#counting down the sunsets until they can see each other again

[ingravinoveritas]

David and Michael wearing their respective GO 2 fleeces when they are apart, the way they do...

[junkissed]

goodnight n go

★ | member — fwb!vernon x f reader ★ | genre — smut, angst, non-idol au, happy ending, fwb to lovers ★ | word count — 10.2k

★ | synopsis — you keep coming back for more, but every night ends the same. maybe this time things will be different.

★ | warnings — guitarist!vernon, rock band!hhu, mentions of alcohol, vernon has commitment issues (but he gets over it) ★ | smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, consensual drunk sex, car sex, oral (reader receiving), fingering, piv, making out, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk vernon (he's down baddd), some aftercare ★ | notes — thanks to @onlymingyus for always being the best and to @wonustars for proofreading !! i did not intend for this fic to be this long but i'm actually really proud of how it turned out so i hope you like it!! also i often make playlists for my fics but i never share them, but i've been listening to this one for months while i've been writing this fic so i'll link it so you can listen too. if you enjoy this fic, please reblog and let me know in the tags!! reblogs are super important to tumblr and they help motivate me to keep writing more like this :)

check out the playlist! featuring — goodnight n go - ariana grande ; black eye - vernon ; uh oh - tate mcrae ; sunset - caroline polachek ; romanticise this - james marriott ; entertainer - zayn ; & more

“hey, you wanna get drinks tonight?”

as usual, that’s how it starts.

you probably should have said no. you’d played this game before. you knew exactly what hansol meant when he offered to hang out after band practice, because it was never just “hanging out”.

you don’t even know why you still go to practices anymore. for a long time you’d avoided them; it wasn’t really your style, and you were never interested in being a groupie for their local gigs. your roommate seungcheol always invited you to every practice and every time you declined with the excuse of homework or other plans, but cheol finally convinced you to come just one time.

at first, it had been because he wanted you to hear a new song they were working on and he’d wanted to know how you liked it before they played it at an upcoming show. but then he’d introduced you to the rest of his bandmates, and after that there was no going back.

you couldn’t help the way your eyes always gravitated towards hansol, who insisted that you call him his real name instead of his stage name that everyone else called him. from the very first practice, you were captivated by him: the way his long fingers seem to dance along the neck of his guitar so effortlessly, the way his voice rasps when he sings, the way your breath catches in your throat when he grips the microphone stand and rolls his head back, lips parted in ecstasy.

he’s addictive, and it’s exactly the reason why you find yourself in the backseat of his car over and over again.

every time, it was easy to pretend that things would be different. you’d walk into the bar together and sit at the table in the back, order a few drinks, chat for a while about nothing. did you like the new stuff we played tonight? yeah, i know cheol is really excited to perform it saturday. you been doing any writing lately? mmm, a little. i’ve been feeling inspired. we could go back to my place and i could show you. except he never does.

hansol wasn’t a bad guy. he always paid for your drinks no matter how many times you offered to pick up the tab, he was polite, he listened to what you had to say. he just didn’t want more than that, and that’s where it all fell apart. you’d screw around for a while, then you’d part ways and wouldn’t speak to each other until next week. you never went to see them play shows, he never texted, you never called, never went on a real date besides meeting in the same bar down the street every thursday night after practice.

he seemed fine with that. you weren’t. and yet every time, you ended up back in his arms.

he groans into your mouth, pushing his hips into you and pinning you harder against the faded leather seats of his old honda. his lips are sloppy but eager, messily pressing his mouth into yours as his fingers tangle in the hair at the base of your neck. you can taste the beer and smoke on his breath, but for some reason it doesn’t bother you. maybe you’re used to it, or maybe it’s just because it’s him. you don’t want to know which reason is the truth.

he kisses you until you’re dizzy, and you can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or from the thrill of kissing him once again. it’s a high you’re convinced you’ll never get tired of, although you’re not quite sure yet if it’s one that he will.

hansol always lets you set the pace, but tonight he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. both of your shirts met the floor of his car what seems like hours ago, leaving you in just your bra and pants as he makes out with you as if it’s the first and last time he’ll get that chance. his fingers breeze over your waist the same way they breeze over his guitar strings when he plays: careful yet greedy, each touch intentional yet impulsive as he grips your waist.

he drags his fingers higher and it sends a shiver down your spine, arching your hips up against him and rolling your head back against the seat’s headrest. if there’s only one upside to this relationship, it’s that he’s good at this. really good. if he weren’t, then you wouldn’t have spent so many nights letting him fuck you in the parking lot of your shitty local bar. it does something for your confidence knowing that he must feel the same about you, or else he wouldn’t keep inviting you out. at the very least, this arrangement is mutual, even if you wish it wasn’t.

his hips rock against your crotch again, and even through both of your clothes you can feel how hard he is. your mind is clouded, everything’s a haze, and all you can think about is how badly you want him. the warmth of his skin, the gentle scratch of his nails on the back of your neck, his long eyelashes that flutter against your cheek as he kisses you.

you feel your hands slide haphazardly down his bare chest, fumbling over his hips as you tug on the waistband of his jeans. none of it feels graceful, not like the way he handles his music. it’s sloppy, desperate, clumsy, and it’s everything you need right now.

he manages to lean back from you enough to undo his pants and push them down to his knees, but his mouth is back on yours in an instant. somehow you end up on your back across the seats, gazing up at him with slack lips as his thin silver chain dangles over your face. you might not remember a lot of what happens on these nights when you’re with him, but you’ll always remember this moment. him hovering above you with heavily lidded eyes, biting his lip and cursing as he pushes into you, is etched into your mind in a way you simultaneously love and hate. love because it feels so good, hate because it never lasts.

the last half of those nights never stands out in your memory. you remember feeling good, you remember trembling in his arms and gasping and moaning and crying in pleasure, but the images are too fuzzy to make out. you don’t really need to reflect on them anyway; you know he’ll just bring you out next week and do it all over again.

hansol kisses you once more after you’re both finally spent, but the kisses afterwards are always different. more… hesitant, more uncertain. none of the passion and desperation that you’ve come to crave from him. not what you really want.

“i can drive you home,” he offers once he’s finished cleaning you up. for once you think he might genuinely mean it, but you can never be sure enough to take that chance. you want him to drive you home. god, you want him to so bad. to have him come over with you and stay the night, stay another night and another until your apartment isn’t just yours anymore, that’s what you’ve wanted all this time. and it’s what you’ll never have.

“i’ll call an uber,” you answer.

“i’ll wait with you, then.”

the silence that settles over his car is heavy as you climb back into the front passenger seat. you want to tell him to get in the uber with you, stay more than just a couple hours with you in the furthest back corner of the bar parking lot that’s too far to be illuminated by streetlights. you want to argue that he’s too drunk even to drive himself, that he needs to come home with you and sleep it off together in the comfort of your bed, but you know it’s not true and it won’t work. this is a conversation you’ve had many times before. every night you’ve spent with him blurs into the next, always the same. 

sometimes you want to laugh at how naive you are, for thinking he’d eventually come to his senses and realize there’s more to you than a good lay before a gig. sometimes you want to grab him and shake him by the shoulders and tell him to grow the fuck up, give him an ultimatum and make him tell you what he wants from you or else put an end to it all. sometimes you just want to cry, to mourn your wasted time when you’re fully aware it’s never going to lead to something more, no matter how badly you want it and how hard you try.

no matter how many times you get your hopes up, no matter how many times you pray and beg and plead with god and the universe and every other higher power to get him to realize this can’t keep going on the way it is forever, nothing ever changes. you’re never going to stop running to him when he calls, and he’s never going to stop calling.

finally another car pulls into the lot, and you manage to pull yourself out of his car. you hear your name behind you and you stumble, swaying on your feet as he rolls down his window.

maybe this time will be different.

he says his usual goodbyes and goodnights, flashing you a loose grin and a wave as his engine sputters to life, and he asks if you’re planning on coming to practice next week. 

and you find yourself nodding.

you’re left standing there, your head and your heart pounding, watching his headlights fade as he drives away, until you’ve stood there for so long that your ride starts honking and calling for you to get in the car so you can leave.

maybe next time will be different.

this is going to be the last time, you swear.

you exhale as you stand inside the lobby of the venue, repeating the words to yourself. there’s a chill in the air tonight. the wind blows smoke in your direction from the couple standing by the door, abandoned cigarettes clutched between their fingers as they make out sloppily.

you grimace and turn away, studying the faded graffiti and half-ripped posters and advertisements that litter the walls around you. you mean it this time, seriously. the only reason you came tonight was because it’s the last time. a goodbye, of sorts.

you have to admit, you were a little shocked when hansol texted you after your weekly meet-up after practice. not only did he want to make sure you got home safe after you left, but he’d asked if you’d come to their next performance.

you stare down at your phone in your hand, rereading the texts for what feels like the thousandth time in the past few days just to make sure you haven’t imagined them. but no, there they are, bright pixels staring right back up at you from the screen.

hansol: hey just wanted to make sure you made it back home

hansol: btw we’re playing at the phoenix on saturday and i was wondering if you had plans? i wanna see you

hansol: maybe we could get dinner after or somethin if youre down idk

hansol: hoping youll be there

you’d been tempted to refuse him, out of bitterness or resentment or something else, but you can’t say you weren’t shocked by his offer. he’d suggested every once in a while that you should come see them play sometime, but it was always clear to both of you that it was out of small talk rather than genuine interest in you being there. but this time he’d said he wanted you there.

it was nice to feel wanted, for once. maybe you hadn’t been going crazy. maybe things really were different this time.

you glance at your phone once more to check the time before you slip it into your pocket, taking a deep breath as you walk through the second set of doors into the main room. you can hear the deep sound of wonwoo’s drums warming up, but the stage is obscured behind a ratty set of faded red curtains.

there’s still a few minutes before their set, but the room is already crowded with people so you push your way to the side wall near the back. you don’t really want anyone to see you here, anyway. you don’t want anyone to see that your resolve is paper-thin when it comes to hansol.

you hadn’t told him that you were coming tonight, just sending him a vague response and telling him you’d have to see if your schedule is free. even that felt too generous, after the anguish he’s put you through the past few weeks. he doesn’t need to know that you’re here, just like he doesn’t need to know the real reason you’ve been avoiding ever coming to see him play. and it’s not because you always have other plans.

you’re hoping to just watch the performance quietly from the back, then sneak out without ever having to talk to him, and text him later that you’d enjoyed it. you already knew you were going to enjoy it. you’d heard every original song, cover, and riff they’d ever played together, and at this point you could probably recite their setlist by heart. anyone could see that they were talented together, so it isn’t surprising that the venue is packed tonight. honestly, it’d be for the better if you got lost in the crowd and never saw him face to face.

the house lights suddenly fade into darkness and the crowd starts to quiet, the curtains finally pulling back to reveal the band. seungcheol stands in front of a microphone in the center of the stage, with wonwoo in the back at his drum set and mingyu to his left holding a bass guitar. and then, of course, there’s hansol.

you hate the way your gaze immediately lands on him, standing in the same position he always does, with his guitar slung around his neck by a thick red strap. the crowd starts cheering, and distantly you recognize seungcheol’s voice introducing the group, but you can’t make out any of his words.

your mind flashes back to all the nights you’ve spent sitting on a folding chair in mingyu’s garage, watching them laugh and bicker and fool around. it’s different seeing them actually on a stage for once, the metal of their instruments glinting under the harsh, colorful stage lights.

it’s not a large stage by any means, just a few feet higher than the ground and barely wide enough for all four of them to fit. but their presence is captivating, and it makes the dingy local theater seem more special than it really is. but then again, hansol makes everything seem more special than it really is.

seungcheol finishes speaking and the crowd around you lets out whoops and cheers, but you stay silent. your eyes are still stuck on hansol, watching him scan the crowd as he twists the tuning pegs on his guitar.

even from the back of the room, you can tell he’s nervous. his fingers shake just a little, in a way you know they never do because you’ve watched him tune his guitar a thousand times under the dim interior lights in his car. you watch his eyes dart around the room, squinting to see into the crowd before turning his attention back to the fretboard in his hands.

he’s not the most outgoing guy in the world, but at the same time you know he’s not the kind of person to get stage fright. something is different this time. or, maybe it’s not. you’ve never actually seen him play in front of an audience. you don’t know him as well as you think you do, you have to constantly remind yourself every time your mind starts to wander and you let yourself daydream. after all, he doesn’t know anything about you, and he doesn’t seem to care enough to learn. neither should you.

the band opens with a song you’ve heard a thousand times, then another and another, pausing after every few songs to talk to the crowd. time seems to fly by around you, but everything moves in slow motion when you're looking at hansol. you study the way his hair falls in soft brown waves around his face, his head bobbing to the rhythm as he strums his guitar. it's one thing you've always enjoyed about watching him play; he always gets so lost in the music, and it's fascinating to watch. it's clearly on the list of things he's passionate about, and even if you aren't one of those things, at least you get to see him doing something he loves. 

you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. you can't let yourself think like that. you're here to end things, not to reminisce. you shouldn't care if he likes music or not, that's not your problem anymore. he's not your problem anymore.

you zone out for a while, trying hard not to think about him but he's the only thing you can focus on. your eyes wander every once in a while, when you hear cheol's raspy voice in the mic or a particularly cool guitar riff from mingyu, but they always end up back at hansol.

they finish playing what you know is their last song, but the crowd is still bursting with electricity. it’s not long before everyone starts to chant, begging for one more song.

“encore?” seungcheol laughs into the mic, and flashes one of his signature dazzling smiles that sends the group of girls standing in front of you into hysterics. he glances over at hansol and nods. “mmm, yeah. i think we can do one more.”

you fold your arms over your chest. now is probably your best chance to leave. it’s not a very big venue, but from the amount of people here it’s obvious that there’ll be chaos once things are over as people start to file out. though most of them will probably be trying to fight their way to the front instead, giving wonwoo their phone numbers written on stained cocktail napkins and asking mingyu to sign their tits. but just as you’re about to start pushing your way back towards the exit, cheol’s deep voice makes you pause.

“we’re gonna play something real special tonight,” he says, making eye contact with hansol again. “something brand new, that we’ve never performed before. you guys wanna be the first to hear it?”

the room erupts into cheers again, and cheol grins. “yeah, i figured. so, i’m gonna let vernon explain this one. take it away, man.”

you stand still, arms crossed and curiosity piqued. maybe you can wait until after the last song. if this is going to be your last hurrah, then you might as well see it through til the end. just this once, and never again.

hansol clears his throat and looks out into the darkened theater. “this song is about a girl i’m in love with,” he starts. that gets a light laugh out of the crowd, a couple whistles and cheers, and he chuckles into the microphone before continuing. the words that have been brewing in your head for weeks seem to instantly melt on your tongue as his voice rings in your ears, echoing through your mind. that’s not you. that’s definitely not you.

“i hope she’s here tonight, but i wouldn’t blame her if she wasn’t. because i think i kind of fucked everything up.” he swallows, his eyes darting back and forth as he scans across the crowd, searching for something. searching for you? “so if she’s out there, i’m sorry. and i know this won’t make up for it, but i hope you like it anyway.”

the crowd cheers again, louder than they have all night, but the noise quickly dies down once hansol begins to play. the lights go dim, and the room fills with a soft melody from his guitar. the sound is unfamiliar, a song you haven’t heard before, and you realize he must’ve been working on it outside of the band’s usual practices. 

even if he isn’t talking about you, the song is beautiful. his guitar seems to sing every note that plays, and you can practically see the air around him shimmering with energy. the rest of the room seems to fade away, the audience that separates you suddenly disappearing. it’s like you’re the only two people around, sitting beside him as he plays just for you. 

he’s done that a few times, played you little snippets on his guitar. you can almost picture it now: it’s always right after he parks outside the bar, before you head inside together. he’ll unzip the case and pull his guitar from the backseat, positioning it on his lap. he comes up with a different reason every time; sometimes he’ll ask if the chords he’s been working on sound good together, sometimes he’ll tell you to listen to see if it needs tuning, sometimes he’ll say he just needs to practice this section a couple more times before giving up for the night and getting shitfaced with you off too many shots.

but you always see right through his flimsy excuses; obviously he’s doing it to show off, to impress you or something. but for the life of you, you’ve never been able to figure out why. why should he care about impressing you, if he doesn’t want to go any further with you?

and suddenly, as you stand in the back of the theater, watching his eyes sparkle under the lights and his fingers breeze over his guitar, looking more focused and frustrated and angry and sad and sorry than you’ve ever seen him look, now you finally have your answer.

you don’t want him to be talking about you. he shouldn’t be talking about you. you almost wish he would just be an asshole to you, give you a good reason to yell at him and cuss him out and tell him to fuck off, but he never does. sure, he’s a little dense to the not-so-subtle hints you’ve been trying to drop, but he’s always been good to you, even if it’s breaking your heart in the process. maybe you’ve been the dense one all along.

the show ends in a blur, and the lights come back on as people start to file out. there's cheers and more shouts for another encore, but it's clear the night is over. this is the part you've been dreading; even after days of convincing yourself, you're still not sure what you're going to do.

when the crowd finally clears out enough for you to move towards the stage, you can already see the group that’s formed around the members. cheol is off to one side, giving out autographs to whoever waves their napkins closest to him. mingyu’s helping wonwoo pack up his drum kit, smiling shyly at the girls calling his name and promising he’ll come back out to the lobby to meet them once he’s finished.

and then there’s hansol, looking flustered as people crowd around him, a deep blush in his cheeks as he waves his hands to try and get them to leave. you’re just far enough from his line of sight that you almost hesitate. it’s not too late to turn around. it’s not too late to leave before he can see you, to disappear from his life forever, but your heart won’t let you. 

you walk a little closer to the stage, hanging back behind the crowd of people, but he sees. his face lights up with relief, and even from a few feet away you can still see his eyes soften. he tells the people to move, more firmly with his words this time, and he hops down off the stage as they part to make room for him. when it’s clear his attention is no longer on them, they grumble and walk away, talking to their friends about the show and how hot all the members are and how they’re definitely planning on coming back the next time they perform.

hansol reaches you in a couple of strides, stopping just in front of you. he stays silent for a second, his eyes roaming over you almost gratefully.

“hi,” he says finally, offering you a lopsided smile. he wipes his palms on his jeans nervously. “you came.”

you bite your lip for a second before you nod. “i did.”

“so you’re— did you— were you here for the end of the show?” he asks, trying to hide the stutter in his words. it’s cute how shy he is all of a sudden. it’s not like him to be shy like this. but then again, the only times you’ve seen him are when he’s playing with the guys or fucking your brains out while he's drunk, so it’s not like you’ve really gotten to know him. maybe he’s always been this shy and you were just too caught up in him to notice.

you know what he’s trying to say without outright saying it. obviously you were there the whole time, a fact you aren’t the proudest of, but you aren’t about to let him know that. “i heard your song,” you finally settle on, cutting straight to the point.

his face goes through about a hundred emotions in the span of a second, from surprised to happy then right back to shy again. “yeah?”

even though most of the room has cleared out by now, he starts walking as he talks, pulling you through the side door into the quieter backstage area. you follow him around the corner until you reach a private room, a wrinkled sheet of paper taped to the door with his name written in sharpie. his guitar case that you've seen so many times lies open on the floor, his backpack slumped against one wall.

“i liked it.”

he exhales in relief as he turns back around to face you, and you can almost see his whole body relax. “i'm so fucking sorry,” he says, nearly stumbling over his words with how fast he tries to get them out. “i've been really, really stupid. the way i left you the other night… i shouldn't have let you go like that. i regretted it the second you left.”

you purse your lips as you listen. you can tell he really means it, and it's getting harder and harder to stay mad at him. but you can't let him off that easy, not after how long you've been going through this.

“i just don't understand what it is you want, hansol. you treat me like— i don't know, like nothing.” you pause and chew on the inside of your cheek for a second, letting your words sink in. “and then out of the blue you beg me to come to your show, and you play this really sweet, heartfelt song, so how the hell am i supposed to take that?”

he winces, but the wounded look on his face doesn't feel as satisfying as you'd hoped it would. “i know. i'm just… i'm bad with words. i'm better at music.” he sighs. “but that's not an excuse. i didn't ever wanna make you feel like that, not on purpose. i just got scared. but i shouldn't have.”

you stand silently, waiting. clearly, there's more on his mind. he stuffs his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, shifting from one foot to the other. 

“i love the way you laugh. i love the way you watch me when i'm playing and it makes me feel like the only person in the whole world. i love the way you smile when you're drunk and the way you kiss me. and it was stupid of me to ever think i didn't want that all the time.” he lifts his gaze to meet your eyes, the fear in his expression more obvious than anything you've ever seen before.

you let out a breath, your voice dropping almost to a whisper. “you should've just said that.”

“i should've,” he agrees.

you offer him a tight-lipped smile, trying to keep yourself together. this is not how you thought tonight would go. you didn't even think you'd talk to him, and if you did, you thought it would be a shouting match, screaming and cursing before angrily storming out of the venue, finally feeling vindicated after all this time. yet here you are, standing quietly in front of him and trying not to cry.

he waits for a second, trying to gauge your reaction before he continues. “you're, like, my best friend,” he says, adding a nervous little chuckle to lighten the mood. “i think about you every time i play or whenever i try to write something. it's always about you. you don't know how much i look forward to thursday practices and getting to see you.”

now it's your turn to laugh. “you literally could've just texted me and i probably would've dropped everything to be there, anytime.”

he grins, his smile a little wider this time. “yeah, i know. i tried, the other day when i invited you. that was scary as shit.”

he looks up at you again, his soft brown eyes and long eyelashes shining even under the dim flickering bulb overhead. “i'm really glad you came tonight, though. i wasn't expecting you to, but i really hoped you would.” he offers you another nervous smile. “will you let me try again?”

you don't answer right away, and the look of nervousness starts to seep back into his features. “i promise i—”

but you cut him off, pulling him in by his shoulders and pressing your lips against his. he falters for just a second but his arms immediately wrap around your waist, tilting his head to lean into the kiss, and somehow that one little action feels more natural than anything you've ever done together.

you slide your tongue against his lips, and he lets out a groan into your mouth before he pulls back to breathe. “is that a yes?”

you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes and laugh, but instead you just nod. “yes.”

you definitely didn't come here tonight expecting to get laid. in fact, the last thing you ever thought you'd do is sleep with hansol again. but all of that feels like a distant memory as you head out of the community theater together, his guitar case over his shoulder, walking hand in hand towards his car.

the routine is familiar, but nothing is the same. you're not drunk, you're not in the parking lot of a cheap bar, and you don't feel lonely anymore. 

he unlocks the doors and you start to climb into the backseat, but he lets out a little noise and shakes his head, and you look up at him in confusion. 

“we're going back to my place. or yours, if you want.” he reaches down to offer his hand and help you out of the car. “i said i was gonna do it right this time, didn't i?”

by the time you get back to your apartment, your stomach is in knots in the very best way. your hands shake as you fumble with your keys, and if you weren’t so on edge it would have almost made you laugh, the way hansol looks away and pretends not to notice. you're more alike than you thought, and suddenly you're overcome with a feeling of excitement. now you get to discover all these little things about him: things you didn't allow yourself to see before, things he wants to show you and tell you and share with you. 

you try not to let the awkwardness seep back in, but you pause outside your bedroom door, almost as if you're waiting for hansol to tell you what to do. in just one night he's turned your life on its head, and now you're at a loss.

so he takes it as a sign and kisses you, his hands finding your waist and slowly trailing up your body until he's cupping your chin. it's different from all the other times he's kissed you. it's not just the fiery passion you're used to when you can tell he's worked up, but there's a hint of uncertainty in it, more similar to the kisses he gives you afterwards when you're trying to figure out whether to ask for a ride home or not. and then, the pieces finally settle into place and you realize he wasn't kissing you like that because he didn't want you; he was kissing you like that because he did.

you pull away and he freezes a little, and you can tell from the worried look in his eyes that he thinks he's gone too far. “relax,” you laugh softly, your forearms still resting on his shoulders. 

he complies, but his eyes still dart across your face in nervousness. despite how badly he wants you, how badly he needs to prove himself to you, there's clearly still so much that needs to be discussed before you can move forward, things that've been left unsaid for far too long.

you inhale and look up into his eyes, trying to find what emotion is hidden there. “what do you want, hansol?”  

“want you to be my girlfriend,” he breathes out without hesitating. if it were any other time and place you might've thought he was joking, but you can tell he's dead serious.

“i—” whatever words you had ready instantly die in your throat, not expecting such a genuine answer. “yes. but i meant, like, right now. what do you want, right now.”

his expression shifts in understanding and he grins, though it's still shy. “oh. well…” he pauses again to think. “what do you want me to do?”

you watch his eyes carefully for a moment before you reply. you've wanted him to do a lot of things. you wanted him to be better, you wanted him to be worse. you wanted him to do anything besides being stuck in this weird limbo of friend-zoned friends with benefits. but now that the choice is up to you… you don't want any of that.

“i want you to be honest,” you start softly, almost shy to say it, but you know it needs to be said. “i want you to tell me how you feel. because i can't lie, you really fucked up. i shouldn't have given you so many chances.” he winces at that, but you brush your thumb along his cheek and pull his attention back to you. “but i did. so you need to earn my trust again. and i just want you to not be so afraid anymore.”

he stays silent for a long moment before he nods, as if he's seriously considering your words. “i know,” he says finally. his voice is quieter now, barely above a whisper. “i'm sorry. you're gonna get so fucking sick of hearing me say how sorry i am, but i'm not gonna stop saying it.”

you want to laugh, but his tone is so serious that you know you shouldn't, so you keep a straight face and ask him again. “so… what do you want?”

he lets out a sigh, still holding you face in his hands. “shit, everything. but, first— i really wanna taste you. can… can i?”

you take a step backwards into the bedroom and he follows, tearing off clothes one by one in a hurry until you're both left with just underwear. with the limited space in his car you've never actually been fully naked together before, and the thought of him seeing you is both terrifying and exhilarating. 

he leans you down onto the bed and you pull him down with you. he falls beside you, pausing to kiss you once more before rolling off the bed and onto his knees, holding your legs in front of him as he stares up at you.

it's the kind of image that could drive a woman mad. you didn't think he was capable of being this patient, but it seems he's full of surprises tonight. “yes,” you breathe out and finally give him an answer. your eyes are locked onto his, a silent conversation happening between you in the span of a second.

he clears his throat and slowly pries your legs apart, pulling his gaze away from your face to stare between your thighs instead.

“god, this pussy…” he groans in delight as he settles your legs over his shoulders, his gaze transfixed on the wet spot at the seat of your panties.

he slides his palms up your thighs, and for his sake you pretend not to notice the way his fingers are shaking just a little. you lift your hips to encourage him, and he slips his long fingers beneath the hem of your panties before pulling them down, taking his time to slide them off and toss them on the floor behind him.

his hands immediately come back up to your thighs, using his thumbs to press your legs apart to give him a better view.

“so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles to no one but himself. it's like he's in a trance, admiring the dripping mess between your legs like it's about to be his last meal. if he hadn't been so enthusiastic, you might've been embarrassed at the electric shiver that runs through you from his praise. but when there's a man this hot in front of you, kneeling and staring up at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life, it's hard to feel embarrassed for long.

he leans in and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the feeling. he's never been incredibly rough with you before, but he’s never been this gentle, either. he's touching you so delicately, like a statue at a museum that he's not sure yet if he's allowed to touch or not.

your reaction spurs him on, and he leans in further to flatten his tongue against your entrance and gives a long, slow lick. your hips lift automatically, trying to push him closer and add more pressure.

he curls his tongue through your folds before pulling away, his hands coming up to rest on your hip bones and hold you down. “even better than i imagined,” he groans, looking up at you from his spot on the floor, and the image of him down there makes you so dizzy that you have to lay back down against the bed again.

“more,” you whimper desperately. in the back of your mind there's a distant feeling of shyness at how demanding you're being, but you don't think twice about it. after everything he put you through, he still needs to prove himself to you, that he's not going to break your heart again. but he's doing a damn good job so far. “vernon— ah, fuck!”

“mm, anything.” he presses a kiss against the soft skin on inside of your thigh. “anything you want, baby.”

you don't even have time to process the nickname before he's diving back in, his lips wrapped around your clit as he sucks at you. you let out a strangled noise of surprise, your hand instantly flying down to hold his head.

your fingers tangle in his hair, his tongue so deep in your pussy that you're already gasping and writhing under his touch. you can't tell which one of you has been more stupid for not letting this happen sooner, because it almost seems like he's enjoying this more than you are.

the coil in your stomach already feels like it's about to burst, pent up with white-hot energy that feels hotter than the sun. it hardly takes a few more pointed laps of his tongue before you fall apart into his mouth, whimpering and groaning and begging shamelessly for him. 

“you called me vernon,” he says when you finally manage to push his head away, shivering with overwhelming sensitivity. he lifts one hand to wipe at his chin, way too nonchalant after everything he just did.

you're still fighting through the haze of your orgasm but his words bring you back down to earth, and your face fills with heat. “huh? sorry, i—”

“everybody calls me vernon,” he says as he shakes his head, quickly cutting you off. he stands up and moves onto the bed, flopping down beside you. “i liked that you always called me hansol. made it feel special.”

your eyes follow his movements, still laying on your back as you catch your breath. “but…?”

he grins, and you swear there's a hint of blush in his cheeks. “but that was really sexy when you called me vernon. it sounds way cooler when it's coming from you.”

all you can do is laugh, letting your eyes close as you rest your hands on your stomach. “noted,” you giggle. “so should i do it more, then?”

he hums in thought, rolling over onto his side so that he's closer to you. “you can do whatever you want, baby.”

that nickname again. he's already started leaning in to kiss you again, but you grab his shoulders and pull him down to meet him halfway. there's a bitterness on his tongue that you'd almost forgotten about, but you're quickly reminded once you feel his hand sliding across your stomach and down back between your legs. you let out a surprised but happy moan into his mouth, one of your hands moving to the back of his head to kiss him harder.

your legs part, accepting the warmth of his palm as he gently presses it against your sensitive clit. he holds his hand there for just a moment, pausing his movements as he kisses you, eagerly swallowing the whimpers and sounds you give him in return.

after a minute he shifts his hand, carefully pressing his index and middle finger into you. you're right up at the edge again already, clenching down hard around his fingers as he sets a slow pace, pulling them out halfway before thrusting them in deeper than before. you're seeing stars, releasing a constant stream of muffled moans into his lips as he curls his fingers inside you. he follows the rhythm of your hips as you rut against his palm, letting the movement force his fingers even deeper.

his fingers are dripping with your juices, down his knuckles and pooling in his palm, but it only makes him want to fuck you even more. it's not like this is the first time he's fingered you. the guys at the auto shop down the street know him all too well, from the amount of times he's had to take his car in to get the seats cleaned. he always claims that it's because he's a messy eater, and while that's true in some ways, he knows those guys don't buy it for a fucking second.

his fingers are completely buried inside you but he never stops kissing you, breathing almost as heavily as you are. he stops thrusting his fingers and adjusts his hand once more, pressing his thumb against your clit to rub lazy circles over it. 

“ver—vern— fuck, hansol!” you finally manage to pull away from his lips, nearly gasping for air as another orgasm rips through you. his other hand slides down your body and it feels like the first time you've ever been touched, his palm so warm and tender against your skin that it somehow makes your high even better. you're shaking in his arms, lips parted in a soundless moan as you clench wildly around his fingers, but he just holds you tighter against his body and keeps pressing kisses along your jaw.

his lips are wet with both spit and slick as he watches you, his eyes filled with stars. usually when you're together, in the dark backseat of his car illuminated only by the moonlight and nearby streetlamps, it's hard to make out the details. it's dark, and everything is fuzzy from both the alcohol and the late hour. but now, he's realizing how stupid he was for never letting this happen sooner. he could've ended up going his whole life without ever seeing you like this, laying completely fucked out under the soft light in your bedroom, your pupils wide and eyes watery and so, so beautiful.

he waits until you've calmed down again, leaning away to give you a little space, but your hand shoots out to grab his wrist and keep him close to you and he can't help but smile. when you open your eyes you're expecting to find a cocky smirk, to see how proud of himself he is for having you in the palm of his hand so easily, but it's not there. just that soft smile.

“now. what do you want?” he says. “i should be asking you that way more often.”

“want you inside,” you pant out. “now. please? i— i missed you.” you shouldn't have said the last part out loud, but at this point you don't care anymore. all your cards are out on the table.

his eyes widen a little at your boldness, but he bites his lip and nods. he can't lie and say he wasn't secretly hoping you'd say that, but he'd be just as happy to sit here on the floor and eat you out over and over and over again. he'd do anything you want at this point, and not just because he feels like he owes you. he does, but it's deeper than that. it's a different kind of feeling, one that makes him want to do cheesy shit like lay his jacket over puddles for you and buy an airplane to write your name in the sky.

as he starts to position himself between your legs on the bed, you watch his face. his expression is outwardly neutral, but little by little you've started to recognize the signs of his happiness. it looks good on him.

but your brain isn't content with that, not just yet. you swallow as a thought crosses your mind, and you can't push it down any longer.

“wait,” you say quietly, forcing the word out before you can reconsider. he stops immediately, his eyes searching your face for anything he can find, any sign that you've changed your mind about this.

“yeah?” he replies, his voice just as quiet, as if he's afraid to speak too loudly and break the tension of this moment.

you clear your throat as best you can manage, though it's kind of starting to get sore from how much and how loudly you've been moaning all night. “just curious,” you start, nervousness suddenly starting to creep in. but tonight is for being honest, and you can handle the truth. probably.

“before, while we were together— well, it doesn't really count as being ‘together’ but you know what i mean.” you pause again, chewing your lip. “did you ever… y'know. was there ever anybody else?”

hansol exhales, still hovering over you. “no. unless you count lotion and my hand, ‘cause there was a lot of that.” your eyes soften and you visibly relax at his words, and he mentally kicks himself for ever making you even think that was the case. that there would ever be anyone else for him but you. “i know i was stupid, but i'm not that stupid.”

“okay.” you pause again, trying to figure out how to get back on track. “sorry, i just wanted to know. i don't care.”

he scoffs, but his tone is more melancholy than angry. he shifts on top of you so he can rest on his elbows, getting closer and brushing his hand over your hair. “you should care. if i had, i would've given you full permission to lay into me, cuss me out, whatever. i would've deserved it. you don't deserve that.”

“i wanted to, trust me.” you sigh. “but you're too nice to me. i thought…” you chew on your lip, eyes searching his as you try to figure out what to say. “…i don't know what i was thinking.”

“i don't think i'm anywhere near ‘too nice’,” hansol laughs. the sincerity in his expression almost makes you feel better. “i'm the luckiest dude on the planet that you didn't decide to, like, slash the tires on my car and egg my house or something instead. i really wouldn't have blamed you if you did.”

“maybe i should then, next time,” you say, a smile creeping onto your face.

he shakes his head. “there won't be a next time.”

the room goes quiet and you stare at each other for a second, letting his words sink in. you can tell he's being lighthearted, but he's not even trying to hide the sincerity behind his words.

“you can… continue now,” you say after a tense moment, breaking the silence. the tension in the room is thick but it's not uncomfortable, slowly but surely melting into a lust that's deeper than any of the times you've been drunk and horny in his car.

he nods, and he reaches down to brush your hair back behind your ear before his hands slide down your body. he seems so hesitant to let go of you, but finally he lifts one hand to grip his cock and position himself at your entrance. he braces his other hand against your hip, shivering as he brushes the tip of his cock up through your folds. fuck, he's not gonna last. 

after steeling his nerves as best he can and trying to convince himself not to bust the second he's inside you, he angles himself between your legs and starts to push in.

by some miracle he manages not to cum immediately, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think about literally anything else but how fucking beautiful you are lying beneath him, but what actually happens instead might be worse.

hansol groans once he's fully inside, slowly splitting you open bit by bit until he bottoms out with his hips flush against yours. there are so many words on his tongue begging to spill out, but he can't think straight. holy shit, he can't even think about anything right now. why did he never say anything sooner? why did he waste so much time content with putting in the least amount of effort when he could've been having you like this all along?

“i love you,” he blurts out, and for a split second you think maybe this is all a dream and somehow you passed out at the show and hit your head so hard you started hallucinating this. but then his eyes widen and he winces in that way you've started to recognize, and you almost laugh because now you know it's real.

“shit, i don't know why i said that. i'm sorry. fuck, i'm sorry,” he groans and hangs his head, but despite his embarrassment you can still feel every inch of his dick twitching inside you and it feels way too good to ignore. “you don't have to say it back. i know it's way too soon—”

“did you mean it?”

“what?”

“did you mean it?” you repeat. his attention pulls back to you, a confused yet hopeful look in his eyes that makes your heart warm.

he clears his throat, obviously trying to hide the pink spreading across his cheeks. “yeah. i think i did. and not just because you have the best pussy ever.”

“are you sure? because that's what it sounds like to me,” you tease and try to roll your eyes, but his words make you clench involuntarily around him and he curses under his breath.

“fuck— yes, i’m very sure, i meant it and i'll keep saying it forever if you'll let me.” he lets out a groan, both hands now firmly planted on your waist. “but, god, please let me fuck you now. i'm trying so goddamn hard to hold back and i'll gladly go for another round later but i'm trying to make it up to you right now and it's gonna completely ruin it if i cum in, like, five seconds.”

you can't help your laughter in that moment so all you can do is nod, lifting your hips a little to try and get him going. and he takes the hint, pulling halfway out of you before slamming back in, a loud, deep string of groans leaving his lips.

his pace starts out frantic but he quickly calms himself down, stabilizing himself through his grip on your waist and pulling you to meet his thrusts. he snaps his hips into you at a smooth pace, his cock dragging against your walls with each stroke in a way that has you clawing at his wrists for support as he holds onto you.

hansol may be bad at relationships, but he's never been bad at sex. even on a good day it really doesn't take much to have you seeing stars, but this is different. this is desperate, determined, thankful, and hopeful all wrapped into one movement, sliding in and out of you with a passion you've only ever seen when he's playing guitar. 

“ha— ngh— hansol!” despite your efforts to keep it steady, your voice still comes out broken, his name escaping your lips as easily as breathing. you roll your head back against the pillow, and you're suddenly even more grateful that you're at home in your bed instead of alone in a parking lot. this is so much better, better than you could've dreamed.

“fuck, you always take my cock so good,” hansol groans as he leans forward and buries his face in your chest. “i should’ve been telling you that every single time, how good you are. so fucking good.”

the way he fucks you is strangely tender, in a way you're not sure you've ever felt before. it's rough, but somehow in a gentle way. he's taking you apart piece by piece and putting you back together with his hands, his kisses, his touch. none of the times before have ever come close to this. 

maybe it's the feeling of a mattress beneath your back instead of a hard plastic seat, or maybe it's the promises hanging in the air between you that makes this time feel brand new. maybe you're just too caught up in the moment to think straight, but for the first time it finally feels like a fresh start. this time is different.

“baby, please, one more for me,” he moans into your skin as his hips begin to grow weary, his breath hot against your chest. “‘m not gonna last much longer— fuck, cum for me one more time, baby. god, you're so perfect. please, let me make you cum.”

at this point he's rambling, almost as far gone as you are, but it's like he doesn't even need to ask. as soon as the words leave his mouth you feel the familiar sensation starting to build again, burning hotter and quicker than before. you almost start to panic because you can't even tell if you have another one left in you, but you look up and meet his eyes one last time and suddenly a wave of calm washes over you at the sight of his soft brown eyes filled with way more love than you're expecting to find there.

you don't even have time to tell him when it hits you one more time, you just grab him and hang on tight as your high tears through you. you struggle to lift your legs and wrap them around his back, pulling him in even closer to you as your walls flutter uncontrollably around him. he invades your senses and you can feel him everywhere, and you can only hope he feels the way you do.

but it's obvious that he does, because “ah, shit—” is the last thing you hear before he pulls out, barely managing to get back in time before he spills all over your stomach, your thighs, your pussy, the sheets. it's everywhere, and neither of you care. his hands are still on you gripping your waist tightly like he can't bear to let go, his cock pulsing limply as it rests against your stomach. rope after rope of thick white floods over your skin, and yet it's like he barely even notices because he's so busy repeating your name, praising you again and again in between swears and shaky moans.

you're panting, your hands shaking as you reach for him, but he's already right there. he's breathing heavily himself as he drops down on the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in the crook of your neck. 

his weight half leaning against you is grounding, and eventually you feel your heart starting to return to normal as you become aware of the sticky puddle of sweat and cum that you're both laying in. but you just close your eyes and rest, focusing on his body warmth and his palm holding your side and the tickle of air coming from his nose as he breathes against you, and you realize nothing, no feeling in the world, has ever felt better than this.

when he reluctantly pulls himself away from your body to go look for a towel, you already know there's no question about whether or not he's staying over tonight.

once he's done cleaning you off he lifts you up into his arms, laughing and nuzzling his nose into your neck as he sets you down at your desk chair to start stripping the mess of sheets off your bed, and in that moment you can't help but think how lucky you are. he keeps saying that he's the lucky one for letting him have a second chance, but you're lucky in a lot of ways, too. lucky that it turned out he wasn't as much of an idiot as you’d thought. lucky that your heart wouldn't let you give up on him, no matter how hard you tried. lucky that after everything, hope still works sometimes.

after stumbling around your room, tossing blankets and sheets around and looking the happiest you've ever seen him, you're finally settled down together and you're back where you've always belonged, laying in his arms. it's so late that the sun is probably coming up soon and you're exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of a night, but you couldn't care less about what happens next because everything finally feels right.

hansol sighs, his arm curled a little awkwardly around your shoulders as he twirls a lock of your hair between his fingers. “can… we not do this anymore?” he asks finally. 

his voice is quiet; not shy or uncertain, just quiet. it's different than what you're used to with him. usually when you're around him everything is loud, it's fast and messy and jumbled, a whirlwind of a night followed by heartache and a pounding headache in the morning. but now he's just… quiet. all the thoughts that normally rush through your head are gone, leaving nothing but silence.

you swallow, confused. although you've already talked out all your worries, you can't help the uncertain feeling that starts to return. “what do you mean? like, right now?”

he exhales like he's thinking, and his fingers pause in your hair. “like… i don't know. i want things to be good between us. whatever we were doing before— anything but that. no more not talking about stuff. no more tension. y'know? i promise.”

“mmm.” you hum, letting his words sink in for a while. you drum your fingers absently against his chest, almost trying to make sure he's still there. “yeah. i think… i think things are good between us now.” you giggle, leaning your head against his chest. “as long as you don't pull that shit again.”

he laughs, reaching up to grab your hand off his chest and hold it there. “oh, yeah, i know. you're way too good to me for even giving me another chance. i'm so sorry i almost fucked it all up.”

“you don't have to say that anymore.”

“well like i said, babe, i'm going to—”

“you can just keep saying ‘i love you’ instead.” you interrupt, squeezing his hand in yours.

he stops short in the middle of his sentence, caught in surprise, but as soon as your words register a grin slowly begins to make its way across his face. “cool. then… i love you.”

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[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | eight

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: the one where they get caught. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, domestic bliss, gratuitous descriptions of joel reading, joni mitchell, explicit unprotected piv sex, delayed gratification, dirty talk, finger sucking, biting, academic praise kink, cream pie, who's in the pic on joel's desk??, angst, confrontation, an orpheus and eurydice metaphor uh oh, those blue panties from 3 come back to haunt us. word count: 6.9k nice series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: i need someone to make me write [or not write] the way j miller phd does in this... also sorry and i hope you like it and sorry again follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part eight of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Winter descends over Maine not with a bang, but with a whimper.  

The days and weeks fold together in a blurring mess of sleep ins and papers and coffees, until suddenly a month has passed, and you hardly noticed it slipping through your fingers.

You spend less time at home, and more tucked on one side of Joel’s couch, your feet in his lap as he lounges down the other end. You dip pale toast in runny yolks at the table, listening to him on the phone to Sarah in the other room. Hear him say I’m good, baby girl… I’m really good when she asks how he is.

You ride shotgun in the truck between his place and the university, slipping out the passenger door a little early every time. Walk the final stretch lest someone notice his glasses, your hair through the windscreen.

On campus you watch him up there on his stage, a burn in your chest, and see how he seeks you out in the after. How he props you above him and returns your gaze finally. Curls his body around yours and repents for every time he had to look away.

It's warm and it’s kind and it’s trading books with scribbled notes in the margins.

It’s rain smacking against the windows as you read, his scruffy chin nesting in the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, two sets of eyes staring at the same words.

It’s nodding off in his bed where the sheets have started to smell like your perfume, eyelids heavy as you wait for him to get home. It’s wearing only his clothes and being woken up by his face between your thighs, pupils blown and lips slick.  

It’s finding each other at the end of a long day and hearing him say, I thought about you all afternoon.

And this feeling of familiarity writhes between the slats of your ribs. A comfortable, quiet fondness that you see reflected in his eyes when he looks at you; that you hear when that tender mouth forms your name.

You gorge yourselves on it. Put lips to the crooks and thorns in each other’s bodies and suckle on that fondness, swallow, swallow, and watch the well never run dry.

The bleed is endless. Beneath the stain of time it floods and flurries, melting the two of you together until you start to feel certain it could never end.

Until, of course and at last, it does.

Sunday.

It’s late, you think. Somewhere in the mess where time blurs between sunset and midnight, Winter stealing hours that feel like minutes.

The curtains in his living room are drawn, low yellow light warming the room from a tall lamp in the corner. Blue spins in the on the record player, a gentle sway of sound that fills the room.

I like listening to Joni on Sundays, he’d confessed in the bathroom, bashful as he rubbed a towel over you, drying the wet ends of your hair and the slick skin of your shoulders.

He reads at the table now, strong chin cupped in his palm as his eyes flit across the pages of a textbook.

Something to do with conservation; a Minoan palace in Knossos, you think. He’d explained it earnestly, but his curls were soft and fluffy from the shower and his glasses were resting on the tip of his nose and so you’d found yourself zoning out, eyes going from round to heart shaped as you nodded along from the couch.

Every few minutes he grips his pen and jots down a note before glancing up to check on you. And whenever this happens you avert your eyes quickly, pretending to be enthralled by the half-finished essay on your screen. You have a feeling he catches you each time, because he keeps laughing softly, tutting under his breath as he goes back to reading, foot never stopping its tap-tap-tap in time with the music. The only time he gets up is to flip the record, and soon those little laughs and huffs start to mix with Joni’s bell-like voice, and the opening lyrics to California swell through the room as you type at a glacial pace.   

She sings, I met a redneck on a Grecian isle, and you glance up again, eyes turning wide and doe-like when you find Joel already watching you. He gave me back my smile, Joni sings. But he kept my camera to sell.

“How’s the writing going?”

“Good.” Liar. “Great, even.” Bad liar.

Joel’s eyes narrow behind his glasses, lips twitching in a clear attempt to smother a laugh, but he just nods, looking back down at his book.

He’s wearing home clothes. That’s what he called them. Home clothes.

When he’d said it, still pulling them on, you’d wanted nothing more than to grip his hands and stop him in his tracks, but you’d sequestered yourself to the other side of the room instead, sorely committed to the study evening he’d suggested. But he’s in soft grey sweatpants and an even softer looking white t-shirt, and every time he sips his coffee he hums happily against the rim of his mug, and his bare foot goes tap-tap-tap and Joni sings Oh, will you take me as I am?, and—

“Come here.”

You blink. His eyebrows raise expectantly, lips split into a broad smile now.

“Unless you’d rather stay over there and keep starin’.”

You reach him as The Last Time I saw Richard, the final track on side two, begins to spin.

Joni sings, all romantics meet the same fate, and Joel’s knees fall apart, thighs splayed so handsomely across his chair, inviting you to take a seat. You ignore the woeful lyrics and focus instead on the knowing smirk on his face, taking a step forward, and another, until you’re stood between his open legs.

He doesn’t touch you. Just smiles, all saccharine and easy, leaning back in his chair.

“Much left to do?” He points at the laptop in your hands.

“Maybe another hundred words,” you grumble and put it down on the table. “Today, at least.”

Joel hums, eyes flicking down. His gaze skirts across the bare skin of your legs, the soft sleep shorts you’re wearing; ones he puts on you himself, and knows you don’t have anything beneath.

“Come here.” He pats his thigh; stops you with a soft tut when you try to straddle him. “Naw, baby, like this.”

Soft hands tilt your hips, turn you until your back is to his chest and he’s drawing you onto his lap.

“Oh.” You smile, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.

Nose turned into the side of his face, you brush a kiss to the edge of his jaw and sigh in relief as he wraps his arms around your middle and squeezes.

The space between his chest and the table is a little tight; small enough that if you were to lean forward a few inches your ribs would knock against the wood.

As if he’s thinking the same thing, Joel leans forward. Presses you against the table, one hand coming up to hold your face. His fingers are soft on your skin, offering small amounts of pressure as he grips your jaw and encourages you to look forward.

“Gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up a little, skin prickling at the shift in his tone. Still soft, still quiet, yet with something… demanding, shifting just below the surface.

“You,” you say, cringing at the way your voice takes on a higher quality all of a sudden. Steeling yourself, you add, “You’re distracting me.”

“Wasn’t doing anythin’,” he responds simply. “Just sittin’ over here, minding my business while you burn holes in my head.” 

“You know what you’re doing.”

“I cooked dinner.” He squeezes you again. “Fed you. We showered, and now I’m readin’.”

“You were humming.”

Joel kisses the shell of your ear.

“And tapping.”

He flutters his fingers against your hip.

“S’that such a crime?” he murmurs.

“No, but…” You sigh when his tongue snakes out, tracing the soft curve of your earlobe. “But it…”

“But but but,” Joel mocks, and you can feel his sick smirk against your neck, teeth teasing along your carotid now. “But all you can think about is my cock, ain’t that right?”

Your stomach falls away. Everything firm inside you turns to goo as he laughs, knowing he’s right.

“So needy,” he taunts you, holding your hip tighter as his length begins to thicken against your ass. “Had all day to ask for it.”

You don’t respond, tongue tied and more uninterested in your essay than ever.

“Just lookin’ for a distraction now,” he teases lightly. “The more you put it off, the harder it’ll be to get it done, baby.”

“I know.”

“If you know.” He hooks a finger over the waistband of your shorts. “Then finish it.”

“S’not that simple,” you whine, rolling your hips over his lap. A sharp puff of air warms the back of your neck, so you do it again. His hand tightens around your jaw.

“Just a hundred words, right?” he coaxes gruffly. “Come on now, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You feel his thick cock beneath his sweats, stiff and pressing between the crease of your thighs, melting what’s left of your resolve. You want to grind down against it. To pull your soft sleep shorts to the side and let him sink inside with no more pretence. But you put your hands on the desk, eyes on the screen, and Joel slides his warm palms beneath the hem of your t-shirt. Floats them over the curve of your stomach, the soft flesh around your ribs, waking thousands of tiny hairs that cover your skin until his fingers meet your chest, and he cups your breasts.

You shiver, lids growing heavy as he squeezes and tickles at your skin. Your nipples harden to peaks against his rough palms, and he sighs at the feeling, face resting against the back of your neck as he plays.

“Fuck,” you sigh, voice a broken buzz in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “I thought you wanted me to write.”

“I do,” Joel murmurs unconvincingly. “A hundred words, go on.”

Hands like lead on the table, it feels like an impossible task. Even more than it did ten minutes ago. You force yourself to lift your fingers to the keyboard, vision sharpening as you look for where you left off. You try to shut him out, try to ignore the way his tongue warms the skin on your neck, the way the hairs on his thighs tickle against yours, and begin to write.

But he doesn’t make it easy.

The second you finish the first sentence one of his hands drifts down your stomach to cup your pussy over your shorts. You flinch, heart galloping in your chest when he sighs in your ear.

“Joel,” you whimper, pleading already. “I can’t if you…”

“You can,” he soothes. The warmth of his palm is suffocating, so hot against where you’re already wet and wanting. Thick fingers press against the fabric, nudging it between your slick folds until it goes damp. “Just ignore me, baby.”

“Easier said than done,” you reply. You type five more words, chest rattling with heavy breaths as he paws at you, thumbing at your clit through your shorts.

His breath is hot and heavy against your neck and his soft curls tickle your skin as you try to focus.

“Ignore me,” he repeats, and you squeak as he tilts you forward. A rush of breath spills from your mouth, chest flush to the desk, ass suspended above his lap as he shifts behind you. And when he pulls you back down, you sigh pathetically over the fact that he’s pushed his sweats down.

The full weight of his length presses against you, nestled between the rounded flesh of your ass, and you manage to mumble his name.

“Just—” You’re panting now; considering begging. “—I can do this later. I will finish it later, I swear, just—”

Joel nudges your shorts to the side and presses a finger between your folds. A ragged gasp stutters out of you, finger jammed against the keyboard. A steady stream of kkkkkkkkkkkkkkk fills a line of the document as he smears your wetness up to your clit.

“Fuck,” you mumble, hips tilting forward, trying to chase the feeling.

“None of that,” he tuts quickly, other hand slipping down and pinching the skin at the inside of your thigh. You’ve only backspaced half of the k’s when he slips two fingers inside you. “Come on, now.”

Thirty words fly as he crooks his fingers inside you. Slow and gentle, thumb rubbing messy circles against your clit as he works you open.

“That’s it,” he coos, pressing a third finger inside. Your cunt sucks desperately at his fingers, the skin of your face warming as you catch a glimpse of your reflection on the laptop screen. Jaw hanging low, a silent prayer for relief written across the open slant of your mouth. “My smart girl. Knew they didn’t give you that degree for nothin’.”

You gasp and swat at his wrist, but a satisfied little smile cracks your face for a moment when he laughs. Only for it to fall seconds later when he lays a sharp bite to the back of your shoulder. You moan, voice cracking around his name, rutting desperately against his hand.

“You can do it,” he flatters you, sickly sweet and entirely convincing as he strokes at your insides. Curling and stretching until you’re turning to a wet trembling mess in his lap, wobbling through half-assed sentences that you aren’t sure even match up with your essay outline anymore.

“Good,” Joel murmurs. “That’s good.”

“Don’t look,” you slur out, heart pounding at the idea of him reading anything you’ve written in this state. “It’s f-for your class, you can’t look.”

“Not lookin’.” He noses at the back of your ear. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Just lookin’ at you, m’always just lookin’ at you.”

“I’ll finish it.” You switch up your tactic now. Voice low and breathy, the back of your head resting heavy on his shoulder, eyes longing to close. “Tomorrow, I’ll write it—”

“Tomorrow?” His thumb drags harder on your clit.

“Yes,” you gasp, stomach tensing. You feel a bit floaty all of a sudden. Locked out of your own mind, all thoughts spilling from between your thighs as desire grips you, consumes you. “Please, just…”

“What, baby?” he prompts. “Say it.”

“Just let me sit on your cock,” you groan. “Please, I can’t think right now, I’ll finish it, I promise.”

“You fuckin’ promise—Christ,” he grumbles, fingers drifting from your tight clutch. “Just a little more, baby, for me.”

You don’t even really know how it happens after that. Ears roaring, skin tight, everything is a blur as you write and write and write and he presses his leaking tip between your folds works you down onto his length. Hands everywhere, so warm, so rough, holding your thighs, your waist, your breasts, your shorts to the side. Slower when your gasps spin higher, you think, always knowing when to ease up, when the burn gets too much too quick.

Joel grips your thighs, prying them apart until your calves are on the outside of his, and then he’s shifting his legs open wide, giving your own no choice but to follow. You feel the full weight of him in this position. The long, thick stretch of his cock inside you as your legs dangle listlessly over his lap, toes straining and failing to reach the floor. You can do nothing but rest heavily across his thighs, those hands still everywhere all at once, and whine pitifully as your walls spasm and clench around him, coil inside pulling tighter and tighter.

Vision waning, the text on your screen warbles as Joel slips the pad of his finger against your clit and begins to play with it. Soft little rubs that have you going tense and leaning forward on the table, braced on your elbows and grinding down into his lap, desperate for release, for movement, anything. It feels like your brain is splintering into a thousand tiny pieces inside your skull.

“You’re so wet,” Joel rasps, forehead heavy against your shoulder blade as he groans. “Pretty pussy’s drippin’ all over me, honey. You really need it that bad?” 

You say something you think, mouth moving and eyes rolling as his hips shift up in a weak little thrust. Just one.

“Keep goin’.” He sounds pained, half-drunk as the words stumble out of him.

Your mind slips further from your grasp and you’re typing pure gibberish. Slurring messes of letters cloaked in perfect punctuation. Your fingers fly across the keys, painting commas and full stops and semi colons around complete and utter bullshit as your cunt flutters and your belly stirs.

His finger glides and his cock pulses and your vision darkens and you come. Shoulders hunched, table digging into your forearms, you fold forward and cry out as an agonisingly brief orgasm rips through you.

It’s over before it’s even begun, but Joel groans and offers a shallow thrust, your cry turning to a gasp as he grips your thigh for dear life.

“Oh good girl,” he murmurs, fingers slowing against your nerves, not wanting to overwhelm. “Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now. Liquid frustration that pools against your waterline and threatens to spill when he still doesn’t fuck you how you need him to.

“How much left?” he asks roughly, rocking his hips against yours in a steady pace now. Gentle, rolling movements that snag on the heels of your orgasm and hold it close.

“Huh?”  

“How many words?”

“I don’t…” Your eyelids flutter. “I don’t know.”

“Shit, sweetheart,” he laughs a little then, rueful but not unkind. “That’s gonna be hell to edit.”

With a furious groan you slam the laptop closed, the sharp smack of metal on metal filling your ears as he grips your hips and really starts to fuck you.

It’s not fast though, not rough. Just deep, lingering strokes that grind against the end of you and nudge you stumbling toward the edge. He pinches your clit between the tips of his middle and ring fingers, rubbing slow drags up and down against the hood like that. Moaning and sweating, you slip your hand over his. Press lower and let your fingers glide around his girth, thick and vascular between your thighs, hot skin wetter every time he pulls out of you.

“Feel that?” Joel pants, teeth nipping at the top of your spine. “You’re creamin’ for me, baby. Fuck, I—I need to taste it.”

“Shit—oh god.”

He grips your wrist and drags it up, chin harsh against your shoulder as he sucks your fingers into his mouth.

The groan he lets out is filthy as his hot tongue snakes out to lick the webbing between your fingers, and you tip your head to watch his eyes roll back. His thighs tremble beneath you, but you can’t be sure it’s not just the vibrations of your own body tricking you.

But no, it’s him. His hips stutter against yours, deep plunges stilting into shallow movements, and he stalls deep inside your cunt for a second on the end of every thrust, as if his brain is short-circuiting.

You hook your fingers in his mouth, the tips digging into the gums behind his teeth, and tug him back to reality. He nips at your fingers and moans, hand falling heavy between your thighs again. And he doesn’t stop now; keeps pushing and pinching and fucking and grinding until your pussy is pulling tight and slick around his length and your fingers are fanned loose and shaky across his face, and you can hardly breathe except to say Joel or please or oh my god.

“Can feel it,” he grunts breathlessly, skin smacking against yours in a sharp staccato beat. “Deep breath, baby, c’mon, let me have it.”

“Your teeth,” you gasp feverishly. “Bite me again.” 

“Fuck,” he snarls and then he’s grating the hard line of his incisors along your shoulder.

The sweet pinch of his canines digging into your back sets your cunt aflutter around him, mouth hung open in silent ecstasy as he fucks you full of his seed and you suck it in deep, tight with longing, still panting and high when it begins to drip from where you’re connected, spooling around his cock and smearing between your thighs and his.

His chest heaves against your back. Chest hair damp wet sweat, dripping through your thin shirt until it can’t decide whether to cling to his skin or yours. There’s an ache at the base of your spine, maybe a muscle pulled, and his thumb presses into the flesh there as if he can sense it.

Sounds come back slowly. Joni’s finished and the needle tracks around the runout groove on the record, a little crackle flaring every few seconds where the two channels join. Joel’s breathing too, rough against your shoulder, harmonising with the wet sound of his lips peeling from your skin.

You tilt your head to the side.

Wild eyed, cunt-struck, Joel knocks his nose against yours. Groans low when you flick your tongue out to graze across his bottom lip. He’s bitten it rough and ragged and red, and you want to soothe the sting. His glasses are on top of his head, smudged lenses tucked amidst wild fluffy curls.

You try to kiss him, hard and wet, but he stops you with a hand to your jaw. Cradles your face and strokes your cheekbone and wipes the spittle from your lips before kissing you lightly. Chaste and gentle, like the two of you are ten and have never kissed anyone before, have never been brave enough to use your tongues.

That invisible bleed in your chest drips heavier. You picture a thick spurt of red against your chest cavity as he kisses the corners of your mouth, the tip of your nose, your eyelids.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod, smiling when his lips catch and drag across your skin with the movement of your head.

A moment passes like this. Searching kisses dotted over your smiling face. The swell of your cheeks, the ends of your eyebrows.

“Sometimes I feel like you aren’t real,” Joel confesses. A bare bones whisper that tickles the skin between your eyebrows, where his lips rest now. “Like you might just melt away if I don’t hold on tight enough. Disappear if I look away too long, and I’ll be stuck tryna convince myself that you were ever really here.”

Twisted up in his arms, you can feel the way his heart batters against his chest, thrashing through to vibrate against your back. He might as well be plucking the admission straight from your own mouth.

“I’m real,” you murmur against his neck. “I’m here, it’s real.”

“Me too,” he says. Something wet tickles your skin, but it’s gone in a second. Rubbed over by his thumb, soothed with another kiss.

I love you, you think, but when you speak it comes out as, “No melting.”

Joel laughs softly. Kisses you again. “No melting.”

Thursday.

“It was too much.”

“It was fine.”

“I said the word grateful three times.”

“Four, actually.” You chew the inside of your cheek and shrug apologetically. “I counted.”

“Jesus,” Joel sighs, reaching up to a drag a hand over his face.

He’s pulled his desk chair all the way across the office. Tie loosened and top buttons undone, he slumps in it a little. His thick knees almost brush against yours where you sit in his armchair.

“Hey, I liked it,” you smile, bumping his knee. “It was nice - shows you care.”

“Well, you ain’t all that hard to please,” Joel smarts, lip quirking up into a sly grin.

Mouth open in a scoff, you feign offence, dragging your laptop from your satchel and making a show of ignoring him.

“How the mighty fall,” he continues, sighing dramatically and tilting his head over the back of the chair. The light coming in through the window hits his face just right, and the grey hairs in his curls shine. “Grateful to have been your professor… asshole.”

“Don’t be precious,” you laugh softly. “You’re just embarrassed because you said you were going to miss us.”

“That was a lie,” Joel tuts, brushing you off with a hand in the air, biting back that grin. “I ain’t gon’ miss any of you assholes. And when those final papers come in—” He taps a finger against the top of your laptop “—I’ll be sayin’ my prayers that any of you can string a worthwhile sentence together.”

“If you’re lucky,” you drawl, batting his hand away. “You’ll teach some of us again next year. And when that semester finishes, you’ll say all of that shit again, because you’re a sap, Joel Miller.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, face softening, and then clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Smart ass.”

“And you love it,” you quip easily, only balking a moment later when the word hangs awkwardly in the air. Hands pausing on your keyboard, you glance up, neck hot, only to find Joel watching you still. Face suspended in a small smile; eyes light as he nods.

“I do,” he says after a moment. “But you’re on thin ice, wise guy.”

He plucks a book from his desk and spreads it open on his lap, either not noticing or simply not caring as you watch on, slack jawed. I do.

After a moment, Joel taps his foot against yours again. “Write.”

So, sucking in a breath, you do. Time passes and rain starts to drizzle against the window as you write, and Joel reads. Having forgotten to put a record on like normal, he hums lightly under his breath; some tune you can’t place but still nod along to. Every few minutes he turns his page, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate the way he holds books. Hate the way he cradles the spines, thumb hooked around the footnotes to hold his page. Hate the way his fingers trace the stanzas as he reads, tender and patient, and always afraid to miss something. Hate most the way the tendons on the backs of his hands flex when he turns the page. How the veins around them go fat and blue the longer he does this, as if all the blood in his body is sprinting towards the words. It’s a dangerous sort of eroticism, watching him read. You hate how much you love it.

In need of reprieve, you focus on your own hands. Crack tired knuckles and stretch out cramps and aches, taking a moment to peer over at his desk. The picture frame you’d once been so curious about is propped on the edge of it once again.

You can see Joel behind the glass panel, sporting a shit-eating grin with Sarah, clad in a graduation gown, tucked proudly against his chest. Taken the day she finished high school, you know now. And you’d never noticed it that first time, months ago, but Ellie’s face rests in the corner of the picture. Pink tongue stuck out and eyes pinched shut; she’d snuck her head into the frame at the last second apparently.

You gaze fondly at it, and feel that familiar warmth in your chest over the fact that he’s put it back out. No more hiding.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Joel glances over his shoulder, and then smiles.

“It’s a good photo,” you say. “You look so happy there.”

“I was. It’s one of my favourites,” he nods, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He seems to consider you for a moment, eyes flicking around your face, fingers fidgeting with the corner of his page. “Hey, I uh… Sarah actually called yesterday.”

He pauses. Takes an unusually deep breath and folds the book shut.

“Okay.” You blink, confused. “Is she alright?” 

“Yeah.” He nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, she was uh, she was askin’ about the holidays, and if—”

The office door creaks open, and Joel’s mouth seals shut as Rachel walks hastily inside, rushed words filling the small room.  

“Joel, sorry, I need to grab—oh.”

There’s an odd pause after the words catch in her throat. A moment of uncomfortable stillness as the three of you inhale all at once, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

You and Joel aren’t touching, but your knees rest close, one of his feet in the space between yours on the carpet. Laptop propped on your knees, your final essay still lays open with a stream of edits pasted through the margins, cursor blinking at the end of the word nostos.

Joel, tie undone and sleeves rolled up, looks painfully casual in your presence.

“Sorry.” Rachel blinks, hovering awkwardly as the door clicks shut behind her. “I didn’t realise you had a… a meeting today?” The end of her sentence flares up, as if she’s confused, phrasing it like a dubious little question.

You offer a smile in her direction and hope it comes across as relaxed, a little encroaching even; as if you are the one who has interrupted; the one who should not be here.

“It’s fine,” Joel supplies easily, straightening in his chair to give her his full attention. His face gives nothing away. Stoic and calm, the way you’d imagine him to be if you weren’t here at all. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says, frowning like she’s affronted by the question. Looks between the two of you again, listless fingers curling at her sides. “Just came to get that Livy copy back

You look back at your screen and will yourself to type something. To appear casual, studious, as if your heart isn’t lodged in the base of your throat.

“Sure,” he nods, gesturing vaguely toward his desk. “It’s in one of the drawers on the left.”

Rachel nods, walking over to the desk, and as her back turns you spare a glance at Joel. Find him already looking at you, eyebrows pulled down a little. Pink lips mouth It’s fine, married with a soft nod of his head, and for the second time in seconds you attempt a smile. 

There’s the sound of wood sliding against wood, and then a soft, tired kind of silence. The lack of sound seems to swell, the air in the room thinning, your eyes focusing on Joel’s fingers on the armrest of his chair, tap tap tap, Rachel’s unruly curls somewhere past that, her face downturned, looking at something. Wary breaths held in unison, synced heart beats racing. It’s fine, it’s fine, no melting.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Your head snaps up. Joel turns in his chair and begins to ask what’s wrong, but all that ends up coming from him is a sort of choked noise, rough around the edges, and breathless in the middle. Chest on fire, you let yourself look past him to where she stands.

Her gaze is hard as she stares Joel down from across the room. A slip of blue; soft material visible between her fingers, held up for a stunned chorus to see.

Your hearing deafens a little as you look on, motionless, a vague memory of birthday boy and got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock? playing in your mind. Of a damp patch on his shirt as he tucked blue into his desk drawer.

Joel says Rachel’s name, you think. Can see the way his jaw moves, the way her dark eyes sharpen, flitting back and forth between the two of you. And then, like a volcanic eruption or the swell beneath a wave, realisation crests the hill and It’s fine cracks and crumbles and turns to dust in your grasp. You don’t know what she knows, or how she knows, you just know that she does.

“You… what is this?” Rachel’s face shifts into something uncomfortable. A warped, grotesque shot at a smile. But as her lips curl upward, eyebrows down, it’s nothing but a contorted mess that blurs endlessly between confusion, surprise, and then horror. “This… her? She’s the reason you—”

“Rachel.” Joel’s entire body is wound tight. You can see the edge of his jaw from where you sit; the way his shoulders pull back, tight he watches her.

Your body seems to hold itself together for a moment. Breath caught on an inhale, lungs expanded, eyes frozen on the hard line of his nose, the arm of his glasses—places you feel safe to hover. But then she speaks again, and everything lurches back into focus. Like a needle scratching on a record, or tires squealing as a car pulls to an abrupt stop at a red—the words make you cringe, chest deflating and face crumpling.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she’s saying, and her voice raises, louder to match the disbelief in her tone. “You… she’s a fucking student.”

When the fear hits it doesn’t come slowly. It strikes hard and solid; an icy sheet of dread that sucks at your fingers and numbs your extremities. Cool and abrupt, it sinks to your bones and promises that you’ll never again feel anything but this. It laughs in the face of your warm kind month, pressing its chilled ice picks to the back of your eyes until they burn.

Her words hang heavy in the air, thick weights that press down on three sets of shoulders, and you have never wanted anything the way you want to see Joel’s face right now. To look at him and believe that this isn’t as bad as you know it to be. See that mouth tell you it’s fine and remember how it tastes.

Instead, a fear-stricken Orpheus, you will yourself not to look at him. Despite that longing, the way your arms beg to stretch out, to hold and be held, you do not look. No, you don’t think you could suffer the double death of both knowing this is happening and seeing him know it too.

In his place, you let your eyes turn to Rachel, and find that she already stares at you, small mouth cracked ajar in incredulity.

Mind whirring, racing, stumbling; fumbling to pin back together the pieces of who you once were in her eyes and who you are now. This woman you admire so, whose career path you’ve dreamt of, whose wit and quirk has propelled you, invigorated you.

It’s agonising to watch—the way her face morphs into something so unfamiliar as she looks at you now. An expression that once held only admiration, kindness, marred here by an inexplicable sense of pity. Not hate, or contempt, which perhaps would be easier to handle. Easier than the way those dark orbs go round and solemn with worry as they fall upon your anguished frame. It’s a slap in the face; camaraderie washed down the drain like the dregs of a long overdue bath, as she grips your soiled underwear in her fist.

Joel says her name, you’ve lost count of how many times he’s said it now, and she spurns his attempt at placation like a snake. Fast and deadly, venom dribbling from her tongue. 

“Someone else?” she says, and her voice is like never before. Mirthless and cold, fury laced through every word. With a sharp jerk of her elbow, she tosses the underwear across the room. They land against Joel’s chest, caught silently in his fist. “You’re fucking sick.”

“This isn’t what you think it is—” Joel starts, and you think you hear his voice shake.

“It isn’t?” She laughs cruelly at that. “You haven’t been sleeping with one of our students?”

The cursor blinks on your screen. Nostos, nostos, nostos, nostos.

“Listen, can we talk about this somewhere else?” he asks. “Not like this, I—”

“Oh, is this not a convenient time for you?” she scowls. “Jesus Christ.”   

The urge to speak bubbles in your chest. You don’t even know what you’re going to say until the words are spilling from your lips, disjointed and warbled, a voice that doesn’t even sound like your own.

“I pursued him,” you say.

You can feel them looking at you. Can hear the way you must sound to her, like some kid and not a woman who’s almost thirty years old and just as much to blame. But you can’t stop it.  

“We’re both adults. He never made me do anything I didn’t—”

Joel says your name sharply. His fist, in the periphery of your downturned gaze, grips your balled up underwear so tight that the blue is entirely invisible within the thick masts of his fingers.

You suck in a breath, and it feels like the last bit of air in the room disappears into your lungs, so you hold it there. Keep it safe inside and figure that if all three of you were to suffocate then at least the truth, and all the foul consequences that come with it, would die here with you.

“Can you give us a minute?”

Silence falls in the lull after those words, and it takes a moment for you to look up, finally. To realise that the double death wasn’t in looking at Joel, but in understanding that he’d spoken these words to you, not her.

Eyes locked with his, you feel the fear move to your side. Hang low until it ebbs and flows in the space beneath your ribs—a sharp ache with no end in sight. He looks tired; resigned. Mouth thin and downturned, cheeks splashed with red.

You think you must say something. Some fumbling, awkward acknowledgement, because Rachel is giving you that look again and you can’t bear it. Can’t stand those eyes, that misplaced pity.

You collect your things, hands numb as you pile them into your bag and head for the door, skin prickling in defence against the silence that follows your movements.

Outside his office, alone in the long corridor, you know you should go. Should follow the wall down the stairs, out to your car, and not look back. Can you give us a minute? But that sharp ache leaves you cowering against the wall, limbs heavy, ear to his door. 

“Rach,” Joel says softly, and it’s so familiar that your stomach rolls, lids fluttering closed. “It isn’t what you think, just let me explain, alright? We met before the term began; before she was my student. Before.”

“And then?”

“What?”

“I said, and then?” Rachel’s voice is steely. “You met her before and, what, you saw her in class and decided it was fine to let it continue? You—”

“Everything was consensual. You know me, I would never—”

“It’s not as simple as that, and you know it. Did you not think about what would happen if you were found out? Her credibility will be destroyed, Joel.”

“I know—”

“I mean for fucksake, her first major presentation was given at a conference where you were the keynote speaker. How do you think this will look?”

“Fuck, I know. Can you keep your voice down, please.”

There’s a brief silence. You hear shuffling, feet against carpet, and a dull spike of fear flares in the back of your mind. The idea of getting caught a second time, eavesdropping from outside the door. Against better judgement, you don’t move, and Rachel speaks again.

“You’re wrong,” she says. “I don’t know you. I… you aren’t the man I thought you were.”

You don’t hear Joel’s response over the drumming in your ears. Hot blood thrashes and roars inside your body, veins pounding with terror. Hands shake damp and weary at your sides, thinking hard, hard, grasping for solution, for the chance to say I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.

But he must have said something because then you hear it. A low fragment of a human voice, words spoken clear as day. They slice through your ears and have you peeling away from the door, swallowed by a white-hot longing to disappear as you stumble down the hall, the stairs, until you’re sucking in cold air on the pavement outside.  

It’s raining hard now. Thin spray that comes at you sideways, lashing at your face and blinding you. You curl your back to the downpour and search thoughtlessly for your car, hands outstretched, those words of hers ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

When you find it, you press your key into the door and slump inside, and you still can’t avoid it. She might as well be standing right by the door, peering in at you. Shock in the jut of her brow, disappointment in the slant of her mouth as she whispers those words over and over through the crack in your window.

"I don’t care if you love her, Joel. I have to report you.”

refs:

joni mitchell's 1971 Blue album. [life changer]

the hollow men by t. s. elliot [fat juicy banger of a poem]

orpheus and eurydice from metamorphoses by ovid, tr. by a. d. melville

thank you for reading x

[elizaleclerc]

Hello, I love your writing, can I request Charles Leclerc x singer!reader where they already knew each other back when they were teenagers but the reader moves to LA to pursue her career so they kinda feel off cuz of the long distance, so years later Charles decides to surprise her at one of her concerts and tries to shoot his shoot after all those years they end up together and it's all fluffy and cute.

Sorry if this doesn't make sense english is not my first language, thank you <3

love this!!! tysm <3

birds of a feather ✿

charles leclerc x reader

summary: fem singer!reader reignites an old teenage love with famous driver charles leclerc

songs: birds of a feather by b.eilish, the 1 by t.swift

author’s note: mostly cute and fluffy but had to add a bit of angst oops! inspo from billie’s new album obv bc that’s all i’m listening to rn. also some google translate involved so oops again if it’s wrong :)

word count: 4k

In the luxurious city of Monaco, you and Charles were cruising along the winding roads late at night, a favored pastime for the two of you. The cool breeze tousled your hair as the windows were rolled down, filling the car with the scent of saltwater and adventure. You stole a glance at Charles in the driver's seat, his face adorned with that familiar boyish grin, his eyes sparkling just as they did on the day you met him.

The car zoomed down the winding road, its expensive engine purring like a contented cat. Despite its luxurious interior, Charles had no qualms about letting you put your feet up on the dash. The scarlet sky painted with streaks of orange and pink was the perfect backdrop for this drive at sunset.

One thing different about this drive at sunset was that one of your own songs was playing on the radio. At only 19 years old, your song “Birds of a Feather” was reaching the top of the charts worldwide. At any chance he got, Charles would blast it at full volume whenever the two of you were together. It only made sense considering the song was about him.

You and Charles had been inseparable since childhood, a bond that felt unbreakable and essential to your very existence. Over the years, you both had your fair share of romantic partners, but it seemed like none of them could compare to the connection you shared. Despite any ups and downs in your own love lives, you and Charles always found your way back to each other, like two ships anchored together in the stormy sea of life.

Of course, there were fleeting moments when you wondered if there could be something more between you and Charles. The thought would cross your mind as his hand brushed yours or when he made you laugh until your sides ached. But those thoughts remained just that - fleeting and unspoken. You both cherished your friendship too much to risk changing its dynamic.

But deep down, underneath layers of familiarity and comfort, there was a quiet longing that neither of you acknowledged. A shared understanding that there was something more between you than just being best friends. And although it was left unsaid, it was an unspoken truth that added a layer of depth to your friendship.

The bass of the song throbbed through the car, drowning out Charles' words as he spoke to you. You strained to hear him over the music, but all you could see were his lips moving in time with the beat. "What?!" you shouted comically with a grin, and he reached for the volume knob to turn it down.

"I said, it's only a matter of time before you're touring worldwide," he repeated with a small smile. You shook your head in amusement. Charles always had grand visions for your music career, dreaming of reaching the stars and achieving the highest goals even when you couldn't imagine them yourself.

“You’re only saying that to be nice,” you playfully bantered with him, knowing deep down he truly believed in your talent.

A wistful smile crossed his face as he replied, “I’m serious. Before you know it, you’ll be in L.A., living your dream and making music for the world.” His words had a bittersweet edge to them, causing your own smile to falter. There was truth in his statement - Charles had just signed with Ferrari and would soon be the busiest he's ever been in his career as a Formula One driver. You were endlessly proud of him and all that he had accomplished. It feels like just yesterday when you both were just kids with big dreams, but now here you are, actually making strides towards achieving those dreams. Even with a hit song on the radio and promising opportunities ahead, you still felt like you were ages behind in becoming someone big in the music industry. And the thought of possibly leaving your best friend behind as you pursued your dreams weighed heavily on your heart.

He noticed the solemn expression on your face, his eyes full of understanding and affection. "Ah, come on," he said gently, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You know I mean that in a good way." His voice was warm and sincere."L.A. is a hotbed for the music industry right now," he continued, his excitement palpable. "And haven't you always talked about wanting to go to the States?"

You nodded slowly, unable to contain a small smile at the thought. "Yeah, but...I can't even imagine us being apart for so long," you admitted with a hint of sadness. "We've never been separated for more than a week. And even then, you were blowing up my phone every day." You couldn't help but laugh at the memory.

His own laughter rang out, contagious and genuine. "So now you know that when you're in the U.S., you won't have to worry about us not talking," he reassured you. "Clearly, I can't get enough of you." His words made your heart swell with love and comfort. Despite any ridiculous or anxious thoughts that may cross your mind, you were always reminded that the bond between you two could stretch thousands of miles.

About a week later, you had hired a manager with the help of your parents and were looking at record labels to sign with. Your social media pages were blowing up with new fans anticipating and begging for new music. It was a rightful step for a singer who had just had a song blow up, to make more music.

After many phone calls and contracts, you decided on the best deal to sign with the record label you had always wanted. With a location in Los Angeles, Sony Music Entertainment was your new employer. 

As the days passed, the familiar childhood bedroom in Monaco slowly transformed into a maze of boxes and packing materials. The bittersweet scent of nostalgia clung to the air as you said goodbye to the people and places that had shaped you. It was early February, just before the newest Formula One season started, but Charles seemed to be swallowed up by his work, juggling the responsibilities of being their rookie driver. In those fleeting moments between racing events, he squeezed in time for you, knowing that soon you would both be consumed by your separate paths. On the last night together, you took a nostalgic drive around town, savoring every street corner and landmark. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you returned to your house - now empty and cold without all of your belongings. The silence hung heavy in the air as you sat side by side, cherishing these final moments together.

You both sat on your bed as you rested your head on his shoulder and asked, “How did this even happen?” 

“Your talent will always drive you towards success, how could it not happen?” He replied and it made your eyes water. You weren’t sure how you were going to adjust with your time apart. You’ll miss his advice and little jokes. You’ll miss your late night drives around Monaco with him, taking in the cool air.

As he turned to face you, his piercing eyes caught the glistening trails of tears streaming down your cheeks. His own expression shifted from concern to sadness as he took in the sight of your heartbroken state. With a heavy sigh, he reached out to gently wipe away a stray tear from your cheek and murmured, "Please don't cry." Your eyes met his with a solemn understanding, but your bottom lip began to quiver despite your efforts.

You couldn't help but notice the glimmer of tears in his own eyes, which only made your own tears flow even more freely. Together, you both sat on the edge of your bed, gripping each other's hands tightly as you cried until it became almost comical at just how much emotion was pouring out of both of you. In between sobs, he managed to let out a small laugh and said, "It's not even an actual goodbye, I'll see you again soon.”

You couldn't help but laugh along with him through your tears. "I know," you replied with a watery smile. "I'll see you before I know it.”

But as the night wore on and the hour grew late, the reality of tomorrow morning's early flight to L.A. began to sink in. Despite wanting to hold onto this moment for as long as possible, you both knew it was time to say goodbye. You stood up and shared one final embrace, his arms enveloping you in a tight hug while yours rested around his neck. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of his cologne brought a sense of comfort amidst the pain of parting ways.

“Tu vas me manquer mon amour,” he whispered by your ear, which made you squeeze him tighter. 

“Tu vas me manquer davantage, Char.” You replied with a raspy voice, your cheeks still wet with tears. He blew you a kiss before walking out the door.

~ 5 years later ~

The electric energy of Los Angeles, California pulsed through the air as you walked towards the venue on the opening night of your highly anticipated second tour. Fresh off the massive success of your second album, fans from all over the world were eagerly awaiting your performance tonight. You could already hear their screams and see their signs, some bearing your name since the very beginning of your career. Your first tour had been small, just a few cities in the U.S., but now with your skyrocketing fame, this tour would take you to stages across the globe. The thought of performing for thousands of people in different countries sent a thrill through your veins. As you approached the entrance, excitement and nerves intertwined within you, ready to take on this new chapter in your music career.

As you nervously waited backstage, dressed in a stunning white gown for your highly anticipated opening night in Los Angeles, your mind couldn't help but wander to a familiar name: Charles. The two of you had been inseparable during your first year in L.A., constantly talking and supporting each other's dreams. But as time went on, his calls and texts became less frequent until they eventually stopped altogether. You found yourself relying on social media to keep up with him and were happy to see that he had found success with Ferrari, but also couldn't shake the feeling of hurt and confusion as to why he had suddenly disappeared from your life. You debated reaching out to congratulate him on his wins, but deep down, you knew it wouldn't make a difference.

The next years after that became hard, and you struggled to make genuine connections with anyone in the industry. You found that often other artists wanted to use you for their fame or publicity. But you had found one genuine person, your boyfriend. The two of you dated for two years, but two weeks before the opening night of your world tour, he broke things off. You were devastated, as he had become someone you loved dearly and could trust with your whole being. His reason was that he realized he couldn’t handle your level of fame and that it was becoming too much for him to handle. 

So here you were, backstage, reminiscing on your career up until this point. Your mind ran over the setlist a thousand times. “Birds of a Feather” hadn’t made the cut for this tour, and you stopped performing it all together once Charles had stopped communicating with you. You weren’t sure why he was on your mind so much for your opening night. 

As you stepped out onto the stage, a wave of excited nerves washed over you. But with each step and movement, your confidence grew until it radiated off of you like a second skin. The bright lights illuminated your white dress, making it glow against the dark backdrop. You knew this dress well, having spent hours upon hours rehearsing in it, mastering every twirl and flick of the sleeves. And now, as you sang and danced flawlessly, you felt like a true star. Every note was hit perfectly, every movement graceful and deliberate. It was as if you were born to be on that stage, commanding the attention of everyone in the audience. The familiar click of a metronome and the muffled directions from backstage played in your in-ears, guiding you through the performance like a well-oiled machine. You had become a masterful performer, honing your craft to perfection.

You wished you could remember every moment of this night as you went through the setlist. You performed “the 1”, a song from your most recent album. Fans speculated it was about the recent split with your boyfriend, but really in your mind you knew it was about Charles. Your fans mostly were unaware of Charles and the old friendship the two of you had. He rarely talked about you in the media, and you were never asked about him, even though the two of you were individually growing more famous by the day.

As the final song ended, you returned backstage, the sweat dripping down your face and your body heaving with exhaustion. This tour was more physically demanding than your last one, with intricate dance routines and high-energy performances. But it was all worth it as you heard the crowd's roar of approval after each song and saw their hands in the air, singing along to every lyric. The adrenaline rush and satisfaction of a flawless opening night kept you going despite the fatigue setting in.

You got a flood of compliments from your team and the crew backstage as you felt the dewy feeling of sweat on your forehead cool down. Your manager came up to and wrapped you in a big hug, congratulating you and updating you on the next steps for the tour.

“I know you don’t typically meet people after shows, but there’s actually a visitor here for you. He was pretty persistent.” She told you as you stood outside your dressing room. 

“Who is it?” You asked tiredly, not wishing for long interactions with people after the show. You were worn out, and typically napped or slept through the night after a long show. 

“He said his name is Charles Leclerc. Went on about how you guys were childhood friends. He showed his ID and credentials so we allowed it.” Your manager explained everything and as she was speaking your face became flushed. Charles was here, in L.A? And your management had allowed him to meet with you. You were partly in shock and partly frustrated with how easily he was able to persuade your team.

“Well…where is he?” You asked, and your manager pointed to your dressing room door. “He’s in my dressing room?” You questioned in a surprised voice, lowering your voice in case he could hear you.  

“We weren’t sure where else he could’ve waited. He made it seem like he needed to have a serious talk with you.” She explained further and you put your head in your hands. You couldn’t believe the words that had come out of her mouth, and thought that maybe she was joking. You thought that you’d open up your dressing room door and it would be empty, earning a loud laugh from her and a “Got you!”

As you slowly opened your door, still clad in your flowing white dress, your heart caught in your throat as you saw Charles sitting on the plush brown leather couch. The air was thick with surprise and a tinge of nervousness, evidenced by Charles' fidgeting hands rubbing against his pants. You could barely breathe as you managed to utter a breathless greeting, "Hi."

He stood up abruptly, his body language tense and unsure. “Hi,” he replied.

The silence hung between you like a heavy curtain as you asked, "What...um...what are you doing here?" Your fingers instinctively ran through your slightly tangled hair as you waited for his response, feeling both overwhelmed and curious about this unexpected visit.

As he stood before you, he seemed to struggle with his words, his voice catching and pausing as if trying to contain an overwhelming emotion. You gazed at him in awe, taking in every detail of his changed appearance. The dimple in his cheek still deepened when he spoke, the same crystal eyes sparkled with unreadable emotions. But now his shoulders were broader, defined muscles rippling beneath his shirt, and his neck had thickened with strength. It was clear that time had passed, but it had only enhanced his features instead of diminishing them. "I," he finally managed to say, his gaze never leaving yours, "I came here to apologize." You couldn't believe he was standing in front of you after so long. And in this moment, all you could think about was how much you missed him and how different things could have been if he had stayed.

“Apologize?” You repeated, awaiting further clarification. 

“I’ve missed you terribly.” He began to pour out, finally getting a grip on his words, “Every day we haven’t been together has haunted me. You’ve plagued my dreams, my every waking thought.” He took a swallow, “I see you online, doing amazing things, and I just feel this guilt that I’m not there with you.”

You could hardly believe the words he was saying. You felt the same, you missed him every morning you woke and every night you went to sleep. Yet you felt a tinge of resentment. He could have been there, he could have responded to your dozens of calls and texts. 

“I’m sorry, mon chérie.” He finished his speech.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and your eyes watered with emotion, your face contorted with hurt. Your voice came out breathless as you spoke, "Char, why didn't you call?" Your heart ached with longing and you couldn't understand why he hadn't taken action to bridge the distance between you. The unspoken desire between you was almost tangible, making the current situation even more painful for both of you.

“My ex-girlfriend, once we got together she saw how often we communicated and told me that I couldn’t talk to you anymore. And I thought I loved her so much that I was willing to do whatever it took. But…it turns out…” He paused, looking you in the eyes. 

“What?” You questioned, waiting for him to spit it out. 

“It turns out as the years went on, that I just loved you.” He said as he stepped closer. 

“You don’t mean that,” You denied shaking your head, a single tear running down your cheek. 

“But I do,” he grabbed your hand, “I think I’ve always loved you.”

You broke out into a grin while tears still fell, and wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his chest. “What took you so long?” 

“I’m sorry mon amour, I guess I was just too stupid to actually do anything. But I love you, I love you so much.” His arms wrapped around your waist, kissing the top of your head. 

You pulled back and placed your hands on his face, admiring his mature features. He took his thumbs to wipe off the tears on your face. “I love you too,” You told him and he grinned. “Will you finally kiss me?” 

His lips met yours in a gentle, yet passionate, kiss. As your heart raced and butterflies fluttered in your stomach, you couldn't help but smile as his lips moved against yours. It was your first kiss with the love of your life, a moment that you would never forget.

You had always known deep down that he was the one for you, but you had spent so long convincing yourself that a friendship was all it could ever be. But now, as you felt the warmth of his embrace and the intensity of his kiss, you realized that the love of your life could also be your best friend - the person who knows and understands you better than anyone else in the world. And in that moment, you were grateful for every step that had led you to this perfect moment with him.

Charles had to return to his Formula One season, but the two of you called every day. He made it to shows on your tour when he could, and when you traveled to France to play your home show, he was there for every minute of it. 

The crowd knew that this show was special, and fans had picked up on the new romance between you and Charles. Everyone was loving it, and older fans finally put the pieces together on the connection the two of you had. So for your home show, you played “Birds of a Feather” for everyone as a surprise, with Charles in attendance. The song had only changed meaning slightly, as you sang it with more love towards him than you’ve ever had before. Headlines were soon filled with your name along with his.

As the next year rolled around and January came, the two of you were inseparable at award shows, him proudly by your side for every one of your achievements. His smile lit up the room and his hand always found yours in the sea of people. Even when you won your first Grammy, he was there in all of your acceptance speeches, his eyes sparkling with pride.

As the year went on and you took a break from touring, you joined him on the road during his racing season. The roar of engines and smell of burning rubber filled your senses as you watched him race with skill and determination. The paddock quickly became like a second home to you, with fans flocking to meet the both of you. The Ferrari team welcomed you with open arms, treating you like family. It was a dream come true to be able to share this passion with him, and you couldn't imagine a better way to spend your time off.

Charles never dulled your shine; in fact, he basked in its radiance. He was not intimidated by your fame, but rather, he reveled in it. As you both shared stories about past relationships, Charles' understanding became apparent. He may have been known for different reasons, but he knew the highs and lows that came with celebrity status. Together, you formed an unbreakable bond of understanding and support. Life had become akin to heaven with Charles by your side, a constant source of love and grounding amidst the chaos of fame.

Together, you moved into a luxurious apartment in the heart of Monaco. The spacious living room had been transformed into your personal music studio, with instruments and recording equipment scattered about in organized chaos. The walls were adorned with posters from your past tours and handwritten lyrics. Charles stood by the window, looking out at the stunning view of the city below, while you strummed your guitar on the plush couch. The sense of security and stability he brought to your life was palpable - his presence assuring you that he would always be there, no matter where your music took you. As you played him your latest compositions, his fingers effortlessly danced across the keys of the piano, adding depth and richness to the melodies. Together, you created magic in that space - harmonizing not just in music but also in life.

As you laid in bed one night, your head rested on the pillow turned towards him, you caught him staring at you. You grinned, “What?” 

“Nothing, I’ve just never seen someone more beautiful before in my life.” He told you in a low voice, smirking at you. You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing you should’ve expected him to shower you with compliments. 

You placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, “Je t’aime chéri.” 

You both settled into bed, cuddled up next to each other. He kissed your temple, “Je t’aimerai toujours plus.”     

[lvmimis]

cw: reader is a non-japanese university student.

There’s nothing more embarrassing to you than having to do mental math to afford a cold drink at the store, but this is what you’re reduced to, now that your funds have slowly dwindled and the convenience store closest to your cheap, dingy apartment seems to be shockingly expensive.

You’re not down on your luck enough to call your parents and beg for extra cash, but as you count coins in your hand, and push a wrapped onigiri and a bottle of Ramune across the table to the disinterested shop clerk, you consider it heavily.

Despite the fact that you’d felt the man's eyes on you the entire time you were perusing the aisles, he might as well be pretending he’s just noticed you, as you stand and wait for him to ring up your order. You and the clerk have an odd tension, something you wish you could understand, but as long as you can buy your snack and leave, letting your money stretch for as long as possible until your university scholarship kicks in, you can tolerate anything.

You watch the register again as he rings up your food, then there’s a sudden small jump in price, just about 150 yen.

“Extra fee,” the clerk says as he watches your eyes flicker just for a moment, but you don’t argue. Your Japanese is limited enough that you’re not sure you can make a great argument, and it’s not like you know what the law is here. 

An extra small fee cannot be too much to pay for some peace. 

“Oi, what’s that extra fee for? You’re making shit up now, are ya?”

You freeze from the rashness of the voice coming up behind you, but when you turn, there’s a man coming up behind you who looks about your age, hair tousled and eyes downturned and sleepy giving him a just rolled out of bed look despite it being past sunset. Hands in his pockets he approaches, his geta loud with every footstrike as he walks. He’s also holding a bottle of Ramune, same flavor as yours.

Setting his purchase beside yours, he leans over the counter to face the clerk, a smirk on his face.

“You overcharging foreigners? Lame.”

Something about his joking voice has a lilt of a threat, and the shop clerk looks quickly from him to you, quickly deciding it’s not worth the argument, also choosing peace the same way you did before.

“My apologies, probably an accident, young lady,” he says to you, almost cloyingly politely.

You know damn well that’s not true because he’s charged you the same ‘fee’ every time you’ve come here since the start of the month. But you keep your lips tightly closed as you smile.

“Thank you very much,” you say politely to to the clerk. You glance at the young man who’s already cracked open his drink before paying.

“If it’s just that, I can pay for it,” you offer in some semblance of duty. After all you’re not something or someone to be saved, just a decent human being.

The young man scoffs and shakes his head out of you, then slaps an assortment of bills and coins on the counter, exact change, and walks out of the shop without a word. The shopkeeper shakes his head as he gives you back your own change, and you take a moment to gather up your things, compelled to run after him.

He hasn’t gone far, squatted at the corner of the street, what appears to be a cigarette in his hand.  You wonder for a moment if he swiped the pack, but when you see a half empty pack beside him you quickly feel bad for your assumption. 

Your sense of stranger danger fails you, and you move closer to him, bag in your right hand.

“Thank you for your help.”

He takes a drag of his cigarette then puffs it for a moment, looking up at you through glasses, shaded in the sun, although a peek of green shines through. 

“Don’t let people rip you off like that. You look like a dumbass.”

You still for a moment, smarted by his brashness, then smile.

“Right.”

He peers up at you with your smile and scoffs.

You decide not to bother him further, but before you leave, decide to give him your name.

“In case we ever see each other again,” you add. He gives you another sideways glance then pulls out his phone. You’re tense about the idea of giving him your phone number, but quickly realizing he’s not asking. 

He’s sending a text to someone else, uninterested in your conversation.

You’re a bit slighted, then embarrassed that you’re slighted, and make your way home.

“Togame Jo," he calls behind you.

You pretend not to hear his name, but when you meet him again, just a few days later, it’s the first thing out of your mouth.

[tragedybunny]

Loving Him

༺Synopsis ༻ You and Astarion are out travelling the world. Tonight you decide to spoil him with your attention.

༺Pairing ༻ Astarion x F!Reader

༺Warnings ༻ 18+ , fellatio, vaginal sex

༺Word Count ༻ 1820

Thanks to @bunnidarling for the Beta.

The sun was fading, pinks and oranges playing prelude to lavenders and indigos, then the velvety black finale of the night. A night of rest, you thought contentedly, just the two of you and this lovely little clearing you'd found to camp in. 

Normally, you would stay at what inns would have you, but you'd been between towns when daylight grew near. Just off the road through the woods you found a small, oddly shaped, clearing that was level enough so that you wouldn’t be sleeping in a mud puddle. “Do you think you can handle sleeping outdoors again, or are you too used to the luxury of a real bed?” Astarion had teased as the tent went up in the last hour before dawn. 

“I wasn’t the one who whined endlessly about it,” you shot back with a grin. Neither of you loved roughing it, but it happened sometimes on your journey across Faerûn. Thus, you’d dug your supplies out of the modified Bag of Holding that Gale had gifted you, and made camp. It was an extremely useful gift, modified into a small backpack one of you carried while the other carried a mundane pack with essentials you might want to access with ease, the Bag could be a bit tricky for finding things quickly. 

Though, you couldn’t complain as it also allowed you to indulge in a bit of luxury: a carpet spread out near your fire dappled with large cushions to lounge on, where you sat in nothing but a thin nightgown. The tent you shared bore a similar enchantment to the bag, making it larger and more luxurious on the inside, the cots and blankets disappearing easily into it as it was taken down. Tonight you’d spread out your cushion nest by yourself while Astarion tranced. It was a habit of his to wait until the last few hours before sunset, remaining awake throughout the day, either in your tent or wherever you’d found to stay. 

You were nocturnal yourself these days, staying up past dawn to visit markets that weren’t open at night and make any necessary arrangements, and finding sleep sometime after. Astarion would usually cuddle up to you until you drifted off, and then return to your side to trance. Today though, you’d had trouble sleeping and come out to enjoy the evening, watching the sunset. 

As soon as the light faded, your vampiric love emerged from the tent. It was a rare sight to see Astarion not looking perfectly put together, one only you were so regularly privy to. Curls disheveled, eyes hazy with sleep, he stood in the moonlight in nothing but a night shirt that came down to mid-thigh. “Good evening, darling,” he purred, voice thick and sultry. 

Heat came instantly to your core just looking at him. Tonight was a night of rest, such urges shouldn't go to waste. “Hello my love,” you crook a finger and beckon him toward you, a sinful smile on your lips. 

His crimson eyes light up, knowing you were up to something. Astraion’s reclaimed bodily autonomy had led you to finding ever greater physical pleasures in each other. Rising from the cushion you leaned on, you settle on your knees before him. “May I?” Your gaze peers up at him through your lashes to find his eyes already hooded and dark. 

“Go right ahead, you sweet little thing,” he invites, urging you on. If only he knew what you were thinking. 

The first touch of your lips is against his inner thigh, and you feel him shiver as they continue up his pale skin. Your teeth sink into his soft flesh in their wake, leaving little red marks blooming on him. He groans and you want to leave the kind of marks that would last, dark and beautiful, but you had other things on your mind. 

Pushing the night shirt out of your way, you reach your goal, his cock, already starting to stiffen for you. Gods, was there a more glorious sight in all the realms? You look up again, asking without words. “Don’t leave me waiting love,” he breathes, betraying the effect you were having on him. 

Grasping him in one hand, you stroke gently as your tongue darts out to lick along the sensitive underside of his member. His hitched breath spurs you on, and you lavish your tongue over him, long strokes, drawn out teasingly over the sensitive head, emerging from his foreskin. 

The temptation is too great to resist and you greedily take all of him into your mouth before long, pushing yourself as far down his length as you could without gagging. Your reward is a moan that leaves wetness blooming between your thighs. A hand tangles in your hair as you start to move, taking him again and again to your limit. 

The feel of him bumping into the back of your throat is always delicious, but you need more. You let him slide from your mouth to a disappointed sigh. “Lie down, I want you to just let me do everything,” you gesture to your abandoned cushion, “and get that night shirt out of my way.” 

“Feisty tonight,” he smiles down at you, but acquiesces to your whim. Typically, it was Astarion who took charge of your intimate moments, guiding you, instructing you, dominating you. But tonight, you want to lead, to let him simply experience pleasure. 

The night shirt is carelessly flung to the ground, leaving you with an uninhibited view of that body you’d learned to crave. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, holding back a hungry noise. Astarion settles himself down onto the cushion, his thighs spread enough to leave a perfect space for you. “You’re going to spoil me if you do all the work.”

“Hush,” you scold, pulling your nightgown over your head, and letting the cool evening breeze tingle your skin. Astarion makes an appreciative sound and you turn to find his eyes devouring and can tell he’s fighting the urge to grab and push you down to the ground and have his way with you. He’ll have to wait for that. 

You don’t leave the space he’d made for you empty for long, kneeling between his thighs and lowering yourself until your lips wrap around him and one hand encircles the base of his cock. Sucking, you work him both hand and mouth, bobbing up and down. 

No longer holding back, the night is filled with his little sounds of passion as you worship him with your mouth. Invariably, hands wrap back into your hair and he tries to thrust up, to take back control. Your free hand pushes him back down and you leave it resting on his hip, a warning you could stop if he doesn’t behave. 

Drool dribbles over the corner of your mouth as you're once again taking him to the back of your throat. The salty taste of precum tingles your tongue as you press it as hard as you can against him. The hand on his hip traces it’s way down his thigh, nails lightly skimming his skin, then back up, traipsing along his stomach, to his chest. 

In your mouth, his cock gives a little twitch. Too close, you pull off. The audacious bastard has the nerve to whine. Your hand wraps around him and you stroke a few times, not enough to alleviate what he’s feeling. “What’s the matter love?” You lock gazes with him from where you're still kneeling between his legs, daring him to try again to take the lead. 

Eyes hazy with lust, he pants, and words mix with incoherent noise. “You - absolutely maddening - tease.” 

“Should I stop?” You release him and sit back, hands resting on your thighs. 

An actual growl slips from his throat and he begins to sit, reaching for you. Hands on his shoulders, you push him back down to the cushion. “None of that.” 

How willing he’s been to play along surprised you, and it continues to as he yields, laying back down. “Just relax, enjoy this.”

Straddling his thighs, you nudge them back together, no doubt he can feel the heat and wetness of your core as it rests on him. Leaning down, you plant a searing kiss on him, lips parting and tongues entwining. Your grip still firm on his shoulders, you kiss your way down his neck, biting and sucking until a proper mark forms. His purpled skin is gorgeous and you kiss it again before moving on to leave another. Cool fingers dig into your hips but nothing more as he moans softy at your attentions. 

Hips slide over his, his cock running the length of your drenched slit. “Fuck,” he whispers, breath tingling your ear, and you can’t wait another moment. Reaching down, you roll your hips, and guide him inside you, whimpering when at last you’re filled.

Sitting back up straight, you move, hips grinding against his, and delicious friction filling you. “Gods,” you moan, he’s not doing anything and this man can still undo you. 

“My beautiful girl, you ride me so good,” fuck him and that mouth of his. “Can I touch you sweetheart, please?” 

That hadn’t been your plan, but his soft plea along with the maddening feel of him inside you crumples your will. “You may,” you barely manage. 

He doesn’t need more encouragement for his fingers to quickly find your sensitive bud and begin rubbing rough circles over it. You’re both too far gone for gentleness, and you relish the firm touch. Pace quickening, you lean down, hips moving at a brutal rhythm, so badly you want to bring him to climax, but those masterful fingers have had their way with you and soon you’re close.

He can tell by the scent, he’s told you, and the way your pulse beats, exactly when you can’t stand it anymore. “Go on love, come for me.” 

With a keening sound, you give in, clenching around him, still rolling your hips. “Astarion,” you moan, almost unable to keep moving. 

Pulling you down, he finally wrests control from you, and fucks up into you with maddened thrusts. “My love, my sweet darling girl, you’re so good to me.” He stiffens and gasps, lips finding yours as his release fills you. 

Collapsing down onto his chest, you lay there in a warm daze, Astarion’s arms wrapping around you. “This was quite the enjoyable turn of events,” you feel his lips in your hair. “Though you’ll have to try harder next time to keep in control.” 

“Do you ever shut up,” you huff and try to glare up at him from where you lay. 

“Only when you make me,” he teases only to be cut off by your lips on his. 

The two of you fall silent and rest in each other’s arms, you’ll need to gather your strength if you’re to try this again.

  

Tag list, DM to be added

@micropoe10  @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

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@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon

[inazumatrash]

Some concept art for a discarted comic idea.

But I ended up adapting the script to a fanfic! (It's a little rough and I'm new to writing, so any feedback is welcome) Omori spoilers ahead.

The events of this story happens sometime after Mari's funeral.

///

It's sunset time with blue and soft pink tints all over the urban scenery. Basil is finishing tying up the velcro of his sandals to go out. Grabbing the door knob, he turns his head back to leave one final message before leaving.

"I'll be back soon, grandma!"

There's a chilling breeze outside and the streets are eerily empty. But Basil prefer this way. His head is full of thoughts, he needs the space. Approaching his destination, he stops looking at the sidewalk and lifts his head. He finally spot a living soul a bit ahead of him.

It's Kel. He's in front of Sunny's house. Kel seems to hesitate for a while, but gathers courage and knocks on the door. He vigorously give three consecutive knocks.

"That's a bit too much." Basil observes. Good old Kel.

It doesn't take too long for the door to open, and Sunny's mom appears. She has a dull look in her eyes. She's tired.

"Oh, it's you, Kelsey…" She looks over his shoulder. "and Basil."

Kel also looks back. Basil is suddenly there, a few steps of distance.

"What can I do for you two?"

"Uh." Kel is a little surprised with Basil's presence, but figured out he came for the same reason as him. "Can I- Can we talk to Sunny?"

"Hm…" She looks away before answering. "He's a little more unresponsive than usual..."

Basil feels a pinch of pain in his stomach.

"I wasn't able to talk to him since… the funeral." Kel fidgets a little. "I want to let him know he can count on us!"

Sunny's mom mouth corner's change to a soft, yet warm smile.

"Well, I'm sure he would appreciate to hear from you two, at least."

She steps back, opening the door welcoming the boys in. Kel perks up and calls Basil with a hand gesture. They enter the house.

"He's at their- at his room."

At the living room, the boys can see the glass door that leads to the backyard, highlighted with a menacing reddish orange light of the last sunrays. Kel immediatelly changes his attention to Sunny's mom back, while Basil has a hard time moving away his focus from it. They arrive at the staircase. Kel doesn't think twice and steps halfway through it. Basil freezes.

"Basil?" Kel calls out for him.

Basil tries to hide his anxiety and replies "C-coming!"

They are at front of Sunny's room, Sunny's mother a little further, to give the boys some space. Kel knocks the door, but this time, more gently.

"Sunny? It's Kel and Basil!" No reply.

Basil gives a quick look back at the staircase and Something starts crawling around him.

"Sunny." Kel starts again, leaning his hand on the door. "Sorry for not talking to you until now. But you know that we're here for you, right?" Kel sends a signal to Basil by raising his eyebrows and tilting his head towards the door, asking him to join.

Basil desperately tries to find the words. But the truth is, he wasn't expecting Sunny's mom, much less Kel's presence. It's not that he didn't have anything to say. He couldn't say anything he wanted to.

The creeping silence started to bother Kel, so he continued instead.

"Oh, I know! If you want, we can have a sleepover!" No reply. "Uh, it doesn't need to be anything fancy! We don't need to play games or eat snacks… We don't even need to talk. Just have each other's company, y'know?"

Kel smiled as he placed his other hand and ear to the door, waiting for the answer. He believed his idea was too good to be turned down. No reply.

"Sunny?" More silence.

Sunny's mom sighs, ready to call Kel and Basil back. Kel moves away from the door. He starts playing with his hoodie strings, looking a little less bright than before.

"Don't worry about it, it's okay." He did his best to hold a smile "I totally understand if you just need time alone."

"…like Hero." He completes under his breath, almost a whisper.

Another wave of silence. Is Sunny ignoring them? Is he even listening? Basil's mind go blank as he stares at the door.

"We'll come back tomorrow!" Kel bursts. The "we" took Basil by surprise.

"R-right! We'll be back tomorrow, Sunny." Basil faintly addes to the farewell.

Kel gives one last knock on the door, and starts walking away. Basil follows him.

"Oh, kids…"

"Can we really come back tomorrow?" Basil asks.

"Oh, yes, you may come… I'll let you know if he's available or not." It wasn't very reassuring.

After one last goodbye, the two boys leave the house. A few steps later, they stop in front of Kel's house. Before Basil could say anything, Kel apologizes.

"I'm sorry you couldn't say much. I hogged all the time for myself."

"N-not really. I wasn't sure what to say, anyway…"

"Isn't it strange, though? Sunny… He doesn't like to be alone, why would he…?" Kel stops and shakes his head. "We just have to try again tomorrow!" Kel smiles seems forced, Basil notices.

"W-well… See you tomorrow, then?"

"No, wait- let me walk you home!"

"O-okay." Basil let him be.

In the middle of the walk, Kel turns to Basil.

"I still didn't talk to Aubrey either. Did you?" Basil shakes his head. "I thought about visiting her too, but- I think I'm the last person she would want to see." Basil thought the same of himself, but kept silent about it.

Kel is a open book, he has no reason to hide his emotions and usually can be very blunt with his honesty. But something feels off today. Or since then. That day. Looking better, Basil notices Kel was using a navy colored hoodie at least two sizes larger than it should be. A small letter "H" was embroidered on it. Kel would use passed down clothes from Hero, but this one was clearly borrowed before its time.

He was lonely too.

Soon, Basil's home is right around the corner.

"Hm, actually." Basil starts. "I promised grandma I was going to buy a few things at the convenience store. Do you want to tag along…?" Kel snorts in reply. Was Basil trying to cheer him up?

"Sure, let's go! But let's be quick, mom won't like if I come home too late." He skips ahead.

"Wait! The store is on the opposite direction!"

"Oh!!"

///

It's night. Between the interval of a lightpost to another, Kel can't stand the silence anymore.

"Aah, I should have brought some pocket money!" He comes closer to Basil, using his hand to shield the conversation like he was about to confide a secret. "But I already spent all my allowance."

Basil wasn't expecting chit-chat, but wasn't too surprised either. It kind of gave him a sense of normality.

"…Hero always scolds me for spending it too quickly.

Like everything that happened was just a bad dream…

"But Mari would always treat me instead!"

A shiver passes through Basil's spine.

"Are you cold?" Kel opens his arms as invinting for a hug.

"No, I'm okay!"

Kel stops and rewinds what he just said.

"Sorry."

"N-no, don't be." Basil almost regrets calling Kel over. The uncomfortable silence is back, until Kel broke it again.

"I'll be more careful with my money from now on."

"?"

"So I can be the one who treat everyone out! How is that?"

"Are you sure you'll be able to do that?"

"What? You understimate me!!"

Basil slips a weak smile. Kel smiles back, like he planned it from the beggining. They continue their walk.

///

At the convenience store, Basil goes straight to what he went for. To kill time, Kel explores around until something take his attention at the candy area. Basil approaches too see what was so interesting. Kel only notices his presence after a while.

"Eek!" Kel was startled.

"…Are you going to ask for borrowed money?" Basil teases.

"No!! I was just looking… See, there's everyone's favorite flavor today…"

Basil identifies each flavor and silently pick them up.

They leave the store and Kel lifts his lollipop over his head.

"Basil, you're the best!" The compliment take Basil aback.

"It's just candy…"

"Yeah, it's just candy." Basil didn't expect him to agree so fast.

"It's the thought that counts!"

Basil just nods.

///

They arrive at Basil's house again.

"We're here!" Kel announces the obvious.

"Y-yeah."

Basil moves ahead to the door.

"See you tomorrow!!"

Basil stops.

"S-sure."

///

Basil is welcomed by his grandma with tea and cookies. Putting the groceries aside and with a cup in hands, he stares at the lollipops over the kitchen's table. Strawberry, watermelon and grape. He thinks back when Kel pointed that everyones flavors were available. All six of them. He shrugs the thought away.

Kel is on his way back, already appreciating his orange lollipop, while waving the cola flavored one in the air. He wonders when he'll be able to deliver the little gift. He wonders when he'll be able to talk to Hero again. Or to any of his friends for that matter. He shrugs the thought away.

THE END

[writerinlearning]

𝐂𝗼𝐥𝗼𝐮𝐫𝐬 | Soulmates AU. Part. One.

plot: based on a writing prompt i found on pinterest: AU where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate but the world turns back to black and white when your soulmate dies. plot twist, you can see colours again in the afterlife.

pairing: luke patterson x mercer!fem!reader | alex mercer x sister!reader | sunset curve x mercer!fem!reader

show: julie and the phantoms

warnings: light mentions of death.

word count: 4,4k

author’s notes: english is not my first language, apologies for possible mistakes. this is the second version of this fic. first version has been unpublished. this AU is somewhat based on episode five of julie and the phantoms aka the other side of hollywood. this is a two-part AU.

luke patterson masterlist || part. two. || main masterlist

Los Angeles, 2020

The sun sets down behind the horizon, the golden glow reflecting onto the crystal blue water of the pier. A warm breeze blows through her hair, loose strands falling on each side of her face, perfectly framing the gentle nostalgic smile across her lips. She tentatively dips her feet into the cold water from the ocean, the waves crashing onto the shore but the sound brings a sense of calmness to her mind. She closes her eyes, inhaling slowly.

Twenty-five years. It has been twenty-five years since Y/N had last come up to the pier, the memories of her friends too numerous and too painful to handle at the same time. But the pier was their spot, and she can still vividly imagine Luke with his acoustic guitar, or Alex tapping his thighs to make a beat while Reggie and Bobby sang together. She remembers always sitting with her feet buried in the sand, watching as her brother messed around with his three best friends.

She remembers the day she first met them through Alex, her twin brother older by only twenty-minutes. And she remembers when her eyes landed on Luke, and suddenly colours started to flood her vision, highlighting her world. She chuckles at the memory; Alex had been mad for a couple of weeks after finding out, wondering why on Earth his twin sister and one of his best friends had to be soulmates, but he got around it after a long conversation with Luke and Y/N. Besides, it’s not like they dated right away. They wanted to get to know each other better first, and when they both turned sixteen, Luke asked out on an official date.

A single tear falls down her cheek. She was fifteen, when she discovered that Luke was her soulmate. And she was seventeen when she lost him.

— 

Los Angeles, 1995

Y/N is in the studio, looking at herself through the bathroom mirror. She’s wearing a white Sunset Curve shirt tucked inside a pair of black ripped jeans. White Converses are on her feet, and she wears a black denim jacket over her shoulders, just in case she gets cold. Tonight is supposed to be her brother’s showcase with Sunset Curve at the Orpheum; they’d been anticipating this day for months now, and she was really looking forward to it. And she knows the boys, they wouldn’t miss an opportunity to celebrate the occasion once the show’s over, and she was not about to ask her boyfriend for one of his jackets, again.

It’s when she wants to reach for her handbag that it happens. She trips over her feet, and her vision turns black for a short minute. Her ears begin to ring, her head pounding as she falls on her butt in a soft thud. She takes her head in her hands as tears begin to roll down her cheeks like a waterfall. She doesn’t dare to open her eyes, but finds herself forced to do so when the phone near the garage doors begins to ring. It’s a shrilling sound, one that makes the pounding in her head grow stronger. Reluctantly, she wills herself to get up, opening her eyes to realize the truth of what had just happened, something she’d feared for two years. It’s the little details she notices first, like how Luke’s usually electric blue guitar is now a dark shade of grey, or how the lights hanging from the ceiling are now a blinding white colour when she looks up. It’s how Reggie’s red flannels he’d left on the couch are now black-coloured ones, and it’s how one of her brother’s pink hoodies that she often steals turns a light grey when she looks at it. She chokes back on a sob as she reaches the phone to answer the call, dreading the news she’d get on the other side. She knows; of course she knows. She can feel it deep within her bones, and her stomach keeps churning and twisting in anticipation. Because hearing it out loud makes it real, and she doesn’t want it to be real.

Y/N never was stupid, and she knows what the loss of colours in her eyesight means. She barely hears the words spoken on the other line as she breaks down in tears, hiccups stumbling past her lips as her headache grows stronger. What was supposed to be the best night of their life had just turned into the worst. Last she’d seen them, they were buzzing with excitement and energy over playing at the Orpheum. Rehearsals had been a blast, and it’s the most fun they’d had in a while. Barely an hour later, she’s faced with the reality; she’d just lost her twin brother, her best friend, and her boyfriend.

She tries to reach out to Bobby that night, but he seems to have vanished from the surface of the Earth. Is she angry? Yes, because he’s the only person who knows the boys as well as she does. She can’t go to her parents, even if she wants to. They’d kicked her out of the house the same night they did Alex when he came out as gay to them. Maybe she could go to Emily and Mitch, but she isn’t sure she’d be strong enough to face them, not when she’d been there when Luke ran out on them on Christmas Eve night of 1994.

She does see them, however, during Luke’s funeral. It’s gut-wrenching, and she barely has the strength to face them. Emily sees her first, and the woman practically runs into Y/N’s arms to hold her close, and the young girl can’t stop herself from clinging onto Mrs. Patterson as Mitch wraps his arms around the both of them. She does see her parents for the first time in a year when they show up to Alex's funeral, one she’d organized from A to Z. She tries her best not to be mad at them, but when her mother comes up to her with a fake smile, Y/N loses it completely. Never had she been this angry in her life, and perhaps it was the grief, but that day she told everything she’s ever wanted to say to her parents, and she stormed out of the service, leaving them shamefaced in the middle of the alley way. She goes to Reggie’s funeral last, and she sees his parents from afar. She’s never spoken to them in the time she knew Reggie, but she knows his little brother and when he sees her, she allows him to give her a tight hug. It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough to give both of them a sense of comfort; that someone shares their grief.

But going to three funerals in a week takes its toll on Y/N. She barely eats, barely speaks, and she spends most of her time locked up in the garage, the owners being kind enough to let her live there until she can find her own place, and she spends every minute despising the beautiful black dress she’d worn one too many times in a short span of days. She lays awake at night, looking up at the ceiling whilst tears fall from the corner of her eyes, low sniffles being the only sound in the quiet studio. Polaroid pictures are scattered on the floor, each with a date written underneath. Y/N had torn them from the walls, leaving them untouched on the ground. She doesn’t have the courage to pick them up and store them in a box, the pain from the memories too unbearable to even look at the pictures. After the funerals, she can’t find the strength to go back to Los Feliz High either, deciding instead to get home-schooled and graduate at home.

On her eighteenth birthday, in the year 1996, Y/N visits the boys’ graves, like she’d do every week for the past year, and she always leaves a bouquet of white lilies on each of their graves. She sits down in front of Alex’s headstone, and she tells him about her day, before she tells Reggie and Luke about their respective families. But Y/N never speaks about her parents whenever she visits, never getting any news from them after Alex’s death. 

—

Los Angeles, 2020

Tears roll down her cheeks as Y/N reminisces on the events that followed that fateful night, on her eighteenth birthday. She’d been on her way back to the apartment she was sharing with a friend of hers for a couple months, when her vehicle got caught in an accident. She could still remember the blue and red sirens echoing in the street as she was pulled onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. She still remembers staying in that dark room for an hour before someone came to get her. And as her fingers brush against the purple mark on her right wrist, regrets overwhelm her mind.

Caleb Covington had made promises to her, and she had naively agreed on his deal, with the persuasion that every ghost end up at his club somehow and that maybe, by a miracle, she would find her brother, her soulmate, and her best friend at the Hollywood Ghost Club. But it’s been twenty-four years since she died, and still no sign of them anywhere. Perhaps they had crossed over, after all.

That night, she walks back to the club when the mark begins to burn her skin. Caleb is calling for her, and Y/N knows she can’t mess up her act during the night’s show. With a snap of her fingers, she lands on the scene in the Hollywood Ghost Club, quickly disappearing behind the curtains to go to her dressing-room, where Caleb is probably already waiting for her.

“Ah! There you are, my little dove.”

Caleb’s voice wants itself to be comforting, but after twenty-four years Y/N has learned not to trust his sweet words. She only smiles when she sees him, sitting herself in front of the mirror as she reapplies her red lipstick, dabbing it with her pointer finger. She doesn’t need to look up to know that Caleb is leaning over her, his cold hands on her naked shoulders as he looks at her through the mirror.

“I need you tonight, my little dove.” The magician says, tightening his grip on her shoulders. “See, our dear William has found three new ghosts here in our city of Angels…” 

At those words, her curiosity is instantly picked. She lifts her eyes from the dressing table, looking at the man through the mirror, her head tilting to the right.

“Ah, yes. I knew you would be interested, dear.” He smiles smarmily. “I need them working for me. They’re too powerful to be on their own.”

“How so?” Y/N asks, her curiosity getting the best of her. 

“They don’t need my help to be visible to Lifers.” 

At that, Y/N smirks, noticing the man’s gritted teeth and the frown creasing his forehead. Caleb is all about power; power over the ghosts that cannot cross over, and power over the Living, who are so interested in anything paranormal. She wants to smirk and flip him off, but she decides against it when he squeezes her shoulders between his fingers.

“I need you–” He says, pointing at her through the mirror. “–to convince those boys to work for me. Use your wits, your charms, anything. I want these boys to work for me.”

“And if I can’t?” She asks, her voice slightly wavering.

“You know what happens…”

Caleb slightly waves his fingers, and Y/N’s wrist begins to tingle with a burning sensation. She hisses, glaring at him through the looking-glass before she reluctantly nods her head, watching him disappear into his own dressing-room before the big show. She sighs, taking her head in her hands. She’s gotten used to seeing her surroundings in black and white, and she learned over the years to discern the different shades of black and white, associating them with the colours she used to see. Sometimes, she still longs for the days when she was alive; when the boys, her boys, were alive. A single tear rolls down her cheek, memories of the plans she’d made with Luke rushing back in her mind. Fortunately for her, she doesn’t have time to think much of it when Willie barges into her dressing-room, dressed in black shorts and a tuxedo vest over a black button-up shirt, a pair of black Vans on his feet. Y/N gives her friend a soft smile before a sigh leaves her lips.

“So…” She trails, looking at him. “I’ve heard you found three lost ghosts today.”

“They’re not exactly lost.” Willie tells her. “They have this old band mate of theirs, who stole their songs, and they want revenge, I– I guess? I don’t really know, but I figured Caleb could help them.”

“Are they already here?”

Y/N’s heart, if she still had one beating in her chest, sinks down as her friend nods yes. She has this weird feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach, just like the one she had the night the boys were supposed to play the Orpheum stage. Her vanishing emotions don’t go unnoticed by William, who sits on the edge of her dressing table, his eyes landing on her.

“Something wrong, Y/N?” He asks her, worry hidden in his voice.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Willie.” She tells him truthfully. “Caleb asked me to–”

She stops herself mid-sentence; can she tell Willie what Caleb asked her to do, knowing the consequences? She doesn’t want to put Willie at risk; he’s her only friend, but everything in her body screams at her to let him know, just in case something happens to her, or to those boys.

“What did Caleb ask you?” William asks her again.

“He asked me to convince the new ghosts to work for him.” She blurts out, immediately covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh god, I shouldn’t have said it.”

“He threatened you, didn’t he?”

Y/N nods, quickly wiping the tears that begin to fall from her eyes with the palm of her hand, sniffling. Willie wraps his arms around her, and she buries her head in the crook of his neck as he holds her close. In their years spent together at the Hollywood Ghost Club, he’s come to consider the girl his sister; someone he could trust, no matter what.

“I know what will cheer you up.” He says after a while, and she looks up to him.           

“What?” She asks him, raising a brow. 

“Well… I was about to offer you some food, but I remembered you don’t eat before a performance so… how about I take you to meet the boys instead?”

“Why do I feel like you need something from me?”

“I need you to entertain them while I go see Caleb. Please.”

“Are you going to try and convince him not to own the boys’ souls? You know that won’t work…”

“I can still try. If it means you and them are safe in the end.”

Y/N’s lips curve into a thin-lipped smile, holding Willie in her arms for a brief moment before they both walk out of her dressing-room. Arm in arm, they head for the main stairs of the Hollywood Ghost Club.

Y/N freezes when she spots the three boys at the top of the stairs, her eyes going round with shock, lips parted and mouth hanging open. Could it be? Y/N shakes her head; no, it can’t be. It’s been twenty-five years since they passed away, why would they show up just now? They don’t seem to notice her yet, even when William lets go of her arm to poof up the stairs next to them. Her feet are glued to the ground, too afraid to move an inch, but she watches as Willie leans over the handrail and exchanges a few words with the brunet boy wearing a long denim jacket. She watches in anticipation when the boy slightly turns his head, and his eyes land on her at the bottom of the stairs.

His breath gets caught up in his throat when his eyes lock with hers. He knows he doesn’t technically breathe, because he doesn’t need it, but the feeling is just the same. What is she doing here, he has no idea. She was supposed to have gone on with her life, created a family without him. She was supposed to have done everything they had planned together before he died. How is she here, not looking a day older than the last time he’d seen her when he was alive? 

She looks as beautiful as he remembers her to be, dressed in a long evening dress with an open slit on the right side, spaghetti straps over her shoulders. Her H/C hair cascades over her shoulders in curls, and her hands are covered by black silk gloves that go up to her elbows and match the colour of her dress. She’s a sight from Heaven, if there were such a thing as Heaven, and if he still had a heartbeat, Luke is certain everyone would hear it beat out of his chest. He isn’t paying attention to either his bandmates or Willie anymore, too enraptured by the sight of her at the bottom of the stairs. She’s the only thing on his mind, and not even the beauty of the Ghost Club would take her away from his thoughts. He watches as she shakes her head, and his eyes finally meet hers as she begins to climb up the stairs.

Gold is the first colour that comes to his eyesight. It’s everywhere; on the walls, on the floors, even on the stairs. Everything in the Hollywood Ghost Club is gold. He sees the red next, like the lipstick on her lips, or the diamond encrusted in her necklace. And blue, like the curtains behind the stage at the centre of the room below him, or the evening dresses some of the women are wearing tonight. One by one, the colours come back to his eyesight, leaving him breathless when she reaches his side, standing by Willie as she links her arm with his.

“Y– Y/N?”

It’s Alex’s voice that pulls Luke out of his trance, blinking and shaking his head as he gathers his thoughts. She’s smiling, that same smile he fell in love with all those years ago, and he sees her E/C lit up with happiness when she finally looks at her twin brother. But she doesn’t move from William’s side, as if she were afraid of something. She only waves her hand in their direction.

“Hey guys.” She smiles. “Long time no see, uh?”

“Y– you guys know each other?” Willie asks, looking between her and Alex.

“Come on, Willie.” She teases him. “You don’t see the resemblance?” A pause. “Alex is my twin brother.” Her brows furrow as she looks back at her twin. “Why?!” She then shouts, letting go of Willie’s arm to slap Alex’s chest repeatedly. “Why did you have to eat those stupid hot dogs?! I– I told you they were bad! Why didn’t you guys listen to me?!”

Willie is the one to pry Y/N away from her twin brother, afraid it might get Caleb’s attention. And the last thing Willie wants, if for Caleb to find out Y/N actually knows them from the time they were all alive. When she composes herself, Alex smiles at her, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He almost loses his balance when she rushes into him, wrapping her arms around his midsection and hugging him tight. He chuckles softly, wrapping his own arms around her shoulders as he rests his chin atop her head.

“You were stupid, Alex.” She mumbles into his chest, a soft sob escaping her lips.

“I’ve missed you too, sis.” He says, dismissing her comment.

“You guys are idiots.” She sighs when she pulls away, wiping the tears under her eyes. “Why didn’t you listen to me? You were supposed to become legends that night!”

“To be fair–” Reggie joins the conversation. “–we didn’t know they were bad.”

“Uh, I did say it was a new flavour.” Alex corrects him. “And you said, I quote, ‘chill man, street dogs haven’t killed us yet’. And guess what? We died!”

“It doesn't matter, guys.” Y/N chuckles, leaning against her twin. “We’re all together now.”

“What happened to you, by the way?”

Alex wonders, looking down at her. When he came back on Earth as a ghost after twenty-five years and met Julie, he figured his twin sister had gone on with her life when he couldn’t find anything from her in the garage where they used to practice. And since she could see him, and he could very much see and touch her, he figured something must have happened to her to come back on Earth as a ghost.

“I got in a car accident.” Y/N admits, sighing. “On our eighteenth birthday. Talk about luck.”

Y/N runs a hand through her hair, her eyes finally landing on Luke who’d stayed quiet the whole time. Green is the first colour she sees when her eyes meet his; it’s the colour of his irises, and it’s just like the first time they’d met. His hazel eyes seem to be the first thing she’s able to put colours on, alive or dead. The tears brim the edge of her eyes as the colours slowly come back to her, and soon she can see the world as she used to before he died.

“Hey Luke.” She smiles, head tilting to the side.

“I– I can’t believe it.” Luke breathes out, stuttering. “Y– you’re here. You’re actually here.”

She nods, a soft giggle leaving her lips as he engulfs her in a bear hug. He buries his face in the crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around his back, tightening her embrace around him. Y/ relishes in the moment, the feeling of his body pressed against her own as she can feel the ghost of his lips against her skin on her neck. His hands are warm against her back, and she can smell the faint scent of his cologne when she buries her face in his chest. Right now, it’s only them, everything else around them disappearing as they enjoy the moment. Luke only parts away with her when Reggie clears his throat behind them.

“H– how long have you been here?” Luke asks her, reaching for her hand.

“Twenty-four years.” She answers. “A man came for me in that dark room; he said he could help me.”

Her wrist begins to burn at the mention of the man, and she has to hide the wince on her face to not worry the boys. She’d just found them, there’s no way she’d let anything happen to them. But Alex does notice; he knows his sister. And Luke does too. She knows because he squeezes her hand softly, and when she looks at him, she can see the concern in his eyes.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Alex wonders, worry laced in his voice. 

“Y– yeah, I am.” Y/N breathes out, wincing again. “I– I’m sorry, I– I have to go.”           

She smiles apologetically at the boys, worriedly glancing at Willie before she poofs herself out of the place, reappearing in Caleb’s dressing-room. The dead magician is leaning against the edge of his dressing table, a glass of wine to his lips whilst his piercing blue eyes are focused on her. She sits on the small couch, awkwardly shifting around under his stare.

“I believe William has introduced you to our new friends, right little dove?” He asks in a sweet tone.

“I won’t do it, Caleb.” She says, her voice a bit more confident than earlier. “I can’t do it to them.”

“And why is that, dove?”

Y/N shakes her head, her eyes sending daggers to the man standing before her. She won’t tell him; there is no way she’d let him get close to the boys, to her boys. Who knows what he might do to them if he knew who they are to her. The only thing she’s certain of, is that he’d use her as leverage against the boys if he knew the real relationship between her and them. She wouldn’t let him own their souls like he does hers, not over fake promises.

“You know what happens, little dove, if you don’t talk.” He threatens her, but there is something else in his voice.

He moves closer to her as she stays quiet, but Y/N can see it in the way he struts over, how he rests the palm of his hands against her naked shoulders and how his lips brush against her earlobe. He already knows.

“I already know who they are, Y/N.” He whispers in her ear. “But I thought your loyalty laid toward me, little dove. I have to say, I am a bit disappointed in you. I had such great plans for all of us. I guess I’ll have to do everything myself then.”

She holds her breath. She cannot let him know that she’s afraid, and that she worries about her brother, and her friends. She barely even has time to comprehend what happens next, as a purple cloud of smoke surrounds her, and she finds herself in her own dressing-room. She hears the lock click but, by the time she returns to her senses, she’s already locked inside the room, with no way of getting out to warn her boys. Tears roll down her face as she faintly hears Caleb’s musical number begin. Y/N knows how the night is going to end; Caleb will get what he wants, and she will suffer the consequences of her actions. But she knows her boys, and she’s persuaded they won’t comply with Caleb's demands. She hopes they won’t. And besides, as long as she can see the colours around her, she knows they are doing fine. Because, if Luke is alright, Alex and Reggie are too.That night, she promises herself to do anything in her power to get back to them, to Luke, and to finally free herself from Caleb.

[svsss-brainrot-blog]

Hiii I saw you were doing snippets so I wanted to drop by. Hope you're doing okay <3

Here's an idea: Shen Jiu adopting a spirit wolf. (It's the wolf who adopted SJ but shhh) Maybe SJ managed to get away from WYZ after burning the Qiu's and happened to cross paths with one.

It’s the eyes that he sees first.

Large. Silver. Peering from the shadows where even the hallowed touch of moonlight does not dare to sweep.

He should run.

He cannot.

After so long being deprived of everything but the bare minimum to keep him alive, his body is weak where it counts. He managed to escape the scene of his first murder. He managed to escape the clutches of the demonic cultivator that followed, hoping the drugging flowers he brewed into tea were strong enough to kill the man where his weak hands were not.

He is not stupid enough to believe he can escape the creature before him. Not when he hasn’t eaten in days, and the bones of his leg send fire through him with every jostle. Broken, after a tumble down the jagged ravine in the dark.

Shen Jiu always knew the world hated him- he did not think it so ironic to die like this. A pathetic beast, made a midnight dinner for a wolf.

That didn’t mean he intended to make it easy.

“Bring it on, then,” he hissed into the night, brandishing the largest stick his numb fingers could find. “Do your worst.”

A growl reverberated from the shadows, those bright, unblinking eyes moving as the creature stalked forward, its pelt shining as it stepped out into the light.

It was huge. From the wicked black claws on the tips of each paw to the glinting ivory of its teeth, the wolf was probably as large as a man. It tilted its head up, scenting the hair with a huff.

Even in the low light, Shen Jiu could see the hackles rise.

Shen Jiu braced to swing his branch as fervently as he could, and several things happened all at once.

A flash of steel came at him from one side.

An all too familiar shout echoed in the night.

And the wolf pivoted at the last moment, redirecting its lunge.

Wu Yanzi screamed as the canines of the beast tore into his skin, something dark splattering among the leaves and other debris of the forest floor. The sword he had attempted to fling at the young escapee thudded into the woods, thrown off course, and Shen Jiu pressed himself up against the trees until the painful howling of his latest captor fell to muffled struggles, and then silence.

His stick shook lightly in his hand.

He couldn’t run.

The wolf moved, hard to track in the darkness, with the low rustle of something dragging through the foliage. Away from Shen Jiu.

With a pained gasp, the teen rolled over, and began to drag himself away, claiming the sword that was left amid the roots along the way.

***

There’s a haze that comes with infection. Living on the streets, he’d learned to recognize it well, and now he can tell it’s come to visit him again.

His leg aches, angry and red with purple blotches after a day of struggling through the woods alone. So far, he has had no other trouble- only a brief encounter with a snake that was quickly handled with his stolen steel.

But he’s hungry. And it hurts, every time he struggles to push forward. If he laid his head down for just a moment, surely he can find the will to push further. Just for a moment…

Just… for a moment…

***

The branch whacks him in the face.

He startles awake with a curse, his leg throbbing in agony as he attempts to evade the attack, batting away his attacker with clumsy hands.

Something cracks in the brush above him, and Shen Jiu’s eyes dart up to meet another’s in the fading light of the sunset.

Large. Silver. Cloaked by swaths of sleek, white fur with a dark stripe down its ears and muzzle, and a patch on its forehead that looks strangely similar to a flower.

The wolf.

The great beast leaps from its place overhead, landing without hardly a sound, pacing a slow circle around him, its gaze too focused, too sharp.

“Come to finish the job, have you?” Shen Jiu snarls, baring his teeth. He has a sword now. He still can’t escape, but he could at least try to take the damn thing with him. Even with the dizziness that plagues him, he should at least be able to make it bleed.

He doesn’t expect to wolf to pick the aforementioned branch up in its teeth and throw it at him.

He splutters, throwing a hand up to guard his face even as something soft and smooth brushes against his wrist from within the bundle of leaves. Small white flowers dot the stems, and there, hidden in the center, is a cluster of plums.

Three of them, ripe and nearly bursting with flesh, practically begging to be eaten.

The wolf turns, and lopes away into the trees.

…The juice is sweet, and sticky where it clings to Shen Jiu’s chin.

***

His leg aches. He ignores it as best as he can, limping through the trees. Hunger does not gnaw at him so fiercely, but thirst has made its name known.

He finds a small stream, looking clear and clean enough. His body is weak as he all but dunks his head under, gulping down as much as he can stand without risking throwing it all back up.

After, he lays on the wide rocks of the bank, watching the sky wheel overhead as his body rebels once more.

He feels so hot, and cold, and sweaty, but it’s too dry and if he touches the water too much he’s going to die. Nothing quite makes sense and he can’t quite feel his own body anymore.

He’s so tired.

He wonders if this was the last experience he and Qi-ge would share- dying alone in the woods with no one there to care.

***

He wakes to something warm, and soft.

The scent of the woods surrounds him, pulls him close as his brother once did, whispering sweet dreams of far off freedoms and strength, and for the first time in a long time, Shen Jiu is slow to wake.

Let it be soft. Let it be warm. Let him have this, this one last mercy, before hell finds him once again.

The pulse of something safe, that latches on to that place hidden deep inside him, neither quite flesh nor phantasmal force.

Wu Yanzi had brushed against it, once, when he pretended to be a just and benevolent teacher. The roots that bound his spirit to his body.

His meridians.

He blinks his eyes open, one hand curling tight in the pale pelt that stretches next to him.

He blinks.

The wolf blinks back.

“If you’re going to follow me, that makes you mine,” Shen Jiu croaks. “That means I’m in charge and you have to do what I say.”

The pulse of qi he receives seems to be a happy agreement.

He allows the wolf to wiggle under him, lifting his small form onto its large back as it turns towards the heart of the woods.

He’s tired…

But… His leg doesn’t hurt anymore.

[writingstoraes]

sparks 🎇

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine (fluff)

word count: 1.7k, no warnings hehe

notes: once again this is a new idea even though i have a ton of drafts like my mind is a mess so i am not surprised ANYWAY . trying to get out of a writing slump so lmk what u guys think! ALSO apologies for any typos or grammatical errors this is not proofread at all 😆

about:  The few of the many times Charles’ heart skipped a beat because of you.

Movies have always portrayed “real” sparks so well. Sometimes it’s a scene where a guy sees the girl for the very first time during a first date and he freezes for a moment, the apparent electricity between two people when their hands almost touch and they panic for a little while, or the moment of suspense before a first kiss and the exhilaration after.

But Charles taught that was exactly what they were - movie scenes. He lingered on the thought that the moments where sparks flew and one’s heart skips a beat, those moments cannot be manufactured in real life. They stay in movies, books, in the arts; where they belong, somewhere where they were fiction.

Not until he experiences it first-hand, not until he meets you, the woman who held his heart in the palm of her hand.

He felt it the first time your hands ever touched. 

At first, he thought he was going crazy. There was no way he felt a current run through his skin the moment it came in contact with yours, but to this day, it’s a testament he swears on very seriously. 

You had been going out for a few weeks, several dates here and there. It was the exact point where you felt comfortable with each other, but only starting to be, hence why there were still evident boundaries present. The two of you were careful to not cross any, especially Charles. He’s cautious on establishing any physical touch, sure, he’s held your waist to guide you through bustling crowds and had slung his arm over your shoulder, but he hasn’t held your hand. At least, not yet. 

He had invited you to have dinner on his yacht, set at the perfect time where you can be of witness to the beautiful sunset over the sea. He says the food was nearly done, so he set up two comfortable chairs that gave you just the perfect view of the Monaco skies. The sun was setting and the golden sky formed a beautiful gradient with the blue hue that painted it beforehand. 

He turns his head to you, your arm resting on the chair’s handles, a tad bit preoccupied with the view in front of you. He keeps a smile to himself, enjoying the personalized view he had. For some reason, he feels the urge to hold your hand, or at least rest his on top of yours. He was hesitating and second-guessing, lifting his finger once in a while and then putting it back down when he decides not to push through. It didn’t help that there were minimal distance between your chair and his, and so he was fighting the urge to initiate contact and have you flee off. 

But his hesitant hand that kept on moving was something you grew to notice, and thanks to your knowledge of many, many romance movies, you assumed it meant he wanted to hold your hand but was too afraid to do it. You shove the thought of doing it first in the back of your head, overthinking that you might be wrong and he in fact did not want to hold your hand. 

Maybe it was something in the air, the quiet waves of the ocean, or just the fact that he really really liked you. 

He finally lifts his hand so he can reach yours, resting it softly on top of your hand. He lets out a relieved and contented sigh when he feels you ease into his touch. His heart raced faster, like it was screaming for help and begging to be let out of his chest.

As if that was not enough, he feels a current run through his arm and out of his fingertips the moment you grasp his hand and decide to interlock your fingers with his then setting it on top of the chair’s handle.  He swears he saw fireworks when he closed his eyes and his heart finally exploded out of his chest. He vows he can stand up and jump around out of joy, but he chooses to indulge in the moment and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze instead.

He had met you earlier in the season and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want you to see him in his element, doing what truly made him happy. That is, if his team does not proceed to ruin the entire weekend for him and his dedicated fans.

He invited you to watch a grand prix, in a track that he felt most comfortable. He was the perfect gentleman whe he extended the invite, letting you know you could always decline if you didn’t feel like going. You were together, in all terms to be considered, but he didn’t want to pressure you into finally making your appearance only because he knew how harsh it could get. He assures you that he will take care of everything and all you needed to do was come.

You were committed to attend the entire weekend, from free practice until the race itself. Even if Charles was quick to reassure you that you didn’t have to be there for everything, you only return a smile and tell him you wanted to be, which not surprisingly calmed his nerves. 

You knew people were going to stare, fans will take pictures, even the possibility of you making headlines. This was your first paddock appearance as his girlfriend, after all. It was inevitable, so you try to take your mind off of the pressure. Much to your nerves bothering you before you even got on the plane, you had been racking your brain on what to wear. You didn’t want to seem like you were trying too hard or too little. 

You finally settle on an outfit and your lips form a small smile as you looked in the mirror. It was nothing extravagant, only a black one-shoulder top and a black high-waisted pants that you paired with a red leather jacket. It’s not like you wanted what you wore to scream Ferrari, but you wanted to add a little touch, at least for Charles. 

“What do you think? I chose the red jacket for you,” you turn around to see Charles, seeing as you heard his footsteps earlier and knew he entered the room.

If he was being honest, he had seen you put on the outfit. He witnessed how you cocked your head to the side trying to see if it looks good. He sees the outfits laid on the bed, all with a touch of red, and he could feel butterflies swarm his stomach at the thought of you carefully planning out your outfits to include his team’s colors.

There it was again, the stupid sparks that he’s been getting ever since he met you. He curses himself for being a little non-functional when feels them, but he figures he has to get used to being blown away by everything you did. It feels magnetic, like he’s feeling actual static. You make him feel so much by just doing so little. 

He sees you twirling around in front of the mirror, smiling when you finally put on the red leather jacket, looking satisfied. 

He stops at his tracks, at least internally, and fails to respond for at least 10 seconds. 

“Do you not like it? I can always go change-”

“No,” he says, almost out of voice. “You look absolutely beautiful.” 

Where he was standing, he swears he sees fireworks erupt behind you.

Charles stands on the podium, feeling victorious and ecstatic he had clinched another win for his Formula 1 career. He looks fondly at the sea of crowd cheering for him, waving flags of his own country, Ferrari, and Italy. From where he stood he could see Fred’s big smile and the engineers celebrating, jumping up and down. 

The trophies had been awarded and the Monaco national anthem had finally played. He was wearing his Pirelli cap and completely drenched in champagne. He scans the crowd down the podium, hoping to get a glance of you. Earlier, he did tell you you didn’t have to witness the awarding personally should he win, because he didn’t want you to get in between many people and possibly get shoved or pushed. He assumes that you were in the garage, waiting for him, probably with a kiss and a hug. 

He leans over the makeshift railing of the stage, eyes still set on possibly sighting you. When he fails to find you, he finally comes down and there he sees you, just near the stairs going up to the podium with teary eyes and a wide smile. There you stood with hands clasped together, in awe of Charles who was standing in front of you. 

He feels his heart race yet again, having experienced the first time you ever greeted him after he claims P1 in a race. Even just by looking at you he feels his world shift, like its only goal was to pull him towards you, like the fireworks that took the skies earlier weren’t enough and he was having his own show. 

He jogs towards you, exhilirated and filled with adrenaline and pulls you into a tight embrace. His entire body twitches when you plant a soft kiss on his cheek, as if every fiber of his being had turned into putty at your touch. Everytime you engulf him in an embrace, kiss his cheek, or run your hands through his hair, he feels as if he’s inside his car going at least 320 kilometers per hour. He has no clue how you do it, how you possibly make him feel like he’s won a race every time he was with you;  as if you and his heart had a binding agreement. 

“Congratulations, mon champion du monde,” you say slowly and close to Charles so only he could hear, hoping you didn’t mess up the pronunciation, after having practiced it several times on the plane. 

Something tugs at his heartstrings, having been greeted by the knowledge that you sent out his well wishes in French, even though you didn’t speak the language and mentioned you were always scared you were going to say something wrong. But mostly because you called him your world champion, and that just sends him down a spiral.

“Thanks for being here, amour.” he replies, pulling you in again for another hug. 

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

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy

notes: thanks for reading everyone <3 will try to post a 1.4k special soon but firstly thank u so much for all the love hehehe hope u guys r having the nicest day!

[arcielee]

the sword & the salver

paring: Suguru Geto x reader summary: Prince Satoru Gojo sends his trusted general, and friend, across the kingdom to retrieve the girl who saved him when he was a boy. You loathe the idea of having your life uprooted on the whim of some faraway prince, and General Suguru Geto is determined to see through his prince's command, by whatever means. word count: 3.8k+ warnings: AFAB reader, imagine that I am placing you in a crockpot and sprinkling some seasonings on top

Chapter II ~ Sunset and Friend

You awoke from the autumn chill with morning stretching across the horizon, streaking through the velvet night with its shades of oranges and yellows, the fuchsia hues of the sun rising to help warm the earth. The general was already up and waiting for you, shadows across his sharp features and his brow furrowed as he hitched his horse, a brown mare he called Mimiko, to the buggy. 

The cart was packed with the wicker baskets filled with the wrapped bars of soap from yesterday. You pushed them aside for enough room to place two of the molds that would continue to cool on the journey, setting one on top of the other. This had been a late night effort to ease your wandering mind, the amethyst that seemed to linger, and it would now be something to finish once you arrived at the market. 

And last was your satchel, tucked next to whatever the general had packed. It was enough–a change of clothes and the mementos of your mother, her ivory comb and a crystal vial you kept filled with rose oil, as well as your father’s book, Atsumeru. Your necessities. 

Once Mimiko was harnessed, you opted to walk on one side, following along the dirt path that rose up and away from your home, following the trees that were starting to shift with the season. As the buggy jolted along, you dared to steal a look across the mare’s backside, able to see the general with how tall he was on the other side and the glint of his pommel.

You appreciated the divide the horse allowed, able to hide away until you found your courage with your tongue. The silence broke with your questions asked, with the same curiosity and same genuineness he showed you the day before. Geto answered each one thoughtfully, albeit carefully, still cradling a reservation to his chest. 

“How ever did you come across it?” You were referring to his sword, stealing another glance to watch him reach behind his shoulders and wrap his hand around the hilt, as if he was making sure it was still fastened. 

“I saw the stone glinting through the grass, and I thought it was a gemstone,” he admitted, his hand dropping back to his side while the other held onto the excess rope that was haltered around to lead Mimiko, his gentle guidance. “I only realized later that the earth was just trying to swallow her again.”

Her, you noted. “They say that it sings when you cut down your enemies.” 

Geto hummed, a hint of smile touching his lips. “I can imagine a lot of things are said over time, but I am sorry to disappoint you. She does not sing. However, I can feel her vibrate when danger is near.” 

“It is a she, then?” You were smiling in return. You could not help it. 

He nodded with the same sincerity that he carried with every step, with every action, though his mouth was still curling upwards, bold. “I found out that her name has changed over the years: siren’s breath, the dark lady. But I simply call her Nanako.” 

You teased the general. “And Nanako hums for you?” 

“Vibrates,” he corrected, looking over to catch your gaze; you felt your blood heating beneath, your hand pressing to the side of the halter on Mimiko to keep your steps steady. He lifted his other hand to show a scar that stretched across his palm, silver skin knitted together. “When I found her, she was surprisingly sharp. I later learned it is your blood that binds you, but only she decides if you may wield her or not.” 

Worthy, came the thought again. “Or not…” you mused out loud. “How fortunate for you, general. But what happens to those she decides against?”

He shrugged. “I suppose they are cursed, as legend says.” 

The ease of your conversation with the general allowed time to slip away, and soon enough you spotted the market ahead, growing larger with each step, thrumming with life. It was an endeavor started by the queen mother as a way to help the lull of trades, rotating location with the seasons and expanding regional goods to all corners of the kingdom.

You would come with your father to help sell his stock–an array of different smells on display, his encouraging mantra about cleanliness–until they were gone, and then you would walk with him as he bartered for supplies with the coin earned that day. 

After he was gone, it became your personal annual enterprise to return, to continue just as he had. 

There was a vacant stall at the end of one of the rows of vendors. Each had a small room attached, inside was a bed and a table place as a courtesy for those who traveled to attend, as well as space for whatever stock was brought along. 

Geto unbridled Mimiko before moving to start carrying in the wicker baskets. You grabbed a cloth to drape over the table out front for display, reaching to pull the canopy up to shade before you started dividing the bars by their scent. 

Passerbyers’ eyes lingered longer than their steps and you called to the general after the first basket was unpacked. He obliged to manage the front, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched your half-hearted attempt to tuck a felt pouch into the belt he had tied around his slender waist.

You found that your fingers were trembling with his close proximity and his amusement arched his brow. “It is for the silver,” you flustered, your skin aflame, recoiling and returning to the room in the back. 

You ignored his chuckle and instead looked over the last of the soap settled in the molds set on the table, solid and dyed pink from the berries. Each was wrapped with care and you set aside two before grabbing the rest to return out front. 

You were struck by the sight, by the crowd forming in front of the booth, fawning over Geto. 

He was flushed, his attention poorly split amongst the women who rallied around, the mamas and the grandmamas calling for his attention, the wives who were crimson when his eyes flickered over–all of them vying for purchase. They made bold declarations about his beauty, begging Geto to step away for a moment and meet with whatever offspring available; you gawked at the young girls who shyly watched the general from behind the spectacle. 

Your lips pursed, muting your laughter as you moved to place the newly wrapped bars on the emptying tabletop. Geto snapped his head towards you, his eyes pleading, but he remained courteous, rose tones staining his cheeks. 

“We are running low,” he called to you.

The response was immediate–the narrowed, scrupulous eyes of all the women turning to where you stood. You nodded your acknowledgement, quick to duck into the back and grab another basket. Behind, you could hear their brash comments begin again, stirring louder once you were out of sight. 

Evening came as a relief and Geto pulled down the canopy. Your eyes were wide as you looked over what was left of the inventory. “I… cannot believe how much you sold. At this rate, we might be able to leave tomorrow evening,” you looked up from the empty baskets at the general. “I would not have been able to do all this without your help.” You burned, your throat tightening. “Thank you.” 

Geto only hummed, still watching as you moved to pull out the two bars of soap you set aside from earlier. You moved to hand one to him. “I know it is not much, but I really do appreciate all your help…”

“Do I smell, my lady?” 

He was teasing you. Again. And you could not stop the smile that spread across your mouth, something that seemed so easy whenever he was near. “No,” you turned away from him, grabbing your satchel and hugging it to your chest. “I just thought… it has been a long day and they have nice bathhouses here, if you so choose to go.” 

You were quick to add, “But I am not commanding it.”

He said nothing and though you could not look at him, you felt his signature smirk scorching on your skin. “I am going to wash up now,” your words came out rushed with your exhale, and you moved to leave before he could respond. 

The streets glowed with the manmade lights flickering, leading to the bathhouse. Inside you found that the women were still tittering away about the handsome man who sold soap. They gushed about his height, his gentle tone, his sharp jawline and his silky black hair. 

You slipped off to the side, your lips curling upwards, and pulled a clean cloth to wipe away the day’s grime. You palmed droplets of rose oil to massage into the ends of your hair, helping the ivory comb through, and listened as they continued. 

“Oh my, he is so very handsome! Did you see how tall he stood?”

“His eyes took away my breath! How they shimmered in the sun!”

“He seems such a nice young man! I wonder if he has a wife…”

You tucked everything away, you mind heavy from the steam and the incessant chatter. I suppose he is rather handsome, came the thought and you quickly shook your head. You slipped away, unnoticed, back outside for a brisk walk under the sliver of silver, the stars bright above; the chill returned, sharp with the cover of night.

As you retraced your steps, your blood surfaced to warm your skin–surely not because of the repeated, intrusive thought that rattled inside your head: “Oh my, he is so very handsome!”

The amber pooled beneath the door and you opened without thought to find the general. You blinked, watching his defined backside that was decorated with the silver scars of  past battles. His arms were lifted, using a cloth to dry his hair, the black satin spilling and sticking to his broad shoulders.

Geto turned towards you and your eyes watched the gooseflesh that rippled across his chest and shoulders, tracing down to his slacks that hung low on his hips, to the lines that cut into his trimmed waist

Oh my. He is so very handsome.

You balked in the doorway and he moved at once to pull on a clean tunic, though it was untied and still graciously showed off the smooth planes of his chest. “I–forgive me, I should have knocked. I did not think–” you prattled, your mind white, your instincts jarring to command your body to leave again. 

He caught your wrist, his touch still strong, still careful, and your skin prickled from his hold. Geto paused, gathering his thoughts. “Thank you for the soap,” he chose to say, his cheeks stained red as his eyes flitted back and forth to try and hold your own bashful gaze. “You can sleep here. I can leave and stand post tonight–” 

“You should stay.”

You burned from how his eyes bore through you, but you could not stop your tongue from forming the words or dam your lips to keep them from spilling. “I noticed it is rather cold tonight, and there is nothing, anything, we need to guard while in this village.” 

Geto watched you, deciphering your intention as you continued to ramble on. “I am certain you must be tired, and I am sure you have shared quarters whenever you were out doing, uh, whatever things are required from a general…”

His returned smirk had you wishing the earth would swallow you whole. “I have shared quarters before,” his voice low, careful. “If you are comfortable with it, I will stay.” 

“Of course, why else would I suggest it?” You nearly spat, pulling away from him to seat yourself on the mattress. Your nerves were rattling your bones as you emptied your satchel on top, only to pack it once again, your hands busy, your eyes avoiding.

Geto said nothing. You could hear him rummage, pulling out a thin blanket and furs unfurled that he placed on top of the bed before he nested beneath. You set your satchel aside, balling your fists to stop how they trembled. The general remained quiet, only lifting the layers to cover you as you moved to his side.

Silence settled over. A heat permeated from him as you waited, your droning mind soothed by his steady breath, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

When you were certain he was asleep, you dared to move even closer to steal his warmth. You could smell the honeysuckle and tea tree oil from the soap, and how it complemented his skin. 

You took a breath and curled against his side. 

+ + + +

You could not remember the last time you had slept so well. There were no dreams, good or bad, just a calming comfort that had enveloped you.

The morning sun was already spilling through the window, but it was the murmuring market outside that pulled you awake. Your eyes widened with the realization that your head was on his chest and your arm was draped across, your hand resting on his hip. A small noise caught in the back of your throat, every muscle tensing to control your slow movements to unknot yourself from the general.  

You pulled away, sitting upright with a stretch, a yawn of relief, and only then did Geto stir, his eyes opening to find and focus onto you. “Good morning,” his voice cracked, a sleepy smile on his lips. 

“The public awaits you,” you tried to tease him, your head turning away with the shyness that was creeping back into your bones. 

The market was waking up and the patrons were posted out front, waiting. Geto pushed to sit up, his black hair mussed. “So it seems.” 

Today you saw an unexpected kindness from the general with how he was now managing the storefront. He was still courteous, always, but there was something almost enigmatic with how his eyes shone bright with each interaction. He offered a smile, but you noticed it seemed practiced and did not reach his eyes. 

Your stock was gone by the afternoon, leaving you awestruck with the sight. You palmed the felt pouch that was brimming with silver, incredulous at the amount. “This has not happened before,” you admitted to Geto, sheepish. He was pulling down the canopy to close shop, ignoring the sad sounds that echoed on the other side. “In all the years I have been coming here and this…” you trailed off, your eyes counting the coins. 

“It is a smart idea. It was bound to catch on.”

You looked up at Geto and he smiled, but this time, you swore that it glittered in his eyes. 

“I assume this means we can return to the capital.” He continued, his eyebrow arched. “Without biting?”

Oh. It was dawning, pulsing hotly through you, remembering the true reason for why he had been helping you. Your eyes fell back to the pouch balanced in both of your hands. “Oh, yes. Of course we can go, I mean, after we return the cart back home–” 

“Of course.”

“...but,” you continued to pull for something, for anything. “I would like to treat you to a meal before we leave.” 

There was a tavern renowned for its fresh baked bread and savory stew, simmered with salted meat and thick cut vegetables. You asked for a pint each, clinking your tankard to his own, your own smile feeling forced. “Thank you, general. Because of your help, I have enough to budget for the upcoming year. I even plan on looking to see what the capital has to offer for supplies.” 

He watched you, his same perusal gaze, his cheeks now rosy from the ale. “You truly do not mean to stay?”

“For what reason?” You tore another piece of the bread, soaking it in the broth. 

Geto hemmed for the right words. “You could have the power that comes with the crown to help people.”

You bit down, a thorough chew while you shook your head, collecting your thoughts. “That power has a different obligation. Prince Gojo holds that power because of the blood in his veins, whereas I would be little more than a gilded decoration in silk and jewels at his side.” This was how it was, you knew this. “Besides, there would be a showmanship expected of me… and I do not want that.”

His contemplation was glimmering with the amethyst of his eyes, shining beneath the dark lashes that framed them. “What do you want?”

You took another sip and swallowed to clear your throat. “I want to keep my freedom that has been created in the north. I want to continue my father’s practice. And I will not marry the prince–” you were rambling, but you felt the need to repeat this, urged on by his steady gaze, “–I have no wish to forfeit my life just so I may wear a crown of pretending power.” 

Geto was unreadable. Perhaps there was the possibility of emotions, but it seemed tightly wound and tucked away, hidden beneath his smirk. “Your independence is not worth the crown?” 

“My independence is invaluable.” You retorted, giggling, the ale warming your blood. 

The sun was tucking away when you finally left after checking over the other vendors and purchasing some herbs that you hung in the back of the buggy. Mimiko trotted gaily between you both, her load much lighter now, and you found you could fall back into the ease of conversation with Geto, an effortless flow that continued until the stars showed in the darkening sky above. 

He asked you about the leather-bound book you had with you, his continued curiosity to understand you. “I did not know you could read,” he said, and you knew it was not condescending but his genuine awe of your secrets unearthed. 

To be fair, education was more of a novelty for commoners, but you still chose to tease him. “That I do, general, as my father could not afford me the luxury to wait around with the hope that a prince I saved would return one day with the intention to wed me.” 

He surprised you with a snicker and your head was quick to look, your heart fluttering against your ribs at the sound. Geto wiped it away when he saw you looking, his face flushing. “You do not need to always use my title,” his tone changed, but still he remained guarded, cautious as always. “You may call me by my name.” A pause. “If you want to.” 

It was your turn to grow warm, your blood thickening beneath your skin. “Oh, very well,” you tried for flippancy, but your voice was strained as you tried out his name. “Suguru.” 

He was pleased and offered you another smile that shuddered through you. Suguru seemed reluctant to pull his eyes away, but he looked back to the front and yours followed. You saw an amber glow that stained the tree lines ahead and your skin prickled with the white smoke rising thick, blending to smear across the night sky. “Suguru…?” 

“I see it.” His voice was low, his concern knitted between his brows. “There must be a fire somewhere.”

The familiar path continued up the knoll that overlooked the river, leading home, and the smoke grew dense. At the peak, your stomach dropped as every emotion worked to petrify your organs; below you saw the reds and yellows of flames licking upwards, a hotness that was scalding, consuming the blackened skeletal remains of your home, swaying as it burned.

Reason was fleeting, lifting away with the smoke. “No–!” You tried to rush forward, propelled by a burst of hysteria that was running as hot as the fire. Suguru lurched and caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist, but you fought back, your desperation cracking your voice. “Let me go! I have to stop it! I must–”

His voice roared above the wood that cracked and splintered, your name echoing in the trees that were wilting with the heat. “It is too late! You will only get yourself killed!”

It was enough and reason returned, a bittersweet taste in your mouth. You stopped fighting him, but your body was shaking with the adrenaline still searing in your veins; rivulets of tears poured down your face and mixed with the ash in the air. 

“Suguru,” you were shattered, broken. “My home.”

“I know.” He softened, pulling you back. Your face tucked into his chest with a muffled sob and he was careful to turn you away from the sight of the fire. His voice was soft and soothing in your ear, repeating: “I know, I know.” 

Suguru held you as your body wracked with grief; his large hand rubbed your back, the pressure grounding you as your sorrow poured, hot and aching. You cried until you were raw from your tears and from the smoke, until you had nothing but small hiccups as you regained your breath.

Only then did he guide you back towards Mimiko, who shifted and neighed her concern. He took your hand and wrapped it around the halter before slipping away. You were rooted, staring into nothing as your mind tried to grasp, to make sense that you could never again go home; it twinged, sharp with the onholding heat. 

A hand touched your shoulder and you looked up to see Suguru. His posture was tense, uncertain, a heartbeat of silence as he tried to find the words before he gestured for you to follow. Your steps were numb, stumbling after, and he wrapped his arm around your waist to guide you further away, Mimiko in tow. 

There was a camp settled in an arbor of trees further downwind of the river, away from the destruction, though you could still see the smoke lift and dissipate above. The blanket and furs from before were placed by a small fire that smoldered, a softer echo, carefully contained within rocks placed and wet sand that bordered around. 

He was gentle to cradle your face, a damp cloth wiping you clean, and he pulled you towards the bed he had made, pulling you onto his chest once again, the hint of honeysuckle now smothered with smoke. 

“We are far enough from it.” He meant to comfort you, but you choked on another soft sob. “You are safe here.”

With his last words whispered, you held onto him like a lifeline, new tears flowing softer than before. Suguru would not let go, his hands touching your hair and your back, soothing but respectful, until it pulled you into a dreamless sleep.

taglist: @sugurubabe @alwaysfreakingout @paprikaquinn @yeehawbrothers

arcie's navi | jjk masterlist the salver & the sword masterlist

[creampuffqueen]

i'm glad i get forever to see where you went

Yangvik Week Day 3: Angst

Summary: As Yangchen gets older, she starts to forget.

Word Count: 4092

TW: memory loss, grief, hurt with only a little comfort

(will be posted to ao3 later)

~~~~

As Yangchen gets older, she starts to forget. 

It starts slowly. So slowly that, for a while, Kavik doesn’t notice.

They’re retired now, out of the game for good. The world is at peace, a possibility neither of them could have imagined in their youth. Disputes are resolved. Treaties were written and are being followed. Yangchen has done her job as well as she possibly can, and now she and her closest companion get to delight in living out a simple, quiet life in the comfort of their home, nestled in the foothills surrounding the Eastern Air Temple.

Their days are easy, their nights are peaceful. They grow most of their food now, and so they spend hours in the garden, bringing forth life from the soil. Yangchen meditates often, Kavik reads to his heart’s content. The most excitement they get is a stray lemur or two flying down from the temple to follow the Avatar around, perching on her shoulders and chirping in her ears. 

Despite the peace they now experience, Yangchen’s struggle with her past lives is far from eased. Though at this point, it’s a struggle they are used to. When she cries out in the night Kavik pulls her closer, the rhythm of his heart soothing her back to sleep. When she speaks in a voice that is not her own Kavik doesn’t panic, instead simply talking to her, acting a new persona if needed, until she is able to return to herself. 

These are the struggles they are used to. This new struggle, however, comes as a surprise. 

Kavik watches the woman he loves as she works in the garden. She sings to herself as she digs, voice a bit scratchy and out of practice but no less beautiful because of it. A flying lemur chitters from her shoulder, digging its tiny hands into her gray hair, grooming her like it would one of its kits.

The lemur tugs especially hard at a small piece of hair, and Kavik watches Yangchen’s face tighten in discomfort. She lifts a hand, dirt beneath her fingernails, to gently bat the creature away. “Pak, that’s too hard.”

Pak? Her childhood lemurs have been dead for many years. 

The lemur darts off her shoulder, taking off flying, and Yangchen goes back to the bulbs she’s burying. She begins to sing again, resuming her tune.

Kavik brushes off the strange interaction. A small lapse in memory is nothing to worry about. He steps into the garden to join his love in the dirt. 

—

Some days later, the two of them are sitting on a bench outside of their small cottage, enjoying the sunset and each others’ company. The evening sun blazes behind the hills, painting the sky in a hundred shades of orange. Kavik is working on a small carving, whittling away at a block of wood and watching the shape begin to form. He thinks it might end up a turtle-seal. Yangchen is curled against his side, feet tucked beneath her, enjoying a steaming mug of tea. 

“The airball tournament is coming up soon, isn’t it?” She asks lightly.

“It’s tomorrow,” Kavik affirms. Though they’ve retired in the East, the pair have made a habit of trekking up to the temple whenever there’s an airball competition happening - the looks on the nuns’ faces whenever they cheer ‘East side, least side!’ are always priceless. Somehow the girls on the teams seem to get younger every year. 

“That’ll be fun to watch.” She nestles closer, and Kavik pauses his carving to wrap his arm around her. Her gray eyes stare off into the distance, the glow of the setting sun illuminating her face. 

Kavik ignores the beauty of the sunset. The scenery before him is beautiful enough. 

Yangchen has aged so gracefully. Crows feet and smile lines have wrinkled her face, signs of a life well-lived. Her hair is entirely silver, still tied in the same braid as always. He supposes he could look past the signs of aging, if he wanted. Her expressions are identical to the way he first met her. 

But why would he want to? He’s had the privilege of seeing her grow into this; from sly, conniving teenager to wise, benevolent old woman. She’s still the same Yangchen, whether she’s spry and agile or with liver-spotted hands that shake when she’s too tired. 

“You’re staring at me,” Yangchen notes. She sips at her tea, eyes sliding from the horizon and over to his face. Even all these years later, he still feels a blooming warmth in his chest whenever she looks at him. 

“Can’t help it,” Kavik replies, leaning over to nuzzle her cheek. Yangchen leans into the touch, and when he pulls away she has a soft smile on her face that makes his heart swell. 

“Hey, what day is the airball tournament happening?”

Kavik blinks. “What do you mean? It’s tomorrow; I just said that.”

A flicker of confusion crosses Yangchen’s face. “I don’t remember you saying it.”

“Well, I did.”

She sips from her mug again, brow wrinkling. “I… guess I wasn’t listening too well. Sorry.”

“You’re probably tired,” Kavik says, filling in the confusion with the most logical explanation he can think of. “Let’s go to bed.”

Years ago, she would have fought him tooth and nail if he tried to tell her to get some sleep. Now, she just nods, standing slowly from the bench. Kavik leads her inside, and they get ready in quiet familiarity. 

They crawl into the bed side-by-side, Kavik holding Yangchen close to his chest. He tucks himself against her, the space between her neck and shoulder the perfect home for his chin. 

“Goodnight,” Yangchen whispers, extinguishing the few candles in the room with a wave of her hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kavik replies, feeling the weight of the words in his very soul.

Sleep comes easily to her tonight, her breathing easing and giving way to gentle snores in a matter of minutes. She really must have been tired.

But for reasons he can’t explain, Kavik finds that sleep eludes him.

—

It gets worse. 

From the gardens, Kavik looks up as a shadow passes overhead. A sky bison.

They don’t get too many visitors out here, especially not these days. So his interest is piqued as the bison lands in the field and the figures sitting in its saddle become clear.

It’s Yangchen, being escorted by a younger nun who looks like she might keel over in awe. Clearly, she’s realized this isn’t just any old lady out for a stroll.

The Avatar leaps from the bison’s saddle, cushioning her fall with an expert air bubble. Kavik walks over to meet her.

“You’re back a bit early. What happened?” She’d planned today to make her way to bison fields, armed with a basket full of homemade dumplings to feed the nuns on herding duty. It’s calving season, and the nuns in charge of caring for the giant beasts are out from dawn til dusk every day. 

(The dumplings were made by Kavik. Even all these years later, she’s still hopeless in the kitchen. He supposes this knowledge would put a hole in the ‘grandmother-of-the-world’ persona she’s got going on now.)

“I’m fine,” She assures him before he can ask, “I just got a bit turned around while heading to the fields. Luckily, Sister Tsumi and her bison Nyima were there to come to my rescue.”

She gestures the the nun, still standing in her saddle. She looks on the verge of tears of joy. She’ll remember this day forever, the day she gave Avatar Yangchen herself a ride on her bison.

Kavik bows to the young woman, giving her thanks. But a bigger concern pricks at the back of his mind. “What do you mean, ‘turned around’?” The fields aren’t too far away. They visit often. How could she have gotten lost in such a short distance?

Yangchen shrugs. “Oh, I probably just miscounted the number of hills or something. I would have found my way eventually.”

“What about the dumpling basket? Is it still in the saddle?”

“Dumpling basket?”

Kavik frowns. “The dumplings? That you were taking to the fields? What happened to the basket?”

She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, shaking her head. “I - I don’t remember. I must have set it down somewhere along the way…”

“I’ll go search for it!” Tsumi pipes up, eager to help more. 

It really isn’t that important; it’s only a basket. But Kavik nods anyway, letting the young woman continue to assist. The bison takes off again, and Kavik leads his love back to their home, holding her close to his side. 

She isn’t herself that night. She calls him by a dozen different names in a dozen different voices, speaking of long-dead kings until the sun comes up. Kavik talks to her when he can, plays the parts when he needs. Eventually she falls into a fitful sleep, curled in his arms.

He wants to blame her earlier confusion on this. It’s been months since she’s disappeared from herself so fully; surely that must be the reason.

And yet, a small part of him won’t allow himself to. Yangchen remembers her past lives with such clarity. How is she struggling to remember her own?

—

Life continues on, though. The endless wheel of time won’t stop turning, even for the most powerful being in the world. 

Winter comes, snow falling over the hills and frosting the windows of their cottage. Kavik can feel the cold in every one of his aching joints.

Sometime in the mid-winter, Yangchen gets sick. Kavik wakes to find her burning with fever, shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

He does the best he can to heal her. He’s never quite had her raw power for it, but he’s honed his own talents rather well. Unfortunately, waterbending healing doesn’t do nearly as much for illnesses as it does for injuries. He helps reduce her fever and then sets about making some soup.

Days pass. She’s getting better; less coughing, less congestion, no more chills. They spend most of their time snuggled together on their bed, wrapped from head to toe in blankets to keep them warm as they chat, fondly recalling their adventures together. Kavik kisses her plenty, even though she tells him it’s unhygienic. If he was going to get sick he would have by now.

She was getting better. She was, Kavik swears it.

Then a crash wakes him in the middle of the night and he finds Yangchen awake, digging frantically through their small bookshelf.

“Yangchen?” He always calls her by name first, wanting to see if it’s really her speaking. Her eyes flash in acknowledgement but she still keeps searching, tossing book after book behind her.

“Kavik, where on earth did I put that ledger?”

“A ledger? We don’t have any.” They’re retired. Kavik hasn’t had to do any accounting in years.

“We do,” Yangchen insists. From his spot on the bed, he can see a faint sheen of sweat forming on her forehead. “I was just working on it last night. It has a record in it that I need to look at for my report to Feishan.”

His blood runs cold. “Yangchen, Feishan isn’t the Earth King anymore. His son is the king now. King Fihong. You’ve met him.”

She turns to look at him, confusion creasing her face. “What are you talking about?”

He stands to meet her, wincing as pain flares in his knees. He takes her gently by the arms. Her skin is on fire again.

“You’re not well, Yangchen. Come back to bed, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“Bed?” She laughs. “Kavik, I haven’t got the time. The report needs to be sent out in the morning; I have to find that ledger.”

Kavik doesn’t know what to say to this. She knows him. She knows herself. But somehow, she doesn’t know where she is in time. 

He refuses to let himself panic. He can fix this the same way as always; he only has to play along. Shouldn’t playing himself be easier, anyway?

“The ledger can wait,” He tells her carefully. “Let’s sleep, and I’ll help you find it first thing in the morning. I promise.”

Her burning hand finds the side of his neck, feeling out his pulse. Kavik feels wrenched backwards in time.

Thankfully, she seems to decide he’s being truthful. “Alright. But you have to promise you’ll check over my numbers before I send it out. You know I make more mistakes when I’m rushing.”

He nods, bringing her over to the bed to help her in. “I will. Now let’s get some rest.”

She settles down as he holds her close. Kavik watches her every movement, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. This has never happened to her before. 

Her fever breaks in the night, and in the morning she’s herself once more. She picks up the books from the floor one by one, replacing them carefully on the shelf. Kavik sees as her brows furrow in confusion at the mess.

She doesn’t remember anything from last night.

—

Kavik doesn’t know how to broach the subject, even as the forgetfulness grows worse. 

He knows that memory often gets worse with age. He’s certainly not as sharp as he used to be, either. 

Still, this seems to be something else. It’s almost daily, now. She loses her train of thought when speaking, trailing off until Kavik repeats her sentence and sparks her memory again. She forgets what she’s doing, leaving tasks half-finished and then wondering why they aren’t done. They hardly own any possessions but she still manages to misplace them. Kavik finds things put away where they don’t belong, and Yangchen doesn’t remember doing it.

Perhaps a part of him is just hoping they’ll adjust. She’s still Yangchen, whip-smart and compassionate and always ready with a quick remark. She’s still every bit the woman he fell in love with, just a bit more forgetful these days. They’ll get through it, surely. 

Jetsun is looming rather largely as of late. Nightmares about her sister seem to follow her constantly, and Kavik spends many nights listening to her cry, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words in her ear, doing whatever he can to ease the pain. Some mornings he jostles her awake when he gets up from the bed, and she responds with “Five more minutes, Jetsun, please.” When her eyes finally open she seems confused for a moment, as if expecting to see the inside of the Western Air Temple rather than their tiny cottage. 

Kavik doesn’t know how to help. The innermost workings of her mind have always been a mystery to him, even though he knows everything there is to know about her. 

He loves her, though. The world is always changing, and nothing is ever constant. The deepest truth that he knows in his life is this: He loves Yangchen with everything he has, for everything she is. 

He loves her. He squeezes her hand while she sleeps, finally at peace for a change, and hopes that it’s enough. 

—

Things come to a head, eventually. They always do. 

Kavik wakes up with a jolt from a dead sleep, sensing deep in his gut that something is not right. He glances beside him, feeling oddly panicked.

The bed is empty. Yangchen’s spot is cold. The front door of their cottage is wide open, wind whistling through the empty space. Her shoes lay, unworn, by the threshold. 

He heaves himself from the bed, but something in his back pinches, nearly sending him to his knees from the blossom of pain. He curses aloud, calling damnation upon the spirits and his old bones and everything else.

Kavik bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, giving him a different source of pain to focus on while he hobbles towards the door. The night is cold, with a promise of rain in the air. He can’t leave Yangchen out in this weather with no protection. 

Snagging a thick parka from the hook by the door nearly finishes him, back screaming in agony. He can feel the pain in his very blood. He won’t get far in this condition.

Still, he’s determined (‘to a foolish degree’, Yangchen likes to say). Next to the parka is Yangchen’s glider, worn from constant use. Kavik snatches it up to give himself something to lean against and gets moving. Yangchen will kill him for using her glider as a cane, but if she’s there to kill him at least it means she’ll be safe. 

Kavik would never call himself an excellent tracker, but somehow he manages to find her trail - freshly pressed grass, the indentations of bare feet. He follows, refusing to allow himself to feel the pain in his back, even as his legs shake with it. There are more important things right now. 

He crests over a small hill, and the sight before him makes him want to cry with relief. Yangchen is standing at the bottom, barefoot and smeared with mud, hands raised to the sky like she’s calling out to the universe itself. She’s okay.

Kavik almost tumbles down the hill in his haste, the wash of relief drowning out the rest of his pain. “Yangchen! There you are!”

She turns to face him. The moon illuminates her features and the shimmer of tear tracks on cheeks. Kavik is struck by just how frail she looks; paper-thin skin stretched too tight over her bones. She looks ready to fall apart.

Yangchen doesn’t answer his call, even as he comes to stand before her. She just stares, eyes clouded with emotions that Kavik can’t name. 

“I was so worried about you,” He tells her, taking a step closer.

“Worried?” She scoffs, and Kavik’s blood turns to ice. “Worried, Kavik, really?”

Reaching up to her face with an orange and yellow sleeve, Yangchen wipes away the remnants of her tears. More still pool in her eyes, threatening to drop at moment. “Were you worried about me you when chose to betray me?”

“I -” Kavik’s tongue feels too clumsy, lost for words for one of the few times in his life. He knows exactly what she’s reliving. Will another Avatar one day speak these same words, feeling Yangchen’s grief the same way she feels so manys’?

“I trusted you,” Yangchen whispers. She’s trembling. From the cold or from her pain, Kavik doesn’t know. “I was wrong about you.”

The cut runs just as deep the second time around. The pinched nerve in Kavik’s spine flares in pain, as if in response. He grimaces, leaning over his makeshift cane. 

“I’m so sorry, Yangchen.” It’s all he has to offer her. He wants to go to her, wrap her in his arms, kiss away her tears until she forgets she ever was in pain. But he can’t. All can do is apologize and hope his own heart holds together in the meantime. 

She takes a tentative step towards him, expression guarded. “How can I be sure you’re telling the truth? I can’t tell when you’re lying, Kavik.”

“I know you can’t. And I can’t make you trust me again.” Kavik blinks and realizes he’s started crying, too. “But let me walk you back. Please.”

He carefully steps forward, holding himself up with her glider. Yangchen is in arm’s reach. She puts one shaking hand out, wrapping it cautiously around the top of the glider. Her hand settles into the worn grip.

“Alright.” Something in her eyes goes blank, just for a moment. Then she blinks. Blinks again. Looks him over, observing his hunched figure and watery eyes. “You won the staff back. I thought it was going to be Iwashi’s forever.”

She’s suddenly much calmer, stepping closer to his side. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Kavik assures her. Taking the risk, he offers her the parka. “Keep your disguise on, okay? The others are waiting for us back at the safe house.”

She slides the warm clothing over her head with no complaint. “You had me going, you know. I really believed that you were going to lose.”

Kavik almost wants to laugh. Of course she still has the wherewithal to tease him. 

The hike back to the cottage somehow takes both days and seconds. Yangchen walks next to him, her hand still on the top of the glider. It makes it much harder for him to support himself with it, but he doesn’t dare push her hand off. By the time they get back she’s relaxed enough to bundle close to him once more, linking their arms together and helping him through the door. 

Kavik shuts the door behind them and collapses into the nearest chair, head spinning and back throbbing. His whole world feels upside down, and his mind is struggling to recalibrate.

Then, from the corner of the room, Yangchen speaks again. “Kavik? Are you alright? What are you doing out of bed?”

He looks over to her, his eyes blurring with pain. Somehow, some way, he can tell that it’s her again, her from the here and now. “I think I threw out my back chasing after you.”

She’s with him in a flash, glowing water already covering her hands. “Chasing after me? What are you talking about?” She pulls up his shirt to get access to his spine, spreading the water over him in the same motion. The pain begins to dissipate almost instantly, and Kavik is able to look her in the eye again.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up. You left the house and walked out to the hills. I had to bring you back inside before you froze to death.”

She glances at the door. At herself, clothed in a parka she didn’t go to sleep in. “I - no, that’s not possible. Just now?”

“Just now.”

Her hands shake. The water stops glowing, spilling from his back and soaking his clothes. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” Kavik soothes, holding her hands in his. “Let’s go back to sleep. We can figure everything out in the morning.”

Still shaking, she doesn’t protest as Kavik, now able to walk without pain again, leads her over to the bed and helps her lay down. He kicks off his shoes and joins her, pulling her close.

“I don’t remember,” Yangchen breathes, so softly Kavik wonders if he’s meant to hear. “How can I not remember?”

He doesn’t have an answer for her.

Hands tighten in his shirt. Yangchen leans closer, voice cracking. “I’m frightened, Kavik.”

He is too. He wishes he wasn’t. He wishes he could be braver for her. 

“I know. So am I.” 

The dam breaks. Yangchen buries her face against his chest and sobs, tears soaking through the fabric of Kavik’s shirt. Kavik’s arms tighten around her as he cries too.

“I know I’m losing myself,” Yangchen chokes out between heaving breaths. “The threads in my mind are all tangled up. I can’t think straight. I can’t remember where I am. I’m terrified that one of these days I’ll forget about you, too.”

That fear has been looming in the back of Kavik’s mind as well. As much as it hurts, it almost feels good to hear it put to words.

Tears still streak down his cheeks as he cups Yangchen’s face in his hands. He lets her see him, all of him. Every fear and every worry. 

But he hopes that she can she can see the love, too.

“I’m not going to leave, Yangchen.” She sniffles, reaching up to hold her hand over his. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

She almost laughs at that; he can see the tiny quirk of her lips that proves it. Then her eyes turn misty again.

“I can’t promise that I’ll always know you.”

“So?” He strokes his thumbs over her cheekbones. “That doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is you. That you’re safe, and well cared for.”

“Even if I don’t know who you are?”

“Even then.”

There’s nothing more to say, not right now. Yangchen asked him, many years ago, to stay by her side. Kavik won’t break his promise to her. 

He leans in, kissing away the tears that still fall from her eyes. “I love you.”

Yangchen nestles into his arms. When she speaks, Kavik knows that it’s her. “I love you too.”

~~~~

a/n: sorry

[spiderfunkz]

✧.* cold hands

— summary : frozen yogurt dates with peter

— pairings : tasm!peter parker x gn!reader

— word count : 0,6k

— warnings : fluff, pet names, the normal cheesy first dates, peter and reader being awkward and cute, holding hands, messy plot, not proofread, lmk if i missed any !!

a/n : more fluffy peter blurbs because i may or may not have an angsty idea for him soon wink wink ;) this blurb is so random but i've been craving frozen yogurt so i thought this would be cute.

you grab onto your leather jacket as you see peter from across the street right next to the frozen yogurt store.

"hi." you smiled.

peter's eyes immediately lit up as he saw your smile, "hey." he smiled back.

"you look pretty nice." he says, fumbling his words — "wait- not pretty nice i mean you do i-" he pauses sighing as he couldn't find the right words, "you look pretty, and nice. really pretty and really nice."

the skies turn pink as your face does the same. "you look really pretty and nice too." you nodded.

"oh! these are for you bye the way." peter pulled a flower bouquet from his bag, a bit crumbled. "aw they're lovely." you commented as a petal fell, "they were nice."

"i'd say they held up pretty well, you got my favorite colors there too." you added.

"i'll get you new ones, that don't have missing petals on each flower." peter smiles, putting the flower back in his bag.

"well, let's get some frozen yogurt now." you say, gesturing towards the store.

peter bought you some frozen yogurt and you two talked for a while, walking towards a park as the sun begins to set.

you got to know eachother, his interests, your interests, favorite colors, food, music taste, and much much more.

you've always admired peter from afar in your class. he always stood out to you, his sarcastic humor, his well written character, the way his hair is always so perfect everyday.

he's always nice too, standing up for you that one time flash made a comment about your art studies.

but you've always just seen him as a small crush, too afraid to make any moves. until you found a note from peter in your locker, asking if you wanna hang out sometime.

you've worked with him in projects before, but you've never had an actual conversation and interaction with him.

you're nervous yes, but peter is just that type of person that you could easily talk to, like talking to an old friend you haven't seen in a while.

"you wanna try it? it's really good!" you offered, "no it's fine you go enjoy it." he nodded still smiling at you.

"it's really good, pete," — "really, try it!" you offered again as he accepts it.

"see?" you look at peter as he furrows his brows. "not a fan?" you pout.

"sour." peter states, "it's yogurt peter, say it with me, yo-gurt." you smiled.

"i mean if you like it i can learn to like it too." he shrugs his shoulder.

you smile at his sentence as you arrive at the park with peter.

you finish your frozen yogurt, sitting next to peter at the bench, getting the best view of the sunset.

you rub your hands on your jacket, warming up your hands from the cold treat you just had.

"you cold?" peter asked, "oh, no, just my hands." you reply as he looked down on your hands before gently holding it.

he looked every where else other than you, avoiding the awkwardness of eye contact.

"that is literally so cheesy." you smile, holding his hand back. "cheesy?" he laughs — "it's sweet, but cheesy." you stated.

you continued your afternoon walking around the busy streets of new york before peter walks you back home.

"tonight was really nice y/n." — "i had an amazing time with you, really." continued, "it was really nice spending time with you peter, i really enjoyed it." you wave.

"i'll see you tomorrow?" he says, referring to school. "mhm, bye pete." you wave goodbye as he skipped away.

[olenvasynyt]

A Court of Embers and Sunlight: A Lucien backstory fic

Chapter 13: One Foot In, One Foot Out

Fic Summary:

It has been eighty years since the end of the Human War, and a delicate, tenuous peace has grown in Prythian. But as an ancient rivalry between two High families suddenly arises, the consequences of the War are pondered, and painful memories are stirred up for members of the Vanserra family, including Eris Vanserra and the Lady of Autumn. But being sixty and the youngest of seven brothers, Lucien Vanserra is eager to avoid a lot of things. Including the consequences of the War. Haunted by secrets and keen to avoid the Forest House, Lucien allows his errancy to lead him to Prythian’s Summer beaches, Winter lakes, and Spring fields until he finds himself stumbling down a path to a female he never expected. One who lights up his dark, rotting world like dappled sunlight through the leaves.

Read on Ao3

Start from the beginning

Excerpt:

“I need to find more ways to make you blush like that,” he remarked.  “It’s a beautiful sight.  Like the golden hour is hiding under your cheeks.”

“I am not blushing,” she retorted.

“You are.  I can feel it from here.”  

He needed to touch her, to feel that warmth of her skin.  His hand moved almost instinctively, and he found his knuckles stroking her face, caressing her prominent cheekbone where that shimmer grew. 

Her eyelashes flickered, and she let out a breath as his fingers roamed down her cheek to her jaw.  The glow seemed to follow, activated by his touch.

He concentrated on her eyes, watching for any signs of deterring.  But she gazed back with a look that almost matched his: filled with hunger and intrigue.  

His thumb brushed the corner of her lips. He dared to lean in closer, the few inches between them growing scarcer and undeniably warmer from the heat of her skin…

Jesminda pulled back and turned her head slightly away, the bow of her lip creasing as she held back a smile. 

Too quick.  He was too quick, too eager.  He dropped his hand and suppressed a smile.  “The sun gets to kiss you and I don’t?” he asked softly.  

She looked up at him, and her blush grew so hot Lucien was sure it was reflected onto his own skin, especially with how close they still were.  The autumn colors in her eyes flickered like light through a canopy.  But she said, “The sun isn’t a stranger.  I only let strangers kiss me when moonlight kisses me.”

He forced his hands in his pockets to resist touching her again.  “I could come back around sunset, then.”

She laughed.  “Or you can choose not to be a stranger.”

“And how do I not be a stranger?  Buy an apple from you every day?  Bring your breakfast and sit at your stand and talk about my travels?”

She adjusted her fur hat, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.  “If that’s all you can think of, then please, by all means.  But I think you can try harder than that.”

“I enjoy a challenge.”  Leaning forward a bit, he added, “But my original offer is still on the table because I can still learn who you are in the moonlight.  I might not be able to see you as well, but that’s why the mornings are always the best.  I think your blushing skin can give us some light too.”

He expected the heat of her blush to radiate stronger.  But she retorted, “And would you stay a stranger?”

“I feel like I know you fairly well already Jesminda.  And that little performance next to the inn wasn’t just because you wanted to heal my cut.”

She leaned closer to him, and he felt the urge to brace himself.  “I’m glad you're picking up my hints, Lucien,” she crooned.  “But you’re still a stranger to me, even if you’re easy to read.  And I don’t want you as a stranger.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.  Being strangers would make it easier; he couldn’t count how many one-night stands he’s had, where they would flirt for hours, fuck, and then slip away from each other before the sun rose.  But this was different.  She was different.

By the fucking Cauldron, he needed to know every inch of her.  Not just the blush of her skin, but every thought behind those beautiful eyes, every meaning behind her movements and breaths.  He needed to know the rhythm of her heart and if it matched his.  He was quite sure it did.

[yume-writes]

MCB x TFP crossover

(Note: I ship Cielo x Musclehide , I see them as lovers not siblings)

I see the Seekers trio acts like crows, absolutely arrogant and steal shiny things

Jun had to always put Skywarp and Starscream on a timeout everytime they always do some tomfoolery

Jun made the biggest mistake by taking off his metal breath for one second with the seekers trio in the repair centre, Skywarp snatched it and Starscream steals it from Skywarp, Thundercracker tries to stop his two brothers getting into trouble again, but too bad Skywarp and Starscream left swiftly, Jun and Blue Cop tried to chase the two idiots but couldn't since they're jets duh

Back to Cielo and Musclehide that are in a beach's bridge, they were about to kiss oh how romantic....NEVERMIND, Starscream and Skywarp pushes Cielo making her fall to the sea, Musclehide helped Cielo get up, Musclehide turned his horns upward and grabbed the two idiots

Now Starscream and Skywarp needs their paint job and dented plating to be fixed , Jun got his metal breath back , Edo is just repairing Skywarp's dent and Knockout just blurted out " Well isn't this predictable Eh? "

MCB x TFP crossover

Poor Jun and Blue Cop will never know peace with the seekers

They always steal anything remotely shiny, they have taken Phoenix Fire's medal on several occasions. They have tried to take the Metal Breath before, but have never been successful, until one day.

Edo wants Jun's help with reaching to get something in a car he's working on, Jun takes off the metal breath to get it (it's in a small space) Skywarp swipes it the moment Jun places it down, it's actually incredible how fast he swiped it, and teleports away before anyone can grab it.

He teleports near TC and Starscream, and Starscream pounces on him to get it. They begin fighting like cats, even going into the sky to fight. TC tries to stop them and he gets smacked into the ground for his trouble. By this point Jun and Blue Cop have shown up and see TC get thrown in the ground. They focus on TC while the other two fly away.

Cielo and MuscleHyde are on a wonderful date, the day has been incredible and they watch the sunset from the bridge, watching the waves crash onto the sand. They turn to each other, looking into the other's optics, as they move closer to each other and close their optics for a kiss, when Skywarp slams into Cielo after Starscream throws him. She falls into the sea, but MuscleHyde pulls her up the moment she hits the water.

He makes sure Cielo is okay before turning to the two seekers, still fighting each other and they haven't noticed the couple, yet. Musclehyde turns to them, silently, and very calmly turns his horns up. He then proceeds to absolutely beat them up, if Jun and Blue Cop didn't come in time he would have done a worse beating.

The two seekers look terrible, they're sulking while they get fixed up, and mumble half hearted apologizes to Jun and the others. They had to give the metal breath back and they are now grounded for a month. Edo is grumbling to himself about the damages they did, and Knockout isn't shocked in the least. The amount of times this situation happened while on the Nemesis is too much to count on his hands.

[fr3sh-tragedies]

hello, hun!! 🩷

sorry for bothering you yet again with a Rose Winters request. I’ve seen the headcanons with sunset shimmer, and i was wondering if you can do some headcanons for Rose as well.

Thank you so much, wishing you the best🫶🏻

Headcanons

[Resident Evil Village] Rosemary Winters x Female Reader

[Requested]

Summary: General and romantic headcanons for Rosemary Winters with a female S/O.

Word Count: 1.87k

Content + Warnings: Mentions of previous bullying, Rose getting into fights

Category: Slight Angst + Fluff || Headcanons

[A/N]: Hi again, hun! No need to apologize at all — I really love writing for Rose, so I’m always happy when you request something for her! I hope you’ll enjoy these headcanons.

[A/N] #2: I went with a female reader like before, so I hope that’s okay!

Enjoy!

General

Like her father, Rose can be very stubborn and hot-headed at times

Generally, she’ll back off if she’s aware of how little of an advantage she has, but most of the time she’ll put her foot down, especially when it comes to things she’s very passionate about

Having her as a friend, however, will help her cool down a bit. She doesn’t want to upset you, and she’ll often try to stay open-minded

Because of her past, especially with others at school, it’s very hard to gain her trust

She’ll be defensive for a while, trying to see whether or not you’re just acting to get something from her

When you prove to her that you genuinely do enjoy her company and just want to be her friend, she finally lets her guard down and will soon put all of her trust in you

She has a hard time staying patient with other people aside from you or Chris, but she has plenty of patience when it comes to combat. Chris trained her well growing up, so she knows when to take a step back and be more strategic

She can be really funny when she wants to be, especially with you

She likes making other people laugh and smile, even though she’s never really been treated the same way. Even after all she’s been through, she manages to be relatively kind to others and just wants the best for them. She may not trust them, but she's kindhearted at the root of it all and wants them to be happy, and cracking a joke here and there is one way to do that

Most of the time, her humor lies in her sarcastic comments she makes during training and her stubbornness with people like Chris. The soldiers in the BSAA are feared by pretty much everyone except Rose, and that’s hilarious at times

Speaking of the BSAA, she was raised by them – solely Chris – and has learned multiple ways to defend herself and those she cares about. Unfortunately, most of the soldiers tend to only treat her as a bioweapon instead of a human being, so until she meets you and becomes friends with you, her entire life revolves around fighting and training on a daily basis

She hardly ever is given a break, even during times when the regular soldiers are given time off

As her friend, you’ll have to remind her to take breaks, rest, and do other things that she enjoys

Fighting is very common with her. As I said, she can be very defensive around people she doesn’t know, so she often gets into fistfights or explosive arguments

Sometimes she’ll fight with her fellow soldiers (often because they were teasing her about her powers or being labeled “Evelyn”), but most of the fights she finds herself in are with total strangers. She’s not necessarily aggressive by nature, as is clear in the game, but it always strikes the wrong chord with her when someone comments on her powers, mannerisms, or her father

She’s pretty strong, considering she grew up as a soldier working for the BSAA. Chris was sure not to be too hard on her in the beginning, but after reflecting on Ethan’s final words and seeing how her abilities were developing, he started to push her harder with each training session. There were a few times where she ended up collapsing or having to tap out, but she got more resilient over time

After her experience with Miranda and meeting her father, her mold-fueled powers grew stronger too

Hobbies aren’t really a thing she takes part in, just because of how she was raised, though there are a few things she likes to do on the extremely rare occasion she’s allowed a break such as: sketching, listening to music, studying (particularly supernatural instances similar to hers), and watching shows that remind her of her life. She likes to watch shows where there are paranormal or supernatural beings, loves movies with plenty of combat, but she closes off when she sees any film or show where she’s somehow reminded of what she doesn’t have

A specific trope that hurts her deeply is the found-family trope. Seeing fathers having a strong relationship with their daughters also uproots painful thoughts from her, so she tends to avoid family-based films

When she first meets people, she’ll generally force herself to be friendly with them, even if she doesn’t trust them. She wants to avoid being scolded by Chris later on down the line for any fights

Until you gain her trust and become her first official friend, she won’t really be friendly or bubbly to you

She’s very introverted overall, but she’s definitely not afraid to put her foot down and butt heads with anyone who opposes her. She has her training both physically and supernaturally to back her up, so she won’t typically back down from a fight

Romantic

Love language (giving) is quality time and acts of service

She wants her girlfriend to know that she’s there for her whenever she needs her, through good and bad, and she doesn’t want her to feel alone because of her

Acts of service are important to give to her partner to prove that she’s worthy of love. It’s not a great mindset, but it’s caused by the way she was raised under the BSAA

Love language (receiving) is absolutely quality time and words of affirmation

Gifts are appreciated if you want to give them to her, and she isn’t opposed to physical touch, but the best way to make her feel loved and seen is to spend plenty of time with her and let her know just how much you love her

She loves when you compliment her and give her daily reminders of your love

Spending time with her helps her understand that she really can trust you. Seeing that you can be vulnerable around her – and vice versa – makes her smile each time. It means the world to her seeing you trust and love her so deeply to spend so much time with her

I can sort of see her being touch-starved, but no so much to where physical touch is a love language for her

She loves being close to you in any way she can, so she’s open to forms of physical affection. Holding hands, cuddling, kissing, anything that lets her be near you is held dear to her heart

She doesn’t have any dating experience before you, so you’ll have to be patient with her. Similarly, if you have no relationship experience either, it makes it more interesting to try and work through things and grow into more of an understanding of each other

Even so, she’s a kind, loving, respectful partner. She understands boundaries of every kind, won’t doubt you for a moment that you’re loyal to her and love her, and she teaches herself to be patient so she won’t lose you

Although gift-giving isn’t much of an important thing to her, she’ll still buy you things here and there. It could be a t-shirt you like, a piece of jewelry you mentioned wanting in passing, your favorite drink or snack, or even something as simple as a set of pens or markers made in an array of your favorite colors

When she’s giving you a gift, it always has a meaning behind it. She’ll only give you things that remind her of you. She likes the gift she hands to you, and she loves your smile that shows when you see it even more

Arguments, because of her stubbornness, are unfortunately fairly common at the beginning of the relationship. However, she does learn with time that not everything you bring up is meant to be an insult or a complaint. Sometimes you just want to talk to her about something she’s done that hurt or bothered you, and so long as you can manage to keep a level head, she eventually learns to listen to you and hear what you have to say

With your help, she also begins to open up to you about the things she has issues with

As stated before, she loves making people smile and laugh, especially if she’s close to them. There are two people that she never has any trouble cheering up: Chris and you

She loves both of you dearly

Chris was like a second father to her, never knowing her own, and he raised her into the girl she was

You were always there for her from the moment you met, and you proved to her that not everyone was as cruel as the students and teachers that would make fun of her and degrade her for the powers she had that she couldn’t control

She wants to do everything in her power to cheer either of you up should you be upset for some reason

The most common way she goes about cheering you up is by holding you close and reassuring you that everything will be okay

She’ll listen to you intently, not interrupting once as you explain what’s causing you grief

She’ll offer advice to the best of her ability if you ask for it, but most of the time she’ll just let you rant until you feel better, or at least until you calm down

Whatever you need in those moments to feel better, she’ll give it to you

Depending on what’s troubling you, she may start telling you embarrassing stories of her past or cracking cheesy jokes just to get you to laugh again. She wants to see you happy and well

Dates are another way for her to ensure that you’re happy. She might not always be open to the idea of having a public date, primarily due to her past experiences with other people finding out about her abilities, but it overwhelms her with glee when you proudly show her off as your girlfriend

You aren’t ashamed to be with her, regardless of her reputation, and it makes her break into a smile every time, one that doesn’t fade away until she falls asleep later that same night

Some of the dates will be in her room, but other times, on the outskirts of the private training grounds she often finds herself in, she’ll usually set up something simple

There may be a small picnic, a random assortment of boardgames, or she’ll even spend the evening teaching you a few basic moves to defend yourself if you ask her to

Sometimes, while she’s teaching you random combat moves during these dates, she’ll get a little flashy with them to show off just a little bit

She’s not really one to show off until it comes to you. She likes seeing you look at her with admiration rather than fear like others do

She also does this to show you that she’s able to protect you easily

She wants you to feel safe with her, regardless of how big or small a threat may be

Overall, she takes a while to come around, but she’s an incredible partner when she does, and she’ll always do everything in her power to make sure you’re safe and happy