#even if it’s seemingly not happy i hope you make it your own brand of happy anyway

[chewingcyanide]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secrets are best kept buried, just like your tangled relationship with your best friend’s older brother.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — unrequited love ( that heart wrenching shit ), cursing? weird mentions and descriptions of blood, cursing ( lots of it ), yelling / arguing ( LOTS of it ), heavy angst with a dash of laughter, kind of OMC x reader but not too much, jealousy, kinda possessiveness ( from jack… had to do it ), emotional distress and all that good stuff

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x f!reader , OMC x f!reader (briefly), best friend!luke hughes x f!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — i’ve returned from a million year hiatus with this BIG BITCH and i’m sorry for it. may write a pt. 2 w a happy ending bc i’m a slut for them. anyway, enjoy! request if you’d like. love you guys.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You had existed within the world of Jack Hughes since your freshman year of high school.

Existed. Not an integral part, nor a spoke on the wheel of many friends he already had. Truthfully, you were only acquainted with him because of his younger brother, Luke; your freshman biology lab partner, and eventual best friend. Years had passed since you first met Luke—no longer were you the wide-eyed fifteen-year-old crossing the threshold from child to near-adult. Now, you were an adult. Twenty, with two more years of college stretched out before you, seemingly everything had changed.

Well, except for the lead weight chained to your ankle—the fundamental and inexorable truth that you were still in love with Jack Hughes.

It started as most consuming things do: a small idea, watered by brief looks, a brush of heated fingertips against your hand, or arm, or waist—or anywhere, really. A head rush that sent you meters under waves of excitement and anticipation. Loving Jack was like having a fever that never broke; it persisted, a dull ache that squeezed your skull each time he was near. Even now, five years later, the flashing of blue eyes—never brimmed with what you knew was embarrassingly reflected in your own—was enough to make sweat bead at your palms.

It never grew into more than a hope, a wishful desire. But wishing seldom got anyone anywhere, and it surely hadn’t helped you. When the months turned warm and spring faded into summer, the overwhelming ache of freedom that came with warm weather and the end of the hockey season drew Luke and his brothers to Sanibel—a beach so wrought with memories of youth and foolish memories that the idea of going another year made dread settle like steel in your bones. They’d bought it after a vacation there a few years ago, and the rest was history.

But, of course, Luke—the youngest of three—never took no for an answer.

“You can’t miss this year,” he had insisted. The Devils had their hopes cut short once more—this time in an second round exit to Carolina. Ergo, the expected departure time had been bumped up significantly. Vancouver had missed the playoffs altogether.

You stood silent, tearing away skin from your nail-beds as Luke leaned against the kitchen counter. The cold metal of the fridge pressing into the bare strip of skin on your back was the only thing keeping you present in the conversation.

You hated how Luke did this—he’d take your silence over text as an invitation to barge his way into your apartment, destroying the barrier of safety and excuses a phone provided, and ask you face-to-face. And how could you say no? You never had before, and look where that got you. No closer to removing hooks branded with the name Jack from your heart.

“Luke…” you sighed, only dropping your hands when blood bubbled to the surface of your torn skin. Pain rippled down your fingertips, but you ignored it. The dread that quickened your pacing heart was too overwhelming a sensation. “I don’t know—maybe I should—”

“Skip out?” Luke rounded the kitchen counter and came to stand in front of you. “No way, Bells. You have to come. Otherwise I’ll be alone all summer.”

You could have scoffed if you cared more. Bells. That dumb nickname Jack had given you years ago—according to him, it was because you were such a silent walker, you required a bell to be heard. Aside from the embarrassment you got from being called a childhood nickname even now, it reminded you that your existence was always going to be tied to Jack. A piece of him carried with you, a cage keeping your heart from beating without him; the bright red ribbon tied around your wrist that screamed I Love Jack Hughes!

No matter what, it would always be him. You tried; God, did you try. Hearing stories of his hookups, the life of a single, superstar hockey player should have been enough to send your stupid childhood crush to its grave, but as if cursed by a necromancer, the mere mention of Jack brought it right back to life. It was a cruel cycle that just wouldn’t end. And you knew going to that damned beach house would only prolong the life of the indestructible feeling more.

Jack was tarnished jewelry, rubbing your skin green and raw and wrong, and yet—you could never seem to take it off, even when it made you look foolish.

Silence fell like thick fog. Luke’s eyes roved along your face, as if trying to read a book with the letters smudged. “C’mon, Bells. You have fun every year, and I don’t want to have a summer without you.”

“Jack and Quinn will be there,” you said, voice low. Pathetic anxiety swelled in your chest like the forecast of a hurricane. Even saying his name tightened your veins. “Trevor, Alex, and Cole, too—I don’t need to go, Luke. Won’t it be weird?”

An unamused look graced Luke’s face. “You go with us every year. Why would it be different now?”

You wanted to curse Luke for being so persistent. Part of you wished you could just scream that you loved his brother, but couldn’t. You never could. Loving Jack ensured you lost someone—Luke, who would never get over the thought of you potentially sleeping with Jack; and well, if that failed, you also fully lost Jack. Unrequited love confessions made fools of ghosts.

To Jack, you were a ghost. Haunting his life, disrupting some times, but never there long enough to be seen. And even if he did, he convinced himself you weren’t there, that you didn’t even exist. Maybe it were best if you moved on and let yourself rest. Ghosts haunt their murderers, but Jack hadn’t killed you, you’d killed yourself—hoping, wishing, praying he would take a moment to believe and see you. But he never did. So you floated through his life until the moment you were no longer confined by unfinished business.

And maybe that was what you needed. Closure, the severing of a tie that was only hurting you to hold on to. And maybe, closure would come this summer. To look on Jack and not feel your heart race, but settle into a quiet murmur, a healthy pace—to free yourself from the confines of this painful love and finally move on. Haunt the graveyard no longer; sitting by and hoping he would place flowers by the grave.

“Okay,” you said quietly, glancing down at your sweater. Crimson marks stained the white fabric. You’d accidentally wiped your fingers on the cloth. “You win.”

Maybe this would be the summer you let go of Jack Hughes.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

The cry of gulls and gentle breeze of salt-bitter air welcomed you back as the car breezed past the Welcome to Sanibel Island! sign. It felt like a taunt, as if you were passing into the circus, the main star of a show you never signed up for. With Sanibel came Jack, and the potential end to a love you’d clawed onto for dear life for the last half-decade. It felt strange, almost wrong, to imagine a world where Jack Hughes didn’t exist as the basis for all romantic interests. To hold someone’s hand and not compare the texture to his. To lose the anticipated blush that warmed your face each time he glanced at you. Because losing Jack was like losing a piece of yourself—all your life you’d associated love with him, and what would there be afterwards?

Sandy beaches rolled endless at the horizon, dotted with the figures of vacationers and locals alike. You glanced to Luke, his hand working the steering wheel as he drove the long-winded path to the beach house. Strands of your hair were roused by the invisible hand of the wind, no doubt knotting it, but you were too enraptured in what ifs and a potential future to much care.

“Are you excited?” Luke asked, looking to you. Elbow leaned against the doorframe, you managed to work your mouth into a smile. Even if it was twinged with apprehension.

“Of course. I love it here. I’m glad you guys were rich enough to buy it.”

Luke laughed.

And that was true. Summer here felt endless. Nights spent on the beach, the tickle of warmth from a stick-lit fire cradling you against the rush of cold blowing off the ocean. The bitter rush of alcohol that stung your veins. Hair made wet by the sea, drying beneath the warm fingertips of sunlight. Skin richening into a burn, soothed only by aloe vera and a cold shower. Laughter between friends and the restless nights talking. All of it was perfect. For you, summer was Jack. Brief and sweet, the thing you looked forward to seeing each year. But it never lasted long enough to truly feel, something you could never touch.

You wondered if you made it obvious. If Luke suspected, or Quinn; the eldest Hughes was always the most perceptive. Any time Jack said something that made your teeth clench with hurt, Quinn glanced at you. A reassuring smile. The extended hand in the dark. But if he knew, he never commented on it.

“Who’s already here?” you asked, eyes catching on the brightly colored houses lining the beach. Blue, pink, the odd green, melding together as the car breezed into the strip of land the beach house rested on.

You almost dreaded the answer. “Quinn and Jack,” Luke responded, voice a little distant—his eyes scanned for the house, too focused on his task to much care for the cringe you gave at the mention of Jack’s name.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was his house. Yet you found yourself hoping you’d at least beaten him here so you could mentally prepare for his arrival. As it were, you had about five minutes to do that.

Tires crunched against sand as Luke pulled into the driveway. Lead solidified in your bones until you felt as though you were going to sink straight into the earth. A deep breath expanded your chest, and you watched as Luke took out his phone—presumably to text that he’d arrived. Escaping the car, Luke stared at you expectantly. Your body pressed against the doorframe, eyes glanced out at the horizon. Smeared like a painting across the sky, a myriad of colors—oranges, pinks, yellows—foretold the coming of night. Maybe you could stay in here until everyone was asleep, to sneak past Jack and not have to—

The door to the passenger side opened, and there stood Luke, a hand on his hip. Making grabby hands like a toddler, he motioned for you to come. “What’s up with you, Bells? You’re so… quiet.”

You snorted. “That’s not news.”

“You know what I meant,” retorted Luke, grabbing your elbow with a gentle grip. “What’s got your head off to sea?”

Your brother! you wanted to scream, but found your tongue bolted to the bottom of your mouth. Offering instead a smile, you allowed Luke to help you out of the Jeep. Soft sand caught your feet, cushioning the drop. It felt strange to be back here again, but somehow, you knew it wouldn’t be the same. A rueful feeling ached your bones. This would maybe be the last time you’d ever come to the beach house. If your closure went as you intended… there would be no more summers in Sanibel. No more late beach nights. No more salt air creating a stick sheen on your skin. No more Jack Hughes.

“Just thinking about summer,” was all you said.

Like everything, its temporariness was what made it special.

Together, you and Luke began to unpack the bags from the trunk of the Jeep. “Any fun activities planned this summer?” you asked, hoping to alleviate the tension making your head pound.

Luke gave you a backwards glance as he practically leaned his whole body into the trunk. “New bar opened on the strip,” he told you. “I think we have to go.”

Your eyebrows crinkled. “We’re twenty, Luke. And this is a tourist town, they’re going to ID.”

Luke only smiled, clearly not thwarted by your pessimism. “Lucky then that you don’t have to worry. I’ve got it all figured out.”

You didn’t want to ask how, so instead you sighed, hauling your bag onto your shoulder. “Whatever. But I am not ending up in jail because you want to underage drink in public, Luke.”

There was no response to that. Slinking past you with elegance you thought his large frame incapable of, Luke began walking up the driveway and towards the beach house. It looked exactly the same as it had last summer—a gentle gray exterior, like the storm clouds that sometimes brewed over the sea, and a darker roof. White wood bordered the many windows, some with their own balconies. Rust spotted the metal of the garage, slowly encroaching from the outside. A simple wood fence enclosed the sides of the house, leading to the back where you knew a pool hid. Everything was exactly the same, yet so different. Last time you were here, it all felt so unknown, like the end of the summer would make or break the rest of your year. You’d hoped then that maybe Jack would notice, that it would finally be the year he looked at you as more than Luke’s best friend. You’d packed your cutest outfits, the bikinis your friends said would make any man double-take, yet nothing worked. It had been the same as every year before. Jack was nice, but indifferent. Friendly, but inattentive.

However, this year wasn’t like every other year. You didn’t come here with starry eyes and a child-like hope that Jack would pick you after years of oblivion. You came here to finally let go of him, to move on, to bury a love you’d kept on life support for years and years, in the hopes it would come back to life.

Feet making indents in the sand as you walked up the driveway, you saw Jack’s car—a silver Mercedes-Benz—parked a bit ahead. You hated the stutter in your step when you saw it, and you hated more the stoppage in your heart when you heard laughter rounding the side of the house. There was two voices, interwoven and nearly indistinguishable, but you’d know his laugh anywhere, know it blind. All the feelings you’d shoved aside in favor of an aloof disposition crawled their way out of shallow graves. A shaky breath, the fluttering of your eyes, and suddenly—there he was.

Trailing behind Quinn, soaked black swim shorts clinging to wide thighs, a bare chest coated in droplets of water, tousled hair styled by the unconscious hand of water. He smiled, maybe at something Quinn had said, you weren’t sure, and it all came back. How could you get closure when he incited such a deep, profound longing in your soul? When he tugged you towards him the the moon to the tide?

You’d stopped walking. When, you weren’t sure. Time became an endless thing as Jack’s eyes flickered to you. Those blue eyes shot through with something you weren’t sure how to describe, but he grinned—at you—and then he was walking towards you. All at once you wanted to lob a rock at Luke’s head for making you come, and then kill yourself for even thinking for one moment closure would be remotely possible when you still were in love with Jack.

His presence was all-consuming, like stepping to close to the fire. Fingers worn by years of use brushed your own when he took your luggage, carrying it with ease. Even older than you, Jack never lost that youthful sense of delight you’d seen on kids when they got a new toy. He’d always been the sun. For you, and for everyone around him.

You’d never deluded yourself into thinking you were the only one who loved Jack, or wanted him. But it didn’t stop you from wishing you were the one he’d choose.

“Bells,” Jack greeted, warmth oozing from his words, so much that you wanted to yell at him that he wasn’t being fair. How could he expect you not to want him? How, when he was so nice to you, yet so indifferent? “How was the trip?”

Blinking, you allowed him to gathering your luggage and begin walking back to the house. Water transferred from his body to your tote bag, but you found yourself not caring. He could ruin everything you’d brought and it wouldn’t matter. They’d at least be stained with his touch.

“Good,” you managed, trying to keep your feet even on the lumpy sand. Why they’d decided not to install an actual drive way would never make sense to you. “Not a lot of traffic. Luke didn’t kill us, so that’s a plus.”

Jack laughed. It rumbled through his chest and echoed like a victory trumpet in the air. “He’s a shit driver,” he said. “Shoulda convinced him to let you drive with me.”

Tar filled your lungs. Words failed you, and so stupidity, you said: “But you drove with Quinn.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. Readjusted your bag on his shoulder. “Quinn’s a big boy. He can travel alone.”

Before you could stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth, “So you think I’m a little girl?”

Jack paused. Glanced over at you. The meeting of two sets of eyes holding extremely different emotions. After a moment, he cut the tension with another laugh. “You are two years younger than me.”

“So is Luke, and last I checked, he was the tallest,” you retorted, offering up a chuckle yourself. You didn’t want to give more, to give in. You had to keep that wall, even if there was already so many holes in it.

With his free hand, Jack tussled your hair, wiggling your head around. You batted him off, feigning annoyance, when really, you wanted him to keep touching you. You could have groaned. God, you were pathetic.

Entering the beach house was like entering freedom. It was typically decorated, that seaside aesthetic Ellen had done herself the first year the boys bought the house. Fishing net and shells in jars, accompanied by hanging hammocks and white coral displays hadn’t moved, and you felt the air greet you, blowing in from the open back door that looked over the pool—and the beach. Salty air snaked up your airway, a welcome sting. A missed one. You weren’t sure if you’d miss Jack or the beach house more.

Luke disappeared with Quinn, the latter offering a gentle smile—perhaps a little pity twinged in. That left only you and Jack, standing in the wide mouth of the living room, the sunset sky bathing your skin in those candle-light oranges you so loved. Beside you, the gentle pat, pat, pat of water dripping off of Jack’s shorts was all that was heard. You took a moment more to enjoy the feeling of peace you got from being here, before Jack snapped you back to the current with a throat clear.

“Want me to bring your stuff to your room?” Your room. The one you’d claimed all those years ago. A room that—after this summer, perhaps—would bo longer be yours. You’d spent hours decorating it, little trinkets imposed with sentiment covering the room. The sea blue sheets. The balcony overlooking the ocean. All of it would be gone.

You had to inhale to stave off the melancholia crawling up your throat like bile. “Yeah, thanks.”

It was hard not to look at Jack. He was always the center of attention—on the ice, off the ice; in his personal life, in the eye of the public. He just was. Never asked for it, always had it. Girls wanted him, boys wanted to be him. You imagined it got tedious after so many years, but at the same time, you wondered what it would be like to be that loved. So adored you could have anything and anyone. You found you’d trade it all for him, for Jack, if he simply asked. You knew he wouldn’t do the same. Why give up freedom for a small-town girl that his brother had dragged around for longer than he probably should?

Up the stairs, through a hallway, and there your room was. You tried to revel in it, in the finality of it all. Convinced you were never coming back here. That Jack would never carry your luggage for you again, making a mess of the floors just to help you out. Inside, you saw the bed was made just like how you left it. A small whale plush—affectionately named Hershey for the chocolate it had been holding when it was won at the arcade—was sat just before the pillows. You hadn’t left him there. Hershey was a cherish piece of history; Jack had won him for you, two years back. Whales were your favorite animal, a gentle giant, the crown of the sea. He knew it, and he had gotten him for you. Maybe that was what kept your hope alive, the little things, the moments where he was more than just an unreachable deity you prayed to repeatedly just for him to notice you.

You glanced over your shoulder as Jack placed your luggage down with a thud. He rubbed his hands together. “Found him downstairs,” he said, gesturing to Hershey, “figured I’d bring him home.”

Home. A word that made your gut turn. His home, but never yours.

“Oh, yeah,” you said lamely. “Wouldn’t want to lose Hershey. You tried so hard to win him.”

Jack scoffed. “I was playing against Trevor. I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t win.”

“Don’t talk about Trevor like that,” you teased with a smile. Finding yourself slipping back into the dynamic. You’d try to make him laugh, just to make him smile. Just to make him see you could make him happy.

Jack only rolled his eyes. You attempted to side-step him, only for your foot to catch his own. A hand immediately came to your rescue, steadying you. A hot flush pinkened your cheeks and slid down your spine. His breath fanned over your temple, a catalyst for every single one of your nerves fraying. You hated that he could do this to you, without trying, without caring, when you tried so hard to avoid falling back into him like a fool. It wasn’t fair—but when was love?

Jack pulled his hand away, the phantom of his fingers imprinted on your skin. Marked. Just like you’d always been. “Sorry,” you muttered, embarrassment eating at you.

His laugh was a reward. “It’s fine,” he responded. It was always fine with Jack. Never hard feelings. You didn’t think he had a aggressive bone in his body, even after years and years of playing physical hockey. “Even after all the years, you still can’t stay on your feet.”

A reference to your clumsiness. Which wasn’t clumsiness. It was just Jack. You never stumbled around anyone but him. “Yeah,” you bit out, probably harsher than intended. “Guess I haven’t changed.”

But you had. And you needed to find a way out of the hole that was Jack Hughes before you were buried alive.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Letting go of things has never been easy. Marked with scratches and tears, everything you’d ever relinquished never left the same. How could it, when you’d spent so much time loving it, cherishing it, only for it to be cruelly ripped from your grasp? Letting go had never been easy, because you’d never been ready to lose what was taken, because it was never ready to leave you either. That’s why it was so easy to reason with yourself about finally moving on from Jack Hughes.

It wasn’t mutually assured destruction. There would be no blowing out of stars and creation of supernovas when you finally put the love to rest. Because it was you. It was never him. He didn’t love you—hell, he didn’t even know you loved him. Perhaps there laid the foundation for burial, a tomb within the dunes, marked with a single shell. When the time came, no claw marks would mar Jack’s skin. He was never yours to mark.

Two weeks had since passed. Settling in had always been easy, but this time, it felt like a final meal before execution. A good thing before the inevitable end. Nights spent by the pool, the reflection of the water a perfect mirror of Jack’s eyes. Drinking and laughing and talking—a chosen family, but one you’d soon depart. You’d always have Luke, the last cord of the fraying rope, unbreakable and timeless. But never again would you tug on that rope, just to see the other end. To move on from Jack would be to forget him, as much as you could.

The summer sun blistered overhead, biting your skin until red bloomed. Splayed out on a beach towel, you opted to suntan while the boys enjoyed the water. You’d get in, eventually, preferably when Jack was not in. You didn’t want the distraction of his body to further make you doubt your ability to handle change. Back facing the sun, you remained entranced by the book in front of you, instead imagining your love life was as explosive and beautiful as the story written for you. When you went to flip the page, something hit your back—a ball, you guessed, from the feeling of impact—making your already sunburnt skin sting like hell.

“Shit,” you cursed, placing your book face down in order to stand. Glancing to the side you figured the ball bounced off to, there sat the culprit: a black-and-white soccer ball, covered in patches of sand.

You heard some shouting, and opted to be a good samaritan and grab it. As you bent down to pick up the sandy ball, another pair of hands invaded your vision and brushed your own. Rightening, you saw a tall man—your age, presumably—who immediately began spewing apologies of all kinds.

He had that youthful look to him, the same as Jack. Golden curls fell around his eyes, slightly sandy, a bit wet, but gleaming like rays of sunlight. Familiar eyes, the blue of the sky after a storm, peered at you with a mixture of concern and apology. He was beautiful, in an artful way—a hand-sculpted effigy, lain in the town square to be worshiped. You figured with age and maturity he presently lacked, he’d be all the more beautiful.

But he wasn’t Jack.

“I am—so sorry!” he spewed words like bullets, hoping one apology landed. You bit down a laugh at the desperation leaking into his voice. “I wasn’t watching where I was kicking. Sorta shanked it—scratch that, really shanked it. Are you okay—I meant to ask—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off, sparing him. As endearing as his apology was, you could see red rising to his face—you knew what it felt like. “Although I don’t recommend you shoot for the Premier League.”

Upon realizing you weren’t angry, the boy relaxed. “Yeah, as if,” he laughed, tossing the balls back and forth between his hands. “You are okay, right?”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Unless you’re secretly the Hulk, I don’t think you kicking a ball at me could do any serious damage.” Your fingers grazed the spot the ball struck. “Might have a weird mark on my back, ‘s all.”

Goldie Locks, as you’d taken to calling in him your head, circled around you and bent at his knees. His fingertips grazed the small of your back, rattling your spine into a shiver. You heard a subdued sound—something between a giggle and a sharp exhale of air through his noise—and twisted to look down at him.

“It looks dumb, huh?” you said, trying to feel the patter marked on your back with your fingers.

Goldie Locks shook his head. “You wear it well.”

“I better, or I’ll give you a matching mark,” you teased. He stood up, imposing. “Really, though, I’m fine…”

He caught on swiftly. “Jackson. Or Jack.”

You could have cursed the Gods and Fate and her trifling ways. Of course the first cute guy you find has to be him, but not be him. The great irony of life, you supposed it was. Finally ready to move on, and your tugged right back to square one.

A tight smile made its way onto your face. “Jackson.”

Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but the voice of the man you quite literally could not escape interrupted him. “Bells? You okay?”

You thought briefly of faking fainting.

“I’m fine,” you responded, without looking at Jack. You couldn’t. But you wanted to. “He just hit me with a soccer ball and was apologizing.”

Jack imposed into your vision anyway. Jaw working, the rapid flex of his muscles that told he ran to you. Suddenly, the sweltering heat was no longer the cause for your sweating. “Hit you?” he repeated, glancing to Jackson with a raised brow.

Shoved into an unwanted spotlight, Jackson immediately backpedaled. “Accident. Didn’t mean to hit your girl.”

Your girl.

Your girl.

Your girl.

Those two simple words repeated like a scratched vinyl in your mind. Jack’s girl. His. It was something that would have made past you puff your chest. It made present you feel sick. Another pull towards him. Another lock trapping you inside of the room. In the past, you wouldn’t have said anything—wouldn’t have fought it. You’d have waited to see if Jack would deny it; he always did. Another nail in the coffin. How many were needed until you finally understood?

But you were now actively trying to fight the feeling seemingly hardwired into your blood. The instinct that told you to love Jack. “Oh, we’re not dating,” you told Jackson. Blue eyes flittered to you—was he surprised? For once you denied, distanced. Was he confused? “He’s my best friend’s older brother.”

You didn’t know why you added that part. It wasn’t necessary—Jackson didn’t care about your relationships to Jack past the words not dating. But here you were, petty pride swelling in your chest at finally getting to stick it to Jack. Finally being the denier instead of the denied.

“Oh,” Jackson quirked his brow. Glanced at Jack; he said nothing. “Is it okay if I have your number?”

That shocked you. And it clearly shocked Jack, as well. His shoulders tensed, eyes darting to you. Gauging your response. You would have said no before. Would have made some dumb excuse. If you accepted, you distanced yourself from Jack, showed indifference. Past you couldn’t have that.

Present you could.

“Sure,” you said.

This summer would be different.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a date. Michael Neely in eleventh grade, but that was in major part because he looked entirely too similar to Jack—didn’t act like him, however. Didn’t smile like the sun’s envy. He just wasn’t Jack. For as long as you could remember, no one had been. Isolating yourself for years because of the off chance Jack would finally admit it, as if he’d been pulling a big joke on you and had actually wanted you back. But he never did. And you couldn’t wait around forever hoping he would. He never asked you to.

You went through your hair with a brush one final time before deeming yourself presentable. A knit green tank-top paired with denim shorts, warm vanilla perfume—one you’d used since Jack had offered a compliment on the scent—and a smile that you hoped appeared genuine. For once you were excited, not thinking of Jack, measuring Jackson up to him. You let Jackson be himself, undeterred by the ghost of your unrequited love.

The downstairs of the beach house was alive with loud laughter and conversation—you hated you could still pick out Jack’s laugh, could imagine his face when he did; the gentle scrunch of his nose, the squint of his eyes. You wondered if it would ever go away, that sixth sense. If you’d ever be truly and unapologetically free.

Rounding the corner, you were met with the sight of the three brothers playing what looked to be Chel, their eyes fixated on the large TV in front of the couch they were splayed on. You debated slinking out of the house, silent as they’d always teased you for being, just to avoid the awkward conversation you knew would come from the knowledge you—Bells, infatuated devotee of Jack Hughes—were going on a date with a boy you’d known a week.

Fiddling with your fingers, you stood at the back of the couch. Not wanting to interrupt their game, you went to simply tap Luke on the shoulder, hoping he’d eventually pause it. He wasn’t the one to do it, however. Luke and Queen groaned in annoyance when the screen paused, glancing over to the only person who could have done it. Jack didn’t spare them a glance. His homely blue eyes were on you, eyebrows furrowed. Following his gaze, Luke and Quinn gave you a once-over.

“Hell are you going all dolled up like that, Bells?” Luke asked, flicking you on the wrist.

You didn’t really think you were dolled up. “I have a thing called a date, Luke.”

That incited the expected awkward silence. As if drawn by a unbeatable force, you found yourself glancing to Jack. White-knuckled, he gripped the controller with such force you were surprised it didn’t break on him entirely. You briefly wondered what his issue was before Quinn spoke.

“With who?” Surprise laced his question, and you hated it. Hated that he thought you were incapable of moving on from Jack—or maybe he didn’t think you incapable, just averse.

“That guy from the beach, right, Bells?” Luke piped up, turning his body on the couch to face you. “What was his name? Jack?”

You ground your jaw. “Jackson.”

Luke shrugged. “Same thing.”

It wasn’t. You really hoped it wasn’t.

You turned to leave, intent on scurrying out like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, when a voice called you back. Always calling you back, just when you tried to leave.

“Bells,” Jack spoke, voice drawled. You didn’t turn. “Where are you going?”

You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “On a date…?”

“Where?” You figured it could have been a growl if he were less careful. Luke and Quinn glanced at each other. You fought back a scream.

Why do you care? Why now? When I’m about to move on? I spent so much time waiting for you. I’m done.

You wanted to scream those words at him, but of course, like most confessions, they went unsaid.

“The cove,” you humored him, eyes flicking to your fingers. When had they started bleeding? The cove, of course, was as it sounded: a small chunk of land past the rock barrier at the beach, cornered in by mangroves and hidden away from sight, Jackson claimed it the perfect place for a seaside picnic. You weren’t one to argue.

When Jack made no effort to respond, you finally left. Jackson wasn’t even there yet, but you couldn’t stay inside anymore. Indecision and confusion were eating away at your gut, turning your mind into a war zone. You didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. Years spent in the shadow of Jack Hughes had taught you to fear the light, that if you even for a second let the rays touch you, came the consequence of losing the shade forever. And you’d tossed those fears aside, let yourself into the light, and that only made the dark come back in full force.

It wasn’t fair. Why weren’t you allowed to move on? To finally break the bonds that you yourself had made? Jack had never kept you near, and yet now he didn’t seem to want to let you go. Like a child unwilling to relinquish a toy just because it was theirs.

You tried not to dwell on it. Not when Jackson pulled up, his 4Runner breaking the noise of gulls calls and rumbling cars. Not when he led you out to the cove, picnic basket in hand, like an old-timey romance your mother used to watch. You tried, but just like everything concerning not thinking about Jack, miserably failed. Jackson was attentive, sweet, he did it all right. And as much as you hated yourself for thinking it, it was true: he wasn’t Jack.

“Are you a local?” Jackson asked you. Your mouth closed around a strawberry, staining your fingertips red—better than blood, you supposed.

The tide lapped gently at the sand before your feet, spanning out from beneath the quilt laid beneath you and Jackson. Always coming close, but never quite enough to wet your feet. Gnarled roots of mangrove trees split the sand, boxing the little cove in. You remembered coming here with Jack once, when he was trying to make up for throwing you in the pool with your phone in your back pocket. He hadn’t set up a picnic, only sat beside you in the sand and offered you Hershey. A silent apology. One you never forgot.

Trying to build over that memory was like trying to filter the salt out of the sea. There was too much to ever fully get rid of it.

A breeze tickled your legs. Sand parted between your toes. Everything felt normal; normal, you realized, wasn’t always right.

“No,” you responded after some time, tossing the strawberry head to the sea. “I come here every year with my best friend, his brothers, and their friends.”

Jackson nodded. “The guy from the beach, the one I thought you were dating—” You fought the urge to cringe, “—that was Jack Hughes, right?”

Always the icon. Beloved, beautiful Jack Hughes.

You glanced at Jackson. He smiled. “Yeah, I’ve known him for years. His brother is my best friend.”

“Yeah, I remember you saying that,” he laughed, a whimsical sound. Off-key; pitched too high. You didn’t think you’d be able to differentiate it in a room of others. “How’d that even happen?”

You grinned. Memories of freshman year. Restless nights spent studying in Luke’s room. False trips to the bathroom just for a chance at a glance of his brother. “Luke and I met in our freshman year biology class. He absolutely sucked. Had to tutor the poor kid so he wouldn’t fail.”

Jackson shook his head, the mess of golden curls crowning him danced with the movement. Raising a finger, he wagged it at you as if apprehending a naughty dog. “Hold on now. Biology is damn hard, cut him some slack.”

You giggled. Almost cringed. You felt like a schoolgirl again, trying to slow time as a cute boy walked past. “Maybe if you’re a loser.”

More time passed, the sun’s rays dulled to a warm orange instead of a blinding yellow. The sea calmed. Unseen birds chirped and sung their tunes, never to be understood. Jackson asked questions, answered some. He indulged, dug deep, hoping for treasure. It was strange, to fix your hair and bat your lashes in the hopes of impressing a boy who wasn’t Jack Hughes. Stranger yet you were enjoying Jackson, even fantasizing about a second date. The cold fingers of the wind rose gooseflesh in its wake; your arms rose to combat it, folding against your body in hopes to retain heat. Jackson peered over.

“Cold?” he asked, presumptuous and forward and hoping; one arm already out of his cardigan.

You nodded, murmuring a thanks as Jackson draped his sweater over your shoulders. At once the smell of salt and secondhand smoke snaked up your nose, invaded your airways. It was so different from the warm amber you imagined your skin would faintly smell of if Jack made you his—he smelled like heartbreak and sleepless nights and longing, something you feared was permanently smeared on your flesh. You found yourself heating at the scent, blushing, a slight twinge of excitement at the thought of being claimed by another boy. Foolishly, maybe, you thought it could purge Jack from you, draw over the marks he’d made all over your flesh.

You’d had boys like you before, liked them back—felt the head rush that accompanied youthful yearning. None had ever compared to Jack. Like a stain on your favorite shirt, he’d never come out of your heart, a scar that pulsed every so often, a reminder that he was still there. That he’d never go away. You realized now, looking at Jackson—the soft lines that sprouted next to his eyes when he smiled, a mess of curly blond hair that seemed to fall perfectly in front of his eyes, catered specifically to his beauty—that the memories of wounds weren’t always bad. They weren’t just reminders that you’d been hurt, but that you survived.

Before your mind could conjure any wishful images of you and Jackson, he spoke, “Tomorrow night, there’s a beach bonfire.” His finger extended, curled a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. “Something the locals do every year to kick off summer.”

You smiled—genuinely smiled, not just a flash of teeth forced in order to hide a grimace. Not the smiles you got so used to giving Jack. “And you’re telling me this because…”

Banter. He could tell you knew where he was getting, yet wanted him to spell it out anyway. “Go with me? I think you’d enjoy it,” he said, voice gentle over the lap of waves against the shore. You could almost feel the world hold its breath, awaiting your answer. Would you cling to a hope and dream, or go with what was sitting in front of you? “Plus, having a pretty girl with a perfect personality on my arm wouldn’t hurt too bad.”

“Hmm…” You faked contemplation, tapping your chin. When Jackson flicked your forehead, you scoffed, batting at his hand. “Well now I’m reconsidering my answer, ass.”

Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, caught it midair, a fish hooked on a line. Feverish, a heat you’d only associated with one person your whole life rose to your head as Jackson’s eyes met yours. Not blue, green. Your mind didn’t even attempt to paint over them, to erase his color, to make him him. Lips wet by eager tongues, a mutual desire. When had you last even considered another man romantically, sexually?

The answer was: not since Jack Hughes barged his way into your life and trapped your heart behind a wall, tossing away the key.

Before anything could be realized, before you could experience your first kiss in what felt like forever, a dull vibrating ripped the moment to shreds. Annoyance flashed in your heart, and a part of you told you to ignore it—but you couldn’t. What if something had gone wrong? Apologetically, you tore your eyes away from Jackson and dug your phone out of your back pocket.

The name flashing on the screen had your heart clenching.

Jack.

“Yes?” Confused, clipped. Why was Jack calling you?

“Oh, uh, hey,” came Jack’s voice—you frowned at his tone. He sounded as if he didn’t even know why he was calling. “I was just… calling to see when you’d be home tonight.”

A scream bubbled in your throat. This is why he was calling you? “This could have been a text.”

Jack laughed dryly. “Guess so. Figured you wouldn’t have seen it.”

You didn’t want to admit he was right. “It’s what…” You took your phone away from your face to look at the time. 8:43. “8:43? I’m not sure, Jack. We’re still at the cove.”

Shuffling on the other end. Your eyes darted to Jackson; he seemed intrigued at who was calling you. “Right, well… Luke wanted to know, so…”

You frowned. “Then why didn’t Luke call me?”

“Playing Chel,” was all you got in response.

Pettiness whirled in your chest like a maelstrom. For once you had the upper hand; cards hidden against your chest, not splayed out for all to see. Maybe with the right move, Jack would fold after so many years of winning. It was childish, you knew that, but the child in you who’d hoped and hoped and hoped only to get turned down every single time awoke—wanted Jack to feel the burn she’d felt when he’d sunk his hooks into her heart.

“I may not come home tonight,” you told him, relished in the pause. Jackson’s eyes flickered to you, curious.

“What?” Jack asked, voice darkened with knowing and other terrible emotions. “What do you mean?”

He knew very well what you meant.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You resisted the urge to recoil at the scorching flame simmering in Jack’s tone; he rarely ever spoke to anyone like that, least of all you. “You met him this week, Bells. If you aren’t home by 10:30 I’m coming to find you.”

Rage flared. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because you could pretend like he cared. As if he had any right to tell you when you had to be home. “So what? Now I have a curfew?” You didn’t want Jackson to overhear the spat, but it’s clear he was watching, listening, picking apart the conversation. “Forgot the part where you were my mother, Jack.”

“You’re staying in my house,” he retorted sharply. “10:30. I’m not kidding.”

After that, the line went dead.

Fire lashed in your veins, threatening to burn your being to ash. How dare he? Just as you inched out of the cage, he tries to drag you back in. Why did he care now? Why couldn’t he have before?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Tears taunted you. Tried to slip past your eyes. You had given so many tears to Jack, expected him to bottle them and place them on a shelf, a reminder to never hurt you again. He never did. The moon’s rays were a solace, an extended comfort from who knew loneliness better than anything. Soft fingers touched your arm, didn’t push—only rested there, a reminder of consolation.

“He’s like an older brother, huh?” Jackson tried to alleviate your melancholy, revive your playful spirit like a necromancer.

It only made you sadder. If only Jack were like an older brother, if only your heart hadn’t chosen him to beat for.

“Yeah,” you chuckled dryly. “Let’s be glad he won’t be there tomorrow.”

A bright grin tugged on Jackson’s lips. “So you’re coming?”

You smiled.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

10:15.

The bright light of your phone screen cut through the darkness as you walked up the sandy driveway to the beach house. The departing rumble of Jackson’s 4Runner interrupted the ballad sung by the cicadas and crickets, a sound that followed you all the way to the front door. Sliding your sunflower-adorned key out of your pocket, you fiddled with the lock before finally managing your way into the house. The biting cold of the summer night was promptly chased away by the inviting warmth, but you found yourself unwilling to remove Jackson’s green cardigan. Plastic buttons twirled between your fingers, a few stitches unraveled. Well-worn, loved—smelled like summer nights and escape. You smiled to yourself.

The hum of the TV, along with its vibrant glow startled you as you crossed into the living room area. Despite the somewhat early time, you hadn’t expected anyone to be awake. But there Luke was, curled up on the couch, watching Grease. You could have laughed if you weren’t more aware; Luke had always had a major small crush on Sandy, his guilty pleasure movie, one that came with summer nights and hours talking into the AM. Rounding the foot of the couch, you plopped down next to Luke, startling him out of what appeared to be oncoming sleep.

“Back already?” he asked groggily, clearing the gravel out of his throat. He straightened, blinked a few times. “I take it you didn’t get laid.”

You glared at Luke, silently cursed his teenage-boyishness. “Not everyone fucks on the first date, dick,” you retorted, smiling. “Someone here gave me a curfew. Said he’d come looking for me if I didn’t come back in time; I wasn’t too keen on testing him.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Cockblock,” he muttered. “Which of them was it? Quinn? He seems like the type.”

“The other one,” you corrected, earning a confused look from Luke. “Exactly! That’s what I thought. Also, did you ask Jack to ask me when I’d be home?”

“No,” Luke drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I?”

That son of a bitch.

Was he just dead set on denying you happiness? Why couldn’t he just admit to caring even a little about you? Why dress up good deeds as the requests of others? Nothing about Jack made sense; it never had. You supposed that was part of the appeal, the mystery of it all. A puzzle gathering dust on the shelf, tried and forgotten for its difficulty. You’d always had a knack for choosing the hardest games.

You waved Luke off, not wanting to hear his conspiracies tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when you didn’t have the weight of a thousand unanswered questions close to caving in your chest. “Nothing,” you said. “Are Quinn and Jack awake?”

Luke eyed you. He saw through you—always had. Yet, for the sake of your dwindling sanity, chose silence. “Quinn isn’t, no,” he told you. “Went to bed like an hour ago.”

“Old man,” you commented, earning a laugh. “And Jack?”

Luke’s eyes flickered to the door leading to the back porch. A warm orange glow was visible through the drawn curtains. “He’s in the pool, I think.”

You nodded. Came to a resolution in your withering heart. “Right,” you murmured, standing. Before departing, you pressed a kiss to Luke’s cheek. “Night, Luke. Go up to your room, if you fall asleep here, I won’t be able to carry you to your bed.”

Luke rolled his eyes, nudged your leg with his knee. “How unfortunate.” Then, he stood, and disappeared up the stairs.

Dread swarmed in your stomach like a tornado, wrecking every defense you’d built up these past weeks to keep out a certain boy. You feared damage control wouldn’t be enough this time, that you couldn’t rebuild if Jack shut you down now. But you had to confront him, had to at least tell him to stop controlling you if nothing else. This summer was meant to be your closure, the final chapter in a book you never thought would end. It felt more like the procession to the grave, not the closing of a door.

What if losing your love for Jack lost you him?

The back door swung open with a squeal, piercing the once thick silence. With your presence swiftly outed, you forewent attempting discreetness, and eased out onto the pool deck. Fingers of frost grabbed for your exposed skin, only combated by Jackson’s cardigan. Bones rattling, you wondered why on earth Jack was going for a swim right now of all times.

You heard the lapping of water, roused by movement, before you saw him. The fluorescent underwater lightning cut through the darkness and reflected on your face, a myriad of whites and blues that was distinctly Jack. When you came to the pools edge, your eyes focused on him—clad in nothing but a pair of blue swim shorts—floating ok his back, eyes closed, as if imagining himself in a different place. You almost felt sorry to ruin the fabrication of his mind. Remembering your anger, you pushed aside the feeling. Why should he be given peace when he’d never given you any?

Before you could even open your mouth, his eyes opened, as if sensing you. He adjusted, treading water, as you merely assessed each other. Waiting. Who would draw first? You. It had always been you.

“I’m home now,” you bit out, your leash gone; Jackson wasn’t here to judge you. “Happy?”

Water lapped at Jack’s collarbones. You almost envied it for being able to touch him so freely. His eyes darted around you, then stopped on the cardigan. Forest green, like Jackson’s eyes. You knew he knew; you hadn’t been wearing it when you left.

“Cute,” he commented, sarcastic and dripping with cruelty you’d never heard from him before. He parted the water with ease, as if he expected everything to bend to his will.

Jack stopped where you stood at the edge. You looked down on him for once, a prick of pride stinging you as for once you had the high ground. For once, he wasn’t able to confine you with his overwhelming presence and being. Fingers curled around the edge of the pool, his hair dripping tears of chlorine-tainted water down his face, Jack merely watched you, waiting a scolding, the tantrum of a child who had what she wanted torn away.

You thought if unfair someone could be so beautiful, especially when he could never be yours.

“What is your issue?” you snapped finally, folding your arms, protecting your glass heart from his insults he’d fire like arrows. “I asked Luke, he said he never asked you what time I’d be home. Was it fun for you? To ruin my date?”

Jack scoffed. Arms corded with muscle flexed, rose from the water; a heave and he was on his feet in front of you, your leverage lost. Water bled off his body like a torrent, soaking your shoes. Droplets flicked on Jackson’s cardigan, the water staining through. You stepped back instinctively, throat tight. You hated how, even now, he had an effect on you.

“Ruin?” he echoed, eyebrows creased. “Don’t be dramatic. It wasn’t like you were planing on staying out with him past 10:30. I was doing you a favor, giving you an out.”

Classic Jack; thinking he knew better than everyone else. “You weren’t, actually,” you hissed. “I didn’t need an out, Jack; I was enjoying myself. So much so I’m going out with him again tomorrow night.”

That was unnecessary to say, you knew. A bite only given to wound him, to prove you were capable of rising from your knees and tearing down the shrine you’d devoted to him for years. Because if Jack Hughes was no longer your sun, you didn’t need to revolve around him—shine only when he was near. Pathetic and driven by childish need to probe yourself, you wanted Jack to hurt—even if you knew he never would, that he couldn’t care less about who you loved and who you were with.

You just wished that he did.

A flicker of confusion. A frown, and then, “What?”

“Jackson invited me to the beginning of summer beach bonfire,” you told him, watching Jack’s jaw tense. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t—he’d always been so encapsulating. “It’s tomorrow night.”

His presence invaded every defense you’d placed up. Chin tipped to look at him, you felt suddenly claustrophobic, as if boxed in—everywhere you looked was him. Deep breaths made each muscle of his chest flex and tense, well-sculpted from years of punishing activity. You hated the flush that almost burned your face. You hated the thunder of your pulse that drowned out any noise but your racing heart. You hated the effect he had on you.

“You aren’t going,” he said simply, as if he had any say.

You frowned. “Yes, I am.”

Jack’s lip wrinkled. Condescension dripped from his voice. “No, you aren’t.”

You could have strangled him. You really could have. “You aren’t my father, Jack. You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m going.”

He smiled at you. Smiled like he thought you opposition was funny. “You met this guy this week, Bells,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Not only that, you have no idea who’s going to be at this bonfire. What if something goes wrong? You think Golden Boy is going to play the white knight?”

Ignoring what Jack had called Jackson, you turned to leave. You were absolutely not having this argument with him. Not when it was ultimately your decision and your life. Before you could even make it a step, a wet hand clamped around your arm, fingers closing around you like a vice—Jack spun you, unsteadying you. In an effort to save yourself a trip straight down, you threw up your hands, connecting palms with the rigid plane of Jack’s chest. Heat rose to your face, a feverish high sinking the logic of your brain. All of a sudden, you were sixteen again hoping Jack would come out of his room while you were in the hallway.

Breath deepened, you searched for an out—a way to defend yourself. The sword lying at your palms was cheap, but effective, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

But you did know better. And you knew he wasn’t; you just wished he was.

Jack smiled. Predatory. “Of Jackson?” Fingers loosened—you took the chance to escape, pulling yourself free of Jack’s hold. “If you’re going to try and make me jealous, maybe do it with someone who doesn’t have my fucking name.”

He breezed past you, disappearing inside like a shadow.

You looked down. Eyes grazing the cardigan. A wet handprint stained the arm. Jack’s handprint.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Smoke thickened the air into a husky, palpable haze. Dozens of conversations overlapped into one massive dissonance, drowning out the harsh crash of waves upon the shoreline. Bathed in an amber glow provided by a massive fire housed upon a hearth of triangularly-laid sticks, the beach was alive with drinking and laughing and dancing. Sand cushioned your feet, sandals dangling in your hands. Jackson haunted your side, keeping close. He led you in deeper, parting throngs of people like the Red Sea. Greeting a few of them, introducing you.

Excitement turned your blood hot. Rebellion made it all the sweeter. Despite Jack’s vehement opposition against your coming here, you’d done it anyway. When the boys had decided to get a few drinks at the new bar that opened up, you feigned sun sickness as a result of a day at the beach. Whether or not they believed you didn’t matter much—they’d left, which allowed you the chance to be here.

All you had to do was be home before them, which shouldn’t have been difficult. They’d be home in the early hours of the morning.

Mingling with Jackson was simple enough—people didn’t much care who you were. Just that you existed. Beers were handed to you, drank quickly. You wanted to have fun, to let yourself exist without the shackle that was Jack Hughes dragging you back from any romantic venture. A heated hand slipped in your own; Jackson smiled at you. Stomach knotted in a ball, you downed the rest of your White Claw and grinned back.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asked, bending down to better carry his voice to you. The proximity of his face warmed your chest.

“Mhm,” you hummed, relishing in the head rush. Being drunk wasn’t something you did often, what with being underage. There were parts you hated, parts you sought. Like the current buzz of warmth that whispered false confidence through your bloodstream.

The confidence that made you lead Jackson to the water’s edge, hidden from the glow of the fire, shadows outlined by the light of the moon. Rosy-cheeked, you tossed your arms around Jackson’s neck and peered up at him. Although his countenance was lost in the darkness, you could make out blown pupils overtaking his eyes, parted lips lightly doused in alcohol. Water lapped at your feet, danced around your ankles. You didn’t care. Everything in your mind was screaming at you to just do it—kiss him and get it over with, get over with Jack.

Jack.

You hated that even in a moment like this, your mind went to Jack.

It was then—arms tossed around Jackson’s neck, the waves kissing your bare legs—that you realized you’d never let go of Jack. You couldn’t. He was too well in your heart, the patchwork of two souls. If you could, you would turn tail and run, find happiness on the road of abandonment. You wouldn’t have to worry about being alone, isolated simply because people found a piece of your life more interesting than the whole. You wouldn’t have to rebuild your shattered heart when another summer passed by without Jack loving you. You wouldn’t need to remind your heart not to give in to his toothy smile and infectious laugh.

But then, you wouldn’t have Jack. His smile, the devil’s disguise, a shot of oxytocin to the system. Touching of skin, unintentional yet entirely wanted, setting ablaze the wildfire that burned down your castle of wood. Nights spent by the pool, his face illuminated by the glow of underwater lights. The way he made your heart break and mend all at once, the high of a drug that you could never quit. Every time, you relapsed, reminded yourself why you loved Jack—why he was your favorite love, your only one. He didn’t want you for anything, he didn’t even want you.

And maybe it was that; the hypothetical, the possibility. The construct you’d built inside your head, trying to fit into the narrative every summer, but never getting the part.

“Jackson?”

He looked down at you. Green, not blue. Never blue. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think—”

All at once, your arms were falling, cradling empty space as Jackson was ripped away from your touch. A splash of water sent droplets launching into your skin and clothes. You shrieked, stumbled, looked for the culprit. And of course—there Jack stood, huffing, as if he’d run to you. You could barely make out his face, but you didn’t need to; you’d know him blind, by touch alone. Your eyes went down to Jackson, body engulfed in the shallow water. You pieced it together, came into the frantic understanding that Jack had pushed Jackson.

Immediately, you went to help Jackson, only to be tugged back by your elbow. “Jack! What the hell?”

He didn’t grace you with an answer—didn’t even look at you, actually. Those stormy blue eyes were on Jackson, murderous and heated. He shoved you behind him. “What are you doing, huh?” he barked. “Did you know you were giving a minor alcohol? She’s twenty, you fucking idiot!”

Tears of frustration turned your eyes wet, and air became scarce. You wanted to do something, but what could you even do? Jack was accustomed to ignoring you. Stares nipped at the back of your head. Conversation dulled into a lapse.

“Jack, enough,” you begged, the sheer desperation in your voice normally something you’d hate—you couldn’t be bothered to care now. “Please. I’m fine. It wasn’t Jackson’s fault. He didn’t do anything.”

“Stop,” Jack interrupted, eyes flashing to you, a warning. “I told you not to come. Stay out of this, Bells.”

“I had no idea, dude, I swear!” Jackson responded, pulling himself up from the water. Soaked head-to-toe, and dully embarrassed. “She did it herself, I didn’t offer her anything!”

It soured your mouth he was trying to shift the blame to you, even if he was being honest. Your eyes flicked to Jack, and all at once you were reminded why you chose to love him.

His hair was tousled, worked one too many times by frustrated fingers. Eyes wild and concerned, so raw that you could’ve convinced yourself he was that cut by your situation. You knew it wasn’t you; he was just a good person, an empathetic one. But still, you liked to imagine. You’d spent your life imagining what it would be like for him to love you.

“Jack, please, just—”

“Don’t you dare blame her,” Jack’s voice was strangled, as if barely bypassing a wall of fury. “What the fuck do you think this is? The blame game? I don’t care who gave her the alcohol. You brought her here.”

“Please, Jack, let’s just go,” you pleaded, voice tight—embarrassment crawled up your spine like the cold. Everyone was looking, observing the screaming match you’d unfortunately found yourself a part of. “People are looking.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he hissed, advancing on Jackson. Chest-to-chest. A size up; one you hoped wouldn’t result in traded blows. You’d never seen Jack so angry, so wrought with violence. He’d always been docile—kind.

“Why do you care?” Jackson finally snapped, shoving Jack backwards. You tried to intercede, only to be shut down. “She said she wasn’t your girlfriend. Stop acting like a jealous dick.”

Jack laughed. He turned around, facing you as he spoke. “She may not be mine,” he conceded, “but she sure as hell will never be yours.”

Everything was happening to quickly. Your mind struggled to process the entire interaction, how quickly it had all gone sour. Before you could question Jack, scold him, consider the root of his rage, you were being lifted by the middle, and promptly tossed over Jack’s shoulder.

Air fled your lungs, your head pulsed—both from the swift movement and your consumption of what was likely too much alcohol. Jack’s hand stayed on you, keeping you steady as he carried you through the crowd, cutting through blots of people who all looked just as confused as you felt. Anger sparked then, fanned by embarrassment and anger and frustration.

Slamming your fists into Jack’s well-muscled back, you spewed profanities at him. “Put me down, asshole!” He didn’t. Kept walking, over the boardwalk and into the parking lot. Jackson’s 4Runner taunted you. “Jack, let me go! Jack!”

And he did. Your feet felt unfamiliar as he placed you down with little preempt. He steadied you before you could fall, kept a hand on your arm even after. Your heart felt pulled in a million directions, throat filling up with sand—fossilizing in your own skin, mortification sawing pieces off of your soul. Jack looked furious, pacing in front of you. His silver Mercedes gleamed in the moonlight.

“Bells—” He cut himself off. His throat bobbed, ran a hand through his already messed hair. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Your teeth bared. “Me? And what about you, barging into my night and accusing my date of being a criminal? The fuck is wrong with you, Jack?”

Jack laughed. Mocking, mean. You half-wanted to punch him, felt the itch in your fingers. “Oh, forgive me for trying to help you,” he hissed. “What if cops had busted the bonfire, huh? If they’d got you? Do I have to remind you that you’re twenty, Bells? That’s a felony.”

He was right, and you hated it. “But did you have to do all that? Jackson didn’t even give me the alcohol, why did you push him into the water?”

“I already said I don’t care who gave it to you,” Jack grunted, closing in on you. A step back, and you felt your back press into the cold metal of his car. “He was with you. He let you drink.”

You rolled your eyes, tried to muster up a semblance of control. “He doesn’t know my age, Jack.”

“Then he’s a fucking idiot.”

Scoffing, you shoved him away from you. “Oh, is he? Or were we just on a second date, one that you completely ruined! He’s never going to speak to me again, Jack, so thank you for that!”

Faintly, you wondered how you went from adoring Jack to despising him. Maybe it was always meant to be like this. There was a fine line between love and hate.

Eyes flashing, Jack rounded on you. “A second date you shouldn’t have been on,” he snapped. “I told you not to go.”

“New flash: you’re not my keeper,” you said, feeling the anger wane into something worse—fatigue. You didn’t want to fight. Fighting with Jack felt like fighting a part of yourself. “How’d you even find me? You guys were at the bar.”

Jack paused; he noticed your deflated shoulders, sullen face. “SnapMap,” is what he said. He didn’t expand, and you didn’t ask him to.

Silence felt like the worse fog—thick and impenetrable, falling over you like a suffocating blanket. You didn’t know what to say. What could you even say? Jack would never tell you why he was so upset, you didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to hear another made up story he’d spew just to tear apart the hope in your heart.

It hit you then that maybe Jack did love you—or care about you in some capacity, but he’d never admit it. Dancing in circles, a choreography that never ended, you’d never know what Jack truly wanted; didn’t know if he even did. Probably figured you’d screw it up, would ruin a friendship—his and yours, yours and Luke’s. It was a losing battle either way. Every word he uttered cut to the bone, because it was meant to. When the shift started, you didn’t know. Maybe when he realized you were not always going to kneel at his alter, when you tried to escape.

Maybe then he understood, and still avoided—lied, all to protect himself and his brother. He knew, you knew. One wanted, the other avoided. None of it ended well. Heaven was breakable, and he couldn’t dare threaten his own peace. Not even to have you.

You knew then where you stood.

“Why?”

He shook his head, chewed on his lip. “Don’t.”

“Please, Jack,” you whispered. “You owe me an explanation.”

Did he not believe in love? Had a girl hurt him? Was it really Luke, or something else? Why wouldn’t he just try?

“Bells, don’t.”

Your hand reached out. Hoping, praying—it brushed his shirt-clad chest. He didn’t move back, finally looked at you. “You owe it to me, at least. I’ll drop it, I’ll never ask again.”

“We’d just… we’d screw it up,” he managed out, the blue of his eyes richening into a navy. His eyes darted around your face. “I can’t…”

What did it matter anymore? Everything was being bared. All of it. Your fear disappeared into dust; the yearning for a conclusion to this twisted knot of a love died. Just like it always did with Jack—you’d want him, try to forget him, and fail. A never ending loop. But before there had been no chance, now—now you weren’t sure.

“Can’t what?”

Jack didn’t respond. He dug into his pocket. Grabbed his key. “Get in the car.”

The stark change of situation caught you cold. “What—?” You shook your head. You weren’t going to lose this opportunity. “Jack, no. Talk to me. Please.”

“Get in the fucking car.”

You didn’t budge for a moment, then finally, “Okay.”

The drive was silent, thick with awkwardness. What could you say? You’d been so close to coming clean, to finally—after five years—admitting everything. It seemed like Jack had too, but something stopped him. Something always stopped him. You wished you could pick his brain, lay it all out to see the moment he’d stopped seeing you as a ghost, as Luke’s high school best friend. All because you’d tried to move on, because you’d hoped for happiness beyond his black hole persona. But of course, he always managed to drag you back in.

“It’s not fair,” you muttered aloud, semi-an accident. Jack’s eyes snapped to you, the dark road rolling out in front of you.

He worked his jaw. Adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “What isn’t?”

“You,” you grunted, looking out the window. “I try to be happy, move on. You’ve never wanted me before, I didn’t think it would matter. But when I try, you turn it into World War III.”

Jack didn’t say anything. Barely even moved. You wanted to scream, to leap out of the car, if only to see if he’d care enough to come back for you.

“Why now, Jack? Why not before?” you whimpered. Alcohol made you pathetic, even more so than usual. “What changed?”

“Bells,” he warned, nostrils flaring.

“No,” you protested, swiveling your body his way. “I deserve an answer, Jack. Please.”

Silence still.

“Stop the car.”

Jack looked at you. Up and down, before his focus returned to the road. “No. Stop having a tantrum.”

That nearly sent you into a murderous rage. “Stop the car or I’m jumping out.”

Jack scoffed. “You’re not going to jump out of a moving car.”

You clicked off the lock. Fingers tested the handle. When you tore the door open, the alarm blared; wind whipped your arm as you gripped the door, the darkened road greeting your eyes. Thankfully, no one else was out this late. Jack grabbed you with his free hand, slammed on the breaks and veered off onto the side of the road, just beyond the dunes. Beachgrass surrounded the car, the distant buzz of crickets the only thing you could hear as Jack cursed at you. Unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the door shut, Jack glared at you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped. You felt something akin to pride; he finally had a reaction to something. Cared enough to stop you.

“You won’t answer me,” you said, eyes darting around his face. The emergency interior lights of the car blinked into existence, lighting up your bodies. Jack’s face was flushed, eyes wild. “Please, just—”

“Fuck, stop saying that,” came Jack’s strangled plead, his head dropping.

You blinked at him. Confusion welled like a storm in your eyes. “What? Please?”

Silence. Jack’s head raised lazily, he looked distressed, mouth parted ever so slightly. A hand ran through his hair, mussed it more. “Fuck,” he cursed, low and gravely. “Luke is going to kill me.”

What was he on about? He looked like he was struggling, his hand gripping the steering wheel which such force his knuckles blanched. “What?”

“You’re his best friend,” Jack said. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “If I… Bells, please…”

You had no idea what to do. What to say. “Jack, what do you mean? You aren’t making any sense.”

“I want to fuck you,” he bit out, leveling you with a furious look, as if he hated himself for that very fact. “But I can’t. If Luke found out, he’d hate you, or me, or us both. I can’t risk that, Bells, I can’t.”

He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you. The very fact that he wanted to sleep with you sent you into a dizzy spell; normally, you would’ve wept with happiness at the sheer fact that Jack Hughes wanted you, in any capacity, but all you felt now was a resounding emptiness. He wanted to fuck you, to have you carnally, without anything attached. You loved him; not because he could give you brief pleasure, but because you knew how many freckles were on his back, how he drove with his left hand predominantly, how he quoted Camus but never actually read him.

It occurred to you then that this summer was different. Not because you were getting closure, or because Jack Hughes finally loved you back, but because you finally understood that the devotion you’d put in him for years should have been put in yourself.

You looked at Jack, and for once, didn’t feel that biting desire to touch him, to be wanted by him; now you knew you were, but for what? For once night, just to fade into obscurity? Either you had Jack entirely or not at all. You couldn’t tease yourself with a taste only to never be given the full experience. You didn’t think you’d survive the memory of it.

“I love you,” you said. Watched his reaction. The confession felt like the greatest heartbreak and the biggest relief.

He said nothing back.

And you weren’t heartbroken that he didn’t. You were relieved. Free.

[kira-broflovski]

main 4 boys hcs: seeing you come back after you moved away

note: this set of hcs is really similar to a kyle fic i have in my drafts already 😭 but im glad you guys are enjoying my writing :)

STAN ☆

when he heard there was a "new girl" in school he didn't think much of it, and you weren't in his first class so it didn't really bother him.

he didn't even recognise you when the teacher called your name for the register in his second period class. was it really you?

"Y/N?" He whispered out of shock.

"Hi, Stan." You had whispered back with a smile, making a familiar sense of nausea come back to him.

the two of you spent the whole of class chatting; catching up.

^ that landed stan into detention, but he didn't care. you only didn't get detention because the teacher didn't want to scare you off on your first day.

stan didn't care though, it was totally worth it when he got your number and socials.

he couldn't resist texting you while he was in detention. your presence through the phone was enough to keep him going, and the endless conversation made the hours go by quickly.

after you got closer, he invited you to a soccer (football) game that he was playing in this weekend. of course he spent most of the game showing off when he spotted you in the crowd, and he worked hard to make sure his team won.

when he scored a goal, adrenaline was coursing through his veins. without thinking he ran up to where you stood in the stands and kissed you on the cheek, to then run back and continue playing.

that was only the beginning of the romance.

KYLE ☆

he went to school that morning, he was confused as to why people were talking about you.

i mean, you moved away from south park years ago. did people really miss you that much? he couldn't blame them, he probably missed you the most out of anyone.

it wasn't until lunch when jimmy went up to kyle.

"Your little girlfriend is back. Aren't you gonna talk to her?"

"Huh?"

"Dude, Y/N?" Jimmy was surprised at Kyle's confusion. "You don't know?"

"Know what?" Kyle was starting to worry people were playing a cruel joke on him.

"Oh my god, Y/N is b-back." Jimmy began, "I thought you would be the first to know?"

"No?" Kyle looked at his friends in disbelief. "Where is she right now?"

"She's outside talking to-"

poor jimmy couldn't even finish his sentence before kyle sprinted outside to see you. he really hoped it wasn't a joke, otherwise he'd never recover from being made to look like such an idiot.

he ran outside to find you just saying goodbye to butters, and he couldn't believe his eyes. he was so happy to see you he almost cried.

he called your name and you looked over at the familiar voice. you were so relieved to see none other than kyle broflovski himself.

"we should probably leave them two lovebirds alone for a little while."

KENNY ☆

kenny heard that a family had moved into the house you used to live in, and he was pissed off to say the least.

he treated your old house like a sacred ground as nobody had lived there since you had moved out.

he sometimes snuck into the back garden when he needed to get away from everything, or when he really missed you. he made sure any plants you had grown yourself were still alive, in the seemingly unlikely event you did return.

what he didn't know is that your family owned this house and didn't let anybody move in because you all knew you'd return to south park at some point.

he marched over to that house to see exactly who it was, but he noticed that there wasn't even a moving van, just two brand new cars.

To say the least, he was fuming. He was ready to raise hell on these people. Even if it wasn't actually called for, and he was just upset his memories of you would be ruined by them.

He didn't even hear commotion inside, telling him that this new family had already settled in. How dare they!?

The door opened and he was ready. He looked up at the mystery person only to see... your mom?

"Oh, Kenny! It's so good to see you." She smiled down at him. His burning anger turned into complete confusion. "Y/N! Your old friend is here to see you already!"

he could feel his heart racing again, but this time out of anticipation.

when he saw you, he felt that sense of peace you always gave him and he immediately felt his cheeks get hot when you pulled him into a welcoming hug.

after all that time, when he would spend hours just sitting in the garden he now knew it was worth it.

and after all those hours of catching up, you walked him all the way home and even up to the doorstep.

you said you were glad to see him again, before you kissed him on the cheek and made your way back home.

"WOOHOO!!"

ERIC ☆

i imagine he'd be like kyle where he wouldn't realise until somebody said to him you were back. only difference is he would attempt to act as if he didn't care.

you were in all of his classes when kyle asked if he had seen you yet.

of course this confused eric and claimed kyle was just being stupid again when he said you were back.

"Shut up, Kyle! You're just trying to make me look stupid in front of everyone." Eric shouted.

"I swear she's here, ask literally anyone in our grade and they'll say she is back!"

It was constant back and forth, until Eric heard somebody say his name.

To which he screamed, "what!?"

you couldn't tell at the time, but he felt bad for screaming in your face like that.

he remembers having a massive crush on you, but he got angry that you left without telling him.

when he stared straight into your eyes, he couldn't stay angry for long.

you gave him your new number so you could catch up when you had more time, and he simply watched as you walked away.

"I told you so, fatass!"

[imgdreaming]

hello coming back to yap about the rainworld youtooz figures beccaauusseee im insane :-) and have had these thoughts about youtooz products for a long time and would like to hear what others think ^_^

long post ahead sorry i have normal thoughts and feelings about this /lh

i was very excited when i heard about these and i still am (for other reasons than probably intended lol) but i have issues with them specifically the signature youtooz happy eyes.. they have bothered me for what has to be YEARS now like its cute for a few things but once its on seemingly EVERYTHING they produce no matter what.. it starts to tick me off sometimes they just DONT FIT and thats okay.. you dont need them for brand recognizably ive heard youtooz products are relatively high quality and thats GREAT i am will to spend my money on a high quality product !!

but like when im interested in a product based off an already existing media property i want something accurate !! and to youtooz' credit, i love how these two models look outside of the eyes and survivors spear being grey i think theyre very well done. but for stuff like rainworld with a more serious tone it just does not fit :-(

i have two solutions to my issues with this specifically that does not include simply opening their eyes that both focus on survivor..

1) change survivor to monk: yes i get it survivor is Mr. Rain World but if we want to keep the happy eyes monk is your best bet. not only is he depicted with those eyes a few times in official stuff (see: slugpup plush and selection screen art) but he is also frequently considered a friend to lizards so you can also keep the pink lizard's expression !! they can be a cute little set :-)

option 2) change survivors pose: if we need to keep survivor then at least change their pose to a cuter one maybe of them eating a bluefruit ?? with how action focused their current pose is the eyes are especially out of place even if it is a very iconic pose for them. (also why isnt the spear black ????????)

video cult hire me :-)

anyway even if i wont be buying these for my own personal issues with them im still happy theyre being made not only for others who will most likely love them but also because if these sell well they might actually make a monk who i may actually buy.. PLUS this means they might make other figures in the future with other companies ? :-) i can hope at least hehe

let me know your thoughts if youve read this far i would love to hear them since this has been something lowkey eating at me for a few years now haha apologies if any of this is hard to read btw its 1:21 am annndd im tired and dont feel the greatest lol

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 7 - unconventional weapon

Warnings: red room violence, child death, minors fighting,

Word Count: 2.1k (gif not mine - from @notahammer form this gifset- I hope it’s okay that it’s borrowed)

Summary: Natasha tells a story of her past.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

A/N: this one delves into Natasha’s past, it’s not a happy chapter and sits heavier. Also, thank you for all the comments on the last chapter - I will reply to them - also dw in this house we love Maria Hill (she just has some distrust to work through) <3

.

Dostoevsky sits on the table and Natasha wonders at Maria’s choice of Crime and Punishment.

A Russian author and a title that mirrors herself seems a little too on the nose.

She appreciates the gesture though.

She didn’t know what had happened in the day between Maria seemingly wanting to torture her for information, to not asking her questions at all.

Debrief hadn’t touched on Odessa, but instead moved to code words and languages.

This she could easily talk on.

This was something she gave up readily.

She appreciated the reprieve.

Clint had returned to find her and Maria eating breakfast in her cell, as they had done for the three days prior. The mood more comfortable than the first time and, seeing Clint, she had smiled a genuine smile. She’d missed him.

With Clint back, he would resume the role of handler, changing the routine once again.

Whilst Natasha would miss the fresh air of the morning shooting range with Maria, she prefers Clint and the safety that his presence entails.

Will the debrief continue to avoid Odessa?

She’s sure Maria told him what had happened.

For now her voice had been heard, when she said that she couldn’t talk about it. But she’s not ready to trust they’ll avoid it forever, especially when she feels it could be used against her.

Today’s debrief looms.

Clint glances down at her in the elevator, catching her eye and smiles.

As usual, they enter the small office and sit with the two way mirror on the left.

He hands her two pictures.

Natasha’s blood runs cold.

“Who is that?”

The woman in the picture on the left has her black hair pinned back.

Memories flash.

“Stand straight.”

“Again.”

“Widows are marble.”

“You will not break.”

There’s a taste of poison in Natasha’s mouth and she wants to spit.

“Um,” she says swallowing, “she runs the widows. Trains them. Keeps the girls in line.”

She moves her hands under the table, clenching hard to keep herself present.

“What do you know of her?”

Clint asks the question slowly, like he knows what it will cost.

“The trial of the silent knife.”

Natasha doesn’t want to talk about this.

She looks at the second picture.

The branding mark embossed on skin.

“What is the trial of the silent knife?”

Natasha forces herself to calm. Forces air in her lungs and her mind to clear, even as images assault her, the cut of the knife and scar on her calf glisten.

“How did you learn to fight?” she asks, voice low.

Clint smiles easily.

“Back yard fights with my brother. My father, school, the military. You could say my learning was… eclectic.”

Natasha hears him in what he doesn’t say.

“How do you think I learned?”

Clint doesn’t answer straight away.

A question he’s likely never considered.

She sighs.

“We are trained in very specific ways. Ways to make prepubescent bodies strong. Running in mountains, strength training, exercises in multiple martial arts by different teachers. Each with their own style of reward and punishment.”

Natasha considers the questions about the woman and wonders where to start.

“Once we reached a certain age, the skills we learnt were tested.”

She knows he wants to ask more.

“I was 8.”

“The trial of the silent knife is the test.”

.

Natasha stands with the other girls.

She feels excited, adrenaline running through her body, as she wants to show her skills.

She feels ready.

The other girls look cocky. No one looks scared except Sasha, who always looks like she’s going to wet herself.

Natasha’s not sure how she hasn’t been kicked out yet.

There had been other girls who’d left. Bed empty after being injured, or crying, or talking back in ways that, even to Natasha, had felt rude.

The wind is cold. Though the ice has melted the world still holds a chill.

They’d been to this clearing before, fought here before, and Natasha was accustomed to fighting bare footed and without weapons.

“Line up,” the command comes.

The girls do as ordered.

Natasha exchanges looks with Freya, her friend looking determined and fierce.

She notes her friend’s bravery and uses it to calm her own fluttering heart.

It’s different today and they all know.

The twenty four girls are made to spar, lightly until they’re warmed up, going through the motions of hitting and being hit.

Four adults stand to her left, and she sees Madam and Dreykov standing behind them.

Her body feels cold, fear of both of them allowing one of the girls to sweep her legs.

She falls heavily.

Helped up, she whispers to her what she saw, and the message gets passed down the line.

Natasha often feels targeted by the two adults. They stare at her and she feels frustrated at the higher standard she’s seemingly held to.

She stands straighter as the round ends and they’re lined up again.

Now separated, they stand on either side of two lines marked in the dirt.

The adults move closer and Madam claps twice.

The girls stand straighter, eyes forward just as they’ve been trained.

“This is a test,” she announces. “You will fight until one of you wins.”

She walks between the lines to look at all of the girls.

“How you do that is up to you. You will be marked on how you do this. This will be done in silence. You must not scream, or cry or ask for help. Once in the arena, you are on your own. No one will help you except yourself.”

Natasha’s nerves rise.

She’s glad she’s not at the front of the line.

Briselle, one of the older girls, steps forward; her opponent is Sasha.

Natasha knows the outcome before they even fight.

A single knife is thrown in the middle of the arena.

Madam steps forward and Dreykov and the other four sit on chairs set up for them.

The girls sit along the outside, still in their lines, legs tucked under, fists on top of knees.

Briselle smiles as Sasha lunges for the knife.

She lets her pick it up and then kicks out at her.

Sasha moves back, using her momentum to feint left and swipe right.

The knife passes close to Brisselle’s neck.

The shock on her face pronounced, as Sasha presses her advantage.

Natasha had fought Sasha before. When Sasha was scared, she became desperate.

Briselle shouldn’t underestimate her, just because she looks like a scared little girl.

Briselle kicks out and makes contact with Sasha’s chest.

The kick is clearly winding, as Sasha gasps, her fist tightening harder around the knife. Brisselle presses the advantage, throwing another kick at her prone body on the floor. Sasha scrambles up, blocking it with her forearms, grabbing at a leg and attempting a throw without conviction.

Briselle’s weight seems an advantage as she holds her ground, her held foot flips up, catching Sasha under the chin.

The girl’s body sprawls, knife flying from her hand.

Briselle picks it up, kicks her and points it at her neck.

“Until one of you wins,” Madam reminds.

Briselle’s smile falters.

She doesn’t know what that means; but Sasha seems to. The crack of Briselle’s leg is loud, she shouts in pain. Sasha’s movements are quick. The first cut along her thighs and the second along her neck. Bloor pours from the wounds.

Natasha looks on in shock.

Sasha’s desperation to win had come at the cost of Briselle’s life.

The girl was dying in front of them.

Natasha feels sick.

An adult that Natasha doesn’t know pulls Briselle’s broken, gasping body away. Sasha looks at her bloody hands and is ordered by Madam to line up.

The girls hear a gunshot and all know what it means.

Sasha’s eyes go wide as she watches, her mouth opening with an outward breath. Tears leak from her eyes.

Two girls look wildly around and cry out.

Natasha’s head doesn’t move, but her eyes scan the other girls, some of whom were also crying, their predicament clear now. The years of training culminating in this.

The next two opponents stand, legs shaking, fear on their faces.

“Fight.”

Madam’s voice breaks the silence.

An endless minute seems to pass before one of the girls lunges for the knife.

The fight is short.

Clearly overpowered, the younger girl sobs as the other girl cries that she’s sorry.

The arena is bloody by the time it is Natasha’s turn. She rises on heels but doesn’t look at the girl in front of her. She knows her, but in those moments, she knows that she cannot acknowledge her.

“Fight.”

The knife is the obvious play, but the other girl is taller and reaches it quicker.

Natasha runs through the knife defenses, anticipating the lunge forward. She sidesteps, bending the girl’s wrist, and using her momentum against her. The angle of the wrist weakens her hold onto the knife and it drops to the bloody floor.

She kicks it out of the way, and slaps her heavily, knowing if she punches she’d hurt herself.

Her palm stings.

Avoiding the next punch, then kick, Natasha fights back, returning with a kick to the girl’s head.

It hits with a resounding thud.

The girl stumbles back, tripping on the knife.

Natasha lunges for it and the girl wrestles her for it.

Then arms back, the girl reaches for something that Natasha can’t see.

Natasha grabs the knife, but a rock smacks her in the head.

Natasha collapses.

Dazed, Natasha's vision blurs. She feels the girl climb on top of her, raising the rock again, readying to hit Natasha a second time.

But Natasha’s holding the knife upward between them, and as the girl leans forward it sticks between her ribs, killing her with a quiet “oh”.

The rock drops.

The unconventional weapon falling next to Natasha’s head as she huffs breaths.

Panic.

She has no thoughts in her head as she’s told to stand, her opponent dragged back.

Blood drips from her forehead and she touches it blankly.

The rest of the battles finish without Natasha registering who is still alive.

All she can think of is the knife pushing into the girl’s body.

Her chest feels so tight. Only the slightest amount of air seems to break through.

Her hands shake and she sits on them to hide it.

Natasha wants nothing more than to be left alone.

The knife.

She focuses herself by biting the inside of her mouth.

Her head hurts.

Still bleeding, she blinks it away from her eyes.

Madam stands in front of them.

“Do you know why it’s the silent knife?” Madam asks, picking the weapon up.

Twelve girls, bloody and bruised and traumatised, stare into space.

The four adults stand, Dreykov in front of them.

“You are part of the Red Room. Silent killers. You must know how to kill; friends, family, foe.”

She paces.

Placing a knife in front of each of them, Madam motions to it.

“You have passed this test. From now on, this knife is yours. Your right to own. From now on, the training will only get harder.”

Natasha eyes the bloody knife in front of her.

Sniffing, and wiping her face, she decides it was a friend and not a foe.

She picks it up cleans it with her clothing.

.

Clint sits back, his heart hurting at her story.

“Once we passed, we had to mark ourselves. The first kill. The mark, the one you see there, that’s the brand. That woman was a widow.”

She bites her lip.

She hates the story.

Telling it felt like it was someone’s else’s story.

“Can, uh, can we stop?”

Clint nods, not asking any more questions.

She’s sure it’s been recorded, but in that moment she doesn’t care. She wants to return to her cell. In that moment feeling, more than ever, like she belongs in one.

She’s made peace with most of her other kills.

But that first one��

Natasha clenches her fists and lets them go in time with her breathing.

She just feels old and tired.

.

[spacexseven]

i need to write more for oda actually.

cw: yandere character, stalking, implied breaking in

oda doesn't know when he fell for you.

he doesn't know when the slight curiosity he felt about you turned into a deeper fascination, or when his envy for your seemingly ordinary life turned into an uncontrollable yearning to be part of that life, or when he stopped just watching you from across the street and instead became your shadow, watching you enter your workplace after your lunch break with a peculiar sensation eating away at him.

but these days, he finds himself dreaming a lot.

he dreams about walking beside you to a shared home, sitting across you as you eat the sandwich you always have for lunch, he dreams about holding your hand in his—are your fingers cold, from all the time spent indoors working? will you grab onto his in an attempt to dispel the cold sensation in your fingertips—and he dreams about you telling him that you missed his warmth, that you missed him. he dreams about showing you his manuscript, and you going on about all the things you liked in it. he dreams about waking up beside you, he dreams about you meeting his kids, and—

he dreams about a life he can't have with you.

sometimes, he does wonder—aren't you lonely? you go back to your apartment after a day of work you clearly don't enjoy, eating the same meals over and over all alone, and putting up a smiling façade so you don't have to explain your worries to anyone every day. doesn't it get tiring? don't you wish you had someone to see you for who you are, and run a hand through your hair when things get unbearably hard? oda doesn't think of himself as a very expressive, or affectionate person, but something inside of him wants, so terribly, desperately wants, to be that person for you.

there are times that he almost wants to walk up to you and start a conversation; when he finds you playing with the strays that sleep outside the store, or the time you bump into him and apologize before disappearing back into the crowd, when he finds you staring across the port, lost in your own thoughts. maybe if he had the courage to, he could slot himself into your life all those times, and made a place for him there. he'd have waited for you to crawl into his arms, and he'd have been happy.

but instead, he settles for hoping and dreaming. now there's an extra unused toothbrush next to his, and the brand of soap you like to use in his bathroom. he even gets his hands on the shampoo you like and the creams you use and arranges it all the way you do, except he also makes room for his things. he buys a larger blanket and more pillows and begins planting the evidence of your existence. it doesn't exactly help, because now he wants more. but oda doesn't mind. he's spent his whole life wanting, and a little more won't hurt him.

but one day, when you walk out of the bakery with your sandwich in its usual paper bag, oda thinks he'll walk up to you. one day, eventually. until then, he can go on pretending, and dreaming.

[rationalisms]

You mentioned that you don't think legally blonde is progressive and I'd like to hear more of your thoughts on that if you don't mind.

i mean, in the first place (and i promise i'm not trying to sound condescending i just genuinely don't know how else to say this) i think it's important to like... let go of the binary "progressive/oppressive" model of thinking about media, and instead pivot to talking about analysing e.g. films through different theoretical lenses instead.

so instead of trying to make a definitive declarative statement on whether xyz mainstream hollywood romcom IS or ISN'T feminist, fullstop, it's much more useful and conductive to actual productive discussion to analyse it from a feminist perspective instead.

because when you're no longer limited to ones and zeroes, that'll allow you to, say, in the case of legally blonde, both talk about the way that it takes some steps forward in terms of e.g. letting its protagonist succeed at things that are traditionally seen as male, such as academic success (aside: extra ironic bc in most countries women are better students than men but when has propaganda every cared about that), or choose academic success and her career over her erstwhile romantic partner, but also many steps backward.

like the fact that marketing that brand of hyperfemininity/beauty rituals/etc to women as So Empowering Akshually is part and parcel of misogynistic industries owned by men that prey on women's self-image, time, and money to sell them products that they at best don't need and that at worst are actively bad for them. like, they have caught on by now that shaming women for failing to uphold standards of femininity doesn't work nearly as well as selling them as part of a Feminist Identity in which your 50 step skincare routine that you spend 2 hours a day on so as not to show a single sign of aging is actually just Getting In Touch With Your Body and Expressing Your Womanhood. i honestly do not have the time to get into it right now but i recommend reading "femininity and domination: studies in the phenomenology of oppression" by sandra lee bartky, "beauty work: individual and institutional rewards, the reproduction of gender, and questions of agency" by samantha kwan and mary nell trautner, and/or "choosing to conform: the discursive complexities of choice in relation to feminine beauty practices" by avelie stuart and ngaire donaghue.

and so like, the fact that her Grand Crowning Moments in this film (like her win in court or helping jennifer coolidge's character) actually almost all revolve around those beauty practices and how well she manages to uphold them and not, say, the knowledge she's gaining in the incredibly difficult university course she's taking.

OR such as the fact that there's a whole character who's just there to be the frumpy, masculine, feminist lesbian who's suuuuch a killjoy and combative to our poor protagonist for seemingly no reason and just Hates Feminine Women sooo much, and who we are meant to jeer and laugh at when the Right Kind of Woman (read: feminine and heterosexual) wins against her. or how the protagonist's happy ending still has to include a man anyway. or how you can count the people of colour that even just appear in this film on one hand.

this is at this point definitely already long enough lol but i hope you get what i mean? anyway. there's absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying this film obviously but it's good to be critical of the way these narratives are presented to us, as always.

[lemonylioness]

Let's Try Again

Kinktober Masterlist

Sasuke x Reader - Breeding + Creampie

Content Warning: fingering (f receiving), breeding, cum play, cervix fucking, cream pie, multiple orgasms, orgasm control/denial

Sasuke was in a mood, a bad one, when he returned home from his latest mission. Everything that could’ve gone wrong did, he had even been injured saving one his team members. What an idiot. Huffing to himself, he dug his keys out of his satchel and fumbled with the lock for a moment, almost dropping his keys, before making it inside. Would he ever get used to only having one arm? He sure hoped so, feeling like an invalid was only driving his bad mood to worse levels.

He dropped his keys in the bowl by the door along with tucking his satchel next to the little table and toeing his sandals off. It was quiet in the house and he was almost worried that he seemed to have beaten you home, just one more thing to add to his list of shit things to happen today.

“I’m home,” he called into the seemingly empty space, straining for even a whisper of an answer. 

“I’m in the bedroom,” you called back, muffled by the distance. The tension immediately left his shoulders and he stalked back to your shared space, wondering why you hadn’t been out in the living room or kitchen to greet him. His annoyed mental question was answered as soon as he stepped into the bedroom and found you with your back to the door, in only your panties and bra as you tried to decide on a set of pajamas for the night.

He leaned against the doorframe as he watched you, trying to keep the smile off of his face, “Hn, I think you should just go with what you already have on.”

You whirled to face him, clutching the lacy nightdress in your hand to your chest as if to keep your modesty intact, even though Sasuke had seen you in various levels of undress many, many times, “Oh! I wasn’t expecting you to actually come back here.” Sasuke’s face twitched into a smirk as he approached and took the nightgown from you.

“I mean it. This is perfect,” he leaned down into your space as he tossed the lacy garment on the bed before he took hold of your waist, “It’s a rare treat to get to see so much skin, you should look like this more often.”

“Oh yeah, sure, and freeze to death,” you stuck your tongue out teasingly, but he didn’t take the bait, just stood looking at you, “Did you come home in a crabby mood again? Normally, you play along.” 

His mouth twisted as he replied, “The last couple of days have just been trying.” You hmphed and waited for him to continue, knowing better than to ask about it as it would just make Sasuke shut down. If you waited and let him come to you, it was more likely you’d get information. While you stood by for him to speak, you cuddled closer against him, burying your face against his solid chest, and holding him tighter, trying to give him your own brand of comfort. Sighing softly, his arm moved higher to wrap around your shoulders and so he could tangle his fingers in your hair, keeping your head against him as he decided if he was going to let you in or not.

“Sit down on the bed with me,” he finally spoke, releasing you only to grab your wrist to lead you over to the large bed you two shared. He guided you gently to straddle his lap as he took a handful of your ass and kneaded the plush skin as you got settled on top of him, your barely clothed cunt rubbing over his cock as you wiggled into place. He stifled a groan before speaking again, “The mission was not good. It was successful of course, but some of our shinobi were injured when that shouldn’t have been the case at all. We were just barely outclassed when our intel pointed to this being a relatively easy mission. It was just mistakes all around and I am not happy about it.” 

“Did you speak with the Hokage?” You asked softly as you ran your hands up and down his back.

“Not yet, he and the Hyuga girl just announced a pregnancy and I don’t want to be around him while he’s being extra annoying,” Sasuke gruffed, his face twisting at just the thought of the annoyance. 

You laughed and held him tighter, “You can’t blame Naruto for being so excited. His family is growing… I’d be excited too.” 

He tensed at your words and added carefully, “I’m not upset with him being excited. I’m upset he’s rubbing everyone’s noses in it. We’ve been trying for a child too but it’s not like I’m going around being loud and obnoxious about it.”

“Well maybe we should give it another try,” you whispered as you cupped his face in your hands and angled his head for a kiss.

He pulled out of your grip at the last possible second, frowning at you, “Hn. Wouldn’t we just look like jealous fools if we announce a pregnancy so fast after theirs? I don’t want people to think that we got pregnant because Naruto did.”

You pouted and tried to pull him in for another kiss, “Since when have you cared about what other people think? Or are you actually worried about what Naruto will think?” 

To avoid the question, he pressed his lips to yours, giving you the kiss you had been yearning for. His arm wrapped around your body, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss by opening his mouth and running his tongue along your bottom lip and asking for permission to continue. Your hands gripped his shirt tightly as you granted him access, parting your lips and inviting him inside so he could lick through the warm cavern of your mouth before his tongue tangled with yours. The heated kiss made your core throb and tighten as you pushed into his mouth with your tongue, trying to take dominance and control from him so you could lead. He wasn’t having any of it and quickly flipped you over so you were trapped underneath him, your legs hooked around his waist as he pressed his growing erection against your fluttering core, breaking the kiss so he could nip and lick a trail down your neck. 

You arched and moaned, your head thrown back as you gave him plenty of room to work, his mouth moving expertly across your skin and leaving swollen red bites in his wake, marking you as his. His hips ground against yours in an effort to relieve some of his ache as he came to your breasts, tugging your bra down and immediately latching onto one of your nipples. Moans were joined by mewls and whimpers as Sasuke masterfully played your body like an instrument, you were unable to hold the sounds back, starting to get lost in the sensations of having his mouth and hand on your heated skin. Your hips bucked back against his as you sought out relief for the throbbing in your clit, moaning loudly when you finally found friction in the right spot. It didn’t last for long though as Sasuke took control once again, moving his hips back out of your immediate reach. He savored the whine that left your lips before taking a second to remove your bra and panties, leaving you completely naked as he climbed all the way on top of you in the bed. He leaned over you to start kissing and nipping at your neck again, careful not to give you anything to grind against. He wanted to be the one relieving your needs with either his hand or his cock, his possessiveness taking over the more you mewled, whined, and writhed underneath him.

“Sasuke, why am I the only one undressed?” You pouted up at him, unable to help the shivers or gooseflesh that were created from his skillful mouth.

He paused his ministrations and hummed against your throat before answering, “It sounds like you aren’t doing your job, hn?”

You playfully nuzzled him to his immense satisfaction, your attention on him being the only thing he really wanted, and started working at the buttons and zippers on his clothes, trying not to let him distract you as he continued to kiss and leave feather-light touches across your bare skin, more goosebumps rising on your tingling skin. Powerless to hold back anymore, you mewled softly as his clothing joined yours on the floor and you gave into him, catching sight of his swollen, straining length, the red mushroom head leaking pearls of pre-cum that dripped down onto your inner thighs. He had groaned as the restricting fabric was removed and his cock twitched in the cool air, begging to be plunged into your warm, tight cunt before he sat up in between your legs to look down at you as his dick slapped up against his taut abs, drawing your attention to it again.

“Please, Sasuke,” you begged softly, “I’m so wet, I need you…”

“Hn, I’ll be the judge of that,” He teased before tracing his fingers down your slit before scissoring your labia open, his intense eyes watching the slick ooze out of your trembling, clenching, tight little hole. He gathered up some of your juices and smeared them up and down your slit, from your fluttering opening to your swollen, throbbing clit, lubricating everything and making you moan every time his fingers teased your sensitive bud. 

“P-please Sasuke, I c-can’t take the t-teasing… I need you… I need your cock buried in my pussy… Please!” You begged softly as he continued to tease your sensitive sex, watching as your arousal dripped down your thighs.

He groaned in answer, his manhood twitching again in need, “I hope you know what you’re asking for. Once I start, I won’t be able to stop. I’m going to breed you, darling, I’m gonna pump so much cum into you…”

“Please…” You cooed in answer, your eyes pleading as your hips bucked at his words, a tight, hot knot forming in your core. Sasuke needed no further encouragement as he lined up his thick, curved cock with your slobbery hole and buried himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. You arched and cried out as pleasure spiked through you, the slick sound of his body connecting with yours loud and arousing.

He moaned loudly as your silky walls gripped him tightly, letting you get used to him for a heartbeat before he had to start thrusting up into your quivering pussy, his bulging cockhead dragging against every pleasure spot inside of you and sending sparks up your spine. Sasuke settled into a faster pace, his need and want evident in every movement. You could tell how much he had missed you and loved you with each stroke and the way his mouth sealed over yours again. You answered him with cries, mewls, and moans to voice your own need for him in return as your cunt rippled and clenched around his dick, compelling him to groan above you as his hips stuttered in their rhythm. Clutching at him, your nails dug into his back as he balanced above you on his one arm, keeping most of his weight off of you as he continued to thrust deeply into your sloppy cunt.

It didn’t take long at all before the muscles in your core had tightened into an unbearable knot of hot pleasure just begging for release. You writhed underneath Sasuke to get anything at all to break the knot, something that would put you over the edge and into the intense orgasm you knew was coming. He quickly caught on and started ending his thrusts with grinding deep into your dribbling, convulsing heat, his cock rubbing against a magical place inside of you each time he did it. It was the perfect amount of stimulation and the knot burst, making you see stars as you arched and cried out, your pussy strangling his dick while you were launched into orbit and white hot pleasure flooded every nerve in your body. Sasuke kept thrusting, working you through the orgasm, before slowing to a stop to give your overstimulated pussy a moment’s rest.

He carefully pulled his cock from your drooly cunt and pulled back from you, kneeling on the bed as he watched you catch your breath. “A-are you done?” You asked after a beat of silence, a little bit of worry filtering through your bliss.

“Have I stuffed you full of my cum yet?” Sasuke asked, his eyebrows raising. You quickly shook your head, blushing, and he smirked, “Well then, there’s your answer. When you’re ready darling, move onto your hands and knees. I want to fill you up as deeply as possible.”

A few more moments of collecting yourself under his lust-filled gaze passed before you were ready to move. He only moved when you did, helping you balance as you got into position. Sasuke groaned softly as he took in the sight of your back arched as you presented your dripping pussy to him, your juices slowly running down your soft inner thighs. He smeared his cock through the mess, forcing you to shiver, before he thrust his swollen length into your trembling cunt, all the way to your cervix, and pressing the tip of his manhood against the tight ring of muscle. You sobbed out a moan and pressed your ass back against him, encouraging him to continue and continue he did, each thrust slow and thoughtful as he started to work your cervix open, wanting to dump his cum straight into your womb.

At this point, you couldn’t even moan anymore, too overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through your already oversensitive sex. Broken sobs escaped your lips as you ground back against Sasuke, trying to take him even deeper, needing to feel him everywhere inside of you as he rearranged your guts in his need. It didn’t take him long to breach the tight ring, driving him to shudder and moan loudly as it squeezed the head of his throbbing cock. You cried out, almost cumming right then as pleasure and pain arced through you. Feeling your cunt tighten up and spasm, Sasuke immediately stopped moving, denying you of the orgasm as he cooed against your skin, “Not yet, darling, not yet. I want to cum with you this time… Patience.” 

You sobbed in answer, “Y-yes Sasuke… Please… I’m so close.” He hummed softly in answer and started to grind against your dribbling cunt, the head of his dick pushing and pulling at your cervix, making your legs tremble with the unique feeling. His hips started to thrust again, his cock pushing ever deeper inside of you, stretching you out even more and leaving you shivering on the bed as you worked to hold off your orgasm until Sasuke gave his permission.

“Cum now,” He ordered breathlessly, his hips jerking against yours as he wanted for your release. Finally, you cried out as it ripped through you, your pussy fluttering around his cock as hot spurts of cum painted the walls of your womb, his twitching mushroom head filling your spasming core with warmth. His hips jerked as he pulled his dick back into your cunt, dumping even more cum into you in his effort to breed you. All you could feel was Sasuke as you drifted back down to Earth, your body going limp underneath him while you tried to catch your breath. Breathing just as hard behind you, he pulled his softening length from your spent pussy, watching as some of his cum started to leak out, your still quivering muscles pushing some out with each convulsion.

“Ah, we can’t lose that, hn,” He said softly behind you, “Especially if you want to get pregnant…” You barely heard him, but definitely noticed when he gathered the white seed and stuffed it back into you, making your hips buck and your sex tighten around his fingers.

“N-no more, Sasu,” you groaned, “I don’t have anything left.” He chuckled and hummed in agreement, removing his fingers before gently turning you on to your side and pulling the blanket over you.

“I won’t tonight. But I think I know what our time will be spent on until my next mission, hn,” He said playfully as he cleaned himself off with a towel and joined you in bed.

You turned to face him, “Aren’t you going to help me clean up too?”

“No. I like you like this, messy with my cum, marking you as mine,” He teased as you huffed at him, “Besides, now you’ll think of me as my seed makes a mess all night long.”

“What about the bedding?” You groaned, already feeling what he wanted you to as the cum oozed out of your tight little hole, making a sticky mess between your thighs.

“Don’t worry about it darling, go to sleep,” he kissed your shoulder and pulled you against his chest, “I have a feeling these sheets will experience a lot more in the next few days.”

[mybrain-is-ablack-h0le]

a letter to a friend(?)

dear emily,

i know full well that you will most likely never read this, which is actually part of why i’m putting it here.

the thing is, i may have done something terrible to you. there is only one issue with that; i do not know what is is, and now you refuse to talk to me.

i swore i’d leave you alone until you’d reach out to me yourself, but now it’s been almost six months, and i have yet to hear from you.

i’m sure that getting over a breakup is difficult, and i would love for nothing more than for you to heal in peace.

however, as selfish as i am, i can’t help but resent the fact that you fully ghosted me for no reason. or, even worse, maybe there was a reason, but i don’t know what that is, and you refuse to tell me.

i’ll be honest, it genuinely hurts me that our friendship seemingly didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me, but that’s understandable.

i remember how u would drop everything i was doing to rush over to our hangout place whenever you texted me saying you were free.

i remember how i constantly offered to talk to cashiers and clerks for you because you had social anxiety and, despite my own social anxiety, i would rather suck it up and deal with it than force you to be uncomfortable.

i remember how you’d give me your money and i’d buy you cigarettes with my id since i’m older than you by a year. i still remember what brand they were, too; red lucky strike, hard pack, “because in the soft one they always get mashed up” was the reason you gave me.

sometimes i remember when i would pay for your cigarettes myself the times you were a little strapped for cash.

i remember how in platonic love i was with you. when you got a boyfriend i was thrilled to see you happy with him, and when he cheated on you i was livid.

i remember letting you vent to me about your insecurities.

i remember carrying a tube of glue in my bag because i knew you enjoyed doing collages in the park we hung out at.

i remember how excited you were about seeing your boyfriend.

i remember how i always listened when you told me you wanted to be alone with him, despite how heartbroken i was that i couldn’t hang out with you, because your happiness always came first.

i’m not trying to make you feel guilty or bad, but i do want you to answer me one question:

why?

did i do something terrible to you that you could never forgive?

if so, then do i not deserve to at least know what i’ve done that’s so horrible as to warrant this sort of treatment?

i could go on forever about how much i miss you, about how much it breaks my heart when i see you in the corridors at school without being allowed to come and talk to you.

when we still talked i would have given an arm and a leg to be in the same class as you, so we could have the same schedule and could hang out more often, but we weren’t. but i was happy. i was content with whatever amount of time you chose to dedicate to me.

but this,

this deliberate show of just how much you don’t want to reconnect.

the way you look at me, then away without even deigning to wave at me, is honestly more painful than if you just flat out told me to go fuck myself and that you never want to speak to me again.

because i know that you’ve seen me. and i may have changed my appearance, but i’m not unrecognizable.

you should still be able to tell that it’s me. i already had a similar haircut when this happened, so you should remember me.

you watch every single whatsapp status i put out, so i know you still remember me.

you could have muted me.

you could just skip them.

but instead you choose to keep silently telling me “i want nothing to do with you”

i could keep on going forever, but i’ll stop here.

i just want you to know that i miss you and that, despite everything, if you ever want to talk again, i’ll be waiting.

heartbroken (but still hopeful),

-your ex friend, me

[honorhearted]

"Oh, Ben. This is wonderful."

A look of shyness passed over Benjamin's features, causing him to smile and lower his eyes. "One of the officers owed me a favor," he softly explained. "He was able to pull a few strings, and after a couple weeks, had a friend of his deliver this to camp."

Peggy beamed and lowered down onto the floor, presenting the toy for John with the soft, radiant effulgence that never failed to make Benjamin's heart swell with affection.

"Look at what Papa got for you, my little love. It's much like your old one, but this one has wheels, see?"

Papa... Oh, how he never tired of hearing that address. Grinning in spite of himself, Benjamin watched the scene unfold as curiously, John inspected and poked at the new toy, seemingly enthralled by the overall appearance.

"I hope he loves horses once he's older too," Benjamin pointed out, chuckling. "When I was a boy, my father taught me to ride, and instilled in me the love of animals and hard work. If John will allow it, I'd love to give him the same...but for now, I'd say this is a decent start."

Before long, John was blissfully tugging (and in some cases, whipping) his new toy across the floor, squealing and kicking his legs each time the horse rolled anew.

A fond, deep-set ached spread throughout his ribs -- so much so that Benjamin barely registered Peggy's presence until she was rising up on tiptoe, her lips soft and warm as they pressed upon the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, darling. It's perfect. Truly."

An unexpected jolt seared through him, startling Benjamin as he drew back with a sharp breath. Once Peggy lowered down to her proper height, he continued to gape at her in wordless wonder. Even now, she never failed to upend him. There had been many times -- many, many times -- where he'd felt yearnful stirrings for his wife, but he'd never dare act upon them. No, it was Peggy who would come to this decision, were they to ever consummate their marriage, and regardless of her occasional physical affections, Benjamin was always rendered stunned -- speechless -- since he oftentimes believed she must surely hate him still. And why wouldn't she? He'd helped lead Andre to the gallows, and thus, destroyed her chance at happiness. And yet...was this truly not a happy life?

Glancing down at John again, who was cooing and babbling gleefully, Benjamin's smile softened and his eyes grew wet. No, he decided. This was the absolute best and most joyous life he could ever have. How could Peggy not feel the same?

Benjamin smiled at her then, curling his hands rather than taking her own in his palms. "Maybe we should go away," he blurted on impulse. Wincing, he amended, "I'm unsure if Washington will allow it on such short notice, but your father never got to meet John, so perhaps...?" He allowed the unspoken words to dangle between them, soft and unsure, her prior kiss still feeling like a stark brand upon his skin.

Benjamin was a natural in the position of a father, that much was evident. He treated John as though he were truly his own -- and he was. As far as Peggy was concerned, John was Benjamin's trueborn son and she would never allow her boy to know otherwise.

He didn't need to know of the terrible man who had caused so much grief, of his mother's terrible mistakes, nor of the first man, his namesake, whom she'd done these things for. That was not his burden to bear.

"I'd offer to greet you as well, but somehow, I don't believe you'd have nearly the same reaction with that whole routine."

"I appreciate the sentiment of it," she hummed with a soft giggle, "But no, thank you."

The package was unexpected, especially considering how scarce supplies tended to be. She set aside her sewing work to take it from him, inspecting the outside with curiosity.

"It's for John. I'm sure it's not much, given what you're used to, but I found him a wheeled horse pull-toy."

Peggy glanced up at him with a serendipitous smile before opening the package, finding exactly what he said he'd managed to procure. It was simple and hastily painted, but no less fantastic.

"Oh, Ben. This is wonderful."

"Go on...Feel free to give it to him."

Sliding from her chair, she met John on the floor of the tent, setting the toy beside him with an undeniable smile, "Look at what Papa got for you, my little love. It's much like your old one, but this one has wheels, see?"

John, though too young to understand her words, admired the toy with awe, entranced by its colors and shape. Upon discovering that it could slide around with such ease, he continued to make it do so with a joyous laugh of youthful fascination.

Once he was completely content to ignore her, Peggy rose from the floor and met Ben with a pleasant kiss on the corner of his lips, "Thank you, darling. It's perfect. Truly."

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐈𝐈𝐈.]

summary: “In this vast, terrible universe, you’re the only permanent I have.”

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 2.4k+

warnings: angsty, Dream is still Dream ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: you guys remain superior. thank you so much for your love and comments, that inspo goes straight to the vein. enjoy part 3!!!

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART THREE: YEAR 304

Eternity comes with a bitter aftertaste. 

Or, rather, your particular brand of it does. Over three hundred years would wear on anyone. Being cursed to wander for eternity is another matter altogether. It’s not the first time things have gone wrong, of course. Your life since the curse has been a series of trials and errors, dos and redos. The Dreaming became an escape because it’s the first and only place you’ve found that has given you rest. Provided the slightest reprieve from running, hiding, and being spat on. 

Forever sounds like a wonderful deal until you start breaking it apart. Everyone else dying, bringing misfortune on those you care about, being sick or hurt but never succumbing to these afflictions. Being thrown from one edge of this universe to another with nothing in your pocket. No name, no safe place to sleep, no currency to get by, no friendly face or a helping hand. 

Eternity is a lonely and cold affair. Intercut only with nuggets of happiness that come with flapping butterfly wings found in Fiddler's Green. In the trails, rivers, lakes and mountains dotted across the Dreaming, stretching for the only eternity you care to taste. It's found in Lucienne's rustling books and how light bloats and crawls across the marble floor in Dream's throne room. 

You’ve gotten stuck in the past. Caught on snags and tears in the world—the type that devours humans and never returns them. There’s a reason so many vanish seemingly without a trace, lost forever. There is no escaping time, though. When caught, every day stretches for eternity that was promised to you, that was cursed upon you. On those days, even that hardened hope, the resilience you’ve honed with decades, becomes no more than brittle bones and dust. 

You’ve been stuck in the past, but never for five years. 

And never in Hell. 

.

Lucienne’s face makes you want to cry. She sits with a book in her lap, her head lowered, her glasses slanted on her nose. When she’s focused, like now, she doesn’t notice them slip down the bridge or how her nose curls as she tries to nudge them back up. She hasn’t changed one bit. She’s still the same Lucienne you’ve spent countless nights and days shadowing in the library, helping her catalogue books while chatting about anything and everything. Seeing her here, now, replacing the fire, smoke and torrid ash, stinging sulfur still coating your throat and lungs, is a miracle—a blessing. 

The room you’re in is sprawling, bright, and peaceful. Pale stone and lacquered wood everywhere your gaze travels. A bed that’s a cloud beneath your worn body, big enough for three; a dresser and vanity; a small couch and some chairs. For company, no doubt, though you can’t imagine anyone caring enough to visit. 

“Wanderer.”

Lucienne’s call resonates through the room, stark with relief and all at once, your defences crumble. Your eyes sting, and you reach for her hand blindly, cradling it in your own. Your hands are shaking, comes the distant realisation, but you can’t find it in yourself to care or to let go. The weight from the last five years squeezes you, wriggling free every suppressed pain and laying it bare. 

“What happened?” Lucienne asks, leaning closer, her word hushed and troubled. “What befell you out there?”

When you don’t respond, trembling so badly your jaw sits rigidly beneath your skin, she adds a firm, “You are safe now. Lord Morpheus would never permit anyone under his protection to be harmed.”

She’s soothing in her own way, a presence so dearly missed, but you only grip her hand tighter in yours. All your remaining strength has been funnelled into this singular task. Few stray tears drip from the corner of your eye and down the bridge of your nose, hitting the covers beneath. 

Lucienne hesitates, her mouth parted as if to insist further, but she stops herself. Whatever horrors she glimpses on your face must be severe enough that she understands how fragile you are. How delicate your state is—and how easy it would be to shatter it completely. 

“It’s been five years,” she states, but not in accusation, a mere reflection. “Let me catch you up on all you’ve missed…”

.

“Admit it, you’ve missed me,” Corinthian drawls, smooth and self-assured, nothing in his countenance evincing diffidence. “I’m the only one in this realm you can have fun with.”

“Someone has a high opinion of himself.”

You walk side by side, your arms linked at the elbows. Corinthian enjoys a spectacle and all the uneasy, leery stares that follow you two. It’s the first time you’ve gathered the strength to leave your room in three days. You’ve never had a room in the Dreaming until now. All this time, flower fields and private nooks have been your bedrooms. It’s a significant improvement to most places you’ve frequented over the decades and far safer even with nightmares roaming freely about. 

You didn’t question it initially, but it has since become clear that being granted a room here, in the castle, is a big deal.

Maybe it’s lingering remorse. Dream didn’t notice your absence. What are five years for someone like him? And if he did notice, he certainly didn’t do anything about it, caught up in his duties as he is. Corinthian was all too happy to inform you of this. But you hadn’t expected Dream to go ripping through realms in search of you, certainly not after how you two parted ways last time, but it had…

It stings just a little to be reminded how inconsequential you are to him or his kingdom, but it also serves as a great reminder. 

You have no home. The Dreaming is a pit stop, no more. 

“Somebody has to.”

Corinthian’s words jerk you from your thoughts, your head lifting. “Corinthian—”

“Don’t bother.” He pats your hand with guileful ease, all smiles and teeth and shadows. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m simply not interested in hearing it.”

Sun glows and weaves through his golden hair, which, perhaps, is what makes him such an effective nightmare. He’s nothing like one until he is. 

“Dream is not shunning you,” you defend, ignoring how his stride has become more rigid. “Everyone abides by the same rules.”

Corinthian tuts, turning his head from side to side as if he can physically shake your words off. “Now you sound just like him.” He sounds every bit disappointed, clicking his tongue. “Rules, rules, rules. You wander all you please. No one takes issue with that.”

Hellfire, ash, burning and peeling, screams and muffled moans of the damned—

“It’s not… it’s not that simple.” Words tumble from your mouth in a rush, strained and choked, and it catches him off-guard, however briefly. You can tell by the simple way Corinthian turns entirely in your direction; something he does for sparse few because he simply doesn’t care to hear anyone else. “I don’t go frolicking through flower fields, Corinthian. I’m cursed. It hurts. Every time. I’ve gotten better, but…”

The nightmare leans closer, his voice low against the shell of your ear, “Then you, better than most, should understand.”

The need to escape, to be free, to be more than your preordained purpose. 

Sighing, you slow to a stop, unliking your arms to lean your palm onto the cool stone bridge instead. Jaggy stone cuts into your sensitive skin while you twist your palm, sparking immediate, tingling friction in the motion’s wake. Memories from Hell come crawling back, dark and insidious, unending, and you stop at once, swallowing. 

“I do. I really do,” you stress, clearing your throat. Forcing a smile, you nudge Corinthian’s side with your elbow when you spot the downwards slant his mouth rests in. “And you’re right. I have missed you.”

His blonde head slants backwards, bright sun reflecting in his darkened glasses. A lazy smile curls across his mouth, canines on casual display. “Sweet talking me, huh?” His brows creep upwards, playful. “It might work.”

Turning, you lean into the bridge, halfway between the castle and beyond it, the Dreaming. In all its breathless, beguiling glory. You seek the sun, five years yearning for it sitting heavy in your chest. Warming under its rays, you let a slight, humorous smile creep across your face. 

“Careful. I might start to think the big, bad nightmare actually likes little old me.”

Corinthian follows your example, leaning back against the bridge, his arms crossing over his chest. “You like nightmares too much.” He inclines closer, nudging your side this time, his tone honeyed and arch, “Haven’t you heard? We’re devious.”

It wasn’t a lie. You have missed him. There’s an odd, often biting, yet near amiable dynamic between you. He entertains you because he’s no doubt bored and prickly about the invisible leash he believes Dream is collaring him with. You’re the closest he can come to humanity without outright breaking rules. Such an act would no doubt evoke Dream’s wrath unlike anything else. You hope you never see the day. 

Corinthian indulges in his digs and bites, snide or otherwise, but in the moments in between, like now, it’s nice. A friendship that’s entirely one-sided, no doubt—you’re not as naive as he might believe you to be—but it’s still a bond you can rely on. Others don’t like him and make no secret of hiding it. You’re perhaps the only one who willingly seeks him out. Two misfits. 

Or perhaps, even to someone as dark and twisted as him, it means something to open his eyes for the first time and not have the one gazing back flinch away from him. Perhaps, sometimes, even a monster dreams of being something other than a monster. 

You shrug, dismissive. “Eh, like is a strong word—”

Black catches your eye. You perk up immediately, pushing away from the bridge. 

“Dream!”

The Dream King stands tall and dreary on the opposite side of the bridge, jaw set and features stony. He’s utterly out of place in an otherwise sunlit and syrupy vista. You raise your hand in a cheery wave. 

“Aw, such a friendly greeting for someone who didn’t miss you much.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, elbowing Corinthian again.

But the nightmare keeps his attention focused on the Dream Lord; a faint, sneering smile perfectly in place. 

“Ooh, look at that frown.” He couldn’t sound more quietly pleased if he tried. Corinthian straightens, smoothing invisible creases in his pale clothes. He taps your nose with a charming, cutting grin as he veers to go, “I’ll see you around, Wanderer.”

“Hate you,” you call sweetly after him.

He doesn’t turn, raising his hand to wriggle his fingers in the air, the amused smirk cutting into his cheeks still visible at this angle. 

You approach Dream unhurriedly, basking in the fresh air, unsure how to read him, if one even could. He’s unequivocally closed off, and you hoard those sporadic softenings you do glimpse with greedy delight. 

“You’re back.”

His guarded gaze flicks behind you, towards the castle, where Corinthian must have long since disappeared inside. “You have a strange affinity with my nightmares.”

It’s an anomalous observation coming from him but rather pointed. Jessamy caws from a nearby tree in a vocal agreement. Your lips pursue, humming under your breath as you halt several paces away from him. Crossing your arms at the wrists, you let them hang loosely over the bridge. 

“You taught me they have a purpose. I like seeing beyond it.”

You examine the crystal clear water. Dream’s stare burns into one side of your head. It’s peaceful. Quiet. His presence alone relaxes some clenched nerve still throbbing inside you. 

“Thank you, by the way,” you add quietly. “For the room.”

Not many stay at the castle, and fewer still can say they have a room granted solely for them. It’s a precious privilege, and even if it comes with an expiry date, it’s not one you plan to waste. 

“You are my guest, and you were injured,” Dream replies. Deep, rumbling words, practical words—something in your chest deflates with them. “It would have been bad manners to leave you outside.”

Right, of course. Ever the pragmatist. 

Scrubbing any emotion from your face, you bend over the bridge, letting your chin dig into your folded wrists as you observe the water below. Your distorted reflection splits and bobs, rippling. Fitting, oddly painful. 

“I did not realise it… hurts.”

It takes a long moment to understand his meaning, to stop yourself from deciphering why he sounds so grave about it.

“Hm? Oh, you heard that, huh?” You give him a non-committal shrug, retreating inwards, burying deep. “It’s… uh, it’s nothing. The first few times were pretty terrible, I’ll admit, but after that, well. Practice.”

He doesn’t accept your flimsy attempt at nonchalance. Soft-spoken, but a tendril of power vibrates through his voice, “Where were you, Wanderer?”

Your throat parched, your skin crawling, you whisper a splintering, “Hell.”

For the first time in three hundred years, Dream goes as still as stone beside you. Birds, wind—even fluffy, large clouds floating leisurely through the hazy sky all settle into unnatural, bone-chilling stillness. You attempt to draw a steadying breath and find oxygen thin in your lungs. 

“That cannot be.” Dream Lord’s voice is a silken caress, unshakable in his conviction. “No one leaves the netherworld unless it is through the Gate itself or by Lightbringer’s own will. Even the Endless require permission to enter.”

“I think… that was the point. To suffer. I couldn’t get out. I tried. I really did, Dream.” Your voice cracks. Forcing yourself to straighten, you inhale deeply through your nose, injecting levity in your voice, “Anyway, it took a while, but I managed. Sorry you had to see me like that.”

A beat. “You came here.”

“Not by choice,” you admit. Realising how that might sound, you hastily add, “I figured you’re still angry. But…”

Dream’s hand settles on the bridge, not too far from your own. “But?” he prompts. 

Your smile might be small this time, but it’s genuine and fond. You slant your chin towards him, giving him your first toothy grin in five years. “In this vast, terrible universe, you’re the only permanent I have. I wasn’t strong enough to choose, Dream. The Dreaming is safe. You’re safe.”

And you wonder what it means that the King of Dreams and Nightmare Realms has no response to that. 

an: woweee, that's another wrap. thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts!!!

[from-the-clouds]

Thinking of a Place (Part VIII) - Kendall Roy x Reader

gif by @televisionchronicles

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Fic Playlist | Masterlist

Summary: The final chapter.

Words: 5.1k

Warnings: Angst, alcohol consumption, brief mentions/discussions of sex.

A/N: When I tell you that I rewrote this chapter 3 different times, rewrote those rewrites, and then left literally thousands of words on the cutting room floor, I’m not dramatizing. I don’t know why I fought so much with this last part, perhaps because I have invested so much into this story and it's sort of sad to see it come to an end. Also because I couldn't seem to be satisfied with any ending that I wrote -- even this one I'm not fully in love with! But I’ve kept everyone waiting long enough. I really appreciate all the love I've received on this story, I've written for so many other fandoms and despite how small I feel like we are on here, the Succession fandom has by far been the most kind and supportive. I hope you all enjoy this, and who knows, this might not even be the last you see of these two. :)

Of all the places to be angry, this was not one of them. You knew that, looking out the windows at the end of the bar, at the palm trees swaying in the breeze and the waves creeping up along the white sand. An old Eagles song played lowly over the speakers, weaving underneath the chatter of the bar's patrons. The whole environment was manufactured happiness. But it didn’t matter. You were still angry. 

It had been a series of unfortunate events that led up to that moment. To you, slumped over a bar at one of the most expensive resorts in Hawaii, wrought with frustration. Continuing to mull it over, to wallow, wasn’t doing you any good – and you knew it.

As you finished off another round of well tequila on the rocks – a drink you were punishing yourself with – a new beverage was placed down in front of you, one you hadn’t even ordered. 

“Thanks,” you smiled weakly at the bartender. At least he understood to keep them coming. 

“Actually, I’m supposed to tell you that this one’s on the gentleman sitting over there,” he jerked his head towards the other end of the bar. 

Eyes nearly rolling back into your head, you refused to look right away. The last thing you wanted was to entertain conversation with some silver-tongued suitor who couldn’t read a room. Wasn’t it obvious to all the other patrons you were upset, that you wanted to be left alone? You’d assumed your sour mood would be deterrent enough on its own, let alone that after a nine hour flight and a tearful argument with the front desk staff you were looking rather haggard.

“Great,” you said sarcastically, but you weren’t in any position to say no to a free drink, taking a swig and welcoming the sting of the liquor. Funnily enough, it never came. Whatever had been ordered for you was an upgrade from whatever cheap brand you’d settled for when you sat down.

The nagging feeling of being watched didn’t let you hold out very long. You would have to give some type of acknowledgement or it wouldn’t go away. Preparing your best bitchy glare, you hoped whoever sent the drink would get the hint that you weren’t in the mood. Maybe it was ungrateful to snub the stranger who bought it for you, but you couldn’t be bothered to feign flirtatiousness at a time like this. 

But the glare didn’t make it very far at all, because when you saw the stranger across the bar, you realized he was no stranger at all. Hands clasped together as he leaned over the counter, aviators tucked into the collar of his linen button down, sat Kendall. His mouth was curved into a coy smile, eyes sparkling, and a person at the booth behind him was not-so-subtly trying to take his photo. You wondered if it was because they were simply shocked to see Kendall Roy fratnerizing at a hotel bar, or if it was because he looked so fucking good. Disgustingly good, seemingly better than the last time you’d seen him in person, salt-and-pepper stubble across his jawline, sunkissed along his cheekbones. 

Warmth flooded your cheeks at the sight of him, a reaction so automatic that you weren’t even able to save face by feigning annoyance. Not to mention the fact that you knew you looked like shit. Slowly, he rose from his spot and approached you. 

“Drowning your sorrows?” he asked, leaning against the bar, and while you badly wanted to play coy, you felt so ashamed of your current state all you could do was shrug bashfully, looking down at the rocks in the bottom of your glass.

“I guess you could say that.” 

“Want company?” 

You gave a small nod, and tilted your head towards the seat next to you. Kendall sat, taking a sip of what looked to be soda water and lime.

“How are you? It’s been awhile.” 

“It has.” He was right, two months had passed since last you’d spoken.

It hadn’t been for nothing, though. Because from the beginning of your fragile reconciliation, you’d been expecting Kendall to fuck you over. It would be a textbook. Grieving the loss of his dad would run its course. In the meantime, you were easy to cling to, something familiar, but disposable – he’d made that much clear time and time again. Eventually he’d find something– someone– better, and you would be left brokenhearted…again.

But after the night of his fathers funeral, Kendall didn’t reach out to you for emotional support like you were expecting. He did still reach out to you though. A handful of times, you’d met up with him for coffee or lunch. The absence of Logan’s malevolent presence in his life seemed a positive change, though that came as no surprise. He divulged to you he’d been seeing a therapist and he was working through the steps of a recovery program – actual healthy outlets for all his trauma.

Not to mention that Kendall’s whole demeanor had changed. It was like he was a different man – you couldn’t help but notice how he stood a little straighter, walked with a little more confidence, smiled more easily. Of course, he still had plenty of demons, and you still saw them slipping in and out of hazel eyes. Even then, it was probably the happiest you’d ever seen him.

Your instinct was still to keep your distance. All your meetups had been civil. Calculated. You didn’t talk about much else besides work, or what you’d been up to lately. And maybe sometimes, you’d reminisce about your days together at Waystar – conveniently avoiding any discussion of all the fighting and feelings. So it was very careful. Kendall was courteous, respectful of your personal space, of your boundaries and your time. After the time you’d spent apart, too, it was clear he moved on. With all the progress he’d made, you didn’t know why that last part was so disappointing. You’d moved on, too. It was for the better, after all.

“How’s Con?”

“Oh, just over the moon,” Kendall said. “His bachelor party is tomorrow. Roman’s planned it.”

“Oh god,” you raised your eyebrows, and snorted despite yourself. You couldn’t imagine what a bachelor party planned by Roman would entail. “Good luck with that.”

Kendall chuckled. “Yeah, I still have no idea what he’s getting us into.”

You’d been shocked to have snagged an invite to Connor and Willa’s wedding. Of the Roy siblings, Connor was the least familiar to you. In fact, of the couple, you were probably closer with Willa than anyone else – you’d spent many a Roy family gathering with her, shivering on a balcony, sharing a joint, and watching the circus from outside through floor to ceiling windows. 

“You’re here early,” Kendall observed. “The wedding’s not until the weekend.”

“Yeah,” you answered. “I was hoping to get out of town, take a break for a couple days, work’s been pretty crazy.”

“I seem to recall the last time we were together, you were bragging about how chill it was,” Kendall smirked. His whole body had turned to face you, knees slotted between your own as he rested his elbow on the countertop, fingers tracing the rim of his glass. You had to make a conscious effort not to stare at his hands. “Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise.”

“Ha-ha,” you said sarcastically. “It was. We’re just growing and understaffed. Good problems to have, I suppose.”

“Well, it can’t be as bad as the shitshow at Waystar, right?”

You felt a smile tug along the corners of your lips, feeling suddenly nostalgic. “No, it’s not that bad.”

Kendall grinned along with you. “Do you remember that time when I had to give that presentation, to…oh fuck, I can’t even remember the client’s name…..And in the middle of the presentation my dad called and made us put him on speakerphone so he could tell them to fuck off?”

“Oh god, yeah. That was fucking embarassing,” you said, straightening up, leaning in. “But he had some beef with the CEO, right?”

“Maybe,” Kendall’s face fell slightly. “That was probably just an excuse to fuck me over.”

The clear hurt in his expression nagged at your gut.  In the beginning, you’d been so naive when it came to Logan’s abuse. “I think I didn’t sleep for like 48 hours preparing for that pitch. And then it was all for nothing.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, I was so fucking pissed,” you raised your eyebrows. “Shit like that was always happening.”

“Uh-huh,” he turned away, and now he was looking at his feet. You took another drink. “Yeah….I still don’t know why you stuck around for so long.”

“Why do you think, Kendall?” scoffing, you looked over at him, knowingly. “I loved you.” 

The words slipped out before you could really process what they meant, the truth revealing itself so easily under the spell of alcohol. His head popped up quickly, his eyes were on yours, doing that thing they always did, searching, yearning, trying to find some sort of validation. But you weren’t going to give it to him. Couldn’t. You cleared your throat and spoke again. “Working with you, I mean. I loved working with you. It wasn’t all bad.”

It was a poor recovery, and Kendall nodded like he understood. In the awkward silence that followed, you scolded yourself for the slip-up. Good god, what the fuck is wrong with you? Get a fucking grip, how many things can you fuck up in one day?

“So, work, then? Is that what’s going on?” Kendall looked pointedly towards your half-finished drink and the empties alongside it.

For a moment, you’d forgotten why you were getting drunk at a hotel bar alone. And you couldn’t believe that it was Kendall who had a front row seat to the shitshow. Why did he always seem to show up at the most inconvenient times? And even worse, right now he seemed determined to get an honest answer. Coming into this trip, you had known you were probably going to bump into him, but you imagined that it’d be in much different circumstances. 

You hadn’t thought about it much, but maybe it’d be at the wedding, after a few days of decompression from work. You’d be wearing the expensive, new dress you’d bought for the occasion, the one that fit you just right. Okay, actually, you’d apparently been thinking about it alot, but no one needed to know that. You’d be put together, competent, he’d be able to see for himself. Look! I’m fine! Look! I have every beautiful thing anyone could want! Look! What you did hasn’t affected me at all! 

It was pointless, fabricated bullshit. And none of it would happen, anyways, because in reality he was here while you were unkempt, dejected, and halfway to blacked out before the bar had stopped serving their brunch menu. Oh, and apparently letting your tongue slip enough to confess old feelings you’d hardly ever acknowledged, not even to yourself. 

When Kendall said your name, you realized you’d never even answered his question.

“Uh, yeah,” you shrugged. It wasn’t a lie…well, it kind of was. If you were someone who considered omitting information a lie. 

“What is it?” you made the mistake of glancing at him, and his gaze was fixated on you again. Not so brooding, but wide, intent. And pretty….no. That was not helpful. 

“Nothing, it’s stupid.”

“What’s going on?” he asked, leaning a little closer, voice soft. 

“You’re going to laugh,” you said, shaking your head. 

“I’m not going to laugh.” 

There was no use in going back and forth all day. You gestured towards the bartender to bring you another round, finishing off the last in your glass before sighing in defeat.

“I uh….I forgot to book a room,” you said flatly. “I mean, I did, or at least, I thought I did. I wanted to come out early and have a few days to myself because work has been so crazy. But apparently it’s been so crazy that it must have slipped my mind. I get here, and the hotel is all booked up, as are all the fucking hotels around here. Now, I’m on one of the most remote islands in the world, and don’t have a place to stay. I’m probably going to have to sleep in the lobby tonight, that is, if they don’t kick me out. So I came here.”

To punctuate the ending of your story, the bartender set your next round down in front of you, and as you reached for it, Kendall caught your hand. “Hey,” he said. “Maybe you should slow down.”

The last thing you were expecting was to have Kendall of all people reprimanding you about substance use. You were in worse shape than you thought. Everything was going to shit. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you entertained the possibility that you were being melodramatic. It was too late to turn back now, though. The anger you’d been feeling shifted to something else entirely, embarrassment surging to the forefront, so strongly that heat was rising up your neck. No, no, no, no, no, don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry. 

Because you were now thinking just a little too hard, you were realizing. Maybe this wasn’t melodrama. Maybe this wasn’t about the hotel room, or your wedding date that had ghosted you last minute and showed up Instagram engaged the next day, or the crying baby that had kept you from sleeping a wink on your flight here. It could’ve been a little, but it wasn’t everything. There was more. You’d spent over a year now at a new job, creating a new life for yourself, determined to find happiness after everything you’d known was destroyed, through some fault of your own. You’d worked so hard to build it all, to convince yourself that it was the right path. But you had no other option at that moment than to face the truth. The truth being that after everything you’d worked for, you couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” your voice cracked, despite the venom you’d attempted to lace through it. Kendall didn’t miss it, even though he loosened his grip and you reached towards the drink.

“Hey.” his voice was stern, a tone you hadn’t heard from him since your days at Waystar. He wasn’t your boss anymore, but muscle memory kicked in, and you paused, just long enough to look him in the eye. “Trust me, I don’t think this is the solution to your problem.” Voice soft, his thumb ran over the back of your hand. You shivered.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got a whole villa to myself…and the kids aren’t flying in for a few days. Why don’t you stay in one of the guest bedrooms? The hotel might have some openings in a few days.”

You shook your head. “Ken, I can’t put you out like-”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing. How many fucking times have I put you out? I uh…probably owe you one.”

You snorted. He was right. “You probably do.” 

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. “Then don’t argue.”

“.....Okay,” you agreed hesitantly. This was definitely a bad idea, the worst case scenario you didn’t even consider when it came to options. But you had nothing else. You’d keep your head down, keep to yourself. It’d be fine. 

“Okay,” Kendall said. “Let me get the tab, we’ll get you out of here.” 

Considerably drunk, you stood, wavering slightly, and Kendall steadied you with an arm around your waist. You couldn’t help but lean into him, and you could’ve sworn on your walk to his suite he was etching soft circles into your hip with his fingers. 

The villa was huge. You didn’t know why all that space was necessary for one person. Four bedrooms, four bathrooms, multiple balconies, and a giant back patio with a private pool and spa that overlooked the ocean. 

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” Kendall said, hands tucked into his pockets as he leaned against the doorway to what was now your room, seemingly scared to cross the threshold while you put your luggage in the closet and snooped around. You turned to him, away from the floor to ceiling window with an ocean view. “I won’t be around much this afternoon, I told Shiv and Roman I’d meet them for lunch and it sounds like we have to help out Con with some last minute stuff.” 

You nodded. “Okay, sounds good.”

“And do me a favor…” 

“What?”

“Drink some water.” 

“Okay, dad.” 

Kendall’s laugh sounded a little pinched, but he stepped away, footsteps retreating down the hallway. Your shoulders sagged in relief once you were finally alone.

After a long nap that lasted a few hours, you woke up somewhere between still tipsy and hungover. Exhausted from the travel, the time change, and the tequila, you gulped down some water, and beelined for the shower, hoping that hot water and the two Advil you popped before getting in would quell the throb between your temples, and your turning stomach.

It was late afternoon now, and the sun would be setting soon. It felt somehow sinful that you hadn’t even stepped on the beach yet, and there was a good chance that a walk with your toes in the sand would clear your mind. After scoring a snack from the fully-stocked fridge, you donned a sundress and sunglasses, and set out.

The water was warm, crystal clear, and you waded ankle deep as you made your way down the secluded shoreline, focusing on nothing but the sound of the waves, the heat of the sun on your exposed skin. It didn’t take long for the problems that earlier had you slumped over a bar to shift into perspective, the tension and stress slinking off your body with each turn of the tide. It wasn’t until the sun began to dip below the horizon you decided to head back.

“Hey.”

You were slinking past the pool on your way to the bedroom when his voice started you. Kendall sat on an oversized lounger that had an impossibly picaresque view of the ocean, and the sunset, thumbing the pages of a book on his lap.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t see you,” you said, sheepishly. 

“That’s okay,” he answered. “Are you uh…are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” you offered a stiff smile, laughing it off. “I’m sorry about all that. Guess that’s what nine hours on Spirit Airlines can do to your psyche.”

“Spirit Airlines?” Kendall cocked his head. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”

“Of course not,” you couldn’t help but giggle at his joke.

“It’s uh, it’s okay, though. To be honest, it was kind of refreshing to not be the one breaking down for once,” he grinned.

“Well, in that case I’m glad I could be of service.”

Kendall laughed, fully this time. “Want to sit?” 

“Only if you promise to change the subject,” you weren’t interested in dwelling on what had happened earlier. 

“Deal.”

Normally you’d say no, but after your walk, you were convinced that it was a little irrational to be so afraid of him, of spending time with him. Things didn’t feel nearly as natural as they once had, but had they ever been that natural to begin with? You still derived a strange amount of comfort from his presence, even if the anxious part in your brain found that displeasing.

Kendall’s shirt lay open, unbuttoned, most of his torso bare, and a few water droplets clung to his exposed skin, probably from a recent dip in the pool. He looked a fair bit more muscular than you remembered him to be, not that you’d had any issue with how he had looked before. In fact, the issue now was that he seemed to be looking better and better every time you were together. You weren’t sure how long you spent checking him out, but you were thankful for your sunglasses when you finally snapped out of it. 

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, seemingly content, one of his arms slung over the back of the couch. You wished you could feel that, too. With the exception of the odd fling here and there, it’d been awhile since anyone offered you any affection. After the stress of the day, you wondered what it might feel like to rest your head on his lap, to have his fingers running through your hair absentmindedly. Even during your brief time together, you hadn’t really been allowed that sort of domesticity. 

“What are you reading?” you asked. He closed the book and shifted over so you could sit next to him, and he showed you the cover.

“Something my NA sponsor recommended. So far, it’s not great.”

“That’s the worst,” you sympathized. “How’s that going, anyways?”

“What, sobriety?”

You nodded. 

“Honestly, it uh….it fucking sucks,” Kendall said, then shook his head, offering a short exhale a weak laugh. “I’m kidding…uh, you know…it’s not so bad. Better than where I was before.” 

You nodded, leaning against the back of the couch and tucking your legs underneath you. “So when you were at the bar today, it was only to pick up women?” you teased. 

Kendall tilted his head, warmth glowing in his eyes. “Just one.”

Your stomach flipped, and you tried to play it off. “Uh-huh.”

Thankfully, Kendall moved on. “So, are you here alone, then?” he asked. “For the wedding?”

“Yeah,” you said. Your on-again, off-again fuck buddy and go-to wedding date, Ron, had bailed on you last minute. Then, right before boarding your flight, your friend had sent you a photo of him cuddled up with a perfect, blonde model, who was proudly displaying a diamond ring to the camera. It was part-hilarious, part humiliating, since the last time you were over at his apartment, he’d made a big show of gifting you a bottle of your favorite Rye ‘to keep on hand’ for whenever you came over. There had always been an expiration date, you weren’t disappointed it was over, but realizing you were the other woman was unsettling, you felt dirty somehow. “Why?” 

Kendall shrugged. “Well, you know….you were at uh, my dad’s funeral with Stewy.” 

You frowned. “....And?” 

“I don’t know, you just….you seemed….close.” He paused. “I thought maybe….”

It clicked for you. “Oh my god. You’re joking.”

“Uh-huh, look, I uh, I just got a vibe.” 

“Oh, you ‘got a vibe’? What kind of ‘vibe’?” 

“Forget it. I’m just saying,” Kendall raised his hands. “I’ve known him for awhile, we used to party together in college, and he’s not exactly the most loyal-”

“Oh my god, stop, I already booked the wedding venue, what am I gonna do?” It was laughable. Stewy had texted you after the funeral to apologize for dipping out, and that was the last time you’d heard from him. 

“Fuck off,” Kendall’s voice sounded pinched, even though his shoulders had relaxed slightly. “I just had to say it.” 

“I appreciate the warning.” Was he….jealous? There was no way. Gerri had already told you a little while back that Kendall had been linked to some former anchor at ATN, and things seemed pretty serious. You had been a little puzzled as to why she thought you should know, and found yourself wishing she would’ve kept it to herself. But this was probably just his guilt talking, some cheap attempt to prove that he actually cared about your well-being, you rationalized. 

You had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that between himself and Stewy, only one of them had ever broken your heart, and it wasn’t Stewy. But you figured it best to stay quiet. “What about you?” you asked. “I assume you’re here alone?”

Kendall nodded.

“Finding a wedding date,” you mused. “It's way harder than you’d think. I mean, the date part is easy, but actually having a good time with the date is always what gets me.”

“Uh-huh, is that right?”

“Yeah,” you continued. “You’re not only a guest at a party, you’re also playing host for someone. You gotta make sure the date is having a good time with all these people they don’t know. It’s so much effort.” 

“You know,” Kendall cocked his head. “You’re making a really good case for us to just go together.” 

“Very funny.”

“What? I’m serious,” he said. “It might not be such a bad idea. And uh…lately, I think that you and I, we’ve been really good. Fucking nice and professional. Haven’t we? ” 

“Mmm, I guess.” 

“I think we’d have fun.”

“Mmmmmmmm,” you wrinkled your nose. “Would we?”

“Come on,” he said your name. “At the very least, we know there’s chemistry.” 

“Oh, is there?”

Kendall leaned forward, slightly, and the lounger seemed a lot smaller than it originally had, his face was only inches from yours. “Do you need a reminder? We used to-”

“Yeah, I know,” you cut him off. 

“I think about it all the time. Don’t you?” One of his hands settled on your knee. Your skin burned where he touched you.  

You bit your lower lip, squirming in your seat, thinking about a few days prior when you’d spent the evening writhing in bed, imagining his head between your thighs. Or the week before, when you’d zoned out during a business meeting, because the only thing ping-ponging around in your brain had been the sound of his voice, low and sultry. Good girl, you look so pretty with your mouth full. 

If for nothing else other than spite, you were determined to keep your wits about you. “Maybe, sometimes….” Even if it was difficult to maintain your composure, you closed the space between you even further, your hand on the armrest by his side, across his body. Kendall smelt of sun, of saltwater and cigars, and the cologne he wore that you’d never been able to place, maybe because he wore something different for every occasion, always equally intoxicating. And you were reminded how easy it was to flirt with him, to render him speechless with his breath caught in his throat. His eyes were half closed in anticipation, until you spoke again. “And then I remember that you’re bad news.” 

Being cruel hadn’t been your intention. You had only wanted to beat him at his own game. But when you pulled away, the ornery sparkle had left his eyes, and they were vacant. Actually, you might as well have slapped him. He tried to save face, swallowing hard, the fake smile he forced looked more like a grimace, and he shifted away from you and brought his legs closer to his chest, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re probably right, I was uh…just kidding.”

You pulled away too, a little ashamed of yourself. But you decided to pretend you didn’t notice his reaction, for his sake and your own. So you changed the subject. “How was your lunch?”

“It was….good,” Kendall answered, but avoided your gaze. “Shiv and Roman are good. Connor is so happy….which is good, too, I guess.

“I would hope so.”

He didn’t answer, just turned to look at the ocean, and you followed his gaze, the last evidence of the sunset just a fading orange glow on the horizon. After a moment of silence, he laughed to himself, bitterly. “Yeah, fuck, I’m uh….I’m trying to think about the last time I was that excited about someone.”

“Oh yeah? Rava?”

“No.”

You knew what he was saying without him even having to say it, when he pivoted back towards you. The attraction you felt towards him – had always felt towards him, was impossible to deny, especially now, with his features basked in waning sunlight. He really was so handsome, you didn’t want to admit how good it felt to have all of his attention, to know what he was saying without having him say it. 

You gave him a weak grin. “I know the feeling.” However short-lived it had been, you just couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

“You’re right, you know?” he answered. “I’m bad. I really fucked it up. I’m sorry.” 

“Kendall, don’t-You’ve already apologized. It’s in the past now.”

At that sentence, he looked back at you, sitting up straight, though the forlorn gaze you were used to seeing had returned to his eyes. It was the most tortured you’d seen him since Logan died. “I loved you, too, you know that? I still-” he began, but paused, shook his head. “I hope you know I’d do anything for you, whether you want me or not.” 

“It’s okay, Ken.” You frowned, wrapping your arms around yourself in a tight hug. “You don’t have to worry about me, anymore.”

“I want to,” he said your name, and reached up to push a loose piece of hair off your face, thumb lingering on your cheek.

He was so close, getting closer, and you were so aware of the proximity between you both. Warmth bloomed in the pit of your stomach, rose like smoke up your neck and settled in your cheeks. And worse, it was prickling at the corners of your eyes.

Almost as if to demonstrate, Kendall’s palm left your face, and he took your hands gingerly, moving them away from your chest so he could pull you closer to him, an arm around your waist. You couldn’t resist the embrace, letting him tuck your head beneath his chin, body pressed against the sun-kissed skin of his torso.

You stayed like that a moment, listening to the steady thump of his heart, his fingertips grazing up and down your arms, skin tingling in their wake. It wasn’t enough. Pulling away slightly, you spoke. “You’ve always had me,” you said softly.

His mouth curved slightly, and he leaned in, his mouth finally connected with your own. Years worth of pining, of fighting, of misunderstanding and miscommunication all seemed to dissipate in that single press of his lips. It was soft, gentle, and he pulled away slightly at one point, to let his forehead rest against your own, his thumb swiping along your bottom lip, his free hand drawing your body somehow closer.

You’d remember the night for the rest of your life, even just if it was in snippets, his mouth on the inside of your thighs, how full, complete you felt when he finally gave himself over to you, the sweet nothings he whispered when you came undone beneath him. And you’d always remember afterward, as you laid in his arms, mapping out constellations in the sky stretched above you, how it felt like everything had finally clicked into place.

[grapementos]

I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH!!!!Can I ask for a cheater bakugo, kirishima or deku? ( can you do all three? That would be awesome 🥲) and pls make the ending v angsty (on the other persons side lmaooowjwisj) like, y/n dates their best friend or something LOL

This is literally my first time, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense 🥲

meliora

(adj.) latin for “the pursuit of better”

a/n: AHH NONNIE ILYSM TY FOR THIS REQUEST. i’ll have all three characters i promise, but for now take kiri. i hope this angst is up to your standards 🥺 and your request made sense dw mwah xoxo also— AGED UP CHARACTERS.

midoriya’s part. bakugo’s part.

cw: cheating, crying, mentions of alcohol/under influence of alcohol, suggestive if you squint, kissing.

kirishima was indescribable.

you'd never before met a man that was so utterly wonderful in every way. every move he made was perfect in your eyes. he could do no wrong.

and he loved you just as hard. he was willing to shout it from the rooftops the second you had an ounce of doubt. you were never his secret--you were his most prized possession; he loved showing you off and flaunting the fact that he, 'had the best partner in the world.'

every one of your friends put money on the two of you getting married and staying together (even bakugo, surprisingly.) you were counting on that outcome.

still, you had disagreements from time to time, just like every other couple, but you had enough patience and sense between the two of you to be rational. you openly discussed your insecurities with each other, only to be met with open arms and gentle reassurances.

you didn't tend to entertain the idea of soulmates, but what other explanation was there? what other phenomenon could be held responsible for your seemingly destined relationship?

whatever it was, you were in love with your soulmate.

that's what you thought, at least.

that's what you thought until he cheated.

he cheated at a party you didn't even want to attend. but, because you loved him, you did. you attended the party only to find your drunken boyfriend eating some random person's face in one of yaoyorozu's million guest rooms. you remembered it so vividly.

it was a sight that was branded in your brain--you couldn't even blink without seeing them together, kissing with such desperation, such hunger.

"ei?" your voice had quivered, phone dropping to the floor, "what.. what're you.."

you wanted to scream when his dazed eyes met yours, glazed over and burning with a look you'd never seen in them before.

"y/n? that's not.." he stammered, looking back and forth between you and the person, "i'm not.. who's this?" as if finally realizing that was not, in fact, you, he shoved them off, crossing the to move towards you.

"you tell me, kirishima! you're the one with your tongue down their throat!" your eyes stung, every part of you trembling with utter betrayal.

"i.. i thought'was you!" he slurred, eyes pleading as he reached out to grab your arm.

you jerked back as if you'd been burned, "me? kirishima, i look nothing like them!" fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you stepped back, blinking quickly to clear your vision.

"s'tp calling me that.. s'not my name." he frowned, "m'so sorry, so sorry.. let's go home, please. let's just go home." he begged, eyes still unfocused. he was definitely not in any condition to drive.

so you decided to take care of him. one last time.

you drove him back to your shared apartment that night, ignoring the questioning looks you received from everyone.

they knew. they'd seen kirishima go upstairs with that person, and yet they let you see it for yourself. likely because you wouldn't have believed that your perfect boyfriend committed such an unspeakable act.

you helped him into the apartment after a long drive consisting of a stop at a gas station to buy some water and kirishima's loud wails and apologies. the entire ride you only spoke three words to him:

"drink your water."

he clung onto you as you guided him to your bedroom, helping him change into more comfortable clothes.

and then the two of you were seated on the bed. silent. alcohol long worn off.

"y/n, please-"

"i'll be gone by the morning. i'm taking everything in one trip." you couldn't look at him. if you did, you'd see his eyes that made you weak, and your resolve would crumble. you would forgive him, you were sure of it. all it took was a look.

"no!" he nearly shouted, sobs racking his body, "no, y/n, you can't. you can't leave me, it was a mistake, i'm so sorry!" his hands tangled in the duvet, presumably because he was too scared to touch you.

"and why can't i," you cursed the way your voice cracked, "kirishima? tell me, please. tell me right now that there is no reason for me to leave you. tell me that you did nothing wrong. tell me that what i saw tonight wasn't real. please tell me i made a mistake, and that i'm crazy, or- or i need glasses or something."

he was trying to talk over you as your voice kept raising, growing more and more desperate as your resolve cracked.

"tell me i didn't see you kiss them!"

he was silent, for his deed was there. out in the open. and he knew he couldn't tell you any of that. it would be a lie. a cold, hard lie you wanted nothing more than to believe.

"thought so." you muttered bitterly, getting up to start packing your clothes. just as you stood, another tsunami of misery slammed into you. you paused, back facing him.

"i just.. don't understand." you whispered, "i thought we were so happy. were you bored? is that it? we've been together so long that you got tired of the same old thing?"

before he could speak, you spoke again, voice heavy with tears, "and why don't i want you to feel the same hurt i do? i should, right? i should be angry and cursing your name and not want to be anywhere near you. i should have left you there at the party and let someone else take care of you."

"why didn't you?" he mumbled after a beat of silence.

"because i'm truly in love with you." you finally looked over to meet his gaze, "i guess soulmates really don't exist, huh?"

-

true to your word, you were gone by morning. you had everything in your car, leaving a note on the counter for kirishima to read once he woke up.

thankfully, you'd arranged to stay with a friend while you searched for a place to relocate. you expected it to take less than a month if you looked consistently and weren't too picky.

what you didn't expect, however, was a message from the one and only katsuki bakugo.

it was him requesting to meet up with you at a coffee shop you were familiar with, which you reluctantly agreed to. as soon as you sent the text, however, you knew it was a bad idea. he was friends with kirishima and was probably only meeting with you because he asked him to.

it was too late, you decided, so you went to get ready for your mysterious rendezvous.

once time rolled around and you were seated at the table with him, you were shocked to find that he met with you on his own accord.

"i don't do people favors. especially cheaters." he’d explained after you mentioned your concern.

it stung. the reminder.

bakugo must've noticed because he swiftly distracted you.

"stop staring off into space, idiot. i invited you here for a reason."

you found that he wanted to help you. when asked why, he just looked off to the side, as if contemplating.

"i know how you feel. let me help you."

"i thought you don't do people favors, bakugo?"

"listen, do you want my help or not?"

you did. you really did. you felt so alone and tired.

so you agreed. and the rest was history.

BONUS:

you eventually fell out of love with kirishima. he'd always have a special place in your heart, but time managed to heal the wound you thought would be the death of you.

of course, you still had love for him, but when you saw the flash of hurt in his eyes after you exchanged vows with bakugo, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel any regret.

you likes? eh? eh? 👀 seriously tho i hope this was what you wanted 🥺 reblogs appreciated !

are you in pain, @zuroki ? hope so <3

[watchmegetobsessed]

LOVE LANGUAGE

a/n: just a little fluffy something i cooked up one morning 🥰

pairing: Harry X Reader

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

Harry doesn’t shy away from telling you how he feels. He has been very vocal about everything that goes on in his mind and you know he has come a long way from being reserved and keeping things bottled up inside him to always telling you what bothers him or what makes him happy. He was also the first one to say I love you. You already knew you felt that way, but you didn’t try to drop it on him like a bomb when he is not ready to hear it, but for your biggest surprise, he said it not long after that. Now it’s been four years and you’re happier than ever. It’s been your longest relationship and at the beginning you were afraid you’d get so used to each other that the sparkles and the fire would slowly vanish, but it never happened. You’re still just as passionate and wistful towards each other as you were in the first month when you spent most of your time in either your or Harry’s bed, exploring each other not just in a physical way, but you also just talked and talked and talked until you knew each other inside and out. And you grew to love him faster and harder than you did with anyone.

Though you love to hear him say those three tiny words, murmuring into your ear while he makes love to you, or hearing him croak it out first thing in the morning, whispering against your lips when he comes home or just dropping it anytime he feels like he hasn’t said it in a long time, your absolute favorite is still the times when he tells you he loves you without using those words. During your time together you’ve come to speak Harry’s love language pretty well. He is a very affectionate person, mostly when it’s just the two of you, but he doesn’t fail to show you his feelings even in the middle of a crowd.

He tells you he loves you without saying the words when you’re sick and he drops everything to come and take care of you.

You had been dating for only a few months when you caught a nasty stomach bug. Your breakfast came back quicker than you could even finish it and you were forced to call into your work and tell them you are not gonna make it into the office today. Then you texted Harry to cancel on your dinner plans and though you didn’t want to tell him that you’ve been spending most of your morning on your bathroom’s floor, he didn’t leave you until you told him what was wrong. Thirty minutes later he was at your place with two bags filled with everything and anything you could need. Medicine, tea, some plain biscuits for when you can finally keep something down and some of his clothes you love wearing when you’re at his place. But when he had checked in on you and made sure you had everything you could need, he didn’t leave.

“Harry, you don’t want to listen to me throwing up every five seconds. Just go and I’ll be fine, okay?” you groaned, lying on your couch that’s the closest spot to the bathroom in case you had to run for it.

“Leaving? I’m not leaving, Love. I’ll be right here—“

He couldn’t even get to finish because you had to throw up again even though you’d been trying hard to keep it together at least while he was there, but you couldn’t stop yourself anymore. Hunched over the toilet, the remaining of your breakfast ending up in it. As you were reaching up to flush it, a hand was faster than you, another one gently running up and down on your back. Harry was quick to kneel next to you, brush your hair out of your face as you waited if there would be more or you could get up from the floor. Harry didn’t say a word, he wasn’t grossed out and he didn’t leave. He spent the whole day by your side, helping and soothing you until you could finally fall asleep in his arms as he kept kissing your forehead, gently humming to you.

He tells you he loves you without saying the words when he buys you things he thinks you’ll love.

It’s not always something useful or expensive, though he is quite good at spending a fortune on you even though you’ve told him several times not to spend that much money on you. Sometimes it’s just something small and seemingly insignificant.

Like when you got obsessed with an ice-cream brand, you ate it day and night, buying basically the whole supply from your local grocery store, up until there was no more. You waited and waited for the restock, but it never came and you later found out that they won’t be selling it anymore.

Harry tracked down the closest store that had the brand, drove almost two hours just to buy it and then came home with a whole box of it, filling your entire freezer with just the ice-cream.

“The saddest thing is that it’s gonna be gone in like a week,” you sighed as you finally shut the freezer closed, finding your boyfriend smirking at you.

“Then I’ll go and get you more,” he simply shrugged, before stealing a quick kiss.

Harry tells you he loves you without saying the words when he watches out for you even when you are not doing that for yourself.

On your third anniversary he was able to make some time for a vacation, just the two of you on a small island with endless sunshine and warm, sandy beaches. You stayed at a private villa that had its own little beach so you could be entirely alone, without prying eyes and nosy fans.

You’d been lying out in the sun for a while and you completely forgot to use any sunscreen. When Harry returned from inside with some water for the both of you, he simply started applying it to your back without a word, making sure he covered every part.

“Mm, thank you,” you mumbled when his fingers started massaging your muscles, the strings of your bikini soon coming undone.

“Don’t want my baby to get sunburnt, right?” he mumbled, kissing you under your ear. It didn’t take long for the tow of you to take advantage of being so hidden away, your bikini bottom coming off along with his swimming trunks, having some giddy, sandy sex on the beach that definitely continued in the shower when you were trying to get rid of all the sand that stuck to your skin.

He says he loves you when he makes excuses to go home earlier from a party just because he knows you’re tired. Or when he waits for you with dinner after a long day, making your favorite. He makes you feel so loved with all his little touches and looks, the way he talks about you to others and how he always makes you his priority.

It’s not always in the words but in the actions, you’ve become fluent in Harry’s love language and you can only hope he understands yours as well. That every time you wake up before him you make sure his coffee would be already done by the time he stumbles out of the bedroom. Or when you ask him to pull over when you’re on a road trip so you can switch and drive for a while because you can tell that he is tired. It’s your way of saying you love him when you drop by the studio with food for him and the band when you know they’ve been probably locked up in there working for way too long and also when you make him the little spoon after a tiring day, knowing how much he loves to be held sometimes. It’s all in the tiny things, understanding each other’s love language.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[bumbleklee]

windblume confession(s)

masterlist | 1k prompt masterlist | pregnancy series

request: (@illusory-torrent) can i ask the meaning behind your url?? just curious. and could i also please request some kaeya and albedo getting competitive over the reader? reader can be gender neutral, i just wanna see my two best bois being competitive haha. thank you!

pairings: albedo x gn!reader, kaeya x gn!reader (love triangle)

warnings: none! (1.5k words)

a/n: soooo the meaning behind my url - it’s not that special lol. i wanted to make a genshin pun (klee = bee) and this is the first thing i came up with. also bea/bee, bumblebea/bumblebee, yktv

During the Windblume Festival, bouquets of flowers and letters were spilling off of your desk everyday. Despite knowing that most of the gifts came from anonymous senders, your heart still skipped a beat.

Part of you wondered if any of them were a prank. You didn’t see yourself as anything special, you weren’t as feminine and pretty as Barbara or muscular like Wagner, yet quite a few patrons found you good enough to pine over.

You skimmed through the gifts one day to see if you recognized any of the names. There was a letter from Bennett that was clearly addressed to Fischl so you tucked away the special note in a drawer with promises to deliver it later. You also found a letter from one of the Knight’s on your squad - but he was much younger than you and, frankly, the letter sounded like puppy love. Two contrasting bouquets of flowers sat side-by-side on the edge of your desk so you reached for them.

The first bouquet was about a dozen calla lilies tied together with a blue ribbon and the second was cecilia’s in a glass vase. The flowers piqued your interest, your mind already forming an idea about where they came from, and you read the attached cards.

“Meet me in the library,” You read aloud, your fingers tracing the edges of the cardstock. It wasn’t signed by anyone. The second one has a similar message, “Find me in the library.”

You wondered if the flowers were sent by the same person. But then why wouldn’t they state that? The questions made you wonder, again, if this was a trap. Could the flowers be from someone who wanted to mess with you? But despite your doubts, you grabbed your things and headed down the stairs to the library.

When you pushed open the door to the library, you realized you had no idea who or what you were looking for. The library was decorated beautifully, ribbon and flowers displayed on tables or breaks between the bookcases. The room itself smelled fresh, too, unlike its usual dusty aroma. While you glanced around the library, you saw Lisa sitting behind her desk and went to see if she knew what was going on.

“Happy Windblume Festival,” You smiled warmly at your coworker, “You’re not going to believe what I received.”

Lisa stopped reading her book to look up at you, the ghost of a smirk on her lips, “Hello, there. So many love-birds flew into your office this morning, I can only imagine what they brought you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Too many unrequited confessions.” She laughed softly at your joke, “Besides that, I received two bouquets of flowers that both told me to meet them here. Isn’t that strange?”

Lisa covered her mouth with a gloved hand and giggled again, “I think there’s something downstairs who would love to see you.”

You raised an eyebrow at Lisa but thanked her and took off down the stairs, careful not to slip on the wooden steps. As soon as your foot touched the floor, your sight met two men who had stopped bickering less than a moment ago. Kaeya and Albedo stood in front of a table, trying to put themselves back together in your presence.

“What’s going on?” You asked, realizing they were probably waiting for you. “Were the flowers from both of you?”

Kaeya and Albedo looked between each other, seemingly glaring dangers at each other. “I don’t know why he’s here,” Kaeya sneered, motioning to Albedo.

“Well, I don’t know why you’re here,” Albedo parroted, crossing his arms. You had never heard either of the men sound as ticked off as they were now.

“You both told me to meet you in the library,” You explained, confused. “That wasn’t planned?”

“No!” They said in unison.

You rubbed your temples, knowing that this wasn’t going to end easily. “I’m sorry,” You mumbled, “But can someone explain what’s going on.”

“Mr. Alberich overheard me planning to surprise you during the Windblume Festival and decided to ruin my plans,” Albedo said. When he spoke Kaeya’s name, there was nothing but venom in his tone.

Kaeya shrugged sarcastically, “I had no prior knowledge.”

“You used Klee to eavesdrop.”

“Did I, now?”

Albedo ran a hand through his hair, aggravated and annoyed. He had never liked Kaeya and this only fueled that fire. Kaeya wasn’t fond of Albedo either. He thought he was overrated in Mondstadt and that his admirers could do better.

“I mean,” Kaeya continued, giving Albedo the side eye, “Was it supposed to be a secret? You were awfully careless with the news.”

“My deepest apologies, I wasn’t aware I needed to broadcast my confession to all of Mondstadt before telling Y/N.”

“Your confession?” You wondered, “So the flowers weren’t a joke?”

Albedo looked at you with curious, and confused, eyes. “A joke? Of course not,” He said. A faint blush crept onto his cheeks, something you had never seen before, and Albedo fiddled with his gloved fingers nervously.

“I wanted to do that first,” Kaeya interjected, frowning slightly.

Kaeya’s words caught you off guard as well. “You like me, too?” He nodded in response and the three of you stood still for a while. Your mind was racing and your heart was beating out of your chest. You couldn’t believe not one but two of your coworkers had a crush on you and were confessing to you. But then the nerve-wracking decision came crashing down on you.

You had to pick one of them, right? The whole point of confessions was to find a possible suitor and here you had two options in front of you. Of course, you could reject both of them and run away but was that how you truly felt?

Albedo was soft and genuine. He often painted portraits of you and took you up to Dragonspine so could have snowball fights with Klee. He paid for dinner for you and recommended new books for you to read during your days off. At that moment, they seemed like friendly gestures. But looking back, you realized they were probably acts to one up Kaeya.

Likewise, Kaeya had his own plans to win you over. He spent exciting nights with you at the tavern and never complained about taking you home when you drank too much. Instead of buying you food, Kaeya bought you gifts like jewelry or artifacts. He often accompanied you on commissions, too.

“I need time to think this over,” You finally said. “Please, just agree not to kill each other in the meantime.”

Kaeya grumbled something under his breath, “Fine.”

“Why do you like me?” You asked, looking at Kaeya. “If you’re going to confess, then confess fully.”

The taller man thought for a moment before sending you his classic, cheeky grin. “I like having a challenge and you, my dear, proved to be that challenge.”

“What?” You asked, slightly offended.

“You play hard to get,” Kaeya continued, using his hands to accentuate his words, “I spoiled you for months and you still acted like we were nothing more than friends. Do friends buy each other gold necklaces in hopes they’ll realize you’ve fallen for them? You even have the necklace on to this day.” Instinctively, your fingers coiled around the dainty necklace around your neck that Kaeya had gifted to you weeks ago. When he gave it to you, you recognized it was a peculiar gift but played it off as Kaeya being extravagant. He sharpened his eyes, “Need I mention you’re the most exquisite looking person in Teyvat?”

Your voice caught in your throat and your cheeks burned with the compliment. You nervously played with the hem of your shirt and looked at Albedo for his answer.

“I just think you’re different,” He said simply, “You’re easy to get along with and I enjoy spending time with you. I feel like we’re compatible puzzle pieces.”

If possible, you blushed harder. Both men were darling and you felt like the luckiest person alive by being adored by both of them. As you glanced between the men, your stomach did a backflip. They were both looking at you with such intent and charisma, as if trying to enchant you. The idea of being with either of them made you feel butterflies.

But they are so drastically different, which made the decision that much harder. If you choose Kaeya, your relationship would be fiery and brand new all the time. He was full of adventure and flirting, favoring nightlife and excitement. And with Albedo, it would be calm and joyous. Your days would be spent in flower fields and underneath trees. Both sounded like a dream to you.

“I don’t know who to pick,” You admitted, holding back a sigh of defeat. “I never thought multiple people would like me at once, let alone you two. I just need more time.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and walked back up the stairs. Your head felt light and your mind was clouded with a million different scenarios. You felt guilty for leaving the men alone but until you could come up with a definite answer, they could wait.

[muselin]

See You Later - Part 1

Who: Beomgyu

Group: TXT

What: Beomgyu/f!reader, collegeAU, slow burn, eventual smut, college student!Gyu, model!Gyu

Word count: 2,238

A/N: this is for @bluekais ❤ Hope you enjoy! Sorry that it's taken so long! There will be a Part 2 coming but I got myself elbows-deep into Kinktober so might take a while as well 🎃

____________________________________

"Tch."

The dissatisfied noise leaving your lips had become habit by now. Just his presence annoyed you, but the fact that he had the nerve to show up late to class almost every time, carrying that stupid skateboard, made your blood boil a little bit. He never studied, never did the assignments, always showed up late and he was still somehow passing this class. This class that you had worked so hard to get into and had to keep working so hard to stay in. It didn't come naturally to you but it did to him and it made you green with envy.

"Ah, Beomgyu-ssi, how kind of you to join us," your professor quipped sarcastically as Beomgyu beamed a smile that was frustratingly charming and headed for the only empty space in the auditorium which, to your displeasure, happened to be next to you.

You didn't acknowledge each other as you continued scribbling furiously into your notebook while Beomgyu sat with his chin leaned on his hand. You noticed that he hadn't taken out anything to write with.

"Now I will hand out your assignments for the next lecture. Remember we have study week, so you will have one week to complete these. Please remain in your seats as you are now."

Your professor proceeded to hand out stacks of papers and you couldn't help noticing that he was handing only one stack for every two students. He was making his way down your row and dropped off an assignment right between you and Beomgyu.

"I can hold it for us," Beomgyu smiled pleasantly as he looked over to you, seemingly unaffected by your sour expression. As the two of you read the instructions for the music production assignment, Beomgyu would stop and mutter to himself every once in a while: "Hmm, I already have a bass guitar for this," "This would be very easy to add a snare to," "I just need vocals and someone to match the drum line to this".

"Alright, everyone ready?" The auditorium hummed with mumbled "yes"es.

"Good," your professor continued, "you will be doing the assignment in pairs, in the order that I've handed the assignments out to you".

You groaned inwardly, noticing yours and Beomgyu's names at the bottom right corner of the cover page.

"Class dismissed!"

You were unsure what to do. You'd have to spend quite a lot of time with Beomgyu to finish this but you didn't have his number and you didn't even know which dorm he was in. Before you could open your mouth to ask Beomgyu when you should meet up, he was getting up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"See you later, Y/N," his voice laced with his regional dialect reached you as an afterthought.

"Tch. Fuck you too, Choi," you muttered.

___________________

It had been four days since you last saw Beomgyu and you were getting nervous. You had started the assignment early and done as much as you could do. You hated to admit it but you really did need him for this. You had worked out a base melody but it was too bare and uninteresting and you knew from hearing him talk to himself that he knew a lot of elements which could add flare and points to the assignment. You hunched over your laptop, browsing the music library. Begrudgingly, at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday, you decided to email him through the university central email list.

### 22:01 ###  Hi Beomgyu, it's Y/N, your partner for the music production assignment. I've thrown some things together but we need to meet to do the rest. I realised I didn't have your number or your dorm address, let me know when we can meet up. ###

You waited for a while after pressing send, just in case he was on his emails right now. At midnight you gave up and went to sleep.

### 03:44 ### Hi! Sorry about that! Can you bring what you have over to mine at about noon tomorrow? Here's the postcode ###

You woke up to the reply from Beomgyu and nearly panicked that you would be late. He didn't live close by at all, the post code seemed to be for a swanky area of newly built apartments downtown, miles away from your suburban campus.

You showered and dressed as quickly as possible. You weren't dressing up for anyone. Jeans, sneakers and a flannel shirt was all Beomgyu was getting from you. You grabbed your laptop and equipment and headed out the door.

________________

At 11:55, you knocked on Beomgyu's door. He lived on the 13th floor and on the elevator up to his apartment you hoped to whoever would listen that this wouldn't turn out to be as unlucky as the out-of-order sign on the second elevator.

The front door clicked and opened to reveal a somewhat sleepy Beomgyu, dressed in a tshirt and pyjama bottoms.

"Oh, Y/N, you're early," he said, then looked at his watch. You found this ironic, considering he never showed up to class on time.

"Well, not by much. Can I come in?"

"Sure," he said, opening the front door widely for you to walk in past him. "I'll make coffee," he yawned.

As you walked past him you couldn't help but note in your head that he smelled really good. You weren't sure if it was his cologne or laundry but it was the kind that settled pleasantly in your chest and made you want to breathe in deeper. You stopped that train of thought harshly as soon as you felt your mind drift that way. You were perfectly happy with feeling generally mildly annoyed with Beomgyu. It was your comfort zone, even if having to work with him was pushing it.

"So how come you don't live on camp-- Wow..."

Your jaw dropped as you walked into the apartment. It was nothing like the cramped dorm rooms you and your friends shared on campus. It was bright, spacious and well-decorated, with huge windows and a view that rivaled the best hotels in the business district.

"How the fuck are you affording this," the words tumbled out of you with little grace before you could stop them.

"Well, since you ask, I work a lot of side jobs," Beomgyu said nonchalantly as he poured water into the kettle in the open-plan kitchen.

"Really? What do you do?"

"Uhm...," he scratched his neck sheepishly, "at the moment I model."

"You? You model?"

"Yeah, why," he tilted his head at you, looking at you quizzically.

Those big brown eyes, the soft curves of his lips, his chiseled jawline... And his hair looked really soft too. Suddenly from thinking nothing of him you were imagining him as a model. You wondered what he modeled for. Could it be fashion brands? Lifestyle? Prints? Maybe even swimsuits? He always wore those baggy jeans and t-shirts, but maybe...

"Y/N?"

"Oh," you snapped back to him, realising you hadn't answered him. "Yeah I just... didn't know, that's all."

"Uhm, cool. Why don't you drop your stuff off in the room down the hall, the one on the left?"

You nodded and picked up your laptop bag and equipment, your feet sinking into the plush carpet as you padded down the hall. You nudged open the door to the room he'd pointed you to, jaw dropping again for the second time today as you walked in.

The room was a small makeshift studio, with mics, a sound control board and several guitars. Several notepads were strewn about along with a few used coffee mugs and muffin wrappers. It seemed to be the most lived-in space of Beomgyu's house so far and you were suddenly starting to understand why he never seemed to pay much attention to the classes. You dropped your bags off in the corner and sat down at his computer, looking at the various pieces of equipment connected to it.

"How do you like your coffee?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard Beomgyu's pleasant voice reverberate in the room. You hadn't heard him come in after you. Covering up your startled reaction, you mumbled your preference and he returned shortly with two steaming mugs, setting them down on his desk.

"Um, so... For this assignment I've tried layering the melodies but it's very bare. I thought we could use it as a starting point and build on it," you said, trying to sound more businesslike.

"That's good, thanks. I actually don't have a lot of time so a head start would be good. I have an hour now but then I need to head out."

Your brow furrowed. An hour? It had taken you three days to put together what you had so far.

"Let's see what you've got," Beomgyu reached for the USB stick in your hands and plugged it into his computer. He downloaded the files and ran them.

An unobtrusive melody filled the small studio. He listened politely, head tilted to one side until it faded out.

"Um... Yeah, I don't play guitar so I wasn't sure what would sound good with that," you started, hands playing with the edges of your shirt nervously. You hated feeling incompetent, especially in front of Beomgyu.

"Yeah, no offence, but it does need a lot more than that," he said. "Let's see what I can do with that."

You sat in your chair and watched him plug one of his guitars into the amp behind you. He tuned it according to the scales in your melody and started to play along.

"Nana naaa," he hummed along quietly. "I don't know about that bar, what do you think," he asked you.

"It's not bad but I think it can go for longer," you replied. Beomgyu nodded, stopping the recording and starting again.

You watched him get lost in his own world as the notes coming from his guitar breathed life into your melody. You watched his fingers strum and pluck, watched his lips open and close in concentration, occasionally the lower one being worried by his teeth. You watched his long hair fall into his face. You simply watched Beomgyu in his zone, not noticing when he stopped playing.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes focused and met his deep brown ones, your lips tensing as you tried to seem attentive.

"Yeah? Yeah, that was good, let's add that in," you spoke quickly.

"Cool," Beomgyu then stood up and reached behind you to switch off the amp. You couldn't stop yourself from breathing in again when his chest and neck nearly brushed across your face. His warm hand dropped to your shoulder, giving you a casual pat.

"Why don't you sit at the computer and keep replaying the recoding while I write down the chords," he suggested.

"Okay, sure," you stood up in the cramped space and there was barely room for you two to switch places. Beomgyu's hands instinctively came up to your waist to steady you as he brushed past you. Your breath hitched but you said nothing as you sat down at his desk and started the recording.

Your combined melody filled the small room and you found yourself nodding along. You hated to admit it but you liked it much more with Beomgyu's additions. You played it several times while he wrote down the chords.

"Right, awesome," he drawled in his dialect after he was finished. "I have to get dressed and head out now, but if you want we can meet up again later today. I won't be done until quite late but I sleep late anyway."

"How late are we talking," you asked suspiciously.

"I would be done about 11, we could meet back here," Beomgyu offered.

You hesitated for a second. It was a lot later than what you considered acceptable but at the same time you didn't trust Beomgyu. You weren't sure you would get any more time out of him than this.

"Okay, deal. Message me when you're done and I'll head over."

"Cool, here's my number," Beomgyu grabbed your phone to type his own number in and called himself. "You okay to let yourself out?"

He left the studio and went into the room across, which you guessed was probably his bedroom. You copied the new files onto your USB before you packed up your things and left the studio as well. On the way you saw that Beomgyu's bedroom door was ajar. You saw him standing with his back to the door as he was pulling his t-shirt over his head. Your lips tensed into a line as you tried to not to make any noise and not even to breathe.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"See you later, Y/N."

You stood frozen in place as your eyes traced the lines of his back muscles to his pretty shoulders, not missing his toned arms flexing as he reached up to push the t-shirt over his head. Your gaze trailed back down his body to his hips where his bottoms were slung low, exposing the two cute dimples at his lower back. He didn't look like he was wearing anything underneath.

Beomgyu dropped his shirt to the floor and you suddenly darted down the corridor, panicked that he would turn around and see you. His bottoms dropped down just as he heard his front door open and shut.