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cringe--is--dead · 6 months ago

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𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔻𝕠 𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕊𝕚𝕔𝕜

Incl. Umemiya, Hiragi, Tsubakino, Choji, Togame

Umemiya

Having grown up in a group home, Umemiya knows how to be the best care giver ever

That being said: he’s also insanely clingy and affectionate on his worst days

He’s attentive to a T

With Kotoha’s help he’s bringing you homemade soup, full of fresh veggies from his garden

He’s making you tea and keeping water bottles near by whenever you even mention wanting a drink

Sends his four kings out to watch over while he’s with you because he refuses to leave your side until your healthy— doesn’t matter if it’s a cold or the flu

Still cuddles with you, despite you telling him he’ll get sick— he tells you his love and affection will make you feel better

Whenever your fever spikes he’s quickly getting a wet cloth, laying it on your forehead and humming a wordless tune or telling you stories softly

He’s there to wake you up whenever you have fever induced nightmares, and holds your hair back if you rush to the bathroom to be sick

If you even feel the tiniest bit insecure because you feel gross and greasy he shuts that down: by telling you:

“In sickness and in health!” “That’s— those are wedding vows?” “Ha, yeah! But think of them as…pre-engagement, pre-wedding vows now! Hey— your face is all red, did your fever spike again?”

If you’re far enough into your relationship he’ll help you bathe: his hands are gentle as he washes your hair, no wandering touches as he helps you clean your body

He’s so soft you nearly fall asleep in the water, lulled into a serene peace by his soft voice and gentle touches

He combs your hair once it’s dry enough, braiding it to keep it out of your face and wrapping you your freshly washed sheets you have no idea when he had time to clean

Overall; 11/10 to take care of you when you’re sick

Even if he does end up getting sick himself after

Hiragi

You probably got sick after he warned you to bring your coat with you or not to stay up too late let’s be real

Dad sighs and twitching eyes

But he’s buying all the best meds and electrolyte drinks

I personally believe this man knows how to cook so he’s making you homemade soup, congee and other things his mom used to make him when he was sick

Brings a type of lemon “candy” that helps with your throat, knows they work because he keeps them on him in case Kaji needs them

He stays with you, but he gives you space

1. Because he needs to make sure he doesn’t get sick— he has to take care of you firstly, and secondly he cannot let Umemeiya free of him for too long

2. Because he knows you’ll want space occasionally; to sleep, to rest, to regenerate your social battery

While you nap he’s cleaning around; washing and folding clothes, doing dishes, organizing your mail— he’s completely husband material

When you want him near he’ll have you lay your head on his lap, and he’ll run his fingers through your hair and read to you— literally any book you choose he’ll read without hesitation

He’ll be so attentive and supportive when you’re sick, and he makes sure to continue to give you vitamins even after to help you avoid being sick again

But even when you are he’ll be there again

15/10 he’s just so HUSBAND MATERIAL

Tsubakino

LOOK

if there’s one thing anyone knows about me it’s I am a Tsubaki stan first and a human second

that being said

I imagine him taking care of you being sick is, while sweet, also a bit panicky

I imagine he has this weirdly insane immune system so he’s hardly ever gotten sick, and he’s also an only child so this isn’t super familiar territory

but he tries

does so much research he might go a bit overboard

“My darling! I got cough medicine, fever reducers, cooling masks, some cough drops Hiragi suggested! I got some water bottles and Suo-chan suggested different teas— I wasn’t sure which one would be best so I got all six! Nirei-chan said to get electrolytes so I got different flavors of those! And Kotoha-chan made soup! And congee! And I can order more, in fact I have a few different soups on the way!”

he just hates seeing you feel so bad

he’s a ball of nerves around you, always checking in on you and asking what you want, what you need, what you’d like

you can’t even be annoyed he’s so sweet

he helps you bathe, much like Umemiya, he’s sweet and attentive

he brings over his own stuff too; bathbombs, shower steamers, hair masks, face masks

he can’t make the illness disappear but you’ll at least feel clean and good on the outside

he takes his time with your hair and face, and he’s basically your personal masseuse in the bath

you’re never felt so relaxed despite being as sick as a dog

even though you’re sick he’s still quick to press kisses to your cheeks and forehead, face red from fever, embarrassment, and lipstick stains now

paints your nails while you rest with a cold press on your head, tells you about the latest debacle between Umemeiya and Hiragi and Sugishita and Sakura

by a miracle he doesn’t get sick

and he stores all the leftover meds and electrolytes (there’s a lot) between your place and his so he’s prepared next time

overall: 1000000/10

realistically: 10/10 (but always 100000/10 in my eyes)

Choji

oh boy

o h b o y

let it be known you try to hide the fact you’re sick from him for as long as possible

read: you fail

he’s showing up at like 7am, waking you up and charging in

did he bring anything?

of course

he’s brought snacks

not healthy ones

you’re not hungry because you’re nauseous, so he just stores them in your fridge and comes to cuddle you

he’ll wait on your every command don’t get me wrong

want water? he’s grabbing you a glass

need to go to the bathroom? he’s helping you up and walking you there, waiting outside the door and helping you back

bored? he’ll tell you all the thoughts in his head! and there’s a lot!

hungry? he’s grabbing those snacks for you!

he’s attentive and sweet, but he definitely is spoiled by Togame so much he’s not entirely sure how to take care of a sick person

but he’s strong so he’ll just beat your illness for you!

he’ll hold you while you rest, turn your fan on when you say you’re hot, turn it off when you’re cold

he tries to braid your hair while you rest, it’s messy but he tried

he ends up getting sick before you’re even better yourself

now Togame is tasked with coming to your place and taking care of both of you

overall: 7/10

he tries he really does

but he charges in with no instructions and just love

which is great but doesn’t treat the flu

Togame

he probably has taken care of an ill choji (^) so he knows what he’s doing

the patience of a saint holy—

he comes to see you when you’re asleep, and he’s silent as he unpacks stuff from the nearby convention store

you wake up startled at him just chilling, probably drinking a ramune and reading something

he keeps his voice soft as he asks if you’re hungry or thirsty

helps you sit up as he hands you a water bottle, and if your hands are too shaky he’d holding it for you to drink out of

he won’t even let you open your mouth to apologize before he’s giving you that stupidly soft smile and telling you he’s happy to take care of you

he keeps the curtains shut so the light in your room is dim, and he brings in candles with your favorite scent so the lights don’t hurt your eyes and the scent helps you feel calmer

not much of a cook himself when it comes to specific food to help you, but he grabbed take out on the way and heats up the perfect portions whenever you’re hungry

not too much so you leave food on the plate but not too little so you’re still hungry after

the man that he is

can definitely see him massaging your hands, your arms and your shoulders cause you’re tense from feeling ill

keeps a bucket or a bag nearby in case you get sick and can’t make it to the toilet

does a little braid to keep your hair out of your face, jokes about how he learned how to braid his hair so he’d he perfect at it for you

tries to brew you tea, and either burns it or under-steeps it

you both opt for just water for the time being

doesn’t get sick, but definitely sleeps for an entire day after you’re healthy

you both do actually— a long sleep cuddled up together

overall; 13/15 i think i made myself fall more in love with him

#hajime umemiya x reader #toma hiragi x reader #tsubakino tasuku x reader #choji tomiyama x reader #togame jo x reader #windbreaker x reader #wind breaker x reader #umemiya hajime x reader #hiragi toma x reader #tasuku tsubakino x reader #tomiyama choji x reader #jo togame x reader

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thaoworra · 8 months ago

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The Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association recently released the poems that made it to the finalist stage for consideration for the 2024 Rhysling Awards for Short and Long Speculative Poems of the year. Congratulations to all of the nominees! This will be the 46th year these awards have been conferred!

Short Poems (50 finalists)

Attn: Prime Real Estate Opportunity!, Emily Ruth Verona, Under Her Eye: A Women in Horror Poetry Collection Volume II

The Beauty of Monsters, Angela Liu, Small Wonders 1

The Blight of Kezia, Patricia Gomes, HWA Poetry Showcase X

The Day We All Died, A Little, Lisa Timpf, Radon 5

Deadweight, Jack Cooper, Propel 7

Dear Mars, Susan L. Lin, The Sprawl Mag 1.2

Dispatches from the Dragon's Den, Mary Soon Lee, Star*Line 46.2

Dr. Jekyll, West Ambrose, Thin Veil Press December

First Eclipse: Chang-O and the Jade Hare, Emily Jiang, Uncanny 53

Five of Cups Considers Forgiveness, Ali Trotta, The Deadlands 31

Gods of the Garden, Steven Withrow, Spectral Realms 19

The Goth Girls' Gun Gang, Marisca Pichette, The Dread Machine 3.2

Guiding Star, Tim Jones, Remains to be Told: Dark Tales of Aotearoa, ed. Lee Murray (Clan Destine Press)

Hallucinations Gifted to Me by Heatstroke, Morgan L. Ventura, Banshee 15

hemiplegic migraine as willing human sacrifice, Ennis Rook Bashe, Eternal Haunted Summer Winter Solstice

Hi! I am your Cortical Update!, Mahaila Smith, Star*Line 46.3

How to Make the Animal Perfect?, Linda D. Addison, Weird Tales 100

I Dreamt They Cast a Trans Girl to Give Birth to the Demon, Jennessa Hester, HAD October

Invasive, Marcie Lynn Tentchoff, Polar Starlight 9

kan-da-ka, Nadaa Hussein, Apparition Lit 23

Language as a Form of Breath, Angel Leal, Apparition Lit October

The Lantern of September, Scott Couturier, Spectral Realms 19

Let Us Dream, Myna Chang, Small Wonders 3

The Magician's Foundling, Angel Leal, Heartlines Spec 2

The Man with the Stone Flute, Joshua St. Claire, Abyss & Apex 87

Mass-Market Affair, Casey Aimer, Star*Line 46.4

Mom's Surprise, Francis W. Alexander, Tales from the Moonlit Path June

A Murder of Crows, Alicia Hilton, Ice Queen 11

No One Now Remembers, Geoffrey Landis, Fantasy and Science Fiction Nov./Dec.

orion conquers the sky, Maria Zoccula, On Spec 33.2

Pines in the Wind, Karen Greenbaum-Maya, The Beautiful Leaves (Bamboo Dart Press)

The Poet Responds to an Invitation from the AI on the Moon, T.D. Walker, Radon Journal 5

A Prayer for the Surviving, Marisca Pichette, Haven Speculative 9

Pre-Nuptial, F. J. Bergmann, The Vampiricon (Mind's Eye Publications)

The Problem of Pain, Anna Cates, Eye on the Telescope 49

The Return of the Sauceress, F. J. Bergmann, The Flying Saucer Poetry Review February

Sea Change, David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Ann K. Schwader, Scifaikuest May

Seed of Power, Linda D. Addison, The Book of Witches ed. Jonathan Strahan (Harper Collins)

Sleeping Beauties, Carina Bissett, HWA Poetry Showcase X

Solar Punks, J. D. Harlock, The Dread Machine 3.1

Song of the Last Hour, Samuel A. Betiku, The Deadlands 22

Sphinx, Mary Soon Lee, Asimov's September/October

Storm Watchers (a drabbun), Terrie Leigh Relf, Space & Time

Sunflower Astronaut, Charlie Espinosa, Strange Horizons July

Three Hearts as One, G. O. Clark, Asimov's May/June

Troy, Carolyn Clink, Polar Starlight 12

Twenty-Fifth Wedding Anniversary, John Grey, Medusa's Kitchen September

Under World, Jacqueline West, Carmina Magazine September

Walking in the Starry World, John Philip Johnson, Orion's Belt May

Whispers in Ink, Angela Yuriko Smith, Whispers from Beyond (Crystal Lake Publishing)

Long Poems (25 finalists)

Archivist of a Lost World, Gerri Leen, Eccentric Orbits 4

As the witch burns, Marisca Pichette, Fantasy 87

Brigid the Poet, Adele Gardner, Eternal Haunted Summer Summer Solstice

Coding a Demi-griot (An Olivian Measure), Armoni “Monihymn” Boone, Fiyah 26

Cradling Fish, Laura Ma, Strange Horizons May

Dream Visions, Melissa Ridley Elmes, Eccentric Orbits 4

Eight Dwarfs on Planet X, Avra Margariti, Radon Journal 3

The Giants of Kandahar, Anna Cates, Abyss & Apex 88

How to Haunt a Northern Lake, Lora Gray, Uncanny 55

Impostor Syndrome, Robert Borski, Dreams and Nightmares 124

The Incessant Rain, Rhiannon Owens, Evermore 3

Interrogation About A Monster During Sleep Paralysis, Angela Liu, Strange Horizons November

Little Brown Changeling, Lauren Scharhag, Aphelion 283

A Mere Million Miles from Earth, John C. Mannone, Altered Reality April

Pilot, Akua Lezli Hope, Black Joy Unbound eds. Stephanie Andrea Allen & Lauren Cherelle (BLF Press)

Protocol, Jamie Simpher, Small Wonders 5

Sleep Dragon, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

Slow Dreaming, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

St. Sebastian Goes To Confession, West Ambrose, Mouthfeel 1

Value Measure, Joseph Halden and Rhonda Parrish, Dreams and Nightmares 125

A Weather of My Own Making, Nnadi Samuel, Silver Blade 56

Welcoming the New Girl, Beth Cato, Penumbric October

What You Find at the Center, Elizabeth R McClellan, Haven Spec Magazine 12

The Witch Makes Her To-Do List, Theodora Goss, Uncanny 50

The Year It Changed, David C. Kopaska-Merkel, Star*Line 46.4

Voting for the Rhysling Award begins July 1; a link to the ballot will be sent with the Rhysling Anthology, as well as with the July issue of Star*Line. More information on the Rhysling Award can be found here.

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doberbutts · 4 months ago

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5 years ago, pre-T. Getting fitted for my first suit for a friend's wedding.

2 years ago, day 2 of testosterone gel.

Last year, 1 year on testosterone gel.

This year, year 2 of testosterone gel, before and after a haircut.

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alltheirdamn · 10 months ago

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Killing Me Softly | (Joel Miller x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 1 : Your Name

Series Summary: You've nursed a broken heart for two years. ‘Love’ felt like a foreign term, but maybe it wasn’t so far out of reach. Chap. 1 Summary: When you catch the eye of your students' dad at a school dance, he starts showing up everywhere. Rating: 18+ MDNI (for the future smut) Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: pre-outbreak AU, age gap (joel is 36 reader is 27), no smut (yet), sexual tension, flirting, pining, mentions of alcohol, language, angst, reader's last name is 'Smith' for no other purpose than the fact she is a teacher A/N: This will definitely be a slow-burn fic, so please hang tight!! Tropes include: second chance at love, strangers to lovers, secret relationship, etc. I'm actually so excited about this one, so I hope you guys stick around to see where it goes :')

Masterlist

PROLOGUE

You never thought you’d be the girl sitting at the steps of an abandoned altar with your wedding dress covered in mud from the rain.

Just minutes before you were supposed to take your first steps down the aisle, your fiancé fled. You watched the blur of his suit in the distance as he ran through the rain and left your family and friends in shock. Motionless at the back of the rows of chairs, you dropped your bouquet and stood in heartbreaking silence as the cords of the violins faded into the air. Your parents and siblings swarmed around you, trying to break the paralysis that kept your eyes locked on the vacant spot under the archway and steps of what would have been the place you said your vows. You still had them in your hand; the words scribbled neatly on a folded paper torn from your journal. You’d never get the chance to say those words aloud; he never would have deserved them, anyway.

The ring sat heavily on your finger now as you watched it glisten under the pelting rain. Your dress clung to your body in layers of silk and lace, a taunting reminder of who you had become for a man unworthy of your love and devotion.

Five years together, all stripped away in a matter of minutes.

You’d never love again.

“Everyone’s gotta do it,” Maria sighed as she stood at the student drop-off with you.

By ‘it,’ she meant chaperoning the father-daughter dance later in the week, which you seriously wanted no part of. You had been through enough school dances in your three years working at the middle school, and you were tired of watching pre-teens grinding on each other to god-awful music. You had better things to do with your Friday nights, like sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a horror movie playing in the background—you’d sworn off rom-coms long ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled, waving another line of kids across the road.

You watched as they trudged across the crosswalk with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, eyes bright and broad at the realization school was over for the day. If only they were that chipper in class, maybe you’d have an easier time teaching them how to write three-point essays.

Maria chirped goodbye to each one as they passed, her cheeks pinched with a fake smile only you could recognize. You knew she loved the kids but loved the final school bell even more. You, on the other hand, hated it. The end of school was just another reminder that you’d go back to an empty home and an empty life.

Two years had passed since Bennett ran from your wedding ceremony—two years without closure or an answer. By the time you had pieced yourself together and returned home from the would-have-been ceremony, his things were gone, and the house filled with the ghost of his presence. Your in-laws went radio silent, avoiding all calls and emails from you until they eventually moved out of state and changed numbers. The hours leading up to the ceremony would forever be a mystery as to why he left, and you would spend the rest of your life fighting for an answer as to why you weren’t good enough to love.

Dragging you from your thoughts, Maria bumped you with her hip, giving you a concerned look. You shook away the memories and returned her stare with a fake smile you had mastered over the last two years. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had genuinely smiled or laughed without feeling the force of a facade washing over you. Concealing the pain of it all made it easier; maybe if you believed you were okay, you’d start feeling okay. But you never did. Not even the countless hours of therapy had helped reconcile the person you once were. Bennett had left and taken every vulnerable part of you with him, leaving nothing but a raw and broken shell in his wake.

��You’re doing it again,” Maria scolded.

“Doing what?” You asked, already aware of the answer.

“Wallowing. You really should get back out there again.”

You focused on the next grouping of kids setting out to cross the street, your hand instinctively coming up to hold the passing cars at a standstill. You plastered on a fake smile as they waved goodbye to you, and you glanced back at Maria once they finally stepped foot on the next sidewalk.

“I’m not interested,” you stated. “I’m fine on my own.”

Her eyebrow lifted as if challenging your blasé response. Your answer always remained the same, yet Maria relentlessly attempted to change your mind.

“You’ve got to at least try. What if there’s already someone out there just waiting for you?”

“Maria, I promise no one is waiting for me.”

“I wish you’d just give it a shot. You deserve to be happy.”

You had heard that phrase often over the last couple of years; a pitying tone always accompanied the words. People loved to soothe you with words that held no weight or purpose. You learned to nod along to their sympathies and turn a deaf ear to their suggestions of what you deserved.

The final round of kids made their way toward the line of parents waiting in their cars, and you followed Maria back to your classrooms to clean up before leaving for the day. Her words stuck with you on the quiet drive home; the radio wasn’t enough to drown out that taunting voice in your head reminding you that you’d never be enough.

Your single-story house was nestled into an older neighborhood of Austin, only a handful of miles from the middle school. You’d argue that the house was the best thing to come out of the failed engagement; its personality stood firm against the other houses with a vibrant shade of blue painted over its wooden panels and wrap-around porch. You spent the last few months sprucing up the front yard, planting rose bushes and trees to liven up the house. It hadn’t fixed all your problems but pacified them temporarily as you dirtied your hands in the soil.

It became second nature to shut your garage immediately after putting your car in park. You didn’t want the typical neighborly interactions or shallow conversations. You were content with living between closed doors and drawn curtains. The less of an interaction with the world, the better.

Dropping your purse and work bag on the kitchen counter, you sunk onto a barstool, staring blankly at the fridge and knowing all too well there was hardly anything inside it. You’d settle for another frozen meal and glass of wine, a typical meal these days to satisfy a hunger you no longer had. Despite the colorful kitchen cabinets, the mustard yellow couch in the living room, and the obscure wallpaper…your life was dull. How could one person suck out all the energy from another human being? How could pain last this long?

You stabbed a fork into the TV dinner meal before you and wondered if you’d ever feel happy again.

You managed to survive another week of teaching, only to now be standing in the shadows of the school gymnasium, nursing an overly sweet fruit punch. The PTA had done a decent job of turning the space into a somewhat realistic dance floor: string lights hung corner to corner of the ceiling, a DJ booth in the center of the basketball court, and colorful balloons circled the air. You spotted a few of your students dancing with their fathers, their eyes squeezed shut from their too-wide smiles and bubbling laughter. A foreign ache in your chest reminded you how you would have had a father-daughter dance at your wedding. Your father even took it upon himself to brush up on dance lessons to sway you across the floor to some overly emotional song. As corny as it was, you had been looking forward to that moment throughout your engagement.

“Look who got all dolled up!” Maria hollered as she strolled over, fruit punch in hand.

“I would hardly call this dolled up,” you said, tugging at the hem of your dress.

You only had a handful of dresses in your closet, this particular one being a flowy black cocktail dress with a halter top and ruffled skirt. It was barely passing the school dress code, so you decided to pair it with a low kitten heel to try and deter the admin’s scrutiny. You did, however, spend a little more time than usual on your makeup and hair, hoping if you looked pretty, then maybe you’d feel it, too.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Maria sighed.

“You look great,” you said, sidestepping her lecture.

Maria had chosen a plum floor-length maxi dress decorated with embroidered blue flowers. Her curly hair was pinned in a bun, and several sparkly barrettes were clipped to the side. Her makeup was no different from usual: a rosy red lip and simple mascara with a hint of blush on her cheeks.

“Really, Maria. You do.”

“Well, thank you,” she blushed, looking back toward the room full of bodies dancing.

Your eyes followed hers, settling on the duos as they swayed to a slow song. Every father was dressed up in some sort of button-up or the occasional suit except for one—the same one who happened to be twirling around your student, Sarah Miller. You nudged Maria, pointing secretly at them with a questioning glance.

“Is that her dad?” You asked.

He wore a basic cotton T-shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. There was barely any thought behind his appearance as if he had rolled up to the school right after a long shift at work, forgoing any effort or care. Some part of you hated him for it. The least he could do was get dressed up for a silly school dance, especially when Sarah wore a lavender tulle dress that complimented her olive skin tone.

“Yup,” Maria elongated the word. “That’s Joel Miller.”

“Sure looks like he doesn’t care to be here,” you grumbled.

Maria barked a laugh, looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“As opposed to you?” She questioned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you bitching about this dance all week long?”

“Well, at least I put some effort into my looks tonight,” you defended.

You glanced back at Sarah, seeing her father twirl her one last time. You caught a glimpse of his face for the first time in the flow of his movements. Messy dark curls framed his head, curling in every which way as if he’d run his hand through them a million times. Even from a distance, you could see the patchy beard and short mustache covering the lower half of his face, alongside the several creases around his eyes as he smiled. And his eyes… They looked like big brown saucers under the lights, reflecting a genuine softness as he watched his daughter dance.

And then they snapped up to meet your gaze through the crowd as if you had silently called out to him. Everything slowed around you for a moment as he studied you from afar, his eyes drifting down your body and back up with a hint of a smile teasing his lips. A rush of heat crawled up your neck, and you broke the eye contact between you. Maria cleared her throat beside you, tearing you away from the man holding your sincere interest.

“What was that?” Maria chirped.

You shook your head, glancing between her curious face and the dancefloor. Joel had since moved on, steering Sarah toward the refreshment table. He never once looked back at you, which left you unexplainably disappointed. For a moment in time, someone looked at you and saw you.

“I–I don’t know,” you stuttered. “Probably nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

You turned to face Maria, a scowl twisting up your lips entirely. You were tired of her pushing nonexistent things on you, and that’s what this was— nonexistent. Whatever moment between you and Joel had gone as quickly as it came. You were done with the night and standing among so many cheerful people. You couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I think I’m going to take off,” you announced, placing your half-drunk fruit punch on the table behind you.

Maria was defeated, knowing you'd still leave no matter what she said. Stalking out of the gymnasium, you grabbed your purse from the teacher's booth and booked it to your car with your heels in your hands. You carefully walked along the sidewalk toward your car, catching a conversation drifting through the wind between the other vehicles.

“...Dad, you promised we’d watch movies tomorrow!”

“I know, sweetheart, but Uncle Tommy needs help on the job sight.”

You hid between two cars, listening to their voices bounce back and forth. It wasn’t until you peeked out to see the two figures that you realized it was Sarah and her father, Joel. For fucks sake. You tiptoed around the car's bumper beside you, attempting to make a getaway before either of them saw you. You must have done a terrible job because Sarah called your name as you edged closer to your car.

“Miss Smith!”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself.

With your purse in one hand and heels in the other, you turned toward them with your rehearsed fake smile. Sarah was standing beside her dad—Joel—a small smile shining up at you. You knew her usual upbeat personality in class, always laughing and joking with other kids. She was an A+ student, too, and her work showcased her smartness. But in her father's shadow, a distinct sadness clouded her eyes.

“Hello, Sarah! How did you like the dance?” You asked.

“It was really fun,” she grinned, forcing her smile wider. You saw through it.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Joel cleared his throat, extending a large hand toward you. You blinked at his open palm, afraid of making that same startling eye contact as you had in the gymnasium. Shuffling your purse into your other hand, you took his into yours, focusing on the warmth of his grip crawling up your skin. His fingers dwarfed your own, tightening around your hand until you were forced to look up finally.

“S’nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, his thick Southern accent shining through.

“Miss Smith,” you corrected. It was hard to hide the bitterness in the statement.

“Miss Smith,” he echoed. “I’m Joel, Sarah’s dad.”

His eyes still hadn’t left yours, their piercing stare making you shiver despite the September humidity. You pulled your hand away, overly aware of how his fingers lingered a moment too long. Shifting your weight from one leg to another, you were starting to feel the asphalt dig into the soles of your feet.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you replied.

“Joel,” he insisted.

You nodded politely, giving him another faltering smile. Hauling your purse over your shoulder, you said a soft goodbye to them and bolted to your car. In the confines of the driver's seat, you rested your head against the wheel, inhaling deeply as you steadied the nerves inside your body. Why did such a simple interaction light up your body with emotions you had spent so long suppressing? And why did Joel’s smile haunt you even when your eyes were shut?

Forcing your keys into the ignition, you tore out of the school parking lot and back to the confines of your tiny blue home.

The weekends were usually filled with nothing more than grading papers and lesson planning. The coffee beside you on the kitchen counter had gone cold hours ago as the morning sunlight faded into the afternoon. Through tired eyes, you glanced up at the oven clock: 2 pm. You needed a break from reading through piles of essays, and your fridge desperately required replenishing. Grabbing your keys off the counter, you forfeited any plans of changing out of your sweat set and headed to the supermarket.

The packed parking lot and crowded store were daunting reminders of why you typically decided to leave your fridge vacant. But as you pushed your shopping cart down each aisle, you had no choice but to comply with your basic human needs and stock up on miscellaneous food you would want throughout the week. Rounding down the next aisle, your eyes caught on a tall figure standing in front of the bakery section, his face scrutinizing every cake in the display case. Shit.

You tried—and failed—to maneuver your way into the next aisle, somehow crashing into an older woman’s cart, forcing her carton of eggs to fall and smash onto the linoleum floor.

“Dammit,” you hissed, crouching down to try and help them clean up the shattered eggshells.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” she assured. “I’ll just holler for a worker to come clean it up.”

“No, I—I can help,” you stammered, fingers still running over the broken yolks spreading across the floor.

“Miss Smith?” You heard a deep voice above you.

Your head snapped up to see Joel standing above you; his forehead creased with concern. The woman you had crashed into was already down the next aisle looking for a store employee, leaving you alone with a mess you had caused. Joel crouched beside you, his hands folding over yours to slow your frantic cleaning.

“It’s alright, I got it!” You snapped, pulling your hands back.

“Just tryna’ help,” he said. “That’s all.”

“It’s my fault. I can fix it.”

You had said those words to yourself many times before, and never once did they prove true.

“Someone will come and clean this up; you ain’t gotta do all that,” Joel said softly. “C’mon.”

He offered a hand, which you took reluctantly, leaving you both standing awkwardly in front of the mess. You shifted your gaze downward, too afraid to meet those deep brown eyes that had plagued you the night before.

“Hey,” Joel said in a soft tone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

You huffed a sigh, gripping the handles of your cart to start moving. Today was going downhill rapidly, and you only wanted to go home and hole yourself away…like you always did.

“I, uh, was tryna’ pick out a birthday cake,” he rambled. “S’my birthday tomorrow, and Sarah wants to make sure I have a cake, ya’know? Any ideas on what she might like? I’m not sure if y’all ever have parties at school with sweets and all that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, a scowl forming on your face. Sarah’s dad was asking you what she liked? He was proving to be worse and worse by the second. But you were her teacher and needed to hold your tongue.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy anything,” you said, a tight smile forming. “Happy birthday, Mr. Miller.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, clearly seeing through the mask you put on. It was infuriating how easily he had wove his way through your bloodstream, even in just twenty-four hours.

“Joel,” he insisted. “You don’t need to do all that formal stuff.”

“I kind of do,” you laughed. “You’re my students’ father; that’s how I’m supposed to address you.”

“S’all I’m sayin’ is that you’re free to call me Joel. No harm in it.”

There was a lot of harm in it.

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dipped your head to say goodbye and pushed your cart past him. You weren’t being the kindest nor the most respectful person, but your anger was at a low simmer. Any longer around him, and you might explode. You weren’t used to someone getting under your skin like he was. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying. You couldn’t understand why you reacted so strongly.

“Miss Smith!” Joel called, catching up as you moved down the next aisle.

You inhaled and stopped walking, mustering another fake smile to appease him. He gripped the side of your cart with a large hand, a simple gesture to keep you firmly in place. Clearly, he decided when the conversation was over.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Did I do somethin’ to upset you? ‘Cause I swear, I didn’t mean anything inappropriate by what I said back there.

“No, no, you’re fine,” you lied. “Just having a bad day, that's all.” That wasn’t a lie.

Joel ran a hand over his neck, studying you quietly for a moment. Something about the atmosphere around him was intoxicating and so fucking dangerous.

“Well, I’m sorry ‘bout that. Guess I was just tryna’ make small talk, and clearly, I ain’t doin’ a good job.”

“It’s fine—no need for apologies. I hope the cake and birthday celebration go well. I’m sure Sarah will tell me all about it on Monday.”

His eyes shifted over you again, lingering on your lips, set in a firm smile. You tried your best to hide the shiver that ran up your back as he drank you in.

“Y’probably think I’m a terrible dad, huh?” He sighed.

“What?” You blinked away the thoughts swarming your head.

“I mean, I know you probably heard us arguin’ last night, and I’m out here asking her teacher what her favorite kind of cake is. You ain’t gotta be polite about it. I know I’m not doin’ the best job,” he confessed.

“Mr. Miller, I don’t think that at all. I just think maybe asking your wife would be more helpful than asking me.”

That garnered a laugh from him, a genuine and sincere laugh.

“Never had a wife to begin with. Sarah’s mom left us when she was only a year old,” he explained. “Been doin’ it all on my own.”

“Oh.” Dammit, you really were a bitch.

“Trust me, I get it. I could do a better job, bein’ a dad and all that. I’m tryin’.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

He brushed it off, replacing the sad look cresting his eyes with a lopsided grin. You wanted to hate it, but your body reacted traitorously. You felt the softness in his gaze crawl over you, slowly replacing the anger coursing through your veins with something else…something you hadn’t felt in a long time. No one had looked at you that way since—well, since Bennett. Even if Joel was only being friendly, you were drawn to the charm he exuded. Dangerous, you reminded yourself.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I won’t hold ya’ up any longer. I hope your day gets better, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “And Happy birthday, again.”

Joel’s eyes settled on your lips again as you talked, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. His eyes flicked back up to yours, a flash of something behind them, and you were ready to bolt. He muttered a thank you and left you standing in a vacant aisle, your hands still covered in egg yolks and your mind reeling.

It was hard to maintain your good mood once Monday rolled around. Seeing Sarah sitting in class was an unwelcome reminder of your interaction with Joel on Saturday, and you had to refrain from overstepping boundaries and asking about his birthday. She didn’t need to know you cared, even though you struggled not to care. You wondered what kind of cake he decided on, how old he turned if he blushed when she sang Happy Birthday. Every thought burned a hole in your head that you tried to patch up and forget.

The final bell rang for the day, and the kids began to pack up in a rush. You straightened out the papers lining your desk, avoiding eye contact with Sarah as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and lined up to leave. Grabbing your whistle and bottle of water, you followed them toward the front gates, taking your usual place alongside Maria—who was overly chipper for a Monday.

“Soooo,” she prodded. “How was your weekend?”

“Uneventful,” you lied, walking with her to the crosswalk.

“You really need to go out and have fun! You’re young, and you need to enjoy your 20s!” She exasperated.

“Maria, I’m 27,” you groaned. “My 20s are practically over.”

She folded her arms over her chest, leveling you with a heavy glare. Maria was in her late 40’s and clearly exuded a motherly-type attitude. You shifted your focus to the kids crossing the road, watching as they reunited with their parents.

“We go out on Wednesdays for Happy Hour! Join us this week,” she suggested.

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Come on!” Maria pressed. “If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to go out with us again.”

There was no point in arguing with her, so you relented and agreed to one night out. A few drinks and hours of mindless conversation could be good for you. It would be better than sitting in front of the TV with a bland meal and another glass of wine.

You managed to evade all thoughts of Joel somehow the next two days, putting all your time and energy into prepping your students for their first test of the year. Lesson planning and preparation took up your free period and late evenings, leaving you little room to think about those brown eyes and disarming smile. It was Wednesday evening, and you were knee-deep in your closet, trying to find an outfit for Happy Hour. You had changed at least five times, discarding every top and skirt onto your bedroom floor. Eventually, you gave up, settling on tight jeans, a flowy red blouse, and black flats. You left your hair in wavy curls over your shoulders and simple makeup to balance everything out.

The group took their Happy Hour rituals to a local dive bar on the outskirts of town, a row of motorcycles and trucks lining the entrance. You felt a bit out of place walking into a smoke-hazed bar, with the patron's wandering eyes crawling over you, but you quickly picked out the huddle of teachers in the corner laughing over a round of beers. They welcomed you with bright smiles and hellos, offering to buy your first drink. After about an hour and a few drinks, you felt warm and far more relaxed. Conversations about quarterly goals and admin meetings flowed over the table, each teacher complaining about something. You chimed in when necessary, keeping quiet when you had nothing to contribute. You were on your fourth beer when the girls around you started whispering low about a group of men entering the bar. You stole a peek over your shoulder, eyes settling on the last person you wanted to see.

Joel Miller.

He had on his usual simple work attire, the fabric of his cotton shirt stretched out over his broad chest. His neck was tanned, most likely from working outdoors, and his hair was just as unruly as you remembered. The man beside him, shorter but with similar features, clapped Joel on the back and steered him towards the bar. You lowered your head, taking a longer gulp of your drink to try and steady your nerves. Of all fucking places, he had to be here.

“He’s just so handsome, isn’t he?” Maria nudged you, tossing back a look towards Joel.

You shrugged, feigning disinterest. Joel was handsome, but no one needed to know how you felt. Because what you felt was very, very confusing.

“He’s my students’ father, Maria.”

She rolled her eyes, swirling the contents of her drinks before taking a sip.

“Okay, and? There’s nothing inappropriate about dating a student’s parent.”

“Yes, there is,” you snapped. “And I’m not even considering dating him.”

“But you think he’s attractive,” she stated.

You didn’t want to respond to that, knowing the warmth in your cheeks was already enough of a giveaway. If you shrunk far enough into yourself, you might go unrecognized the rest of the night.

Maria thankfully dropped the subject, returning to the conversation around the table. After another hour, the ladies started to trickle out of the bar and home for the night. You, on the other hand, still had to wait a bit longer until the alcohol phased out of your body. Which meant you were sitting alone in the same space as Joel. You could feel his eyes on your back the longer you sat there, and to your detriment, decided to steal a glance over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes raked over your body, returning your stare with a soft, welcoming smile. Shit.

You watched as he slipped off the barstool, waltzing towards you with a beer clasped in his large hand. You tried so hard not to notice his thick fingers wrapped around the bottle, and you most definitely tried not to think of what his fingers would feel like inside—

“Miss Smith,” he greeted, silencing your awful thoughts.

“Mr. Miller,” you said.

“Are all these formalities necessary in a bar?” he teased.

“A couple of drinks won’t change my mind.”

Joel slid into the seat beside you without an invitation, his arm brushing against yours as he settled into the stool. It was instinct to flinch away, afraid of the reaction his touch would cause to your body.

“What will change your mind?” he pressed, keeping a steady gaze on you.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, deciding to change the subject. “How was your birthday?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, that stupid lopsided grin forming on his lips.

“Can’t say I love gettin’ old, but celebratin’ was sure nice.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Miller?”

“Ripe age of thirty-six, Miss Smith,” he grinned.

“What cake did you choose?” you asked, watching him take a long sip of his beer.

“Vanilla. Everyone’s gotta love vanilla, right?”

Was he… flirting with you?

You’d blame your following response on the beers coursing through your bloodstream, but truthfully, you just wanted to play along, even only for a moment.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t always love vanilla, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, falling to your lips as you took another drink. It was bold and stupid of you to say that, but at this point, you didn’t care.

“What other flavors do you like?”

He leaned forward in his chair, his thigh pressing against yours. The heat of his body and the smell of smoke on his clothes was a dangerous combination for your self-restraint.

“I have a few guilty pleasure flavors,” you smirked.

Joel’s hand damn near crushed the bottle when you said those words, his entire body tensing beside you. You couldn’t care at that moment about how you spoke; the drinks started speaking for themselves. You hadn’t dared to flirt with a man since Bennett left, too afraid of what falling in love again might do to you. But, for some reason, flirting with Joel felt so simple. He was older than you, and maybe that piqued your interest, knowing he was far more mature than anyone else you had considered.

“Indulge me, Miss Smith,” he whispered.

“I think I’ll leave it a mystery,” you whispered in return. “I’ve already said too much as it is.”

“I reckon you ain’t said enough,” he countered.

Heat flared through your neck and face as he leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. This had gone too far. You had broken any rules you had previously set in place, and now you were dancing on a fragile line between professionalism and indecency.

Glancing at the clock above the bar, you watched as the hands ticked closer to midnight. Just like in the fairytales, your time was up. Back to reality.

“It’s getting late,” you started. “I should get home.”

Joel’s demeanor shifted, and his grin faltered as he watched you rise from the barstool. He brushed his hand over your arm, barring you from walking away.

“Not real sure if you should be drivin’ home yet, Miss Smith. Y’had a few drinks tonight,” Joel protested.

“How do you know? Were you watching me?”

“Gotta make sure my daughter's teacher is safe. Who else’s gonna make sure she gets straight A’s?”

He was trying to make light of the situation, but you knew better. You knew he had been watching you since he had arrived; his attention had never been on his group of friends.

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you argued. “You go enjoy your night with your friends, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as he considered you. His hand still lingered on your arm, thick fingers flexing against your skin. You glanced between his hand and his eyes, trying to make sense of his intentions. This was far past a coincidental run-in; this was a strange desire out of reach.

“Can I drive you home at least?” He asked.

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least drive behind you to make sure you make it alright?” He offered.

You looked back toward the bar, seeing the man he walked in with staring at you with an apparent scowl.

“I don’t think that’s fair to your friend,” you said.

Joel peered around you and huffed loudly.

“That’s my brother, Tommy. S’all good, he’s probably ready to hit the road, too.”

“He doesn’t look too happy.”

“He’s fine,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy noticed you both staring at him and decided to join the mix. He walked up with a grin despite the scowl he had just worn and extended his hand to you.

“I’m Tommy. Joel’s brother.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s teacher.” You gave him a quick shake and tried to sidestep to leave.

“Wait!” Joel called out.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. “Be safe tonight.”

You made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape him before he reeled you back in. You let yourself float in his atmosphere for too long, testing the waters you knew were off-limits. There was still an alcohol-induced haze lingering in your head, but the sooner you could leave, the better. Tomorrow would come with a headache and a post-drunken clarity to put you back on the right track. You needed to steer clear of Joel before you slipped up and allowed another man inside the walls you built.

You attempted to retrieve your keys from your purse, only to fumble them out of your hands and onto the dirt ground of the parking lot.

“Fuck,” you groaned.

As you bent to pick them up, footsteps crunching on the ground grew closer. You already knew who it was.

“Miss Smith,” Joel’s voice sounded pained.

“I’m fine!” you shouted, whipping your head around to find him nearly toe-to-toe with you.

The moonlight above you illuminated his brown eyes, which darkened the longer he looked down at you. You shrunk away, letting your body hit the driver's side of your door while Joel stepped closer.

“Please. You shouldn’t be drivin’ right now. Lettin’ you leave like this wouldn’t be right of me.”

Your only focus was on his lips as he talked. The plushness of his lips enticed you, leaving you imagining how soft they’d feel pressed against yours. Your control was slipping, and the alcohol was pulsing faster in your veins.

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” You wondered aloud.

Joel looked at you like he knew the layers of the question. He knew what battle you were fighting inside and saw the fear plastered on your face.

“No,” he whispered softly.

Your eyes bounced between his eyes and his lips, trying to grasp the moment's weight. You needed to be firm and say no; your future self would thank you for it. Gripping your keys, you exhaled and turned towards your car door.

“Have a good night, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder.

The warmth of his body pressed against your back, the smell of smoke and liquor wrapping around you and enveloping you in a cocoon of temptation. Joel’s hands reached around to grab your keys from your shaking hand, dangling them between you and the car.

“M’taking you home, Miss Smith. Ain��t gonna argue anymore,” he said as his mouth fell to the shell of your ear.

“I’m—.”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Go to my truck.”

He had the exact tone you did when you reprimanded your students, but the deep rasp of his accent made it all the more inviting. You didn’t want to listen to his demands, but you were getting nowhere successfully. Joel sidestepped to free you of the cage he had you in, watching you intently as you sulked to his truck. It wasn’t hard to know which one it was; only a few cars were left, and the truck exuded the same masculinity as the owner.

“What about my car?” You protested, folding your arms across your body as you leaned against the truck.

“I’ll give Tommy the keys,” he said. “He’ll drive it behind us.”

You were about to ramble another slew of protests when Joel yanked the passenger side door open and tilted his head toward the interior.

“Get in.”

His tone left little room for arguing, so you did as he said without another word. Despite the anger radiating off his body, Joel shut the door softly before heading back into the bar.

You fidgeted with the seatbelt, the press of it against your chest not strong enough to stabilize the rhythm of your heartbeat. You were in his truck, meaning you’d be alone with him for the next several minutes. It was enough to force a roll of nausea through your stomach. Leaning your head against the window, you watched him reemerge from the bar with Tommy in tow. There was a clear expression of annoyance etched on Tommy’s face, all at the cost of your own stubbornness.

Joel tossed him the keys to your car before rounding the truck's hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you kept your eyes on the road as it blurred past with each passing mile.

“Where do you live?” he asked, passing through another vacant green light.

You rambled off your address, still keeping your gaze steady on the streetlights as they passed by your window. He didn’t attempt to make small talk after that, and the silence settled onto you like a heavy blanket. Your control of consciousness was slipping the longer you sat beside him, but you willed yourself awake. The streets started to become familiar, and you shifted in your seat. Taking a risk, you looked at Joel, finding him white-knuckling the wheel with his jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I—I don’t go out and drink normally. I should have just stayed home tonight.”

“S’okay,” he said, glancing at you. “Just don’t get why you’re so stubborn about askin’ for help. First at the supermarket and now at the bar. I don’t get it.”

A rush of tears stung your eyes, and you quickly looked away, trying to blink them back before he noticed. Joel’s hand fell onto your thigh, sending a jolt of shock through your body. You wanted to shy away from it, but there was no use in fighting at this point; you were already failing miserably.

“Hey,” he prodded. “Shit, I’m sorry. Don’t cry, alright?”

You swiped away the tears running from your eyes, schooling your emotions back into a state of numbness. Your little blue house came into view, and you pointed a tired finger toward it to guide him in the right direction.

“This is me,” you sniffled.

“Big ol’ house, Miss Smith. Y’live here alone?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Miller.”

“I really wish you’d stop callin’ me that,” he sighed, parking his car at your home's fence.

“It’s all formalities.”

“Yeah, I know. I just think after tonight, we’re far past all them formalities and shit.”

Your hand lingered on the door handle as you took one last look at him. Joel’s eyes looked over you with a softness you didn’t deserve. You deserve to be happy. Maria’s words rang out in your head the longer you stared at him. ‘Happy’ was a foreign word to you now, out of reach and out of your control.

“Can I just know one thing?” He asked.

You nodded, your fingers wrapped around the door handle.

“What’s your name?”

Blame the alcohol…blame your vulnerability…but you told him.

#joel miller x reader #joel x female reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x teacher!f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #pre outbreak!joel

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neithoftheveil · 1 month ago

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Neith’s TGCF Fic Recs:

I’ve never made a rec list before, but for Christmas, I wanted to share some (not all—by god, we’d be here forever) of the fics saved to my kindle, some of my bookmarks, and some of my friends’ works (with overlap between those categories).

In no particular order:

tell you every day by scrapimmortal

Adorable amnesia Wulian oneshot that makes me smile.

melt (i’d tell them; put me back in it) by scrapimmortal

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve read this, I would have many dollars; perfection.

The flap of a butterfly’s wing by Ameji

Really enjoyed the political and personal drama in this one. A fun, exciting read that got me thinking about how to approach my own fics.

Pig in the Garden by illuminatingsceadugunga

I love FengQing’s heads exploding over hualian being married pre-third ascension; it’s delightful—very fun fic!

The Supplicant by ardenrabbit

The anticipation in chapter 1 was literally killing me; so excited to see more!

Land of the Callous by starvingwritist

A very fun, well-constructed truth serum Xianle quartet fic; Hualian are perfect for each other, truly. Couldn’t wait to see what would go wrong (and right)!

Heaven is Overwhelming by crispytaco

I love selective mutism fics; this one is very sweet! Comfort read.

there’s no rush by miska_za

Very sweet marathon sex; another comfort read.

quiet like stains by haysel

This soulmate AU has permanently altered my brain. It’s my favorite modern AU.

and the rain won’t make any difference by haysel

The atmosphere and the emotion? Out of this world. Love at first sight that takes your breath away. So sweet.

Your Courage, Your Despair by boomchick

I think about this fic at least once a week. Hualian hurt/comfort is my favorite thing.

‘Til our compass stands still by edenwolfie

Cannot watch the s2 opening of the donghua without getting nostalgia for this fic. Love the OCs. Love the characterization of XL. I would live in this fic if I could.

The Road I Walked Alone by aewea

Gives me literal chills every time (love it). What would happen if the play at the Mid-Autumn Banquet was actually the 100 swords scene.

We Stan Scrap Gege! by paidsubscription

Couldn’t stop laughing and smiling. Love this author’s AUs. Always so well thought out. And the “ghost citizens” are amazingly written!

The southern guide to a happy marriage by illuminate

The way this author writes Mu Qing makes me feral. FengQing get married before Xie Lian ascends a third time. It’s horny. It’s fun.

I can feel your halo by illuminate

Probably my favorite fengqing fanfic; I’ve read it a dozen times! Mu Qing’s spiritual powers are stolen, and he takes full advantage of them being gone to fulfill some long-buried desires.

common love isn’t for us by nobirdstofly

A really fun, dynamic piece that plays with FengQing’s deputy disguises. Hot too!

I Want to Ki** You by tyelperintal

I love every interaction Xie Lian and Mu Qing have in this piece, especially when XL gives way too many details about his sex life in order to help MQ navigate his desire for FX.

Wu Ming Loving Hours by featherpoet

A cute and inventive what-if. A canon divergence from Wuming’s death.

When I Was Older by corduroyserpent

An emotional time travel fic I love. Read it twice. Plan to reread soon!

Nameless Longing by corduroyserpent

A follow-up to the above fic; the “good boy” lives rent free in my brain. A roleplay Wulian fic with a twist ending.

Against All Odds by yuushoku

A really sweet royalty AU where Hua Cheng has to pass three trials to wed Xie Lian. Comfort read.

bring a light by uraa

A cute wangxian/hualian crossover!

charcoal daydreams by beesinspades

One of the first fics I read for this fandom! The first tgcf fic I ever downloaded! Artist HC runs into his old crush when XL applies to be his model.

steady love (in a place we know) by beesinspades

Hurts my heart but in a good way; it’s like missing someone who’s right in front of you. Hualian go on a road trip.

Is he, you know, a follower of Ju Yang? by airawyn

Very cute! Love the fengqing dynamic and banter!

Your Touch Means Everything to Me by fayleen

Love the tension in this one! A canon-divergent first kiss after the Banyue arc.

The State of You by peppaspray

Hot and sweet! Hua Cheng trying to seduce his husband in different forms.

to be seen by blessinglanterns

An interesting look at Hua Cheng coming back from being dispersed on Tonglu. Very sweet.

If you love me for me by fullmetalpotterhead

A really adorable royalty AU where Hua Cheng needs to marry Xie Lian for political reasons but quickly falls in love with him after he disguises himself in order to meet XL before their wedding.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #xie lian #hualian #hua cheng #mu qing #fengqing #feng xin

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aikaterini-drag · 8 months ago

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A New Chapter PART 1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: You and Rafe decide to try for a baby and that makes him excited and determined… to say the least.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18+, p in v sex, extra spicy, a tiny bit of anal play, heavy on breedìng kink and cοckwarming, shameless smut guys.

This belongs to the “Loving You” series. Find it here.

It was a few months ago when you and Rafe had the pregnancy talk. You’d been together for three years and got engaged last year. Your wedding was planned to take place in six months, but you couldn’t resist the idea of testing fate and ditching protection and seeing what happens.

It was Rafe’s innermost wish and fantasy to get you pregnant. Even when you diligently took the pill, he was obsessed with cumming inside you, filling you with his load. Now that you stopped taking the pill and gave him permission to knock you up, he was excited, utterly devoted and determined to make it happen. Sometimes, he would even compete to see with how much of his seed he could fill you up with.

This morning had been wonderful. You’d woken up in Rafe’s arms and spent the day making chocolate pancakes and sharing lazy touches and kisses. But he had to leave soon. He had an urgent meeting to get to, but he couldn’t stop kissing you against the door.

“Rafe, your meeting,” you murmured between kisses.

“Rafe,” you warned again while he dragged his teeth along your chin. Your fingers fumbled to slip on his jacket, you managed to get one arm into the sleeve before he wretched it from your hands and let it drop to the floor.

“Don’t ’Rafe’ me. I just want to kiss my fiancée.”

Hands cupping your face, Rafe didn’t just kiss you, he possessed your lips, his tongue tasting your mouth. You felt the blush spreading over your neck while he pressed the line of his body and backed you up against the door. His thighs cradled you, his hard cock strained through his clothes, poking against your oversized hoodie.

“We… d-don’t have time,” you whispered against his lips, but your protest was weak.

He looked at you, kissing you with his eyes.

Before you could say another word, he lifted you, and you gasped as he carried you to the bedroom, his steps quick and effortless. He tossed you onto the mattress, following you down and pinning you beneath him like a predator about to devour his prey.

“Rafe,” you tried again, but he silenced you with another kiss. “Mhhh… meeting—”

“I have a few minutes,” he drawled against your mouth, his teeth nipping your lower lips. “And I know exactly how to spend them.”

“You insane man—” you smiled because it never took just a few minutes for Rafe to make love to you. But your thoughts faded as his hands roamed your body, peeling away your clothes. Your hoodie came off first, and then your panties, you wore nothing else.

“You know you’re obsessed with this, right?”

He grinned. “It’s my honor, really.”

A deep groan escaped him as he shed his own clothes, baring himself to you shamelessly. At his image, liquid warmth gathered at your pussy. Rafe was a masterpiece of a man, with a broad chest and shoulders, hard nipples, and a virile chest. His hips were narrow, his legs long and muscular. And his cock. Oh, his gorgeous cock. You licked your lips as you reached down to cradle it in your palms. His shaft was hot at touch, thick and hard, curving angrily toward his bellybutton. The cockhead gleamed with a bead of pre-cum that made your mouth water.

Propping a pillow under your hips, he brought you close, bending over you on all fours. Your legs wrapped around him eagerly and he breathed out sharply. He held onto your hips with his calloused large hands, stroking his throbbing cock against your soaking wet pussy.

“There’s my good girl and my cute little pussy.”

“Rafe…” you undulated against him as he rubbed his the head of his dick angst your clit.

“Want something, baby?” he drawled, his shaft teasing you without penetrating.

“Rafe—” you tried to get him inside you, but he pushed your hands away and kept the length of his fat cock draped over your slit.

“Easy. We’ll take it slow,” he breathed against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Slow?” You exhaled, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I can’t. I can’t do slow.”

“Then tell me exactly what you want.” He closed his lips around your nipple, wetting it, then turned to give the same treatment to the other. “Or should I stop and go to my meeting?”

“Don’t you dare,” you mouthed while he fondled your breasts.

“Say it then. “

He cupped your ass, rubbed the round cheeks lightly before slapping them. You gasped, more wetness seeping from your pussy. You felt empty, and he was edging you when he knew the simplest of his touches made you go crazy with need.

“Baby…” you whined, tracing your hands over his bunching shoulders. “Want your hands all over me, your cock inside me. I want you to put a baby in me.”

“I’ll fuck you pregnant,” he said, his thumbs opening the folds of your pussy and let only his cockhead past the tight resistance. “When we marry, everyone will know you’re carrying my seed. You’re going to look so beautiful in your wedding dress, your belly round, carrying our child.“

“Hm… I want that too, please,” you choked out, shimming your hips, begging desperately to have his perfect cock shoving into you.

In one swift move, the blunt cockhead glided deeper and you tensed all over. Grabbing your inner thighs, he forced them wide apart and marveled at the sight of your little slit being forced open by his dick. Damn, you looked down and let out a long drawn out moan. No matter how many times you did this, he was so big, it seemed impossible that something that thick and long could fit inside you, yet it always did, perfectly.

You were so wet that his cock slid right in, the tip kissing your cervix. It was a tight fit and your walls clenched tightly around him as he brought his thumb back to your clit and rubbed round and round. His ministrations made you see stars, your hands fisting the bedcovers, thighs trembling.

“Mhhh… Full?” he purred against your lips as he allowed you to adjust.

“Hn… so… full.” You met his gaze, your eyes misty.

“So tight and wet,” he gritted. “Pretty pussy is squeezing me so hard, making a mess all over me.”

“Want more,” you whined, locking your heels around him.

But Rafe was in another dimension.

“You’re dripping all over my halls, baby.” His eyes were on you, his dick throbbing inside you while he played with your swollen clit. “Fuck, look at that, so pretty. Let it go, baby, let it go.”

“Hmm… I’m about to— come, Rafe, oh, Rafe, yes, yes...”

One, two three strokes over your poor clit and you closed your eyes, your body thrumming and clenching around him almost painfully. Your orgasm hit wildly, explosively, and you grabbed onto his pecs while you shook and cried out his name. And then he finally started thrusting. His surged powerfully inside you and you trembled with aftershocks, cumming again, so hard that you tried to push him away.

Rafe wouldn’t have it and kept fucking you through your orgasm, devouring your lips, his tongue licking into your mouth while his fingers pinched and circled your nipples. Your whole frame shook from his urgent thrusts, your juices dripping all over him and making a mess of the sheets. It was too much, too good.

Panting furiously, you forked your fingers in his hair, tugging and bringing his mouth to your nipples. A husky growl and he responded, suckling one bud in his warm mouth while circling the other with his thumb. You arched to meet his thrusts, your bodies colliding in perfect rhythm.

A gasp left you when he slapped your butt and flipped you onto your stomach. Meaty hands brought you to your knees as he crawled behind you, his thighs opening you up. Raising your hips, he filled you in one smooth motion and you cried into the mattress, your cheek rubbing against the cotton sheets.

Cupping your hips, he started a primal rhythm, wet slaps echoing in the room. Running his hands from hips to your ass, he drew your cheeks apart, exposing the tiny bud of your asshole and moaning lewdly at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy.

“So damn beautiful,” he whispered against your ear, nipping your neck.

The sound of his phone ringing broke the moment but he scowled and ignored it.

“Rafe…” the sound of the phone pulled you from your pleasure-filled world. “Must be from work—”

“Fuck the meeting. They can manage without me.” He gathered some of your wetness and rubbed it over your pouting hole. “All you have to worry about is taking my load in your pussy.”

You squirmed from under him. “Hnn… You’re not playing with my pussy right now.”

“I’ll play with whichever part of you I want. I want you to wear that pretty diamond plug in your ass.”

“Later, now fuck me, please,” you whimpered at his powerful fullness filling you and not damn moving. “Move, come on, Rafe!”

The phone finally stopped ringing.

“Is that a promise?” he asked, eyes dark with desire.

“Yes! Do anything you want.” You mewled, blubbering his name repeatedly. “You always make me feel so good. Please, please.”

“I’m at your service, baby.”

Slowly, he slid out, his cock frothing with your wetness.

“Haah…” you clutched the sheets, “yes…”

And then back in. In and out, over and over again, burying himself into the hot, sweet pleasure of your cunt.

Panting and sweating, Rafe rotated his hips, his thrusts turning primal and sloppy. Reaching down, he touched where you were joined, manipulating your folds. He spread your outer lips, working on your clit. You gasped, whimpering and shifting restlessly as he pounded into you while rubbing you senseless.

It was so intense, so overwhelming and you could do nothing but take the pleasure he offered. Licking your dry lips, you rocked against him, sliding back and forth on his fat cock, never missing a beat. Rafe breathed in short sharp gasps, hunched over your body.

“I’m close,” he growled, gently slapping your clit. “Fuck—”

And then came the blinding moment of release.

You climaxed first, convulsing with spasms and Rafe followed, shoving his cock all the way inside, giving loud bellowing moans as he stuffed your pussy full of his seed. You felt the warmth and pressure as he emptied himself inside you, packing you so full while gripping your waist to make sure you stayed there and took it all.

You weren’t sure how much time passed with him bent over you, his forehead pressed to the curve of your neck, lazily kissing your skin. You still shivered with little aftershocks, a pleased smile on your face, your eyes fluttering slowly.

Rafe sighed as he angled his face to kiss your cheek and lips. Craning your head, you responded, opening your mouth to his tongue as he pulled his messy shaft out of you, still hard despite his release. A small whine escaped your throat as he shifted away, his warm hands rubbing your waist and ass.

“No,” he said, watching his seed leak out of you.

You winced a little at the sensation. “It’s too much—”

“Don’t move,” he cupped your ass, keeping you still. “I need every bit of it inside you.”

You couldn’t resist laughing. “Rafe Cameron, you shameless slut.”

“Slut for you and your pussy,” he said, his voice dark and husky.

“Stay,” you murmured, “inside.”

Gently, he set you on your side and spooning you from behind, he impaled you, inch by incredible inch. Air was forced from your lungs at the invasion. He hugged you, one hand fondling your breast, the other guiding your face to kiss you. He kissed you languidly, brushing his lips against yours, rubbing your flat belly as he whispered how pretty you’d look carrying his seed.

“I really really want this to work,” he whispered in between kisses.

“I know, baby,” you smiled against his mouth, stroking his cheek. “I want it too and I love how devoted you are in your mission.”

“I’ll make it happen.” He let his forehead rest against yours. “How are you feeling? I’m sorry for being so intense.”

“I love you for it, Rafe Cameron. And I feel like this time, it worked.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x smut #rafe cameron x oc #Rafe Cameron x female!reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe smut #rafe x you #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe fic

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hidtired · 9 months ago

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Hey, I love your stories for Daryl Dixon! If you wouldn’t mind I had a request? Daryl and reader have a pre established relationship (met at the querry, got together at the prison, got ‘married’ at some point) of a few years. During the line up, after Daryl hits Negan for killing Abraham, Negan can kind of figure out him and reader are together by matching wedding rings. To punish Daryl, negan can hang the reader until they ‘die’ (stop moving) and cuts her down. After Daryl is taken the group can realize, after being sad for a bit, that the reader is breathing and is alive and bring a her to hilltop. Negan could have put a bag over readers head or something before being hung so that once cut down its harder to tell she’s alive, and they could have even taken a picture of reader hung up to mess with Daryl in his cell. Dual POV. Extra extra angst, and happy ending/reunion when Daryl escapes please! If you could, could it be a few parts long? I understand if you can’t do that or even get to this request at all and that’s 100% okay! Anyways, love your story’s!

Someone cooked here... this is beautifully messed up. So right up my ally!

Hangman

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: Y/N Dixon was to be punished for her husbands actions at the line up. Negan decided to do it in style. To have a rope looped for your neck, intended for your death. Daryl watches you hang before being dragged away. But you had still been alive by the time you were cut down.

2.1k words

Warnings (Mentions of suicide, gore, ANGST, violence, injury, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You met Daryl and slowly fell in love with him. Most say they fell in love at first sight. But you? It was slowly then all at once. He was a gruff man, but under that was the most caring person you ever met. You had caught yourself thinking of him differently while on the road after the farm fell. You were friends at the farm, joking and teasing one another.

"You bein' sweet on me?"

You sniffle wiping a tear and punching him in the arm. He had gotten shot by Andrea and had fallin on a bolt while looking for Sophia. The punch hurt your redden knuckles. You had turned and laid Andrea out on the grass. Her cry's of "Did I kill him?!" Sent you to shut her mouth. Your lip wobble trying to not met him eye to eye. Daryl sighed, "Come on girl. No water works for me." He chuckled at the sight, amused to see you so worked up for his sake.

He learned you cared for him that day. He also learned how much he did when everyone was separated after the farm fell. He hugged you. More of shoved you into him practically about to lift you in the air.

“What? Getting sweet on me Dixon?”

It didn’t become romantic until the first night at the prison. Better know to Daryl as ‘THE kiss’. You had finally felt safe for the first time in a while, and you were thinking of him like crazy. So, when he was a little too close and looked down to your lips for a split second… you took action and ran with it. You had grabbed him with both hands and slowly lean into him. Didn’t last long, a peck— a test. He looked taken aback before it clicked and he was kissing you more. Now this moment was better known to you as ‘scarring T-dog’. He had gone to find both of you for dinner and found Daryl pinning you to a wall while making out.

The question of marriage wasn’t proposed as much talked about one late night months into the prisons development. You lay down legs tangled you smiling at him like a fool. The people of the prison loved Daryl. So when a new comer he saved reference to you as Mrs. Dixon it got you feeling a way. “M’ not sure I wanna ask what’s got you all giddy.” You rolled into him more, a dumb smile on your face, “You~”. He raised a brow at you. There were moments when you got all lovey, on him, normally when you were about to start your period. Or ovulating which was a different kind of lovey…

“What do you think about marriage?”

He was not expecting that. He froze thinking of his parents. “Never had a good example of it?” He just didn’t understand the purpose of it. What was to be married? More so with how the world is now. You lean your head against his chest, “I see it as just a promise. To promise myself to you.” He looked down to meet your eyes, “Thought ya were already mine?” You nodded with a smile, “Exactly, I’m already yours. But I would be caring your name as mine.” That is when it sank in, you a Dixon. The Dixons. Them. His hold on you became a little tighter. It would mean everything they already did. He knew the only death could part each other. Thats when you officially became his wife. Later with rings to match.

Till death do us part…

That lead you all to here and now. Face to face to death. Negan, finished with his brutal attack to Abraham. The remainder of what left of him desiccated. Negan swang the bloody bat splattering everyone with blood. His taunting made the hot head that is your husband try and attack him. He landed a crushing blow before getting pinned.

Your POV

It had happened so fast. Daryl was pinned with his own crossbow pointed at his head. The man holding it speaking, “I could end it right here.” You couldn’t even speak, you were shaking. Had a hand to your mouth trying to quiet your sobs. ‘Please don’t kill him… not him.’ Negan had noticed the ring on your finger and took a look to everyone’s face at that moment. He finally turned back to Daryl, “Nah, you don’t kill that. Not unless you try a little first.” A sick smile pulling his lips, “Put him back in line.” He eyed Daryl, “I don’t know what lying pricks you’ve been dealing with but I did say you only get one! No exceptions.” Negan leaned back before slowly turning to you and pointing, “Get her up.” You were swiftly pulled to your feet. Daryl’s voice booming in displeasure. Negan spoke again put to the group surrounding you, “We’ve never done this before! Simon… get the noose.” Some ooos rolled through the crowd.

Negan turned back to Rick. Daryl still wiggling free to help you. “See Rick I don’t like the look in your eye. Any of your eyes, you just don’t seem to get it!” It was Michonne voice urgent as she witnessed them set up the rope in a tree, “W-we get it. You don’t have to do that-“ Negans voice booming with amusement, “Oh I know you do but I did say no exceptions.” He turned his gaze to Daryl at the mention.

You were to be made as an example. To everyone but also for Daryl’s action. You couldn’t blame him for attacking him. He was a sick man doing horrendous things… and with a smile on top of it. You watched the rope go over a branch and someone put a wooden box down under the hanging rope.

You remember finding your Uncle hanging from a pipe in the garage. You were 8. The corners office stated he was hanging there for half a hour before he died, cause of death asphyxiation. The height he fell from didn't break his neck. The height of the box to the tree wasn’t high enough either.

Daryl was cursing and spitting threats as they dragged you to stand on the box. “I’LL KILL YOU, TOUCH HER AND I’LL KILL YOU!!!” But as the rope was looped around your head those threats turned to please, “No— PUNISH ME! IT WAS ME! NOT HER-“ He was crying and you looked on while he thrashed around. You smiled to him. You were scared sure, whether you were going to die fast or slow going through your mind.

Tears tracked down your face but you had stopped crying and had a look that could kill. Negan only seemed cheerful as always taking notice to your calming demeanor. You looked on to everyone on their knees as they stare at you with pure panic. You saw Rick’s hand shaking, mouth periodically opening to say something but he had nothing to say to get you out of this. Daryl had stopped thrashing and was looking to you with a face that pained you. He was pale from blood loss, eyes brimming with tears.

Your vision was blocked by a bag that was thrown over your head. You could slightly see through the fabric. Your heartbeat was in your ears. Negan had now come to stand next to you, “Now there is a new world order. You have shit I want so you give it to me or you could join— Hell her name?” You hear a savior state your name. “Ahh Y/N here… So let’s get this crystal clear for all of you now. You all belong to me.” He turned to you, “Any last words?”

You took a deep breath, “See you in hell.”

He chuckled. It was silent for a moment, air filled with anticipation. “Hope I don’t keep you waiting-“ He kicked that wooden box out from under you.

You felt gravity pulling you to the ground. Then the feeling of the rope tighten around your throat. Your ears picking up on the sounds of yelling and crying from your family. You had bobbed like a fish on a line. You put your hands to the rope on your neck. Struggling to breathe. Your body thrashing dangling from the tree. It wasn’t until you tilted your head back you got a little air. The noose didn’t seem to close all the way. Inside your mind yelled one thing, ‘go slack’. You slowly released your hands from the rope dangling with the rest of you. Soon after stopping any movement despite your body wanting to. You felt a pressure in the back of your eyes. The lack of sufficient oxygen making you feel like you were spinning. And the growing pain radiating around your neck was something you’ve never felt before. Like you were dying.

Negan had been talking throughout you struggling. But you hadn’t the mind to listen. It was Daryl’s sobs you recognized. He sounded like he was getting pulled away with the sounds of a heavy door slamming. A flash of light came through the bag on your head, click of a camera soon followed after. Negan talked again before you felt gravity pull you again. He had cut you down. You flopped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. You felt the wind get knocked out of you. Whatever wind you had left anyways. It took you a second before your first real breath came to you. But you try to remain still, to play possum.

You still remained there on the floor, yelling in your mind to stay awake. Coming up with anything to remain conscious like, math problems or names of your childhood pets. You had the feeling like you were on choppy water. Swaying back and forth on a boat. The deafening silence pulled you from your mind. Maybe you had died? But you decided you needed to move.

Group POV

Everyone was still after the saviors left. The first shuffling of gravel was Glenn moving to his wife after snapping out of the shock. His movement snapping everyone out of it to. Maggie clung to him while sobbing, emotionally and physically distressed. The sound of groaning and raspy noises made them all turn to you. It was Rick who spoke, “She turned…” You body propped up on hands and knees. They looked on before it was Carl moved to put you down, everyone else had even yet to move before him. Carl only got a few steps before you pulled the bag off your head.

Everyone froze again. Your fist clenching around the rope still around your neck. The chocking noises and tears sounds as you struggle with moving, “Holy shit she’s still alive!” Aaron had ran past Carl to then kneel beside you. Removing the rope from you revealed a line of black and purple around your neck. The rest had made their quick approach to you in disbelief. You were clawing at anyone next to you, you were in pain and didn't know who to act other then to wither. One hand still to your throat. Your eyes were blood red and the noise you made while attempting to breathe was high and liquidy.

Sasha had moved up behind you looping her arms behind yours, “Quick we need to get her to Hilltop! Maggie to!” Michonne moving for your legs to carry you to a truck the saviors left. Glenn helping Maggie into the passengers seat. Eugene began to list facts about being hanged like, 'it takes 10-20 minutes before a person died. You had been hung by a 'suspension hanging' but the height you fell from wasn't sufficient enough. The Saviors lack of knowledge had saved your life.' It was mostly a nervous habit to provide the information, a sort of coping. He was watching Rick and Aaron put Abraham's body in the back on the truck bed.

Maggie yelled to support your head to Sasha who you laid onto. You were still fighting unconscious, tears streaming down your red eyes. Glenn slipped into the drivers seat. Maggie speaking out the windows, "We got her. Get back to Alexandria. Plan to kick those monsters in the ass." Just like that they were off to hilltop.

The rest stood to see the car go off into the distance. Still shaken but the littlest bit more relieved you hadn't died in the worse way imageable in front of them. When they finally got back in the RV to go back home Rick just couldn't help but spot the noose on the ground from the review.

Daryl had no clue about you getting back up from that monstrous act.

Part 2

Feedback welcome and requests always open and encouraged!

(If you or a loved one are suffering and having thoughts of suicide please seek help. You are wanted and loved. Its cheesy but true when people say it gets better.)

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl x reader #norman reedus #twd daryl #angst #fluff

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revasserium · 1 year ago

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hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

#opla #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji #one piece netflix #one piece fluff #sanji opla #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #opla x reader #opla x you #opla fluff #x reader #floofy floof floof #scheduled post

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essiemclaren · 10 months ago

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part iii of april wedding

In which, on April 1st, Formula 1 driver Lando Norris shared a throwback picture of himself and his partner, y/n, from their pre-wedding shoot, sparking confusion and speculation among fans and fellow drivers (because they had zero clue on lando’s personal life) Later, Lando reveals they had a pre-wedding shoot two years ago, surprising everyone by confirming they actually got married three days later.

Loosely inspired by Anya’s Wedding 🤍

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liked by mclaren, f1, and others

yourusername and landonorris two years ago, on april 1st, we had a pre-wedding shoot! just three days later, under a canopy of stars and surrounded by the ones we hold dear, we sealed our love with vows of forevermore.

to my beautiful wife, i am forever yours 🤍

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texts

a/n: anddd that's a wrap for april wedding!! sorry if it's short :( but i hope you guys loved it! i had fun doing this, and i look forward to more of these!! :DD

#lando norris x you #lando norris #f1 instagram au #f1 text posts #f1 smau #formula 1 imagine #f1blr #f1 fluff #lando norris fanfic #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader

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burreauxsworld · 3 months ago

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Locked In (1) | Joe Burrow

Joe Burrow x Singer!Reader

Exboyfriend!joshallen x Exgirlfriend!reader

•••

Being in the spotlight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Yeah, there’s glitz and glamour and getting to live out your dream you’ve had since you were a little girl, but deep down you’re still human, with normal human emotions. Emotions that are completely normal, even when people tell you to never show them. You honestly were doing so well considering the circumstances you were left with. A completely shattered heart, an album that had just dropped (full of love songs written about the person that shattered your heart), and a sold out stadium tour that would take place over the entire summer. You were thriving. Slowly but surely, your heart mended itself back together every time you took the stage. Nothing could stand in your way.

Then football season rolled around and people started noticing that you weren’t in your normal spot, in a suite at Highmark Stadium. Supporting the man you believed you would spend the rest of your life with. Even had the ring to prove it. But it all came crashing down the night you walked in on him in bed with his ex from college. It absolutely crushed you. Especially because Josh Allen seemed like the perfect guy. He treated you well, showed you off in public, spoke about you in post-game interviews, the whole nine yards. You never would have saw this coming in a million years. But it did, and it felt like the worst day of your life.

Pre season wasn’t too bad, people just assumed you were busy. Then week one came and you still weren’t there, and people started to question things. Headlines quickly made their way into the world, it was mentioned in sports news all over the country, and you and Josh had started to trend on Twitter. It was all mixed feelings. Mostly just men that were happy to see you go, the women tearing Josh down, and some fans that were devastated about the split. You never commented on the topic. You figured you’d let it die down, and at some point it would be addressed in a normal adult way.

Josh had other plans.

He’d gone on a podcast for barstool sports, and when asked about the topic he didn’t shy away from lying to the entire world. “We both have pretty busy lives. She was going to be starting her tour and didn’t really have a lot of time on her hands. There’d be times where she’d go days without reaching out to me. I just couldn’t live that way anymore”

You were dumbfounded. Completely and utterly baffled. “Brittany and I reconnected last season when we played the Chiefs. It had been such a long time since I’d seen her. We kept in touch. But assure you, there was no crossover. I’d never even think about cheating on a woman”

Blow number two. The cheating had went on far longer than you’d realized, and right under your nose. You were too busy catching up with Taylor Swift in the suite to notice that your fiancé met up with his ex. “I think I’m the happiest I’ve been in a while. I can’t speak for Y/N but I can honestly say for myself that I checked out of that relationship a year before it ended. I could not physically live that way anymore”

You couldn’t watch anymore. You powered your phone off and threw it to the end of your couch. Tears streaming down your face, your heart feeling like it shattered all over again. He’d just proposed to you in July of last year, the two of you started planning your wedding for the off season. It was all a lie.

You thought about retaliating. Putting him on blast the same way he did you, but that wouldn’t make you feel better. At this point, you weren’t sure what would make you feel better, but you knew you couldn’t be sad over him anymore. You needed to pick yourself back up.

•••

2 days later

You laughed hysterically as you threw your head back. When you realized your management team wasn’t laughing with you, you slowly stopped laughing. “Oh you guys are serious?” You question, dumbfounded. “Absolutely not. I’m not stepping foot into another football game for the rest of my life” you say firmly. “Y/N, it’s just to sing the national anthem, and then you can leave. You don’t have to stay for the entire game” your manager, Ryan, tells you with hope in his voice.

“And what reason am I going to give the media for leaving? That I was a heartbroken little child so I couldn’t stay? That’ll do more harm than good and you know it” you rant, letting out a sigh. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” You question, and put your head down when Ryan makes a face.

“It’s out of my hands. The record label won’t produce your album if you say no”

“When and where?” You say, reluctantly. “Sunday, October 6th, and in Cincinnati. This is the first AFC North divisional. There will be a lot of viewers and attendees already but you singing the national anthem would raise those numbers. The NFL is paying you very well to do this, plus you have a private suite with your name on it if you would like to stay,” Ryan explains, not tearing his eyes from you. He knew how hard this would be for you. He hated even having to ask you to do this.

“I’ll be there. But only because the future of my album rides on this. The NFL literally makes me sick to my stomach right now” you rant, rolling your eyes. “You can’t let one guy deter you from your passion of football. You loved football even before he who shall not be named. Besides, I will be there the entire time, and so will Megan. Megan is kick ass at what she does. All this Voldemort nonsense is gonna be put behind us. Clean slate, Y/N/N” Ryan assures you, and you crack a smile. “Voldemort?” You question.

“Oh yeah, he sucks. He’s lucky you’re giving him the grace that you are, and that you held me back from beating his ass that night” Ryan rants, and you laugh. Grateful that not only is he your manager, but one of your best friends. “But seriously, I’ll be there, next to you the entire day. And a little birdie told me you have some fans on the Bengals. Who knows, you may find a hotter guy that’ll be an upgrade from shit-for-brains” Ryan teases, and you scoff.

“I doubt it. I’ve sworn off athletes. Especially ones that play professional football”

“You say that now,” Ryan winks as he leaves the room, and you roll your eyes, yet again.

•••

Sunday October 6th, 2024

You heard the whispers as you walked past people. The judgmental comments about you neglecting your relationship, how you were the reason for its demise. The awful things people were saying about you, and screaming at you, almost made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. The worst ones, were the looks of sympathy you got from the women in the stadium. You knew you shouldn’t have agreed to this.

“Ryan, I don’t know if I can do this. They all hate me” you stress, and he’s already shaking his head at you. “They don’t hate you-“

“Slut!”

“Seriously?” You say, with a flat tone. “Okay, so some macho men are just mad that you’re here. Who cares? Y/N, your career is literally riding on this”

“I can get a new label” you retort and Ryan sighs. “Y/N, you got this. You’ve literally dealt with so much worse than this-“

��Y/N, you’re on in 10” an NFL official says, walking past the two of you. You feel like your throat is closing up. There’s a lump that wouldn’t go away. In all the years you’ve been performing for big crowds, this one had you nervous. “Josh turned me into a social pariah when it comes to the NFL. He literally blamed me for everything, Ryan. I shouldn’t be here” you rant, tears brimming your eyes. “You absolutely deserve to be here. And for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have been upset if you spoke your truth. Damage control is my job, let me worry about that. You just go out there and sing your heart out” another voice chimes in, and you turn your head to see Megan, your publicist.

“It’s time,” Ryan says. “Y/N, keep your head held high. You can do this. I’ll be right over on the Bengals sideline waiting for you to finish” Ryan assures you, as the three of you walk toward the opening to the field. Here goes nothing.

•••

After The Game

You should’ve known that staying at the game would mean Ryan would convince you to go to the after party. Although the game ended in a Ravens win, the team still seemed to be in good spirits. A lot of them were actually a lot of fun to be around. You were originally invited by Ja’Marr Chase, who made a point to come up to the suite and invite you personally. Letting you know that he and a few other guys were big fans, though part of you thinks he was just being nice.

You came in and conversed with him and a few other guys before making your way to the bar, then to an empty booth in the corner of the room. Ryan was mingling with some of the coaches and Megan decided not to attend the party, so you were pretty much left to your own devices. You nursed your dirty shirley as you scrolled through twitter. A lump forming in your throat at the harsh things being said about you.

“You really shouldn’t look at that stuff. I’ve learned that the hard way”

Your head snapped up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, as the couch dipped next to you. “I hope this seat isn’t taken, though you’ve been sitting by yourself for the last half hour. Not that I was watching like a creep. I promise. I just got tired of standing at the bar” the deep voice rambled. “You’re okay. The seats not taken” you say, a small smile gracing your features.

“I’m just not very popular at the moment” you admit, taking another sip of your drink. “You played really well today, by the way. If you ask me, the Bengals had that in the bag” you say, changing the subject and he scoffs. “Always room for improvement,” he says, sipping his drink. “I’m Joe, by the way” he says, extending his hand to you.

“Y/N,”

“And since we’re voicing opinions, you didn’t deserve to be dragged down in the media. I’m not sure what actually happened, and by no means am I asking you to tell me, but I think it should have stayed private. Josh seemed like a nice guy, but that was a low blow” Joe says, not looking at you, as he yet again sips his drink. You frowned at the mention of Josh, and sank back against the couch. “Thanks, I guess,” you mutter, bringing your glass up to your lips. Joe looks over at you, and mentally face-palms.

“I’m so sorry. I overstepped. I shouldn’t have commented on something I know nothing about,” he says, a sense of urgency in his tone. “I literally came over here with liquid courage, with the intention of getting to know you and I fucked it up by bringing up your ex. I’m such an idiot” Joe rants, leaning back against the couch. You look over at him, a strange feeling in your stomach.

“Joe, it’s okay. You were trying to make conversation-“

“But I could’ve asked like what your favorite color is, not brought up your ex” Joe says, internally beating himself up. “It’s yellow” you answer, and he looks over at you confused. “My favorite color is yellow” you say, and he smiles. “Let’s start over. I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you say, extending your hand with a smile.

“I’m Joe Burrow. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N”

#joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader

300 notes · View notes

yuyu1024 · 1 year ago

Text

Twilight

Pairings: Yoongi × y/n

Genre/tags: Arranged marriage

Warning: 🔞🔞 smut/angst, mention of food/eating, cursing, sensual touching, making out, needy/clingy, Pet name, lies, kink, unprotected sex, mention of smoking and drinking alchohol jealousy, insecurity, mention of weight&food/eating, mention of blood/violence

~~~~[lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 5.6k

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

Part 1 - Prisoner

Part 2 - Escape

Part 3 - Twilight

A/N: again thanks for liking this mini series and my simple writing... 🫶🏻 hope i don't disappoint 🙏🏻

****

[Day 1 into the marriage]

"Here is the wedding certificate and then here are the papers where all the terms of agreement are listed." The lawyer says as he puts down the pens and papers in front of you and Yoongi whilst you two are still in your wedding outfits. "These are final prints... they were revised based from our last meeting." He adds

"Good." Yoongi picks up his pen and signs the wedding certificate. "Thanks for doing this within short notice." And then he proceeds to signing our contract, flipping each page like he's just signing some random deal at work.

"No worries, Mr. Min. We've had clients who have way more pages and things to consider than yours two." The lawyer says

So, this means that a lot of rich people do this kind of contracts. Besides the pre-nup thingy. Meaning, contracts for those who got married just because they had to. What a world we live in.

"Mrs. Min?" Your eyes slowly rises. You see the lawyer handing you the pen.

"Oh." You take the pen from his hand and then slighty move forward from the sofa you are sitting so you could reach the papers.

"Left handed...?" Yoongi mumbles making you look back at him. He is sitting beside you.

"I- I am..." and then you proceed to signing everything. Not missing a page.

"Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Min." The lawyer puts everything in a folder and then an envelope and stands up to bow. "Congratulation on your marriage!"

You are not sure how to response as you know what 'marriage' you just entered. But all you could say is 'Thank you' and bow back

Then the moment the lawyer and his minions left the room, you finally relax and let out a sigh of relieved. The wedding is finally over. The day you have been preparing for months. And the acting as a perfect bride is over. Well atleast for this moment. Coz now, you are not just a bride, you are a wife now. A wife of one of the wealthiest and good looking man in the country. The only son of the famous mafia known to man.

"Don't cut your hair short..." he suddenly says cutting you from your deep thoughts

"Sorry?"

You see him staring at you. His legs crossed and his chin resting on his palm. "Maintain that length..."

Then you glance down at your curled hair that is reaching until below your chest. "Ahm.... okay." You softly answer

"Do you have a doctor?"

"Doctor? For what?"

"To monitor your health... and also a doctor to take care of you... reproductive wise..."

"W-what...?" You could feel your cheeks burn up. You didn't expect a conversation like this just after getting married. "W-why...? Like... Do we need to have children as soon as possible?"

He looks away. "The opposite." He then stands up, hands in his pockets and walks towards the door. "Monitor your period...so when I want to have sex with you... we're safe."

Speechless. He's so straightforward and he sound so cold. But atleast he is talking to you now.

"Did you hear me?" He looks back at you

"Y-yes... I will." You answer, clutching onto your skirt, nervous and scared at the same time.

"Good." He turns his back again to you. "You can rest for bit... and when you're done, your car is waiting at the back entrance."

"My... car? H-how about you?"

"I have work. I'll see you at the house."

"Oh. Okay..."

You watch him leave the room and see Mr. Kim his right hand man smile at you to bid their goodbye and close the door.

That's it for your wedding day. The very eventful day ended up to becoming so silent. Because the next time you see him is 2 weeks after. Crazy isn't it.

Weddings supposed to be followed by a trip for your honeymoon but instead you are brought to his mansion and became a prison.

***

You are walking around the mansion, familiarizing yourself with the surrounding with your personal maid that was assigned to you by your husband, when you hear commotions. Everyone are in a hurry and mumbling as they do random things.

"Miss... Master is home." Your personal maid says answering your unspoken curiosity

"Is he..." you softly say under your breathe. "Should I go to my room now and change?" You ask her.

They have debriefed you the whole two weeks your husband is out. They told you all the things you need to know and add a bit of ideas to you what Yoongi likes. More particularly, your hair being braided whenever he wants to have sex.

How funny that even his staffs know these kind of things. During the two weeks time, it made you wonder, what type of person is Yoongi. How can he be so open about his wants especially from a woman. Like woman he fucks.

It also made you question, did he fuck a lot of woman before he was forced to marry? Did he bring a different woman to pleasure him? Will you be seeing other women if you don't give him his needs? Can you satisfy him?

It's been only at beginning of this life and yet you are flooded by question but no one could answer it. You are not allowed to question him or be curious.

The maid nods and bows.

"Okay then..." you are nervous.

If ever he comes to you and he asks for sex, you are worried and scared at the same time. This is your first time. You are not experienced. You never had a chance to have to have sex yet since you are busy trying to survive and work for your family. The only experience you got is kissing and you don't even know if you are good at it. Your first and last boyfriend was the onky experience you got. you two didn't lasted that long and you were young back then so..

"What are you doing here...?"

Both you and the maid got startled a bit. You two looking back, you both see Yoongi standing at the end of the hallway.

"Y-yoongi?" You mumble, almost a whisper that you can only hear yourself.

Your husband looks like he just came from a fight. The corner of his lips is bleeding and his white shirt have blood on it too.

"Master." The maid bows and explains why you are there. "Miss is just roaming around to get familiar with the house."

While you on the other hand, you are shaking but you try your very best to hide it. "W-what happen..." your voice is too weak for him to even hear

"We were just about to go to her room to get ready." The maid adds.

Yoongi's expression is empty. He is just starring at you with those sharp eyes. It is sending shivers all over your body.

"Tell everybody to not set foot on this wing until I say so..." Yoongi orders the maid

She bows and says, "Understood." And then she glances at me and does the same. "Miss..." before she disappears leaving you and Yoongi alone in the hallway.

"What are you staring at?" He asks as he begins to walk towards you. "Do I scare you?"

"No..." you shake your head

"Do I repulse you?" He then stops right in front of you.

You can now see it more clearing. His bloody lip, the scratches on his neck and his scar. The prominent scar on his face that made you curious about him since the day you met him.

"No... not at all..." you answer

He scoffs with disbelief with your answer. "You are just saying that because of our contract."

You feel offended a little because you are being honest. You are scared of the situation but not him. You are afraid that you might mess up your first night but not because of him. He never really scares you which is odd.

Before you met him, people already gave you warning about him. You were worried yes however all of that blew away when you saw him look at you. You know something is behind those empty eyes. He is different that what people know. You don't want to judge him.

"No..." you insist.

"Really?" He then raises his hand and touch your long straight hair.

"Your hand..." you mumble seeing his red knuckles. "Does it hurt?"

"That's nothing." He answers. "I can still use my hand..." then he gently touch your breast. He let his finger feel where your nipple is and then squeezing it lightly.

You inhale sharply as you watch him do it. This is the first time anyone have touched you like this, in a semi public place. You thought you'd be uncomfortable. But no. You like it. That's what your body tells you.

He is also watching you react on his touch. His eyes never left yours. "Are you nervous?" He asks

"A little."

He smirks, "you should be."

Then he pulled you in for a kiss by grabbing you by your nape. You tip toed a little as he is taller than you. You struggled a bit to find your balance but it didn't matter seconds later as you begin to melt the moment he devours your lips. He is holding you tight and basically carrying you.

His other hand skims down your back until it reaches your ass. He's caressing you down back that it pulls up your mini dress.

"I like this." He says in between the kiss as he touched your lace underwear.

Your heart is beating so fast. The sudden thrilling feeling is overwhelming you but at the same time is turning you on. The way he touches you is making you feel you are so sexy even though you know you are not.

"Spread your legs." He orders and you follow. Then his hand goes in to your panty and cup you down there. "You're so wet." He smirks

You are out of breathe when the kissing stops but him touching you down there, it is making you so red. No one has touched you down there.

"No braids today... I can't fucking wait anymore." He then scoops you off the ground and carried you bridal style. "I'll let this one go since we just got married. I need to fuck you right now."

**********

[6months into the marriage]

Yoongi have been gone for two days for business. He said he will back today but told you not to wait and just go to bed. However, after seeing him looking at bit grumpy and frustrated during his call earlier, you can't help but worry for him. Because usually when you see him like that he'll come home with a bloody knuckle again.

Thinking about him the whole day now affects you. You can't sleep nor feel tired. Your brain is so awake and imagining things that might happen to him.

You want to call him or even message Mr. Kim to know how is he doing. But you can't. You're not allowed to contact him unless it is about your schedule or about his parents. Your interaction with him is still very limited. It's been months since you two got married but nothing has changed.

And since you can't sleep, you decided to go down to the kitchen and make yourself a hot milk. It is perfect for the winter weather and also maybe it can help to ease your mind and get you to feel sleepy even just a little bit.

"It's snowing..." you mumble to yourself as enter the kitchen area.

There is a huge window where you could see the back of the house where the mini garden. You say mini since it is mini compare to how huse this whole house is.

The bushes are all covered in snow and you could see how the moon light reflects on them. It's mesmarizing but also dangerous especially if you are out driving.

"I wonder..." you whisper as you stand right next to the window. "I hope he gets home safetly..."

***

After drinking your hot milk and spending a few minutes staring into the world outside through the window, you still don't feel sleepy at all. So even it's already pass 10pm, you decided that maybe going to your study room and to read a book might help to.

However, on your way to your study area, you walk pass by Yoongi's wing where his room is located

You could hear men talking which made you stop and observe from the end of the hall. You see Mr. Kim talking to a man wearing a white blazer coat. He looked familiar but you are not sure. Not until he turned around and talked to a nurse that came out of Yoongi's room.

He is the Min's family doctor. He is also the same doctor that did your health check up months ago.

"Why is he--"

Then a high pitched, piercing cry echoed from Yoongi's room. He's screaming. He is in pain.

Both men hurries back in his room to check on Yoongi while you on the other hand, frozen and terrified from afar. Questions like; what happened? What's going on? Is he hurt? Why? Is he okay? Why is he screaming like that?

You want to sprint forward to go and check what the fuck is going on with your husband but you are forbidden to enter his wing. Per his rule.

'Y/N... just walk away. Walk away and pretend you didn't hear anything. That's how its supposed to be...' you say to yourself in your head as you take a step back and try to act like nothing happened.

Just move on. You keep repeating as you turn your back. You know he'll not like it, you being nosy.

*******

[7 months & 1 week into the marriage]

"What is it?" He asks as he flips the page of the book he's reading.

"Oh...S-sorry..." you lower your head again and just continued pretending reading the book you have in hand.

He caught you staring at him. But to be more specific, staring at his injured shoulder. This is the first you guys spent time together again. He was gone for awhile. Their doctor insisted that he need to get an operation as his injury was serious.

Yoongi denied him so many times. Even the doctor explained the danger that it would caused him and the injury really damaging his shoulder. He's very hard headed.

But you are glad that eventually, he said yes to the operation. Everyone is relieved when Mrs. Min, his mom, got to force him out of his dungeon and straight to the hospital.

"Are you even actually reading that book?" Yoongi shuts the book he have on hand and throws it on the sofa he's sitting on.

"Ahm..." your eyes shake. "I am..."

"Okay then... what is it about?"

You lift the book more to cover your face. "A young girl... fell in love with a vampire... but the vampire does not like her... so she tries his best to find a way to be... a vampire too... coz maybe... he'll like her back." You made it up. Sort of. You barely finished reading chapter 15.

"Really?"

"Uhum..." you hum and flip a page to act like you are still reading.

Yoongi shakes his head, "What a dumb book." He mumbles.

"Why do you think it is dumb?"

He rolls his eyes. "Why would she want to be a vampire if the vampire does not even like her in the first place. What would that change? That's a bit pathetic of her and stupid"

You lower the book onto your lap and shut it slowly. "Yeah... I guess you're right..."

His comment about the book sort of hit you in the heart. Since you kind a share the same story of the female lead. You are not in love but you try so hard to be accepted and be liked by him, your husband. Though you know it will never happen. He only likes to fuck you. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"My mother wants to have lunch with you on the weekend. Be available." He says as he is focused on his phone probably reading emails.

'I'm always available.' You say in your head. 'How can I not be? I'm just at home and no where to go to.'

"Okay." You answer as you put down the book down beside you.

He is busy looking down at his phone now. Again. And just like that the room became so silent. You are just literally there to accompany him while he sits down in his home office and do whatever business he do. He do his work at home since he cannot report yet to work.

*beeps*

Your phone blinks as you receive a new message. It is a message from your friend back home, Taehyung. He's asking you how are you and also giving you updates about everything that has been going on in your small town. His simple text and updates every now and then really makes you smile. It is a simple thing that you look forward to every now and then. Since, lately, you have been loosing your smile day by day.

"What's funny?" He asks, not even looking at you

You put your phone down. "N-nothing... sorry...."

********

[11 months into the marriage]

Your wedding anniversary is coming soon and for some reason you are excited about it. You are not giggling to yourself or kicking off your feet when you are in bed alone thinking about it, however, you are really looking forward to it. For some reason, you want to celebrate it. It is a milestone for you. A simple achievement.

"Here you go, Miss." Your maid pulls out this mini plunging floral print dress with long sleeves from the hanger. You bought this online a few weeks ago. You think it is a cute dress to wear today. It is not fancy nor expensive but you like it. "Where to go today, Miss?"

You get up from the chair and undo your robe, revealing a cute pair of undergarment. "Nothing special... I just.... want to go out."

"I'll inform the driver then to get ready."

"Thank you." You take the dress from her hand so she could go on and inform the driver.

You have nothing to do today. Yoongi is out of town again and you have no schedules so you decided to go and visit your friend back home.

***

"Y/N!" Taehyung runs towards you and embraces you the moment you got out of the car. "Long time no see!" He then pats your head and pinches your cheek.

"Long time..." you answer then pulling back a little as you see his little sister running from afar. "Mia!" Bending down so you could welcome the little cutie's hug. "I've missed you! Oh my gosh! You've grown so much!"

"She's now two... can you believe it?" Taehyung says

"Oh dear!" You carry her and kisses her chubby cheeks. "I want to eat your cute little cheeks!" You tease her, making her giggle.

"Glad you had time to visit."

"Yeah... My husband is away so... I made plans."

"Why? Does he not allow you to go out?"

"No... not like that... he's busy and I got busy as well which is... new. And I'm still adjusting..."

It is true that Yoongi does not limit you with going out. It's just that you were and still adjusting big time to everything. The lifestyle, the household and Him. He is the big adjustment in your life right now.

"So, how's married life? I mean... married life with one of the richest man in the country?"

You exhale as smile. "Weird?"

"Weird? In what way?"

A lot of things. The lavish life is very nice in the beginning and exciting but then as time goes by you get very overwhelmed by the new things and items that comes in every now and then. Plus you don't repeat that much clothes which is very icky for you coz every dress and clothing is expensive so you want to wear them as much as possible.

Luckily, Yoongi didn't mind when you told him to not ask his stylists to buy you new clothes every release. You told him you wanted to buy on your own and just ask for consultation when you need to.

"Not used to it yet." Then you look behind you. "Even going around with a maid and a bodyguard."

He looks back and sees the two person standing a few feet away. "Oh... right."

"Play! Play!" Little Mia mumbles as she points at their house

"Play what?" You ask

"Ah, Dad built her a play house at the back. She likes to go their and play pretend house with her dolls." Taehyung explains

"I see.." you kiss little Mia's cheek again. "Let's play?"

"Yayaya!" Little Mia squeals in joy.

***

You spent quite a few hours at your friend's house. You even met a few old neighbors and classmates as well, catching up with their own lives and everything. It was fun. You enjoyed talking with them, finally talking this much again like before. It was refreshing.

However, along the talkings, you find it amusing that most of them got married as well after you and one is already expecting a baby and the other one is excited to go on a trip with his husband. Their stories of marriage is very different than yours. Their stories are very warm and thrilling while yours have a lot of activities yes, but the warmth, you don't have that.

You felt your smile fade away as the conversations continues. You also felt small and be like the other kid that's missing out a lot.

Taehyung even noticed it. He put his arm around you and gave you a 'it's okay' look. He knows what you are already feeling though he didn't asked what was on your mind. He just knew you needed a little nudge.

"Warm bath, miss?" Your maid asks as you both exit the elevator.

You got home already. You were knocked out on the way home.

"Maybe later?" You say.

"Understood."

"Thank you for today... you can go and rest for a bit. I'll just call you if I need you."

She bows. "Miss." And then walks off

You sigh heavily, closing your eyes shut for a few seconds before you decide to go to your study room. You want complete isolation and probably sit down at your favorite spot, the window seat and watch the sunset. Your study room have the best view of the sunset.

Pushing the window slightly open to let the crispy cool air in, then kicking your shoes off your feet as you lean your head out a bit and take in the fresh air.

The small smile you are wearing instantly vanishes as a thought comes in your head again.

Taehyung did talked to you before you left earlier. Besides asking you to visit often, he suddenly asked you if you're happy. Of course you said yes but deep inside, you question yourself. 'Am I?'

"Yah! Yoongi! You promised me that yatch so you should get me that yatch!"

You suddenly hear a woman's voice from afar. You have never heard anyone talk that loud ever in this house. So it made you curious. You peak your head out again from your window and start to look around where it comes from. And then when your eyes lands on the view of the driveway, you see Yoongi walking towards the car where Mr. Kim is waiting, holding the door and then a woman following your husband.

"Hey... don't ignore me!" She runs after Yoongi and hooks her arm to his.

It stunned you. You never hooked your arms around Yoongi's before. They.... look close. Who is she?

You see Yoongi talk to her, making an exhausted face. He looks so done and just want her to leave. But at the same time, it's not like he does not want to talk to her. Actually, he looks a bit relaxed talking to her.

Compared to you. He is strict, always serious and bored.

"Buy me the yatch!" She says again before he gets into the car.

You didn't hear what Yoongi answered. He just waved his hands and Mr. Kim shuts the door and goes to the passenger seat and leave with the unknown girl.

Before Yoongi could turn around and catch you, you instantly get back in and shut the window.

*****

[1st Anniversary]

"Good morning, Miss." Your maid enters your room and bows as she always does.

"Is he home?"

"Master left early this morning."

"Really..." you softly say. You sound sad and disappointed. "Did he say where is he going and what time will he back?"

"Sorry, Miss. Master didn't mention anything nor Mr. Kim."

"Hmm... okay then."

You had your hopes up. How stupid of you to think that he will celebrate with you. Hoping that maybe, even just for special occassions like this he could atleast be present.

It is a tough year for you. All through out this whole year, the only thing that is constant for your smile fading away. Yeah you are a bit light and always trying to be positive about the two of you. But since now its your one year into this marriage, officially 1st anniversary, and he is still like this. Maybe it's better you stop smiling already. It breaking your heart every time.

"Maybe he's with her." You mumble. "She's more of a good company than I am..." you flop on your bed and cover yourself with your duvet.

"Shall I get ready your outfits, Miss?"

"No.... just... sorry... can you please leave me alone for awhile?"

"I'll be outside."

Hearing the door closing, finally you let loose of yourself. For the first time, you are crying because of Him. Sobbing. You don't know why you are but it just felt right. You are disappointed, tired and feel unappreciated. Though you know how this thing between you two is, even you tell it to yourself hundred of times, you can't stop your own self to care and not try. You don't want to be a burden for him. You don't want to take advantage of his money. You don't want to act like you don't give a fuck. You don't want to not like him.

Yoongi is still a person, a man and you are a woman. Though you know that you don't love him you still like him. He is a kind person and giving though he is strict and have tons of rules for you but you don't care. And you don't know why you don't care.

It is very confusing for you. You are not even sure now what you are feeling. You just want him to notice you and just to... care. Maybe? Even just a little bit. ;(

You continue to cry and cry until your heart feels as numb as your eyes. You want to let it all out now to get over with your feelings. He can't see you emotional. He can't see that you care. Because if he did, maybe it will make him change his mind and let you go.

****************

[Day after 1st anniversary]

"Here's your coffee, Sir." Mr. Kim cautiously puts his cup of coffee in his desk while Yoongi is busy talking to his staff online

He did woke up early today even though he finished work late as well. He is already in his home office at 4am and very busy already. He had a few early meetings with time differences to think of.

"Can't you all fucking handle this? It's not like the task is hard!" He is scowling at the two men at the corner of the screen as he take a hit of his cigarette. "I assigned you to collect these because I know you could handle those mother fuckers. What happened?!?"

"Our mistake, Sir." One starts, "We didn't expected him to resist since it's their frist time dealing with us."

"Hmmm." Yoongi smashes his cigar on the ash tray. "Bring in your men tomorrow morning before dawn and show them how we deal with fuckers like him. And tell them this is us being super nice."

"Yes sir."

"Let's end this now. Just inform me when it's all sorted."

"Understood sir."

Yoongi then slams his laptap close and then grabs his cup of coffee to drink.

"What's my schedule for today?"

Mr. Kim then checks the ipad on his hand. "Nothing sir..."

"Nothing?" Yoongi frowns. "What you mean nothing?"

Mr. Kim looks at him and tries to see if Yoongi would realize what day it is today. "I guess you really forgot."

"Forgot what?" Yoongi puts down the coffee and pulls his phone out of his pocket to see what day it is. "So, you are telling me you didn't scheduled any work today because of my wedding anniversary yesterday?"

"Yes."

Yoongi rolls his eyes and leans back to his chair. "We have a lot of collections to do, Mr. Kim."

"I know sir. But one day of rest would not hurt." He says, "with your wife."

Raising his brow, Yoongi does not show any hint of any emotion. Mr. Kim could not sense if he's okay with it or not.

Sighing, "Ready the car." Yoongi orders the man standing by the door.

"Where are you going, Sir?" Mr. Kim questions

Yoongi didn't answer though. He just stood up and started walking to exit his office. He even told his men and even Mr. Kim to not follow him which confused most of them.

"Where do you think Master going today?" The young guard asks

Mr. Kim smiles and says, "Not sure where... but looks like he's visiting his wife first."

And he is right. Yoongi is actually stomping his way towards the other wing of the mansion where Y/N's room is located.

"Master." Two maids who are walking along the hallways this early, cleaning, sees him and greets him.

"Is she awake?"

"No sir. Not yet...."

He stops just at her door. "She's usually up early. Right?"

"Yes, master." One answer, "she do get up early... but not today..."

"Is she sick?"

"No... but..." then the maid pauses and lookd hesitant.

"What is it?" Yoongi turns to see why the maid stopped.

"Well...." she lowers her voice. "We heard that... Miss cried so much yesterday."

"Cried?" Yoongi's forehead creases with confusion

"Yes." Both maid answers

"Hmm..." Yoongi then faces Y/N's wooden door and just stayed still for a good few seconds.

"Do you want us to wake her up, Master?" One asks

"No..." he utters as he hold onto the door handle. "Please go ahead and prepare breakfast so when she wakes up at sunrise she could eat...and also... just... leave us alone for a moment..."

Both maids look at each other, surpressing a smile. They know Yoongi is worried about his wife though their master seems to not notice it himself. They find it amusing how their master is... changing. It is very minimal and not really noticable unless you have known him for quite sometime. But it is a big thing.

"We'll let the others know..." the other says, pertaining to not disturb the couple

***

Upon entering Y/N's room, Yoongi finds his wife sleeping so soundly on her queen size bed. Her arms are on her side, spreadout like they are her wings and about to fly. Her eyes, he can see how puffy they are. And her expression, she looks like she really did fell asleep crying. She even fell asleep on the buttom end of her bed.

She's adorable.

"Why did you cried?" Yoongi asks softly as he runs his knuckles on her cheek. "Is it because of me...?" He goes down to sit on the bedroom bench and picks up the book that must've fallen on the floor. "Or is it because... of this book...?" He places the book back on the bed and leans in, to fix her douvet. "I hope it's the latter... don't cry because of me... it's not worth it." He then removes the hair strands covering her face. "also.... I didn't forgot" he then bends over more before planting a soft and delicate kiss on her lips whilst making sure he won't wake her up. "Happy anniversary Y/N..." his eyes scans her face one more time before kissing her again. But this time on her forehead and whispered. "Just wait a bit more..."

***

"Sir..." Mr. Kim bows as Yoongi returns to his home office. "The car is ready..."

However, Yoongi didn't responded. He just walk pass Mr. Kim and go to stand by his office window.

"Is everything alright, Sir?"

Closing his eyes, Yoongi tries to organize his thoughts.

"Mr. Kim..."

"Yes, sir?"

Yoongi opens his eyes, just in time for the a hint of light peaks through the dark sky. "Can you please call my lawyer..."

"Sir?" Mr. Kim wonders why Yoongi suddenly wants him to contact a lawyer. "May I ask, which one?"

Yoongi turns around to face him. "Call Mr. Choi..."

Processing in his mind why Yoongi would like to call the lawyer than made their prenup and marriage contract alk of a sudden. "Okay sir... but may I ask for what reason?"

Yoongi picks up his pack of cigarette and pulls out one stick using his lips. "Just bring him in. I need to talk to him. Privately.... Asap."

"Understood, Sir."

Next: Fate

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