out much, so you figure you might as well doll yourself up for once. while the stares you feel once you arrive are certainly expected, you can't say you're a fan of the attention. you need a drink

a cup or two of something fruity, and you're feeling a bit better, tipsy enough to be a little giggly and bold, but not enough to do anything you'll regret tomorrow.

you sit in a corner, watching the action for a while. you aren't quite enjoying yourself, but the night hasn't been so bad thus far. everything flips on its head, however, when you see *her*. what is arlecchino doing here? it's no surprise considering how often she has nights out, but a part of you was hoping that you wouldn't run into her. you really weren't interested in seeing her charm another girl into bed.

the hole in your stomach only expands further when she walks over to you and sits herself next to you. she's blushed a little pink: she's had a little to drink too.

when you meet her eyes, the looks she gives you is something you've never seen from her, you don't think. her gemstone eyes meet yours, and they glint in a way that's alluring in a way you just can't look away from.

the two of you begin chatting, not really about much. it feels a lot easier when you've got a little drink in your system, though.

her eyes flit down to your lips a few times, maybe, you don't want to get too excited. the way she jokes with you could almost feel flirtatious, but you again, you don't want to raise your hopes too high. she moves closer and closer to you, until, all of a sudden, her dangerous eyes meet yours, dangerously close to meeting your lips with hers.

"baby, can I kiss you? I've haven't been able to take my eyes off you all night."

you barely have to breathe out a "yes" before her lips are on yours, and her calloused hands are on your sensitive hips.

she leads you up to a bathroom upstairs, and fuck, her fingers are like magic. you never thought a woman could take you that high with just her hands.

tomorrow it's going to be awkward as anything, but right now, with her lips on your neck and her hands scratching your thighs, you really couldn't care less.

oughhh ohhh thank you anon i love womanizer!arle

i'll be thinking about this today...

and, consider, the aftermath isn't so bad. you both get home, somehow, and she's put you in your bed, nice and snugly. she took your makeup off for you and fixed your hair, even if she was a little drunk.

i bet if you two confess, she's more than happy to take you out on a date. but she wants to do it right. she wants it to be perfect because she doesn't just want you to share her bed, she wants your heart 🤭

[waywardxwords]

Chapter 8 - Save Me

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: Slight language; there's a ton of dialogue in this one but I feel like it's necessary to prep for the chapters ahead

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~3k

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7]

If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know how you felt about going to Kansas for the unforeseeable future. While it wasn’t like you went into an office everyday and you could really work from anywhere within the United States, you had still built your life in Virginia. You had friends—especially Jen—and it felt weird leaving her here, unable to defend herself. But Dean had assured you she would be taken care of, and you knew that you were unable to defend yourself against these monsters Dean and Sam knew how to fight. 

“You about ready?” Dean asked as he tapped softly on your opened bedroom door. 

A heavy sigh fell from your lips as you looked at your packed-to-the-brim duffel bag and backpack. Dean said it was important to pack as light as possible, but without knowing when you’d be back, it was hard to be selective in what you brought. 

“I think so,” you mumbled, your lip caught between your teeth yet again. You released it as Dean stepped into the room. 

“Hey, I know this is a lot to take in,” Dean started slowly. Both of the boys kept treating you like you were made of glass, which was a little bit annoying but also made sense. It felt like you were all waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I’m okay,” you said out loud for him, but also for yourself. “I’m not really a big fan of the unknown…I’m a planner.” You mumbled as you looked around at your things.

“Not big on taking chances, huh?” Dean chuckled softly as his eyes watched you move. Again, it was like he was waiting for it all to set in and for you to crumble.

“Nope,” you sighed as you finally looked back at him. “Rule follower, remember?” You managed a half-smile as you remembered the first time you met in Atlanta.

“Oh, I remember,” Dean smirked back. He took a few steps towards you and you both sat on the edge of your bed. “Just keep in mind–this doesn’t have to be forever.” Your head had dipped a bit, so he moved his to find your gaze. 

“I get that,” you nodded. You didn’t want to offend him; this was his life. He was used to packing an ‘oh shit’ bag and getting out of town. He was used to all of the things that went bump in the night. You, on the other hand, were still trying to wrap your mind around it all. “I just wish I could circle a date on the calendar and know when I could come home.”

Dean nodded as he processed your words. “Tell ya what,” he started. “How about we take it one day at a time, for now,” he paused but you waited for the ‘and then’ part. “Once we get back to Kansas, we can sit down and come up with a plan. Figure out what it looks like so we can get you back home.” 

You didn’t want to be presumptuous, but there was a tone in his voice that almost sounded like he wasn’t looking forward to that. But since everything had happened, you really hadn’t been given a moment to figure out what this was between you and Dean.

“That sounds fair,” you answered honestly. Dean smiled and seemed hesitant, but leaned over and kissed the side of your head anyway.

“Good,” he seemed okay with your answer. He sighed and looked around at the rest of your room. “Anything I can do to help?”

You pushed your hair behind your ears and followed his gaze as you, too, looked around. “I don’t think so,” you said softly. “I’ve packed just about everything that will fit into my bags. I’m just worried I’m forgetting something.” 

“We do have stores in Kansas, ya know,” Dean winked as he stood and reached for your duffel. “Jesus, woman.” He muttered as he slung it over his shoulder. “You got a dead body in here, or what?”

You managed a laugh as you stood to follow him and slung your backpack up on your shoulders. “No, Dean, I think I’ll leave the dead bodies to you.” You patted him on the shoulder and walked just beyond him, but you heard him laugh as you rounded the corner into the hallway.

“Everything locked up?” Sam asked as you closed up the front door and headed to meet the boys in the driveway.

“Yep,” you sighed and readjusted your backpack a bit. “I mean, it probably doesn’t matter when it comes to demons, right? They can get through locked doors, I’m guessing.”

They didn’t answer you directly but nodded slightly. “I’m guessing you want to bring your car to Kansas?” Dean asked as he eyed your garage door.

“Oh, absolutely,” you answered quickly. “I just figured I would follow behind you guys, if that’s okay.” You said as you used the keypad on the side of the garage to type in your PIN number that opened the door. 

Sam and Dean stared at you, confused for a minute. “Sam’s flying back to Kansas,” Dean said. “This is a rental so I figured I’d drop it off on the way and hitch a ride with you, if that’s alright.” His words made you turn around slowly and your brows pulled together in confusion. 

“Wait,” you started carefully. “You flew here?” 

Dean caught why you were so surprised and flashed his white teeth in a small smile. He pulled at the back of his neck as Sam watched you both look at each other. “Sweetheart, I don’t own European cars. Don’t drive ‘em either, if I can help it.” He shrugged as he thumbed to the Volkswagen Jetta in your driveway. 

“Okay,” there was more you wanted to say but you decided not to rub in how much Dean hated flying in front of Sam. You weren’t familiar with their dynamic at all, but Dean had told you that he didn’t like being afraid, and that he always tried to be strong for his brother. You didn’t want to embarrass him or say something you shouldn’t in front of Sam. “Do I wanna know why you have to get back to Kansas quickly?” You turned your gaze to the younger Winchester. 

Sam chuckled softly and shook his head. “Work…related,” he mumbled. “So probably not.”

You nodded once and turned back to your car. “Okay, then,” you breathed. “I’ll follow you to the airport and wait for you to drop off the rental.” 

You loaded up your backpack and Dean tossed your duffel bag in the car.  As you both turned away, you faced each other, maybe a foot apart. 

“I’ll see you at the airport,” he said softly. 

“Be safe,” you said back as you studied his features and tried to read what he was thinking. He nodded, and after one more look, he went to walk back to the rental car. 

Before he could step away, you took a chance. You reached for his jacket and tugged so he turned back to you. With his jacket still between your fingers, you pressed your lips to his in a rather quick, but hard kiss. For a moment, he paused but then his hands cupped your face as he kissed you back. 

As the pop echoed around you, you didn’t notice how Sam had turned to give you some privacy and scratched awkwardly at the back of his head. “What was that for?” Dean asked as his eyes looked between yours. 

“To say I’m sorry, again, for not believing you,” you started softly but continued before he could say anything. “And for saving my life.” A small smile tugged up the corner of his lip just enough for his dimple to appear. 

“I don’t want you to apologize to me again, got it?” His thumb caressed your cheek gently. 

“No more apologizing from either of us,” you stared into his eyes until he nodded. 

“Deal,” he agreed, though somewhat hesitantly. 

“Okay,” you pulled back and waved at Sam. “Thanks to you too, Sam.” You called after him. He turned back around and nodded. “And I guess I’ll be seeing you in Kansas.”

“I’ll see you there,” he nodded as he waved. “Drive safe.”

You nodded and watched Dean walk back to the car. Just before he climbed into the driver’s seat, he called out after you. “And I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Even after everything, you couldn’t help the heat that radiated in your cheeks or the way a smile pulled across your lips. 

Dean had dropped Sam off at the drop off area at the airport. Once he had gathered his backpack, you followed Dean to the rental car return. It only took a few minutes before you popped the trunk to your Toyota Camry and waited for Dean to toss in his duffel bag. 

He pulled open the passenger door and leaned down. “You want me to drive?” He asked carefully. Dean seemed like the kind of guy who preferred driving, but you smiled and shook your head ‘no’ anyway. 

“How about I take the first shift? And then we can switch,” you suggested. He seemed content enough with that response and climbed in. “Sorry it’s not the Impala.” You offered with a small smile. 

“Ah, it’s alright,” he sighed as he pulled on his seatbelt. “I’ll get you in a Chevy or Ford, eventually.” He smiled back. You chuckled softly and shook your head as you pulled away from the airport. 

“What’s the address?” You asked as you toyed with the navigation on the dash. 

Dean grumbled, something about fancy cars and shitty navigation systems but you just rolled your eyes. He plugged in an address for Lebanon, Kansas. 

“Jesus,” you mumbled, as the screen totaled your drive time at 20 hours and 32 minutes. 

“Buckle up, sweetheart. Hope you’re ready for a long drive,” Dean chuckled. It was already late into the evening, pushing midnight by now. 

“It’s weird, I feel like I’ve been up for days at this point,” you muttered as you adjusted the air and your seatbelt. 

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” He eyed you carefully. That was the thing about Dean’s gaze: you could feel it even when you didn’t see it. 

“I’m alright. We can switch when we stop,” you shifted the car into drive and eased on the gas. Dean unbuckled his seat belt to pull off his jacket before he buckled it again. “I’m supposed to call Jen tomorrow. I’m not even sure what to say to her, she recognized you from the photos we found online.” The sound of your voice was anything but strong as your stomach flip-flopped. 

“I’m guessin’ the truth isn’t an option?” Dean asked. 

You shook your head no. “And say what? She got possessed by a demon named Meg, her eyes turned black and she flung me against the wall a few times? Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’d have me committed,” you fell into a comfortable speed as you got on the interstate and hit cruise control. 

Dean half chuckled and shook his head as he glanced out the passenger window and then back to the windshield, his features illuminated by the headlights of drivers coming down the other side of the highway. “That probably wouldn’t go over too well. It’s a lot for anybody to take in.”

You muddled over a thought before you said it out loud. “How did you take it when you first found out?” You asked him as you glanced between him and the road ahead of you. 

His brows kind of pulled together and you took that as his thinking face. “I don’t really know how to explain that,” he started softly. “It’s all I’ve ever known, really.”

Shock had to have graced your features but you tried to calm your expression. While you recognized this was all new to you, it wasn’t to Dean. And you certainly didn’t want to offend him. 

“When did you find out about the things that go bump in the night?” You asked him carefully. 

“When I was four,” he didn’t look at you when he answered. Instead, his gaze went out the passenger window again as he watched the trees pass by in darkness. 

“Four?! Dean, you were a baby,” you breathed. And then you remembered. “You were four when your mom died…”

There was a moment of silence that you took as his acknowledgment that you had the right idea. But then, he continued. 

“My Dad kind of went into overdrive at that point. Trying to find what killed her,” he explained. You nodded as you tried to absorb it. When he didn’t offer up anything additional, you broke the silence. 

“You were just a kid, Dean…” you felt a pang of sadness for the man next to you. It made you angry, even. “No kid should ever have to go through that.”

“No kid should have to lose their parent to some supernatural asshole, either,” he said back firmly. You somehow knew he wasn’t upset with you by the comment, just trying to make you understand. “Seeing my Dad go through that, and having to make sure Sammy was okay…” he shook his head as he trailed off. 

The dots started to connect for you. Dad was busy fighting the monsters, Dean had to take care of his brother, you kept your thoughts to yourself but made a mental note. He had to be strong—couldn’t be afraid. 

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat and resituated himself in his seat. “All that to say, I don’t know what it’s like, really, to be thrown into this world that I live in. But I know it can’t be easy.”

“I don’t want you to worry about me, Dean,” you answered quickly, and you meant it. It seemed as though Dean was worried about protecting everyone in his life and being strong through it. “I don’t want to burden you with that.”

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna worry about you whether you’re sitting right here next to me, or you’re thousands of miles away in another state,” he looked at you when he spoke. “And it’s not a burden.”

“Can I ask you something?” Your bravery to ask the hard questions surprised you. Something about being in the car with him for almost a full day made your usual resolve soften. 

“Shoot,” he stole another glance at you. 

“Do you like it? Fighting…monsters?” You asked, for lack of a better word. 

Dean mulled it over before he answered right away. “I like helping people,” he said simply. “I like being able to save people so they won’t have to go through the same thing we did.”

“But who saves Dean Winchester?” Your eyes found him in the dark car once again.

“I don’t need saving, sweetheart,” he smirked again, a hint of confidence to his tone.

“Everybody needs saving sometimes, Dean,” you answered softly.

The only noise around you came from the hum of the engine.

“I guess Sammy does,” Dean looked out the window. You could tell he didn’t want the conversation to continue at that point, so you switched gears slightly.

“Does it ever scare you?” The idea of fighting monsters terrified you, but you were curious if Dean was ever afraid. 

He seemed to process the question like it was something he had never been asked, which shocked you considering the line of work. “I mean, I guess sometimes. Usually when one of us is in trouble.” You nodded, but he continued. “When one of us is knockin’ on death’s door, I guess that scares me.”

Each new fact you found out about this life Dean lived in brought on a new wave of shock. “Death?” You asked him as you looked between him and the road. 

Dean chuckled, but you could tell it was from him being a bit uncomfortable. “Let’s save that one for another day,” he shifted in his seat. 

Maybe that was a good idea. You redirected the conversation slightly. “Where does your fear of flying fall on the scale of being scared?” You smirked. 

“Oh, that one’s still at the top of the list,” he winked with a wide smile that reflected the light from the streetlights as you drove, welcoming a lighter conversation.

“But you got on a plane anyway. To get to me,” you stole another glance in his direction. 

“Well, yeah,” he said simply. “Sam said I should let it go, that something must have made you change your mind. But when I couldn’t reach you…” he shook his head. “I just had to be sure you were alright.” His words caused a flutter to form in your stomach, and you smiled, but that was shortly followed by a yawn that tugged at your jawline. “Getting tired?” Dean asked.

You shrugged a bit but couldn’t help the nod that followed. “It’s been a really long day,” you sighed. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“That’s what happens when shock starts wearing off,” he reached to place his hand just above your knee over your denim jeans. It was obvious it was meant as something comforting as his thumb traced small circles on the fabric there. “Why don’t we pull off? I can switch with you.”

“Dean, you need sleep, too,” you argued.

“We can stop eventually if I get tired, too. But I’m alright, sweetheart,” his voice was gruff and raspy–you could sense the exhaustion there, but you obliged.

There was a rest stop up ahead and you took the exit slowly. Once the car was in park, you opened the driver’s door to switch with Dean. As you both got settled in your new seats, Dean pressed a quick kiss to your temple before he adjusted the mirrors. 

“You just get some rest,” he said gently. 

You nodded against the headrest of the seat and closed your eyes. “Night, Dean.” It wouldn’t take long for sleep to find you.

A/N: Happy Thursday, friends! I know this chapter probably felt a bit "filler" with the dialogue, but it was important for the development of future chapters. I promise things will get more interesting in the next chapter!

Let me know what you think! I appreciate all the likes, comments & reblogs more than you know!

Chapter 9 will be posted on (or maybe before, TBD) Thursday, 4/25!

Chapter 9 Preview:

One blink, then two. The hum of the engine and vibration in the seat of the car reminded you where you were. There were so many emotions that coursed through you as you remembered: demons, monsters, Dean. 

Your nose twitched as you smelled the air and your eyes were drawn over to Dean. The sun was out now–high in the sky.

“Dean?” You cleared your throat as you shifted in the passenger seat to sit up fully. He did a double take and you saw the smile spread across his lips.

“Morning, sunshine,” the gruffness to his words and the look on his face made your stomach flip–or was that hunger? You settled on a mixture of both. 

“What time is it? Where are we?” You asked as blinked a few more times to try to take in your surroundings. 

“It’s about 8:30,” Dean answered as he glanced at the clock. “And we’re about an hour outside of Louisville, Kentucky.” 

“Jesus, I slept for eight hours, Dean! You should’ve woken me up,” you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and felt around your hair inconspicuously. You didn’t want to give away that you were slightly concerned with what you looked like after passing out in the passenger seat. God, what if you drooled?! You swiped your fingers across your mouth quickly. 

“Nah, you needed the sleep,” he answered simply. “You had a rough few days there.”

“Thanks,” you breathed. Suddenly your stomach groaned and you hoped he couldn’t hear it. “I’m starving. How about we stop and switch off again?”

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[hervoiceinthedark]

i was there when the goddess was killed.

it's true, i shouldn't have been, but when i heard the execution was happening so close, i was overcome by curiosity. i snuck to the outskirts of town, the small shack they built for this purpose.

no one knew why, but there were rumors.

"i heard it's 'cuz only the regency's best-trained can even look at it without melting," one of the rumors said.

"i thought it was because when it dies, it's going to burst into a ball of flame that burns everything around it!" went another.

no one could agree, except on this:

whatever the reason for the closed execution, the goddess was dangerous, evil, and it was for the good of all.

but i didn't know any better.

"none of you have even seen her," i kept saying. "how do they execute a goddess, anyways?"

they just told me i was a childish fool.

when i got there, i saw the shack was small and shoddily built, with no windows and no lock on the door. i guess they counted on people's trust in the regency, or their fear of the goddess.

i had neither. when i heard them coming, i hid in a tree and watched.

there were four of them, the witch-hunters, and her in the middle. they tromped down the path, talking loudly with each other, laughing boisterously. they didn't seem afraid, or apprehensive about what they were about to do.

and the goddess... seemed so small.

this was not like what we'd been told. she stumbled when pushed, her bare feet bloody and swollen. the bag over her head obscured her features, but she didn't struggle, or speak. her hands were bound, and she wore a rough dress; prisoner's garb.

i held my breath as they passed.

"get in there," one snarled, kicking the bound figure into the shack. i heard her gasp in pain as she fell, unable to catch herself.

the hunters entered, and the door closed. i couldn't quite make out their voices from my hiding place, so i climbed down to get closer.

the door was as cheap as the rest of the shack, and one of the boards had a large hole rotted into it. closing one eye, i peeked in.

"...some goddess," one of the hunters was saying. the rest laughed. they weren't looking at her, still collapsed on the dirty shack floor.

after exchanging boasts and making jokes, one reached down and yanked the hood off, and i saw her.

she looked so... human. so frail. but not scared, not in the slightest. in fact, she looked almost calm, gazing up at her captors as though they'd invited her to a tea party.

they quieted then, boisterousness curdling into awkwardness.

one of them cleared his throat. "any, any last words, fiend?" he tried to growl, gruffness belayed by his stutter.

"No," she said, and her voice rang in my ears, clearer than the bluest sky, as bright as the sun.

"I will speak, but these words will not be my last, despite this crude attempt to cut them short," she said.

the men looked at each other, seeming almost ashamed. "we—it's just our orders," he started to say, but the goddess turned her eyes to him, and he stopped.

"Do what you must, and face the consequences," she said. "Just know that in doing so, you end this reign of men like yourselves."

the hunters shuffled their feet, and didn't meet her eyes, or each others'.

eventually, one drew his sword, and the others followed suit.

without another word, they raised their weapons above their head.

"Now it's all up to you," the goddess said as the swords came down.

her eyes bored directly into mine, maintaining contact even as her head fell to the floor.

there was no blood. there was no sound.

as we all watched, the four hunters and the secret spectator, her body unspectacularly crumbled into dust, leaving nothing.

except... her final gaze, and words, were burned into my eyes and mind.

when the hunters, seeming disoriented, began to turn, i ran as fast as i could.

back at home, i locked the door, and put a chair up against it for good measure. the goddess's words continued to echo in my mind, and i couldn't shake the feeling that they really were meant for me.

and her eyes...

i gasped, wincing as a burst of pain shot through my head.

i stumbled over to my closet and fumbled around for my mirror. there was an intense pressure in my skull, like it was being squeezed from all sides. my eyes were watering, and i could barely see. my throat, too, burned as though i'd swallowed a live coal, and i coughed and coughed.

i pushed aside garments, choking and crying. the tears that dropped onto my skin burned where they landed, and brushing them off did nothing to stop the sensation.

by the time i finally found the hand mirror, a small, round thing that had cost me a fair deal, i could barely see.

i blinked the tears away, realizing as my vision cleared that there were streaks of bright crimson running down my cheeks. my mouth, too, was flecked with blood, and as i failed to contain another cough i watched it splatter the mirror.

and my eyes... all i could see were Hers.

Her eyes, overlaid on mine like in a dream, piercing through the pain that filled my skull. as i stared into the mirror, the crushing headache faded slowly, as did the burning in my throat.

Her words repeated in my head, louder and louder, swirling around the fog of my mind.

"it's all up to me now," i whispered, and it was not my voice.

[It's all up to Me now,] She repeated in my mind, and i tasted sweetness on my lips.

i cleaned up the mess i made, wiped the mirror, unblocked the door. by the time they came for me, i knew i would be long gone.

She was so weak, then. we hid for a long time, moving from place to place, binding our eyes and speaking as little as possible. we helped where we could, using Her words to help, to lessen hurt. every small thanks we were offered, every small offering in return grew Her strength.

these days, She barely needs me. i exist in the back of Her mind, scarcely aware of how She uses what is now Her body, and i would have it no other way.

i only hope that, should what i have offered not be enough, whoever She plants Herself in next grows to love Her as i do.

[crybaby-bkg]

okay but like……….toxic Dabi that wants everything you two have built together to crumble so badly. not because he hates it, or is getting bored of you, but because the calmness that falls around you and your relationship with him is…..baffling, to say the least. he’s used to destruction and chaos and flings and heartbreak and angst. he’s not used to being invited in, to being welcomed, to being accepted, to being loved. it’s foreign, and it’s starting to make a knot form in the pit of his belly every time he’s with you.

he’s fucking you one night, rolls you over so he’s on top again, and gets this look on his face. you can tell by now what it is—he’s in his head again, wondering how he can fuck up your relationship this time. so you take it with a grain of salt when he opens his big, dumb mouth suddenly.

“What if I just trapped you right now? Just held you down, and came inside of you? Put a baby in you?” His voice is eerily quiet under the sounds of your skin slapping together, the squelching from between your legs. you only reach up to stroke his cheek, pulling him down to kiss him quiet, whispering against his mouth,

“If you wanna get me pregnant, then just say that.” You tell him, eyes fluttering open to watch his squeeze shut. “I can make an appointment with my gyno to start preparing my body for it.” You’re so reassuring, that it disarms him. Dabi only nods, quiet finally, and doesn’t pull out when he cums.

or other times, when you’re making dinner for him, standing in your brightly lit kitchen in your underwear and his ratty shirt. he watches you with his chin in his palm, that same look gracing his face. you can practically feel him burning holes into the already hole filled shirt, and prepare yourself for his questions again.

“I could just whisk you away right now, you know that?” He mutters, eyes never leaving your form, your ass that peeks out. “Put you in a basement, far away from here.” And you disarm him again, walking over to where he sits with a wooden spoon in one hand, the other holding a palm underneath it.

“You wanna move? My apartment is feeling a little cramped these days.” You mumble, offering the spoon to his mouth. Dabi watches you for a few seconds before he opens his mouth, accepting the spoon, chewing as he eyes you warily before swallowing.

“Where were you thinking of moving to?” you ask him, wiping the corner of his mouth as he glares at you. but he tells you anyway, that he’s been looking at houses a few minutes away from here, that he saw one with three bedrooms and a big backyard.

other instances include him telling you that he could chain you down and keep you at his side forever and you ask him, when do you want to get married? or, that you try to kill him every time you cook and you ask him, what flavors am I missing for you? or, when he hides his face in your neck and curses about how much he can’t stand you or your stability or your stupid face or kind words and you ask him, when did you realize you loved me this much?

[duckietiewritestoo]

Jerk (Neil Lewis x Reader)

Alright, I'm going to make this quick. I was aiming for angst and to be honest, I don't like Violet. It's also been a while since I watched the film, so forgive me if I had some inaccuracies with the plot or characters. With that, please note I wrote this with all the jealousy and hatred I had. I really do love Neil as a character, but the movie can be a PAIN to watch.

Enjoy

WARNINGS: Angst, cringe, 2nd person pov

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

The store was closed for the night as the stars came out twinkling brightly to mark the end of the day, but you could’ve closed up earlier since no one came in during the working hours. You closed the store  tonight, it was your turn anyway. The keys jangled together while you attempted to silently turn the lock into place. The doors clicked and closed.  Your job here was smoothly done. The Gumshoe Video Store was closed for the night.

You sighed, stuffing the keys into your pocket. The doors were locked for good. You really hoped no one had the wise idea of breaking inside. It  was just a movie store, nothing else. Unless Neil had a valuable CD in there that people were aware of, no one would be breaking in. You didn’t know why you were worried, biting your nails so nervously. It was just a store. One you spent your time laughing in, enjoying time with friends and accidentally dropping a shelf full of movies down on your head once.

No one would break in.

And yet, it felt like your heart was slowly breaking down, and all the emotional walls you had built crumbled into pieces.

You slumped against the store door, burying your face into your hands. Fresh hot tears streamed down your cheeks and hands. Neil hadn’t been home for a year now. you paid his bills, his debts, and everything he owed. You had to run his store. He ran off with Violet for an “exciting” life, filled with crime. You missed the nerd, the idiot he was. He left, it all fell apart just like the bond you had. The store he worked hard on opening was falling apart. No one was coming in anymore. All of your friends were distant. He had torn down everything the blood, sweat, and tears of everyone went into working on.

She had taken him. The excitement Violet brought with her had lured Neil into an emotional whirlwind. You didn’t see what he saw in her though and could never think why he even liked her in the first place. She was cruel. 

Violet took Neil and shaped him into someone he wasn’t. He was a nerd, a movie lover, and a complete adorable dork. He probably didn’t like being considered a dork, but he was one. Neil was the only  lovable dork you wanted to see again.

Every breakup had caused him pain, and you felt sympathy for him. Violet would toy with him. The last breakup they had she claimed it was a joke! With every little thought you had, your fists curled up tightly, gripping your pants.

 Now Neil  turned to a crime of life? It wasn’t like him. Neil liked crime thrillers, but he’d never actually do it.

It was all Violet’s fault. But that was the jealousy talking, wasn’t it? It had its hold on you, firmly never letting you go. Whenever you thought about her, you got furious. It angered you to see her with him. He spent more time with her than anyone else. You knew it was jealousy that made you crave his attention and you wanted to blame it on something else, but it was true.

Or was it just all in your head? Were you truly blinded by anger and hatred that you created false thoughts for yourself? You didn’t know her that well. you only knew what Neil told you. You never really met her, you never really go to know her. So how could you judge her before you really knew who she truly was?

It was too late for that, they both were long gone. It seemed you never got the chance.

 You zoned out, looking into the distance as it seemed to fade out of your mind. The sun was setting, tinting the blue sky. you could see Neil walking down the street, his long hair a mess like always and his clothes too baggy on him. You could visualize it, you already were, imagining Neil walking down the street towards where you sat. He had this sheepish grin and kept walking, closer and closer.

You squinted. It wasn’t your imagination, it was actually Neil? He got closer until you could properly see him. He hadn’t changed one single thing in his appearance  in the year he was gone. You were certain he would’ve changed more. You gasped. 

“You?!” you exclaimed. He smiled that pretty grin you missed. 

“Yes, me,” Neil said. He still smiled with that goofy grin of his and a spark ignited in his blue eyes. Your cheeks flushed red. Neil was standing there for real, it wasn't a dream.

“You!” 

“Yes…Me.”

“You…” you whispered. Your voice faltered near the end. The disbelief and anger was setting in. “You…Neil…You…” He sighed.

“Yes, you know,” he said. You scoffed.

“Why did you come back?” you asked. You weren't expecting him to return at all. “Did Violet dump you? Again? Or did she finally push you over the edge?” Did you finally learn? His gaze lowered in shame, the gleam in his eyes dying out.

“C’mon, (Name), don’t say it like that. Besides, that’s not the reason why I came back,” he said.

“Oh, so what? Am I supposed to be happy you’re back?” you snapped, resting your hands on your hips. “You left us for her. I don’t forgive or forget easily, Neil. You should know that about me. Unlike you, I didn’t change.” 

The look in Neil’s eyes was one of hurt. A small scoff escaped his lips and the tears watered up in his eyes. You knew you had crossed a line, one you never crossed with him. 

“Oh, yeah, so what if I did? I don’t see or hear anyone else complaining about it,” He spoke, his voice rough with pain. Neil threw one hand in the air, almost exaggerating what he said. Your heart stung with guilt. “Maybe you’re the one who’s blind! Maybe you do need a change!”

“Neil, I–”

“No, (Name) I don’t want to hear it from you! You don’t get to talk.” The conversation escalated quickly. You groaned in frustration. You didn’t know how to deal with an angry, stubborn Neil. 

“I’m sorry!” you cried, struggling to conjure up words. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that!”

“It sounded like you did!”

“No, not at all, Neil! If you would just listen–”

“Well, I’m not gonna listen to you!” he exclaimed. “I came back hoping you would let me in! I left Violet, alright? I missed you and the rest of the gang, (Name)! Can’t you see that?” he pleaded. The glistening tears were visible in his eyes. Your expression softened. How could you stay mad at him?

“Why’d you leave Violet?” you asked quietly. You had to be gentle with Neil. Both of you were vulnerable and treading in dangerous waters.

“Were you ever jealous of her?” he asked. That caught you off guard. The blood quickly rushed to your cheeks, tinting them red. 

“No,” you lied, brushing it off. It was clear as crystal that you weren’t telling the truth. Neil let his shoulders slump.

“C’mon, (Name), don’t lie to me. I need your honesty,”  he said.

“Fine…I’m jealous of Violet.”

“You still are?” 

“Yes.”

“Why?” You inhaled deeply.

“She’s a femme fatale, you dork,” you replied. Your voice wavered, letting vulnerability through. “I can’t describe what she makes me feel, Neil. I just–” You gritted your teeth, trying to express yourself through your hands. 

“You just get frustrated,” he finished for you.

“Exactly!”  you exclaimed. “For about a year I thought you were a jerk leaving your friends behind! I felt betrayed, Neil! I still feel betrayed! You left without a word after she broke your heart too many times! She took you and turned and twisted you into another man I barely knew!  What do you even see in her?!” 

You were left without a breath after that rant, and you  took a seat back down on the curb, lowering your head. Almost everything you were thinking about earlier had been let out. Tears rolled down your cheek again, landing on the concrete. Neil sat down next to you. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“(Name), I’m so sorry,” he whispered, wiping a tear from your face. “If I had known–”

“It doesn’t matter now. What’s in the past is in the past,” you muttered, resting your head on his shoulder. “You can’t undo it, Neil.”

“But I want to try to,” he replied softly, kissing your cheek. “Just…please, give me a second chance, (Name). Trust me on this, I’m still me.” You sniffed.

“How do I know you’re still you?” you asked, rubbing your eyes.  Neil smiled warmly, rubbing your arm.

“Do you still think I’m a dork?” he asked.

“Hmmm, yes.”

“Then I’m still the Neil you love. I might’ve done some things that seemed out of character, but deep down I’m still me,” he said. Neil gently grabbed your chin and turned your face his way. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m not Violet.”

He wasn’t Violet and that was the truth. Neil was still Neil. You could see it in his eyes. Even if he did run off and leave everything in shambles, including your heart, you knew he could and would make it up to you. He was a sweet guy, a dork, and a nerd. 

You knew he would never be like Violet, he’d never break your heart, and if he did, he’d fix it.

You smiled softly, rubbing off whatever remaining tears you had. 

“Thanks, Neil…I’m sorry I called you a dork…” He shook his head.

“Nah, I deserved it,” he replied. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”  You laughed. 

“Don’t go apologizing after I did,” you said, still smiling. You stayed silent for a bit,  thinking about how to progress. “Let’s just...take baby steps. Yeah? Will that work?” Neil smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“Yeah, I could do that.”

[valenhui]

[ 8:43pm ]

pairing: wen junhui x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

wc: 800 and then some

warning(s): gender-neutral!reader, rusty writing (my bad), jun calls reader ‘love’ once, that’s about it really

notes: my first piece of writing here hello :o i hope you enjoy this little drabble in the meantime while i work on a longer full length oneshot. edited: 06/12/23

Junhui knew you better than you’d like to admit.

Having met by pure chance during your sophomore year of college, he had refused to leave your side—or life, rather—after breaking down the walls you had built up so high to protect yourself from the uncertainty of the world. 

He had sheltered you from the crumbling rubble and proved, time and time again, that he’d be there for you no matter the circumstances. He’s never done anything to make you believe otherwise and he knows that—he reminds himself of that—but it doesn’t provide much aid when he realizes you have been succumbing to the harsher side of your mind and he only just realized it. A part of him blames himself for not being more aware of the signs and being too caught up on work but he doesn’t dwell on his guilt for long. Not when he met your gaze from the kitchen island as you closed the door behind you and he saw the look of utter defeat on your face and he understood. Neither of you said anything–there was no need–and yet the silence surrounding you was so loud. You wished it was actually noisy, wished you could go unnoticed by everyone and everything but you couldn’t, because through a single glance, you had already told Jun everything. 

Your bag fell to the ground with a thud as you began stepping in his direction only for him to close the distance between you two before you could take another step. He doesn’t even waste a second before pulling you towards him and letting you bury your face into his chest as his arms wrapped around you. It was only then that you finally allowed yourself to fall apart, sobs wrecking through your body as Jun brought a hand up to hold the back of your head. 

“I’ve got you, love.” He cooed while stroking your hair as his free hand held you closer to his chest. “I’m here now, I’ve got you.” 

He repeated the words softly, contrasting the strong—but comforting—hold he held you in. It was almost as if he was scared that you’d fall apart if he let you go even an inch but when he remembered the look of defeat painted across your face, he held you a bit tighter anyways and closed his eyes as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. 

The two of you remained like that for a while, him whispering soft reassurances against your skin while you buried your face into his shirt, your hands balled up into fists clutching the sides of it as he held you. By the time you had calmed down, a majority of your body weight was leaning against him and in a softer scenario, he would’ve laughed. But this wasn’t one of those times. Instead, he supported your weight and asked if you’d like to go to bed, when your response in the form of a silent nod came, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and carried you in the direction of the bedroom. Before you even reached the bed however, Jun had taken you to the bathroom where he helped you wash your face—kissing at your cheeks where the salt had turned the skin red and irritated—and helped you change out of your outdoor clothes into one of his shirts.

When he finally brought you to bed, he wasted no time in wrapping the blanket around you and making sure you were comfortable, missing the way your brows slightly furrowed when you noticed he wasn’t actually under the covers with you. As he went to leave the bed, your hand had grabbed onto his wrist and was gently tugging him back. He glanced down at the sight and smiled before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then lips, and saying he’s just going to turn off the lights, squeezing your hand reassuringly before you reluctantly let it go. 

You watch as he first pulls the blinds shut before turning to switch off the light then finally coming back to bed as promised. He’s still adjusting the blanket to cover you both when you suddenly latch onto him, burying your face against his chest as he finally manages to fix the covers and is wrapping his own arms around you.

“I love you.” He says, though it’s mumbled as he presses a kiss on the top of your head. He repeats it again, soft but clearer this time, and he smiles as you nuzzle closer to him. 

A beat passes and suddenly, “Jun?” 

He hums in response, glancing down to see you looking up at him looking a little more relaxed. He bites back a small smile though it is no use when you say those four words back that has his heart fluttering every time he hears it: “I love you too.” 

[lanawrx]

Initial D request for reader who has an unrequited love for ryosuke but knows his heart belongs to Kaori (dead or alive in this scenario). You can make it angsty or have a romantic ending or both! Love to see what you create :)

Reader in love with Ryosuke Takahashi who can't move on from Kaori

I made Ryosuke have feelings for Reader but it's still angsty and he's obviously hung up over Kaori, hope that's okay! I sorta got caught up in dramatics, lol. Anyways, enjoy!

a/n: Can I just say that initial D women are SO beautiful. Every single one of them are so pretty and I looooove Shuichi Shigeno's old style. (fuck MFG, I hate their pit terrier heads 💀)

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You stood on the hillside overlooking the town, the cool evening breeze ruffling your hair as you watched the sun sink lower behind the mountains. The view was stunning, but your mind wasn’t on the scenery. Instead, it was on him—Ryosuke Takahashi.

You’d loved him for what felt like forever. From the moment you met, you admired his intelligence, his calm demeanor, his unwavering drive. He was everything you weren’t—sharp, calculating, focused. And yet, despite all that, he seemed to carry a weight with him that never left his eyes, no matter how much time passed.

That weight was her. Kaori.

You’d never met her, but you didn’t need to. Her absence was a constant presence in Ryosuke’s life, and the few times he spoke of her, it was as if he was lost in another world—one you could never reach. She had passed away long before you came into his life, but she still held his heart. It was something you understood, yet it left you hollow all the same.

You often caught yourself watching him from across the room during team meetings, the way he would fall silent, his mind clearly elsewhere. You knew where he was—back in those memories, back with her. And every time, it crushed you a little more, knowing that no matter what you did, no matter how much you cared for him, you could never be her.

It was unspoken, but you had long accepted that your love for him would always be unrequited. Ryosuke had built walls around himself, walls that no one—not even you—could break down. He kept you at arm’s length, close enough to care about, but far enough to never let you in.

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a soft glow over the empty parking lot where you and Ryosuke sat together, leaning against his FC. It had been one of those quiet, peaceful nights where words weren’t needed—just being near him was enough. You had started to wonder if, maybe, just maybe, Ryosuke was beginning to feel the same way about you. The way his eyes softened when they met yours, the comfortable silence that stretched between you—it all felt like a fragile new beginning.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Ryosuke said quietly, his voice low and calm as always, but with a hint of something warmer tonight.

You smiled, your heart fluttering at his words. “Me too, Ryosuke. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that this could work, that he could let go of the past and open his heart to you. He had been more vulnerable lately, more present. You could feel the walls between you starting to crumble, and you felt so close to him—closer than ever before.

"The moon is so beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

You held back a gasp at his words, eyes widening with joy as you hoped that this was leading to where you thought it'd be heading.

But then, in the middle of your contentment, his next words shattered everything.

“Kaori…”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your smile froze as if the world had suddenly stopped spinning.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Ryosuke’s eyes widened in horror the moment the name slipped out, his face paling. “I—no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

But it was too late. The damage was done. You felt the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the pain of his slip-up hitting you like a punch to the gut. All the hope you’d been nurturing crumbled in an instant, replaced by a raw, burning ache.

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, but your voice cracked as you forced the words out. “It’s fine, Ryosuke.”

Before he could say another word, you turned on your heel, your heart pounding as you hurried to your car, desperate to get away before you broke down in front of him. You couldn’t face him—not now. Not after this.

“Wait,” Ryosuke called after you, his voice strained with regret. “I didn’t mean to—”

But you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to. You just needed to run.

You slammed the door of your car shut and revved the engine, pulling out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The moment you hit the mountain pass, your foot pressed down on the accelerator, the speedometer climbing rapidly as you tore through the winding roads.

“Kaori,” you whispered, the name echoing painfully in your mind. “It’s always her.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. You needed to let it out—the frustration, the hurt, the anger. You screamed, slamming your foot down harder on the gas as your car flew through the corners with reckless abandon. The tires squealed as you barely managed to control the turns, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you pushed the car faster and faster.

He would never see you. He would never love you, not the way you loved him. Kaori’s shadow would always be there, lingering between the two of you, keeping him from moving forward. No matter how much you tried to be there for him, no matter how much you wanted to be enough, you would never be her.

her.

Her.

HER!!

The tears came harder now, and with them, a bitter scream that ripped from your throat, echoing through the empty mountain road.

You were angry—angry at him, angry at yourself for falling for someone who could never fully give himself to you. You knew it, deep down, but you hadn’t wanted to believe it until now. And it hurt.

God, it hurt so much.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you pulled over to the side of the road, your hands trembling as you gripped the steering wheel. You sat there, shaking, the sobs coming in waves now, the weight of your heartbreak crashing down on you all at once.

He didn't even go after you.

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It was Kyoko who picked up when you called her later that night, your voice barely recognizable through the tears. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry. She simply listened as you cried, as you poured your heart out to her, telling her everything that had happened.

“I was so stupid,” you said, your voice raw and broken. “I thought maybe he could love me too. But he called me her name. I’ll never be enough for him, Kyoko. I’ll never be her.”

Kyoko’s voice was soft, steady, and full of sympathy. “You’re not stupid. You’re just in love with someone who hasn’t let go of the past. It’s not your fault.”

You sniffled, wiping at your eyes. “But he’ll never let go, will he? She took his heart with her when she left, and I’ll never have it. I’ll always just be a placeholder, a second choice.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and when Kyoko spoke again, her words were careful but firm. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s not ready to let go. And if that’s the case, then you have to ask yourself—do you really want to keep chasing after someone who’s holding on to someone else?”

Her words hit you hard, and you fell silent, the reality of it all sinking in.

“I know it’s not easy,” Kyoko continued, her voice filled with understanding. “I’ve been there. I still have feelings for Keisuke, you know? Even though I knew I couldn’t have him, I still wanted him. But I had to respect his choice. He wanted to focus on racing, and that meant not being with me. It hurt, but… I had to let him go.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady your emotions. “But how do I let go of Ryosuke?”

Kyoko’s voice softened even more. “You deserve someone who gives their all to you. Someone who’s ready to love you with their whole heart, not just a part of it. And Ryosuke… maybe he’ll get there someday. But right now, he’s not. And you can’t keep hurting yourself waiting for him to change.”

A fresh wave of tears welled up in your eyes, but this time they were quieter, less frantic. You knew she was right. As much as it hurt to admit it, Kyoko was right. You couldn’t keep chasing after someone whose heart still belonged to someone else, someone who was already gone.

“I just… I just wanted him to love me,” you whispered, your voice breaking again.

“I know,” Kyoko said softly. “But you can’t make someone love you. And you shouldn’t have to.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “I guess I just need to move on, huh?”

Kyoko let out a small, bittersweet laugh. “Easier said than done, right? But yeah, maybe it’s time. And who knows? Maybe one day, Ryosuke will realize what he’s lost. But don’t wait for that day. Live your life for you. Love yourself enough to let go.”

As the conversation came to a close, you felt a strange sense of peace settle over you, even though the pain was still raw. You weren’t over Ryosuke—not yet—but Kyoko’s words had given you something you desperately needed: clarity.

Maybe you couldn’t change Ryosuke’s heart, but you could choose to protect your own.

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The air was thick with tension as the usual hum of excitement surrounded the Project D meetup. Keisuke glanced at Ryosuke, who was leaning against his FC with a distant look in his eyes. He hadn’t been himself lately—his focus was scattered, and he seemed completely oblivious to the discussions and strategies being tossed around by the others. It was clear something was bothering him.

“Hey, Ryosuke,” Keisuke called, motioning for his brother to step aside. The others didn’t notice as they continued discussing their upcoming races, their laughter echoing in the air.

Ryosuke followed Keisuke a few paces away, his brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“You’ve been out of it. You’re not even coaching us properly.” Keisuke’s tone was firm, bordering on annoyed. “What’s going on?”

Ryosuke hesitated, the weight of his feelings pressing heavily on his chest. “It’s... it’s complicated,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Complicated how?” Keisuke pressed. “You’re usually so calculated. You’re acting like an idiot right now.”

Ryosuke flinched at his brother’s words, the sting of the truth hitting him hard. He was being reckless, and he knew it. “It’s about… her.”

Keisuke crossed his arms, his expression shifting to concern. “What happened?”

“I messed up,” Ryosuke admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I accidentally called her Kaori’s name. I didn’t mean to, but it just slipped out, and now she won’t answer my calls or show up to any of the meets.”

Keisuke stared at him, incredulous. “You called her by another woman's name? Are you serious? That’s a rookie mistake, Ryosuke!”

“I know!” Ryosuke snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t mean for it to happen! It was just a moment, and now… now she thinks she’ll never be enough for me.”

Keisuke’s expression softened slightly, but he remained stern. “You need to fix this. She’s not just going to come back on her own. You have to show her that you care—really care. Stop moping around and get out there.”

Ryosuke let out a heavy sigh, the gravity of his brother’s words sinking in. “But what if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“Then you’ll have to make her want to. For crying out loud, she probably thinks you don't give a single shit about hurting her with how long you've made her wait! Go after her!” Keisuke urged, his voice filled with urgency.

Ryosuke hesitated for a moment longer before the realization hit him hard. “You’re right. I can’t just sit here.”

Without another word, he turned and bolted toward his FC. He slid into the driver’s seat, heart racing, and immediately started the engine. As he pulled out of the lot, Keisuke watched him go, hoping his brother wouldn’t screw this up again.

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The drive felt like a blur, the familiar roads leading him back to the emotions he had tried to bury. He raced through the twists and turns, adrenaline pumping in time with his heart. All he could think about was making things right, showing you that he was more than just a guy clinging to the shadows of his past.

Arriving at your house, he parked hastily and hopped out, his mind racing. He knocked on the door, anxiety twisting in his stomach. When there was no response, he knocked again, louder this time.

You sat in your room, the silence pressing in around you, a heavy cloak of loneliness. You didn’t know how long you could keep avoiding Ryosuke, but each time you thought about seeing him, the memory of that name slipping from his lips burned fresh in your mind. It hurt in a way that felt endless.

When you heard a car pull up outside, your heart raced—not with excitement but with dread. You peered out the window, and your breath hitched when you saw Ryosuke’s FC parked on the curb. The world around you faded as you felt the weight of his presence so close yet so far.

There was a knock on your door, firm yet hesitant. You didn’t answer, feeling tears well up as you hugged your knees to your chest, fighting the urge to break down.

Ryosuke’s voice came softly through the door as he called your name with a desperate plea in his tone. “Please. Can we talk?”

You stayed silent, not knowing what to say. You could hear the tension in his voice, the regret that laced every word, but the hurt still felt too fresh.

“Just… just open the door,” he pleaded, desperation evident. “I know I messed up. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that name. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

A lump formed in your throat as you held back the tears. “You did hurt me, Ryosuke. You hurt me a lot.”

The door creaked open, and there he stood, looking more vulnerable than you had ever seen him. The usual calm confidence was gone, replaced by an anxious energy. His eyes searched yours, filled with sincerity and remorse.

“Please let me explain,” he said, stepping forward, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“No,” you said, voice trembling. “You don’t get it. I don’t want to hear excuses. I don’t want to feel like I’m competing with someone who isn’t even here anymore.”

Ryosuke’s expression shifted, pain etched across his features. “You’re not competing. Kaori was part of my past. I’m here now. With you.”

“But every time you look at me, it’s like you’re seeing her,” you admitted, tears spilling over as you struggled to hold it together. “I’m right in front of you, and yet it feels like I’m invisible. It kills me, Ryosuke. I’m so deeply in love with you, and it hurts every time you’re obviously somewhere else, even when you’re right next to me.”

He took a step closer, desperation in his gaze. “I don’t want that. I want you. I’ve tried to move on, but I’ve been stupid. I let my past cloud my feelings for you, and I never wanted to make you feel like you were second best. You’re everything to me.”

Your heart raced at his words, hope and heartbreak warring within you. “Then why did you say her name? Why can’t you let go?”

“I thought I had,” he replied, his voice shaking slightly. “But I was wrong. I let my memories take over, and I hurt you in the process. I’m so sorry. I want to be with you, but I need you to understand that I’m still figuring this out. I don’t want to lose you, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m seeing someone else in your eyes.”

The raw honesty in his words struck you, and for the first time since that night, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe this wasn’t the end after all.

“Then show me,” you whispered, your heart aching with uncertainty. “Show me that you want me.”

“I will,” he promised, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you. I don’t want to lose you to my mistakes.”

The warmth of his touch sent a rush of emotions flooding through you. With a shaky breath, you nodded. “Okay. Just… promise me you won’t ever let your past come between us again.”

“I promise,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve all of me, and I’m going to give it to you.”

As the tension in the room began to fade, you felt the weight on your chest lift slightly, replaced by the warmth of his presence.

Kaori would always be a part of his past, but you were his future. And as you held onto him, you knew that the love you had dreamed of for so long was finally within reach.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

[beanghostprincess]

Usopp has chronic pain specifically headaches and migraines

It used to be chronic headaches after alabasta. They would dull but would last all day. He'd stay inside and avoid bright lights when he gets them. He doesn't really try to get ready in the morning due to the pain. He loses his appetite and is not as cheerful as he usually is. Sanji of course is concerned as is every one else, but usopp says he's fine he can handle himself. It's very noticeable that he's uncomfortable but seems to be functioning he tells them not to worry about it so they respect his wishes. Sanji does keep an eye on him letting him have private moments of vulnerability, holding him kissing his head and whispering words of comfort.

After Skypia after Luffy dropped that weird fruit on his head (He really could have killed him 😭) and mainly wano his headaches got worse and quickly started becoming migraines. Something he kept to himself not wanting his friends to worry about him. He'd power thru them the best he can going the whole day in pain without anyone noticing.

It started to become difficult to hide when it started affecting his vision and hearing. They found him in the bathroom sick from the pain. Franky carried him to his bed while copper brought strong pain meds that knocked him out. Sanji would be in bed with him feeding guilt for not noticing his pain sooner.

Why would you say this-- I had enough with the headcanon of Zoro having chronic pains, I did not need this,,, But I love it, though, big fan of the angst.

After everything they've been through (especially Usopp, who's not built different like the monster trio) it's just normal that he ends up like this. He keeps saying he's fine because he doesn't want to be a burden, but Sanji knows something's wrong. You can't help somebody who refuses to be helped, though, so Sanji just tries to keep an eye on him and give him private moments to rest.

I think Usopp ends up telling Sanji about his pain, but only Sanji. He's the one who takes care of Usopp when his head hurts too much to work. Usopp gets frustrated because he really wants to be helpful and not turn into somebody they have to carry around, but everything hurts too much to even complain about that. It breaks Sanji's heart to see his sniper act this way, and even if he normally would ask Chopper for help, he doesn't say anything because Usopp told him not to. At least not yet. So sometimes they go to sleep earlier than usual. Sometimes Sanji stays up with Usopp when he's the one watching the ship. Sanji hugs him close, kisses his temple, and keeps whispering sweet nothings to him in order to help him sleep. Usopp is only this vulnerable when it comes to his boyfriend. Sanji is being optimistic, though, everything will be okay. He won't let it become too much for Usopp to handle.

But he doesn't notice when it becomes too much because Usopp starts hiding it from him too, and when they find him in the bathroom and they have to take care of him, Sanji feels the weight of the world crushing him completely. His whole universe is crumbling down. Chopper gives something to Usopp to help him sleep for a while before they start asking him questions, and Sanji literally goes into breakdown mode instantly. He repeats "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should've helped you sooner. I should've known. I'm sorry. Love. I-" next to Usopp's bed. Nobody wants to say anything, but Nami is the one to approach him and tell him that it's not his fault. Nobody noticed anyway. But Sanji shakes his head and explains that he should have known because he knew he was in pain, he just didn't know it was that bad. And then something like this happens:

Chopper: Sanji! I'm not mad, but... If you knew something was wrong with him, you should've told me. I'm your doctor, after all. Sanji: I know. I know. I'm sorry, Chopper. I know. I- Zoro: This is not something you can keep to yourself, curly, you should have said something. If something happens to him- Sanji: Do you think I don't know?! What the fuck did you want me to do?! Zoro: I don't know, tell somebody instead of keeping it a fucking secret and risking his life? Sanji: ... He told me not to tell you. Zoro: Awesome. Next time I get stabbed I'll just not tell you. Nami: You don't tell us now, anyway. Sanji: See? This is the fucking problem. It's not the same! You wouldn't understand and that's exactly why he didn't want you to know. If marimo gets fucking stabbed, he'll sleep the pain away. If Usopp gets hurt, he'll- He won't be a burden. He could never be, but- But he'll think he is. Do you have any idea of how hard it has been for me to see him like this?

Long story short, Zoro and Sanji fight like always but Nami stops them and Sanji stays with Chopper and Luffy waiting for Usopp to wake up. They will eventually find something to help Usopp deal with the chronic pain, don't worry. I just really like angst.

[jedipoodoo]

Notes: I watched Raiders of the Lost Ark and now Hunter and Saachi have Indy and Marion vibes teehee. Takes place after the escape from Tantiss

"No, Saachi, it's fine, I can take care of it myself," Hunter insisted, grasping at the bacta patches.

"Everyone else has already been taken care of, you can't redirect me anymore," Saachi said, trying to pull it from his grip. His fingers shook, and she slipped it from his hand with ease, backing him into the bench against the wall.

"Saachi, no-" Hunter felt a whine rising in the back of his throat as Saachi took a sanitizing wipe and began to wipe down the bruise on the side of his head. He flinched away, but Saachi caught the side of his head before it smacked into the wall.

"Just hold still," Saachi cautioned, an edge in her "bedside manner" voice.

"It hurts!" Hunter snapped.

"I know it does, but if you just let me patch you up-"

Saachi placed her hand on his shoulder, inches from the old wound from Cad Bane. This long after, it didn't bother him much anymore. Usually. But usually, he hadn't been subjected to Hemlock's electroshock reconditioning. All the pain resistance and walls he'd built up as a soldier had crumbled away, he had no self control over his reactions and his senses. It was all too much, just too much.

"AH!" He cried out, curling in on himself. Saachi took a step back.

"That hurts too," He growled. He was angry. He shouldn't be angry. They were safe. They had killed Hemlock and made it away from Tantiss. He could relax now. Be he couldn't.

"Well where doesn't it hurt!?" Saachi shouted, throwing her arms up in the air.

Hunter sputtered for a moment at a loss for words. Where didn't it hurt? Didn't she understand everything he'd been through? She hadn't been taken and tortured by Hemlock and he was utterly grateful for that, but she didn't seem to understand that she couldn't fix everything all at once, even if she was a doctor.

He finally pointed to the tip of his elbow with sore fingers.

"Here!"

Without another word, Saachi leaned forward, gently kissing the designated spot.

Hunter paused. That was what she wanted?

"Here," He said, now pointing to his forehead. That was a lie, his head was pounding, and Saachi knew it. But she nudged his bandana to the side and kissed him there anyway.

"'N here," Hunter mumbled, motioning to his eyebrow. He felt ashamed of his outburst now. She'd only been trying to help, anyway.

Saachi brushed his bangs from his eyes to kiss the spot that didn't hurt, and this time when she leaned in, Hunter grabbed her shirt, holding her close.

"Here's not so bad," He said, finally pointing to his lip. Saachi smirked at him knowingly. She cradled his face in her hands, gently massaging the pressure point where his jaw met his ears. It was blissfully relaxing, especially as she kissed him, letting her lips linger on his as his eyes fluttered closed.

"'M sorry," He mumbled against her lips.

"I know you are," Saachi said knowingly, "Now sit back, Sergeant, and let me do my job."

[thathermitweirdo]

Sibling Issues

Hi everyone! This is a oneshot I wrote over TWO years ago. Kinda crazy, but here we are. I wanna start moving some oneshots over here to tumblr, but if you’d like to read more, check out my Wattpad :)

Anyway, Enjoy!

-

Xisuma sat on the edge of his storage tower, just as the sun began to descend over the jungle. The dusty orange glow of the horizon caused the leaves to gleam in the sunset. With the wind brushing through his chestnut hair, the admin took in a deep breath of fresh air. His helmet sat on his lap, allowing X to breathe freely.

Hermitcraft season seven had come to its end. Xisuma had let the hermits head to season eight, while he stayed behind to wrap everything up. The quiet was nice, to take a few moments to enjoy the peacefulness of the empty server. No pranking or firework rockets in the distance, the only sound was the rustling of the leaves that shook with the wind.

Xisuma watched silently as the sun slowly crossed over the horizon, the sky turning dark as the moon began to take its place in the sky. Stars twinkled above, gleaming down on the quiet little server. The admin shut his eyes, feeling the wind against his face, the gentle breeze brushing against his cheeks.

"Alright Xisuma. Enough wasting time. Get back to work." The Brit spoke to himself with a heavy sigh, placing his helmet over his head as he got to his feet.

The admin snapped his fingers together, a purple screen appearing before him. Xisuma typed away at the keyboard, hesitating as his hand hovered over the 'enter' key. This could risk everything that he had worked for. The identity that he had built, the life that he had created from scratch, it all could come crumbling to the ground if something went wrong.

"This needs to be done," Xisuma said to himself, trying to reassure his decision, although he didn't sound saddened or hesitant, even as he continued to speak. "I can't just leave him in the void. I never should have banned him to begin with."

He quickly pressed the 'enter' key on the screen, and within moments, Xisuma had spotted the chat message popping up.

<EvilXisuma joined the game>

Typing in another command, Xisuma hit enter once again, his brother suddenly teleporting right in front of the admin. Ex was stunned at the unfamiliar method of travel, dazed after returning from the void. It had been so long in the silence, the cold, empty, darkness that he had been locked away in.

Ex ripped off his helmet, dropping to his knees as he gasped for fresh air. He had breathed in the air of the void for so long that it burned his lungs to breathe the air of the overworld, but the evil hermit didn't care. It felt so fresh and warm, it was the greatest thing that Ex had felt in months.

He looked up at his brother, Ex still breathing heavily as his eyes flashed with burning hatred. There were deep scars across the Brit's face, much worse than the marks across Xisuma's face. The cuts and slashes were covering the majority of his face.

"Why...why am I here..?" Ex panted, his eyes trailing to the ground, unable to meet the steely glare of his brother. Xisuma smiled.

"I couldn't leave you there."

His brother laughed at that. "Oh, you couldn't leave me there? Well, you took EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME!" Ex snapped with his eyes looking up from the ground, the fire in his glare quickly burning out as he looked back to the safety of the ground.

"It would have been better if you had just left me there." He muttered underneath his breath, Ex placing his helmet over his head and adjusting it with a scowl across his face.

"I know," Xisuma said, staring down at his helpless brother. "But you also know I couldn't do that."

The two were silent for a couple moments, neither attempting to lock eyes with one another. After what felt like an eternity, Ex finally spoke up.

"W-...what season is it..? Last I remember, I was in season six, then I was suddenly back in the void."

"It's going to be season eight soon enough," Xisuma explained, "we just finished season seven. You and I are currently in my season seven base."

Ex smiled cruelly. "So, you're letting me join season eight?" He asked jokingly, Xisuma letting out a weak chuckle in response, his eyes narrowing.

"You'd tear everything apart. I can't let you do that."

"What? Just because you don't want the hermits to know the truth about you?" Ex asked tauntingly, his tone mocking the admin. Xisuma pulled out his blade, he and his brother locked eyes with one another. Ex grinned at this.

"There he is. There's the Xisuma that I know.." he said with a flat chuckle, Ex's words causing him to be met by the tip of his brother's sword.

"You don't know me at all." Xisuma growled, Ex audibly laughing.

"I know you better than any of the hermits ever could. I know the real you. You, Xisumavoid, are a heartless, cruel, monster. You kill anyone who figures out who you really are, just like how you killed Python and Biffa, along with anyone else who stood in your way."

Xisuma grinned, dragging the sword across his brother's neck. "They were the smart ones. But everyone else is too dense to realize. They all think that I'm just a derp, that I'm just 'good old Xisuma'. And they'll never think any differently of me."

Ex cussed underneath his breath, knowing that it was true. Although, the cussing turned into quiet laughter underneath his breath. The evil hermit smiled at his brother.

"So you're going to kill me? So no one will know?"

Xisuma smiled. "You know me so well, brother."

"Then, let me at least ask one question."

Xisuma thought for a moment, but he slowly nodded in agreement. Ex looked up at the admin, his eyes no longer filled with hatred, but with sorrow.

"Do you regret it? Any of it?” His brother asked earnestly, eyes filled with what seemed to be pleading.

“You stole the life that I was going to have,” He went on. “And you put me in the void while you ran off to join hermitcraft. I could have come along, I could have had something more than this worthless life in the void!”

X rolled his eyes, slightly raising his blade, but his brother persisted and he continued.

Ex stood up and stepped closer, almost taunting his sibling. The pleading gaze changed, shifted to a cold, yet burning determination. “But instead, you discard me while constantly lying to the people you called your friends! You gave me all these scars and made me this way! So tell me, brother, do you regret any of it?! From ruining my life to killing those hermits you called your friends?!"

Xisuma thought for a moment, then slowly, yet reluctantly nodded. "I do. I do regret one thing..." he said, lowering his sword away from his brother's neck.

Ex could barely react as the sword was shoved through his chest, Xisuma's face practically glowing with insane joy as a crazed grin spread across his face. Blood trickled down the netherite blade, dripping off the sword and into a small puddle on the ground.

"I regret not getting rid of you sooner."

Ex chuckled drowsily at that, it was clear he was beginning to lose consciousness. Xisuma pulled his blade out of his brother's chest, causing Ex to fall to the ground. He looked past the admin, looking out at the jungle, a weak smile coming across his face.

"T...the one thing I wanted to see while I was in the void...more than anything…” He began to cough and choke, blood running up his throat and spewing out his mouth as he tried to speak. “—was the sun..nice to see you w-waited just s-so I couldn't get the thing I wanted m-most.."

"Quit whining." Xisuma growled as he stabbed his sword into Ex's side, pulling out the blade once his brother had stopped breathing. A warm puddle of crimson blood surrounded the body, the admin dropping his weapon beside his dead sibling.

"I never really did like you. You were nothing more than a nuisance if you ask me." Xisuma said carelessly, shrugging it off as if Ex had meant less than nothing to him.

"Messing with you, the hermits, anyone really, all of this is more fun than you could ever imagine, Ex." Xisuma said, speaking to his brother as if he were still alive.

"The rush of killing, it's incredible. You wouldn't know. You were nice compared to what I've done, and that's why you're dead.” He said, dragging his gloved finger through the warm blood on the edge of his blade.

“This is all a game, and you just couldn't figure out how to play it right."

—

Xisuma stepped into spawn, the other hermits waving at him. They had been waiting for the admin before starting the new season. The large group of hermits all smiled and greeted him, unaware of what he had just done. Xisuma grinned and acted like his 'regular' old self.

The season started and all the hermits ran off to gather materials. Keralis had joined Xisuma in a small group with a few other hermits, gathering wood and stone to start. He noticed X joining the server, waving happily before coming up to the admin when everyone else was out of earshot.

"What took you so long, Shiswami? I almost thought you weren't coming!" He laughed, smiling at the admin. Xisuma chuckled, his smile sweet and his voice calm.

"Oh, you know, just sibling issues."