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junkissed · 8 months ago

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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.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, please reblog or leave a comment or an ask! it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! i put a lot of time, love, and effort into writing this, so feedback is really appreciated :) thanks for reading!!

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chelseeebe · 3 months ago

Text

would that i

18+. mdni. smut!! tommy hagan is mean and there is slight homophobic language! no use of y/n!

part two to this fic! can probably be read on it’s own but p1 will help you understand things!

would that i - hozier because i think steve used tommy as a scapegoat for never being himself and now he doesn’t have to <3

HIHI! i’ve been away for a little while and i apologise tremendously! this is a part two which seems completely out of left field but i found it half-finished and really liked it!! i’m hoping to start posting this multi-part eddie fic i have been working on but i want at least a couple parts solidly finished beforehand because i know exactly what i’m like lol

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

as to be expected, tommy has no interest in steve. three years of friendship washed down the drain for no good reason. on reflection, steve doesn’t really count what tommy and he had as true friendship, they were just using each other.

he was too terrified to be alone while tommy saw that and took full advantage, milking his credit card along the way.

he’s got you now, he supposes. finding solace in your house, away from the judgemental glares and snickering whispers of his teammates and friends.

robin seems to be warming up to the idea of having him as a constant presence in your house, though it’s slow and longwinded. steve had found that she was nothing like tommy, she couldn’t be bought with pizza or gifts but not with lack of trying.

you sit now on the couch, your head in some book with your legs strewn over his lap as the tv plays sunset avenue loudly. he’d never take someone like robin as an avid soap opera watcher, but then again, he shouldn’t be either.

“donna should’ve left him years ago,” steve adds, a comment that was supposed to stay tucked away in his mind.

you look up slowly, robin’s head turns, confusion plastered across your faces.

“what?” you laugh, placing the book down on your lap.

he just shrugs, eyes darting between both pairs of baffled eyes, “david’s an asshole.. she should’ve left.”

“no no, i got that, i’m just- you watch this crap?”

he shrugs again, “yeah,” finding great pleasure in the way he had finally gotten robin to crack a smile, “my mom used to watch it.. what’s the big deal?”

you look to robin, a knowing smirk on your lips before picking up your book again.

robin just grins, “oh steve harrington, i think we might just be friends.”

and thus, a weekly tradition was born.

he and robin would settle in for their fill of second-rate acting every tuesday at eight on the dot.

he lets her know that her opinions are trash and she kindly tells him to fuck off back to the barn he was born in. they were two peas in a pod really.

steve appreciates the newfound friendship. it’s comforting in ways no one else had ever been. he just hopes robin sees it that way too, he’d had his fill of one-sided friendships to last a lifetime.

steve hadn’t really left your side since the night he tumbled down your staircase and proceeded to confess, rather terribly, that he was practically in love with you.

he doesn’t mind, he likes spending time with someone who actually likes him for once.

even now, as steve attempts to settle down for the night, you’re restless, sat at your vanity rooting through your makeup.

“so i’ve been thinking,” you did a lot of that, most of it nonsensical.

“hmm?” quirking his brow, always a little worried for what was about to blurt out.

“i think you should let me put eyeliner on you,” spinning around to face him with a maniacal grin, the pencil already poised in your hand.

there was one outcome here, and it absolutely involved you jabbing a pencil into his eye.

“do i get a choice?” he asks naively, knowing the answer was certainly a no.

you shake your head, smile stretching from ear to ear, gesturing for him to scoot back. eddie wore eyeliner, and those guys on your posters. is that why you wanted him to? to be more like them?

steve swallows that thought, pummels it down until it’s but a quiet whisper. he liked you for you, surely you felt the same.

“if you really don’t want me to, i won’t,” sensing his apprehension, you were pushy and stubborn but not cruel.

he blinks, who would ever see? maybe you’d tell robin, but she certainly wouldn’t care, in fact, she’d probably think he were cooler. “i wanna make you happy,” smiling softly, “and if putting eyeliner on is what makes you happy then.. do it.”

your eyes light up, coming to stand between his knees, “you’re sure?”

steve nods his head, lying back on your bed as you get up to straddle his waist, black kohl pencil in hand.

your thumb delicately holds the skin down, allowing the pencil to line his waterline. it stings for a second, an unfamiliar feeling of a pencil jabbing his eye.

“babe ow,” exaggerating greatly. truthfully, he enjoyed the attention, the focused look on your face as your tongue peeks out in concentration.

“shut up,” moving onto his other eye without much warning, his right eye blinking rapidly. “okay,” you smile, “sit up.”

he does as he’s asked, like always. holding onto your hips as he shuffles, keeping you steady on his lap.

“oh my god,” gasping once his eyes meet yours fully, “oh my fucking god,” swooning over his forced makeover.

“you like it?” he asks innocently, none the wiser to how he actually looked.

your hands grab his cheeks, shifting on his thighs with excitement, “i love it,” gazing deep into his soul, “i just wanna kiss you.”

the side of his mouth quirks, snaking his arms around your waist, “you can always do that.”

“i know,” gladly connecting your lips, a softer appreciation for the intimacy you got to share now. nothing felt rushed or scary, you were able to enjoy each other without fear of getting caught.

he keeps your body pulled tight to his, laying you back onto the mattress as he crawls on top, his hands sliding underneath your shirt. steve hadn’t realised how much he appreciated having sex in a bed and not his cramped car.

your fingers brush the falling tendrils back from his face, interwoven into his hair with such tender loving care that it sends shivers down his spine.

they hover over his scalp, tracing gentle patterns to the sensitive skin, “you’re so handsome,” mumbling into his mouth, “i can’t believe you’re my boyfriend,” lifting your back from the mattress to allow him the space to tug your sweatpants down.

“it should be me saying all that,” steve marvels, admiring the curve of your hips, the way your thighs fit him so perfectly between them. “you’re too good f’me,” saying so earnestly, he should be thanking the gods you ever looked at him twice.

“stop it,” you hush, interlocking your lips once more in a bid to stop him rambling on and ruining the moment.

steve sighs faintly, ridding himself of his shirt, giving you free reign of the delicate skin of his neck you loved so much. your lips find it first, peppering short kisses in the crook between his neck and collarbone, only for your teeth to graze the skin soon after.

he enjoyed seeing your mark on him, violet and maroon splotch’s that meant he was yours.

his hips grind down mindlessly, rutting desperately against your soft thigh.

“we have to be quiet,” you mutter into his collarbone, cradling the back of his head in your hands, the feel of your thigh brushes against his ribcage as you shift beneath him.

“i know,” he breathes, fumbling with his boxers in a desperate attempt to tug them down and feel you.

“fuck,” almost growling as you bite down onto your bottom lip, “i can’t stop looking at you,” admiring his focused expression, the charcoal lines you’d painted below his eyes.

“don’t,” fisting his cock, gliding his piece between your slick folds, “keep your eyes on me, darling,” nudging inside, his leaking tip just barely sinking into your cunt before you’re clawing desperately at his clammy neck, gasping into his ear.

“sh-shit,” speaking in shuddered breaths, praying you won’t wake robin next door. on occasions, he missed the backseat of his bmw, for this very reason.

he hadn’t heard you so loudly in months, the filthy, x-rated shit you used to growl only came out in whispers now. alas, his back had finally recovered after those weeks of trying to manoeuvre around the tiny backseat of his car and the faint scent of sex had faded.

your delicate fingers stroke his jaw, panting in succession with his hips. he can see the exact moment the idea springs into your mind, moving your thumb to the plump skin of his bottom lip, itching for him to catch on.

steve does, always one to please, you especially so. taking your thumb between his lips to suck gently on the digit, he can feel you practically convulse in response. clenching around him, keeping him so tightly wound inside you.

“holy fuck,” releasing the most animalistic growl alongside your wretched smirk, ogling his face, tracing the curve of his lips with hooded eyes.

taking his sweet, sweet time tonight, hips rocking at a astonishingly slow pace, hoping to keep you concealing your sweet moans for just a little bit longer.

adoring the way you keep your eyes trained on him, humming in appreciation when his tongue dances around your thumb.

your other hand brings his face closer, sliding your thumb down his plump bottom lip to replace it with your lips instead. groaning into his mouth when his hips still and his tongue runs the length of your bottom lip.

messy and slow, just the way steve liked it. he wasn’t opposed to the hard and fast dynamic you shared either, but this way he could truly feel you, admire your curves and your warmth as it deserved.

“can’t believe you’re mine,” he grumbles through shared kisses, fingers groping at your doughy hip.

the bed frame creaks as he moves again, disregarding how obvious the sound was to stay in this very moment. he wants to swallow you whole, sucking and nibbling ravenously at your jaw, trailing down to your neck. a safe haven for him to whine loudly.

“ohh yeah, fuck- all yours,” reassuring him of what he already knew.

steve shifts your legs, pressing down gently on the backs of your knees to allow himself further, deeper even. your eyes rolling into the back of your head when his cock nestles into your sweet spot.

“shit baby, feels so fucking good,” murmuring through gritted teeth, his pace faltering as you rut back against him.

he feels so obscenely close to you, connected in such a way that’ll leave your souls entwined forever.

you’re close, steve can feel that much. no need for desperate gasps when you made it so obvious every time. you become accustomed to a person’s body when you spend every waking moment with them.

“give it to me honey,” he pleads, unrelenting with his strokes, desperate for you to come undone beneath him before he lost it all completely.

your whines become frenzied mewls, panting and sighing into his neck.

steve’s arms tremble, succumbing to his own climax, especially when your thighs spur him on, entrapping him inside, your cunt clenching, tumbling over the edge with a chorus of pleas and utterances of his names.

“ohh yeah- oh fuck yeah,” pumping thick ropes of cum into your hole, a decision he’d probably come back to regret. that didn’t matter now, not with you so placid underneath him, clutching onto his damp skin like you’d never let him go.

he all but collapses, chest to chest, both heaving against one another. you sigh wearily, running your fingers along his shoulder, right up to his cheek, “i don’t think we were very quiet,” chuckling into the warm air.

he shakes his head, “that’s your fault,” brushing the wisps of hair from your sticky forehead, admiring your spent state.

“i love you, steve,” saying it aloud for the first time, exasperated but wholly true nonetheless.

steve chokes on his tongue, the words had laid dormant for months now, only they fail to form at the most crucial time. dumbfounded by your admission as if it weren’t obvious.

he coughs up a reply, cradling your jaw in his palm, “i love you too.. i really do,” slow brushes of his thumb on your skin, proving his full adoration of you.

your smile causes his heart to thump, “i know.. but you gotta get off me so i can shower,” gently pushing his dead weight away, rolling out from underneath.

his heart full of love and affection, you were everything to him and you hadn’t a clue.

steve awakens to your alarm blaring, the weight of your body keeping him anchored to the bed. he peers over your lifeless body to the clock, 7:32 it reads.

fuck.

he was late.

he peels your arm from his side, rolling out of bed to slam his fist on the frankly grating clock. you grumble in response, reaching your arm out for his hand, “don’t go,” murmuring into the pillow as you come around.

“honey, i’m late,” he coos, pulling his sweatpants on, the remnants of your makeover smeared all over the pillow. “i’ll see you later, okay?” leaning over to place a gentle kiss to your forehead, receiving nothing but a soft hum in response.

he hadn’t thought any more of his face until he busted through the locker room doors, receiving ten-fold the usual stares he’d get.

they all snicker amongst themselves, elbowing one another as his heart sinks to his ass. dating you was one thing, wearing makeup was an entirely different thing.

steve wants to die, far more than he usually does at this time of day. shoving himself into the far corner in hopes that they’d leave him alone enough to allow him to scrub at it.

“are you wearing eyeliner?” jason perks up, grimacing right in his face. never subtle nor ever caring to be.

steve shakes his head, his fingers trembling as he drops his bag on the bench, wondering if it’d be easier to just sprint out of here before tommy clocks on.

too fucking late.

tommy rounds the corner just as he takes off his shirt, a littering of violet markings scattered across his neck and collarbones. in any other circumstance, he’d show them off, be proud to be claimed by you.

but not now. not as tommy whistles, scoffing to himself, “holy shit, what’re you fucking a vampire or somethin’?” the quip leaving his lips before he has time to spot the dark rings around his eyes.

“fuck off,” steve retorts, pulling his jersey over his mop of hair, he’d had no time to style it this morning, treasuring his time with you instead.

“you wearing makeup?” tommy punches his shoulder, far heavier than steve could brush off as just playful banter, “my god, steve.. she’s turned you into a fucking queer,” his words snide and venomous.

a tongue so heavy and harsh, steve was genuinely surprised that that was the worst he’d said.

though it doesn’t lessen the sting, watching the locker room erupt into laughter at his expense.

tommy doesn’t deserve a reaction, knowing full well that any retaliation would end in a bloody nose and a busted lip.

everything was new to steve, being the laughed-at rather than the laugher. now he understands why eddie hated him, why robin wasn’t interested in friendship or why people seemed to turn the other way when he was coming.

it’s dreadful, the whirling nausea in his stomach and the flaming hot feel of his cheeks. nothing could’ve ever prepared him for being on the receiving end of tommy’s abuse.

he barges past, desperate to just get their mandated practice over with and get the hell away from them all.

he hadn’t understood it until now, how scared he must have made people feel, how dreadful he must have made their lives- your life.

and eddie’s.

steve didn’t deserve you at all, nor the kindness of your friends or your forgiveness for that matter. you deserved better, someone who wouldn’t get uneasy over eyeliner or kept you a secret for the first three months of your relationship.

steve knows now that he wasn’t ashamed of you, he was scared.

scared of tommy and his poisonous tongue, his teammates beady, judgemental eyes that saw him- saw you- as less than.

he can’t face you tonight, unworthy of your warm bed and gentle embrace. questioning whether he had the gall to ever face you again.

music thumps from below, showing no signs of stopping. a few months ago steve would have been right down there with them all, probably letting his mind wander back to you, just like it was doing now.

he doesn’t like being here much anymore, the boys were too loud, too boisterous for steve to settle properly. the smell of stale beer and shoddily rolled joints lingered in every room, miles apart from your cluttered yet tidy house

he misses your bed, with the clean blankets and the fresh sage and lavender you kept in vases around your room.

he misses you.

screw it.

if he wasn’t going to sleep well here, he might as well go back to where he belongs. shoving clothes into his bag without a second thought, he practically lived with you anyway, his own drawer full of clothes and other random shit he’d accrued.

the clock reads 1:31, you’d probably be asleep but he’ll try his luck either way, the spare key tucked under the doormat if you really didn’t answer.

sliding down the stairs and out of the door before anyone could notice him and poke fun at his co-dependency issues.

it was only a short walk to your place, one he’d done a thousand times by now. passing other students just getting back from the bar or the library, paying him no mind, not like they used to.

steve prefers it this way, without the notoriety that came with being tommy’s lapdog.

tommy upset a lot of people, so in their eyes, steve also upset a lot of people.

he supposes that’s fair, he’d never tried to intervene or stop tommy’s behaviour, a willing participant just by being there.

he’d got his comeuppance though, what with being shunned by his basketball teammates and now becoming bullied as opposed to the bully.

fortunately, there’s no time to stew on what his karmic punishment may be, sidling up the cracked path to your front door in record time.

much to his surprise your light is on upstairs, a faint orange glow from behind the curtain. it settled his raging heart to know you were only seconds away.

rapping his knuckles lightly against the door, hoping he’ll catch your attention and not robin’s. he could pelt pebbles at your window he supposes, truly old school romance. but he’s not sure how much you’ll appreciate that.

the thought is futile anyway, he can hear your feet shuffle and creep down the stairs, flickering the lights on as you go.

inching the door open to peer out, not expecting steve on the other side, “steve? what’re you doing here?” though you don’t sound angry, or even slightly annoyed for that matter. you look relieved that he’s here, after what was clearly a restless night for you too.

“sorry, i tried.. i missed you too much,” pathetically shrugging his shoulders, “-is that my shirt?” knowing full well that it was.

your head dips, becoming immediately bashful, “yeah, i missed you, i’m sorry,” pulling at the worn hem, weary eyed and full of sleep. “come in, it’s cold,” tugging him inside by the hand and locking the door behind him.

steve glances up the stairs, he knows the drill by now. traipsing after you like a little lost dog, he can’t help but let his eyes trail down to your thighs, his favourite tattoo of yours, a snake that wrapped around your leg peeks out from under his shirt.

“and my boxers?” reaching out to brush his hand over your thigh, resisting the urge to pinch and grope like he really wanted.

“sorry,” flashing a smile over your shoulder, “i told you i missed you,” hushed whispers as you pass robin’s room, her soft snores heard from the hallway.

“stop saying sorry, i like it,” he mutters, clicking the door closed. back in his domicile, a wave of comfort washing over him immediately.

“then good,” cradling his cold cheeks, “i’m glad you like it,” placing a soft, docile kiss on his lips, clutching onto his hip, desperate to keep him close after a torturous twelve hours apart.

steve hums in appreciation, relishing in the moment, wafts of coconut from your shampoo fill his nose as his chin settles on your head.

“i don’t think i like sleeping without you anymore,” he’s laughing but he’s deadly serious, he felt empty without you, like a piece of himself was missing.

there’d never been a time that steve had thought he’d become one of those unhealthy co-dependent people, but now he understands it completely. wanting to share your company constantly, missing your adoring touch and sarcastic jokes at his expense.

“mhm, you don’t have to,” swaying in the low light, where the edges of you are a little fuzzy but his brain is still too amped up to sleep.

“did i wake you up?” steve asks, lingering hands on your back before breaking apart.

you shake your head no, kicking your obnoxiously cliche bunny slippers off under the bed, “i couldn’t sleep.. something was missing but i’m not sure what,” cracking a smile, tucking yourself into the soft blankets.

ridding himself of his sweatshirt and jeans before crawling on in, right next to you. at peace once more, fatigue seeping through his veins.

“how was your day?” he asks, settling in to his rightful space.

your eyes roll back, “same old.. i passed that report i was worried about though, what about you? you look exhausted,” jutting out your bottom lip.

steve mumbles some half-assed response, something about a long day and being tired but you’re too wise to his tricks, tilting your head when he doesn’t answer your question.

“what happened?” settling into the bed next to him, “was it tommy again?” pulling the blanket tight around your shoulders, peeking inquisitively over the pillow.

steve hums, staring at the ceiling, “i forgot to take that makeup off last night,” shrugging, because to most it wasn’t a big deal but people like tommy and jason aren’t in the 90s like the rest of humanity.

“and they had a problem with that?” you ask, rather naively, because what other reaction would they have?

“mhm,” he nods, swallowing his hurt, “tommy said some shit.. brought you up, it’s just- stupid, they’re stupid,” not seeing the need to repeat what he had said verbatim but hopefully saying enough for you to understand.

he can’t see you though he can hear the blanket ruffle, “what’d he say?”

steve doesn’t want to repeat it. he’s said some stupid things throughout high school but that wasn’t him anymore.

“he.. he called me a- babe i don’t- i’m not saying it,” turning to face you, pleading with you to understand. “he said you made me.. gay, alright?”

your brow knits together, doubtful that it were just annoyance and not pure wrath, “what a fucking-,” stopping yourself from saying anything else, that wasn’t the intention, “did it upset you?”

steve contemplates for a second, truthfully, he hadn’t really been able to really articulate his feelings. he wasn’t upset that he’d been called that, more so upset that someone he once called a friend could think so little of him over eyeliner.

“i don’t know.. i’m not gay- i mean, i don’t have any problem with it, it’s just-,” he sighs, struggling to find the right words, “i dunno, he just said it so.. so angrily.. like it’d be the worst thing in the world if i was.”

you exhale, not meeting his eye, “tommy’s just.. jealous, he’s intimidated by anyone that isn’t like him,” a concentrated look settles on your face, “he doesn’t have a job or a girlfriend, i mean, he’s barely gonna graduate.. it’s no surprise he’s pissed off that you’ve grown up without him.”

it’s undeniably the truth, and yet it still hurts.

this stemmed from tommy’s inability to grow up, and his raging jealousy towards anyone who was actually comfortable enough to be themselves. steve knows what tommy said to you, visiting the bar where you work just to try and get into your pants behind his back.

he doesn’t hate you, he hates that you don’t care what he thinks of you. and neither does steve. anymore at least.

“you’re really good at this,” he snickers, reaching over to stroke your cheek, “i don’t say it enough but i really appreciate you.”

your smile creeps onto your lips, eyes creasing as it grows, “you say it, don’t worry,” leaning into his soft hand, “or you show me, at least,” feeling your smirk against his palm.

“oh yeah? how do i do that then?” letting his own lips quirk up.

“hmm lots of ways,” dismissing him with a shake of the head, “like when you kiss my head every morning before you leave orrr..” failing to turn this conversation around, “when you make me cum three times before even thinking about yourself.”

that was honestly just his duty as your boyfriend, your pleasure is paramount and seeing your eyes roll back and your thighs start to tremble meant the world.

his chuckle bellows, louder than intended. “i’ll always make sure you cum first, don’t worry,” gaze flickering back to the ceiling, contemplating his next words. “even when we’re old and gray,” he’d been thinking it for a while, you deserved to know too.

“oh?” yawning through your words, “are we going to get old and gray together then?” as if it weren’t a certainty.

steve hums, unsure of how much detail to divulge, “oh yeah, i’ve got this all planned out,” his tongue clicks against his teeth, “you just have to agree.”

you laugh sleepily, talking into the soft pillow at this point, “and you think you’re gonna tie me down?”

he pauses again, “hmm no, i know i’m gonna marry you,” waiting for your reaction to his outlandish claim, though it doesn’t come.

steve looks over, finding your eyes pressed shut and your mouth slightly open, soft snores floating out and into your room.

“goodnight then,” reaching over to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before flicking the lamp off and settling in.

he would die a happy man if he got to talk nonsense with you for even one more night.

eddie was hesitant to invite steve, it was his birthday after all. he understood, it’d take a while to earn his trust and respect, that was fair.

but you were insistent, pestering eddie until he crumbled and said steve could join you all at the bar. so long as he was nice and didn’t bring any trouble.

easy enough.

steve keeps with you mostly, trailing around after you like a lost puppy dog. fetching drinks and accompanying you to and from the bathroom. fulfilling any and all boyfriend duties.

“i’m just going to get another drink,” standing from the booth to shuffle over his legs, “stay here, i won’t be long,” patting his shoulder rather patronisingly.

oh no.

robin was in the bathroom, you were going and the two guys that eddie had arrived with were in a heated game of pool inside. leaving him no choice but to talk to him.

“you’ll be okay, won’t you?” already walking off, leaving him with really no other option but to make awkward small talk with eddie.

steve can sense how painfully awkward this was about to be, neither of them wanting to acknowledge the other without you here to mediate.

no doubt some cunning plan of yours to get them talking.

he determines that being the one to break the silence is the better move, clearing his throat before speaking, “so.. you having a nice birthday?”

“mhm,” short and curt, exactly as he expected. “i’m glad..” clearly struggling to be nice, “glad you could come,” his eyes flicker to the stone floor, “you’re not so bad, actually.”

wow.

steve almost falls out of his chair.

he doesn’t know what to say, eddie had never been so polite, “th-thank you,” eddie already thought of steve as a loser, he didn’t need to make it any worse.

eddie offers his cigarette carton out to steve, an olivia branch of peace or something. at least that was how steve saw it. it’d be rude not to take one.

“thanks,” he hums, lighting the cigarette himself before offering his lighter out.

it’s peaceful, and far less awkward than it had been just twenty minutes ago. maybe they could be friends, they had a common interest after all.

“you know i used to overcharge you for weed, right?” eddie chuckles, taking a drag of his cigarette, narrowed eyes focused on steve.

he just sighs because yes, you had explained in great detail that thirty dollars was nowhere near the correct price for a gram of weed. “yeah.. she told me,” smiling back through his embarrassment.

“sorry dude,” he shrugs, though it sounds completely insincere, “but you deserved it,” stubbing out the embers of his cigarette.

“yeah, that’s fair,” he’d done far worse, he’s sure.

just as they collapse into laughter, you and robin swan back through the door, carrying a tray of what looked like tequila.

“absolutely not,” eddie cries out, watching robin grin as you hand them out.

“it’s your birthday! don’t be so bor-“ interrupted as the door swings open again, a chorus of voices steve unfortunately recognised following suit.

tommy, and his new lackeys stumble in, catching sight of your little party immediately.

“this is sweet,” he mocks, “where was my invite, stevie? i thought we were best friends!” his tone patronising and his eyes narrow and dark, just as they were in the locker room.

steve doesnt meet his eye, his didn’t deserve that respect. “we should go..” finding your infuriated gaze instead, noticing your clenched jaw.

this wasn’t a fight worth having.

tommy’d win whatever happened.

“leaving so soon? but we just got here!” sneering at your silenced group, “c’mon man, where’s your hospitality?” swaggering over to the table, an overbearing grin that steve wants to wipe right off of his face.

he won’t. of course.

this is eddie’s birthday and tommy’s thoughtless stunts won’t get in the way of him becoming friends with your friends.

but eddie’s up before steve can do anything about it, fist drawn back until it quickly meets tommy’s nose, a loud crack and a guttural groan follows.

tommy grabs his nose, only to pull it back stained red, “what the fuck man!” staggering backwards like he didn’t deserve that and worse.

eddie turns, entirely unfazed by his actions, “i think we should go home,” finding each of your eyes. he didn’t look ashamed, or even slightly concerned about the blossoming bruises on his knuckles, instead, he was proud.

steve can’t sling his arm around him fast enough, stumbling out of the bar in sheer shock that that had really just happened. someone had finally shown tommy hagan up.

“thanks man,” steve mutters into his ear, watching as you and robin attempt to hail a cab.

eddie claps his hand against steve’s back, shaking his head slightly, “that wasn’t just for you,” his eyes trained on your back, “but her too.”

their shared affection for you had been their means to come together, steve can recognise that eddie only ever wanted what was best for you. and now he thinks that eddie might just see that he was worthy enough to be that.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader

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anonymously-a-whore-blog · 3 months ago

Text

Be my cure

summary : Megumi always watches you from a distance and little does he know, you watch him too

Megumi x gn/Reader Warnings - fluff core Word Count 772

A/n - hey this just popped into my mind and I needed to write something other than the series I'm working on. Just something short and sweet

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Megumi never understood why his pulse quickened and his palms grew clammy whenever you were near. At first, he assumed he was coming down with something, maybe eating Yuji's cooking wasn't the best idea. But then he started noticing it more.

He would catch himself staring at you whenever you walked into a room; laughing with Yuji and Nobara, training with Gojo, or simply existing in his space. His eyes lingered longer than they should. The way your hair swayed in the wind. The dimples that deepened when you smiled. The shimmer in your eyes when you looked up at him.

And that's when it hit him.

This wasn't just some passing reaction. It was you.

You were the reason his heart pounded in his chest. The cause of his breath hitching. The reason he had to stop himself from grinning like an idiot whenever you made a sly comment. His body reacted instinctively, wanting to pull you close, to hold you. His lips tingled with the temptation to kiss you.

Megumi had never been good at dealing with emotions, never knew how to, and up until now, never wanted to. But in this moment, alone with you, watching the sun dip into a breath taking swirl of orange and red, he feels it all.

You had asked for extra training, and with Gojo away, you turned to him.

"Thanks again Megs. I hope it wasn't a bother," you sigh, swiping away the lingering sweat on your forehead.

"No... it's okay. I don't mind," Megumi says, his voice so soft and low that you barely notice he replied at all. You both sat in comfortable silence, listening to the birds sing themselves to sleep, the rustling of leaves drifting across the ground, and the quiet, steady breaths you both let out.

"You know," you pause, letting the air carry your voice, "we never hang out. Just the two of us."

You turn to face him, taking in every detail. The way his brows knit together, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as he fights a smile, the faint hitch in his breath when he realizes you're watching him. If you didn't know better, you'd see Megumi as unreadable, too stoic to show emotion. But you do know better.

Ever since you met him, you’ve studied his movements, learned his tells. And after these past few months, you’ve come to a conclusion that Megumi has a soft spot for you.

You noticed how he would take the longer route just so you’d pass by the shops you always talked about. How he made sure you had eaten that day, and if you hadn’t, he’d casually suggest to Gojo that you all should go out, to your favourite restaurant, no less. Or how his hand would linger on yours just a little longer than usual when he passes you something.

And if you were being honest…

You had a soft spot for him too.

"We are now," he says nonchalantly, but the heat creeping up his neck betrays him.

"You know what I mean," you chuckle softly, letting your gaze stay on him for a moment before turning back to the sunset. "It’s peaceful here." You close your eyes, inhaling deeply as the cool evening air fills your lungs.

Megumi stares.

An overwhelming feeling rises in his chest, tightening his throat. He doesn’t understand how someone can be this beautiful. The sound of your voice. The colour of your eyes, shining brilliantly against your skin. Even the way you say his name.

In a world full of pain and despair, he can’t fathom how someone as pure as you ended up tangled in it all, let alone how he was lucky enough to have met you.

"It is," he replies softly, though his eyes remain fixed on you. Seconds pass, each one stretching longer as Megumi tries to gather the courage to say something—anything.

"We should…" He curses himself internally. Normally, he knows what to say, what to do. But you make his mind swirl. "Hang out, I mean," he finally stumbles over his words, and the sight of your smile only makes his heart race faster.

You turn to face him again, eyes beaming. "You’re really cute when you’re nervous."

The warmth brewing at his neck rushes up to his face, flooding all the way to the tips of his ears.

You gently graze your fingers against his, letting the moment settle between you—hearts pounding, heads spinning.

And then, finally, he does something he never lets himself do.

He grips your hand in his, holding onto the feeling, and allows himself to smile.

"Shut up," he mutters, but there’s no bite to it, only the quiet surrender of a boy hopelessly and completely in love.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

ahhhh i just love my megumi baby. such a sweet boy. anyway I hope you enjoyed!!

#fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #megumi x you #megumi x reader #fluff #jjk fluff #18 + only #age up

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elizaleclerc · 1 year ago

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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.”

#charles leclerc #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 fic #f1 #f1 imagine

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snuckysmells · 19 days ago

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sunset walk with woonhak!

synopsis: walking your dog with your boyfriend, but something unpleasant almost ruins your evening.

word count: 1104

notes: boyfriend!woonhak x fem!reader, fluff, slight angst(???), forehead kisses galore, woonhak is a silly fella, and he cuss a little. tw! reader is approached by strangers in a car.

message: first time writing for bonedo so if it sucks i will just never write again 🙂 inspired by my own experience at the park, yikes!

you peered outside the window to see the sky painted with pink and orange clouds. it was the perfect evening to take a sunset walk with your boyfriend. you hailed him over quickly as he walked out of the washroom.

“woonhak! babe! come look at the sunset right now!”

he quickly jogs up next to you to look out the window.

“isn’t it so pretty? we should totally walk the dog right now. let’s go.”

“woah… it’s so pink! i gotta get a photo of this.”

you were absolutely right. the sky was beautiful. he took another moment to admire it by himself and snapped a few pictures while you started putting a harness and leash on the puppy you shared together.

“wouldn’t it be nicer if you took pictures outside, babe?”

“oh yeah, you’re so right.”

he quickly pockets his phone and joins you at the door to help you put on your shoes, followed by his own.

as you step outside the apartment and head towards your local park, you link arms and lean your head against his side and take a deep breath. everything, from the gorgeous weather to your gorgeous boyfriend, was perfect.

woonhak looked over at you and admired how adorable you look, despite spending an entire lazy day at home.

“you know, despite being in your lazy clothes, you surprisingly look beautiful”

suddenly, you’re mildly irritated. you dug your fingers into his ribcage, causing woonhak to flail his arms and throw a minor fit.

“did i ask for the backhanded compliment?”

“babe, i told you to stop doing that! it seriously hurts!”

“stop teasing me about the way i look then!” you say as show off your mediocre outfit and cross your arms.

“you know i was just being silly, babe. i really do think you look adorable right now.”

he walks back up to you and plants a kiss on your forehead. you smile because it instantly makes you feel better, and you go back to linking arms.

you continued to walk around the local park, occasionally stopping to let your dog pee, as well as take sunset pictures, and pictures of each other.

“can i post this one on instagram, babe?” woonhak asks as he shows you his phone screen

of course, it’s a horrendous photo he took of you mid-blink.

you glare at him and put 2 fingers up, silently threatening to taze him again.

he laughs and takes a step back with his arms surrendered.

“i’m joking, i’m joking! how about this one?”

he swipes and shows you a much nicer photo, definitely worthy enough for him to post.

“why, thank you. that one is much better.”

you plant a kiss on his cheek before you realize your dog is taking a shit in front of you two.

it's no worry though, until you reach to grab a waste bag and find that, you forgot to bring one.

“woonhak, did you bring a waste bag?”

he shuffles around his pockets and shakes his head.

“i’m so sorry babe, i forgot too. i can run back home and grab one though. just give me like 5 minutes!”

he was already running on his way before you could say okay.

you looked up and noticed how dark it had gotten. not quite pitch black, but the sunset was gone and the sky had turned dark blue. you decided to sit on a bench a few steps away and scroll on your phone with your dog next to you.

5 minutes passed and woonhak hadn’t returned. which wasn’t a big deal, you weren’t expecting him to be back in 5 minutes on the dot.

you watched a car pull up next to the road right next to you. the windows roll down to reveal two men you have never seen before.

“how’s it going?”

you ignore them and look back down at your phone.

“this chick is ignoring us! hey. look here.”

you look up and try to de-escalate the situation without being rude. who knows what they could have up their sleeve if you acted out.

“i’m not interested, i’m sorry.”

one of them scoffs and looks towards your dog, then at you.

“your dog is real cute. i think you’re real cute too.”

everything about this was extremely uncomfortable. you stood up from the bench to walk away.

“hey! pretty girl is getting away! you didn’t even tell us your name!”

you suddenly heard heavy footsteps running towards you.

a wave of relief washes through you,

thank god, it was woonhak.

“why the fuck would she have to, huh?”

he gets in front of you and immediately holds your hand while he looks at the man straight in the eyes. luckily for woonhak, his height was helping him out.

“drive the fuck off right now.”

you notice that he’s using his deep voice. it almost makes you giggle despite the tense moment.

“c-chill bro, we were just joking.”

and just like that, they drove off.

woonhak turns to you and pulls you into a warm and tight hug, planting multiple kisses on your forehead.

“i’m so sorry babe. i had to stop for a few glasses of water because i ran all the way back home. i didn’t think it through, i’m so stupid for leaving you here alone, i’m really really sorry babe-”

you stop him by planting a soft kiss on his lips. both of you smile at each other as you pull away.

“don’t worry about it! it was a little scary but you came just in time. thank you woonhak. you are really my hero.”

he leans in once more for another kiss, and without even needing words, he shows just how much he loves and cares about you.

“well, i got the waste bag too, so let’s pick up this shit and head home!”

you giggle and wrap your arms around his waist as you walk towards the spot, and thankfully woonhak does the job.

as the two of you walked back home, woonhak held you by his side a little tighter than before. you looked up at him while he smiled at you.

“i wonder what would’ve happened if you weren’t there for me…”

he frowns a little,

“babe, please don’t think about that. i will always be there for you whenever you need. i hope you never have to feel unsafe again.”

he leans down to give you one more forehead kiss, sending warmth and comfort to your heart.

how lucky are you to have him in your life?

“i love you, woonhak.”

“i love you more, babe.”

#boynextdoor #boynextdoor woonhak #woonhak x reader #woonhak fluff #woonhak

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writerinlearning · 7 months ago

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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.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagines #luke patterson x reader

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lvmimis · 1 year ago

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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.

#togame jo x reader #jo x reader #windbreaker x reader #daydreams: wind breaker #mimi's notes

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tragedybunny · 2 years ago

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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

@tallymonster @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon

#astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #x reader #my fanfic #my writing #astarion x tav

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inazumatrash · 2 years ago

Text

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

#omori #omori spoilers #kel #basil #fanfic

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svsss-brainrot-blog · 8 months ago

Note

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.

#thank you for stopping by <3 #might do a longer version of this on my A03 actually #writing prompts #svsss ficlet #svsss #mxtx svsss #shen qingqiu #mxtx #shen jiu

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writingstoraes · 2 years ago

Text

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!

#writtenbyrae #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc one shot

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writhyv · 2 months ago

Text

⋆｡°✩ [ch.5] for when you need me

Songs on the charts, sold-out shows, the kind of career most musicians dream about—everything’s perfect. But success doesn’t fill the emptiness. And then, just when you think you’ve moved on—there he is. Your past, standing in front of you like a love song you never finished.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 4.8k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, estranged exes to lovers, famous singer!reader because we're built like that, is this angst? i have no clue, memories of your past together just hits hard ughhhh, jay has a new lover omg the drama-mama-mamah, you are dramatic as hell but we love you for you, you are insane to still think of him, i understand though you are in love with jay we see each other WE SEE EACH OTHER, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, mentions and use of alcoholic substances, also AHH VIOLENCE IN THIS ONE, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

“You sure you’re okay?” Mira’s voice echoed as you got inside your townhouse, the sudden sounds of clicking locks and shifting gears of your front door echoing against the city ambience.

“Yeah.” You sighed.

Mira took a short time to breathe too before she prompted to leave you to rest. As soon as she said her goodbyes, you tucked your phone on your left pocket and walked straight towards your most beloved house possession—the fridge.

The weight of Mr. M's ultimatum pressed against your ribs like a second heartbeat as your hands traversed the cans of carbonated drinks inside the fridge.

“Should I even get cola today?” You pondered.

Outside, the city was bleeding from gold hour into twilight—windows glittering amber across brownstone rooftops, the Chrysler Building's spire catching the last fiery streaks of sunset.

God was it such a treat of a view.

You stopped at the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing your forehead to the cool glass, watching your ghostly reflection blink back at you in the darkening pane.

“Hey, you.” You spoke, alone in the dim living room.

You twisted and curled your toes as you tried to think of anything amusing to say to your own reflection, yet there was nothing that came to your mind.

“You’re pathetic.” You muttered under your heavy breath.

Buzzing into existence, your phone rang from your side pocket.

Flipping through your messages, you see one notification from the only person in your mind right now.

Jay: Remember that bench back in Battery Park?

That message drew a smile on your face, memories resurfacing and thoughts flooding your senses.

You: Yea?

Jay: One hour?

The message burned in your palm. You counted the passing seconds by the throbbing pulse in your wrist—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—until the screen dimmed to black. Then lit up again.

Jay: There’s a new taco joint my students recommended me to. Got coupons for 50% off tacos. You down?

A punched-out laugh escaped you, fogging the glass. The condensation mirrored how your thoughts had been all day—clouded, unclear, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.

Without missing a beat, you quickly grabbed your spring jacket.

–––

“I guess it that time of the year already…” You spoke to yourself as you see petals pass above, below, and to your sides.

The park smelled like freshly cut grass and distant rain. Cherry blossom petals swirled through the air like pink snow, catching in your hair as you followed the familiar path—past the old elm with the gnarled trunk, around the fountain that never worked quite right, down to that one bench facing the harbor where the paint was chipped away from years of weather and restless fingers.

And then—like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—there he was.

Jay sat waiting, backlit by the harbor lights beginning to flicker on across the water. Two glass-bottled colas sweated between his knees, their labels peeling from condensation. A grease-spotted paper bag sat balanced precariously on the bench beside him, the scent of cumin and charred corn tortillas cutting through the salt air. And it’s not even a Tuesday.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

He turned at the crunch of gravel under your shoes.

"You came," he said, voice scraped raw like he'd been shouting. Or maybe not speaking at all.

You sat carefully, leaving exactly eleven inches of painted metal between you. The space felt both cavernous and infinitesimal. The thin tree beside the bench still bore the faint carving you'd made one drunken summer night — ME + JAY inside a lopsided heart. The memory of his laughter as you struggled with your metal fork warmed your cheeks even now.

"You asked." You said, accepting the cola he handed you.

His fingers brushed yours—just for a millisecond—but it was enough to send electricity shooting up your arm.

Jay took a long pull from his bottle, the muscles in his throat working. The fading light caught the shape of his bare face—still as soft, plump, and charming as you’ve last seen them. Behold them. Had them between the warmth of your palms.

"Naomi and I talked," he started, then stopped, jaw tightening.

It was weird. For a new dish from a new store in New York, the tacos smelled like lime and nostalgia. You focused on picking at the label of your cola instead of the way his shoulder pressed against yours, warm even through two layers of fabric.

"And?"

A harbor breeze ruffled his hair, longer now than in your days together as a bunch of cram heads. He watched a seagull swoop low over the water before speaking.

"She knew.”

Your face dropped the moment you heard him say those words.

“Before the article. Before Leah's wedding." His laugh was hollow, bouncing off the pavement. "Apparently I'm shit at hiding it when I..." He trailed off, fingers tightening around his bottle.

"When you what?"

Jay turned to face you fully, the bench creaking beneath him. The dying light caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes.

"When I'm still in love with you."

It was as if the world has tilted on its axis. The cola bottle nearly slipped from your fingers.

"She said she'd always known," Jay continued, voice softer now. "Saw how I'd go quiet when your songs came on. Even down to how I kept that stupid festival wristband in my wallet from years ago."

His thumb traced the lip of his bottle, around and around. “Then she saw how I lingered on your music. How I’d go quiet when someone mentioned your name.”

The thought of it almost ruined you. Wrecked you.

From your recent conversations, you figured it was just nostalgia of a relationship past. The ‘miss you’s you’ve exchanged fleeting thoughts that echoed regret and nothing more.

But right now, it finally hit you. He still thought of you all this time.

Just like you did.

"She told me she also found the CD you made me years ago—the one with all our road trip songs—in my glove compartment."

A cherry blossom petal landed on his knee. He didn't brush it away.

"She said she wanted me happy," he murmured. "Even if it wasn't with her."

Your throat tightened.

You looked back as you remembered Naomi's hand on Jay's arm at the wedding—not possessive, but protective. The way she'd looked at you with something that wasn't quite jealousy, but instead resignation.

"And you?" you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Jay set his cola down carefully on the bench. When he spoke again, it was like he'd ripped the words from somewhere deep inside.

"I dropped out of law school because of you."

The non sequitur startled a wet laugh from you. "What?"

"That day you left," he said, eyes fixed on the Statue of Liberty's distant torch, "I realized I'd spent all my years of living following a path my parents have built and paved for me.”

Jay grew quiet at that. “Just like you were about to do with Atlas."

You looked at him as he tried to say all this words without breaking.

His fingers flexed against his knees. "So I quit. Switched to music theory because I thought..." His voice cracked. "I thought if I couldn't save you, maybe I could at least be someone else's guide."

The confession hung between you, fragile as the spiderweb glistening on the bench's armrest.

You swallowed hard. Mira's voice echoed in your memory—"He teaches at NYU now. Music theory. I knew he was an ace but he’s actually good at it."

"You knew," Jay realized, watching your face. “… haven’t you?”

You nodded, the motion jerky. "M-Mira told me last week."

The harbor sounds filled the silence—waves lapping against the seawall, a distant ferry horn, the screech of gulls fighting over scraps.

“If there’s anything that made me realize after all this time, it was that …”

Jay shifted, turning fully toward you until his knee brushed yours.

"I never stopped loving you," he said, simple as sunrise.

Time stopped.

Four years.

Four years of platinum records and sold-out arenas and hotel rooms so silent you could hear your own pulse. Four years of telling yourself you didn't miss the way he snored softly through his nose when exhausted, or how he'd absentmindedly hum old radio songs in the shower, or the particular way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at his own jokes.

It all came rushing out in a single breath. "I thought about you every goddamn day."

Jay's breath hitched. His hand hovered between you, trembling slightly in the golden glow of the park lamps. Waiting. Always waiting for you.

And now, you bridged the gap.

His fingers laced through yours—calloused from guitar strings and piano keys, warm and familiar and right. The tacos tumbled forgotten to the side as you turned toward each other, knees knocking, free hands reaching.

Around you, the city pulsed with its usual relentless energy—car horns blaring, a street performer's violin carrying on the breeze, the million lights of Manhattan flickering to life. None of it mattered.

Not when, for the first time in four long years, the hollow space beneath your ribs finally felt full again.

Not when Jay's thumb was brushing your knuckles like he was relearning your topography. Your texture. Your temperature.

You.

"What now?" He put his forehead against yours as you leaned into him, breathing in the cedar-and-salt scent that had haunted your dreams.

“Now I take my time with you.” You said softly. “I’ve missed your warmth, Jay.”

Jay smiled, creasing his cheek with that one-sided smirk that complimented his features.

“Me too.”

And all that you ever needed was that, his presence, blanketing you in sweet embrace.

—

The studio was bathed in soft golden light, diffused through silk screens to eliminate harsh shadows.

You sat on a peach colored sofa that was firmer than it looked, the microphone clipped to your collar weighing heavier than it should.

Across from you, Claire Mercer—legendary music journalist with a reputation for extracting truths artists didn’t know they were ready to share—crossed her legs and balanced a leather-bound notebook on her knee. A steaming cup of black tea sat untouched on the glass coffee table between you, its scent mingling with the studio’s faint ozone smell from all the equipment.

Claire smile strategically, hoping to lure you into honesty.

"Let’s start with something light. Your fourth album just went triple platinum—an almost impossible feat in today’s streaming landscape. When you were eighteen, busking in Washington Square Park with a secondhand guitar, could you have imagined this?"

You chuckled, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against your knee. "Of course not! Let’s be real. Back then, a good day meant making enough for a slice of dollar pizza and a MetroCard swipe.”

Memories flood your head as you remember making time to hang out on the Square, preparing hurriedly as Jay made sure to tune your acoustic friend finely before he left you for his morning classes.

“You didn’t touch the donuts I got you?” Jay asked as he held your guitar in his lap, all in the middle of tuning it to perfection.

“Donuts?” You popped a brow. “You mean the one’s from Monettan’s?”

Jay chuckled. “What else did look like donuts to you, genius?” He then pinched your ears right after.

“But that’s half my rent??” You crunched up your face.

The memory quickly passed by, all with a light unnoticeable chuckle. It was one of those days that Jay always looked out for you.

But even then, other memories flooded your mind, too. Everything was different back then.

“I remember this one afternoon—it was pouring rain, and I was playing under this sad little awning. Some guy tossed a five-dollar bill into my case and said, ‘Kid, you’re gonna be huge.’ I thought he was just being nice."

A quiet laugh rippled through the small crew behind the cameras.

Claire scribbled something in her notebook, the pen scratching audibly.

"You’ve spoken before about the loneliness of fame—how the higher you climb, the fewer people you can trust. Do you ever miss those early days? The rawness of playing for strangers who didn’t know your name?"

You hesitated, your thumb brushing the faint scar on your wrist—the one from the pancake incident with Jay. The studio lights suddenly felt too hot.

"Yeah," you admitted, quieter now. "There was something... honest about it. No expectations. No algorithms telling you what to play. Just me, my guitar, and people who either stopped to listen or walked right past. Sometimes, I’ll be onstage in front of thousands of people and... I’ll still miss that."

Claire nodded slowly, her sharp blue eyes catching yours. "That’s interesting. Because last week, photos surfaced of you at a diner with a man the internet’s been obsessing over. And in those photos..." She paused deliberately. "You looked happier than you have in years."

The air in the room shifted. Off-camera, Mira tensed, her manicured nails tightening around her tablet.

“Oh for fucking— that woman!” She muttered under her hot breath.

Claire leaned forward, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Who is he?"

For a second, you considered lying. You should lie.

“What if she slips in a naughty question?” You asked as you tried another outfits from the closet.

“How naughty?” Mira smirked.

“Ugh, I meant like … sneaky ones.” You sighed as you sat on one of the ottomans present beside you. “Like about me and Jay.”

Mira looked at you, exhaling deeply before getting her say.

“Just trust your gut. Talk, maybe.” You looked at her with a concerned glance.

“Just… like that?”

“Yeah.” Mira smiled. “You’d do it anyway. I can’t stop you.”

You chuckled as she guessed you right to that. You are one heck of a defiant guy.

“Also wear this, we’ve got a deal to keep it all Dior ‘til April right?”

“Ugh, fine~”

The more you thought about it, the more you’ll keep hurting yourself.

Then you exhaled, looking directly into the camera.

"His name is Jay."

Claire’s pen froze mid-scribble.

"We met in college," you continued, your voice steadier than you felt. "He was—is—the reason I believed I could do this in the first place.”

Silence. The room was nothing but a sea of silence.

“And I left him to chase this dream." A wet laugh escaped you. "Funny how that works, huh?"

Claire’s eyes flickered—surprise, then something like respect. "So this isn’t just a reunion?"

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

—

Mr. M’s office was a monument to power—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, a desk polished to a mirror shine, a vintage whiskey decanter that cost more than most people’s rent.

Right now, it was also a crime scene.

The flat-screen on his wall replayed your Rolling Stone interview on mute—your face, your words, your defiance—looping endlessly. Mr. M stood motionless in front of it, his reflection superimposed over your image like a ghost.

His assistant, Ethan, hovered in the doorway, clutching an iPad like a shield. "Sir, the board—they’ve called an emergency meeting. They want you in the conference room. Now."

Mr. M didn’t turn. "Tell them I’m busy."

Ethan swallowed. "They said... they said it’s not optional."

Silence.

Then—

CRASH.

Mr. M’s crystal tumbler exploded against the wall, ice skittering across the floor. "Get out."

Ethan fled.

Alone, Mr. M stalked to the window, where your face—twenty feet tall—smoldered on a Dior advertisement at Times Square. Your eyes stared back at him, mocking.

"After everything I gave you," he whispered, his breath fogging the glass.

His phone buzzed—a text from the board chairman:

"Conference room. NOW."

Mr. M straightened his tie, smoothed his suit, and walked out like a man heading to the gallows.

—

Breathing in the conditioned air and holding yourself inside the elevator, Mira was already moving, her clipboard clutched like a battering ram against the inevitable circus outside.

It was already past 3PM when your interview ended, and as soon as it concluded— the headlines, the fuzz, the frenzy, and the notifications started to flood your phone.

“I’m seeing a lot of articles already.” You mumbled. “They work fast.”

“Well,” Mira sighed, “they are the devil.”

You both snickered a good laugh together.

Suddenly, the elevator slowed down gracefully and notified you with a calm voice.

“Ground Floor.” A silent hum then followed after.

"Don’t engage," she hissed, stepping in front of you with the precision of a bodyguard. "Head down, sunglasses on, and for fuck’s sake—just keep moving—"

The elevator doors slid open and Mira was already moving, her sharp elbow clearing a path. "No comments, no photos—"

Too late.

The second your shoe hit the lobby floor, the flashbulbs and shutters erupted. A wall of shouting bodies surged forward, iPhones thrust like weapons.

"OVER HERE! LOOK HERE!"

"IS IT TRUE THAT YOU’RE CURRENTLY IN A RELATIONSHIP?"

"WHO’S JAY! WHO’S JAY!"

Mira blocked a camera with her clipboard. "Move," she snapped at security, yanking your wrist so hard your shoulder jerked. You ducked low, sunglasses slipping as some asshole lunged closer—

"SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE BREAKUP, C’MON MAN!"

—and then your ribs connected with a stray elbow. The air punched out of you.

“Ow!” You couldn’t help but wince.

Mira saw it and boiled her blood to a hundred degrees, shoving the rookie paparazzi out of the way.

"Christ," Mira snarled, shoving a reporter back. "Call fucking backup—"

A hand clamped onto your bicep. Not Mira’s.

You whipped your head up, ready to swing—

Security. A rookie you didn’t recognize, wide-eyed and sweating. "This way sir—" he panted, hauling you toward a side exit.

Mira’s voice sliced through the noise. "NOT THAT WAY—"

But the crowd was already pivoting, a pack of hyenas scenting blood. You stumbled as someone grabbed the back of your jacket—

Then you saw him.

Jay.

Leaning against a concrete pillar near the exit like he’d been carved there, arms crossed, one ankle hooked lazily over the other.

The late afternoon sun cut through the glass lobby doors, gilding the edges of him—bleached hair mussed from running his hands through it, that stupidly perfect leather jacket clinging to his shoulders. He wasn’t even looking at the chaos brewing outside. Just waiting. For you.

Your breath locked in your throat.

The paparazzi spotted him half a second later.

"OH MY GOD, IT’S HIM!" A shutter exploded like gunfire. "JAY—IS THAT THE MYSTERY MAN?"

Mira’s grip on your elbow turned vice-tight. "Company van," she barked into her headset. "NOW."

Jay didn’t hesitate. He pushed off the pillar and closed the distance in three strides, falling into step beside you like no time had passed at all. His shoulder bumped yours—warm, solid, an anchor in the screaming storm of flashes and questions. "Eyes forward," he murmured, so low only you could hear.

Mira wrenched the SUV door open, shoving you both inside. The second the door slammed, the noise cut off like someone had hit mute.

Silence.

You turned to Jay, pulse hammering. "W-What are you doing here?"

No answer. Just his hand sliding over yours, calloused fingers lacing tight between your knuckles. A single squeeze.

I’m here. Whatever happens.

Mira exhaled sharply from the front seat, her phone already lighting up with a dozen notifications. "This," she said, voice clipped, "is a PR nightmare."

Jay’s thumb traced the ridge of your wrist.

At that point, all you ever needed was him—nothing else.

—

The Atlas Records boardroom was a tomb of glass and steel, the kind of cold that gnawed through suit jackets and settled in the marrow. Twelve executives sat around the onyx table, their faces carved from the same indifferent stone.

At the head, Eleanor Whitmore—61, razor-straight posture, a single pearl necklace against a charcoal blazer—rested her palms on the table. Her manicure was flawless, pale pink. It made the silence worse.

"Michael."

Her voice sliced the air.

Mr. M — Michael Aker — stood frozen halfway to his seat, his custom Tom Ford suit suddenly too tight across the shoulders. His smile was a brittle thing, cracking at the edges.

"Eleanor," he laughed, nervous, too loud, "whatever this is about, I assure you—"

"Sit. Down."

It was a command, not a request. The kind of tone that stops hearts.

He sat.

Eleanor tapped her iPad. The floor-to-ceiling screen behind her woke up in a blaze of light—emails, bank transfers, contracts, all stamped with his initials. A digital autopsy of his crimes.

Mr. M's throat tightened in an instant. His cufflinks caught the light as his hands trembled—just once.

"W-what is th—"

"For the past four years," Eleanor said, calm as a guillotine's descent, "you have been laundering money through our artists' royalties." A click. Offshore accounts, layered like Russian dolls.

Another click. "You manipulated streaming numbers to defraud investors and undermine the competition." A spreadsheet bloomed, numbers artificially inflated in red.

Then—the kill shot.

A contract. Your name. Page 37, Section 9b: a clause so predatory it made the room inhale.

"And worst of all," Eleanor murmured, "you enslaved our biggest star in a deal so fraudulent, it’s a miracle they haven’t sued us into oblivion."

Mr. M's laugh was a dry cough. "Eleanor, these accusations are—"

"Not accusations."

Daniel Cho, the CFO, slid a black folder across the table. It screeched against the glass. Inside of it was printed server logs, his personal encryption keys, a paper trail even his lawyers couldn’t burn.

"From your own servers," Daniel said. "We copied everything before you could ever think of wiping it."

Mr. M's pulse throbbed in his temple. His Rolex rattled against the table. "You don’t understand—I built this label!" His voice splintered. "And that … I made that ungrateful brat a star! I gave him everything!"

Eleanor sighed, the way one might at a child’s tantrum. "You're fired. Effective immediately."

In a heartbeat, the air turned viscous.

Mr. M stood so fast his chair slammed backward, crashing into the glass panels of the room. Outside, your face loomed on a billboard—standing tall, smirking down at him like fate itself.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" Spittle flecked his lips.

Eleanor pressed a button under the table. The doors hissed open.

Two armed guards stepped in, hands already reaching.

"Watch me," she said.

They grabbed him by the elbows, dragging him toward the elevator. His Ferragamos scraped grooves into the hardwood.

"ELEANOR! ELEANOR, YOU BITCH—"

The doors closed. His voice muffled, then vanished.

Silence.

—

The townhouse was eerily quiet when you stepped inside, the click of the door too loud in the hush. Jay flicked on the lights, but the silence pressed in anyway—heavy, like the air before a storm.

Mira lingered in the foyer, her fingers worrying her car keys. "You sure you’re okay? I can stay—"

You waved her off. "We’re good. Thanks, Mira."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Call me if anything happens."

The door shut behind her, leaving you and Jay alone.

Quiet. Only the peaceful sounds of the city streets rushed through your ears and outside the window.

There, you stood by the entrance. And with you? Jay, smiling at you like there was no tomorrow.

“You’re gonna tear off your face if you keep smiling like that.” You spoke.

Jay then hugged you from behind, breathing onto your next with a sigh of relief.

You kicked off your shoes, laughing weakly. "Remember when we thought my dorm was haunted?"

Jay smirked, toeing the edge of the rug. "You screamed because a moth flew into your hair."

"It was huge!" You shoved him, and for a second, it was like nothing had changed.

Then—

BANG.

The sound was deafening.

The vase beside your head exploded, glass shards raining onto the hardwood. Your body moved to shove Jay out of the way before your brain could process—gunshot—and then Jay was moving, lunging toward the shadow in the doorway.

Mr. M.

Pistol raised, his face twisted in fury.

"You ruined me!" he snarled.

“H-how did you-”

“I know everything about you!” He raised his voice. “I built you! MADE YOU!”

Suddenly, Jay crashed into him, knocking him back.

“JAY!!”

A whittling commotion can be heard as Mira pried your door open.

“What’s the-”

“IT’S MR. M!” You shrieked. “He’s fighting Jay!”

“F-FIGHTING?!?” Mira shouted like her lungs depended on it.

“Should I-”

“YES!” You didn’t let fear scramble you as you took Mira to the side. “NOW!”

Mira didn’t hesitate and brought her dial to her ear, waiting for the other side to pick up.

The second gunshot tore through the air like a crack of thunder, and suddenly—BANG.

White-hot, searing through your side.

You gasped, the sound more of a wet choke than breath, your back slamming against the wall as your legs gave out. Your hand flew to the wound, fingers coming away slick and red.

“What the fuck—” You coughed, and agony lanced through your ribs—each spasm cost you air, cost you thought, cost you everything.

Mira was on you before you hit the ground, her hands clawing at your shirt, her voice a frenzied mantra.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—”

She dragged you backward, your heels scuffing bloody trails across the floor, her grip bone-crushing as she hauled you behind a toppled conference table.

“Stay with me—stay with me—!”

“Fuck it hurts…” You winced as you felt the hot bullet still searing your muscle.

Your vision spotted black at the edges, but you forced your head up—because Jay was still out there.

“HAH!!” Jay had Mr. M pinned against the shattered window, the quaint city street a fractured backdrop behind them. The gun lay kicked aside, but Mr. M was far from done.

“You ruined me!” Mr. M spat, his face a rictus of sweat and fury, shooting a glance towards you.

“I made you! Everything you are—everything you have—it’s because of ME!”

Jay’s grip on his collar tightened, his voice low, lethal.

“You stole from him. You lied to him. You used him”

Mr. M laughed, the sound hysterical, unhinged. “And you let me!”

The words stung silently, your eyes never taking off Jay’s fazed look. ****

“Where were you, Jay? Huh? Off playing hero while HE bled for my profit?”

“Jay, don’t listen to him!” You shouted, the wound still throbbing hot in your flesh.

Yet Jay flinched—just once—but it was enough.

Mr. M twisted, driving a knee into Jay’s ribs, and broke free. He lunged for the gun—

“JAY!” Your voice ripped raw from your throat.

Jay tackled him, their bodies crashing into a desk, sending your books, papers, glass flying—

BANG.

A third gunshot.

Jay staggered back, his hand pressing to his side, blood welling between his fingers.

“N-No!” Mira caught your hand as you sobbed, clutching you tighter.

Mr. M scrambled to his feet, panting, wild-eyed—

But Jay was faster.

He slammed Mr. M’s head into the floor, once, twice, until the man went limp.

Then—silence.

Jay’s breath was ragged, his shirt stained crimson, but his gaze found yours across the wreckage.

“Still… here?” he managed, voice threadbare.

You choked out a laugh, even as Mira shook you, screaming for help.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Still here.”

Mr. M wrenched free, panting—then bolted, the front door slamming behind him.

Jay dropped to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You crawled toward him, vision swimming.

"Please … stay with me," you begged, pressing your hands to his wound.

Jay smiled, his eyelids fluttering. "Worth it."

Mira was already on the phone, her voice frantic. "Ambulance! NOW!"

Your tears fell onto Jay’s face, mixing with his sweat.

"Don’t you dare leave me again." You cried. ‘’Don’t you DARE!!”

His fingers found yours.

And there was only a smile on his face, before he let out one gust of precious air from the pain.

“Jay? Jay …. JAAAYYY!!!”

Outside, sirens wailed.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — okay i gotta admit this is too fast for an update and i was supposed to publish a ni-ki fic but THIS IS MY MAN'S DAY SO WE GOTTA CELEBRATE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY BELOVED POOKIE ROCKSTAR RAAAAAAAAA LYLYLYLYLYL MAWMAWMAMWA

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — tagging @kaiyunsim @firstclassjaylee @ryes-brownies08

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the masterlist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

legacy masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

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creampuffqueen · 1 year ago

Text

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

#yangvikweek2024 #yangvik #yangchen x kavik #chronicles of the avatar

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lauren-likes-to-type · 11 months ago

Note

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

#fluff #x reader #female reader #slight angst #resident evil village #resident evil #rose winters #rosemary winters #rosemary winters x female reader #rose winters x female reader #rosemary winters x reader #rose winters x reader #shadows of rose #ethan winters #chris redfield

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papervenom · 3 months ago

Text

✩ chapter fourteen: sirius black ✩

summary: final exams are over, but the relief doesn’t last. buckbeak’s appeal fails, and a sunset execution pushes you and your friends to break the rules, again. a midnight chase leads you into the shrieking shack, where secrets unravel. as betrayals surface and loyalties are tested, everything you thought you knew about good and evil is turned upside down.

word count: 5.2k

INCEPTION MASTERLIST⋆˙⟡

June 6th, 1994

The long-awaited day came where we finally finished all of our exams.

Hermione and I were taking turns massaging each other's temples.

My head was on her lap as she rubbed my scalp.

Harry was sitting in the armchair next to us, polishing his Firebolt to destress when Ron came in looking dejected.

"Buckbeak lost," said Ron weakly. "Hagrid just sent this."

I sat up and reached to grab the note from Ron.

Harry moved to sit by my side to read over my shoulder.

Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don't come down.

I don't want you to see it.

- Hagrid

"Shit... I should've said something to Malfoy when I had the chance” I muttered solemnly.

I haven't talked to Draco since that weird night at the Courtyard but I've seen him around in the hallways and at the Great Hall during breakfast, lunch, and dinnertimes.

There were plenty of opportunities to approach him and convince him to tell his father to drop the case.

I felt guilty at the thought that the outcome might've been different if I did.

"And what good would that would've done? He wouldn't have listened to you. Besides, you said more than enough that day that he bad-mouthed Hagrid. You were bloody brilliant." Ron said to me reassuringly, looking at me as if I were the most impressive thing he's ever seen.

This only made me feel even more guilty because I never told any of my friends about my bonding moment with Draco Malfoy.

"We've got to visit him," said Harry, "He can't just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!"

We agreed that we'd visit Hagrid at sundown, which was in an hour.

Once the sun was low in the skies, we put Harry's Invisibility Cloak over us and walked to his cabin.

"It's us," Harry hissed when Hagrid opened his door "We're wearing the cloak. Let us in."

"Yeh shouldn've come!" Hagrid complained, but he stood back anyways, and we stepped inside.

Hagrid shut the door hastily and Harry pulled off the cloak.

I immediately walked over towards Hagrid's tiny kitchen, taking the boiling kettle and started making tea.

"Where's Buckbeak, Hagrid?" asked Hermione hesitantly.

"I— I took him outside, he's tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an' smell fresh air before..."

I rushed towards Hagrid with a huge mug that was filled to the brim with tea before he started sobbing again.

He gave me a tearful smile and started taking big gulps.

"Isn't there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?" Harry asked fiercely, sitting down next to him. "Dumbledore—"

"He's tried," interrupted Hagrid. "He's got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told 'em Buckbeak's all right, but they're scared... Yeh know what Lucius Malfoy's like... threatened 'em, I expect... an' the executioner, Macnair, he's an old pal o' Malfoy's... but it'll be quick an' clean... an' I'll be beside him..."

Once I heard the mention of Malfoy's dad, I turned towards the cupboards again to hide the guilt on my face as I rummaged around until I found a carton of milk.

I've been in Europe long enough to know that the standard tea is served with milk, so I poured some in everyone's cups and sat down.

"Dumbledore's gonna come down while it happens. Wrote me this mornin'. Said he wants ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore..."

"We'll stay with you too, Hagrid," I assured him— Harry, Ron, and Hermione nodded in agreement, but Hagrid shook his big shaggy head.

"Yeh're ter go back ter the castle. I told yeh, I don' wan' yeh watchin'. An' yeh shouldn' be down here anyway... If Fudge an' Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh'll be in big trouble."

Harry started to argue just as I was opening the sugar jar and I let out a shriek.

Staring up at me with its beady little eyes was a skinny, ugly rat that I recognized to be Scabbers.

"Ron, you're not going to believe this..." I murmured, grimacing at the sickly rodent.

"What are you talking about?" He gaped at me.

I turned the jar upside down, and with a frantic squeak, and much scrambling to get back into the sugar jar, Scabbers slid out onto the table.

"Scabbers! Scabbers, what are you doing here?" Ron grabbed the rat and held him to the light.

Scabbers looked horrible.

He was skeletal and had bald patches.

He writhed in Ron's hands trying to free himself.

Hagrid's face suddenly became very pale as he stood up, staring out of the window.

"They're comin'..."

We all whipped around and saw a group of men walking down the steps of the castle.

I recognized Dumbledore walking next to Minister Fudge, and an executioner holding a gleaming axe.

"Yeh gotta go, they mustn' find yeh here... Go now..." Hagrid rushed us towards the back door.

I felt saddened for him when I noticed that he was shaking.

We saw Buckbeak out in the pumpkin patch.

He watched us sorrowfully as though he knew what was going to happen.

"It's okay, Beaky," said Hagrid softly. "It's okay...Go on, you lot, get goin'"

"Hagrid, we can't—" Harry protested.

"We'll tell them what really happened—" I suggested.

"They can't kill him—" Hermione simpered.

But Hagrid insisted, so we flung the Invisibility Cloak over our heads and ducked out the backdoor just in time as there was a knock on the front.

"Please, let's hurry, I can't stand it... I can't bear it..." Hermione whispered to us as we walked around the pumpkin patch.

We mounted up the sloping lawn toward the castle, and once we were high enough, we couldn't help but look down at Hagrid's cabin.

We watched as Hagrid, Dumbledore, Fudge, and the executioner walked through the pumpkin patch.

There was a jumble of indistinct male voices, a silence, and then— without warning, the unmistakable swish and thud of an axe.

We all stared down at the cabin in horror.

Ron and Harry wrapped their arms around us as we silently consoled each other.

"How— could— they?" Hermione cried. "How could they?"

It was completely dark outside now and I had this instinct that we had to get back inside the castle so I placed my arms around my friend's shoulders and led us towards the school.

Ron faltered behind, wrestling with the rat in his grasp.

"Scabbers, keep still. What's the matter with you, you stupid rat? OUCH! He bit me!" Scabbers was thrashing around in Ron's hand and the reason was made clear.

Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, approached us with hungry eyes.

"Scabbers— NO!" the rat slipped between Ron's clutching fingers, hit the ground, and scampered away.

Crookshanks sprang after him, and before we could stop him, Ron threw the Invisibility Cloak off himself and pelted away into the darkness.

"Ron!" I groaned.

We all looked at each other then sprinted after him, taking the cloak off from us completely.

"Get away from him— Scabbers, come here— Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat—"

"Ron— come back under the cloak—" Hermione panted. "Dumbledore— the Minister— they'll see us—"

But before we could cover ourselves again, before we could even catch our breath, we heard the soft pounding of paws against grass. I looked up to find an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog bounding towards us.

To my horror, the dog leaped and fastened its teeth around Ron's leg.

We all lunged forward, trying to get ahold of either Ron or the animal but it was dragging Ron away easily as though he were a rag doll.

"It's the Grim! H-harry! (Y/N)! Help me! Hermione!" Ron cried helplessly. His fingers were digging into the grass to stop himself from being dragged by the dog who was now taking Ron towards the Whomping Willow.

The tree started swishing its branches violently as we approached, taking swings at us.

Harry got hit so hard that he was knocked off his feet.

Hermione shrieked in pain as one of the tree's branches swept her up.

At the base of the trunk, there was a large gap that the dog was trying to fit Ron through.

I flung myself to the ground, reaching for Ron's hand but he was already being pulled through the tree's opening.

"Ron!" I shouted as he vanished out of sight.

I couldn't even start freaking out about Ron's disappearance when I noticed that the Whomping Willow had seized both Harry and Hermione and was whipping them around violently.

Its branches were trying to get ahold of me, too, but I kept ducking every time it got close.

"Shit, shit, what do I do..." I whispered frantically, jittering uncertainly on the spot.

Then out of nowhere, Crookshanks appeared and started pawing at a knot on the tree's trunk as he stared at me with his yellow eyes.

I reached out for the knot and pressed on it, and the tree’s branches went limp.

My friends were dropped down with a thump and as soon as I made sure they were okay, I crawled inside the tree's opening to look for Ron.

Harry and Hermione followed closely behind.

"Where does this tunnel come out?" Hermione asked breathlessly from behind.

"I don't know... Fred and George said no one's ever gotten into it, but it seems like it's heading for Hogsmeade..." Harry informed her.

We moved as fast as we could through the small tunnel.

The passage went on until there was a light that appeared ahead of us.

We raised our wands cautiously as we entered a dusty room— the wallpaper was peeling from its walls and there were stains all over the place.

"(Y/N)," Hermione whispered, "I think we're in the Shrieking Shack."

There was a creaking upstairs and something was moving. Harry took my hand, and I took Hermione's, and we all crept up the stairs as quietly as we could.

"Lumos," I whispered as we reached the dark landing of the second floor. There was a slightly opened door, and Harry and I exchanged a look and nodded.

We all held our wand tightly, bracing ourselves for whatever was inside, then Harry kicked the door wide open.

Sitting on a dirty bed in the corner was Ron, groaning softly as if he were in pain.

"Ron—" I breathed out, relieved as we dashed towards him.

I cupped Ron's face in my hands as I almost started crying at how alleviated I was to see that he was okay. "How are you? Where's the dog?"

"Not a dog," Ron moaned.

His teeth were gritted with pain as he clutched his leg "Harry, it's a trap. He's the dog... he's an Animagus!"

Ron was staring over Harry's shoulder.

We turned around and saw a man with a mass of dirty, matted hair.

It was Sirius Black.

"I knew you'd come and help your friend," Black said hoarsely, eyes on Harry "your father would have done the same for me."

I felt Harry starting forward but he was quickly pulled back by Hermione.

I stepped in front of Harry and glared icily at Black in the most threatening way I could.

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" Ron declared fiercely, though the effort of standing upright was depleting him of more color, and he swayed slightly as he spoke.

I was about to tell him to sit down again as my eyebrows knitted worriedly.

"Lie down," Black said quietly to Ron. "You will damage that leg even more."

I whipped my head around and looked at Black in bewilderment.

What a strange and considerate suggestion to come from a killer.

"Did you hear me?" Ron repeated weakly. "You'll have to kill all four of us!"

"No. Only one will die tonight," said Black.

"Why's that?" Harry spat, trying to wrench himself free from mine and Hermione's hold.

"Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew... What's the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?"

"Harry!" Hermione whimpered. "Be quiet!"

"HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" Harry roared, and shrugged out of mine and Hermione's restraint, and lunged forward.

Perhaps it was shock, but Black didn't defend himself.

He just let Harry wrap his hands around his neck to strangle him, as Harry pinned him down on the floor.

Ron, Hermione, and I were protesting but Harry kept punching every part of Black accessible to him.

"Are you going to kill me, Harry?" Black laughed out through the punches, sounding psychotic.

Ron suddenly collapsed onto the bed, his white face now tinged with green, both hands clutching his leg.

"Is it broken?" my trembling voice asked as I rushed to his side. This caught Harry’s attention as he scrambled to get up, standing beside Hermione as they both pointed their wands out to Black, giving me a few moments to tend to Ron's needs.

Ron nodded and groaned.

I tapped his leg with my wand, and muttered, "Ferula." Bandages spun up Ron's leg, strapping it tightly to a splint.

"You killed my parents," said Harry, his voice shaking slightly, as he pointed his wand straight at Black's heart. "You sold them to Voldemort. You never heard her, did you? My mum... trying to stop Voldemort killing me... and you did that... you did it..." Harry raised his wand.

My heart sank but I understood his anger.

He wanted to avenge his mother and father.

If he wanted to kill Black, now was his chance.

But then we heard muffled footsteps echoing up through the floor— someone was downstairs.

"WE'RE HERE!" Hermione screamed "WE'RE UP HERE— SIRIUS BLACK— QUICK !"

The door burst open as Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room, his wand raised and ready.

"Expelliarmus!" Lupin shouted. Harry's wand flew out of his hand; so did the rest of ours.

"Where is he, Sirius?" Lupin spoke, in a very tense voice.

Black raised his hand and pointed straight at Ron.

Harry and I locked eyes and we shared the same confused expression.

I turned to look at Ron next to me and he looked bewildered.

"Professor," Harry spoke, "what's going on—?"

But he never finished the question, because what he saw made his voice die in his throat.

Lupin lowered his wand, seized Black's hand to pull him to his feet, and embraced him like a brother.

"What the fuck!?" I exclaimed.

Lupin let go of Black and turned to me.

I stood up from Ron's side on the bed and was staring angrily at Lupin.

"I didn't tell anyone!" Hermione shrieked out of nowhere, looking just as angry as I was. "I've been covering up for you—"

"Hermione, (Y/N), listen to me, please. I can explain—" Lupin urged.

"I TRUSTED YOU," Harry shouted at Lupin, he was now shaking where he was standing, "AND ALL THIS TIME YOU'VE BEEN HIS FRIEND!"

"He's a werewolf! That's why he's been missing classes!" Hermione exclaimed.

There was a ringing silence.

Everyone's eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably calm, though rather pale.

"How long have you known?" Lupin murmured.

"Since Professor Snape assigned the essay..." Hermione whispered.

"Well— Hermione, you really are bright," said Lupin coolly "Did you check the lunar chart and realize that I was absent during full moons? Or did you realize that the Boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?"

"Both," Hermione said quietly.

"If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. Look—" Lupin separated our wands and threw them back to us; I caught mine, stunned.

"There," said Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt "You're armed, we're not. Now, will you listen? I was in my office examining the Mauraders Map—"

"You know how to work it?" Harry asked suspiciously.

I knew that Lupin had Harry's map because Harry told us that when he was in detention with Snape, Snape almost threw the map in the fireplace thinking it was a bit of old parchment until Lupin showed up in time and confiscated it.

"Of course I know how to work it, I helped write it. I'm Moony— that was my friends' nickname for me at school." My jaw dropped when I heard this.

He was one of the four Mauraders— Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

"The important thing is, I was watching this evening because I had an idea that you four might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his Hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn't I? You might have been wearing your father's old cloak, Harry—"

"How d'you know about the cloak?"

"The number of times I saw James disappearing under it... You must know that even if you're wearing an Invisibility Cloak, you still show up on the map. I saw Sirius collide with you, then I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow—"

"One of us!" Ron interrupted angrily.

"No, Ron," said Lupin. "Two of you... Do you think I could have a look at the rat?" he asked evenly.

"What?" replied Ron. "What's my rat got to do with anything?"

"That's not a rat," croaked Sirius Black suddenly.

"What d'you mean— of course, he's a rat—"

"No, he's not," said Lupin quietly. "He's a wizard. An Animagus, by the name of Peter Pettigrew."

It took a few moments for the absurdity of this statement to sink in.

Then Ron voiced what we were all thinking.

"You're both mental." Ron scoffed.

"Peter Pettigrew's dead," interjected Harry. "He killed him twelve years ago!" He pointed at Black.

"I meant to," Black growled, "but little Peter got the better of me... not this time, though!" Black lunged at Scabbers; Ron yelled with pain as Black fell on his broken leg.

"Get off him!" I growled angrily, pushing Black off Ron and pointed my wand down at him.

"Sirius, NO!" Lupin yelled, dragging Black away, "You can't do it just like that... they need to understand. We've got to explain—"

"We can explain afterward!" snarled Black, trying to hurl Lupin off— one of his hands still clawing the air as it tried to reach Scabbers.

"They've got a right to know everything!" Lupin panted, still trying to restrain Black. "Ron's kept him as a pet! You owe Harry the truth, Sirius!"

"All right, then," Black said, without taking his eyes off the rat. "Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for..."

"You're nutters, both of you," said Ron shakily, "I've had enough of this. I'm off."

Ron tried to heave himself up on his good leg, but I pushed him back down on the bed gently, knowing he couldn't walk out of here by himself if he tried.

Professor Lupin then told us about how he got bitten by a werewolf when he was a boy. He never thought that he'd be able to study at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore was sympathetic and allowed him to enroll. Lupin then told us that although Animagi were supposed to be registered with the Ministry of Magic, there were three unregistered Animagi in Hogwarts.

"I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had friends, three great friends. Sirius Black... Peter Pettigrew... and, of course, your father, Harry— James Potter. Instead of deserting me, they became Animagi,"

"My dad too?" asked Harry, astounded.

"Yes, indeed," confirmed Lupin. "It took them three years to work out how to do it. Your father and Sirius were the cleverest students in the school."

"But how did that help you?" I asked, puzzled.

"They couldn't keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals. A werewolf is only a danger to people. Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less while I was with them."

"And I suppose this is a reunion," sneered a cold voice.

Snape walked into the room and pointed his wand directly at Lupin.

"I've told the Headmaster again and again that you're helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof—"

"Severus, you're making a mistake," said Lupin urgently. "Sirius is not here to kill Harry—" But then Snape cast a spell that made Lupin drop to the floor.

Black started toward Snape, but Snape pointed his wand straight between Black's eyes.

"Professor Snape— it wouldn't hurt to hear what they've got to say, w-would it?" Hermione spoke.

"Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school," Snape spat. "You, Potter, (Y/L/N), and Weasley are out-of-bounds, in the company of a murderer and a werewolf. For once in your life, hold your tongue."

"They were just explaining to us how—" I began to argue.

"KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" Snape shouted, suddenly looking deranged.

I squinted my eyes at Snape scornfully as he turned to face Black again.

"All I have to do is call the Dementors once we get out here. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black... pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay..."

"Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year," Harry interrupted. "I've been alone with him loads of times, having defense lessons against the Dementors. If he was helping Black, why didn't he just finish me off then?"

"Don't ask me to fathom the way a werewolf's mind works," hissed Snape.

"YOU'RE PATHETIC!" Harry yelled. "JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU WON'T EVEN LISTEN —"

"SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!" Snape shrieked, looking insane. "Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on a bended knee! You'd have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black—"

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry yelled.

Snape was lifted off his feet and slammed into the opposite.

Harry knocked him out.

"You attacked a teacher..." Hermione whimpered, staring at the lifeless Snape with frightened eyes. "Oh, we're going to be in so much trouble..."

"Tell me about Peter Pettigrew," Harry demanded Lupin, who was getting up from the floor.

"You, boy— give me Peter, please. Now," demanded Lupin to Ron.

"There are many of rats. How are you so sure he's Scabbers?" asked Ron weakly.

"He's got a toe missing," said Black.

"So what?" Ron defended.

"All they could find of Pettigrew was—" Lupin started to explain.

"A finger," Harry muttered out.

"Look, Scabbers probably fought with another rat or something! He's been in my family for ages, right—"

"Twelve years, in fact," said Lupin. "Didn't you ever wonder why he was living so long?"

"We— we've been taking good care of him!" defended Ron.

"Enough of this," said Lupin, "Ron, give me that rat."

Ron still looked hesitant so Lupin snatched Scabbers out of his hands.

A flash of blue-white light erupted; and for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, then the rat fell and hit the floor.

There was another blinding flash of light and then a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been.

He was a very short man, hardly taller than me or Hermione.

His skin looked filthy, almost like Scabbers' fur.

He looked around at us all, his breathing fast and shallow.

"S—Sirius... R—Remus..." Even Pettigrew's voice was squeaky. His eyes darted toward the door. "My friends... my old friends..."

Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room.

"Friends!" spat Sirius. "You were hardly our friend. Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it," Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backward. "I thought it was the perfect plan... It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters."

"Er— Mr. Black— Sirius?" I asked tentatively, knowing I was interrupting.

Black jumped at being addressed like this and stared at me as though he had never seen anything quite like me.

"If you don't mind me asking, how— how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn't use Dark Magic?"

"I don't know how I did it," he said slowly. "I think the only reason I never lost my mind is because I knew I was innocent. One night when Dementors opened my door, I slipped past them as a dog... It's so much harder for them to sense animal emotions... I've been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch match, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry..." He looked at Harry, who did not look away.

"Believe me," croaked Black. "Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them."

We all watched Harry intently.

He seemed like he was too emotional to speak, so he simply nodded.

"No!" Pettigrew had fallen to his knees as though Harry's nod had been his death sentence.

Pettigrew then scrambled to Ron.

"Ron... haven't I been a good friend... a good pet? You won't let them kill me, Ron, you're on my side, aren't you? I was your rat... I was a good pet..."

"If you made a better rat than a human, it's not much to boast about, Peter," said Black harshly.

Ron wrenched his broken leg out of Pettigrew's reach. Pettigrew turned on his knees, staggered forward, and seized the hem of my robes.

"Sweet girl... pretty girl... surely you won't let them kill me—"

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" Harry, Ron, Lupin, and Sirius bellowed.

I pulled my robes out of Pettigrew's clutching hands and backed away, staring at him in revulsion.

Pettigrew trembled uncontrollably, and turned his head slowly toward Harry. "Harry... you look just like your father... just like him..."

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?" roared Black. "HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?"

"You sold Lily and James to Voldemort," stated Lupin, "Do you deny it?"

Pettigrew burst into tears.

It was awful to watch.

Like an oversized, ugly baby, cowering on the floor.

"You don't understand!" whined Pettigrew. "He would have killed me, Lupin!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" growled Black. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

Black and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised.

"You should have realized," said Lupin quietly, "if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter."

I stooped down on the bed again and covered my face by burying it onto Ron's shoulder.

"NO!" Harry yelled.

He placed himself in front of Pettigrew, facing the wands.

"You can't kill him," he said breathlessly.

Black and Lupin both looked startled.

"Harry, this piece of shit is the reason you have no parents," Black snarled. "This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too. You heard him. His own disgusting skin meant more to him than your whole family."

"We'll take him up to the castle. We'll hand him over to the Dementors... He can go to Azkaban... but don't kill him."

Pettigrew then crawled over to Harry, but Harry pushed him away roughly.

"Get off me," Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew's hands off him in disgust. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it because I don't reckon my dad would've wanted them to become killers."

"You're the only person who has the right to decide, Harry," said Black. "But think... think of what he did..."

"He can go to Azkaban," Harry repeated. "If anyone deserves that place, he does..."

"But if you transform, Peter," growled Black, his wand pointing at Pettigrew, "we will kill you. You agree, Harry?"

Harry nodded so that Pettigrew could see him.

I helped Ron to his feet; he put his weight gingerly on the broken leg and didn't wince.

My bandages seemed to help him.

"What about Professor Snape?" asked Hermione in a small voice, looking down at his limp body.

"There's nothing seriously wrong with him," said Lupin, bending over Snape and checking his pulse.

He muttered, "Mobilicorpus", and as though invisible strings were tied to Snape’s limbs, he was pulled into a standing position, like a puppet.

He hung a few inches above the ground, his feet dangling.

We all then started to make our way out of the tunnel.

"You know what this means?" Black said abruptly to Harry while we were walking. "Turning Pettigrew in?"

"You're free," said Harry.

"Yes..." said Black. "But I'm also— I don't know if anyone ever told you— I'm your Godfather."

"Yeah, I knew that," said Harry.

"Well... your parents appointed me your guardian," said Black stiffly. "If anything happened to them..."

I glanced at Harry with a grin, trying to figure out if he understood what Sirius was implying.

"I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle, but... well... think about it. Once my name's cleared... if you wanted a... a different home..."

"What— live with you? Leave the Dursleys?"

"Of course, if you want to. I understand if you wouldn't, I just thought I'd—"

"Are you insane? Of course, I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?"

"You want to?" Black asked astonishingly."You mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it!" replied Harry, grinning.

Hermione and I were on the verge of tears of how happy we were to hear this.

Harry deserved it.

We finally got out of the tunnels and the grounds were very dark now.

The only light came from the distant windows of the castle.

"One wrong move, Peter," Lupin threatened.

His wand was still pointed sideways at Pettigrew's chest.

But then a cloud shifted, and we were bathed in moonlight.

Black froze.

He flung out one arm to make me, Harry, Ron and Hermione stop.

Lupin had gone rigid. Then his limbs began to shake.

"Run," Black whispered. "Run. Now."

There was a terrible snarling noise.

Lupin's shoulders were hunching.

Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed paws.

As the werewolf appeared, snapping its long jaws, Sirius disappeared from our side and transformed to the enormous dog we saw earlier.

He pulled the werewolf backward, away from Ron and Pettigrew.

"Ron!" I cried out, not liking how close he was to the animals.

Ron reached out and took my hand and I pulled him towards me.

But it all happened too quickly— Pettigrew took Lupin's wand and cast a spell that caused Ron to fall unconscious to the floor.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" I yelled, pointing my wand at Pettigrew; Lupin's wand flew high into the air and out of sight.

"Stay where you are!" I shouted angrily.

But it was too late.

Pettigrew had turned back to a rat.

"We'd better get them up to the castle and tell someone," said Harry, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he tried to drag Snape by his feet. "Come—"

I was trying to hoist Ron up with my arms with Hermione's help but then we heard a distant yelping, like a dog in pain.

"Sirius," Harry muttered, staring into the darkness, and set off at a run, Hermione followed behind him.

I was worried for Sirius but I couldn't leave Ron alone by himself.

I turned around to find Professor Snape awake and standing.

He gazed at me furiously, and before I could even yield my wand, he pointed his right at me.

"Stupefy!" he bellowed, and I fell unconscious to the ground right beside Ron.

✩ next chapter: the aftermath ✩

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