#i came back to do what needs to be done“

[tarotsoul]

ghost in the wind — part two

summary: after gaining some clarity on your position in the court, azriel takes you to see the city, but by the end of the day, he's left with more questions than he started with.

warnings: brief mentions of depression, sexual abuse and loneliness,

word count: 3.9k

series masterlist

In the three weeks that had passed, that familiar sinking feeling had begun to wedge its way deep into the pit of your stomach. You’d seen Nesta on a handful of occasions during that time. Mostly in passing, once when she dropped off more romance novels to your floor. 

Yes, floor. It seemed she didn’t want you sharing the level with her and Cassian, nor the level that you came to learn Azriel occupied just above you. 

It was suffocating you, the loneliness. The House appeared your only friend, and even that could only do so much to comfort and converse. You’d caught Cassian a few times in the mornings, when you were in the lounge reading by the fire, when he awoke to make breakfast and offered a terse nod just as Azriel did. 

Azriel. 

You hadn’t seen him at all since that night. Perhaps he was on a mission, perhaps not. It didn’t matter either way, he had no reason to see you, to seek you out. You weren’t friends, barely even acquaintances. You were a stranger living in his home. 

You had to keep reminding yourself of that.

But for how long? How long were you to be ignored, shunned as though you had a Godsforsaken plague? No, you needed to stop. You knew that wasn’t the case, no matter the nagging voice in the back of your head. 

Your gaze found your ring finger, the lack of the iron band making your stomach churn. You wondered what he was doing right now…looking for you? Or looking for another unfortunate soul he could force his body and mind upon? 

You shook your head, it wasn’t your problem anymore. And for once, you felt okay with being selfish. With putting yourself above him or a stranger. Though the thought still soured your mind. Hadn’t you been wishing all these years for someone to save you? No innocent soul deserved to endure the horrors you had by his hand. 

Just the thought of that endless pain had you standing abruptly from your position on your bed, wringing your fingers nervously. It was without proper thought that your feet carried you out of your room and down the hall, and you didn’t miss what felt like a gentle kiss of a breeze pushing you closer, encouraging you to go where you needed.

Though where you needed to go, you were unsure. You just needed to see someone, anyone. You couldn’t bear these thoughts any longer, couldn’t bear to feel like a prisoner anymore. 

You stopped dead in your tracks in the kitchen, noting Azriel sitting at the dining table with an apple in his hand. His eyes clocked yours, a brief flicker of surprise in his gaze. He pulled the fruit away from his parted lips. 

“Y/N,” he spoke, and his shadows skittered from his shoulders and slithered across the ground toward you. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

Your nostrils flared and it startled you. For years you’d been overcome with such sadness and heartache that you’d briefly forgotten what it had felt to feel anything else. Anger. That was what you felt now, a boiling rage that rooted in your gut—not at Azriel, not at Rafe or Nesta or anyone—no, you felt this anger at yourself for allowing your life to play the way it had, for allowing yourself to be so unseen and forgotten. 

I hadn’t seen you coming.

And you were so, so sick of it. 

“I’d like to see my cousin.” No please, no thank you, no desperate plea of an apology at the tip of your tongue that you had to shove down. No. You were done with being a ghost. With being nothing. 

Azriel quirked a brow, his shadows now resting on your own shoulders as they soothed your hair. He didn’t worry much about it, they often had a mind of their own around the people they sensed were calm and warm and familiar. 

But you weren’t familiar, and right now you weren’t calm and you weren’t warm. Now, you were angry, bubbling over with a whipping rage. His shadows weren’t with you out of comfort, his shadows were trying to calm you down. 

“Nesta is training with Cassian on the roof, I can get her for you—”

“No, not Nesta,” you cut him off. “Feyre, I want to speak with your High Lady and High Lord.”

Azriel’s heart would not stop racing, would not stop thumping so hard it threatened to tear through his chest. It wasn’t in fear, not at all. It was something entirely different, something so foreign he couldn’t understand, he couldn’t control. 

He didn’t dare take his eyes from you, from the way that previous anger dissipated into your usual aura of worry and grief. You were beautiful, more so in the Fae lands than in the mortal. As if the air in Prythian breathed new life into you, as if you’d always belonged here. 

Azriel remembered what you’d said. How everything felt clearer after stepping through that wall. He had suspicions, very far-fetched and precarious suspicions, but he kept them to himself and his shadows as he watched on. 

That icy rage crumbled to a simmering pot of exhaustion as Feyre and Rhysand strolled into the House of Wind, hand in hand. You hadn’t seen your youngest cousin in years, and motherhood—Faehood…it looked good on her. She was thriving and you could almost feel the love and security the High Lord oozed when he looked at her. 

“Y/N…” the High Lady breathed as she took you in. 

You looked much healthier than when she’d last seen you those few years ago. Your skin had begun to regain its colour, your body beginning to rebuild its strength. Those awful bruises had healed, but you still wore that same frightful look on your face. 

“Fey…” You struggled to find the words to say to her, where to start. You wanted nothing more than to hold her, to feel another’s embrace but you didn’t approach. You weren’t accustomed to how things worked here, that even though she was your cousin, she was also High Lady. 

Would it be improper to embrace her? Would Rhysand and Azriel pull you off her? See you as a threat for wanting to feel your cousin's familiar touch and love?

As though she’d read your thoughts, Feyre closed the distance between you both and took you into her arms. Your resolve began to crumble, all of those feelings of loneliness creeping up on you in full force.

You willed the tears back as much as you could, but Feyre held you close, cooing to you that it was alright, that you were safe and she was so glad to have you there. 

It took much of your strength to finally pull away and cast your eyes to her mate, to the High Lord. Rhysand watched with a polite smile, though there was a look in his eyes as he gazed at you…a look that suggested he understood. 

Understood everything that you had endured, every feeling and thought as if he’d also once experienced them, too. 

“I um…I wanted to thank you both for allowing Nesta to bring me here.”

Rhysand chuckled at that, soft and sultry. 

“Nobody allows Nesta to do anything. She does what she wants and we all have to accept it whether we like it or not.”

He spoke in a humorous tone, as if the words hadn’t struck a cord so deep in your stomach that it made you nauseous. 

Azriel tensed beside him, and Rhysand quickly caught on to just how poorly he worded himself. “We are delighted to have you here, Y/N. But I’m incredibly sorry for the circumstances it took to get you out.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes darting between him and Feyre. 

“I appreciate you allowing me a room at the House of Wind, but I don’t wish to overstay my welcome.”

A collective frown plastered on their faces, but you continued. “I don’t know very much about these lands, but I’m happy and willing to work for my keep and find my own place of residence.”

Feyre flinched as though you’d struck her. “What’s wrong? You don’t like the House?”

Your lips parted and eyes widened, worried you’d now offended her. “No! No, the House is wonderful, truly,” you reassured her. “I just don’t want to be a burden, you’ve all done so much for me, I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness. I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable having a stranger in their home.”

Your eyes briefly met Azriel’s hazel ones, something akin to sorrow and regret in those golden orbs. Rhysand then took a tentative step closer, a deep-set frown of worry on his brows. 

“Y/N, if you wish for your own residence, we will fund that for you. But you are no stranger. You are family, and family will always have a home here. If the House of Wind is too much, we have the townhouse you are welcome to, or we can find something else that’s more suited to you.”

There was no point in hiding the silver that lined your eyes, not when you knew the three of them could smell and sense your every emotion. Perhaps that was why a tear fell down Feyre’s rosy cheeks—perhaps she could feel your agony, your appreciation.

Perhaps they all could feel that you were so unused to this kindness, to being wanted. 

Rhysand reached for your hand then, his skin warm against yours and your eyes fluttered closed. Nothing about the action was intimate, but you were beginning to realise just how touch starved you were, and Rhys could feel that. 

“Nesta thought you might want some space and time to adjust.” He admitted quietly, his voice soothing as it coaxed you to open your eyes. A violet gaze full of care and promise. Promise of love and acceptance. 

Then, his voice grew lighter, full of teasing humour. “She also threatened to skin us alive if we allowed you to be alone in the presence of a male. We never intended to make you feel alone.” 

… all Azriel did was give you a terse nod in greeting and a thin smile before walking down the hall and out of your sight. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. How foolish you had been to think you were a burden, that they hadn’t wanted you there. A watery chuckle left your lips as you opened your eyes and met Azriel’s gaze again. Sorrow. Guilt. That was why. 

You looked back to Rhysand just as something gentle stroked at your mind. It took you by surprise but his eyes never left yours, as though he was coaxing you to let him in, to let him feel your pain, to let him understand better. 

It scared you, the idea of anyone seeing your rawest thoughts and emotions. But his eyes, those violet eyes so familiar and warm in a way you could never begin to understand. So you let him in, let him feel everything you tried so hard to keep hidden away and locked up, and it caught the breath from his lungs, rendering him speechless. 

He swallowed thickly, eyes fluttering closed. And in a heartbeat, that pain and agony mellowed and faded until you felt nothing at all except pure relief. You didn’t know how he did it, how he forged his way through the dark forest of your mind and guided you through the other end.

There were no words to describe it. Nothing except at the end of that dark forest lay an open field of fresh soil and grass and trees and sunshine. A fresh start in mind and spirit, a place for you to plant new seeds. A place to hope. 

As quickly as he entered, he retreated. And he took that darkness with him—as much as he could. 

“I understand the pain you have endured in your life. For fifty years, I experienced something very similar. But that pain does not define you. The mind is a powerful thing, Y/N. As long as you believe in hope, you will always find it.”

He released your hand then, stepping back to Feyre’s side. 

“Tonight, we will have a family dinner at the House of Wind so you can meet the others. The House will always be a home to you, whether you chose to stay or find your own residence. But you needn’t do anything alone anymore. And if you’d like to work, we can find something for you, but for now…enjoy your freedom.”

A gentle tapping at your bedroom door broke your attention from your book. You blinked, waiting to see if you'd heard right, when a lone shadow slinked under your door as if to silently let you know who was on the other side. 

Placing your book to the side, you padded to the door and slowly opened it. Azriel stood a respectable distance away, allowing you space to breathe and he offered a gentle smile in greeting. 

“I was about to head into the city for some supplies…I was wondering if you’d like to join me. I’d have to fly you, of course, if you’re comfortable with that.” 

Your heart thundered in your chest. Not at the aspect of being alone with him, but at the thought of finally exploring the city you watched from your balcony every night. 

You loosed a breath. “Am I allowed?” 

He frowned, a shadow reaching for your fingers in a way of reassurance. “Of course. Rhys meant what he said. You’re free to go anywhere you wish.”

You inhaled somewhat shakily, and found yourself nodding your head. 

Azriel took a moment then to take in your appearance. No doubt clothes that Nesta had sorted for you—a pair of simple black leggings and a thick grey knitted sweater. 

You noticed his eyes racking over your outfit and a warmth found its way to your cheeks. “Should I change?” 

His eyes met yours and he shook his head, his smile growing just slightly. “No, not unless you want to.” You nodded just as he added, “I think you look lovely.” 

A compliment. Gods when was the last time you’d received a compliment? There was no hiding the heat that painted your cheeks and neck, no hiding the way you averted his gaze and rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet. 

Ah, shoes. You needed shoes. 

“Just let me find something to put on my feet.”

You turned and left the door open, allowing Azriel a view of your bare room. He noted the lack of…well anything. Nothing on your walls, no nick-nacks or trinkets. Nothing but a satchel on your dresser and three books on the window seat. 

A moment now to compose himself, to regain his bearings. He didn't have to keep his distance anymore, didn't have to hide his growing intrigue and infatuation with you.

Infatuation. As if he were nothing more than a lap dog. Rhys had warned him as much—to not be how he had in the past. And it was easy this time to reassure his brother that it wasn't like that.

It wasn't a hungry desire that consumed him, no. It was something deeper than that, something inexplicably and irrevocably crippling.

But he had promised himself to be mindful of your past, your current state. He wanted to get to know you, an dire need and desire for you to get to know him, too.

His shadows threatened to follow but Azriel reigned them in, scolding silently that it was rude to enter uninvited. He and his tendrils of darkness waited at the threshold of your room, watching as you approached once more with a pair of flats on your feet. 

It was then that Azriel could sense your excitement. And that unfamiliar feeling found its way in his chest and stomach and soul again. 

You had never seen anything like Velaris before in your life. It was just as beautiful in the day as it was at night from the view of your bedroom. Azriel landed softly, mindful of you the entire flight down and as your feet hit the cobblestone path, you took a deep breath. 

The streets were wide, rows of shops and vendors and restaurants everywhere you looked. Bustling with life, fae of all varieties walked the streets of their home. Some blue, some pink, some green. 

It took you a few moments to take it all in—so overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of what you’d been missing in these twenty-six years of your life. Your hand was still wrapped around Azriel’s bicep as he tucked his wings in and began to guide you through the city streets. 

Too caught up in your surroundings, you missed the looks of passersby that lingered a little too long. The citizens of Velaris were not used to their Shadowsinger escorting a female so intimately through the city. Much less a mortal female.

But no one seemed to balk at that, no one appeared to have a problem with your presence. 

Azriel walked you through the streets, pointing out different places that he and the rest of the Inner Circle liked to frequent most. You were in awe, completely dumbfounded by the sheer beauty of it all. 

And when he guided you toward a merchant's cart full of crystals and rocks and stones, your excitement seemed to grow tenfold. 

“You like crystals?” Azriel asked, noticing the way your feet hurried a little faster to view the vendor. 

A brief smile coated your lips as your eyes trailed the pieces on display.

“My mother used to collect them. Secretly, of course—they were forbidden in the mortal lands, claimed to be used by the Fae and other…creatures. She said they harnessed healing properties. They were all I had left of her.”

It was the most Azriel had heard you speak at once, and he was not about to let you dwell on that for a single moment. He wanted to hear more. 

“Did you bring them with you?”

Your smile faded, fingers reaching out to trace over an uncut rose quartz. “No. After Rafe and I wed, he found them and he threw them into the river.”

You didn’t look at Azriel as you spoke, didn’t even know why you admitted such an agonizing memory outloud, but he didn’t press further. Though you were sure you could’ve heard a shadow of his hiss in disdain.

“This one is tigers eye.” You pointed to the smooth stone no larger than a silver coin. “My mother called it the Stone of Courage…and this one is black tourmaline, the Stone of Protection.”

Azriel watched you closely, watched your shoulders relax at the memory of your late mother. He scooped them into a scarred hand, nodding for the merchant’s attention and they were wrapped in parchment and handed over to you.

You blubbered, looking between the merchant and Azriel, to tell them both that you were simply admiring, that you had no money. But Azriel nodded a thanks and with a hand to the small of your back, he guided you further into the city.

“If you see something you like, put it on the House’s account and it will be taken care of. Rhys has more money than sense, he’d be offended if you didn’t spend it.”

The thought of spending the High Lord’s money was not one that sat well with you. Despite the kindness he’d shown earlier, the promise of you not being a burden…you didn’t want to take advantage anymore than you already had. 

You didn’t say anything, though. Not when you had a feeling Azriel would only try to convince you otherwise. 

You walked for another thirty minutes, your hand still around his arm but he didn’t protest, didn’t allow you to be separated from him as you walked through a busier crowd. 

And then you saw it. That beautiful winding river that sparkled like the deepest sapphire. It flowed through the city, loitered with ships and boats to import and export all sorts of goods. 

“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Breathless. You were utterly awestruck. Yet Azriel couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from you. In his 500 years of life, he’d seen some incredibly gorgeous females, yet none as exquisite as you. 

There was nothing mortal about your beauty, about your aura. And the longer he was spending in your presence, the more he felt himself sinking under. 

And watching you now, so relaxed and at peace… 

He shouldn’t be feeling this. Not again. Not for you. And yet despite that, he found himself saying, “You haven’t even seen the Rainbow yet.”

You looked at him then, eyes glistening and cheeks warm. 

“What’s the Rainbow?”

Azriel smiled, wide and untamed and your heart stopped. “It’s what Velaris is known for. There’s a hundred galleries, supply stores, sculpture gardens…and anything in between.”

He felt like he was going to die. His heart would not stop pounding, his shadows would not stop skittering. The smile on your face grew, your eyes wild and alive. That unfamiliar feeling—he knew what that was now. 

Excitement. And not yours this time, but his own. Something he hadn’t felt since Rhys and Cassian taught him to fly as a young boy. 

“I’ll take you,” he found himself saying. “Whenever you want to go, I’ll take you.”

You looked back at the river then, hope in your eyes once more. For the first time in your life, you felt like you belonged. You could see yourself happy here, living and not just surviving. 

And Azriel, oh, Azriel wanted to watch every moment of your happiness. Because despite the horrors you’d been subjected to, despite the things Rhysand saw in your memories, the thoughts in your mind…you still held hope. 

You still longed to live another day. 

So he didn’t follow as your feet carried you across the river bank, didn’t say a word as you sat on the grass and let yourself feel and breathe and water that fresh field in your mind. 

He watched from afar, allowing you this moment. 

And as you stood and raised your hands from the soil and sauntered toward the rivers clearing, Azriel’s shadows began to quiver in that now recognisable way his chest had seized throughout the day, whispering to him.

A lonesome patch of brown and green tulips lay in your wake, as though you’d breathed life into the earth with nothing more than your mind and touch. 

He balked and the shadows whispered again.

So that night, after dinner with the Inner Circle, where you laughed and smiled and ate…Azriel found himself travelling across Velaris at a lightning speed toward the wall at the border of the Spring Court and mortal lands. 

And there, where the remnants of that creature barely remained, laid another solitude patch of tulips—brown and green. 

a/n: hehe, you're truly not prepared for what i have planned for this series hahahaha but i would love to hear your guys' thoughts and theories about where you think this series might be going!!

if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

tag list: @anna-reader-blog @bubybubsters @honethatty12 @angiieguevara @honk4emoboyz @e1jeyy @celestialgilb @rcarbo1 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @judig92 @moonfawnx @historygeekqueen @idkitsem @horneybeach1 @apenasandorinha @thaynarajejheje @popcornlauncher @mrsjna @fuckingsimp4azriel @kk191327 @babypeapoddd @bluebries81 @secretlyhers @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mixheleee @be-your-coffee-pot 

[rafesweetie]

sometimes prissy!reader has a bit of an attitude … it’s safe to say season 1 rafe doesn’t tolerate it.

your wispy eyelashes almost touch your eyebrows as you roll your eyes at your boyfriend, who was telling you that there was still another two whole hours of the golf game left.

it wasn’t your fault, the weather was beating down on you and making your soft skin sweat, your thighs were so hot that they were sticking to the seat in the golf cart, and you ran out of water and beer an hour ago, and the cart girl was no where to be seen. you were promised a comfortable and relaxing day, and instead you’re hot and bored.

rafe’s lip curls up in annoyance at your eyeroll, and he scoffs and walks away, leaving you pouting in the cart. he’s trying to enjoy the day, there’s no way that he’s letting his prissy girlfriend spoil the fun by needing his constant attention.

fanning at yourself when the sun blares down on you, you’re truly putting on a show for rafe, exaggerating so he can take you home. even with his baseball cap that he stuck on your head at your third complaint, and the last sip of his beer that he gave you half an hour ago, you’re still not satisfied. he’s starting to think you’re never satisfied.

“rafe, do you have any sunscreen? i think i’m getting burnt,” you call out after he swings the golf club.

“you think i pack fuckin’ sunscreen? not my fault you’re wearing a tube top, little shoulders bound to get burnt,” he steps back to let topper take his shot. “top, you got any for my girl?”

“nah, man, never pack that shit,” topper answers. rafe can hear you groan from your seat, and usually you’re at least saying ‘thank you’ for checking, but you’re so bored that you’re beyond sweetness.

“do you guys have, like, anything? this is so boring,” you complain from the cart.

topper asks, “did you bring your phone?” and you tell him it died.

rafe’s frankly done with your subtle tantrum, stomping over to you, swinging the club in circles as he walks. if your brain wasn’t so foggy from the heat then you’d admire how his arms look in that polo top, but you can barely even think.

“how about you keep score? hm, kid, how does that sound?” he offers, handing you the scorecard.

“that’s boring, i don’t even know how golf works, don’t know how to do this,” you complain. “rafe, i just wanna walk home, i’m done with this, so boring,”

“all i’m asking is for you to keep score.”

“i don’t have a pen.”

“use your lipliner,”

your lip curls in distaste, a habit picked up from your boyfriend. “that’s stupid, its like, $40,”

“hey,” he scolds. “don’t know where this little attitude came from but it stops now, okay? shit, babe, just trying to enjoy the game. you wanna, uh, you wanna walk home? that what this is? is that what you’ve come to?”

“are you dumb? i’m in heels—“ he cuts you off instantly, not liking your insinuation one bit.

“hey! hey—“ you expect him to grab your jaw or wrist but he grabs your nipple through your shirt, tugging at it so you’re dragged closer to him.

“don’t speak to me like that, a’ight? not fair to me. tried to bring you out here for a fun day, don’t need the fucking insults. say something nice to me or don’t say shit at all. or i can bring you home right now and give you some shit, and i promise you you won’t like it. sit in the cart, keep score, be nice. can you do that?” he continues. you nod, and he pinches your nipple harshly, making you squeak, then lets go.

you watch rafe’s vieny hand adjust your top after that, then watch as it moves up to your cheek. he pats it, gives you a nod with some pretty harsh eye contact, then leaves.

he always knows how to shut you up.

[aajjks]

Wifey and Groceries (m)

synopsis. Another day, another shenanigan. Going grocery shopping with your nightmare of a roommate who really wants to fuck you, can’t be that much of a struggle, can it?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: crack, 18+

warnings: grôcêry stôre shênânîgâns, flïrty jungkôôk, ôbsêssêd jungkôôk, tsûndêrê yôû, împlîcît sêxûâl jôkês, ânnôyîng jungkôôk whô wôn’t stôp bâbyîng yôû, lïkè îf yôû thïnk lâûghîng îs flïrtîng.

note. I never imagined receiving so much love on stuff like this but thank you- thank you so much for sending so much love on stuck with you and loving our horny roommate jaykay so much. 😵‍💫🥺 so on high demand here is another part. If this flops like I’m expecting well- umm but anyways I hope you guys enjoy this but please share your thoughts and feedback and if this also becomes a hit, I will write another part and I will really make this a series!! ENJOY!

“Jungkook, I swear to God, put that back.”

What did you do so wrong in your past life to deserve this kind of torture in the human form of your roommate, Jeon Jungkook?

You cannot believe this.

You glare at the ridiculous amount of instant ramen he’s just dumped into the cart, your fingers gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles are white.

It’s the third time he’s done this, and you’re this close to losing it in the middle of the aisle.

“What? We’re gonna need it,” he says, all faux innocence, holding up one of the packs like it’s a sacred artifact. “You never know when there’s gonna be a ramen emergency.”

“There’s never going to be a ramen emergency, you idiot,” you snap, shoving the packs back onto the shelf. “Stop acting like a child.”

Jungkook gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him. “Wow. You’re so mean to me. Is this what married life is gonna be like?”

“Married life?” You look at him like he’s grown a second head. “We’re not even—why are you like this?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,”

he smirks, leaning casually on the cart. “We’re grocery shopping together, picking out ingredients for our future home-cooked meals. Pretty much married already.”

“Jungkook, I’m going to kill you.”

“Whoa, whoa, Mrs. Jeon, let’s not resort to violence,” he teases, pushing the cart forward as you glare at him. “Not when we’re still in our honeymoon phase.”

MRS JEON???? What the fuck is he barking about?

You shove the cart to a halt, ignoring the way he laughs at your frustration. “Stop calling me that. And stop putting random crap in the cart!”

“I’m not putting random crap in the cart.” He points to the giant stuffed bear sticking out of the basket. “This guy’s coming home with us. He’ll be perfect for our couch.”

“Jungkook, we don’t even have a couch.”

“Yet,” he says, grinning. “But when we do, he’s gonna look great. You’ll see.”

You groan, turning your back on him to grab the toothpaste you actually came for. But before you can even decide between mint or charcoal,

Jungkook sidles up behind you, way too close for comfort.

“Why are we even looking at toothpaste,” he murmurs, voice low, “when your smile’s already perfect?”

Your jaw drops. “Are you serious right now?”

“Always, babe.” He smirks, leaning casually against the shelf like he’s in a photoshoot. “You should get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck with you?” You scoff, shoving the toothpaste into the cart. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t need to. You do it for me,” he fires back, trailing after you like a lost puppy as you head toward the produce section.

You ignore him, but it’s impossible when he suddenly grabs a cucumber and holds it up like a microphone.

“So, tell me,” he says, pretending to interview you, “what’s it like to be out grocery shopping with the man of your dreams?”

“Man of my nightmares, you mean,” you mutter, snatching the cucumber from his hand and tossing it into the cart.

“You wound me,” he says dramatically, clutching his chest like you’ve just shot him.

Then he grabs a pack of strawberries and holds it up.

“What about these? Strawberries for my sweetheart?”

“Your sweetheart isn’t here, Jungkook,” you deadpan.

He’s really testing your patience right now.

“Sure she is.” He winks, tossing the strawberries in the cart before you can protest.

By the time you reach the checkout line, your cart is a chaotic mix of actual groceries and Jungkook’s ridiculous additions, including the giant stuffed bear he refused to leave behind.

He’s a big man child.

As the cashier starts scanning your items, Jungkook casually drapes an arm around your shoulder.

“By the way,” he says, flashing his signature grin, “this is my girlfriend. Isn’t she pretty?”

Your brain short-circuits. “What—no, I’m not—;”

“She’s just shy,” Jungkook interrupts, squeezing your shoulder.

“But yeah, she’s the love of my life. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Why is your heart fluttering?

You slap his arm off you, your face burning as the cashier tries to hold back a laugh. “Jungkook, shut up.”

Just shut up before I shove my fist up your mouth.

He just laughs, that loud, obnoxious laugh that makes you want to scream and smile at the same time.

As you drag him out of the store, he’s still grinning like he’s just won the lottery. “Admit it,” he says, nudging your shoulder.

“You had fun.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, twitching up into a reluctant smile. “You’re insufferable.”

He really is insufferable and you’re constantly suffering.

“And yet, here we are,” he teases, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Wanna grab ice cream on the way home, wifey?”

You groan, but you don’t shove him off this time.

[n0vazsq]

Mi vida | FC43 x Reader

pairing . . . franco colapinto x rbr!driver!reader

summary . . . What's better than one chaotic F1 driver? Two! And that's the story of how you got together with your boyfriend, Franco

request . . . no!!

word count . . . N/A

warnings . . . none! story set few days before monza! cringe-ish (??) dialogue at the end?

faceclaim . . . girls from pin!

alexavia yaps . . . woohoo!! finally wrote a smau again and its for my boy franco!!! kinda short but yeah i made franco and y/n gen z pr nightmares!! hope yall enjoy it <3

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1, yourbsf and 2.3M others

yourusername look at my driver dawg he's losing this race Tagged: francolapinto

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maxverstappen1 he's in a williams

yourusername and?

maxverstappen1 him losing shouldn't be a surprise

francolapinto 😔

yourusername MAX DONT BULLY HIM

maxverstappen1 ill make sure to tell him sorry when i lap him

francolapinto what did i ever do to you max

maxverstappen1 say lewis is your idol

username1 i live for the rbr teammates and franco fighting

username2 raw. next question

username3 girl went to f1 and became a whole new person (cough franco terroriser cough)

yourusername i need to put him in his place, I AM the one with the redbull seat not him

username3 Y/NRPLIED HOLY SHIT

username4 praying for their pr managers

username5 i just know they made max's life a living hell

username6 i'm shaking for the interviews because i know y/n and franco will be menaces

username7 franco's f2 interviews and y/n's interviews now scream 'i will destroy your life'

username8 woah

username9 y/n please post more y/n

francolapinto who's that handsome man

yourusername me

francolapinto you can't be this beautiful

yourusername wow okay tell that to your next girlfriend because WERE DONE

francolapinto dont break up with me before my first f1 race ill ram you into the wall

yourusername ill crash in fp1

francolapinto noo mi vida youre so sexy pls dont die haha

yourusername forgiven 😊

username10 are we just going to ignore them breaking up in a comment section

username11 that happens like thrice every day just ignore them

username12 man i love them

username13 goats of f1 frrr

username14 theyre so iconic being the first couple in f1

username15 meow

username16 real

username17 screaming crying throwing up

username18 manifesting franco ends up in the points

username19 what about y/n??

username18 queen always ends up in the points

username19 mb mb

username20 franco calling her 'mi vida' MY HEART CANT TAKE THIS SHIT

francolapinto

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, bizarrap and 1.1M others

francolapinto life is hard (p12 in my first race) but at least mi vida got p8! and we did the track walk together 😊🫶 Tagged: yourusername

click to view all comments

username21 i REFUSE to believe franco typed that caption

username22 FRRR like its too innocent and peaceful

username23 their pr managers took over

username24 HOW IS HE SO PRETTYYYY

username25 my kind of love frrr

username26 no.1 couple argument closed

username27 sigh i wish i was a wag

alex_albon photo credits?

yourusername up my ass

francolapinto no mi vida only i can see up your ass

yourusername what he said

alex_albon tmi....

username28 theyre back!!!!

username29 i live for their chaos

username30 got me on my KNEES

username31 what id pay to be her

bizarrap ayyy ¿cuándo vas a hacer que nos veamos? (ayyy when are you going to make us meet?)

francolapinto pronto pronto (soon soon)

bizarrap dame una fecha exacta hermano (give me an exact date bro)

francolapinto cuando vienes al gran premio (when you come to the grand prix)

bizarrap vale vale (okay okay)

username32 I SEE THE AESTHETIC VISION FRANCO

username33 shes so pretty omgggg

username34 idk if i want to be y/n or franco

username35 holy shit hes gorgeous

username36 came here for franco stayed for y/n

yourusername woah youre so hot

francolapinto youre hotter

yourusername nahhh youre way hotter

francolapinto kiss me if im wrong but im hotter

yourusername then i wont kiss you because youre hotter

francolapinto fuck i didnt think of that

yourusername ill still kiss you just come over to my driver room

francolapinto 🏃🏃

maxverstappen1 should i be worried or....?

yourusername mind your business max

maxverstappen1 i'm the one who's going to here those disgusting noises not you

yourusername too bad

alex_albon i feel like i should be grateful its not happening in williams

francolapinto im here mi vida where are you i cant see you

yourusername im right here in the room??

maxverstappen1 WHAT IS FRANCO DOING IN MY ROOM

francolapinto shit wrong room

yourusername hurry up franco

francolapinto On my way!

maxverstappen1 let me leave the garage first

username37 man i love them

username38 HELP FRANCO GOING TO MAX'S ROOM???

username39 did max just expose them or

username40 i feel like im intruding reading the comments between them

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1, bizarrap and 2.8M others

yourusername haters wish they were on our level fr Tagged: francolapinto

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username41 if being in a parasocial relationship with them was a crime id be executed

username42 THE PICS??? EXCLUSIVE SUBSCRIPTION??? EXCUSE ME???

username43 how are they both so good looking

username44 the face card is INSANE

username45 I NEED THIS SO BADLY UGHHHHHHH

username46 STOP not the matching glasses

username47 need a boyfriend who will take me on bike rides while i wear my redbull helmet and he wears his williams helmet

francolapinto i dont want to see my beautiful face i want to see YOUR beautiful face

yourusername but youre so pretty how can i not put your face more than mine

francolapinto mi vida your face isnt even on there

yourusername yes it is

francolapinto its covered by that ugly helmet

redbullracing 🤨

francolapinto this one is ugly i like her own customised helmet

yourusername aww amor 🫶 i love your helmet and i love you

francolapinto i love you more

yourusername no i love you more

francolapinto no

alex_albon if you continue with this sappy stuff ill vomit

yourusername okay 'goodmorning baby'

alex_albon SHUT UP

yourusername oi francolapinto we found his weak spot

francolapinto lets get ready to terrorise him

yourusername bet

username48 if they need a third im always available

username49 i want to see mother and father but theyre more like mommy and daddy

username50 erm

username51 if my bf aint like this ion want him

alex_albon ill admit this is actually cute

yourusername thank you!!

francolapinto we're not cute we're hot

yourusername we're both tho

francolapinto true

alex_albon why'd you have to ruin such a beautiful and innocent moment

francolapinto life

yourusername WORDS 🗣️ 💯🙏❗

username52 legit can't decide who's better looking

username53 oh how i need this more than oxygen

maxverstappen1 franco doesn't how to play padel

yourusername he beat me

maxverstappen1 anyone can beat you

francolapinto don't bully her like that

maxverstappen1 or what

francolapinto brazil 2018 pt2

maxverstappen1 DONT YOU DARE

yourusername ok max thats it go stare lovingly at charles or idk

maxverstappen1 ???

francolapinto we all know max dont worry

maxverstappen1 ??????

username54 so um whens the wedding

username55 man i need me a francoyn relationship

username56 did they just confirm lestappen?!?!??!?!

username57 im sighing dreamily at these pictures

bizarrap ah so youre the girlfriend?

yourusername yes yes i am

bizarrap y'know i cheer for you and not franco because you get higher places

yourusername im flattered 😊

francolapinto this is a betrayal you should be cheering for ME only

username58 THE PICS.

username59 giggling blushing and kicking my feet

username60 when will y/n post more y/n sigh

francolapinto how are you so gorgeous

yourusername i should be asking YOU that

francolapinto mi vida you are the prettiest girl i have ever seen in my life and you call ME gorgeous?

yourusername fuck yes

francolapinto i love you

yourusername love you more

williamsracing

liked by francolapinto, yourusername, alex_albon and 1.3M others

williamsracing can you spot the odd one out? Tagged: francolapinto, yourusername

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username61 how to kms no borax no glue

username62 people DIED (i'm people)

username63 they haven't commented yet???

username64 ikk it's so weird

username65 they usually hop on after like 6 secs

username66 its not a want its a NEED

username67 MILF = man i love franco (and y/n)

username68 i just KNOW their kids will be BEAUTIFUL

username69 face card never declined

username70 and never will

redbullracing don't go stealing around our drivers

williamsracing im just the admin 😔

redbullracing me too 😔

username71 driverS????

redbullracing that was typo

username72 IS FRANCO GOING TO REDBULL??????

username73 redbull admin x williams admin

username74 the otp fr

username75 the lack of franco and y/n is concerning

username76 WHERE ARE THEYYYYYY

francolapinto add more photos of mi vida i want to see her beautiful face

yourusername i want to see YOUR beautiful race

francolapinto running

username77 there they are

maxverstappen1 admin why now i have to hear them make out for the next 3 hours

williamsracing sorry?

username78 3 HOURS???

username79 theyre more chaotic than we thought

username80 aww y/n looks so cute

yourusername shit where's franco i want to see his face

williamsracing we want to see YOUR face

yourusername oh...😊 admin you make me blush

francolapinto admin?

williamsracing im sorry pls dont kill me

francolapinto i wont just because you take photos of me for mi vida

williamsracing i love you y/n

yourusername love you too admin

yourusername and you too franco

francolapinto love you more mi vidaaa

francolapinto

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, bizarrap and 1.1M others

francolapinto to mi vida, the love of my life, happy anniversary to us and i love you forever Tagged: yourusername

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username81 deleting all my socials after this

username82 they are SOULMATES vro

username83 this screams 'forever and always'

username84 'mi vida' OKAY BRO BYE IM LEAVING THIS EARTH

username85 legit fairytale vibes

username86 imagine being this in love

bizarrap ¡enhorabuena a los dos! ¡que sean muchos más! (congratulations to you two! here's to many more!)

francolapinto gracias hermano, lo aprecio (thanks bro, i appreciate it)

yourusername gracias!! (thank you)

username87 the caption is from a song i refuse to belive franco wrote it

username88 i am JEALOUS, ENVIOUS, GREEN.

username89 poetry fr

username90 they ARE the main characters

username91 FRR like everyone else is just a side character

username92 alex play 'that should be me' by justin bieber

alex_albon congrats to you two! least favourite couple i know!

francolapinto thank you alex!

yourusername thank you!!!

alex_albon did you just ignore my statement

yourusername yes we chose to ignore it

username93 this is the kind of love ppl write books about

username94 STOP NOT THEM CONGRATULATING EACH OTHER ON THE RADIO IN THE LAST RACE

username95 if they break up then love isnt real

maxverstappen1 you two deserve it! take care of my little sister francito

yourusername MAX STOP

francolapinto will do

yourusername i love my life

francolapinto and i love you

username96 i just know they are each other's ride or dies

username97 where to buy a franco asking for a friend

username98 if i could id just take over one of their bodies to experience this love

username99 im waiting for the fics

username100 straight out of romeo and juliet

yourusername i love you so much, and ive did since forever. you are everything to me, i could never let you go. you deserve everything, mi amor

francolapinto youre my everything too, and im keeping you forever, no takebacks. if I deserve the everything, it’s only because you’re MY everything, mi vida. every star, every light, it all reminds me of you. te amo más de lo que las palabras pueden decir (I love you more than words can say)

yourusername STOP IM GOING TO CRY 🫶🥹 I LOVE YOU SO SO SO MUCH

francolapinto I LOVE YOU MORE THAN EVERYTHING MI VIDA

fin.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree ,, @freyathehuntress ,, @chilling-seavey (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[fawnhart]

bambi and drew when they were a ‘situationship’ ! ˚ ᡣ𐭩. 𖥔 ๋࣭

Drew’s breathing is still erratic, the sex you just shared with him has left him gasping for air. You don’t say anything—just slip out from under the covers, the chill of the room hitting your skin. You don’t even look at him when you walk to the bathroom.

The door clicks shut behind you, but you can still hear him shifting in the bed, the soft rustling of sheets. You stare at yourself in the mirror, eyes wide, brows furrowed.

What the fuck am I doing?

You don’t even realize when he starts walking toward you. It’s like he’s always been behind you, looming over you even when you don’t want him to be.

The bathroom door cracks open, and there he is, looking confused.

“baby, what are you doing?”

You don’t even know why you’re still talking to him at all. You came over to talk about how you’re sick and tired of being pushed aside, sick of feeling left out anytime his freinds are around, not fitting in because they view you as young and naive. But like always you gave in and slept with him. You knew the conversation wasn’t happening, so what’s the point in staying?

“I’m leaving,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, but it feels louder than anything you’ve ever said to him.

His face twists into something you can't quite place—disbelief, anger, hurt, all mixed together. “Wh- Are you serious?”

You can’t even look at him. You focus on your reflection in the mirror, the way your shoulders sag, how defeated you feel and look. Mascara and lip liner smeared, your cheeks warm and sweaty.

“I’m serious,” you murmur. “I’m done.”

He takes a step closer, reaching out to touch your arm, but you pull away. His touch, once comforting, feels like a brand now. Like it burns.

“Bambi, you’re being ridiculous” he says, a laugh edging his words, but it doesn’t sound like he’s laughing at all. It sounds like he’s mocking you.

“I’m not being ridiculous!” you snap, spinning around to face him. You feel the words press against your chest, sharp and bitter. “It was a mistake.”

He scoffs. “A mistake? After everything? you’re really telling me this after what we just did?”

You bite your lip, eyes stinging. “Yes. Because you’re always so damn mean to me!”

The words hang in the air, thick with the tension between you both. Drew looks like he’s just been hit, but he’s not giving up.

He raises an eyebrow, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You don’t even know what you want half the time, Bambi. You change your mind like the goddamn wind. One minute, you want to be with me, the next, you’re pushing me away. How am I supposed to keep up with that?”

“You want to know why?” You’re shaking now, the anger bubbling over. “Because you make it impossible. You’re the one who’s always pushing and pulling me in when your little bitch isn’t in town. You make everything about yourself, and then when I need something—anything—there’s nothing, everytime you gain something I’m the one losing everything!”

Drew’s face hardens, and his voice lowers to something dangerous. “I’m not the one who doesn’t know what they are doing. You’re the one who thinks everything’s gonna work out just because you’re here with me. Newsflash! its not. Not everything is as simple as you want it to be. You’re naive to think it is.”

You feel your chest tighten, your throat burning. "Don’t call me that." You say as tears start staining your skin

He looks at you, unblinking. "You don't get it, You can't keep acting like everything's perfect, like we can just keep pretending things are fine when they’re not."

“It’s not fine, Drew," you say, your voice cracking. "That’s why I’m leaving.”

He just stares at you, his face twisted, his eyes dark with frustration. "This is stupid," he mutters, turning away and heading back to bed "I can’t keep doing this shit."

But you’re already over it. Your mind is made up, and you’re not going to let him talk you out of it. Not again. Not this time.

You grab your phone, your purse, and without a second glance, you’re out the door. The air hits you, cold and biting, but it feels better than the heat of the argument.

A cab pulls up, and you don’t hesitate. You climb in without looking back, your hands shaking as you close the door behind you. You don’t even know where you’re going yet, doesn’t matter anyway. You just need space.

The cab pulls away, and you stare out the window, watching the streetlights blur into streaks of yellow and orange.

Drew’s face is still stuck in your mind. His words, the way he made you feel small. He always does that, Makes you feel like you’re the one who doesn’t know what’s real, like you’re the one who’s in the wrong.

But you’re not wrong. Not this time. You know what you need, even if it hurts to walk away.

you wonder if Drew is standing in that dark apartment, staring at the door you just walked through, trying to figure out whether he wants you or not. Whether he’ll ever make up his mind.

Maybe, maybe not. But right now, all you know is that you need to breathe.

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[augustinewrites]

in the years that you've known navia, you've come to know her as an extremely capable detective. not one stone goes unturned in her search for clues or answers— which she always gets.

this particular skill set makes her an extremely terrifying gossip.

so normally you'd be thrilled to meet her for your weekly tea, during which she shares the surprising secrets and hidden motives she's unearthed around fontaine.

until it's your turn under her magnifying glass.

"so how long have you been secretly bedding duke wriothesley?"

"archons, navia." you whisper harshly, glancing around the cafe to make sure no one heard. "you can't just say things like that!"

"what? it's just an innocent question!" she defends, though that spark in her eyes is anything but.

"do you have to ask when half of fontaine is within earshot?"

"better clear the air while they're all listening then," she teases, tapping her ear. "because i heard it from clorinde, who heard it from the traveler, who heard it from sigewinne, who said she heard the two of you—"

just when you're starting to feel like you need a lawyer present, the barista calls next, granting you a much needed path of escape.

"hi," you start, ignoring navia's protests. "i'll have—"

"vanilla latte," a familiar voice finishes next to you. you can practically hear the smirk on wriothesley's lips.

"yes," you confirm. "and an—"

"almond croissant," he finishes proudly, lik he's aced some sort of test. "the order's on me."

"oh no," you argue, defiance jumping as he pulls out his wallet. "i have my own money."

he nudges your hand aside. "i'm sure you do, but i want to use mine."

you push back, resisting the urge to roll your eyes when he interlocks his pinky with yours. "well i don't want you to."

"stubborn," he tuts, dipping his head down and angling his broad, sturdy frame toward you. "do you want me to beg? i know you love it when i'm down on my knees in front of you."

your face is suddenly hot. at the memory of the last time he'd been on his knees, and with embarassment when navia makes an amused noise behind you.

"fine," you huff, hoping you don't look as flustered as you feel as you pull your hand away. you don't want to draw anymore attention than you already have, and having the fortress of meriopide's warden on his knees in front of you is something you're sure you'll never recover from. "then i'll take one of every pastry you have today, please."

the barista looks at wriothesley, who's beaming as if he's just won a round in the ring. "fine with me."

once you have the absurd amount of pastries boxed up in your arms — you can already hear the children's squeals when you return to the house of the hearth — you step away with wriothesley, who looks extremely pleased with himself.

"you didn't order anything for yourself." you state, confused.

he simply shrugs, nonchalant as he tells you, "oh, i didn't want anything. i just came to see you."

---

a few days later finds you throwing wriothesley's bedroom door open, this week's copy of the steambird in your clenched fist.

"wriothesley!"

"un instant, mademoiselle!" he calls, voice muffled through the bathroom door.

so you direct your glare down at the picture of the two of you splashed across the front page in the meantime. this wasn't how everyone was supposed to find out about this thing that wasn't really a thing yet.

"we're in the paper!" you tell him, pacing the floor of his bedroom. "there are pictures of us under the headline 'duke wriothesley: finally tamed?' navia is even listed here as a source! she gets her information from clorinde who gets it from the traveler who gets it from sigewinne--"

"headline's not wrong."

wriothesley is leaning against the doorframe, wearing nothing but a towel that's hanging dangerously low on his hips. the whole bulk of him practically fills the space and it's making your head spin.

"what, are you done already?" he asks. "can't ogle me and yell at the same time?"

your mouth snaps shut as you jerk your head to the side. not so much out of embarrassment for being caught staring, but more out of reckless panic. "can you put some clothes on please?"

he makes no move to do so, looking extremely pleased with himself. "you wanted to talk, right? so let's talk."

he takes a step toward you, and you fight the instinct to take one back, wanting to stand your ground. "stop it! you're trying to distract me! we're trying to keep this a secret, you can't just show up at the cafe and--"

"i didn't just show up," he defends. "i fully own that i followed you there. i just wanted to see you and pay for your coffee."

"why?"

"because that's what good boyfriends do."

you shake your head. "you're not my boyfriend."

"really? because i sure felt like your boyfriend when you were making out with me in my office the other night..."

"wriothesley!" you're horrified that he's said that out loud. the corner of his mouth quirks, a look you recognize as satisfied.

no matter where you are in the fortress, the duke always finds a way to intercept you, tucking the two of you into places out of sight. there aren't many, with inmates and guards covering almost every inch of the place. last night you'd had your hands all over each other before the door of his office could even swing shut.

a hand comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. when had he gotten so close?

"hey, i'm sorry," he murmurs, lips brushing your forehead. "until you're ready, we don't have to be seen together in public anymore. i'll work my contacts at the steambird, get this article pulled."

"thank you," you sigh, leaning into him. "wriothesley, you're not my dirty secret and i never want you to think that. i just...i like what we are right now. and if father finds out..."

"and i'm happy to wait."

in the soft candlelight of his room, the world around you falls away. here, you're not worried what everyone thinks of you. all you can focus on are his eyes are fixed on yours, the corner of his mouth curving upward, and his hand smoothing over the small of your back as he pulls you in.

his towel falls before his lips can touch yours.

you look down, not entirely hating what you see as the duke watches your reaction, smug satisfaction written all over his face.

"stuff of fantasies, huh?"

[ravenwolf1132]

Your answer was immediate and without hesitation "Of course, my Lady."

The Goddess looks simultaneously shocked and relieved, "even after all I have done, you still choose to follow me? I may no longer be the benevolent Goddess you remember."

"Why do you say that, my Lady?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

"I have fought and killed," she confesses, guilt and sorrow pouring from her aura, "I have sacrificed many lives while I was away, both friend and foe, I have seen horrors that would otherwise drive a lesser being insane. I fear that I have become like the monsters I had sworn to protect others from."

You scoff, "if that were true, you know I would have stopped believing in you a long time ago."

The Goddess looks at you, confused.

"You have always been a fighter as long as I've known you. How you would get pushed around and knocked down but you never gave up. You alway kept going, doing what was right, protecting those you cherished. You would get right back up, covered in bruises and cuts and dirt, and go right back into the fray for round two or three or however many times it took to get the job done."

You let that statement hang in the air, solidifying the faith you have in your Goddess. She looks at you with slight awe in her eyes. You ask her;

"Tell me, did you ever give up during your crusade? Give up on coming home? Making sure the job was finished?"

"There were many times I wavered," she answered, you didn't doubt her, she never gave you any reason to not believe her before. "I wondered to myself whether it was all worth the bloodshed. But even though there were many times I came close to throwing in the towel, I... I knew I had to keep going, if only so I could one day return home."

"Then that's all I needed to hear," you said with a smile. Reaching forwards, you grasp her scarred hands. Hands that had always been worn and callused. "I've known you since we were kids, Hope. You were always kind, but you were never a delicate person. Benevolent, yes, and you always will be as long as I can help it, but not soft. Benevolence and Strength can coexist, you know."

Hope laughs softly. To others, it would be an inspiring and miraculous sound. But to you, you're brought back to the days where you two were content to play games in the neighboring fields, laughing and singing.

"How do you do continue to astound me with your loyalty?" She asks.

"Did you forget?" You playfully ask, "When this whole Goddess business started I promised to be right by your side, your first and last disciple, til the very end."

She grins, a smile you remember from so long ago, "why of course, how could I have forgotten, my daring Knight?"

"Can't say, it was quite the memorable ceremony, my Lady" you snarkily reply.

"Ok, quit it with the 'my Lady' shit," she laughs, giving you a love tap on the arm.

"Whatever do you mean, my Lady~?"

"Faith!" She scolds.

With a laugh and hand in hand, you begin your long trek home. Not as Deity and Disciple, but Childhood Friends.

---

So a little context. The Goddess was originally a human girl named Hope and her Disciple is her childhood friend named Faith. Hope ascended to Godhood as the embodiment of her name, the Goddess of Hope. Faith lives up to her name in which no matter what, she remains loyal to Hope. So long as she's loyal to her, she will continue to live an eternal life to remain by her side as a part of her promise.

You are the last disciple of a benevolent goddess. Years later she returns from a divine war that raged beyond the realm of men. Covered in weapons and spines, she reaches out with a hand marred by scars. "Will you still follow me?"

[sim0nril3y]

Home

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: After an incident in your home you made the decision to move in together. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), very soft, talk of break-in, canon-typical swearing.

It was late evening, Simon had just gotten home himself from meeting with Price and Gaz, they met up and caught up on everything they’d missed in each other’s lives. He still couldn’t bring himself to speak about you in front of them, still wanting to keep you a secret, keep you safe from any parts of his life that could put you in danger. He’d kept quiet even when Price spoke about some pretty thing he’d been seeing and when Gaz brought up the posh bird he'd met at a wedding.

He'd asked for you to call when you got home from work, his phone buzzing as he entered his home caught his attention. Smiling, answering and bringing it up to his ear as he asked. “Get home alright-” The words died in his throat as he heard the sounds of your little hiccups and sobs. “What’s happened? Where are you?” As soon as Simon had entered his home, he’d walked straight back out of it in the direction of his car. “I’m on my way…”

The story was that your flat had been broken into whilst you’d been out at work. The place had been completely ransacked, anything valuable was gone, mostly everything else was trashed and destroyed. The lock on the door was completely busted now and ultimately you just felt vulnerable in your own space, it simply didn’t feel safe anymore.

The whole journey to your block of flats Simon was cursing himself. The one night that he didn’t come pick you up from work, the one night he was busy and focusing on himself you’d fucking needed him, you’d been sacred and alone and come back to your flat to find the door kicked open and worried that whoever had gotten in there might still be in there.

He took the stairs to the flat block two or three at a time, chasing up them to get to you. Everyone in the block seemed to be stirring from the police being on the scene, all out to watch this all unfold. You’d been standing outside of your flat allowing the police to look around the small space inside, searching for anything that might have been left behind in the wake of the chaos that had happened inside. Simon approached and wrapped his strong arms around your trembling form, pulling you into his chest and kissing your forehead as he muttered. “I’m here… I’m here…”

He calmed you. He coaxed you into his arms. He silently seethed about whatever little prick had let themselves into your home, your sanctuary and made their way off with your things, your personal items. Simon would hunt them down given the chance but now wasn’t the time to be raging, all his energy needed to be focused on you. “I know, babe. I know.” He muttered quietly, pulled into his arms, warm and safe in his embrace.

Soon enough the police were done, they advised strongly to stay elsewhere for the night, with a busted door and the place already targeted it was more vulnerable than ever. Simon was collecting some of your clothes into a bag whilst you wandered aimlessly around the rest of the small home, pausing for a long moment at your art supplies, kneeling down to inspect the canvas’. It hurt to see them trampled and discarded like this, just completely destroyed by some heartless thug.

“Y’okay?” The small voice of Simon came from behind you, glancing over your shoulder in his direction. You certainly didn’t look alright, you look so vulnerable, so betrayed in your own place. “I know…” He muttered gently, moving towards you to gently kneel down beside you and look at your canvas. “You’ll make better-”

You mentioned. “I’m too tired to do this.” And he understood, you’d just come home from work to find this horrific event had happened. It wasn’t fair and you didn’t need to process these emotions right now. No, right now, he just needed to get you someplace safe where you could rest your head for a few hours and deal with everything else in the morning.

Following that incident it didn’t take long for the two of you to come to the decision that moving in together would be for the best. Honestly, he thought he’d have a little more difficulty taking that step, but with all that had happened the idea of having you live under the same roof as him, having you around all the time, waking up together, simply knowing that you were safe filled him with this sense of relief and completion.

Everything was set into motion from then, you took to cancelling your tenancy on the flat and the process to move you into Simon’s home was put into effect. With all that was left in your flat it didn’t take much to box up all the remaining furniture and items, three or four trips back and forth from the flat to the house was all it took to move everything over. That was it settled; you were living together.

Simon was holding a box labelled ‘art supplies’ stepping past you to head upstairs. “You can just put it in the garage.” You suggested, after having most of your art destroyed the appeal to make anything new wasn’t inside of you, unsure if it was temporary or permanent you boxed your things away for now to deal with at a later time. “S’alright…” He mentioned, continuing to stomp upstairs. “I’ll put it in your art room.” He commented, now this was enough to make your brow furrow.

“What?” You then proceeded to chase upstairs behind him, following him into the spare room and coming to a stop to see Simon had kitted it out with all the supplies that had been destroyed in the break-in, even a new easel facing to look out the window into the beautiful back garden scenery. “This… is for me?”

It had been something that Simon had noticed that you’d been lacking expressing yourself creatively, usually he’d find you holed up creating something new, or working on an old piece… but since the break-in you’d been almost avoiding it. Placing down the box in his hands he replied. “Well, yeah… you don’t think it’s all for me, do ya?” He asked with a raised brow looking at you, a teasing tone to his voice which made you smile subtly. “Can’t put this stuff in the garage, anyway, got my weights down there.” He informed you with a non-committal shrug.

You watched him for a moment before rushing over and wrapping your arms around him, hugging onto him as tight as you could manage. Simon hugged your back, placing a hand on the back of your head and rubbing your back in a soothing way. “Thank you.” You mumbled into his throat. There was so much that you were thankful to him for but allowing you the space to find that creative side to yourself again was something you’d be eternally grateful to him for. “Thank you.”

“S’alright, babe.” Simon replied, kissing the top of your head and holding you securely in his arms. “You’re safe now.” He muttered, probably more to himself that even you. “You’re home.”

Masterlist | Ask | 20-01-2025

[cressidagrey]

I would marry you with paper rings

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary: 

May 2016

How Max Verstappen wins his first f1 race and goes home to show his girlfriend his trophy…and maybe something else too...

December 2024: 

Max brings his family home from the hospital and finally gets to give his fiancée a proper ring. 

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this!

May 2016: 

The roar of the crowd was deafening, but Max Verstappen barely noticed. His ears were ringing, his chest felt tight, and his grip on the steering wheel had turned his knuckles white. He barely registered the voice of his race engineer crackling through his headset.

“Unbelievable. Unbelievable, Max.” 

The words didn’t feel real. 

“You are a race winner!”

It felt like they belonged to someone else’s story, someone older, more experienced—someone who wasn’t an 18-year-old kid still trying to figure out the enormity of it all. He blinked hard, trying to process the magnitude of what just happened.

The pit wall erupted in cheers as he drove toward the podium, his hands trembling on the wheel. It wasn’t just any win—it was the win. At 18 years and 227 days old, Max Verstappen had become the youngest race winner in Formula 1 history.

He had done it. 

As the team crowded around him in parc fermé, he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. Christian Horner was there to hug him, Helmut Marko clapped him on the back, and Daniel Ricciardo tousled his sweat-soaked hair. The cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every angle of his historic moment.

And still…the most important person was not there. 

Colette was back in Monaco. 

Hours later, once he finally got to his phone…after he was back in his hotel room, there was a message from her waiting for him. Of course, there was. 

I am so proud of you, Maxie. Soak up every moment, enjoy it. You deserve this, so, so much. We’ll celebrate when you are back home, mon coeur. You were amazing out there today and I love you so much. 

Somehow these 5 sentences meant more to him than any other accolade ever could. 

He stared at the trophy perched on his nightstand. The weight of it—both physical and symbolic—was overwhelming.

He’d spent years working for this moment. His entire life had been shaped around the pursuit of success, of proving he belonged on the top step of the podium. But now that he’d done it? He would give anything to share this moment with the girl he loved. 

Colette had been his constant long before Formula 1 entered the picture. She’d seen him at his worst, supported him when no one else believed in him, and always reminded him of who he was outside the car. 

She was his staunchest supporter and the first person that woul dcall hi out for being an idiot. 

She grounded him, cosetted him, cared for him, cheered for every win and held him after every failure. 

She was the one thing in his life that he could trust unconditionally…that loved him for who he was and not what he could do. 

Of course he had driven this car to victory. And Colettte would never take credit for any of his wins…but Max knew the truth. 

This win wasn’t just his—it was theirs.

The idea hit him in the early hours of the morning, somewhere between the adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

He needed to show her how much she meant to him, how much he wanted her to be part of this journey—not just as a girlfriend, but as his partner in everything that came next.

But how do you capture something so big?

By 7 a.m., Max was wandering the quiet streets of Barcelona. The city felt different in the early morning light—calm, peaceful. He had no real plan, just an address for a small jewellery store he’d googled hours before.

His Spanish wasn’t great, but he figured he could manage. He needed something. Something to show her just how much she meant to him.

He had bought his sister a handbag the first time he had scored points in F1…but handbag didn’t even come close to being enough for Colette. 

So there he was…in that jewelery store. 

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, and a man behind the counter greeted him warmly, raising an eyebrow at the young man who looked like he hadn’t slept.

“You’re here for something important, aren’t you?” the man asked knowingly, his accent thick but his tone kind.

Max hesitated, glancing down at the glass cases filled with glittering jewellery. He’d never done anything like this before. He had never even bought Colette a pair of earrings on his own. He had bought her other stuff, of course he had. Birthday gifts and stuff for christmas but… “Yeah, uh... I need something… special. For my girlfriend.”

The man smiled knowingly and pulled out a tray of rings. “Something like this?” he asked, gesturing to a selection of delicate designs.

Max’s eyes landed on a gold band with a small, heart-shaped diamond. It wasn’t flashy or oversized—it was understated, elegant, and perfect.

Just like Colette. 

***

Hours later… Max was back in Monaco. 

The trophy tucked under his arm, bag thrown over his shoulder as he unlocked the door to their apartment. 

He wasn’t sure if Colette was already home from work…he hadn’t called ahead telling her either. 

“Max?” and there she was, already dressed in her pyjamas as she stared at him wide-eyed, coming out of the kitchen. 

“I won,” he blurted, grinning like a kid showing off a school project. 

THat was all he needed to say, before she was throwing herself in his arms. His bag hit the floor, as he hugged her and she kissed him, cupping his cheek, rapid fire french that he would never learn to understand as quickly as she spoke it, intermixed with english and her horribly accented dutch. 

And for just a moment Max got to hold his girlfriend…the best trophy he had ever won. 

“I am so proud of you, mon coeur,” Colette whispered and he leaned his forehead against hers, her words a balm to something that he didn’t even know. 

“I brought you something.”

Before she could say anything, he plopped the Pirelli cap on her head, by now dry, though it had been drenched in champagne by Kimi and Seb and he adjusted it until it sat crookedly over her brown curls. “There. Perfect,” he said, his voice raw. 

Perfect. 

Colette laughed, patting it down, and then pulled him into another kiss. “I am so proud. You were incredible this weekend,” she told him fiercely. “Shouldn’t you still be celebrating?” she teased him. 

“I am,” he said, his voice softening. “With you.”

Any celebration with her was better than any other. 

“You want to see the trophy?” he asked her, feeling like a little boy that dragged his karting trophy to Colette for her approval again. 

And just like she had suffered through every time of 12 year old Max showing his trophy off to her…18 year old Max did the same, handing it to her. 

She took it, a metal on metal clink rattling around the inside. 

“What’s...?” she started, tilting the trophy to look inside. Her breath caught, as she fished out the ring from the bottom of it. “Max...”

“It’s not an engagement ring,” he rushed to explain, his cheeks turning pink. “I mean, our fathers would probably kill us both if we got married right now. But it’s... it’s a promise.”

Colette carefully set the trophy down, her hands trembling as stared at the delicate gold ring in the palm of her hand. 

“I wanted you to know that it’s always going to be us,” Max said, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. “Through everything. You and me. This is my promise to you.”

It was always going to be them. Always. 

“I don’t need a fancy piece of paper to tell me what I already know,” Max said softly. “I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life with you. In Sickness and In Health and however that whole thing goes.” 

Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him, her lips trembling with a smile. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He grinned. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.” 

Colette just looked at him, brown eyes warm and loving…and filled with tears. 

“I do. God, I do,” she promised him fiercely. “Go on then. Put it on me,” she teased him. 

His fingers were trembling when he picked up the ring and slid it on her finger. A perfect fit. Like he had somehow known. 

“This is going to be hard to top one day, you know,” Colette told him, wiggling her fingers, the diamond sparkling on her hand. “You do have exceptional taste in rings.”

Max chuckled, pulling her into a hug. “Challenge accepted.”

December 2024: 

The late December air was crisp as Max carefully carried the baby carrier through the front door of their apartment, his movements uncharacteristically slow. He was used to the precision of controlling a 200-mile-per-hour machine, but carrying his newborn daughter… was an entirely different level of responsibility.

Colette watched the whole thing with some amusement and a whole lot of love. Max had already driven so slowly home from the hospital that there had been multiple blaring car horns behind them, but Max hadn’t cared one bit about that. 

She was tired, her body aching from the delivery, but her heart was so full it threatened to burst.

“Welcome home, ma lutine,” she murmured softly, brushing her fingers over the baby’s tiny hand, as Max set the carrier down on the living room floor. 

Max crouched to unbuckle their daughter, who was snoozing peacefully despite the excitement of the day. “I think she’s already a Verstappen,” he said with a chuckle, glancing up at Colette. “Sleeps through the chaos, just like her dad.”

Colette laughed lightly, shaking her head. “We’ll see how long that lasts,” she teased him. “You gonna get the cats?” she asked.

Max nodded, moving towards the bedroom where he had put them just minutes before. 

Colette heard the door open and seconds later, she could feel two sets of feline eyes were already watching from the bedroom doorway —Jimmy, usually, the more laid back boy…and Sassy, the fierce girl with a name that fit her personality far too well.

“Okay, guys,” Colette murmured. “Be nice. She’s your baby sister now.”

Max crossed back over to them, crouching down beside the seat, unbuckling Charlie with ease, his movements careful and deliberate. “You think they’ll be jealous?” he asked, casting a quick glance at Jimmy and Sassy, who hadn’t moved but were clearly observing every detail.

“They’ll get over it,” Colette said with a soft laugh. “I think Sassy’s already plotting her strategy.”

Sure enough, as soon as Colette lifted Charlie into her arms, Sassy bounded down the stairs, tail high and ears forward. She paused a few feet away, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. 

“Hi, Sassy,” Colette cooed, kneeling down to let the curious cat get a closer look. Sassy tiptoed forward, her tiny paws making no sound on the marble floor. She stopped just short of Colette’s knees and craned her neck, sniffing cautiously at the bundle in her arms.

Charlie let out a soft coo, her tiny fist waving in the air, and Sassy’s ears twitched forward in fascination. Then, in a move that made Colette’s heart melt, Sassy stretched up on her hind legs and gently tapped at the edge of the baby blanket, as if to say, What’s this?

“See? She’s already making friends,” Colette said, grinning as she stroked Sassy’s head.

Max, meanwhile, was coaxing Jimmy towards them. The cat was watching the scene with a skeptical look, his yellow eyes narrowed. “Come on, mate,” Max said, holding out his hand. “She’s not going to steal your spot. I promise.”

Jimmy hesitated for a moment before coming the last few steps. Unlike Sassy, who had no sense of personal space, Jimmy kept his distance at first, circling wide around Colette and Charlie as if evaluating whether this tiny human posed a threat to his kingdom.

“Jimmy, it’s okay,” Colette encouraged, holding out her hand toward him. “Come say hi.”

Eventually, Jimmy padded closer, his movements slow and deliberate. When he finally reached Colette, he sat down primly and stared up at Charlie, his expression one of cautious curiosity.

“She’s not so bad, right?” Max said, crouching down beside Jimmy and scratching behind his ears.

Charlie let out another soft noise, and Jimmy’s head tilted slightly, his ears swiveling to catch the sound. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he leaned forward and gave the edge of the baby blanket a tentative sniff, followed by a single, gentle nudge of his nose.

“Oh, Jimmy,” Colette said, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re such a good boy.”

Max laughed, the sound warm and full of love. “I think they’ve decided she can stay,” he said, wrapping an arm around Colette’s shoulders.

Later that evening, after Charlie had been fed and settled into the bassinet they’d placed in the living room, Colette found herself staring at the collection of trophies they kept on the shelves over the TV. Max’s career was neatly cataloged there— All the important wins, each moment of triumph immortalized in gleaming metal and glass.

Charlie stirred softly in her arms, and Colette pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead before stepping closer to the shelves. “Do you see all these trophies, Charlie?” she whispered, swaying gently. “See? these are all Papa‘s,“ Colette cooed. “He has more. These are just the ones that are the most important to him. Your tonton Cha has some too…”

Her eyes slid over the championship trophy from last year…over to the very first one. It was a little scuffed from being handled so many times, but it still gleamed in the soft light of the room. “And this one…this one is extra special. This is from when Papa won his very first race. And do you know what else?” She smiled, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “This is where he hid a ring for me eight years ago.”

She glanced back at her daughter, but Charlie had already drifted back into her newborn sleep, oblivious to her mother’s musings. 

“You didn’t check, did you?” Max’s voice broke the quiet, startling her.

She turned to find him leaning casually in the doorway, his arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face. He was still wearing the same hoodie and sweats he’d changed into after coming home from the hospital, but somehow, he looked effortlessly handsome.

“Check what?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“The trophy,” he said, nodding toward the one in her hand. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing it ever since we came home.”

Colette raised an eyebrow. “You tell a girl you hid her engagement ring in there, what did you expect, Verstappen,” she teased him. 

“You are right,” Max agreed seriously, with a nod, plucking Charlie from her arms to put her in the Moses Basket they had put next to the couch.

And then he plucked that trophy from the shelve, only to upend it until a velvet box came tumbling down. 

Colette’s breath caught as he flipped it open to reveal a stunning ring—a delicate gold band, not unlike the one he’d given her all those years ago, but this time, the diamond was much larger, more brilliant. It sparkled in the light, catching every angle perfectly.

Her free hand flew to her mouth as her eyes welled up with tears. “Max…”

“Shush. Let me do this right,” he teased her, as he got down on one knee. “I had this for months,” he told her. “I thought about giving it to you after the Monaco Grand Prix, then after the championship celebration, but none of those moments felt right. This—bringing Charlie home—this feels right.”

Colette could only nod, too overcome with emotion to speak.

“I know we’ve been doing things our own way,” he said with a small smile. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing. But this... this is my way of saying I’m all in, for the rest of my life. With you. With Charlie. With everything that comes next.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she finally found her voice. “You didn’t have to do this. You already gave me everything I ever wanted.”

“And now I’m giving you a little bit more,” he said seriously. “So. Colette Marie Eugénie Veronique Leclerc, will you do me the incredible honour of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Max reached for her left hand, his fingers brushing over hers as he carefully slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, just as she knew it would.

“You even got the order of my names right,” she teased him, as he stood up and he snorted as he pulled her into a hug. 

“Hush,” he gave back, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the trophy forgotten on the shelf and the ring gleaming on her finger.

In the bassinet, Charlie let out a tiny squeak, and they both turned to look at her, their smiles growing.

“She approves,” Colette said with a laugh.

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Of course she does. She’s a Verstappen.”

As they sat down together, Colette resting her head against Max’s shoulder, they couldn’t help but marvel at the life they’d built. 

It had been a long journey to get here, but every step had been worth it.

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him. 

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face. 

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you  could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room. 

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you. 

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.” 

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable”  and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you. 

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around. 

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge? 

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies. 

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in. 

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound. 

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening. 

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out. 

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies. 

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again. 

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

[nayaesworld]

My favorite Dork

Terry Richmond x Black!Fem reader

Part 2

__

__

“Who that right there?” Your crossed eyes tried hard to focus on his extended finger as it pointed towards the tv screen. Head filled with little to no thoughts or answers that could save you from his incessant pounding into your pussy. If he could just ease up a little then maybe just maybe you could gargle out a answer, fuck it it it was the wrong one..you didn’t care.

Your eyes finally steadied enough for you to focus on the tall,pale, blonde animated character. A few names filtering through your pretty little head as he slowed his strokes enough for your toes to uncross and you became confident in your answer…perhaps too confident.

“Trevor..that’s Trevor” you breathe out quickly, hoping to impress him with your listening skills.

“Aww Peaches baby.. really wanted you to be right and prove me wrong. Guess you weren’t listening as well as I thought you were.” A faux pout came across his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“You know what happens to sluts that don’t listen…the ones that don’t retain information they were told to?” His heavy hand smacked your cheek just enough for your heavy eyes to widen. Your face heating up from the contact and your rising arousal.

Your shaking hands grip his arms as you shake underneath him, body preparing to release a violent gush of water onto him. You craved to be manhandled and flung about his spacious bed like a lifeless sex doll. To hell with anime…animation..animators. Fuck em all.

“Ouuu Peaches I felt that, give it to me. Because when you do we’re starting from the beginning..can’t have my baby out here not knowing her material, by the time I’m done with your sexy ass you’ll be speaking fluent Japanese.” Pillow soft thighs squeezed tight around his midsection and your pussy came like a geyser, pent up energy in the form of his favorite liquid.

“Bubby please.. I’m sorry I’ll be better just please..my pussy can’t take it.”

“You sure..looks like she can take it to me. Deep pussy swallowing up my dick just fine. My sweet peaches and her sweet pussy.” He pecked your forehead, quickly rubbing the back of your thighs.

“On your knees..I don’t want you to miss one second since you can’t seem to remember the names of characters I’ve been repeating for the last 40 minutes.”

Your sore limbs slowly but surely allowed your body to be molded into the newest position, your soft belly and breast resting on the cool sheets beneath you with your ass tooted up as high as he could get it. Playful slaps to your ass had you swallowing your spit. You wanted—needed that Sephora trip and your chances of winning looked slim.

“Ass so perfect and fat it belongs on an Anime..like look at this shit. I want this everyday..and everytime you deny me and act like you can’t take this dick, this pussy will pay the price for it.” A series of slaps to your pussy lips had you drooling, the slight sting coaxing forward more sticky liquid from you.

“Yesss bubby I wanna be better…just please fuck me now.” You sucked your thumb and sighed in content, eyes wet and waiting.

The opening title to Castlevania played loudly in the background as your cheeks bounced against his pelvis. He played with and gripped the flesh until you begged for more, then filled you to the hilt with his thick dick. The wet queefs battling against the volume of the tv as the animated characters battles against cruel priests and demons. In a way y’all were two of the same. You currently battled a hefty dick attached to a man with a sickening face card and a stroke that had you thinking sitting out for 9 months wasn’t too bad.

“Wanna try again Peaches…you want bubby to ease up on you hmm, take it easy on my princess?” He stroked the soft hairs at the nape of your neck almost putting you into a coma.

But you were going out like a bitch. And mama didn’t raise no punk, it was now or never. You had to get the next one right, a Sephora trip depended on it. And by the time he breathed out the next question to you like a freaky professor, you had the right answer plus a little more to throw him off his high horse. You made the mistake of calling the tall raven haired vampire fine and that earned you a pinch to your clit.

You fucked back onto him, shadows of your eager ass throwing playing out on the walls. He moaned and whimpered softly behind you, dick being squeezed and squished into your soaking pussy. You wanted a pretty, white creampie to decorate your pretty brown skin. You felt his hot breath on the back of your neck and his chest slick with perspiration as the effects of solid good pussy broke him down layer by layer.

You felt the sharp pain of his nails digging into your hips. The falter of his weakening strokes, the exasperated breaths…it all made you feel so empowered— so in charge. You could brag for days and shout out this victory from the fucking roof tops..who was scared of dick now?

“Just cum already…you know it’s a losing battle Bubby. Just succumb, you know you wanna paint this fat kitty…so just do it.” Hot warm spurts of cum littered your backside and trickled down to mingle with your own release. Satisfied sighs leaving both of your mouths and you were greedy to touch your lips to his again…to indulge in a kiss with your handsome faced loser.

Strong hands soothed your tense muscles and massaged your sore limbs back into their rightful place. A lone finger running along his abdomen, observing the purpling hickies you had sucked onto his skin over the course of the last hour and a half.

“Not gonna rub it in my face peaches…you got good sportsmanship all of a sudden?” His hands worked deeply into the balls of your feet, ocean eyes focusing on your pretty face.

“Mm would you prefer me to sweetface? You know I’d rather not do you dirty…I have something else in mind for you.” He threw you a suspicious glance and you simply lifted your pointer and middle fingers into a heart. He didn’t need to know about your extra terms and conditions to winning.

__

$216 dollars, two hefty bags of skincare,makeup, and perfumes. You cheesed and wiggled in the passenger seat back to Terry's place, you had run through Sephora like a kid in a candy store. No aisle or product was left untouched by you, you picked up your everyday items and a whole lot of new ones. Crossing them off of your long list of TikTok recommendations to try.

Now you had Terry seated in a chair, makeup products sprawled out in front of you. He sat arms folded as he looked up at you expectantly. Convincing him to sit here and be a test dummy for your new products took a lot of begging and the promise of a new pair of gaming headphones—though you didn’t care for all the yelling and hollering he did on that damn game.

“So you actually don’t need to fill yours in because they're naturally thick and bushy…but a little brow gel could really clean up these caterpillars.” Your thumb rested against his temple as you brushed his brow hair into a near perfect arch, the brow gel being just strong enough to handle his coarse hairs.

He was eager as ever to hop into the mirror and see what magic you had worked, a small smile forming on his lips before he caught your eyes and let it drop. You rolled your eyes and quickly pushed him back into his seat, popping open a brand new case of eye shadow you would be perfect for the spring. He sighed and held his head still per your request and shut his eyes. You let the small makeup brush dance softly over his closed lids, careful not to press too hard on the small blue veins on his lid.

“See the blue eyeshadow brings out your eyes Bubby…my handsome bestie. Baddest nigga I know.” The two of you shared hearty laughs before he pulled you into his lap.

“You done treating me like a lab rat yet..I’m due for a nap.” You pecked his juicy lips before pulling one more product into your hands. He pulled his head out of your grasp at the first glance of the shiny new tube of lipgloss.

“That's the one you had on earlier when you came..I like the way it tasted.” You nodded and took that info into your head or the future.

Clean uniformed brows, blue eyeshadow, and glossy plump lips decorated his beautifully sculpted face. He let you get a few pictures in before him stood to his full height and threw a strong arm around your waist.

“I love you yeah girl..my gorgeous, sexy, smart Peaches. You’re the bestest friend a person could ask for..but I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

Your face frowned up quickly and you tried to pull out of his grip. What the fuck was he talking about honestly, he had you fucked up and you would knock sense into his ass, buff or not.

“Wait..wait let me finish hot head. I don’t want to be friends with you anymore because I’m more interested in being your man..if you’ll let me.”

Oh? And this definitely wasn’t where you thought he was taking this, but you liked it. Loved it in fact. Tall, handsome, incredibly smart and nerdy, intellectual… you could go on. He made you feel safe and heard, saved you from bullies when the two of you were just kids, built you up so no one could ever deny you again…and above all else he loved you.

“You want me..in that way?” Just a little reassurance..just to hear him say it once more..just to make sure he wasn’t pranking you like the boys did when you were a teen.

“I want you in every way you’ll let me have you. I’ve stood by for too long watching unfit men attempt to snub out your light..you deserve to shine and be soft. Let me do that for you y/n.” You threw your arms around his neck, hot tears streaming down your face. You deserved this, trusted this..wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.

“You’re lucky you’re cute and convincing. I want this with you, I trust you to keep your word and do right by me because you've always done so.”

“I’ll do more than keep my word. I’ll show you how a real man courts a woman..show you why there’s nobody better than you out there for me. I love you Peaches.”

“Love you more nerd.”

__

@becauseimswagman1 @ranikyani @blyffe @23jammy @keehendrixx @ovohanna24 @venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @simplyzeeka @zillasvilla @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @theereina @keyaho @hotgrlcece @henneseyhoe @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @blackmoonchilee @tvchi @blackerthings @honeys-archives @luvrsluxe

[ylangelegy]

like a python 🧊 jihoon x reader.

jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

★ rockstar!jihoon x reader. ★ word count: 2.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol. jihoon-centric, childhood friends, yearning... so much yearning, young k makes a cameo, jihoon is a bit lame (affectionately), cussing/swearing. mentions of alcohol, food. ★ footnotes: got7 dropped winter heptagon and it's all i can think about. wrote this in one sitting as a show of gratitude to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for introducing me to these boys. haven't done a song fic in a hot minute, but for lee jihoon and got7? anything. shoutout to igot7_MarKP on twitter for the english translation of the lyrics.

🎧 now playing: python by got7 — i know i'm an icon, watch me with the lights on; but she got a hold on me like a python.

▸ MUSIC IS HOW I'VE BEEN VENTING NOW... OVERSEAS, I'M SELLING OUT.

It’s pretty surreal to Jihoon, being in a room with some of the biggest names in rock.

In the past hour alone, he’s met Alex Turner, Dave Grohl, and— holy shit, is that Hayley Williams? Jihoon is getting dizzy, and it’s not only because of all the secondhand smoke he’s inhaled since he got to the Rolling Stones afterparty. 

The best of the best. That’s what the invitation had boasted. It was the scene’s most coveted event, and Jihoon somehow made it to the guest list. 

Unbidden, your voice nags from somewhere in the back of his mind. You’re the best, Jihoon-ah. 

He shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to get away from the thought of you. This had been happening a lot more as of late. Fleeting moments wherein he’d imagine how you would react, what you’d say. 

But Jihoon always catches himself. He snaps himself out of it and goes back to recording, goes back to performing. 

God, he needs to get it together. He’s starting to regret saying ‘no’ to the cigarette Ely Buendia was offering him earlier. 

(In Jihoon’s defense, he didn’t smoke often. He didn’t want to fuck up his vocal chords. He had a one-cigarette-a-year rule, and he wasn’t about to use it now. It was only January; who knew what else the year would throw him?) 

Jihoon is contemplating some other vice— maybe he can go grab another beer— when he feels a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of who came up to him, Jihoon immediately folds into a bow. 

“There’s no need for that,” Younghyun says, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “We’re all the same here, yeah?” 

Jihoon pulls himself to his full height. “Not… really,” he says lamely, and then he immediately launches into mumbled apologies when he realizes how he might have sounded. 

It wasn’t that Jihoon thought he was better than his peers. Hell, he knew that he was the least important person in the room. That’s what he meant; they were not all the same, because Jihoon still had a long ways to go. 

Especially when compared to rock icon Young K, who is— gracefully— taking Jihoon’s awkwardness in stride. 

“You’re holding up a lot better than me,” Younghyun muses. “At my first afterparty, I threw up on Rupam Islam.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, unfortunately. He was very nice about it, though.” 

Jihoon lets out a stutter of a laugh. He’s never been a fan of small talk, but he clings to it now like a lifeline. “Does it get easier?” he asks. 

Younghyun’s eyebrows raise. “Throwing up on rockstars?” 

“No, no–”

“I was kidding,” Younghyun says in between chuckles. His expression is a little more pensive when he goes on, “I can’t say for sure that it gets easier, but you learn to deal with it.” 

You learn to deal with it. Jihoon can almost laugh at just how accurate that is. It seems applicable to every aspect of his life— including missing you. 

Jihoon winces. Younghyun notices. 

The older man doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s something else entirely. Younghyun doesn’t flinch away, either, when Jihoon nervously says, “Can I ask you another question?” 

“Ask away,” says Younghyun. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

What is Jihoon doing? He doesn’t know either, but it’s either this or fight off the urge to run through a pack of Marlboros. “How do you cope,” he starts slowly, “with… feelings?” 

A beat. Crap. Jihoon realizes he definitely could have phrased that better, because Younghyun is now looking at him with an expression of mild confusion. 

Jihoon backtracks. “You— we— go through a lot in this field of work. Like, a lot. And you— fuck, fine, I’m— grateful for it, really, I swear. But there’s just… so much other things, too, aside from the gratitude. How do you cope with those?”

Jihoon knows he probably looks and sounds like a trainwreck in his bid to be deliberately vague. By some miracle, Younghyun at least seems to understand what Jihoon is trying to say.

Younghyun’s lip quirks to one side as he thinks of his response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, but then he gives an answer that’s the last thing Jihoon could have expected. 

“I write,” Younghyun says. 

Jihoon blinks once. Then twice. 

“You write,” he repeats, and the former nods. 

“It’s all in my discography. The anger, the heartbreak, the love.” Younghyun raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve written nearly 200 songs, and all of them are just— that. Questions. Answers to questions. Feelings and stories.” 

It’s so simple, so obvious. It’s like a glaring traffic sign, like something that every musician should know and do.

Put it in a song. Perform it for thousands and leave the muse none the wiser. Profit. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Jihoon had done it a fair amount of times, but never had he considered putting you to pen and paper. The prospect of it makes something in his chest thrum. 

“I—” He clears his throat. “I think I have to go, sunbaenim. It was nice seeing you.” 

A hint of humor glints in Younghyun’s eye, like he’s somewhat aware of the fact he’s witnessing something unravel. “‘Younghyun’ is fine,” he chirps. “And it was nice seeing you, too, Jihoon. Take care of yourself.” 

The words— take care of yourself— are supposed to be a platitude. To Jihoon, it feels like a tall ask. 

▸ I'M TOURING THE WORLD BUT I'M MISSING THE ONE WHO HELD IT DOWN.

Jihoon is exhausted. 

As much as he wants to say that he’s never been this tired in his life, it’d probably be a lie. He’d make the claim, hit the road, then end up crashing out saying the same damn thing. He’s seen this film before; he knows how it ends. 

He falls back on his hotel bed after his shower. A low groan escapes him, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the higher powers there are. Thank you for sheets with a 300-500 thread count. Thank you for air-conditioning. Thank you for warm showers and Listerine. 

Despite his fatigue, Jihoon can’t just go to sleep. Post-show adrenaline always took a couple of hours to wear off.

He briefly contemplates his options. Write a lyric or two? Watch a shitty Netflix movie? Stare out the hotel window until his eyes can’t stay open anymore? 

None of the above, it seems, as he reaches for his phone. 

Jihoon has never been active on SNS; he just couldn’t bring himself to care about things like TikTok trends or Twitter ‘beef’. It’s a constant thorn in his PR team’s side. There is one thing that he bothers to check, though, and God forbid he deny himself the simple pleasure of some good ol’ fashioned pining. 

He’s been on your Instagram page enough times that it’s the first thing that shows when he goes to the search bar. It’s the only thing that shows, really, which gives some pretty good sense of where his head is at. 

Your profile loads. There’s no new post, no recent story. Jihoon is both disappointed and relieved.

No news is good news, he thinks to himself as he leisurely scrolls through the photos he’s already seen a dozen times before. You, feeding sidewalk cats. You, sipping tea at a cafe. You, in all the places that were once Jihoon’s, too. The beaches, the hiking trails, the restaurant in your shared neighborhood. 

Jihoon opens that particular post. Even though he’s watched your life in squares for the better half of the past three years, this is the one photo that always has him feeling a pang of… something. 

Because Jihoon can imagine it— being at that restaurant with you. The two of you had discovered it together, had pooled your measly school allowances to afford the bokguk and ganjang gejang. 

He imagines being there with this older version of you, being the one snapping the picture that’d find a spot on your feed. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that if he really, really tries, it begins to look more like a memory than a daydream.

But he’s not in Busan, not even in Korea. He’s in the United States instead, where he has ten stops before heading to Canada and Europe. 

Sold-out stadiums. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans. 

All the food that he could possibly want, and yet it’s pufferfish soup and soy sauce crabs that he’s looking for. 

Every person that he could possibly have, and yet. And yet. 

Jihoon huffs out a frustrated exhale. He’s tired, which he swears makes him delusional. 

He casts his phone aside, blissfully ignorant to the way his finger double taps his screen as he does. 

Halfway across the world, your phone pings

woozi_universefactory ✓ liked your post. 

▸ I'VE BEEN RUNNING BACKWARDS, RUNNING BACKWARDS LIKE A MARATHON.

The push notification glaring up at Jihoon looks a lot like a bomb that’s about to explode.

Jihoon feels like it’s a bomb, because he refuses to believe that after over a year of absolutely nothing, you’ve messaged first. You’ve messaged first. 

He double, triple checks his calendar. It’s neither of your birthdays. It’s not a holiday, either. Is it Chuseok? No— that doesn’t make sense. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he chides himself under his breath. It’s a text. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jihoon opens the notification. 

And then his heart just. 

Stops. 

You’d sent two messages— the first, being the post that had him spiraling last night. It’s the proceeding message that has Jihoon hoping the ground will swallow him whole. 

Stalking me, Jihoon-ah? 

Holy shit.

Jihoon types out at least three different messages, from Are you a fly on my wall to Is there a new Instagram feature I don’t know about to What happened to “hello, how are you”? 

In the end, he only sends back a single question mark. When he opens the offending post, he immediately sees his transgression. 

Jihoon hadn’t liked the photo before last night. He didn’t like much posts to begin with. How— When— 

His phone pings. He’s never been so thankful that he mostly opts to get room service for breakfast, because the squeak that he lets out is definitely not very rockstar-like. Jihoon fumbles, and he ends up opening your DM before he can psych himself up for it. 

LOL. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you say. 

Damn you and your ability to render him speechless. Jihoon wonders if he can get away with not responding, with getting back to you a couple of days later and blaming his work. 

Except. 

Jihoon’s fingers slowly move across his screen. 

It was a good post, he says. 

It was a post from a year ago, you answer. 

So? He throws in an emoji of a man shrugging for good measure. Jihoon never uses emojis, but he can make some exceptions. 

Your respond, So, stalking. You were stalking me. 

Jihoon knows he’s digging a hole for himself, knows he’s going to stay up several nights thinking of just how stupid he is. If he were a stronger man, he’d pull the plug on this conversation and that’d be it. You wouldn’t bug him. He would maybe write a song about this moment. The world would go on. 

But he can hear you. 

In the messages, in the words on his screen. He can hear your voice, the way you’d smile or laugh or tease. How you’d say his name in that sing-song tone he once pretended to hate. 

He hears you in your messages, and he’ll live with the secondhand shame if it means that he gets to keep on listening. 

Not stalking, he shoots back. Just checking in. 

Ah, you say. Because you missed me?~

Despite himself, he scoffs. You’ve always been so shameless. It didn’t matter to you that he was WOOZI the rockstar; to you, he would always be Jihoon who lived three houses down. 

As if, he says to your teasing.

You don’t respond anymore. You don’t even read the message, because Jihoon doesn’t see the little ‘Seen’ under his last message.

He waits for it for a minute. Then five minutes. Then seven minutes. He stops checking at the thirteen-minute mark, because he likes to believe he’s no longer a high schooler with a raging crush on the girl next door. 

He’s a grown man. He’s WOOZI, for Christ’s sake. 

He can’t keep coming back to you.

▸ I GAVE YOU MY TIME WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH; ALL OF MY FEELINGS, SWEPT UNDER THE RUG.

Except he does. 

WOOZI may not want to. WOOZI may be the bassist writing songs about the past in hopes of leaving things in the past, but Jihoon is a different story. 

Jihoon texts you the moment he lands in Gimhae International Airport. Jihoon stands outside your front door— definitely jetlagged, probably in need of a shower— with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other. 

Jihoon acts like it’s the world’s biggest inconvenience when he tells you, “Come on, then.” 

The two of you get the crabs and soup. He refuses to talk about his time away; he contents himself with listening, like he always does, and you fill the silence with babble. Your desk job, your parents’ nagging, your hobbies and side hustles. 

“Probably not as interesting as your life,” you joke after a particularly long-winded anecdote about a delivery rider who got your address wrong. 

Jihoon neither confirms nor denies the statement. He only raises one eyebrow and gives you a wordless gesture with his hand. Go on anyway, he’s saying, and you take the cue. 

The meal ends. Jihoon invites you for coffee. Then ice cream. Then a walk. 

“This is very suspicious.” 

Jihoon can’t help it; a snort of laughter escapes him at your words. “Can’t a guy take a friend out to lunch?” he asks humorlessly. 

“And dinner,” you note. 

“And dinner, yes.” 

“And dessert.” 

“And dessert.” 

The two of you are taking the long way home. There’s something to be said about how Jihoon drags his feet, about how you walk like you’re not on borrowed time. Even your conversation moves like you’re beating around the bush.

There is an elephant in the room and Jihoon is done pretending that it’s not there. That it hasn’t been there since the day you two met in primary school, since the first time he held your hand as a teenager, since he became a musician and every song he performed became about you.

Jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him. 

“Are you dying?” 

Your blasé question draws a bark of laughter from him. “Jesus, no,” he says. “Do I have to be dying to want to see you?” 

You don’t answer right away. Jihoon once again has that feeling that he’s said something wrong, something loaded, but you save him from overthinking when you respond with, “You wanted to see me?” 

There it is. That teasing tone, that hint of a smile. 

You bump your shoulder against his. “You missed me, Jihoon-ah. Admit it.” 

And Jihoon is done, Jihoon is tired, Jihoon is still yours after all this time.

“Yeah,” he finally, finally says. “I missed you.” 

[noxitsnox]

I can’t fall asleep without you

hyun-ju x gn!reader

summary: after disappearing for days, your girlfriend comes back home.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, transphobia and police incompetence , like one curse word

a/n: studying is for weaks, real alpha men (me) write hyun-ju x readers instead. seriously tho, i fear this might be full of grammatical errors but i'm too tired to proof read and correct them ㅠㅠ

also she didn't win the game, it's as if she and everyone else managed to escape after ep. 7 ‼️‼️

today it was your four year anniversary.

or at least it should have been. it would have been if hyun-ju didn't just disappear into nothingness. you couldn't help but be angry. you saved up for months to afford taking her to a really nice restaurant in the centre, called to make a reservation at the beginning of the year. you would've never guessed that you'd spent this day without her.

when you woke up that morning, the morning she disappeared, you were surprised by hyun-ju not being on bed by yourside. usually she'd wake up with you and you two would have breakfast together before leaving for work. even if it was weird you didn't think anything of it. probably she just left earlier for work, she always tried to do some extra shifts when it was possible. you sent her a 'good morning' text and went on with your day.

when you checked your phone during lunch break hyun-ju had not replied your text yet. hell, she didn't even see it. anger, frustration, worry started to make their way all the way up to your mind. but you forced yourself to calm down and think logically. was it strange that she didn't answer? of course it was, but maybe she just didn't have lunch yet, or her phone was dead or she forgot it in the car. it was strange, sure, but not illegal. it didn't matter, because at the end of the day she'd come back home to you.

or so you thought.

that night she never came home. she didn't answer your texts, she didn't pick up your calls... with all the things you heard on the news, all that violence and hate that was slowly growing in the street you were afraid she was attacked. what if she was hurt? what if she needed you to be by her side?

so you called all the hospital of the cities asking for her. none of their patients had her name or fitted her description.

every possible scenario came into your mind. anxiety, panic, fear didn't allow you to think rationally. you wanted to just storm out of the house and go to the police station. but it was still too early to involve the police. you forced yourself to sleep, you would have reported her missing the next day after work.

for some reason, you really believed that the police would help you. why wouldn't they care about a missing person? you almost forgot hyun-ju and you weren't élite citizen, the ones the police cares about, the ones who deserved to be saved.

you went there stressed and afraid, with a trembling voice you told them that hyun-ju didn't come home in two days, that she's not answering the phone and that she never talked about wanting to just leave. holding your heart in your hands you told them your worries only to be met with laughter and judgement.

the policeman told you with a grin that it was useless to do anything, that she's probably just ran away with some rich old man, after all that's what these people do. he told you you were wrong for trusting one of them, to stop waisting time chasing after her and to start looking for a normal partner.

when you returned home you were furious.

hyun-ju, she wasn't that kind of person. they spoke ill of her without knowing anything. she didn't just leave. she couldn't have done it. if something was wrong in the relationship she would've just talked to you. why wouldn't she?

for the first time since all of this happened, you cried. you sat on the couch on the small living room and observed your surroundings. all of her things were still there, exactly where she left them. her black heels were still by the door from your night out nights ago, on the coffee table was the book she was reading with a bookmark towards the centre, her cardigan gently laying on the back of a chair at the dining table...

you spent the next days in misery. you called in sick at work and stared at the ceiling all day. holding the phone in his hand all the time, anxiously waiting for her name to pop up on the screen. Every time you got a message your hopes would rise, only to vanish completely when you saw your mother's name.

eventually a friend came to check on you. they asked how you were doing, you told them what happened, they said hyun-ju was a bitch, you got angry and screamed at them to leave the house.

after they left, you did felt bad about yelling. after all they were just trying to help you. and they did. you needed to take control back. laying on bed won't make hyun-ju come back.

you quickly sent them a message to apologize before hopping in the shower. you started tidying up the house, cleaning the kitchen and putting away the clothes in that black hole you call a closet. even cooked too much rice for dinner, after four years you weren't used to one person portions anymore.

looking in the mirror you said you were doing this for yourself, but in the back of your mind you knew who you were actually doing this for.

you didn't even notice how tired you were until you sat on the couch to clean up the coffee table. with the rag still in your hand you fell asleep.

you dreamed of summer, warm sun hitting your skin and wet hair. the orange color of the sun's rays reflected on the sea and on your faces. hyun-ju's hair were up in a ponytail, her white t-shirt stuck to her skin and a wide smile was printed on her face.

you remembered this day. it was your first summer together and you managed to rent a small apartment near the beach for a couple of days. you spent those days in your own world made of chattering and laughter.

a sudden noise disturbed the image that had been created, it was external to the dream.

you tried to ignore it but it only got louder and louder until you opened your eyes. with the typical confusion that comes when you've just woken up, it took you a while to realize that someone was knocking at the door.

you looked at the clock on the wall. it was barely 5 in the morning. you cursed under your breath as you walked toward the door. who the hell would knock on someone's door so early in the morning?

looking through the peephole a shiver ran down your spine.

was this still a dream or was it really her?

you opened the door energetically. hyun-ju was actually standing there in front of you. hair in a messy ponytail, she was wearing a green tracksuit stained with blood and dirt and white shoes. she looked shaken, as if she could have started crying at any moment.

you freezed in front of the door, unable to move or say anything. you didn't know what you were supposed to do, how to feel. part of you wanted to be mad, but how could you be mad at her when she looked like that?

you noticed that she was shaking, her arms wrapped around her body trying to gather as much heat as possible. she kept her gaze down, as if she were ashamed to be there, right in front of you.

"hyun-ju...", you finally talked. your voice was a whisper audible only to the two of you. you moved to let her pass through the door. "it's cold. come inside." she didn't say anything. the more you looked at her the more she looked like a ghost of herself.

neither of you sat down. you were standing in front of each other in silence. minutes that seemed like hours passed before she spoke. she told you she was gonna shower, change into clean clothes before leaving you alone in the living room.

when she got out of the bathroom she looked more like herself. she sat at the kitchen table and you put a cup of the tea you made while waiting in front of her before taking a seat next to her.

"y/n-" "where have you been?" you interrupted her, sounding harsher that intended. she shook her head, "it's not important right now... you wouldn't believe me anyway." "it's not important, hyun-ju? you're telling me it's not important, seriously-" this time she was the one who interrupted you, rising her voice to match yours. "y/n c'mon i just came back i don't feel like fighting."

you got up from the table, walked a few step away to calm down. part of you recognized that this wasn't the best way to have this conversation, but you couldn't hold back any longer, all the emotions that had accumulated in your heart these days took over.

"i can't believe you. you were gone! for days you disappeared from earth, you wouldn't even answer your phone and when came back your clothes were covered in blood!"

she sighed but didn't say anything so you continued.

"do you know how worried i was? i called very hospital, i even went to the police but you were nowhere to be found. i thought you were dead, hyun-ju... dead!" without realizing it you started crying.

there was silence before she spoke. "y/n i'm sorry, i'm really really sorry", she got up and walked closer to you, wrapping her arms around you. "i didn't think i'd be gone for this long. but i'm here now, i won't go anywhere." from her voice you could say she was crying too. "i'll tell you what happened, but tonight please let me just forget about it."

you broke the hug to look up in her eyes. "do you promise you'll tell me everything?" "i do, i promise."

[janeyseymour]

Damsel in Distress

summary: every once in a while you need rescuing. melissa is usually there.

WC: ~2.4k

It’s a well known fact that Melissa Schemmenti is not the warmest and fuzziest soul that walks the Abbott halls- by both students and teachers alike. Of course, there were always people that she felt comfortable letting her guard down around, and each and every student would venture to say that while the redhead was quite the opposite of her counterpart, Janine Teagues, Melissa Schemmenti was fiercely loving and protective when push came to shove.

So when you start your career as a first grade teacher opposite Gregory Eddie, you’re warned right away of the rough and tough teacher.

“Melissa… she’s my girlfriend’s grade level partner,” Gregory informs you during the staff meeting that morning. “And she’s going to try to push you around. Don’t let her tough Philly streets kind of personality turn you off from her- she’s got a good heart.”

Your gaze follows his finger, where he’s pointing to his friends as they walk in. And because he’s in with them, they come and take a seat with you.

“Who’s the newbie?” Melissa immediately questions as she rolls her eyes. Oh, wow- her eyes sparkle despite the fact that she looks less than enthused to be here. “And how long is she going to be here before she runs outta here like everyone else?”

“Melissa,” Barbara, the kindergarten teacher Gregory had told you about, scolds as she gently smacks the redhead’s perfectly manicured nails. “Be nice. We need all the help we can get around here.”

“Y/N,” you smile charmingly. “And hopefully a long time.”

“What makes you say that?” the second grade teacher challenges as she sits across from you.

You shrug. “I grew up around here. I know how it goes.”

“You? You grew up around here?” Melissa challenges as she gets a look at your appearance. You’re dressed quite nicely. “How’d you make it out and do this well for yourself and then fall back to teaching?”

“I’ve actually been teaching for a few years,” you hum out. “Still live in South.”

“You from South?” You just nod before turning your attention to the meeting that seems to be beginning.

When you told the redhead that you were planning on staying at Abbott for a long time, you meant it. Working in a district and a school like this is where you’ve always done your best work. You’ve been around. Working in the suburbs of Philadelphia is an entirely different job. You’ve worked with rich kids, who you honestly had a hard time connecting with. You’ve worked with middle class kids who were somewhat grateful for the work that you did, but there was still an aura of entitlement that you just did not appreciate in the slightest. You’ve worked in districts similar to the greater Philadelphia area. But when push comes to shove, your heart belongs to the city of brotherly love, and you pounced at the opportunity to come back to the city.

In the time that you’ve been at Abbott, you’ve been able to do wonders for your students. Yes, Jacob and Janine bring wonderful new ideas to the somewhat stuck in the past school, but there’s something about you that just… makes it all work. The other difference between you and the other two younger teachers? You’re a bit more… realistic- jaded. You, unlike the other younger teachers- your grade level partner included, understand that some things simply don’t go according to plan. And when plans don’t pan out the way you quite hope or expect them to, you simply adapt with grace and elegance that doesn’t get past Barbara or Melissa. Even Ava, the principal who is known for her lack of attention, picks up on the fact that there’s something special about your teaching. 

And when Melissa Schemmenti realizes that you genuinely were planning on sticking around for a while and saw your work, she was on your side wholeheartedly.

While you’ve done amazing things for your students and been praised up and down by the district, there are still a few teachers who have somewhat of a gripe with you, claiming that you’re changing too much all at once for them to keep up with you. They state that you’re bringing in new methods that simply won’t work for their students- because why would you fix what isn’t broken? 

And that’s exactly what you’re speaking about during your share out time at the staff meeting today. You have quite a few visual learners in your class, as well as students who learn through experience.

“So, as Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences goes,” you say from your spot. “Everybody has different strengths in how they they learn.”

Gregory smiles. He had taught Janine physics in that way- that everyone plays to a different strength when it comes to learning and picking up new skills. 

“And I have quite a few visual learners, so as opposed to just lecturing, I’ve found that connecting it to real world situations that my first graders will understand and drawing it on the board will help. I’ve also come to realize that many of my students grasp ideas through the art of doing. So, for example, when we were learning about the phases of the moon, I found that a lot of my kiddos understood the cycle more clearly when we used an oreo to model it. In having a visual, auditory, and kinesthetic-”

“Now why are you trying to make us work harder?” one of the third grade teachers pipes up and interrupts you. “What I’ve been doing for a decade seems to still be working out for the most part.”

“Well,” you sigh as you bite your lip and glance to your group of friends. “The good thing about all of this is that most of us incorporate these different approaches without realizing it.”

“So then what’s the point of this share out, newbie?”

You go to respond when you feel a hand on your shoulder, and it isn’t Gregory’s or Jacob’s like you would expect. It’s not even Barbara. No, it’s Melissa.

“Why don’t you let her talk, Delores?” the gruff voice practically barks. “Just because we can sometimes inadvertently use these tactics doesn’t mean it’s not something we should draw attention to and try to do more consciously.”

“All I’m sayin is-”

“I don’t care what you’re saying,” Melissa growls. “Her lessons are a hell of a lot more effective than your boring ass lecturing, and maybe some of us would like to take a note or two about how we can improve our teaching.”

“Why are we trying to change the way we-”

“Did you ever realize that teaching is an ever-changing profession?” the redhead spits out. “That how we were taught doesn’t work anymore because there are always new practices and approaches coming out? Or did the nuns beat the sense out of you when you misbehaved in school?”

“Melissa,” you whisper and nudge her gently.

Green eyes turn to you. “Keep talkin’.”

Nobody dares to cross you again when it comes to your share outs during staff meetings again.

It’s later at lunch that you approach the topic of what happened in the library earlier today.

“Thank you for standing up for me,” you smile at Melissa while your lunch is in the microwave. “I really appreciate it.”

“It was nothin’,” the second grade teacher tells you with a wave of the hand. “I’ve been wanting that ol’ bat to retire for ages now, and I think she might now that she’s realizing she can’t keep up with the way the education world is going.”

It’s a few weeks later when Melissa Schemmenti stands up for you again- on a matter that you really expected her to be opposed on.

This morning, you had woken up a bit late, so instead of your usual sandwich and salad for lunch, you’re stuck with a bag of chips, a handful of grape tomatoes, and a stick of string cheese.

And while you’re eating quietly, Janine is making a fuss over it.

“Melissa, get on her!” the shorter second grade teacher huffs. “She’s eating what I eat!”

The redhead glances over at your rather unconventional meal and sighs. “That’s your lunch?” You just nod, preparing yourself to be berated by Melissa. But she doesn’t. Instead, she simply shrugs and turns her attention back to her phone.

“Melissa!” Janine admonishes.

“What, pipsqueak? She usually has a decent lunch. We all have our days of going back to the basics.”

“This is ridiculous!”

You just chuckle when you see that Melissa is silently portioning her own meal and sliding you half of it. 

Once again, you’re sitting in the library for a staff meeting where Ava has asked you to share out how you teach english language arts- a subject that your students are excelling in because of your unique approach to the sometimes difficult concepts. And once again, Delores is doing everything in her power to diminish your successes.

“Would you just shut up?” Melissa intervenes. “Ava asked her to speak out, and again, some of us aren’t old dogs like you who can’t learn new tricks.”

Your jaw practically drops at those biting words, but they do get your colleague to stop interjecting with criticism. Green eyes look to you again, and you have to hide the blush that wants to creep into your cheeks.

As luck would have it, after a rough staff meeting, your students are just not cooperating with you the way that you wish they would. You sigh softly as you lead them down to the lunch room before heading towards the faculty room for your own meal. It’s a Friday, which means that they’re already bouncing off the walls with the excitement for the weekend- but it’s also a long weekend, and you happen to know that Janiyah is having her birthday party that most of your students are attending. So they’re worse than they usually are on the last day of the school week.

You drop into your chair quietly, not yet reaching for your lunch bag. Instead, your fingers find their way to your temples, and you begin to rub them softly, hoping to alleviate some of the pain and discomfort.

“Rough day?” Melissa asks you quietly.

“Rough week,” you chuckle weakly. “After this morning, and then with the long weekend, my kids are giving me a run for my money today.”

“They’re menaces in my room today too,” the redhead tells you. “Sounds like you need a drink after work.”

You can’t help but feel inclined to agree. “Sure, why not?”

“Oscars, for happy hour?”

That’s how you end up at the local dive bar that your coworkers usually head to after a long week of work. Although this time, it’s oddly just the two of you. The rest of your friends already had plans. So, you’re sitting on one bar stool while your redheaded coworker is beside you, sipping your second margaritas.

“Damn,” you breathe out heavily. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

“Me too,” Melissa sighs out. “I can only take so much of Delores and her bullshit… I don’t know how you put up with all of her shit. I can’t take it anymore.”

“I don’t quite think I’ve earned it yet enough to even attempt to put her in her place,” you laugh as you take another swig of your drink.

“I don’t even care anymore,” your colleague shrugs with no remorse. “Barb’s always tellin’ me I should try being nicer, but I don’t see the point; if she’s going to be rude, why can’t I?”

“Some people think that you should be nicer,” you giggle out as your gaze lingers on her lips. “Not me though. I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

Maybe you should slow down the way that you’re drinking. You hadn’t meant for it to slip that you think she’s perfect.

Green eyes are rolled so hard you think they may get stuck. “You just say that because I always stick up for you.”

“And how nice is that?” You lean in and lay a gentle hand on her forearm, eyes once again flickering down to her full lips. “You’re perfect.”

“Am I?” the redhead chuckles as she finishes her second drink. She looks to you expectantly. Of course, you oblige her silent request and finish your own off despite the fact that you’ve thought about how you should slow down.

You’re able to get the bartender’s attention to order two more before turning back to Melissa. “I’d say you are. You’re- you’re funny, and smart, and sweet, and gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous?” A perfectly sculpted brow is lifted, a smirk apparent on the redhead’s face.

Your cheeks tint red. “I- I-”

“That’s quite the compliment coming from you,” the redhead says.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“Someone as beautiful as yourself telling me that I’m gorgeous? Now that’s quite the compliment.”

“Y-you think I’m pretty?” you stammer out.

“Of course I-” The bartender places down your drinks in front of you, and Melissa pauses to thank him before turning back to you. “Of course I do. Why do you think I defend you all the time?”

“Because you’re nice?”

“Because you’re gorgeous,” the redhead corrects you. “And sometimes it’s fun rescuing the damsel in distress.”

“I am not a damsel in distress!” you protest.

“So you’re tellin’ me you want me to stop rescuing you from Delores?” Melissa asks you with a frown.

“N- no,” you stutter out. “I- I like when you do that.”

“Can I rescue you from something else?” the redhead leans in closely.

“And what would that be?”

“I’ll save you from yourself,” Melissa smiles as her eyes lower to your lips. She kisses you softly. “You’ve been staring at my lips since we got here. How long was it going to take for you to kiss me?”

You bite your lip before pulling her in softly again. When you pull away, you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up out of you. “Thank you for saving me from myself… and from the others.”

“Always will,” the redhead laughs as she pulls you in again.

And Melissa makes good on her words. Once the two of you begin dating, her fierce protectiveness of you only shines more. And each time, once the two of you are in the comfort of your own home, she’ll tease you quietly.

“My damsel in distress,” she’ll chuckle softly before pulling you in.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits

[shomatoriashi]

01/20/25; 07:11pm

vi(olet) x fem.reader | modern au

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

alternate title: the five times you realized she has always loved you.

you couldn’t find the right term to describe your relationship with violet.

from an outsider’s perspective, they would simply label you as two girls who were the best of friends. sure, there were times where vi got a little too overprotective when it came to shielding you from your shitty exes-

but that’s what friends were supposed to do, right?

yet deep down, there was something nagging at the back of your mind. when you found out dirk was cheating on you, vi had made it her personal mission to beat the ever living shit out of him before proceeding to erase his contact information from your phone. she had no intention of telling you what she had done, but seeing dirk kneeling in front of your apartment door the very next day while begging you to keep vi away from him was more than enough proof that your best friend had willingly defended you.

the memory of it all was enough to cause a surge of heat to course through you. as you look down at your coffee, you couldn’t help but search through your memories, thinking back on specific moments where vi seemed to be there for you when you needed her the most…

i. becoming your roommate to help with paying the rent.

when you texted vi, telling her about the emergency you were facing the moment your roommate moved out, she had appeared at your place in just a few minutes. as evident from the sweat that ran down her forehead, it was clear that she had rushed over to you during your time of need.

with an apologetic expression on your face, you offer her a bottle of water and sit next to her on the couch. “any idea why your roomie moved?”

“she had a new job offer, and it’s located an hour away. i would have been more okay with the move had she at least paid her half of the rent for this month.” you sigh while twirling at the ends of your hair, listening to vi take a swig of her bottle before telling you, “how about i move in with you instead?”

vi’s casual question makes you do a double take, meeting her gaze with your wide eyes, “but… aren’t you living with your sister right now?”

she shrugs while taking another drink, “we’ve both got steady incomes, and she can take care of herself. in fact, i have a feeling she’s counting down the days where she can have the place all to herself.”

“b-but-“

setting aside the now emptied bottle of water, vi places a fingertip against your lips, “hush, cupcake. let me do this for you so you don’t have to worry about a damn thing. i’ll be completely moved in by next week, and you don’t have to worry about running behind on rent.”

a surge of hope courses through you, and you felt each and every one of your worries melt away amidst vi’s grin. unable to hold back your joy any longer, you toss your arms around her neck, nuzzling against her soft, magenta locks of hair, “oh vi, you’re the best! i love you so much!”

you felt the way your best friend suddenly stiffens from within your embrace, causing you to furrow your eyebrows slightly before relaxing when vi lets out an exhale.

“i love you, too.”

you wouldn’t realize the depths of her response until much later.

ii. staying by your side when you suffered from a bad fever.

there was something wrong with you.

your body felt too hot-

your stomach too nauseated as you could barely hold down the sips of water you had taken throughout the night. as you lay shivering and aching in bed, you had barely gotten a wink of sleep when night slowly morphs into the morning.

vi was already active, hearing her footsteps around the kitchen as she brewed her morning coffee. along with the coffee came the sounds of sizzling bacon as the scents of vi cooking breakfast made your stomach churn in response. you swallow thickly, trying to fight back the urge to vomit as you remain curled up in bed.

after what felt like an eternity, you heard gentle knocks coming from your door before vi reveals herself. “hey sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.”

you only manage a whimper in response, causing vi to take quick strides into your room. tossing back your comforter, she sees you huddled up in a fetal position, your face appearing damp with sweat as your bleary eyes met with her gaze.

she lets out a gasp of your name, kneeling beside you on your bed, “damn, you’re burning up with a fever. hang on-“

yet you stop her from leaving, taking comfort in her presence and the scent of her shampoo (the scent of lavender), “don’t leave… need… you…”

her blue eyes were filled with uncertainty, brimming with concern, yet you didn’t relent. “please… i couldn’t sleep last night because… i felt so shitty… and you feel so warm.”

in the end, she caves in to your exhausted demands, laying down next to you while wrapping her arms around your waist. she allows you to hide your face within the curve of her neck, basking in your soft breaths while running a hand through your damp hair, “you need to take some medicine… and eat something, you know that right.”

you hum, burying your face against her shoulder, “hmph… later… sleep… first…”

and with you clinging to her, you were blissfully unaware of how much her heart was racing from your close proximity.

iii. spending late nights with you during your days off.

when you told vi how you were eager to spend your day off with her, your best friend joins you in your happiness. with your favorite takeout already ordered, you settle back on the couch with her, trading the boxes of food with her with little regard to sharing your utensils with her.

with a series of your favorite movies playing on the screen, you bask in the way vi makes jokes with each scene, earning a series of giggles from you in between your bites of food. as the hours ticked by, you cuddle next to vi on the couch, sharing your blanket with her while basking in her warmth.

while you sit next to her, you felt a strange warmth within your chest, your attention slowly waning from the movie that was playing as you found yourself sneaking glances at her.

her blue eyes were focused on the screen, and you allowed your gaze to trace at the fullness of her lips while admiring the freckles that dotted against her cheeks along with the tattoo of her name. your hand itched with the sudden urge to reach out and touch her-

to frame at her face while your lips descended upon her in a sweet kiss-

yet you quickly banish those intrusive thoughts, slightly moving away from her on the couch. you cough the moment vi looked back at you, seeing her eyebrows raised in question at your sudden shift.

but instead of calling you out on it, vi places an arm around your shoulder, pulling you back to her before returning her gaze toward the screen.

she never once removed her hand from your shoulder for the rest of the night.

iv. buying a gorgeous necklace for your birthday.

after gorging yourself on a delicious dinner and some cake, vi pours you a glass of your favorite champagne as you both celebrated another year well spent.

“you’re finally twenty two, how are you feeling, cupcake?”

you roll your eyes at her nickname for you, taking sips of your champagne with a smile on your face. “i can’t complain. but i gotta say, it’s much better to share my special day with my bestie.”

a flash of something was seen in violet’s eyes, yet just as soon as it appears, it was replaced with a carefree expression. vi smirks at you, running a hand through her hair while rolling her eyes, “well, i can’t complain about spending the day with you, either.”

she tells you with a hum before setting her champagne glass off to the side. while you distracted yourself with finishing off your champagne, you were unaware of how violet had one more surprise for you.

you met her gaze when she calls your name, and you face forward to see a neatly wrapped present settled within the palm of her hand. “wha- vi, you didn’t need to get anything for me.”

“i know, but i wanted to.” she tells you with a shrug, handing you the present. your throat clogs up with emotion as you carefully tore open the gold wrapping, unraveling the silver ribbon as you revealed a velvet box. opening the box, you gasp at the sight of the gorgeously crafted necklace settled within the cushion.

it’s rose gold chain held a pendent that was of a rose made entirely of a pink tourmaline gemstone. the brilliant hue reminds you of violet’s startling hair as your hands trembled while picking it up. you were at a loss for words when you silently held the necklace out to vi, beckoning her to help you put it on.

with a tiny smile gracing her features, she takes the necklace and scoots closer to you on the couch. your back was facing her, and you remain still when she moves your hair away. you sensed a bit of hesitancy from her, only to stiffen slightly at the sensation of something soft pressing against the back of your neck.

yet as quickly as the sensation appeared, it was gone within an instant, replaced with the feeling of a slender chain surrounding your neck before being clasped into place.

“happy birthday.” you felt vi whisper within your ear, setting your heart aflame as you found yourself slowly falling for your best friend…

{ … }

you gasp when you felt vi ruffling at your hair, breaking you out of your reveries as she steps into the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “hey, what are you spacing out for?”

you swallow thickly, staring at vi and how she was dressed in a sports bra with a loose pair of sweats. your heart begins to pound at the mere sight of her, and your hands now ached with a desire to run through her hair as she kissed you senseless-

“i love you.” you suddenly blurt out to her without meaning to, feeling the heat against your cheeks when she tilts her head back at you. taking a sip of her coffee, vi sits across from you while giving you a grin. “i love you, too.”

“n-no, that’s not it. i-“ you were trembling now, “i mean i love you, what i feel for you is something more than mere friendship. a-and i realize that you’ve always loved me, too.”

vi’s true blue eyes go wide for a brief moment before she shoves her cup of coffee to the side, the dark liquid spilling against your shared dining room when she takes quick strides toward you.

you let out a gasp when she picks you up, crushing your body to hers, “it’s about damn time, cupcake.”

her hands were wrapped tightly around your waist as she carries you effortlessly back into her bedroom, slamming her door shut before laying you back against her bed. no words were spoken when vi surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

you moan the moment vi gently sweeps her tongue within your mouth, tasting you fully while allowing her hands to descend upon your oversized shirt. she lifts the large fabric from your body, tossing it aside as you were left with your breasts bare for her. with only a flimsy pair of panties covering your center, vi shudders while hovering over you. “you’re so damn pretty and perfect, princess. i’ve loved you ever since the day i first met you.”

your breathing hitches when you felt vi dip her hand between your legs, traveling within the waistband of your panties to trace at your slick heat. “i was so hopelessly in love with you that i tricked myself into believing that your friendship was enough- but it’s not enough anymore.”

in the midst of her confession, you feel her fingers sliding into your aching core, gasping when she pumps them in and out of you. the squelching sounds of your walls eagerly taking in her gentle ministrations echo throughout the room. “v-vi, oh my god, vi!”

“do you know what you just did, princess? now, i’ll never be able to leave you. you belong to me as much as i belong to you now… and nothing will ever change that.”

she sighs, removing her fingers from your soaked cunt, admiring the shiny quality of them before licking off the evidence of your arousal. she makes a show of cleaning her fingertips, causing you to press your legs together when you felt your walls clench painfully at the sight.

“you taste so fucking good, princess.” letting out a sigh of your name, vi spreads your legs, hands gripping at your panties before taking them off of you. once you were left bare for her, vi settles herself between your thighs with her lips engulfed over the entirety of your center.

your back arches against the bed, with you crying out to her as your hands delver themselves into her hair. she devours you like a woman starved, drinking everything you had to offer while introducing a finger within your slick heat. your back arches against the bed as you grind yourself on her face, losing all of your senses each time she gently pinches down at your swollen clit.

minutes later, you release yourself into her awaiting mouth, feeling her low moans send pleasurable vibrations across your body. “mmm, my sweet little cupcake…”

vi’s sultry voice sends shivers down your spine, with your mind going hazy. you became dimly aware of how she sheds off the rest of her clothes, not stopping until she remains just as bare as you before wrapping her legs around your own. the sensation of her swollen clit rubbing against yours makes you toss your head back in response, allowing vi to pin you against the bed as she finally acted on her desires for you.

and as you built on each other’s pleasure, you knew that your respective feelings had always been requited within this very moment.

end notes: an unedited fluff / thirst post pertaining to vi. i understand how hot she is, i truly do 🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 2 - Trust is a Two Way Street

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Mentions of war, mentions of death, descriptions of wounds, medical stuff, medical inaccuracies.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

The barrel is cold on your skin, you’re holding your breath, his finger is on the trigger. 

“Explain yourself.” A deep voice asks. You swallow hard trying to keep as still as possible.

“I’m a smuggler. I work for whoever pays. The people you killed, I was supposed to get them to Al Qatala. Konni pays me to smuggle people or weapons over the border. It’s easy to use ULF safehouses up here as a stop off point.” 

“You Russian?” The man with the mohawk asks. 

“Does it matter?” You almost spit back at him. 

“What about Al Qatala or ULF you done jobs for them too?” 

“If they pay, yeah. You’d be surprised  how desperate people can get.”  

“Gaz, stand down. She’s not a threat.” You see a hand land on his shoulder. You swallow again, looking up at him, his eyes are scrunched together, there’s real anger behind them. The gun moves from your head, you let out a sigh of relief, sitting back on your legs, you lower your hands slowly.

“What do Al Qatala pay you to smuggle?” Ghost asks. 

“I don’t ask. The less I know the less I’m a liability. I’m good at what I do, that's all that matters.” The man with the mohawk scoffs. Gaz moves back to stand with him. 

“You don’t even get a little curious?” Gaz asks, putting his pistol away. You sigh rolling your eyes, almost like it’s an inconvenience.

“POW’s, chemicals. High ranking members of Al Qatala, mostly for meetings with Konni, sometimes with Makarov himself.”

“What about the ULF?” 

“General supplies, the odd civilians, favors for Farah. It’s harder to cross the other borders. Russia is easy.” 

“So you’re not a medic. Can you even help him?” Ghost asks. You turn to look at him, you can’t tell if colour has come back to his face or not. 

“My mother was a nurse, my father was a doctor. I was on track to go to med school too.” You say, you’re not sure what’s going to happen now. You probably know as much as they do, they’ve most likely been trained on such situations. 

“Where are your parents now?” Gaz asks.

“Dead, killed in the conflict. Like almost everyone I know.” There’s sadness in your voice, you try to hide it. 

“You didn’t pick a side?” Ghost asks. 

“I did, in the beginning. Farah’s message was a popular one. It was the ULF who came to our aid when our town was attacked.” You pause looking round at them all. “It was the ULF who carpet bombed the hospital killing my father. A week later my mother was killed by Al Qatala when they raided a ULF base.” 

“I’m sorry, about your parents.” The mohawk man says, Gaz tuts. 

“Why become a smuggler?” 

“It was by chance. I managed to gather enough money to flee, and pay someone to get me over the border. We got talking, he offered me a job instead.” 

“Where is he now?”

“Probably dead.” You say as a matter of fact. You haven’t seen him in over a year. In the beginning he was like your mentor, teaching you the best routs how to use ULF and Al Qatala safehouses. Who to mention to get people to leave you alone. He vouched for you, got you jobs then when you were ready he just left. 

No one is saying anything. You move to stand up. 

“Your friend’s gunshot is not a through and through, that means the bullet is still in there. Pulling it out could kill him, I don’t have the equipment to check where it is or if he has any other injured organs. He needs a hospital.” You say urgently. 

“CASEVAC?” Gaz says.

“Not from here.” Ghost replies. There’s silence again. You squeeze your eyes closed sighing.

“There’s an abandoned vets in the next town, east of here. It will have the equipment I need to check him.” They could think you’re lying. They’re exchanging glances, you can almost see them thinking. It seems like Ghost is the one incharge, he shifts on his feet. 

“Okay.” 

“What about Farah?” Your head snaps over to the mohawk man, you need to get his name at some point, and figure out where his accent is from, he doesn’t sound like the other two.

“Nothing but radio silence.” Ghost replies. 

“How did you end up here?” You ask before you can stop yourself. You’ve been honest with them, maybe they’ll be honest with you.

“That's classified.” Ghost snaps, you nod. You expected that. 

“I heard Farah’s forces are moving north. We’re close to the Russian border. Maybe it’s best you wait?” You say offering up the only info you have on ULF’s movements.

“How do you know that?” Ghost asks. 

“I was warned they were on the move when I picked up this job.” You say. 

“By Konni?” Gaz asks, you nod. You hear Ghost sigh then mutter under his breath. 

“In your opinion, how bad is he?” Ghost asks, taking another step towards you, you hold your ground. 

“I don’t know. Moving him is risky, but there is no way to tell if the bullet is doing any damage internally. I couldn’t say without scans. There’s probably an x-ray at the vets.” You explain. “It’s 50/50 either way.” 

“And you know how to use one?” The mohawk guy asks, raising en eyebrow. 

“I-I could figure it out, I spent one summer shadowing a radiologist.” You explain. It’s a long shot, but right now it's about keeping yourself alive. As long as you’re useful you’re safe.

There are collective sighs around the room, glaces and nods of heads. Ghost lowers his weapon taking another step towards you. He opens his mouth about to speak when a groan from behind you stops him. 

You turn to see the man on the couch trying to sit himself up. Gaz rushes past you and you take a step back giving him room. 

“Price, don’t move. You’re okay.” He says. Price so that's the name of the man on the sofa. His eyes blink open and he looks around, you can feel Ghost behind you, the barrel of his weapon digging into your back. 

A gentle reminder they don’t trust you.

“Where are we?” Price groans, it’s barely words, you almost miss what he says.

“Urzikstan, ULF safehouse just across the border.” Gaz explains. They came from Russia, what were they doing in Russia?

“Shit, what happened?” Gaz is keeping him pressed down, his hand stroking his arm. 

“Convoy was ambushed, we had no choice.” 

“Alex?” Price asks.

“MIA, we lost track of him when you got shot. I made the order to fall back.” Ghost says but you can hear the strain in his voice. 

“Shit.” 

“It’s okay cap, we’ll find him.” So there are more people with them. Someone called Alex, and they’re missing. They had a convoy, most likely for the ULF. 

“Who’s she?” Price asks his gaze landing on you. You smile at him. 

“That’s a long story.” Gaz says.

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