#i have spent too much time staring at gif 7

[luviangelgirl]

Loving You

Quinn Hughes x reader ₊˚❀.ೃ࿔*:･

Description ⋆˚✿˖° 3 ways Quinn Hughes shows you that he loves you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Notes, I LOVE QUINN HUGHES, also this isn’t edited lol

1 ❀˖° Never failing to give you a good morning kiss, even if he’s running late.

The alarm rings an hour to six. He spends 10 minutes staring up at the ceiling, trying to gain some consciousness. Then he shifts his eyes to you, who is currently laying on his chest, your warmth so comforting. He dreads that when he gets up, he’ll most likely disturb your sleep by taking his warmth away. However, those thoughts are pushed away while he admires you.

He thinks you’re the most beautiful human on earth. Even when you have drool on the side of your mouth and you’re leaving a little on his sleeping shirt. He knows if you were awake, you’d push yourself from him immediately. A little embarrassed from the drool, probably even from your messy hair, too. But Quinn thinks you’re gorgeous always, no drool or messy hair can ever change that.

It seems he admires your beauty for a long time because before he knows it, his 5:30 alarm starts ringing. This immediately pushes him to get ready, as he needs to be on the way by 5:50 to make it on time.

He manages to get up without disturbing you, which he’s very grateful for. Before leaving the bed, Quinn makes sure to cover you with the sheets, to maintain that warmth. In 20 minutes, he manages to brush his teeth and take a quick shower.

Now, it’s 5:50 and he’s ready, barely, but nonetheless, ready. And really, even though he should’ve been out the door a couple minutes ago, that doesn’t stop him from walking back into your shared bedroom and admiring you once again.

“You’re beautiful, darling,” he whispers into the calm, comforting bedroom. You’re still asleep, thankfully. He would never wish to disturb your sleep. Quinn leans down and softly presses a kiss on your forehead. He whispers again, “I’ll miss you, darling.” And he smiles when he hears you let out a soft mumble, almost as if you’re saying you’ll miss him too.

You have him in a loving trance, the only thing breaking him from it being the text from Rick:

Rick: You better be in the parking garage, Hughes. If not, get ready for some drills.

Sent at 6:56

Once again, he finds himself sighing while realizing the consequences of actions. Still, no matter how many lectures he receives from Rick, he will continue to take his time admiring you and kissing you. No amount of drills can ruin his day either. If he can start his day next to you, everything else is fine: the lectures from Rick, the drills, the teasing and complaining from his teammates. You make everything worth it.

“I love you, Angel, I’ll see you later.” Quinn says before leaving the bedroom and finally making his way to practice.

2 ❀˖° Reading together

A lot of people would never imagine Quinn Hughes to be a reader. The young hockey-player who thinks hockey 24/7? It definitely raised a few eyebrows of surprise. Still, Quinn Hughes loves to read. He loves diving into a story and learning about all sorts of nonfiction. Reading helps him unwind.

That’s what it is to him. Unwinding. Forgetting about all his responsibilities for a moment by focusing on a good book.

Quinn was very quiet about this hobby of his, not because he was embarrassed but because he was a quiet man who simply never shared too much of his life.

Before you came into his life, he never had anyone to discuss his readings with. I mean he had Jack, but with his brother living 3,000 miles away from him, the time spent catching up was definitely not about reading. Sure, he’d drop a thought like, “I started reading this new book a few days ago,” but that was really it, never anything further.

When he first started getting to know you, he quickly learned that you were a big reader. As a teen, you loved the twilight series, which helped grow your love for romance novels. Though, you didn’t only love romance novels, your taste ranged from romance to fantasy to nonfiction. All types of books.

You also loved reading. You used it as a way to calm and relax your mind.

So when you and Quinn came together, bonding over reading occurred.

One of Quinn’s favorite things to do after a stressful weekend is to lay in bed with you, both focused on your books. He liked spending this time with you, knowing you both get some pleasure from it.

He loves that he can relate to you in this way, your shared love for books.

You both try to finish your books at the same time. Every time you finish a book, you have a shared discussion, discussing if you liked the book, as well as all your favorite topics, scenes, and characters.

“Are you almost done, Baby?”

“Yes, Quinny, I need like one more chapter.”

“Ok, me too.”

Sometimes you’ll even switch books after reading. However, that usually occurs when you’re both reading either a nonfiction or science fiction book due to Quinn refusing to read anything but that.

Quinn knows that no matter what his hobbies are, you love him entirely. But your shared hobby of reading makes you both feel closer . You love hearing each other's thoughts on books. He loves seeing the way your eyes light up when you talk about your favorite part of a book.

Quinn and you love that you both share something that brings you joy and relaxation. The way you don’t even need to be talking to bond over something.

You love that Quinn loves you so much, he allows you to join in on his reading time.

You love Quinn and all his hobbies, but reading makes you feel indefinitely close to him.

Quinn turns his eyes from his book, locking them onto your body lying beside his, “I love spending time with you like this. I love every moment spent with you but this feels special.”

Your focus is shifted from your book and onto the love of your life, “I know, baby, I love it too. It does feel special, it’s like our own personal time.”

“You’re the only person who I can unwind like this with.”

“Really? What about Jack?”

“Can’t unwind with him, talks too much,” Quinn says with a grin on his face.

“I guess that makes me special then,” you reply.

“The specialist, everything a man could ever dream of.”

You chuckle, “I love you, Quinny. I love reading with you and discussing after. I love that we can spend our time loving books together. You’re my favorite person to do it with.”

“I’m only your favorite when reading books?” Quinn teases.

“You’re my favorite person on earth, my favorite person to do anything with.”

“You’re my favorite person too. I love you, Baby.”

“I love you too, now focus on your book or else I’ll be finishing first.”

“Not if I finish first.”

“You won’t.” You reply with a smile on your face.

Quinn loves every moment with you, but reading makes you both feel impossibly close and loved.

3 ❀˖° Holding your hand always

Quinn Hughes was not the biggest fan on PDA. He’s a reserved man, who likes to keep his personal relationships private. Well, that’s what he thought… prior to being with you. You, the one who he always wants to be touching. Obviously, he won’t make out with you in public. No. That’s way too intimate, those moments only belong to him and you.

However, he will give you a little kiss: forehead, cheek, or mouth. But his favorite way to always feel close to you in public is by holding your hand. Sure, he knows that you’re always close to him, hands held or not, yet the feeling of your hand in his intensifies so many feelings.

Quinn likes that such a simple gesture tells everyone you’re off limits. In a crowded bar, with many wandering to your gorgeous self, nobody will ever think you’re available, not if Quinn’s got his hand in yours.

“You want another drink, baby?”

“Yeah, Quinny, let’s go.” You say, also always wanting his presence by your side.

So, together you make your way towards the bar, hands held tightly.

No one in that bar would ever assume either of you are on the market. He loves and plans to keep it that way.

Another thing he likes about holding your hand is that he knows you’re safe. Public places bring all sorts of people. It’s no secret that Quinn’s an overthinker, so when he has your hand in his, you’re there by his side and he knows you’re good. That helps ease his worries and mind.

He shifts his focus from Brock onto you, next to him in the booth.

“Hi,” you mutter, feeling his eyes.

“Hi,” he replies.

He immediately feels at ease, your presence always bringing that feeling to life. You keep him calm and loosen.

You smile at him brightly and squeeze his hand, three times, a secret code for “I love you.”

That’s another thing he loves about holding your hand. It reminds him of your shared love for each other. He knows that you love him always, but the reassurance doesn’t hurt. No matter the action, Quinn knows you love him dearly and vice versa.

He squeezes your hand back, holding it tightly after.

He can’t focus on Brock anymore, not when his mind is running thousands of thoughts, all of you and how much he loves you.

Tysm for reading! 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt.13

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: we are so back. here is the next part!! we maaaaay or maaay not be close to an end. i am predicting between 18-20 parts total, idk yet so we're going to find out (it could even be less!). once again, thank you all for your patience and still enjoying this series even during my unannounced hiatus due to my ailment. im back and ready to get everyone in their nana feels xo

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11, pt.12,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Tuesday

After an event Monday, full of congratulations and praise, you returned to face the work you’ve accepted to take on. 

Takada scheduled a proper meeting with you and Nanami, as he confessed his misapproach in not including Nanami during the promotion consideration. This would include your future training to become an Office Manager, and all the leadership building you would have to do. It was a bit nerve wracking, having the CEO of the company and your boss sitting you down in a room to discuss your new role, but alas, that is what being an adult is about. 

It was a lot to take in. An influx of emails plagued your inbox, with several including onboarding procedures from HR. A few emails came from Shoko and Geto, offering their support in your transition as well. Many congratulations came from other colleagues, many who you’ve never met before. Your nerves were clear in the shaking of your hands, your fingertips reticent to tap another key of your keyboard. 

You let out a deep breath, attempting to waive the anxiety. You push away the keyboard and sit back in your chair, covering your face with your cold, clammy hands. As you feel your own warm breath press against your face, you are quickly reclaimed back by reality with a tap on the shoulder. 

“Mm?” You look up to see Nanami with a cup in his hand. You point at yourself questionably, receiving a curt nod from the blonde-haired stallion. Your eyes narrowed at the bit of hair that hung at the very center of his hairline while you grabbed the warm, closer to hot, cup. “Thank you very much. Is this coffee?” 

“Hot chocolate,” Nanami hums as he begins to take a seat beside you. This is the first time that he had truly returned to his desk next to yours, as he spent the time in his office during the company’s client hosting. In his other arm housed a stack of documents, with his briefcase hanging from his hand. “I figured it’d be too cold to get your usual iced coffee, and you don’t seem too big of a fan about regular hot coffee.” 

“This is true,” you say simply, not giving him the opportunity of meeting his eyes. You side-eye towards the stack of documents, watching as he begins to compartmentalize the sea of folders. Your thumb flicks at the edge of the lid, smelling the sweet scent of chocolate with melting whipped cream. “Oh– why didn’t you ask me to help you move some of your things, Nanami?” 

“Hm?” He asks. “Can you repeat that?”

“I said, why didn’t you ask me to help you bring all that?” You repeat. “Your office is a bit far from here, Nanami. You could have called me over to assist you.” 

A shameless, small smile crawls at his lips as he continues to file his things away. He wouldn’t know how to describe it, but he was giddy to hear his name, just his name, from your lips. You, on the other hand, could only squint and stare at him curiously before returning to your onboarding documents. Another long sigh leaves your mouth, and you begin to distract yourself by blowing into the little hole of your hot chocolate. 

Nanami looks over at your monitor (Mr. Nosey) and gives you a sympathetic look, “ah, this is the worst part about a promotion. I’m sorry.” 

You look over at him and shake your head, “ah, no no, it’s not a big deal. Honestly, it’s the least stressful thing about this whole process.” 

“Is there something that’s stressing you out?”

“Yeah,” you say, “my promotion.” 

Nanami emits a quiet chuckle, leaving one folder on his desk before closing the drawer on his lower right. You looked at the folder a bit, it looked rather peculiar. It was lumpy in an uneven way, as the top of the folder was the highest point, and the slope lowered towards the bottom. Whatever he has in there is not my business, you repeat to yourself. After all, nothing has changed. You were still upset with him. 

“What’s so scary about it?” Nanami hums curiously. 

“I’ve always been the one managed,” you begin simply, not one moment needed for thought. “And I’m capable under those circumstances. I’ve never managed anyone before in my life, so how can I have any confidence in something I’ve never done before?” 

Nanami turns his chair to you, your eyes quickly need to divert to safety. He was dressed in this navy blue turtleneck, with his usual dark fitted pants. The tight cotton hugged his muscles kindly, you could see the veins of his biceps even. But it was the way those massive thighs were separated, the space between it so grand that your mind might be stuck in the gutter until the end of time. This was a horrible time for such thoughts. You decide to suck it up and look into his hazel eyes. Though still a sight, you felt calm to see his more soft demeanor. 

“Well, let’s take for example what you’ve done since joining this company,” Nanami points out, “you have managed to start at Legal, then transfer into Sales with perfect ease, and now you’re here in Finance. You have quite the talent to be able to go into these departments, doing work right under the Head of each one.” 

“But it is because of everyone's guidance that I’m able to perform the way I do,” you say quietly. “How can I take pride in it if you all are what shaped me into the worker I am?” 

Nanami looks at you with a grin, “you wouldn’t have gotten hired if you weren’t great, Y/N. Especially being hired by Geto. I’m accounted for, but Geto is a stickler for good workers.” 

You giggle at that, “it’s his way or the highway, huh?” 

Nanami turns back to his computer, “you wish it was a highway. It’s his way or none.” 

You felt your body settle a little more. Despite your feelings towards Nanami at the moment, it felt the way it used to. The dynamic felt just the way it did before everything happened. But there was definitely something different there, something new yet nostalgic. You weren’t sure what, but you wanted to keep fighting against his efforts. Your skepticism over his feelings was still quite high, and you didn’t want him to convince you that easily. 

Even if you wanted to give in and have him all to yourself already. 

“Oh, Y/N, I almost forgot,” Nanami begins, his eyes still glued to the screen. “I asked Takada shacho to extend our lunch break to about 2 hours, so I made reservations at that omakase place right outside the office.” 

You jumped. “2 hours?” 

Nanami doesn’t even flinch, “I asked him for extra time so we could discuss the plan regarding your transition as Office Manager. Though, I have no intention to talk about work during our break.” 

You halt for a moment, thinking about his words. “Nanami, you lied?” 

“I… stretched the truth,” Nanami hums innocently, “it looked like you might need a bit of a break, so I figured it was the perfect opportunity to take you out of the office for a little.” 

He’s being sweet. You can’t let him win, but truthfully, he was being too sweet. Why is he being so damn sweet?

“I…” you begin slowly, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. You felt it warm your throat, coating the nerves in your stomach with its sweet heat. “Thank you, Nanami. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” Nanami says with a short smile. “Besides, I wanted to properly congratulate you. Having breakfast with the rest of them was nice, but as your boss, I owe you a proper celebratory meal.” 

You quickly wave your hand at him, “no no, Nanami, it’s me who owes you everything. I would have never gotten promoted without your guidance and praise.” 

Nanami pinches the bottom of the folder he left on his desk, and carefully slides it over to you. He then begins to rise from his chair, lifting his arms in the process to stretch. “Could you sort these very quickly? I need to use the bathroom.” And with that, he practically jogs away, disappearing from your sight, and the conversation. 

You look down at the folder and hesitate, unsure at its lumpy state. But, Nanami would never prank you or make you do anything weird, so what was the worry really? You slide it closer to you, and open it up, revealing 3 camellia flowers. The beautiful pink flowers with white ombre tips opened up so delicately, the floral smell sauntering around you. As you lifted them, you could tell they were picked up this morning. They were still wet and cold from the winter weather. 

It was strange. You were upset with him, yes, but you also felt your heart like him just a bit more. A smidge. It wasn’t some grand gesture, but he went out of his way and bought you flowers. And he also went to get you a hot chocolate, because he’s now catching onto the things you like. And he’s taking you out of the office for a little bit of time because he noticed you were stressed out and wanted to help. 

He had always been considerate, yes, but this was taken to another level you never could have imagined. 

The walk over to the restaurant was brief, but brutal. The winds were sharply passing the two of you, bringing your body temperature way down. Although you were no longer sick, you were still a bit sensitive to the cold. You didn’t notice it, but Nanami walked ahead of you not just to lead you, but a futile attempt to shield you from the wind. 

Warmth washed over you from the strong heaters above the entrance of the restaurant. You fix your hair while walking towards the host, whose attention is strictly on Nanami. Which is fair, given the fact that this man was essentially hand-crafted by God himself. 

You follow right behind as the host (with dismay in her face upon noticing you) guides the two of you towards your area of the sushi bar. It was at the end of the bar, which was nice as it was more secluded and away from the other diners. You begin to remove your winter garments, your hair getting tussled in the process. As you fix your hair, Nanami walks over to your chair and pulls it out for you, waiting for you to take your seat. 

Flustered, you look down at your feet, “a-ah, thank you, Nanami.” 

He nods, watching as you go around to take your seat. But, the chairs were particularly high, similar to a high stool, but with a chair back. And, silly you decided to wear a skirt as you bought new heat tech leggings and wanted to take it for a test run. They kept your legs warm, yes, but now you couldn’t get yourself into the seat. 

Nanami notices your struggle and immediately offers out his hand. “Use the spindles to lift you up. You can use me to keep yourself from falling in the process.” 

Shyly, you take his hands and do as he instructed. In moments, you were in the chair, and felt Nanami proceed to push you in. Your cheeks were in heat as you watched Nanami get into his own seat upon undressing his coat and propping it behind him. You quickly distract yourself with the small paper menu placed before you. But your body took your attention once more, as you were getting a little too warm. 

You decide to take off your cardigan, unbuttoning it slowly before removing it. Nanami looks over curiously, “‘m surprised you’re taking that off, considering how cold you usually are.” 

“It’s just really hot in here all of a sudden,” you comment, concealing the secondary fact that he was making you flustered. Underneath the cardigan was a skin-tight, long sleeve shirt. You didn’t think much of it, but when Nanami’s eyes trailed down, he quickly snapped his neck around. “They have the heat on max here, I swear.” 

“Y-yeah,” Nanami says, clearing his throat. “I feel it as well.” He keeps his words curt, but he struggles to let them out. His mind went places it’s never gone before, and he felt embarrassment shoot at his heart. This feeling was foreign, and he wasn’t sure what to do, or how to control it. All he knew was that seeing your dents and curves was a danger to his mind and body. 

It wasn’t that you were reserved or anything. You simply adhered to the dress code expectation. Pencil skirts, professional blouses, and short-heeled shoes. So, it was rare to see you in this nature. And, as Nanami had not worked with you until this year, he has never seen you outside of your work clothes, or noticed you at the holiday parties in the past. 

“Ah, before I forget,” you begin quietly. You place your hands under your thighs, feeling your nerves heighten. “Thank you kindly for the camellias… they’re very beautiful.” 

Nanami looks over at you, hazel eyes boring into your own, “you’re very welcome. I was impressed at how they bloomed in this weather.” 

You nod, “they’re known for being tough, as they can grow and survive in the winter.” 

“I’m not good with words,” Nanami begins quietly, his straight face ironic considering his future words, “but the florist informed me that they are symbolic for adoration. So, I wanted to give you these to express my feelings for you.” 

You suddenly begin to choke, taken aback by Nanami’s abrupt confession. He quickly hails one of the sushi chefs, who quickly runs over with a glass of water. Soothing your throat with the refreshment, you quietly clear your throat a few times until the itch goes away. One of his hands holds you from your elbow, the warm touch of concern making you cough a few more times, just enough for your eyes to water. 

“Are you alright?” Nanami’s voice is painted with a bit of worry. 

You wave your hand at him, “‘m fine, please don’t worry.” 

A moment of silence ensues as you regain yourself. Nanami stares at you, his eyes searching for some sort of approval in your expression. But your face was flush, your eyes darting anywhere else but at Nanami. Concerned, he quickly attempts to take fault, “was it something I said? I apologize if so.” 

You immediately shake your head, still unable to look at him, “n-no, no, it’s not that…! Actually, you’re… much more romantic than I though.” 

Nanami’s cheeks turn rosy, “I… am trying my best to understand my feelings and make up for my… less-than-ideal confession.” 

You finally look over at him, and quickly lament ever being so rude to him. His sincerity was ornate all over his expression, his eyes uncertain but his hands rubbing together anxious, seeking approval, or at the very least, patience. You are Nanami’s first time feeling whatever he is feeling. Although he was a grown man, you had to understand his circumstance (though self-imposed) raised him this way. What was he but a man trying to navigate love for the first time. 

Of course, this still didn’t earn him leniency points. However… 

“Nanami, you are very romantic for someone who's never been romantic,” you hum warmly. “I’m still not completely convinced but… you’re putting up quite the fight for a novice.” 

“I didn’t think so,” Nanami agreed, bringing his hands to his knees to latch onto them. “But I’m not too concerned. I have until the holiday party to convince you, no?” 

“Correct,” you say promptly. 

Nanami then hails for a chef once more, requesting a bottle of sake for the two of you. “Then I suppose I have nothing to worry about.” There he was. The confident Nanami you’ve known for almost a year now. The man who couldn’t be shaken, not even by an earthquake. A businessman at his peak. 

You scoff, your sympathy quickly going out the window, “is that so?” 

Nanami nods, his eyes narrowing down at the small, warm pitcher of sake before him. He passes you your choko, and begins to fill it carefully with the sake. After filling his own, he quickly lifts it, prompting you to lift your own. The two of you down it like a shot, with your spin shivering from the alcohol. 

Nanami lets out a satisfied sigh, “Y/N, I will make you mine by the end of the holiday party.” He looks over at you, his hazel eyes holding a sort of conviction you have never seen before. Loose blonde hairs tickle at his forehead, but his expression was warm yet tantalizing. “Whatever it takes, it will happen. It’s either my way, or my way, no exceptions.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand, unable to even reply snappy at his words. But you quickly regain yourself, reminding yourself of his poor confession, followed by his even worse reasons for it. Grabbing the sake, you pour yourself another cup full and press your fingers down against the rim of it. “And what do you know about making somebody yours?” You whisper, a dash of attitude in the challenging question. 

Nanami shrugs, sliding the cup from your hold before downing the drink himself. You scoff from the audacity, but it was… a little exciting. The way his lips pressed against the cup where yours previously made its mark. It was like an indirect kiss, but you might be getting ahead of yourself. 

The always respectful Nanami was currently a bit disrespectful– dare you say rebellious. Drinking during a lunch break, stealing your sake. The gull. 

“I know nothing, you’re absolutely right,” Nanami admits, his voice hoarse from the sake. “But I do know that you will be my first. So, prepare to give me feedback once I do make you mine.” 

Taglist (OPEN)

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro @ayesayman @starry-eyed--dreamer

@gradmacoco @nymphsdomain @whatelsecouldgowrong @myynameisbuckyy @nanamjai

@a-sor @typicalchels @celestialzdiviner @satoru-is-the-way @sannieworshipper

@shibataimu @galagcica @a-cloudy-dreamy-day @aporcelainphantom @monikosman1311

@fashionably-a-hippie

[imagine-you]

If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 7/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: You follow your killer and find the answers you've wanted for years. Word Count: 3.1k Author's Note: I am so nervous about this one, but I hope you all trust me to make it all right in the end. Major thanks to @thatpunkmaximoff / @fanficimagery for dealing with me and reassuring me about what I had planned for this one. Go check our her fics! She's amazing. 💖💖💖 Also, I had to listen to Gracie Abrams' I Love You, I'm Sorry on repeat while I wrote this to put me in the right headspace.

Warning for suicidal ideation from a character.

Read On AO3 // Fic Masterlist

You followed your killer down the hallway and to the stairwell. You knew where she was going, but you couldn't help but trail her, even though you should have resisted. But you had to know how she ended up back at the school.   

You knew she was expelled, but you didn't know what happened to her after leaving the school. Was she arrested? Let go? You had no idea, but after nearly thirty years, you couldn't help but want the answer to a question that had plagued you since you died.  

When she began to approach the bathroom where you died, you nearly froze. You didn't want to revisit that memory. But you didn't have your jacket with you now. If you followed her in, you wouldn't be entering your scar. But you would still be alone with your bully where you had spent the final moments of your life absolutely terrified of her.  

She stopped just outside, her hand pressed to the door like she was also hesitant to continue. You waited, just a few steps behind her, for her to make her move. 

She took a deep breath before pushing the door open and walking inside. You didn't allow yourself to think too much about what you were doing as you followed her. You knew that if you reconsidered for even a moment, then you would never be able to let yourself walk back into the room that held the final moments of your life. 

When you walked into the bathroom, it was to find that she was standing by the window. You froze, remembering the last time you saw her there and what happened soon after that encounter.  

She stared at the window for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. She swayed on her feet, unsteady, before she turned around. 

You were surprised to see tears welling in her eyes. 

"Y/N," she whispered, and you startled, thinking she could somehow see you standing just across the bathroom from her.  But she had her focus fixed to a place on the floor by the sink closest to the door. 

The spot where you died.  

She took a step forward before she fell to her knees. It was like all the life drained out of her in that moment, her strings cut, as she collapsed on the tiles. She never once took her eyes off the floor where you drew your last breath. 

She dropped her head into her hands, hiding her face. Her shoulders were shaking, and you realized she was full-on crying. 

She crawled forward before sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the stall door across from the sink. 

"I know you're not here and I know this is probably stupid, but I can't talk to anyone about this. No one else in my life knows what I did. I’ve never been able to tell them." 

She stopped talking, tears steadily streaming down her face, as she closed her eyes. You found yourself drifting forward, curious, before joining her on the floor. Knowing she didn't even know you were there was a relief. Invisibility gave you confidence to sit at her side, also studying the place where you lost your life. 

"I always thought that they let me off too easy. Manslaughter," she scoffed. "It was an accident. I swear it was. I never wanted you to die.” She shook her head, her breaths coming fast and panicked. “But I still did it,” she confessed. “And you still died. And years later, all I can think about was the look on your face. You were terrified. Of me. And then you turned away and all I wanted to do was scare you. I was just so angry. All the time, I was so angry. But I didn't mean for that to happen. Never that. I never wanted that," she stressed, her voice breaking on the last word.   

She focused on her hands in her lap, twisting them together, before continuing.  

"I was a minor, so they expelled me and then they carried me off school grounds in cuffs. And they locked me up in this place for troubled kids. I spent a couple years there before I aged out. And they should've locked me up again. I wanted them to. I begged them to, because I was a coward. I didn’t want to face what I had done. I didn't even want to live." She hiccupped, her face twisting into an expression of pure agony, before she shook her head. "I wanted to die. I couldn't forget about the sound. You hitting the floor and the blood and that awful stillness. You didn't move and I panicked. I tried to give you CPR like that's ever been good for head wounds," she huffed out a shaky breath.  

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt a tear slip down your cheek. You blinked, surprised, before quickly brushing it away. You had always wondered what happened to her after she killed you. Knowing that she had never known a moment of peace since, her thoughts always on you, left you feeling oddly relieved and a little unsettled.  

"And that's when I ran to get a teacher. But it was too late. You were gone before you even hit the floor. And it was all my fault." 

She bowed her head again, closing her eyes. You could see the way her hands were trembling and you had the inane urge to try and reach out, see if you could still them. You had no idea she felt so much remorse for your death. You had assumed, that like everyone you knew when you were alive, that she forgot about you the moment she left. But you had been haunting her ever since and you never even had to leave school grounds to do it.  

"I was just so awful to you," she continued, reaching up to wipe a finger under nose, collecting stray tears and snot. "And there's no excuse for it. I was just so miserable, and I took it out on you. But you were so sweet." A sad smile graced her face as she lifted her head and looked at the sink again. "You were so sweet," she repeated, nearly wistful.  

You leaned forward, catching the expression on her face. She looked tormented, her eyes speaking volumes of the pain she was feeling. There was a part of you that had wished for this moment for so long. To see the bully who had cost you everything reduced to her lowest point. But seeing her hollowed out, filled with nothing but anguish and regret, didn't feel like the sweet vindication you had imagined.  

It felt bitter. Twisted. Wrong.  

"Everyone loved you. And I hated you for it. Because I didn't know what that was like. Everyone steered clear of me. Everyone hated me. And it took me years to realize it was because I was pushing them away. I did it to myself. And you paid the price for that. And I can never take that back." She drew a deep, shuddery breath, before her expression crumbled all over again and she began to sob.  

You watched her fall apart, giving up any sense of dignity or composure she held as she lost it on the bathroom floor where you both lost your lives.  

Time passed in shallow breaths and the soft sound of her pleading with someone she didn't realize was there right beside her to forgive her.  

"I don't deserve it, I don't deserve it, I don't deserve it," she chanted, shaking her head, bringing her hands up rake her nails down her face. Red lines followed in their wake, temporarily marring her skin.  

"And you know what's the worst part? They decided to let me go as long as I attended anger management classes and didn't break parole. And I'm still so miserable. I don't deserve anything good that ever happened to me and that's why I think they get ripped away from me as soon as I start to appreciate them. Dead husband. My own kid wants nothing to do with me. I stayed in the same town, never leaving it, because I can’t. I can’t leave knowing that out there is a life where this didn’t happen. I can’t let that happen. This is forever who I am. A killer,” she sneered, her expression morphing from disdain to sorrow. “And I see the way they look at me. People in this town who remember. Who know. Who hate me. They should hate me. They should drive me out with pitchforks and flames. But they don’t, because I don’t even deserve something like that. I deserve worse and they know it every time they see me. So, they ignore me instead. I don’t exist to them. So, I drink and I try to forget. But that's why it goes wrong. That’s why everything in my life goes wrong. Because I'm not trying to forget my own shitty life. I'm trying to forget you. And it's not fair. It's not fair to you. And all I can think about is how you'll never have a husband. A kid. A family. A house or a career or a life. And I took that from you. You'll never have anything ever again because I took that from you." 

She let out a low chuckle, the sound broken and defeated.  

"I should have been the one to die that day." 

You focused on her, not sure what the feeling rising within you meant. You might not have survived that day, but you lived on in her memory. 

You were her biggest regret.  

And she would never be able to move on, but you could.  

If anyone told you a day would come when you would find yourself on the verge of forgiving someone for killing you, you wouldn't have believed them. But the proof of living a life of regret and the torment it wrought was currently beginning to hyperventilate right next to you.  

You didn't want to be her. You didn't want to let your death ruin you like it had ruined her.  

In life and in death, you had found people to belong to. People who loved you. People who cared about you.  

She would never have that. She would always be alone. 

She lifted her hands, likely going for her face again, and you couldn't help it this time.  

You reached out, placing your hand gently over one of hers. There was no way she could feel you, but her hands froze before dropping back into her lap. She shuddered before licking her lips, no doubt tasting her own tears. You kept your hand over hers, not ready to let go just yet.  

You were simply two lost souls trying to connect across the veil. Who would have thought the dead one would have the better life?  

You felt like something you had hidden deep inside was suddenly unlocked. You were flooded with a feeling you hadn't ever truly known and it took you entirely too long to place.  

Peace.  

Sitting there on the bathroom floor, you were starting to heal. After decades of hurt and unanswered questions, you were starting to see that all the fears you carried around in death were unnecessary.   

You had only ever wanted to know that you hadn't died unknown. You hadn't been left behind and forgotten, obscured beneath other memories that never saw the light of day. But you knew now.  

Because if she remembered you, then so did your family. Your best friend. Your little brother. All the people you loved and cherished didn't abandon you. It just hurt too much to be reminded that they had you and then lost you entirely too early. You figured that if you had a choice between them falling apart on bathroom floors torn up over your shortened existence or leaving to find whatever measure of a life they could hold on to without you, then you would choose the latter.  

Because the person who had taken your life would forever be stuck in the former.  

You weren’t the one trapped here.  

She was. 

It didn't mean your family didn't love you anymore. It just meant that they could hear a song or watch your favorite movie and hold only memories no longer tarnished with pain. The memory of your smile and the way you would quote all the best lines with every rewatch of your favorite movie. The way you would sing along to your favorite songs, humming the parts when you forgot the lyrics, before belting out the chorus. The sound of your laugh and the silly faces you made to cheer up your brother. The pillow forts and Monopoly wins and endless trips to the arcade. The smell of your shampoo and the sound of your voice. Memories might fade over time, but you knew they would never stop chasing the reminders of the way you touched their lives.  

You watched your bully tear herself apart and knew right then and there that you didn't want your memory to torment her any longer.  

You didn't want to be anyone's ghost.  

You kept your hand over hers, watching her cry as she slowly began to calm down. You weren't sure how long you spent with her on the bathroom floor before she got to her knees and grabbed her purse where it had dropped beneath a stall door. She rummaged through the purse for a moment before she freed something from it.  

"I saw this one day when I took my daughter shopping. I see you sometimes when I look at her. I don’t deserve her either. She’s one of those good things I really fucked up. And sometimes, I look at her, and I get so scared that I’ll be the death of her too. That one day I’ll push her a little too hard and that’ll be it. She won’t be her anymore. I’m scared that it already happened.” 

She went quiet for a moment, staring down at whatever was in her hand. 

“Anyway,” she continued, visibly trying to collect herself, “it was in one of those edgy clothing stores that always blasts that screaming music. And I thought of you. Because of all things, I remembered you loved this band. You had a t-shirt for one of their tours and used to wear it all the time. So, I bought this, thinking of that jacket you wore." She went quiet, no doubt thinking of the last time she saw you in that jacket. 

You got up on your knees and leaned forward to get a better look at what she was holding. 

It was a patch. The kind you would have loved putting on your jacket. It had your favorite band's logo on it with the band name stitched around the edges.  

"I've had this for years. And every time I see it, I think of you. Because I know you would have loved it." 

She stood, leaving her purse on the floor, and approached the sink where you died. She reached out a trembling hand and placed the patch on the edge of the sink. She stared down at it for a moment before she took an abrupt step back, like she was trying not to reach out and grab it again. She glanced up at the mirror, grimacing at her reflection.  

"I'm a mess," she sighed, taking another step away from the mirror, unknowingly stopping at your side. "That's for you," she said, nodding towards the patch left behind on the sink. "I think you would have really liked it. And I'm sorry that I'll never actually get to give it to you. But I hope that wherever you are, that you're doing okay. That you're happy. You should be happy." 

You thought of your afterlife at Split River. It was full of memories of people you had come to love.  

Charley and his sweet, welcoming nature.  

Rhonda and her sarcasm she wielded to mask the care she had for her friends.  

Dawn and Yuri and Quinn and even Maddie, who was dead, but not really.  

And Wally.  

You felt a rush of affection for him. He was your rock. You knew you could reach for him and he would reach back. He was kind and protective and charming. He would do anything for you.  

And you would do anything for him.  

You were surprised to realize that you were happy. You didn't ask for death and you never deserved it, but you still found a place filled with people to love. You had memories of running down hallways, laughing and gasping for breath, only to collapse to the floor with your friends. Field days and midnight swims and food fights. Tangled up with Wally on the tech booth couch and dance parties in the library and movie nights in the cafeteria.  

It wasn't what you would have expected, but you had a family.  

And you <i>were</i> happy.  

You watched the broken woman leave the bathroom and felt lighter. Right. Centered. Like something that had been weighing on you was finally lifted off your shoulders.  

You found yourself approaching the sink, no longer fearing what it meant to you. You reached out for the patch, turning it over in your hands, before putting it in your pocket.  

You thought you might even put it on your jacket. If only as a reminder of the one-sided conversation you had with the person who took your life. You didn’t have to suffer anymore, because she was carrying all the pain for you.  

The lights flickered for a brief moment, and you glanced up at the ceiling, wondering when they would finally change the broken bulb. You pushed the thought away and followed her out of the bathroom, watching her begin to walk away.  

She was still crying, but her shoulders were no longer hunched. You noticed her quickly swipe her hands under her eyes, likely trying to hide the fact that she had lost it just moments ago. 

She was walking down the hallway towards the stairwell. You knew she was leaving, but her thoughts would remain with you. You didn't know where she was going, but you continued to follow her.  

All the way down the stairs and towards the main entrance. She stopped at the wall of windows that looked out over the front lawn before pressing on, not knowing you were trailing in her wake like an extra shadow.  

A door opened farther down the hallway, and you noticed Maddie step out of a classroom. Quinn and Rhonda were right behind her, but Maddie had frozen, her eyes wide and expression worried as she looked at you.  

After a moment, you realized she wasn't looking at you.  

She was looking at the woman in front of you as she walked right by her. 

"Mom?" 

Author's Note: In my mind, for this story, reader didn't so much forgive her killer, but instead learned to let go since her killer was suffering enough for the both of them. That it was okay to move on and not be stuck in the worst moment of her life like her killer was. Next up, Wally learns what happened and they all find out their scars are connected.

Also, one person called that plot twist, so I hope that means it was in the realm of possibility. I've been thinking about it for weeks and I think I got too much in my head and thought y'all would hate me for this one. But I decided to go ahead and write it and I hope y'all trust me enough to make it work. I also had to research what happens when a minor is charged with manslaughter and I'm sure I'm on so many lists now. Lmao.

Taglist: @preparedfruit @morstuavitamea-a @jaes-last-words @thatonegayloser616 @kmarie06

@girlthatislost @peterpangirl21 @uk1y0 @i-mmunity @siriusxmunofficial

@lov3bug @morallygrayboys @loudtalehologram @hey-its-roseaurum @doves1120

@benjiiisstuff @schoolspiritsfan14 @friedfrogs @superlegend216 @badbishsblog

@awenthealchemist @fallout-girl219 @edb954

[omiomi]

Master list

Part 6

Code Red: Unfinished Sutures (Part 7)

Baek Kang-Hyuk x Fem!Reader

The first thing Y/N felt was warmth. A slow, steady heat pressed against her skin, traveling through her veins like a quiet reminder that she was still alive.

The second thing she felt was pain. Dull and heavy, curling in her chest with every breath she took.

The third was him.

Baek Kang-Hyuk was slumped forward in a chair beside her, head bowed, his hand wrapped around hers like a lifeline. His grip was strong—almost too tight—but she didn’t mind. It grounded her.

She tried to speak, but her throat was too dry. She swallowed and tried again. “Malak…”

His head shot up so fast she thought he might have hurt himself. Bloodshot eyes met hers, filled with exhaustion, relief, and something deeper—something raw and unguarded.

“Y/N,” he breathed. His voice cracked.

She managed a weak smile. “Did you… cry?”

Baek exhaled sharply, a sound caught between a laugh and a scoff. He rubbed a hand over his face. “You almost died, and that’s the first thing you say?”

Her fingers twitched in his grasp. “Did I?”

His jaw tightened. “You were gone for a moment. You lost so much blood—” He stopped himself, exhaling shakily. “I had to transfuse mine while operating. If you had—”

He broke off.

Y/N’s chest ached, but not from her injuries. She had seen Baek serious before, even afraid, but never like this. Never like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t bear to lose.

“You saved me,” she murmured.

Baek let out a breath, slow and unsteady. “I couldn’t let you die. Not after everything. Not after waiting so damn long for you to be ready.”

Y/N frowned. “Ready?”

“For us.” His fingers tightened around hers. “For you to find your own reason to live. Your own identity outside of this place. So that when you chose to come with me, it would be because you wanted to, not because I asked you to.”

Her heart clenched. “Kang-Hyuk…”

He shook his head. “I never wanted to take you away from Black Wings if you weren’t ready. I never wanted you to follow me just because of what we have. But damn it, Y/N—” His voice broke. “I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

Y/N stared at him, her breath shallow.

It was always unspoken between them. A love tangled between stitches, between lives saved and lost, between the battlefield and the quiet moments in between. They had never needed to say it.

But now, with the weight of near-death between them, silence wasn’t enough.

She reached up with trembling fingers and cupped his cheek. His breath hitched, eyes dark and searching.

“Then take me with you,” she whispered.

His whole body went still.

She let out a small, shaky laugh. “I don’t know how to live outside of this place. But if you’ll have me, I’ll learn. I want to learn.”

Baek inhaled sharply, as if trying to hold himself together. But then, in the next moment, he was leaning in—so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips.

“Say it again,” he murmured.

Her heart pounded. “Take me with you.”

Baek Kang-Hyuk closed the space between them.

The kiss was everything and nothing like she imagined. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was steady, certain. A vow sealed between them, whispered through lips that had seen too much war and too little peace.

She melted into him, fingers curling into his shirt, and Baek held her like he never intended to let go.

And for once, he wouldn’t have to.

Because this time, she was choosing him, too.

—

Y/N hated feeling weak.

She had spent years training her body, sharpening her skills, surviving war zones most people wouldn’t last a day in. But now, she was stuck in a hospital bed, her body stitched together by Baek’s hands and sheer luck.

She let out a slow breath, shifting slightly against the pillows. Even that small movement sent a dull ache rippling through her body.

“Don’t even think about moving,” Baek’s voice came from the doorway.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. He had been hovering ever since she woke up, and though she’d never admit it, a part of her found it… comforting.

Baek walked into the room, carrying a tray. “Brought you food,” he said, setting it down on the table beside her. “You need to eat.”

She eyed the tray suspiciously. “Did you make it?”

Baek scoffed. “You think I have time to cook?”

“Then I might actually eat it.”

Baek gave her a dry look but didn’t argue. Instead, he adjusted the blankets around her—fussily, she noted—and sat down on the chair beside her bed.

Y/N studied him for a moment. His face was sharper than usual, dark circles under his eyes, his usual cocky smirk replaced by something quieter.

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

Baek shrugged. “Since we got back.”

She frowned. “That was—”

“Two weeks ago.”

She blinked. Two weeks?

“You haven’t left?”

Baek leaned back, crossing his arms. “Where the hell else would I be?”

Before she could respond, a sudden knock interrupted them.

Baek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s them.”

“Them?”

Before he could explain, the door swung open, revealing three unfamiliar faces.

“Finally!” Jae-Won stepped inside, arms crossed. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up, you know.”

Beside him, Jang-Mi with neatly tied hair and a clipboard tucked under her arm sighed. “Dr. Baek has been an absolute menace these past two weeks. You’ve caused us so much trouble.”

Gyeong-Won nodded quickly. “We had to drag him out of here just to make sure he didn’t pass out.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, glancing at Baek. “They sound like they know you well.”

Baek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately.”

Y/N blinked at them, then turned to Baek. “So these are the people keeping you in check?”

Baek exhaled. “Barely.”

Jae-won grinned. “He’s been a pain in the ass ever since he got back. Snapping at everyone, refusing to leave this room—”

“I was not snapping—”

“—and scaring the interns half to death,” Jang-Mi finished.

Y/N smirked. “Sounds about right.”

Baek shot her an unimpressed look.

Jae-won nudged her foot lightly, careful not to touch any of her injuries. “But seriously. He’s been out of his mind worried about you.”

Y/N glanced at Baek, who was suddenly very interested in the floor.

She softened.

“Well,” she said, meeting Baek’s gaze. “I’m still here.”

Baek exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You are.”

And for the first time since waking up, she let herself breathe.

—

The hospital rooftop was quiet, the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the railing. A cool breeze carried the scent of rain, the sky painted in hues of deep blue and fading gold.

Y/N stood at the edge, leaning against the railing, the wind playing with the loose strands of her hair. She inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air fill her lungs.

She was alive.

The thought had settled into her bones over the past few weeks, but it still felt… surreal. Black Wings was behind her now. The life she had known—the one that had once defined her—was gone. And yet, here she was. Still standing.

“You shouldn’t be up here.”

She didn’t need to turn around to know it was Baek.

“You say that every time,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Baek stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his white coat, watching her with that same unreadable expression he always wore when he was thinking too much.

Y/N smirked. “Shouldn’t you be working, Dr. Baek?”

“I should be.” He stepped closer. “But you’re more important.”

Something in her chest tightened.

He stopped beside her, resting his arms on the railing as he looked out over the city. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“What now?”

Baek’s voice was quiet, but there was something beneath it. A careful question.

Y/N let out a breath. “I don’t know.”

Baek hummed. “Liar.”

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

His gaze flickered to her. “You’ve already decided, haven’t you?”

She hesitated, then exhaled. “I’ll stay.”

Baek didn’t react at first. Then, slowly, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I knew you’d come around.”

Y/N scoffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Baek chuckled, shaking his head. But there was something warm in his expression, something that made her feel steady, like she wasn’t just floating in uncertainty anymore.

Like she belonged.

After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hospital ID. He held it up between them, the dim light reflecting off the plastic.

Her name was printed on it.

Y/N stared. “You—”

“I pulled some strings,” Baek said casually. “Figured you’d need a place to start.”

Y/N took the ID slowly, running her fingers over the letters. Dr. Y/N.

Her throat tightened.

She looked up at Baek, finding him already watching her.

“Welcome to the team, Malaika,” he said softly.

Y/N swallowed.

Then, before she could second-guess herself, she reached for his hand.

Baek blinked, caught off guard, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled around hers, warm and steady.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of the future.

Because this time, she wasn’t facing it alone.

—

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store hummed softly overhead, casting a sterile glow over the aisles lined with instant meals, snacks, and drinks. It was a quiet night, the streets outside empty save for a few distant headlights, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Baek Kang-Hyuk had nothing to do but stand beside Y/N as she debated which ramyeon to buy.

She tapped her chin in exaggerated thought. “Should I get spicy or extra spicy?”

Baek gave her a flat look. “You cried last time you had extra spicy.”

Y/N gasped, clutching her chest as if personally wounded. “I did not!”

Baek smirked. “You did. You downed three bottles of milk after, and then you swore you were ‘never eating again.’”

She huffed, turning back to the shelf. “Maybe I was just being dramatic.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe?”

Y/N swatted his arm. “Fine. I’ll get the regular spicy.” Then she turned to him with a teasing glint in her eyes. “And you, Dr. Baek? Still going for the mild one?”

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed a cup of spicy ramyeon and tossed it into the basket. “I can handle spice.”

“Sure you can, Malak,” she said, smirking as she walked to the register.

Baek followed her, shaking his head but smiling.

As they reached the counter, the elderly cashier glanced up at them, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Newlyweds?” she asked, ringing up their items.

Baek choked on air.

Y/N, however, just grinned, tilting her head playfully. “Something like that.”

And just like that, the warmth in Baek’s chest grew a little stronger.

—

The world outside their window was slowly waking up—birds chirping, the occasional car passing by—but inside their small apartment, everything was still and quiet.

Baek stirred first, his body instinctively attuned to early mornings, but the weight against his chest made him hesitate before moving.

Y/N was curled up against him, her face buried in his shirt, her breathing slow and even. One of her arms was draped over his stomach, her fingers loosely curled against his side as if she had fallen asleep mid-thought.

Baek sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He had never been the type to stay in bed longer than necessary, but this—having her warm and safe in his arms—made the idea of moving seem absurd.

A soft mumble escaped Y/N’s lips.

Baek glanced down. “Did you just call me ‘Malak’ in your sleep?”

She groaned, shifting but not pulling away. “Shut up.”

He smirked. “Never.”

Y/N buried her face deeper into his chest. “Five more minutes.”

Baek exhaled, shaking his head. “Hopeless.”

But he tightened his hold around her and closed his eyes again. Maybe, just this once, he could stay.

—

The soft strumming of a song played from Y/N’s phone, filling their small living room with a gentle melody. She swayed lightly to the rhythm, barefoot, the fading sunset casting golden light over her figure.

Baek sat on the couch, arms crossed, watching her with an amused expression.

“You know I don’t dance,” he said.

Y/N turned to him, hands on her hips. “You stitch people up like it’s nothing, but this scares you?”

He frowned. “It’s different.”

She grabbed his hands, pulling him to his feet. “It’s not. You just follow my lead.”

Baek hesitated, then let out a resigned sigh. He let her place his hands on her waist as she rested hers lightly on his shoulders.

“Just sway,” she murmured, guiding him in slow, simple movements.

At first, he was stiff, too focused on getting it right, but Y/N smiled up at him—so effortlessly, so freely—and something in him melted.

He exhaled, relaxing into the rhythm.

Then, without thinking, he twirled her.

She let out a surprised laugh, her joy infectious. “Look at you, Dr. Baek. Who knew you had moves?”

He smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

Y/N rested her forehead against his, her voice softer now. “Too late.”

And as they swayed in the quiet of their home, Baek realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind dancing as much as he thought.

—

Baek had always been the type to focus intensely when studying, while Y/N had a habit of making notes… and then promptly falling asleep in the middle of them.

Tonight was no different.

He looked up from his textbook to find her slumped over the table, her head resting on her folded arms, soft breaths escaping her lips. Highlighters and open medical journals were scattered around her, her pen still loosely gripped in her fingers.

Baek sighed, shaking his head. “Hopeless,” he muttered under his breath.

Carefully, he pushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen over her face, tucking them behind her ear. He let his fingers linger for just a moment, tracing the soft curve of her cheek before exhaling.

Then, without waking her, he scooped her up in his arms.

Y/N stirred slightly, her head lolling against his shoulder. “Where we going…?” she murmured sleepily.

“To bed,” he said softly.

“Mmm… ‘kay,” she mumbled, curling into his warmth.

Baek chuckled. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Even half-asleep, she smirked. “You love me.”

And damn it, she was right.

Baek exhaled softly, tightening his hold on her as if to ground himself in the reality that she was still here—warm, breathing, alive.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice rough with quiet conviction. “I do.”

Y/N made a sleepy sound of acknowledgment, her fingers curling weakly into his shirt, as if she knew, as if she had always known.

Baek carried her through the dimly lit hall, each step feeling heavier with the weight of everything they had been through. The fear of almost losing her, the years of waiting for her to be ready, the desperate, selfish need to keep her in his life.

But now, for the first time, he wasn’t just holding onto a memory or a fleeting moment. He was holding her—his future, his reason to keep going.

And this time, she was holding on just as tightly.

End

Taglist: @study-with-reine234 @redhoodedtoad @celestialstar111 @ryujinxzyy @urfictional

Thank you for accompanying me throughout Malak and Malaika’s journey! i hope we all find someone like Malak who would wait for us, and someone like Malaika who is worth waiting for. fear not, we’ll certainly see more of them in side stories and one shots!

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 13 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12

Chapter Summary: It's back to work for you and your boys, but it wouldn't be the 118 if there weren't a few bumps in the road — or prisoners in the ambulance.

Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: violence

You’re good at a lot of things, but keeping secrets isn’t one of them. When the Christmas season rolls around, you can’t buy gifts too far in advance because if you do, all you can think about is telling the person what you got them. If someone asks, “Can we keep this between us?” you start to sweat a little. If someone catches you in a lie, it doesn’t take much for them to get the information out of you.

This is the biggest secret of your life. It involves everyone you care about in at least some way. You really don’t want to fuck it up.

Everyone knows you and Buck are dating. They know you’re living together. What they don’t know is that you’ve spent the last three months living with Eddie. They don’t know that you and Buck are also dating Eddie and that he’s dating both of you.

They don’t care that you and Buck are dating. Would they care that the three of you are dating? You aren’t sure. But the thought of revealing it ties your intestines into knots and makes your heart beat a little faster.

You all decided that, for now, it would be best to act like nothing is going on. Eddie is just getting back to work after the shooting, and the last thing he needs is for the transition back to be even harder.

Eddie Diaz is a secret worth keeping; you just can’t help but wonder if he doesn’t want to be kept. It isn’t exactly fair that you and Buck get to go on like normal, leaving him in the shadows. Eddie’s assured you both many times that he doesn’t feel left out — that he gets it. It doesn’t untie any of the knots in your stomach, though.

And then there’s the Christopher thing.

He’s a smart kid, smart enough to know that something is going on. You and Buck visited at least once a week before the shooting, so it’s not like your recent presence tilted the world on its axis. You definitely never spent this much time, though. And the more comfortable you’re getting in the relationship, the less careful you’re getting.

More than once, Christopher has walked into the living room when your legs are in Eddie’s lap or his arm is around your shoulders. Eddie quickly corrects the positioning, gently moving your legs or lifting his arm. All of his focus shifts to his son in a matter of seconds, like you aren’t even sitting next to him. Chris always spares you a few extra glances, but he doesn’t say anything.

Overall, though, everything and everyone is comfortable. Or, at the bare minimum, you have no reason to believe otherwise.

The four of you are sitting around the kitchen table, silently enjoying dinner. Christopher decides to break the silence.

“Are you going to be my new mom?”

You nearly choke on your drink. You cough a few times, and Buck pats your back in silent reassurance. You can’t look away from Eddie, who’s sitting across from you and next to his son.

His mouth is slack open in surprise, but he recovers quickly. He angles his chair to Christopher, clearing his throat. “What makes you ask that, buddy?”

“You help me get ready like a mom. You make dinner like a mom. You’re here a lot, like a mom.”

It sounds so simple when he lays it out like that, so simple that it’s almost impossible to refute. But… you’re supposed to refute it, right?

“I’m… your dad’s friend,” you eventually say. “I care about you both a lot.”

Chris stares at you, considering this. Eddie does the same.

“Maybe that’s better than having a mom,” Chris says, then continues to eat.

You see the tension in Eddie’s shoulders evaporate. He lets out a breath he probably didn’t even realize he was holding.

Buck isn’t entirely satisfied with that answer, though.

“Chris, why would that be better?” Buck asks. His tone is a little hesitant, but even as a parallel line.

“My mom died, and I miss her,” Chris answers simply. “I don’t want her to die, too. I don’t want to miss anyone else.”

It’s been over a year since Shannon’s accident — a whole year of Christopher’s life without his mother. The worst part about it is it can’t be fixed. Eddie’s told you how Shannon left and how hard it was to let her back into their son’s life. He did, though, because he thought it would be best for everyone. She was gone, but Eddie brought her back. He can’t bring her back again, and it’s probably killing him.

You rub your lips together in contemplation. “You know, Chris, my mom died too.”

Chris looks at you with wide eyes. “Really?”

He sounds so hopeful about having this in common with you. It makes your chest ache.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “She died when I was a baby. I don’t remember her, but I still miss her. And it hurts, missing your mom, but it won’t hurt forever. One day, you’ll be able to think of her, and it won’t hurt. And until then, I’ll be here. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The first call you work as a triad is a fucking doozy.

You’re called to Jamestown State Prison, where a riot is underway. That’s not why the 118 is there, though; the prisoners started some fires, and it’s your job to put them out. Both Buck and Eddie suggested you stay behind, that you probably wouldn’t be needed. You felt your face flush red and were greeted with suspicious looks from Bobby, Chimney, and especially Hen. You brushed them off, said that you can take care of yourself.

Now that you’re actually here, though, you kind of wish you listened to your boyfriends.

The team has to be ushered around the building by four men in total SWAT gear. You’re taken through automated doors and down long hallways, most of which have blood splatters on the wall and random debris scattered throughout. You finally make it to the HVAC corridor, where the primary fire is burning.

“Buck, Eddie, put up a water curtain,” Bobby instructs.

You survey the room and notice that the top of the walls are lined with fans. “Cap, they’re going to keep sucking smoke up into the system.”

He looks at the fans, then back at you. “Find the killswitch, let me know when you got it.”

You nod once and start walking along the wall. You’re up to date on your firefighting certification, but when you actually find yourself decked out in all the gear, it’s as if that part of your brain short-circuits. You never want to find yourself in an important role when it comes to firefighting. Finding a killswitch, though? You could do that in your sleep.

You quickly find a grey box with a red switch on it. With a little force, you pull it down, and you can hear the equipment shut down. “Got it!”

The boys put out the fire a few minutes later, and the team is ready to move out. Three of your four escorts had to take off and help control a different area, leaving you with one guard to walk you all out.

As you make your way back through a random room, you hear a strange sound. It stops you dead in your tracks.

“Did you guys hear that?” You ask, looking around. “Someone’s here.”

“No, this area is secure,” the guard says.

You disregard his response, instead following the sound. You turn the corner and see two men laying on the floor, side by side.

“Over here!” you shout, sliding your medi-bag off your shoulder as you approach the men.

They’re in blue and white clothes, similar to scrubs — prisoners. Due to their injuries, however, they’re hardly a threat. Both of their faces are bloodied and swollen. One has a decent laceration to the abdomen, while the other has a nasty upper airway sound.

“Airway is compromised,” you verbalize, gently palpating his neck. “I think his trachea is crushed.”

“Leave ‘em, they’re scumbags,” the guard retorts.

“We’re not leaving anyone,” Bobby protests. “ Let's get 'em up and out. No time for gurneys.”

Buck and Eddie help carry the airway patient while Bobby and Hen take care of the laceration patient. The guard leads you all out, and you’re hot on his heels. You hate to think what would happen if you got separated from the group.

You make it to the last hallway when Hen starts shouting.

“Stop, stop stop! He’s having a seizure,” she shouts, planting her feet in place.

The final gate opens, and you look back at Bobby, who’s helping lower the prisoner to the ground.

“You three go, we’ll be right behind you.”

You swallow. “Captain-”

“That’s an order!” He cuts you off. “Go!”

You make it to the last door. The guard keeps it propped open as Buck and Eddie walk out. You’re already rushing to the rig to get the gurney out.

“I gotta get back in there,” he explains. “Protocol says you need two guards with you. Don’t leave without an escort, all right?”

“Copy that,” you say as you pull the gurney out.

Moments after the three of you settle the patient, two officers in green jackets are at the back of the rig. You gesture for one to come in, while Buck hops out and leads the other to the front.

A few minutes into the ride, Buck turns off the sirens. You frown, looking towards the cab in confusion. When you turn back around, one of the ‘officers’ is pointing his gun at you.

“I can’t thank you three enough,” he says. “I’ve waited 18 years to get the hell out of that place.”

Buck pulls over, and the three of you are ushered out of the rig at gunpoint.

“Okay, so you broke out… what now?” Eddie asks.

The shorter prisoner says nothing as he rifles through Eddie’s pockets.

“The patient in there,” you continue, tilting your chin to the ambulance, “is that your handiwork?”

He moves on to you, a sick smile on his face as he digs through your pockets. He comes back with your phone and wallet. He walks back to the rig to talk to his co-conspirator.

“What do we do?” Buck asks in a low voice.

“Don’t know yet,” Eddie responds.

“Maybe they just want the ambulance?”

“Then why would they search us?” you counter. “There’s three of us, and two of them.”

“Cute kid,” one of the prisoners interrupts. He holds up a picture of Chris, the one Eddie keeps in his wallet. “Yours? I’m guessing he lives with you at 4995 South Bedford Street?”

Buck steps forward. “Hey, man, don’t even-”

The other prisoner pistol-whips him.

“Okay, so now that we're all on the same page, here's what's gonna happen next.”

With the boys’ help, the prisoners locate the GPS in the rig and remove it, leaving it on the side of the road. The three of you are forced into the back of the ambulance while one of them drives.

You keep staring at the prisoner. It probably isn’t the best idea, considering his gun is aimed at you. You can’t help it, though. He looks… familiar.

“I know you,” you say.

He frowns and scoffs out a laugh. “What?”

“I’ve seen you somewhere,” you continue, still observing his features.

The patient starts to sputter. Eddie turns his head to the side, and you reach for the suction without prompting.

“...Trent, something,” you say as you hand Eddie the suction catheter. You don’t look away from the prisoner. “Am I right?”

He breaks eye contact.

“You’re on death row,” you say, nodding as you get more confident. “Yeah, you were convicted of triple homicide.”

“He can’t protect his airway,” Eddie observes as he moves the suction catheter around. “We need to intubate.”

“Almost there, Mitch,” the man driving chimes in.

Buck looks out the window, his brow furrowing. “Wait, you guys are serious? We’re really going to a hospital?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Mitch mocks. “You’re so concerned about the health of your friend here. Now you can walk him through the front door.”

“Initiating RSI,” you say, ignoring the arguing men around you. “Eddie, start bagging, I’ll get the meds.”

You and Eddie intubate smoothly, like you have countless times. You push the meds, Eddie waits about 45 seconds before moving the BVM and replacing it with a Mac blade. He advances the tube and pulls the guidewire, and as he attaches the bag valve to the tube, you hover your stethoscope over the patient’s lungs. Eddie administers a breath, and you can hear it. You move to the other side and listen before pulling the stethoscope from your ears.

“Breath sounds bilateral,” you say, slinging your stethoscope around your neck. “Nice work.”

“Very nice work,” Mitch agrees, though he doesn’t sound genuine. “Now you two,” he says, gesturing between you and Buck, “get him inside.”

“Hey, man, listen, I don't know what you want, but there is a hospital full of sick people…” Buck protests.

“Just go, or I’ll shoot you,” Mitch states. “Or her. Or him. And then I find his kid, and I shoot him too.”

“Buck,” Eddie says simply. His tone leaves no room for argument.

You lean over to make eye contact with Eddie. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He looks up and down your face before nodding. “I’ll see you later.”

You and Buck get the patient inside. You’re escorted by Mitch’s co-conspirator, Dom. Once you get into the ER, it’s a ghost town; no one’s at the front desk, and the triage bay is empty of both staff and patients. A sense of dread pools into the base of your stomach. The dread is replaced with realization when you get tackled to the floor.

“I’m a paramedic!” you shout after saying your name. “I’m with the 118. That’s Evan Buckley, he’s a firefighter. Get the hell off of me!”

You hear Athena shout your name, then Buck’s. “Those two are good, let them up.”

The officers turn you around and offer you a hand, helping you to your feet as they apologize.

“Are you two okay?” Athena asks.

You look over Buck. He’s got a good injury to his left temple from where he was pistol-whipped; where the skin isn’t broken, it’s bruising red and purple. His head is probably pounding.

“We’re good,” Buck confirms. “How’d you know we were coming here?”

“We figured out why Mitchell broke out,” Athena explains. “Where is he?”

“Still in the ambulance,” you say, “with Eddie.”

After a while of radio static, you convince Buck to let you check him out. He’s sitting on an ER gurney, and you’re standing beside him, crossing a penlight through his vision.

“All he wants is to donate his heart,” Buck mumbles. “Why won’t they just let him?”

“You heard them, Buck: it’s against the law,” You respond, pocketing your pen. You hold out your index fingers. “Squeeze.”

He does as he’s told, and his strength is equal, just like his pupils. You can rule out a hemorrhage or hematoma of any kind, though you aren’t convinced he doesn’t have a concussion.

“Any nausea? Dizziness?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest.

“No, just a killer headache,” Buck says.

“Not surprising,” you chuckle.

You don some gloves and pick up a swab. You swipe the antiseptic over the cut on Buck’s face. He winces for a second, then goes back to wringing his hands together. You apply a bandaid, then use one hand to tilt his chin up so you can look him in the eye.

“Eddie will be okay,” you promise softly.

“How do you know that?”

“Because he’s always okay.”

You hear a single gunshot.

You find yourself running through the ER and out the front doors, Buck only a few paces behind you. You’re both screaming Eddie’s name, and you don’t stop until you can see him.

He’s at the back of the rig, crouching over Mitch as he does chest compressions.

Eddie makes eye contact with you. “Go get the crash cart.”

“What the hell happened?” You ask, panting.

“He shot himself. The bullet hit his brain. Go tell the hospital they need a crash team out here. They need to prep an OR.”

“Eddie, he’s dead,” Buck says.

“But his heart isn’t, and I need it to stay that way,” Eddie explains. “Go!”

Buck runs back into the hospital, shouting for help. You kneel opposite of Eddie, locking your hands together.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” you tell him.

“198, 199, 200,” Eddie says.

You quickly take over compressions, counting under your breath.

Athena and her boss find a loophole, and Mitch is able to donate his heart to his son, Nolan. They started surgery hours ago, and you wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few more hours to go.

You look over at Eddie, who’s sitting beside you. You nudge your knee against his. He looks up, and you smile.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

Eddie sighs and runs a hand down his face before nodding. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“He told you about his plan,” you say. It isn’t a question. If Eddie hadn’t known, he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of trying to ‘save’ Mitch.

“Yeah, he did.”

“And you went along with it,” you continue. “Why?”

Eddie frowns. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because he threatened to kill you, and me, and Buck, and your son. I think that’s four good reasons right there.”

Eddie averts his gaze. “After he told me his plan… he stopped being a prisoner. Or, at least, I stopped seeing him as one. He was just a dad trying to save his kid. God knows I would do the same for Chris.”

“Well, I think you’d have some competition,” you say lightheartedly. You lean forward to see Buck in the chair nect to Eddie. His legs are extended and his shoulders scrunched to his neck as he dozes off.

“Yeah, I definitely would,” Eddie agrees with a smile. He rubs his hands over his legs before standing. “I’m getting coffee. Want some?”

“Coffee sounds great,” you say with a smile.

Eddie walks off. Hen quickly takes his seat.

“Hey,” she greets, settling into the chair.

“Hey,” you return. “How did things shake out at Jamestown?”

Hen grins. “I got to perfrom surgery.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously,” she laughs joyfully. “End-to-end anastomosis of the splenic artery.”

“On the guard you and Cap rescued?”

She nods. “Sounds like he’ll be making a full recovery.”

You raise your hand for a high-five. “Way to go, Dr. Wilson.”

She grins and slaps your hand before holding and squeezing it. You both laugh and grin.

Hen continues holding your hand, running her thumb over the back of it. “Can I ask you something?”

You smile. “Of course.”

“Are you dating Eddie?”

You heart jumps into your throat. “I’m dating Buck.”

“Are you also dating Eddie?”

The way she phrases it makes it sound so… simple. God, you wish it were that simple.

The more that you think about it, though… why isn’t it that simple? All the random details are yours to work through with your partners behind closed doors. When it comes to your work and personal life, why can’t you simply be dating two guys who are also dating each other?

“We aren’t telling people yet,” you whisper. “But… yes. Buck and I are dating Eddie.”

Hen’s eyes widen and her eyebrows raise. “Both of you?”

Your heart goes from your throat up to your head and pounds mercilessly. Maybe she isn’t cool with it like you thought she’d be. The idea of that makes your stomach sick and your limbs numb.

“Well, it’s about damn time.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “You sure you’re okay with it?”

“Are you happy? All three of you?”

You nod.

“I love you all, and if you make each other happy, then why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

Your eyes well with tears; you didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear someone you love say that. Your secret is out, and it doesn’t matter. You couldn’t be happier.

You pull Hen into a hug. It’s a little awkward since you’re both sitting, but you don’t care, and neither does she.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (7/?)

Part summary: Six weeks later, Leigh decides to throw herself a birthday party.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.600+ | Warnings : None | Author's Note: Just a reminder that this doesn't strictly follow canon events. Borrowed some elements from the actual birthday episode, but it's going to go very differently for us :) Enjoy!

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI

-

Six weeks later

“Hey! Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Leigh’s mom calls out from the kitchen as Leigh hurries down the stairs. She runs straight into Amy’s arms, a ball of energy, drawing bewildered looks from her mom and sister. Ever since Matt died, they are used to Leigh either being too quiet or too snarky. Today, of all days, they were expecting her to be something else much worse. But it seems they're mistaken as Leigh turns to Jules, yanks her in close, and kisses her hair.

Jules and Amy share a look. To say this as an interesting development would be an understatement. It's her birthday—her first one without Matt, who had been at the heart of her celebrations for the last decade. They hope Leigh finds some happiness, truly, but these past several months have taught them to temper their expectations.

They keep their silent exchange to themselves, watching as Leigh picks up a croissant and takes a heart bite out of it, her face lit up with the widest smile. “Happy birthday,” Jules grins, pushing a small envelope towards Leigh. “Got something for you.”

“Thank you!” Leigh exclaims. She eagerly opens the envelope to find a bunch of homemade coupons, each promising some sort of favor from Jules, good for the next year. They range from “Will listen to your rants for 30 minutes, no interruptions” to “I will restart the book club you tried to get me and mom to do and actually read the books this time.”

Laughing, Leigh flips through them. “These are brilliant, Jules. Might have to use one today,” she says, already thinking about which one she'll cash in first. Then, she pulls Jules in a bear hug, as if it’s the most exquisite present she’s ever gotten in her lifetime. 

“You okay?” Leigh asks when she notices Amy staring at her.

Jules gives their mom a warning look as Amy struggles to come up with a response. “Nothing, I just… I didn’t think you’d be doing quite so well today. That’s all.”

“I didn’t either but we all make choices and I’m choosing to have a great birthday. So, let’s do this thing!” Leigh says in a manner that Jules feels too over the top. Amy starts laying out the plans for the evening and Leigh has a blank look by the time she finishes running them through it.

“I think I want a party,” Leigh announces. It’s met with astonishment, as if it’s the last thing her family’s expecting to hear.

“You do?” Amy.

“A party?” Jules.

Leigh isn’t perturbed by their reactions. “I do. I want a party,” she confirms. She delights at the dumb look on their faces as she reiterates, “Tonight. I want a big party.”

-

“You’re not having a big party.”

Danny calls her up the minute he gets her Facebook invite. He's partly furious about receiving the invite through Facebook, given that they’re “kind of seeing each other”, and partly incredulous because he couldn’t believe she’s making plans on her birthday without considering the fact that they are “kind of seeing each other”.

Leigh, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear as she flips through a recipe book on her kitchen counter, rolls her eyes so hard she worries they might stick that way. 

“Well, yes, Danny, that's exactly what I'm doing,” she fires back matter-of-factly.

Danny's frustration simmers on the other end of the line. He had already made plans, not bothering to consult Leigh because he assumed that their day would be spent together—privately, just the two of them.

“You didn’t think I’d have something planned?” he asks, more hurt than angry.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because we’re dating, Leigh,” he says, appalled that he needs to remind her. Leigh takes a second, biting her lip. Maybe it was a bit inconsiderate that she didn’t consider Danny when she impulsively decided she wanted a big celebration. But that flicker of guilt is short lived. 

After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she’s actually excited for something, the last time she thought, I deserve to be happy. 

“Yeah, well, I can still do what I want, Danny,” she retorts.

“Now you’re acting like a child,” he snaps.

Leigh feels a flash of anger, then something else—determination. “Maybe so. Come to the party or not, I don’t care. I'm going to have fun, Danny, with or without you.”

“Fine. Just don’t—”

Leigh doesn’t let him finish. With a press of a button, the call ends, his words cut off mid-sentence. Too often, she’s been criticized for not always following through with her declarations, but it's a different game when she's out to prove something.

-

Drew steps carefully around a minefield of clothes and makeup scattered on the floor to get to Leigh. She's curled up over her laptop, one leg propped on the chair, chin on her knee, in a posture that makes Drew wince. “For a fitness instructor, you're not exactly a poster child for back health,” he says, announcing himself to his best friend.

Leigh's head snaps up at Drew's voice, but instead of annoyance, a smirk quickly spreads across her face. “Good thing I'm not a fitness instructor anymore, then,” she says. Then she turns her attention back to her laptop as if he’s not there. Drew moves to sit on the edge of her bed, flops down on it like a ragdoll and stares at the cobwebs on the corners of the ceiling. 

“I know what you’ve been doing, Leigh,” he says.

Leigh is unphased, keeps typing. Then, as if she’s just heard his remark, mutters a distracted, “What have I been doing?”

“Avoiding. You've been avoiding writing about anything that's even remotely related to love or grief,” Drew says.

This time, Leigh stops typing. She sighs, a long, drawn-out exhale that seems to carry the weight of the world. “I’m busy, Drew. This gig is eating up all my time.” 

After leaving the Beautiful Beast, she took on a part-time job as a remote project manager. With Matt gone, she's left to deal with the debts they racked up together. She loved her studio job, really did, and wasn't fazed by the slim paycheck because it helped her mom out. Being surrounded by family has been a huge support (despite her occasional squabbles with Jules), but she knows she'll need to move out on her own again at some point. Ultimately, the pressing need for financial stability has pushed her to seek out better-paying opportunities.

Drew straightens up, leaning in with his elbows on his knees. “Bullshit.”

Leigh looks over her shoulder at him with mild irritation. “What do you want me to say, Drew?”

“You're meeting your weekly quota on other topics,” he points out. “Makes me wonder if bringing you back to the advice column was…premature.”

It sounds like a threat, but coming from him, she understands it as an early warning in case the senior editor begins to notice the issue. Leigh smiles thinly, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why does it even matter which topics I choose to engage with? First off, I'm collaborating with other writers now; it's not entirely my show anymore. Secondly, I've been doing a good job—”

“A great job, actually.”

Leigh tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. “So, what's the problem?”

“They're expecting you to lead on those topics because you've lived through them. They're looking for more authenticity in the pieces,” Drew explains. 

Leigh looks out the window, seemingly lost in thought, then shakes her head slightly. “What, you want me to write about how I started picking fights left and right after Matt died? Do you want me to detail my attempts at fixing his depression, as if it were as manageable as setting a broken bone?”

“You don’t have to delve into the most personal details.”

“It can’t be authentic if it’s not personal,” Leigh sneers. 

“Just think about it, okay?” Drew presses, a little desperately.

Leigh chews on the inside of her cheek, mulling it over. There's a whole part of her story she hasn't even touched on with him—the string of one-night stands with Danny, the way she's snapped at anyone who dared to disagree with her in the past few weeks. She's been on edge, not really liking the person she's been, and the thought of putting that version of herself out there for everyone to see is nothing short of humiliating. 

As a writer, she knows what to say, the same way a psychologist would know what to do even if they don’t need to have all sorts of human experience to help someone in every situation. But she also questions her right to preach behavior to others when she's far from having it all figured out herself. Regardless of her indecision, she knows Drew’s not going to drop it until she at least tells him she’ll consider.

“Fine,” she says, with a nod. “I'll sift through the inbox and tackle the ones I feel up to.”

“There you go, that's my girl,” Drew says, visibly relaxing. But then, a moment later, he feels a stab of guilt for showing up mostly because of work. It's been a while since they've hung out, their usual brunch dates falling through one after the other, and their daily chats have shriveled up to a few messages a week, with mostly just memes from Leigh that Drew hardly ever acknowledges. Eventually, Leigh just stopped sending them.

Drew fidgets, avoiding eye contact for a second before it dawns on him—he hasn't just been busy; he's been dodging Leigh on purpose ever since he popped the question to his partner. He was worried Leigh wouldn’t take the news well, considering the things she’s been going through. But if he’s being brutally honest with himself, a part of him just didn't want her grief to dampen his excitement. He was worried her sadness might dampen his spirits, and in a bid to preserve his own happiness, he’d left her out in the cold. He hadn't stopped to think that maybe he owed Leigh more than just her column.

“So, uh, how’s it going?” Drew asks cautiously.

“It’s going,” Leigh offers. Heartfelt talks aren't their thing, so Leigh decides to brush it off fast. “By the way, I'm throwing a birthday party for myself.” It comes out a bit more cheerfully than she feels.

“A party? That's great, Leigh!” Drew exclaims. “And hey, if you need help setting up or anything, just let me know.”

“Yeah,” she forces a smile, not as enthusiastic as she was about the idea at breakfast. “It's tonight, though. You're coming, right? And bring anyone fun you know.”

“Wow, OK,” Drew nods before his face morphs into a grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, is this where you're planning to hard launch your new relationship? At your party?”

Leigh’s eyes sharpen into slits. “You know about Danny?”

“Jules told me,” he says.

Rolling her eyes, Leigh retorts, “Let me guess, she told you so you'd join the haters club?”

“Nah,” Drew shrugs, his smile bright and sunny. “Danny's okay, I guess. If you're happy, I'm happy.”

She hasn’t been not happy lately. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it sure beats being on her own. So maybe she is—or at least, on her way.

“Thanks, Drew,” she murmurs thoughtfully.

Drew makes himself comfy, chin in hand, looking like he's all set for one of their marathon catch-ups. "So, how did you and Danny even start? Tell me everything."

-

Leigh's trunk is a one-can band, banging and clanging with every turn. Her groceries create a beat, something to fill in the lack of sound in her car. It’s how she drives these days—in utter silence. Before, she wouldn't even think of heading out without the perfect playlist, which often took her an extra five to fifteen minutes after settling into the driver's seat. But these days, as soon as the key is in the ignition, she twists it and takes off, not even waiting for the car to warm up.

Organizing a party by herself (with Jules' indispensable assistance, of course) and extending invites to her entire Facebook friends list has turned into quite the ruse. She's seasoned enough to temper her expectations—knowing well that not everyone who RSVP'd “yes” will show, and that some who didn't bother to RSVP might just surprise her by showing up. So, she's stocked up on as much food as her sedan can hold.

While Leigh's mind wanders to what snacks to whip up and what sauces to pair them with, she accidentally ends up on a lane that forces a left turn instead of going straight. This little misstep means she's got to take the scenic route home, which, by pure coincidence, takes her right past your clinic's street.

Her heartbeat quickens, though it shouldn't. There's no reason for it. She hasn't seen you in a month, not since the night she made a bold declaration on her bedroom door.

Leigh never planned on actually liking you as a person. Initially, her motive was purely to get a closer look, to dissect what it was about you that caught Matt's eye, what you possessed that she lacked. However, the answer to that mystery didn't remain elusive for long after spending a little time with you. You had this kindness about you, soft and easy, something Leigh’s always found just out of her reach. She prides herself on being decent enough but next to you, she feels a bit more like sandpaper to your silk.

Matt was like that too—gentle, easygoing. Leigh is well aware of her own rough edges, her sharp corners that don't quite align with Matt's smoother ones—and, by extension, yours. You and Matt had more in common than just interests; you both saw and reacted to the world in similar ways. Finding out that you and Matt were alike in important ways, in ways she wasn't, is something she's still learning to cope with.

As she nears your clinic, her eyes instinctively search it out, a habit she can't seem to break. 

This time, her timing is impeccable; just as she glides by, you step outside with a puppy in your arms, licking your face all over. You catch sight of her car from a distance, and you couldn’t stop the surprise that flashes across your face. As she drives past, you give her a little wave, puppy still in tow. Leigh cracks a small smile, then throws on her aviators, maybe trying to hide a bit more than her eyes. She sneaks one last look in the rearview, catching you watching her car disappear down the street before you head back into the clinic.

-

As soon as she gets home and is safely out of the car, she opens her messages.

The last text you sent her says, “I'm sorry. I hope we can still be friends,” sent three days after the encounter in her bedroom. She didn't respond to it, and you didn't push any further or impose yourself on her.

She wishes she had at least reacted with a heart or sent a smiley face to your message. Maybe then, inviting you to her party tonight wouldn’t feel so awkward. Nevertheless, she manages to type out a quick invite and extends to you the courtesy of bringing a plus one, someone you believe would be good company.

Your response arrives within five seconds of her hitting send.

“Thank you, I'll be sure to drop by :)” - Y/N

Satisfied, Leigh sets her phone aside. Now, she can focus on making those Deviled eggs.

-

The dress she's pulled from Jules's closet is a bold choice: deep black with a plunging neckline and a hem that flirts with daring. It's sexy, but not quite Leigh's usual style—and that's exactly why she loves it. It clings to her in all the right places, promising a confidence that Leigh isn't entirely sure she feels. Her hair, which is normally pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, hangs loose and wavy. She tops off her outfit with a slick of red lipstick and layers of dark eyeliner. 

With about an hour to spare before her guests are due to arrive, Leigh decides it's the perfect time to follow through on a promise she made to Drew. She logs into the shared inbox of the advice column she co-manages with two other writers at Basically News. Leigh scrolls through the submissions, Drew’s words playing on repeat in her head. He had a point. Maybe people don't always need the right answers—answers she hardly uses herself. Perhaps what they really need is someone to affirm what they're already feeling, to say it's okay to follow their gut, to be themselves.

She reads an interesting entry from one EspressoEyes:

“Do you think it's too much for me to give a puppy to this woman I like? I'm not even sure she likes me back (or like me in general 😣), but it's her birthday, and I feel like a puppy could be exactly what she needs at this moment.”

Leigh reads the message, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Personally, she muses, she'd welcome a puppy from just about anyone. But that's just her, especially with the rollercoaster of a year she's had—she's at a point where the gesture, no matter who it comes from, would be a welcome slice of joy.

Thinking it over, she starts replying, “A puppy is a big gesture—it can be an overwhelming gift for some. It might even be seen as too forward, especially in certain relationships.Yet, a gift is a gift. Sometimes, you need to just go for it, without apologies. If her feelings don't align, she'll let you know. She has to, because giving a puppy is essentially a love declaration, in case you hadn't realized. And who knows? She might feel the same about you. Just make sure she's actually up for the responsibility of a pet. They're for life, not just for birthdays.”

She signs off with her pen name—Gigi Herrel—a clever anagram of her name as it would have been had she taken Matt's last name in marriage: Leigh Greer. Though it never quite felt like her own. She only used it when she came back to Basically News in obeisance to his passing. Drew has granted her the autonomy to publish her responses without his oversight (“Just make sure your grammar is perfect,” he said), so Leigh doesn’t think twice before publishing her response.

Leigh moves on to browse through other submissions, this time, on those related to marriage and loss—the very subjects she promised Drew she would tackle. She’s been in those shoes, still feels like she's wearing them. With a deep breath, she clicks on one and dives right into it. Her first attempt at a response feels inadequate, prompting her to hit delete and start anew. This process repeats itself, one draft after another, until she has five versions sitting in front of her, none of which feel right. With a huff, she deletes them all.

Just then the doorbell rings, pulling her out of her advice-column vortex. Leigh glances around, momentarily disoriented. It takes her a moment to recall that there's a party happening downstairs, and she's meant to be enjoying herself.

-

She’s halfway down the stairs when Jules's eyes land on her. Leigh freezes, as if she’s been caught red-handed. “I…couldn’t find the coupon for borrowing your clothes.”

Jules just smirks and arches an eyebrow, taking in Leigh in her dress. “Oh please, as if I ever keep track. Besides, that was just gathering dust after my ‘slutty Halloween phase’ as you so lovingly called it.”

“Cool! Perfect!” Leigh says, ignoring the backhanded comment. Her focus immediately turns to the front door as another guest arrives. “Hey, Dad!” she calls out.

Leigh’s dad walks in with his partner, and she greets them with a warmth that's been rare these days. He hands her a large, beautifully wrapped box. Leigh grasps the gift with both hands, shaking it gently, much like a child on Christmas morning. She’s thanking them when an old friend from high school she hasn’t seen in forever walks through the door, a bottle of wine in hand. Her mom swoops in like a hawk, reminding everyone it's a dry party in support of Jules's sobriety, and the wine is swiftly traded for a mocktail.

For the next hour, the house fills up. Leigh finds herself out back, tending to snacks, when a small line of people forms to chat with her. They each ask if she’s doing okay, their condolences tucked neatly between cheerful birthday wishes. Leigh’s smiling, but it's so fake even she is not buying it, mentally blacklisting half of these people for next time.

Just when the parade of condolence callers is beginning to fray her patience, one of her actual favorite humans finally shows up, saving her mood from souring completely. Drew looks striking in a simple black polo shirt, so much so that it reminds Leigh of the time Matt got all jealous over him, until Leigh let him in on the secret that he plays for the other team.

He passes her a little envelope, his birthday offering—a gift card. Leigh’s barely expressed her thanks over the simple present when he jumps right into feedback on her latest advice column. 

“Read your puppy counsel on my way here. It felt a bit... casual, don’t you think?”

Leigh smirks up at him, arms crossed, the gift card crinkling between her forearms. “Just say it's terrible advice if that's what you mean.”

Drew purses his lips before relenting. “Fine. It was terrible advice.”

“Expect more of that if I tackle the stuff I’ve been avoiding. Still think it’s a good idea?” Leigh says, nodding like it’s exactly what she wants to hear. Drew lets out a sigh, swiftly steering the conversation away before their playful banter escalates into a disagreement. With Leigh, he knows all too well that the edge of an argument is always closer than it seems.

“Anyway, happy birthday, again,” he says, trying to lighten the mood again. “Ryan's tied up with work stuff, totally wiped, but he did wish you a happy birthday.”

Leigh’s face hardens slightly at the mention of Ryan. She’s been harboring this nagging thought that Ryan dislikes her, a suspicion fueled by a criticism she once shared with Drew in confidence, suspecting Drew might have passed it along. Drew, seeing her expression change, doesn’t rush to correct her assumption.

“He hates me,” Leigh concludes before Drew can even get a word out.

“He doesn’t—”

“What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have kept it between us?” she demands, feeling betrayed.

“Because Ryan’s my person. I tell him everything. That’s how being in a marriage works,” he says, but the moment he sees Leigh's face fall, he wishes he could retract those words.

Leigh bristles, her voice rising, “I know how being married works!”

She's livid, because that should go without saying. How dare he imply that she no longer knows, now that she's only half of a whole—her best friend, of all people.

Drew exhales coolly, as if trying to douse the proverbial fire between them. “Why does it seem like we're always either fighting or about to fight?” he wonders aloud.

Leigh’s anger softens into something more reflective, and she sighs, the fight draining out of her. “I don’t mean to...” She trails off, searching for the right words. “It’s like I’m always ready for a battle. I don’t know why. It’s like I’m expecting it, waiting for it, at the end of every day.”

Drew lets the moment breathe, waiting for both of them to deflate completely before tacitly reaching out behind Leigh for a snack. “These are great, by the way,” he says between bites, acting like they hadn’t just been at each other's throats.

Leigh tries to match Drew’s candidness, but inside, she’s reeling. It bothers her, this pattern they’ve fallen into—her temper flaring up, followed by a quick brush-off, as if these outbursts are merely now a part of who she is. She hates that she’s become predictable in her volatility, that her explosions are met with a shrug and a wait-out-the-clock mentality from those around her. She’s tired of it, tired of being seen as a ticking time bomb, her anger and hurt dismissed as just Leigh being Leigh, waiting for the reset button to be hit so the countdown can start all over again.

But it's her birthday, and she's brought these people together on a Tuesday night for fun. She didn't gather everyone just to tell them, once and for all, that they need to stop acting as if her husband just died.

So, she goes with the flow, laughing when it's her cue, even though deep down, she feels more alone in the crowd than ever.

-

With the absence of alcohol, the party winds down by 11 PM. Guests begin trickling out as early as 10, and by the time Leigh is bidding farewell to the last attendee, she's already donned an apron, ready to take on the mountain of dishes left behind.

Which is to say, showing up right now pretty much means you've missed the whole party.

Pulling up in front of Leigh's house, the night already deep into its quiet hours, you’re running on the adrenaline of the day's emergencies. Two cases back-to-back at the clinic, one of them diving straight into surgery, left you no choice but to push everything else to the side. Suzie, who was meant to join you as your plus one, ends up stuck back at work, tending to a recovering St. Bernard, so it's just you and the sleeping puppy on your lap now. For her sacrifice, you promise to take her out to a nice lunch one of these days.

The puppy starts wagging its tail in its sleep, and you look down with a smile at the little dreamer. The decision to give Leigh the puppy wasn't made lightly. You've been turning the idea in your mind for a while now. Initially, you didn't even realize her birthday was coming up, and the invitation to her party caught you off guard, especially considering the somewhat unresolved way things were left between you two weeks ago. The timing of her birthday, your rocky history, it all made you second-guess whether a puppy was a good idea. In search of a voice outside your own head, you turned to a favorite advice column you often read in your spare time. To your surprise, your submission was picked up by one of the columnists, and the response you got wasn't just advice; it was the push you needed. You were lucky to be able to catch their answer, just before you got home to change for Leigh’s birthday party.

Trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach, you give yourself a quick once-over in the rearview mirror and apply a fresh swipe of nude-colored lipstick. With one last look, you carefully step out of the car, the sleeping puppy nestled securely in your arms. The moment you move, it stirs, burrowing deeper into your armpit, seeking refuge from the light of the street lamps.

Everything's too quiet as you walk up to Leigh's house. You anticipated some noise, music or chatter—anything to indicate the party was in full swing. But there are none. Could you have missed the party? Or worse, did Leigh get the date wrong on her invite? Hesitantly, you press the doorbell, instantly regretting it, thinking you might be waking up the whole house.

Just as you're about to bail, the door swings open and it's Jules.

“Y/N!” Jules nearly trips over herself getting to you, eyes wide when she spots the furball you’re holding. 

“Hi Jules,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Is that a…” she squeaks out, already reaching for a cuddle before you've even nodded. Jules is all over the puppy, who seems just as happy to be the center of attention. After a while, she looks up, a bit more composed but still glowing. 

“I didn’t know Leigh invited you. Too bad, you just missed the party. But you should definitely come in and say hi to Leigh,” she says. You want nothing more than to see Leigh again, even if only for a brief moment, just to accomplish what you came here for and perhaps wish her a happy birthday. But with the party over and you potentially being the only guest, it feels like walking into a situation you don’t think you’re prepared enough for.

Then, as the puppy licks Jules' face off, she pauses and looks at you funny. It clicks for her—no collar, no leash, just you and this puppy who appear no more than two months old.

“Oh my gosh, is this for Leigh?” Jules gasps.

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I-If she wants him.”

Jules looks at you, then at the puppy, her smile blinding. “Well, I want him. But if she doesn’t, I’ll be more than happy to be his mommy.”

You laugh at her enthusiasm. Still feeling skittish, you ask, “Do you think it’s an appropriate gift for Leigh?”

“You're a vet. It's kind of on-brand for you,” Jules quips.

You laugh again. “Really?” you ask, kind of hoping for a more solid reassurance.

Jules considers it for a second, before saying, “I can at least assure you it’s not unwanted.”

Good enough, you think. Jules hands you back the puppy and then says, “She’s in the kitchen. Look, she’s not exactly in a good mood, but I think you should go for it anyway.”

That’s two people egging you to go ahead with your surprise. It must be a sign from the universe. You make up your mind for the final time. “Thanks, Jules,” you say.

“Anytime.”

-

You tread lightly, making sure your footsteps don’t give you away as you approach the kitchen. Leigh is at the sink, doing the dishes, clad in a black dress that skims her thighs, her feet bare against the cool kitchen tiles. Her shoulders are slumped, her movements laconic, as if her body is there, but her mind is miles elsewhere. The expanse of skin revealed by her hair tied up in a high ponytail captivates you, holding you back from announcing your presence. You allow yourself a moment to take her in, thinking this might be the only chance you get to really look at her like this. 

You’re about to say “Hi”, when Leigh whirls around, startling you both. Leigh, not expecting anyone to be there, loses her grip on the plate she's holding, and it smashes loudly against the floor. 

“Jesus!” Leigh’s scream summons Jules and her mom into the kitchen. Meanwhile, you are trying to do damage control—holding the puppy with one hand and attempting to gather the ceramic shards with the other as Leigh continues to stare at you in shock.

Amy, wrapped in her robe, looks from the mess on the floor to you and then to Leigh. “What’s going on here?”

Jules is unfazed, simply watches the entire scene from a corner of the room, smirking. 

Your cheeks flush with shame, and you find yourself grateful to be still seated on the floor, your back turned away from Leigh's family.

“I’m so—” you start, but Leigh cuts you off.

“Okay, everyone just...calm down," Leigh says. She kneels down beside you, her hands joining yours in cleaning up the broken pieces.

“I'm heading to bed,” Jules says and then winks at you. “Happy to see you, Y/N!”

Amy wraps her robe more snugly around herself, then with a small, puzzled shake of her head, says, “Well, good night everyone. And happy birthday again, sweetheart,” before she walks down the hall and out of sight. Leigh gets to her feet, a slight nod of appreciation directed your way as she holds open a trash bag for you to deposit the ceramic shards. That’s when the puppy finally catches her attention. 

“And who's this little guy?” she asks, a smile starting to play at the corners of her mouth.

You clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. He’s yours if you want him. Don’t worry about refusing, there’s someone lined up to take him in case you’re not—”

But Leigh’s already gently taking the puppy from your arms, instantly cradling and bouncing him as though he’s a tiny human baby. It’s a sight both funny and utterly endearing, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, feeling your heart grow a size or two.

“Who wouldn't want him? He's perfect,” Leigh says, her eyes not leaving him as he nestles comfortably in her arms. Hearing those words, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. She doesn't find it odd; she's already falling for him.

“Happy birthday,” you tell her, and when she looks at you, her smile is so bright it could light up the whole night. Right there is everything you hoped for. All you really wanted was to see her happy.

“Thank you so much,” she murmurs, clutching the puppy tighter to her chest. Then, cocking her head to the side, she inquires, “What's his name?”

The grin on your lips can’t be helped, and you’re hoping she wouldn’t see just how much she’s having an effect on you. “I haven’t named him yet. He was always meant to be yours, Leigh,” you say.

Her smile just gets bigger as she gazes down at the little furball in her arms, and you think this is exactly how things were supposed to go down. It’s one of those rare moments where reality lines up perfectly with expectation. 

“I think I’ll call him Logan.”

-

You and Leigh retire to the living room after she kindly offers to make you decaf. As you settle onto opposite ends of the couch, tucking your feet under you, Logan instinctively takes shelter in Leigh's lap, as if he already knows he belongs there.

“So…Why Logan?” you ask, after making a mental note of how Leigh makes her coffee: one cream, two sugars.

“Well,” Leigh says, her fingers gently stroking Logan’s deep chocolate fur, “he just looks like a little wolverine, doesn’t he? With that color and those defiant little eyes.”

The dots connect in a funny, unexpected sort of way. Leigh and comic books don't seem like the most likely pair. 

“Ah, like the X-Men character. I didn’t know you were a comic book fan,” you say.

She laughs, a sound that’s light and free of any shadows. “Oh, I wasn’t. Not really. It was all Matt. He had this massive collection, and he was pretty obsessed. I guess some of it rubbed off on me after all.” The mention of Matt doesn’t bring clouds into her eyes like you expected. She talks about him like she’s looking at something distant but dear.

“Thought you were bailing on me tonight,” Leigh , almost casual but there’s this undercurrent, like she’s really saying she’s glad you didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I got stuck at the clinic longer than expected.” Leaving her waiting, especially today, was never part of the plan. Your work as a vet often means unpredictable hours, but you hadn't expected it to stretch so far into the evening.

“It’s okay, you didn’t miss much.” 

Her casual dismissal makes you wonder, but not wanting to pry too much, you shift slightly, asking, “So, how did it go? Did you enjoy yourself at least?”

Leigh simply smiles and shrugs, an action that speaks volumes without giving much away. “This,” she nods down at Logan, “getting him from you, feels more like my birthday than anything else today.”

The conversation that follows is easy, skipping over the day-to-day stuff—nothing deep, but you're both there—really there—and it's nice. It feels like a fresh start, and you're deeply thankful for the second chance she's offering you. You promise yourself you won't mess it up this time. 

But just as you’re both delving into more personal topics, someone rings the doorbell. Logan perks up, his head tilted, ears alert. Leigh gives you a look, as if saying she's not expecting anyone else to show up this late at night. She puts the puppy down on the floor and when she opens the door, it’s Danny, looking sorry for himself. He’s holding a bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. It seems as though he has the whole evening planned out in his head—apologize, crack open the wine, and maybe be invited to Leigh’s bedroom afterwards.

Danny’s eyes find you and his face falls a bit. He wasn’t expecting company, certainly not you. “Leigh, can we talk?” he asks, then looks pointedly at you. “Alone?”

Leigh looks torn for a moment, glancing your way as if she's not ready to let you out of her sight. She insists it'll just be a minute, but you can read the room. This is something they need to sort out without you playing third wheel.

“It’s all good, I'll head out,” you tell her though you're staring Danny down, making sure he knows it’s not because of him that you’re leaving. Leigh either misses the whole glare-off or decides to stay out of it. Logan tries to follow you as you make for the door. It’s hard leaving him behind, but you know he’ll be happy to have found his forever home. You kneel down, giving Logan a soft kiss on the head, promising him you’ll be back soon. And then you turn to Leigh, a question at the tip of your tongue but she already knows what you’re going to ask. 

“You can see Logan anytime,” she says with a faint smile. “I might need your help with him sooner than you think.”

The moment you close the door behind you, Leigh's jaw sets in a firm line, bracing herself to confront Danny. Her main priority is to get Logan settled, so she decides that forgiving Danny might be the quickest way to send him on his way. But Danny’s focus now isn’t on apologies or making it up to her. He’s fixated on Logan, his brows knitting together in confusion and, curiously, a bit of annoyance. 

“Who gave you that?” he asks Leigh as if he’s just referring to an inanimate object lying around the house. He sounds like he's almost accusing her of something, and Leigh's baffled. 

“A friend gave him to me,” she says, nodding towards the door you've just walked out of. Danny's face twists up in an instant, like a storm cloud bursting. “A friend,” he repeats, and the way he says it, it’s clear he’s not just asking. He’s fuming with jealousy, and Leigh can’t wrap her head around why.

A gift is just a gift, right? Why would…

Oh.

Earlier, while she was reviewing submissions for the advice column, someone asked if giving a puppy as a birthday gift to someone they're interested in would be a good idea. She remembers how she happily encouraged them, telling them to go for it.

At this realization, Danny, the puppy, and everything else slide to the back burner. The only thing occupying her mind now is the deep, dark brown hue of your eyes, like rich espresso.

EspressoEyes. That's how the person behind the submission signed off. It's like a lightbulb moment, but softer—like waking up slow.

It's you.

Oh.

[emeritusemeritus]

Hi!

Can I request a oneshot,where the weasley twins got to a arguement with you, because they were a little extra flirty and their pranks going to far to the point it upset people,then it cause you to ignore them for 5 days straight. Making sure that you didn't bump into them in the hallways,didn't sit with them at (breakfast,lunch,and dinner),if you guys have classes together (since your in the same year) you either group up with someone else,or just simply not looking at them at all. Acting like,you didn't have two boyfriends who were always staring at you, thinking of a plan to get you to atleast look their way.

Then it all just ends with smut,the rest of the story can be anything you want.

THANKIES,LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH!💝😸😍😘

Hi lovely Anon! I hope you are well. Thank you very much for your kind words and for this request, I hope you enjoy! I’m sorry there’s not much smut at the end, I’ve been writing it pretty much for two days straight so it’s more an a non-graphic, implied kind of smut! 🖤

Warnings: a bit of angst, a bit of smut. Non graphic smut, implied sexual references. The twins being unapologetically themselves. Pranks, injury, minor genital injury, no blood.

Word count: 2.9k

Actions and Consequences

It had been five days since you'd last spoken to your boyfriends after that night in the common room. You were done with their stupid antics. For too long now you'd come second place to their inventions; you could deal with the long hours spent working on their creations, the aftermath of them testing their products on themselves and the amount of time spent grifting for sales but what you absolutely wouldn't deal with was them completely ignoring you for the sake of their 'customers'. Not to mention their completely lack of morality or remorse for anyone even as people suffer and endure the consequences of their stupid pranks. Or their complete blindness to real life consequences which had really bitten them in the arse lately... not that it seemed to make a blind bit of difference.

It may have all been funny once, but this time they'd gone too far.

You'd spent your time in the library, walking the grounds, helping out Hagrid and hanging out with your other friends, finding that without the twins' constant disruptions you were so much more productive. You actually had free time again, had gotten ahead of your school work and were completely up to date with your homework. Besides the crippling heartache, you were doing okay. Or maybe you weren't, but you wouldn't allow yourself to give them the satisfaction of knowing how deeply you were pining for them, or give them even a slight clue that they occupied your mind almost 24/7.

You'd ignored every one of their attempts to communicate, wanting them to feel exactly as you had when your wants and needs had been ignored. You knew it was petty but you just couldn't be around them right now, too hurt to carry on as you were. Fred had tried first, tried to bulldoze his way through your emotional boundaries under the guise of yet another joke or prank, another chance to break the rules. He'd learnt very quickly that this method did not and would not work, throwing him off completely. George had been slightly more sensitive in his approach but had still missed the mark entirely. Neither of them had apologised, not to you and not to Neville who had been caught in the crossfire of their invention testing. They'd even sent Hermiome over to try and 'talk some sense into you' but you'd quickly shut down her feeble attempt at being an unwitting participant and had instead diverted the conversation to S.P.E.W, which had earned you an hour long lecture on Elf rights, but at least the topic of the twins was quickly forgotten.

Any further attempt to reach out to you fell on deaf ears and was met with a neutral yet disappointed expression and absolutely no enthusiasm. You'd taken to eating with Katie and your other friends, trying not to spend any time in a place where the twins would be able to find you.

Their gazes upon you were constant, their eyes almost more persistent than their words. You could feel the heat from their stares on you morning and night, in the great hall, in classes, the common room. Sometimes you just felt like you were being watched constantly, though of course you weren't.

But you couldn't deny that your days had become infinitely more boring since you had been ignoring your boyfriends and trying to teach them some consequences. Boring but peaceful, you kept reminding yourself as you felt your stubbornness starting to slip. You missed them badly by the fifth day but reasoned that they had a lesson to learn even if it made you suffer in the process. You'd walked into your dorm after classes to find some fizzing whizbees placed on your bed that you knew would be from the twins. It made your heart pang for a moment as you looked upon the gift, knowing that they were your absolute favourite chocolate and that the twins didn't have any money so they must have begged borrowed and stolen for this. But then you remembered why they didn't have any money, bloody Ludo Bagman. With regret and a growling protesting stomach, you'd given Ginny the Whizbees, telling them to give them back to her brothers, though you knew that it was a step too far for your broken heart.

"What's it going to take?" Ginny asks, looking up at you from her bed as you hand her the delicious treats.

"An apology," you reply.

-♡-

"I have an announcement. Oi gits, put down your knitting and listen here!" Fred suddenly shouts from the centre of the common room, immediately grabbing everyone's attention. It's Friday night and everyone had been sat around the common room after dinner, branching off into different activities. You hadn't seen the twins since dinner and figured they were off somewhere causing mayhem, thinking no more of it. Dean reaches out and turns down the radio as the buzz of talking and laughter fades quickly, everyone falling silent as they look towards Fred. You heave out a sigh, really not wanting to give him anymore attention and so you didn't look up to him, choosing instead to keep your eyes on your book.

"I Fred Gideon Weasley, would like to formally apologise for my behaviour and careless actions the other night, well since birth actually," he says as he stands on top of one of the high tables near the stairs, as if he even needed the extra height to tower over everyone. Truthfully, you'd stopped reading the minute he's started talking, only feigning interest in the pages so that you wouldn't have to look at the stupidly handsome man. You could see the faint outline of him in your peripheral vision and it was enough.

"And I George Fabian Weasley would like to mirror that apology," you hear George say, pulling your attention even further, but you still don't look up. "And extend my greatest apologies to Neville Longbottom who unwillingly consumed one of our canary creams last week, turning him into a great big yellow bird. We're sorry we didn't warn you."

"Or know that you were terrified of birds," Fred adds, but you can almost hear the smirk that he's wearing.

"But to our girl," Fred adds, your heart pounding. "We want to apologise to our beautiful girl y/n y/n."

"Our long suffering girlfriend," George adds.

You look up now, completely forgetting the book in your lap as your eyes meet George's and then Fred's. They don't look remorseful per se, but you knew when they were being genuine. Your heart constricts, feeling suddenly awkward that they are doing this in public.

"We're sorry Angel, never meant to upset you or ignore you and this is our public apology to you."

"Of course we'll apologise later in private," Fred says with a smirk, earning a feel whoops and cheers from the crowd at the suggestion and you feel your cheeks heat up at the insinuation. He chuckles finding your wide eyes and flushed face in the crowd before continuing. "We never meant to embarrass anyone, even old Neville, no offence Neville." You watch as Neville raises his hand slightly in response to Fred, having been called out personally.

"So, in an attempt to show you that we are clearly reformed men who want nothing more than their future wife to forgive them, we're giving our sweet girl the chance to embarrass us, right here, in front of everyone."

You frown, thoroughly confused by their words.

"Ronald, be a dear," Fred calls out to his younger brother sat closest to you, gesturing for him to bring you up to them. He flushes bright pink, the smile slipping from his face at the audience participation section and you make it easy on him, placing your hand on his shoulder as you walk past towards the twins, your book long forgotten.

"A round of applause for our beautiful girl!" Fred says with a menacing grin, waving his arms frantically as the common room erupts with a loud roar of applause, making you want to run and hide.

"Now princess, you can do."

"Anything at all," George adds.

"To embarrass us," they say together.

"As justice for our professional negligence."

You don't have time to think of your options nor react as a deafening crack echoes around the common room as it falls silent, each person waiting in anticipation for what was going to happen. The twins shoot each other identical looks of shock and horror as the loud creak turns into a brief snapping noise, followed instantly by them tumbling to the ground with an almighty thud as the table beneath them splinters and collapses under their feet. You rush forward towards them, careful to avoid the masses of falling books, ornaments and the many many pieces of wood that had splintered around.

George appears first, completely unharmed and unfazed with a wicked smile on his face. The common room erupts in laughter and cheers but dies down slightly when you reach Fred who is doubled over, clutching his groin.

Apparently he'd landed awkwardly and had somehow managed to injure himself in the process, catching the 'family jewels' on the way down.

He stands slowly with your help, keeping a firm hold of your hand as he raises one arm, still slightly hunched over, forcing a smile onto his face as the common room cheers again. People begin to disperse after that, the show over and not wanting to be part of the cleanup. You wave your wand and begin to tidy the mess, hermione and Ginny helping levitate larger pieces and ornaments off to one side for now as Harry lifts the shell of the bookcase and flings it into the corner.

"Don't think you'll be apologising in the way you wanted Weasley," Seamus says as he walks past, a cheeky grin on his face as he wiggles his eyes at Fred.

"Shove off Finnegan," Fred shoots back, though his voice is still strained. "Git."

"Well I still can," George smirks, throwing his arm around your shoulder and giving you a smile, winking in your direction.

"Come to our dorm?" He asks into your ear, earning a little nod from you in conformation.

"Think you can make it big boy?" You ask Fred, seeing his face still scrunched up. He looks up towards you and squints in a mock glare, not caring for your apparent lack of sympathy.

"We are sorry Angel, we went too far," George says as he pulls you into his arms. You don't resist, more than happy by their attempts of apology. "We didn't really think about it and we'll try better next time. We promise that we'll never ignore you or put you second again, you're everything to us."

"I think it's been ripped off," Fred murmurs from behind you, still clutching his groin as he walks slowly into the dorm, closing the door with a flick of his wand.

Ignoring his twin completely, George smiles down at you, hand reaching up for your chin to keep your attention on him.

"Can we still call you our girl?"

You smile back up at him and nod, feeling better in his arms than you had all week.

"Don't go missing on us again," he says, "you're ours remember." He leans down to kiss you, hands simultaneously wandering and holding you tightly to his body.

"I'm never going to get hard again. It's done for, I'm ruined for life."

You realised almost as soon as their next big idea struck that long term consequences were just not a consideration for George and Fred, though this time you were neither angry nor upset. You'd realised somewhere along the way that the last thing the twins needed was someone else picking them apart, playing on their faults and trying to teach them a lesson of conformity. What they really needed was understanding and support of their future business and an occasional redirection for their more wild attempts. Though of course the main lesson had been learnt and then did now consider how their pranks and stunts would affect someone else, which was a big step (Ron didn't count in that agreement apparently).

So when the twins were mercilessly flung back from the Triwizard cup, landing on the stone floor with a great thud and immediately began spouting big white bushy beards, hair and eyebrows, you laughed along with everyone else. You were doubled over with laughter as they rolled on the floor squabbling about the consequences of the ageing potion and whose fault it was, knowing yourself that they were equally as guilty. They laughed along with the crowd who were in hysterics and when Fred caught your eye, seeing you with tears of laughter streaming down your face, he only laughed harder.

"Well, What do you think?" Fred smirks, running his hand through his white beard that could rival Dumbledore. Your vision was blurry with your tears of laughter, only made worse when he gets close to you, the ridiculousness of his appearance even more absurd up-close.

"I think you're an idiot," you say with a smile, holding back a wheeze.

"Come on baby, you're telling me this does nothing for you?" He says, trying to reach out for you and wiggling his ridiculous eyebrows at you suggestively.

"Not unless you're holding a sack and giving out presents... don't!"

He bursts with fresh laughter at your words, followed by another boom of laughter when George comes up behind you and attempts to kiss your cheek, the white bushy beard feeling awful against your cheek. You squirm out of their holds, completely disgusted at the thought of kissing them whilst they looked like that.

"I'm hurt, injured, I'll never recover, my girl swerving from my kisses!" George says dramatically, raising his hand to his forehead as if he's ready to faint from the hurt. You simply roll your eyes with a smirk on your face.

"Turn back ginger and you can have all the kisses you want," you say towards George who is still trying to cuddle up behind you despite your mocking attempts to bat him away. He chuckles in your ear and suddenly reaches out to press a wet, sloppy kiss to your cheek before running away with a boyish laugh. You grimace playfully, wiping the spit away from your cheek as you attempt to recover from the feel of his beard ghosting your skin.

"But it's like a view into the future," Fred adds, gesturing as his white hair.

"Then I want to break up."

"Can I at least keep the beard?"

"Madame Pomfrey now... then come find me later," you say suggestively, reaching and stroking his tie, making his eyes widen in excitement.

Immediately he runs off towards his twin, finding it easier than ever to spot him amongst the crowd as you try and locate someone else amongst the crowd.

"Boys!" You shout, earning their attention straight away as they pause, turning to you with curious looks on their faces just as they are about to exit the hall.

There's a blinding flash and they squint at the sudden brightness as you thank the boy beside you, gratefully accepting the Polaroid that Colin had snapped for you. Your laugh echoes around the hall as the moving picture develops, seeing their surprised faces, wide eyes and wild beards captured eternally on the film.

"One for the wedding album," you smirk, shooting them a wink as you place the photo in the pocket of your robes, still laughing as you walk away.

-♡-

"You know, I really like your hair long like this," you say to George later on that night in the privacy of their dormitory. Lee had been unceremoniously shipped off the second the twins had arrived back from the hospital wing looking 100 years younger and back to their gorgeous ginger selves.

"Why's that baby?" George mumbles as he kisses the skin of your thighs, adding to the fire that threatened to consume you. You smirked, reaching out for his soft shaggy hair, running your fingers through the long beautiful strands of fire red hair before giving a gentle tug as you move him closer to your weeping core.

"Better for steering," you smirk, biting your lip as you give him your most seductive smile. You're instantly rewarded with a chuckle from the very naked twin behind you and secondly with a deliciously arousing swipe of George's tongue through your folds, the tip of his tongue deliberately catches your aching clit making you gasp out his name and throw your head back onto Fred's shoulder behind you.

"So you don't like older men then princess?" Fred teases as his hands reach out to cup your heaving breasts, his thumbs gliding over your hardened nipples at the very same time that George's lips suck on your clit perfectly.

"Just you two," you manage to gasp out as your hips rise for George, keeping your fingers firmly embedded within his hair, thinking of how incredibly lucky you were to be in this opposition, dealing with the consequences of your actions.

[el4ise]

I HATE THAT I LOVE YOU | 리키

PAIRINGS. fwb!riki x reader

GENRE. angst, friends to ???

WARNINGS. swearing, kissing

SYNOPSIS. you didn't know being in a situationship was this complicated, especially when the person you're with it is your bestfriend.

SHO'S NOTE. inspired by my bae's ( @nishikio ) fic “It was never just fun” go check it out :]

YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED A LOVE LIFE, watching the cheesy couples act all lovey-dovey during the love month was an eyesore. only becuase you didn't have one of your own.

well, you kind of had one.

your bestfriend, riki. you wouldn't really call him your lover, it's not really official. you don't even remember how it happened. you both just flirted with one another and it flowed into.. whatever this is.

he'd buy you flowers, call you “baby” or “pretty”, take you out on dates, but he'd also ignore your texts, tease you too much, and just simply be a jerk.

you're lying if you said you didn't actually like him. you did, you really do. but it pains you that you don't even know if he does too, or all of this is just some fun to him.

and it doesn't help that he constantly gives you mixed signals.

KI : hello, pretty

: morning, riki :)

KI : you free after school?

: i think so, yeah. why?

KI : go to a party with me. I'll pick you up at 7.

: see you there <3

[ KI reacted '♡' to your message.]

great, a party. you enjoyed being in some, but you really didn't want to go in a party on the night of valentines, you're positive that the room will just be filled with your friends with their partners.

and well, you can't really call him that.

you spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready, putting on your silky red dress, and a plump pink lipstick. you kept your hair simply by just wearing it down. you made your way over to your living room, the sound of your velvety heels making contact with each step.

not long after your doorbell rang, you opened it as your eyes were met with rikis, his outfit simple yet still giving him the elegant look. his chrome hearts hoodie with his pants.

“good evening, gorgeous.”

you chuckled, “oh don't bait me with flattery. let's go,” he grinned as he took your hand and led you to his car as he drove you both to the party. as you expected, it was filled with lovebirds, some even kissing here and there. others are already wasted.

you both made your way to your friendgroup, they knew you and riki weren't just friends, but they were aware you weren't really something. the night went on with you and riki gulping down a few shots. you weren't much of a big drinker. you were starting to get tipsy.

you and riki were on the corner of the room, absentmindedly observing everyone dance and go out and about. you turned to riki, admiring his features. “you're s'handsome,” he chuckled at your giggly tone. “mmh you're just drunk, pretty.” he held your waist gently, just incase your legs begin to give out. “'m not, your lips are plump too.” you stared into them, the gap between you two ever so close.

fuck it. he pressed his lips onto yours, closing his eyes as he melted onto you, for the very first time. he pulled away slowly, realizing what he just did.

fuck, you've never kissed before. and he did it without your consent. this was you and him's first kiss too.

he wiped his lips, your strawberry flavored lippie still lingering within his.

as the night buried on more, he decided to drive you back home. and afterwards went home to his own apartment.

all he could think about was how wrong it was for him to kiss you. you were drunk, what if you didn't want that at all? plus, in you whole 'relationship' you've never kissed before. he doesn't even know if you truly like him or if this is just some no-strings-attached thing.

whatever it was, he knew the solution was to get rid of his feelings. he hated you, he hated your smile, he hated your laugh, he hated your voice. and most of all, he hated how he didn't even hate you one bit.

the day after that you went to school, looking for him. completely oblivious to what happened the previous night. the only recent memory that was left in your mind was you swallowing lots of alcohol.

you spotted him in his usual spot in the cafeteria, you approached him, but he simply gave you a cold look.

“soo, did you have fun last night?” he hummed. that's it. you sighed. this wasn't new. he would always be sweet & charming one moment, then the next it's like he doesn't want you at all. it annoyed you.

you thought it'd be a pattern, sweet then not, sweet then not. but to your surprise the next couple of days were silent. he didn't approach you, call you pretty, or give you any affection. you were curious. and a little hurt angry. did something happen that night? did you do something wrong?

you were going to talk to him but as you went to where you usually saw him, there he was, standing beside his locker with some girl clinging onto him. she looked at him with heart eyes. and he laughed, smiling with her.

that made your heart break into little pieces. yeah sure, he wasn't your boyfriend, but that 'moments' you have together mean nothing to him? were you really just a pawn?

you watched from afar as you clutched your jacket. you didn't even notice the tears in your eyes. why was he so important to you? worst of all, why him?

you went home that day with a heavy heart pounding in your chest. you barely got any sleep. your mind occupied with the memory of him with that girl.

it shouldn't hurt. but it did.

the next few days, the only view that clouded the school was him and that stupid girl. you see him doing the things he did to you, accompany her, buy her snacks from the caféteria, and just simply be there. each moment hurt more than the last.

the last class of the day finally ended. you went out the classroom, only to be met with the sight of him and the girl, again. you were going to tear your eyes off them, but was distracted when she kisses him.

she kissed him. his first kiss.

your heart shattered, once again. he never did that with you.

your tears formed quickly, you rub your eyes and ran. not knowing riki saw you and followed quickly.

you stormed off the school, your brain mindlessly fogged with that scene. why? why was it so easy for him to replace you?

“___!” you heard him call out, his hand grabbed your fist and turned you around. “please, hear me out-” he pleaded, you yelled, “what? that you suddenly went distant then found a girl better than me?” you wiped your tears, not wanting your eyes to meet his.

“it's not like that!” “then what?” you pulled your wrist out of his grasp, “was I that replaceable to you? I thought we had something- but.. I guess not! you even had your first kiss with he—” he cut you off, “she's not my first kiss, you are!” your eyes widened, in complete disbelief. “h-huh?..” you stared at him.

“look, the night at the party—you were drunk, and you caressed my lips and I wasn't thinking so I just kissed you, and I really fucking wanted to do that for a long time, but I don't even know if you liked me seriously or not, and I swear nothing else happened, but I felt really REALLY bad because I just kissed you even if I didn't know if you want to- and I was so in pain because I like you a lot, and I wanted it to go away, so I pretended to like this girl who liked me and she sucks, and then she suddenly kissed me and I wanted nothing but to reel your lips again, because I hate you so much and I hate that I love you, but really I don't!”

he flipped his hair, sighing. “and I completely understand if you don't feel the sa—” you cut him off, pulling him by his collar and pressing your lips against his. for a moment, he freezes. but he soon melts into your lips, kissing you back, just like the first time.

“I.. that was..” he panted, breathless.

“I love you, pretty. I mean it.” you hugged him. and his hands wrapped around your waist, he kissed your forehead. you giggled. “I love you too,”

“you promise?”

“pinky promise.”

⩩ ( @nishikio , @stvrriki ) ⊹ ࣪ ˖

© work of httpzsho | sho

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (3)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all chapters, and more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 2

- Next part: 4

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The high table, where King Viserys sat with his family, was a place of warmth and camaraderie, a rare moment where the burdens of the crown seemed distant, and only the joys of family remained.

Viserys looked around the table, his heart swelling with contentment. To his right sat his son, Y/N, the prince who had returned to him after years away, now a man grown, strong and capable. To his left, Rhaenyra, his beloved daughter, her eyes bright with happiness as she conversed with her brother. The sight of his children together, both healthy and whole, filled him with a deep, abiding joy.

"It does my heart good to see you both here," Viserys said, his voice warm and filled with affection. He raised his goblet, smiling at the two of you. "After all these years, to have my family together again… it’s a sight I’ve longed to see."

Rhaenyra turned to her father, her expression softening as she took in the emotion behind his words. "We’ve missed this too, Father," she said sincerely, glancing at you with a smile. "But I’m glad we’re together now. It feels… right."

You nodded in agreement, raising your own goblet in a toast. "To family," you said simply, the words carrying a weight that spoke of all the time spent apart, and the bonds that held strong despite it.

As the feast continued, Rhaenyra leaned closer to you, her voice lowering slightly as she sought to bridge the years that had passed. "It’s been too long since we’ve had a chance to talk like this, brother," she said, her tone laced with a hint of nostalgia. "So much has happened while you were away. I want to hear everything."

You smiled at her eagerness, glad to see that the bond between you had not faded despite the time apart. "I’ll tell you everything you wish to know, Rhaenyra," you replied, your voice filled with warmth. "But first, I’d like to know what you’ve been up to. The last time we flew together, you were still learning to control Syrax. How has she been?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes brightened at the mention of her dragon. "Syrax has grown stronger and more confident with every flight. She’s magnificent, Y/N. You should see her—she’s faster than ever, and she’s developed this incredible grace in the air." She paused, her smile widening as an idea took hold. "In fact, why don’t we go flying tomorrow? It’s been too long since Syrax and Silverwing soared together side by side."

The suggestion made your heart lift with excitement. "I’d love that," you said, the prospect of flying with Rhaenyra again bringing back memories of your youth. "It’s been far too long since I’ve seen Silverwing and Syrax together in the sky."

Rhaenyra beamed at your response, the thought of spending time with you once more clearly bringing her joy. But as she looked at you, her smile faltered slightly, her eyes lingering on your face as if seeing you in a new light. There was something different about you—something she hadn’t noticed until now. The years had changed you, matured you, in ways she hadn’t fully grasped until this moment.

You noticed her gaze, her expression more serious than before, and tilted your head slightly, curious. "Rhaenyra, what is it? You seem… distant all of a sudden."

Rhaenyra blinked, suddenly aware that she had been staring. Her cheeks flushed with warmth, and she quickly averted her gaze, trying to compose herself. "It’s nothing," she said, her voice a little too quick, too light. "I just… I was just thinking about how much you’ve changed. You’re not the boy who left for Dorne all those years ago."

Your brow furrowed slightly, not entirely convinced, but you decided not to press her. There was something in her voice that suggested she wasn’t ready to share what was truly on her mind. Instead, you offered her a reassuring smile. "We’ve all changed, Rhaenyra. But some things remain the same—like our bond. And no matter how much time passes, that will never change."

Rhaenyra looked at you again, her eyes softening at your words. She nodded, her smile returning, though it was tinged with something unspoken. "You’re right," she said softly, her gaze holding yours for a moment longer before she looked away, focusing on her goblet.

Before the conversation could continue, the arrival of another figure drew your attention. Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, made his way to the high table, his presence commanding as always. He wore a satisfied grin, still basking in the glory of the day’s events. He took his seat beside you, his movements fluid and confident, the very image of a warrior-prince.

"Quite the day, wouldn’t you say?" Daemon remarked as he settled into his seat, reaching for a goblet of wine. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked at you. "I must say, nephew, you gave me a good run. It’s not every day I find myself facing an opponent with as much skill as you."

You chuckled, the tension from earlier easing as you turned to your uncle. "You fought well, Uncle. I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that last strike. It caught me off guard."

Daemon’s grin widened, a flash of pride in his eyes. "That’s the trick, isn’t it? Always keep your opponent guessing. But don’t let it trouble you, Y/N. You held your own, and that’s more than most can say."

Viserys, who had been listening to the exchange with a fond smile, leaned in. "It was a fine match, truly. Both of you showed the realm what it means to be a Targaryen. Strength, skill, and honor—those are the qualities that will keep our house strong."

Daemon raised his goblet in a toast, his gaze locking with yours. "To the blood of the dragon," he said, his voice carrying a weight that transcended the casual nature of the feast. "May it continue to burn bright in all of us."

You and Viserys both raised your goblets in response, echoing the toast. "To the blood of the dragon."

As you drank, the warmth of the wine spread through you, mixing with the pride and contentment that filled the evening. 

Rhaenyra, still seated beside you, watched the exchange between you and Daemon with a thoughtful expression.

The feast was in full swing, and the air was filled with the sound of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets. As the evening progressed, the minstrels struck up a lively tune, signaling the start of the dances. 

You rose from your seat at the high table, casting a glance at your father, King Viserys, who beamed with pride. The weight of the crown seemed lighter on his brow tonight, surrounded as he was by his family and the lords and ladies of the realm. The King nodded at you, his expression encouraging as you prepared to lead the festivities.

Turning to your sister, Rhaenyra, you extended your hand with a warm smile. "Sister, may I have the honor of this first dance?"

Rhaenyra’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling with delight as she placed her hand in yours. "I would be honored, brother."

The two of you moved to the center of the hall, the eyes of the court upon you. The musicians began to play a lilting melody, and you led Rhaenyra into the dance with practiced ease. The two of you moved gracefully across the floor, your steps perfectly in sync, a testament to the connection that had always united you.

As you danced, Rhaenyra looked up at you, her smile softening. "It’s like old times, isn’t it? Before all the responsibilities and distance."

You nodded, guiding her through a turn. "It is. I’ve missed this—missed being with you, Rhaenyra. But I’m glad we have this moment now."

Rhaenyra’s smile widened, a flush of happiness coloring her cheeks. "So am I, brother. So am I."

The dance continued, the two of you drawing the admiration of those watching. There was a natural grace in the way you moved together, a reminder to all present of the strength and unity of House Targaryen. When the dance finally came to an end, the hall erupted in applause, the court celebrating the display of sibling affection.

You bowed to Rhaenyra, and she curtsied in return, both of you sharing a smile that spoke of a thousand unspoken words. Then, as the custom dictated, you began to move through the ranks of ladies awaiting their turn to dance with the prince.

The next lady to take your hand was Lady Elinor, the daughter of Lord Borros Baratheon, followed by Lady Alisanne of House Redwyne. Each dance was executed with the same charm and politeness, your demeanor impeccable as you honored each lady with your attention. You complimented their grace, listened attentively to their polite conversation, and thanked them graciously for the dance before moving on to the next.

Across the hall, Otto Hightower watched the proceedings with sharp eyes. The King was surrounded by a number of lords, each presenting their daughters as potential brides for you or Rhaenyra. Otto’s mind was calculating as he observed the scene, aware that this was a critical moment—one that could shape the future of the realm.

He leaned toward his daughter, Alicent, who sat beside him, her hands folded nervously in her lap. "Alicent," he began, his voice firm but not unkind, "you cannot afford to be passive in this. You see how the other ladies vie for his attention. If you wish to secure his favor, you must act. Do not be timid—assert yourself."

Alicent looked up at her father, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "But, Father…"

Otto’s gaze softened, though the urgency in his tone remained. "Alicent, this is your opportunity. You’ve spent time with the prince; you’re his sister’s confidante. Use that to your advantage. This is not just about you—it’s about our family’s future."

Alicent bit her lip, glancing at you as you moved from one dance partner to the next. She knew her father was right—this was a rare chance, and if she didn’t take it, she might regret it. Gathering her courage, she nodded. "Very well, Father. I’ll do as you say."

Otto gave her an encouraging nod, watching as she rose from her seat. "Good. Remember, Alicent, you are as worthy as any lady here—more so. Make him see that."

Alicent took a deep breath, smoothing her dress as she approached the line of ladies waiting to dance with you. As she neared the front, she gently but firmly edged her way past a few of the ladies, earning a few disapproving glances but no open objections. The music was still playing, and the court’s eyes were focused on you as you finished a dance with Lady Selyse Florent.

As you turned to offer your hand to the next lady, your gaze fell upon Alicent, who had just reached the front of the line. You smiled warmly, recognizing her as Rhaenyra’s closest friend. "Lady Alicent," you said, extending your hand, "would you honor me with this dance?"

Alicent’s heart fluttered as she placed her hand in yours, the warmth of your touch sending a thrill through her. "It would be my pleasure, my prince," she replied, her voice steady despite the nervous excitement she felt.

The two of you moved onto the floor, and as the music played, you led her into the dance with the same grace and charm you had shown the other ladies. Alicent moved with you, her steps light, her movements elegant. She was aware of the eyes on her, the expectations of her father, but in this moment, she tried to focus only on you.

"You dance beautifully, Lady Alicent," you complimented her as you guided her through a turn. "I hope you’ve been enjoying the festivities."

Alicent looked up at you, her eyes meeting yours as she replied. "Thank you, my prince. The feast has been wonderful, and it’s been a joy to see the realm celebrate your return."

You nodded, appreciative of her words. "It’s good to be home. And I’m glad to see Rhaenyra has had you by her side during my absence. She speaks very highly of you."

Alicent’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, though she maintained her composure. "Rhaenyra is a dear friend. It’s been an honor to be her companion, and I’m grateful for the trust she places in me."

You smiled at her, your tone warm but without any deeper inflection. "She’s fortunate to have a friend like you. I’m glad she’s had someone she can rely on."

Alicent’s heart sank slightly, realizing that while you were charming and polite, there was nothing in your words or demeanor that suggested you viewed her differently from any of the other ladies you had danced with tonight. You treated her with the same respect and kindness, but no more than that. It was clear you saw her as Rhaenyra’s friend—nothing more, nothing less.

As the dance came to an end, you bowed to her, just as you had with the other ladies, and she curtsied in return. "Thank you for the dance, Lady Alicent," you said with a smile. "It was a pleasure."

Alicent returned your smile, though it was tinged with a hint of disappointment. "The pleasure was mine, my prince."

As you turned to seek out your next dance partner, Alicent stepped back, returning to her father’s side. Otto’s expression was unreadable as he watched her approach, though there was a slight tightening of his jaw that she didn’t miss.

"You did well, Alicent," he said quietly, though there was no mistaking the hint of urgency in his voice. "But you must be persistent. The ladies are vying for his attention, and you cannot afford to be outdone."

Alicent nodded, though her heart felt heavy. She knew what was at stake, but the interaction had left her feeling uncertain. Still, she resolved to continue as her father instructed—this was too important to let doubt get in the way.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra had returned to her seat at the high table, watching as you danced with the other ladies. She couldn’t help but feel a small pang of possessiveness, though she knew it was part of your duty as the prince. Still, seeing you give your attention to so many others, even if it was only for a dance, made her all the more determined to hold on to the bond you shared.

As the night wore on, the music and dancing continued, the Great Hall filled with the joyous energy of the feast. 

And as you moved through the dances, your thoughts never strayed far from those you held dear—your father, your sister, and the duty that would one day fall upon your shoulders. But for now, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, the warmth of the evening, and the knowledge that you were home.

The halls of the Red Keep were quiet as the night deepened, the once lively echoes of the feast now replaced by a serene stillness. The grandeur of the evening had finally come to an end, and you found yourself at last retreating to your chambers, eager for a moment of solitude after the endless social engagements and responsibilities of the day.

As soon as the heavy wooden door to your chambers closed behind you, a sigh escaped your lips, the tension that had built up throughout the evening releasing in that single breath. The weight of the evening—the formalities, the expectations, the constant eyes upon you—felt heavy on your shoulders, and you rolled them back, trying to ease the stiffness that had settled there.

You loosened the collar of your doublet, the intricate embroidery and decorative fastenings that had seemed so necessary in the public eye now feeling suffocating. With deliberate movements, you began to remove the unnecessary pieces—brooches, chains, the heavy belt that had held Blackfyre at your side. Each item dropped onto the nearby table with a soft clink, the sound oddly satisfying as it signaled a return to yourself, to the man beneath the prince’s trappings.

You moved to the small table near the hearth and poured yourself a goblet of wine, the rich red liquid swirling as you filled the cup. Sitting down heavily in the chair beside it, you took a deep sip, savoring the warmth that spread through your chest. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its light casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The room was a refuge from the demands of the court, but even here, the thoughts of the day lingered in your mind.

Your gaze drifted to Blackfyre, the legendary sword of House Targaryen, which you had placed carefully on the table. The blade seemed to gleam in the firelight, a symbol of the legacy you bore, the expectations that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. You had wielded it with pride and skill on the battlefield, but here, in the heart of King’s Landing, it served as a reminder of the heavy burden you carried—your father’s hopes and dreams, and the responsibility of living up to them.

The goblet in your hand felt heavier with each passing moment as you stared at the sword. Leading men into battle had been straightforward—challenging, yes, but with a clear purpose, a defined enemy. But here, in the court, the lines were blurred, the enemies often hidden behind smiles and silk. It was a different kind of battle, one that required a different set of skills, and one that left you feeling more drained than any clash of swords.

Just as you were lost in these thoughts, a soft knock sounded at the door, pulling you from your reverie. You straightened slightly, setting the goblet down as Ser Harrold Westerling’s voice called through the door.

"Your Grace, Princess Rhaenyra wishes to see you."

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it, and replied, "Let her in."

The door opened to reveal Rhaenyra, her expression soft and caring as she stepped into the room. She closed the door behind her, her eyes immediately taking in the sight of you. The tension in your posture, the messiness of your attire—things that would have been socially unacceptable in the public eye—were evident to her, but here, in the privacy of your chambers, they were merely signs of your humanity.

"Brother," she said softly, moving to the table where the wine was still waiting. She poured herself a goblet, mirroring your earlier actions, before sitting across from you. She studied you for a moment, her gaze gentle. "You look troubled… and tired."

You met her gaze, a small, weary smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I am tired, Rhaenyra," you admitted, your voice tinged with the exhaustion you felt. "It’s strange, isn’t it? I find it easier to lead men into battle than to sit at court again."

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened with understanding. She had always known the pressures you faced, even if she couldn’t fully share them. "You’ve always managed to do both with such ease, though," she said, her tone both admiring and slightly teasing. "I’ll admit, I envy you for it."

You chuckled, the sound more genuine than you’d felt all evening. "Envy me, do you? I suppose I should take that as a compliment." There was a lightness in your tone, a desire to shake off the weight of your earlier thoughts, at least for a moment.

Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a smile, her own mood lifting at your response. "You should," she replied playfully, raising her goblet in a mock toast. "But only a little."

The two of you shared a laugh, the sound filling the room and banishing some of the lingering shadows. It felt good to laugh, to let go of the tensions that had knotted themselves around you throughout the day. With Rhaenyra, there was no need for pretense, no need to be the perfect prince. She knew you—truly knew you—and that was a comfort you cherished.

Rhaenyra took a sip of her wine, her gaze drifting to the goblet in your hand. "You should ease up on that, you know," she remarked with a hint of amusement. "I don’t want you to be late tomorrow for our flight. Syrax will be most disappointed if Silverwing doesn’t show."

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at the thought of flying with Rhaenyra again. "I wouldn’t dream of it," you assured her, setting the goblet down on the table with a playful sigh of resignation. "Besides, I don’t think I could face Syrax’s disappointment—or yours."

Rhaenyra’s smile softened, her gaze holding yours for a moment longer than usual. There was something in her eyes, a mixture of affection and something else, something unspoken that lingered just beneath the surface. But before you could dwell on it, she looked away, taking another sip of her wine as if to mask the brief flicker of vulnerability.

The moment passed, and you leaned back in your chair, feeling more at ease than you had all evening. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the two of you as you continued to talk, the conversation shifting to lighter topics, memories of childhood, and shared dreams of the future.

For a time, the world outside the chamber doors faded away, leaving only the comfort of each other’s company. The burdens of the day, the expectations of the court, the weight of the crown—all of it seemed distant, insignificant compared to moments like this with Rhaenyra.

And as the night wore on, the wine in your goblet forgotten, you found yourself looking forward to the dawn, to the flight that awaited you and Rhaenyra, a reminder that even in the midst of duty and responsibility, there was still room for joy, for the freedom of the skies, and for the love of family.

The morning sun bathed King’s Landing in a warm, golden light as the city came to life with the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls, the chatter of citizens going about their daily routines, and the distant, excited murmurs of those who had caught sight of the royal procession making its way through the streets. From the windows of the small council chambers in the Red Keep, King Viserys I Targaryen stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching as his children were escorted from the courtyard toward the Dragonpit.

Below, you and Rhaenyra rode side by side, your silver-blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, both of you resplendent in your riding attire. The people of the city lined the streets, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of their prince and princess. The sight of the two of you together, united and strong, brought a sense of pride to those who looked upon you. Dragons were a rare sight in the skies above King’s Landing these days, and the promise of seeing two Targaryens take flight was enough to stir excitement in even the most jaded of onlookers.

Viserys smiled faintly, his heart swelling with pride as he watched you and Rhaenyra. The relationship between his children was clear, and it was a source of comfort to him, knowing that you had each other. The realm was a complex and often dangerous place, filled with intrigue and ambition, but seeing you together, strong and united, reassured him that House Targaryen was still a force to be reckoned with.

But even as he watched you ride toward the Dragonpit, his thoughts were troubled. He knew the responsibilities that lay before you, the expectations that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. And though you had proven yourself time and again, both on the battlefield and in court, he worried about the weight of those expectations, and how they might shape your future.

A soft clearing of the throat behind him pulled Viserys from his thoughts. He turned to see the members of his small council seated around the table, their expressions varying from patient to expectant. Lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, was seated closest to Viserys’s chair, his sharp eyes never missing a detail. Next to him was Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Master of Ships, and across the table, Lord Lyonel Strong, the Master of Laws, along with other advisors and councilors.

Viserys sighed inwardly, knowing what was to come. The council had been growing increasingly insistent on matters of marriage and alliances, and he knew today would be no different. Reluctantly, he moved away from the window and took his seat at the head of the table, steeling himself for the discussion ahead.

Otto Hightower was the first to speak, his tone respectful but firm. "Your Grace, while the realm celebrates the return of your son, and we all take joy in the sight of the prince and princess together, there are pressing matters that require your attention."

Viserys nodded, though his thoughts were still partly on the sight of you and Rhaenyra riding through the city. "I understand, Otto. What is it you wish to discuss?"

Otto exchanged a brief glance with the other councilors before continuing. "Your Grace, it has been five years since the passing of Queen Aemma, may she rest in peace. The realm mourned her loss, but as you know, the stability of the crown relies heavily on the strength of its alliances. There are those who believe it would be advantageous for you to consider a second marriage."

Viserys’s expression tightened, the thought of remarrying bringing an ache to his chest. Aemma had been the love of his life, and though he knew the arguments for a second marriage, the idea of taking another wife felt like a betrayal of her memory. "I have not given much thought to that, Otto," Viserys replied, his tone measured. "Aemma’s death is still fresh in my mind."

Lord Corlys leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but insistent. "Your Grace, the realm must be considered. A marriage alliance could strengthen our position, both here and across the Narrow Sea. There are many noble houses who would see a marriage to the crown as a great honor."

Viserys sighed softly, feeling the weight of their words. "And what of my children?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the council. "Are they also to be offered up in marriage to secure alliances?"

Otto inclined his head, his expression thoughtful. "Your Grace, the prince and princess are of age, and it would be prudent to consider their futures as well. The realm expects it, and it could bring great stability. Have you given thought to any potential matches for Prince Y/N?"

Viserys’s thoughts drifted to you, the son who had just returned to him after years of service on the Dornish border. He knew that you had your own burdens, your own sense of duty, and the thought of placing yet another expectation on your shoulders was not one he relished. "He has only just returned," Viserys said, his voice tinged with reluctance. "I do not wish to burden him with talks of marriage so soon. He deserves some peace after all he has done for the realm."

Lord Lyonel Strong spoke up, his tone careful. "Of course, Your Grace, but the future of the realm is always in need of careful planning. If not now, then soon, these discussions must take place. The prince has proven himself, and there are many who would wish to see him secure the line of succession."

Viserys leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he felt the pressure of the conversation bearing down on him. The future of the realm, the line of succession, the alliances needed to maintain stability—these were all necessary concerns, but at this moment, all he wanted was to enjoy having his children by his side, whole and safe.

Otto watched Viserys closely, sensing his hesitation. "Your Grace," he said gently, "I understand this is difficult, but the realm looks to you for guidance. A second marriage for yourself, and well-considered matches for your children, could bring great strength to the crown. We are here to support you in making the best decisions for the future of House Targaryen."

Viserys exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting back toward the window, though the view of you and Rhaenyra had long since passed. "I know you are right, Otto," he said finally, his voice quieter. "But these are not decisions to be made lightly. I will consider your counsel, but for now, I wish to think on it further."

Otto nodded, recognizing that this was as much as he would get from the king today. "Of course, Your Grace. We are at your service whenever you are ready to discuss these matters further."

Viserys nodded in acknowledgment, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere, his mind lingering on the sight of you and Rhaenyra, and the memories of the family he had lost. The burden of the crown was heavy, but in that moment, all he wanted was to hold on to the peace and joy of having his family together, if only for a little while longer.

The council continued to discuss other matters—trade routes, border disputes, the ever-present issue of the Stepstones—but Viserys’s mind remained partially distant, caught between the responsibilities of the king and the desires of a father who simply wanted to see his children happy.

As the meeting wore on, the weight of their expectations pressed down on him, but Viserys knew that soon enough, he would have to face the decisions that lay ahead—decisions that would shape not just the future of the realm, but the future of his family as well. For now, however, he would hold on to the image of you and Rhaenyra, united and strong, and take comfort in the knowledge that, at least for today, the Targaryen legacy was secure.

The great structure of the Dragonpit loomed before you and Rhaenyra as you arrived, the massive dome a testament to the power and majesty of House Targaryen. The air was filled with excitement, the distant sounds of the city fading away as your focus narrowed to the task at hand—the exhilarating, unmatched thrill of flying with your sister once more. 

The Dragonkeepers, their faces solemn and respectful, approached with measured steps, leading the two magnificent beasts that were the pride of your family. Silverwing, your bondmate and constant companion in battle, shimmered in the morning light, her silver scales catching the sun and gleaming like polished steel. She walked with a powerful grace, her tail sweeping the ground, her golden eyes fixed on you with a deep, knowing intelligence.

Beside her, Syrax moved with equal elegance, her golden scales reflecting the sunlight with a brilliance that was almost blinding. The dragon’s eyes, a molten amber, were locked on Rhaenyra, her bond with the princess evident in the way she seemed to respond to her presence, her great wings flexing with barely contained energy.

Rhaenyra turned to you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Without warning, she playfully shoved you, catching you off guard for a brief moment. "Let’s see if you’re still as fast as you were before you left," she challenged, her voice light with laughter. "First to mount their dragon wins!"

The challenge was made, and with a grin, you quickly regained your balance, your competitive spirit flaring to life. "You’re on," you replied, already moving toward Silverwing with purpose.

Rhaenyra dashed toward Syrax, her laughter ringing out in the open space of the Dragonpit. You matched her pace, the years of camaraderie and friendly rivalry between you fueling your determination. The Dragonkeepers stepped back respectfully, giving you both the space you needed as you raced to your dragons.

Despite Rhaenyra’s head start, you pushed yourself to catch up, your heart pounding with excitement. The familiar sight of Silverwing waiting for you, her eyes fixed on you with unwavering loyalty, spurred you on. With a final burst of speed, you reached her side, your hands gripping the warm, smooth scales of her neck as you hoisted yourself up onto her back.

You secured yourself in the saddle with practiced ease, your hands moving quickly but confidently as you tightened the straps and adjusted the reins. Silverwing rumbled beneath you, her excitement palpable as she sensed the impending flight. You glanced over at Rhaenyra, who was just finishing securing herself atop Syrax, her expression a mixture of concentration and exhilaration.

"Too slow, sister!" you called out teasingly, giving Silverwing an affectionate pat on her neck. "But you can still try to catch up."

Rhaenyra shot you a playful glare, her eyes sparkling with determination. "We’ll see who’s too slow once we’re in the air!" she retorted, giving Syrax a gentle nudge with her heels.

With a powerful beat of her wings, Syrax launched herself into the sky, the force of her takeoff sending a rush of wind through the Dragonpit. Not one to be outdone, you urged Silverwing forward with a command that was more thought than spoken, the bond between you and your dragon allowing for seamless communication.

Silverwing responded instantly, her massive wings unfurling with a whoosh of air as she lifted off the ground. The powerful muscles in her legs propelled her upward, and within moments, you were soaring high above the Dragonpit, the city of King’s Landing sprawling out beneath you like a tapestry of red roofs and winding streets.

The thrill of flight, the sensation of the wind rushing past your face, filled you with a sense of freedom that was unparalleled. The ground fell away beneath you as Silverwing climbed higher, her wings slicing through the air with a rhythmic, almost hypnotic motion. You glanced to your right and saw Rhaenyra flying alongside you, Syrax keeping pace with Silverwing as the two dragons cut through the sky with the ease of creatures born to it.

Rhaenyra turned to you, her expression one of pure joy, her laughter carried away by the wind. "To Dragonstone and back!" she shouted, her voice carrying above the roar of the wind. "Let’s see if you can keep up, brother!"

You grinned, the challenge igniting your competitive spirit once more. "You’re on!" you called back, leaning forward slightly in the saddle to give Silverwing her head.

The two of you streaked across the sky, your dragons racing side by side, their wings creating powerful gusts that rippled through the clouds. The familiar silhouette of Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen, loomed in the distance, its jagged peaks rising like the spine of a great beast from the churning waters of Blackwater Bay.

The race was on in earnest now, both of you pushing your dragons to their limits, urging them faster and faster as the landscape below became a blur of green and blue. Silverwing responded to your every command with a fierce determination, her powerful wings propelling you forward at a breathtaking speed.

You stole a glance at Rhaenyra, who was fully focused on the path ahead, her hair whipping wildly in the wind as she urged Syrax on. The bond between you and your sister was clear in these moments—both of you pushing each other, challenging each other, but always with a shared sense of joy and freedom.

As Dragonstone drew nearer, you could feel the anticipation building within you. The jagged cliffs of the island came into sharp relief as you approached, the ancient castle perched atop the volcanic rock like a sentinel watching over the narrow sea. You and Rhaenyra were neck and neck, neither of you willing to give an inch as your dragons roared through the skies.

At the last moment, just as you neared the cliffs of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra pulled ahead, Syrax diving toward the island with a speed that surprised even you. With a whoop of victory, she soared over the castle before banking hard to the left, turning back toward King’s Landing.

"Not bad, sister!" you shouted, laughing as you urged Silverwing to follow. "But it’s not over yet!"

The return journey was just as exhilarating, the two of you racing through the sky with the same fierce determination. The landscape blurred beneath you, the distance between Dragonstone and King’s Landing seeming to shrink as your dragons raced each other, the wind whistling past your ears and the roar of their wings filling the air.

As the Red Keep came into view, the spires of the castle rising above the city, you and Rhaenyra were still neck and neck. The final stretch was upon you, and neither of you were willing to let the other claim victory without a fight.

In the end, it was Rhaenyra who crossed the invisible finish line first, Syrax’s speed proving just enough to edge out Silverwing. You pulled back on the reins, slowing your dragon’s descent as you circled the Dragonpit, both of you breathing hard but grinning widely.

Rhaenyra was already dismounting as you brought Silverwing in to land. She was flushed with excitement, her eyes shining as she looked up at you, still seated on your dragon. "Well, brother," she said breathlessly, "it seems you haven’t lost your touch after all."

You laughed, swinging down from Silverwing’s back and landing lightly beside her. "Nor have you," you replied, giving her a mock bow. "I concede defeat—for today."

Rhaenyra beamed, clearly pleased with her victory. "It was a close race, though," she admitted, her voice full of warmth. "Flying with you again… it’s like nothing has changed."

You nodded, feeling the same sense of contentment. "Nothing ever really does, Rhaenyra. Not when it comes to us."

The two of you shared a smile, the connection between you stronger than ever after the exhilaration of the flight. As the Dragonkeepers approached to tend to Silverwing and Syrax, you both knew that this was more than just a race—it was a reminder of who you were.

The two of you lingered at the Dragonpit longer than necessary, the adrenaline from the race still coursing through your veins. The sun had climbed higher, casting a warm rays over the ancient structure, and the dragons, having been tended to by the Dragonkeepers, were content to rest in their cavernous lairs. You and Rhaenyra began to make your way back toward the exit, but Rhaenyra, her spirits high from the race and the sheer joy of the flight, wasn’t quite ready to let the moment go.

"So," she began, her voice light with teasing, "I won, fair and square. And now you owe me, brother."

You smirked, knowing where this was headed. "Owe you? Is that so? And what exactly do I owe you, Rhaenyra? A rematch, perhaps?"

She laughed, that bright, carefree sound that you hadn’t heard in far too long. "A rematch? I’m not sure you’d want to lose again so soon," she teased, giving you a playful shove as she walked beside you.

You staggered slightly, more for show than from the actual force of her shove, and then, not to be outdone, you gave her a gentle nudge back. "Careful, or you might find yourself the one in need of a rematch," you teased in return.

Rhaenyra grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Is that a challenge, brother?"

"It might be," you replied, leaning into the game. The two of you continued to exchange playful shoves as you made your way down the path, the camaraderie between you as natural as breathing. There was something freeing about it, this moment where you could be yourselves, without the weight of titles and expectations.

But as Rhaenyra moved to push you once more, she misjudged her step, her foot catching on an uneven stone. With a surprised yelp, she stumbled backward, instinctively reaching out to grab hold of you. The force of her pull, combined with the momentum of your playful shoving, sent you both tumbling to the ground, a tangle of limbs and laughter.

You landed heavily on top of her, your arms instinctively bracing yourself so you wouldn’t crush her beneath your weight. The two of you laughed at the absurdity of it all, the sound echoing off the ancient stone walls of the Dragonpit. But then, as the laughter began to die down, the reality of your position started to sink in.

You were close—closer than you had ever been before. The laughter faded into a charged silence, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you. Rhaenyra’s eyes, wide and suddenly serious, stared up at you, her chest rising and falling with quickened breaths. Your faces were mere inches apart, and you could feel the warmth of her body beneath yours, the softness of her skin where your hands had landed to catch yourself.

The playful energy that had filled the air only moments ago was gone, replaced by something heavier, more intense. You could feel your muscles tense, your heart pounding in your chest as you became acutely aware of every point of contact between you. There was a heat in the pit of your stomach, something unfamiliar yet undeniable, that made it difficult to think clearly.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched slightly, her lips parting as if she were about to speak, but no words came. Her gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, the silent question hanging in the air between you. She could feel the warmth rising in her cheeks, in her chest, in places she would never admit out loud. The closeness, the intimacy of the moment, was overwhelming, and she could see in your eyes that you were feeling it too.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. Slowly, almost instinctively, your faces began to draw closer, the distance between your lips narrowing as if pulled together by some unseen force. The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the warmth of her breath against your skin, the rapid beat of your heart in your chest, and the undeniable pull that drew you closer.

But just as your lips were about to meet, the moment was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps and a voice calling out from a distance.

"Your Grace! Princess Rhaenyra!" The voice of Ser Harrold Westerling, the ever-dutiful Kingsguard, cut through the charged silence like a blade. He had seen the two of you fall from afar and had rushed over, concern etched on his face. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

The spell was broken. Reality crashed back in with a jarring force as you quickly pushed yourself up, your heart still racing, though now for an entirely different reason. You reached down to help Rhaenyra to her feet, your touch gentle but your movements hurried, as if to dispel any lingering trace of what had just passed between you.

"No, Ser Harrold," you said quickly, trying to steady your voice. "We’re fine. Just a bit of clumsiness, nothing more."

Rhaenyra, her cheeks still flushed and her gaze avoiding yours, nodded in agreement. "Yes, just a small mishap. Nothing to worry about."

Ser Harrold’s brow furrowed in concern, his eyes scanning the two of you for any sign of injury. "I’m glad to hear it, Your Graces. But perhaps it would be best if you returned to the Red Keep now. The court will be expecting you soon."

You nodded, grateful for the excuse to move on from the moment. "Of course, Ser Harrold. We’ll head back now."

With a final glance at you, Rhaenyra adjusted her clothing, trying to regain her composure as the two of you began to walk back toward the Red Keep, Ser Harrold following at a respectful distance. The playful ease that had filled the air earlier was gone, replaced by a charged silence, both of you acutely aware of how close you had come to crossing a line that neither of you fully understood.

As you walked side by side, the warmth of the sun on your backs, the tension between you lingered. The bond between you had always been strong, but now, there was something more—something neither of you had been prepared for, and something that neither of you knew how to address.

For now, you would leave it unspoken, burying the feelings that had surfaced in that brief moment of closeness. But the memory of it, the almost-kiss, would linger in both your minds, a question left unanswered, a path left unexplored.

And as the Red Keep came into view, you couldn’t help but wonder if that moment had changed things between you, in ways neither of you were ready to admit.

[savingcrxws]

eyes on fire | carmen berzatto headcanon

carmen berzatto x ex!reader (but not for long...)

warnings. language, mentions of suicide & death (mikey)

authors note. thinking of turning this into a fic but i just wanted to get these thoughts thrown onto a page for now | EDIT 7/7: ITS A FIC! HERES PART ONE

you hated carmen berzatto, to say the least

you had been each others first s/o and spent a lot of the end of your teenage years attached at the hip

every berzatto family function (no matter how messy they always ended), every school dance, every hell's kitchen rerun--you and carmy were together

mikey liked to call you guys soulmates, watching how you and carmy just seemed to click like that- a statement that never failed to make carmy go flush in the face (que richie faking barfing in the background)

you were one of the first people that carmen told about his wishes for the future-how he wanted to take up the restaurant with his brother and continue the berzatto tradition

you loved the way his eyes lit up when he talked about cooking with his family-the way he gave his all into his aspirations

"well you gotta make sure i'm the first one to eat those fancy sounding dishes when you start working at the beef, carm"

"absolutely, babe. i wouldn't have it any other way"

however, like everyone after high school, you and carmy hit a rough patch that sunk your relationship -- you were planning to go to college for business administration and carmy was leaving chicago to go to culinary school

you two definitely attempted everything in your power to stay together-late night skype calls, daily texts, hell you even offered to fly to new york to spend time together

but the more swamped you got with school and the more carmen got slammed with cooking (especially right before he went of to Noma), the more the truth begun to show itself

the breakup was messy, because it was less a breakup and more of ...

you: what are we doing right now? like, as a couple?

carmen: i think that i need to focus more on my career right now

you: oh, so..are we breaking up right now? (read 9:57PM)

you: carmen? (read 10:15)

you: ok, asshole, be that way (delivered)

that's right, that motherfucker ghosted you

despite the tumultuous ending of you and carmen's relationship, you were still close to sugar and mikey (and, unfortunately for you, richie)

sugar was adamant on flying over to copenhagen and have a "conversation" with her brother herself + mikey and richie were not too far behind on the cause

"it's fine guys. let's just all agree that carmen is a soft little bitch" you said, trying to lighten the mood even though you knew that you were still racking thru the pain being broken up with so suddenly

you deal with the breakup harshly at first, but you put a lot of that emotion towards your own growth

fast forward a couple years, you graduated college and are on the up-and-up in chicago as a successful business marketing manager

you get closer to the berzattos, strangely, as carmy gets more distant

you don't think of carmy much anymore but it grows harder as he wins awards and recognitions in his field that honestly make you..proud, in strange way

then, mikey dies...and a lot of things change for you

you help sugar and richie plan the funeral, and something sour sinks into your stomach when you don't see that familiar head of dirty blonde hair during the service

some months pass and you try to gather yourself and get back to normal after mikey's passing

richie invites you down to the beef one day to "catch up" randomly

you go, if not to just see tina and the rest of the crew but are met with great surprise when you see him

carmen motherfucking berzatto, in the flesh, standing behind the bar yelling to richie about something nonsensical

he stops yelling when he hears the door open and literally freezes in place when he sees you

you stare at him for a second, taking in the man who once had your heart, noting the new tattoos and the new way he styled his hair and he seems to be doing the same

then, richie breaks the silence--"oh my goodness, what are you doing here, sweetheart?"

you and carmy speak at the same time

"richie, you motherfucker"

"richie, you dick"

[leeyasuojihan]

An Hour with You

Soobin X Male Reader

fluff, slight angst 

IC: Reader is an ex-SHINee member (maknae), age gap (5 yrs Soobin is 24, M/n is in his late 20’s), acquaintances/friends to lovers(not really), reader is friends with Yeonjun, reader had a past scandal very brief, -nim means Mr., sorry if anyone is out of character I'm just a writer 😣, Rusty writer, I'm seriously not good at dialogue

A/n: there were so many moments where I was like wtf am I writing about idek what pov this is? 3rd ig, I used the 40% of English I know, slightly inspired by the bl “Light on Me” the ending

Start: 12/22/24 - Finished: 02/02/25

~

An hour or 8, how long has it been? {name} has been in the studio since the group had returned from an interview, hours since he and Chan had both been there working on their solos for their next release HOP

Is there something wrong with him? All the other members have already finished at least writing their songs, I mean it's not that it's due anytime soon, but still, it's been weeks. The only word present in his notebook was the word “you” surrounded by scribbled-out traces of his past thought processes

How much longer would he have to stare at his pen for ideas to start forming? He looks around for his phone, seeing it by his once-filled coffee cup he checks the time, 6:30 AM, as it is about to turn off a notification reignites it

Lixie: Hyung, are you still at the studio? you weren't in your room

Why was he still up, they have another interview tomorrow, or well later today either way it's not something he's excited for, {name} quickly responds 

{name}: I’m leaving now, why are you still up Lixie

Sending the message he packs up disgruntledly glancing at his poor attempt at a song one last time before closing his notebook and tossing it into his bag so ready to do anything but think for the next hours

~

7:31

Entering the shared dorm Felix was waiting in the main room lying on the couch, hearing the door he turned his attention from his phone, “Oh hyung, you look tired”, “Wow, thank you” {name} said placing his bag down beside the door, he’ll get it later, or someone else will do it

“You know I didn't mean it like that, you lay with me,” Felix said, watching {name}’s slow movements towards him. Nights like this were when {name} wished he had just settled for a normal job after leaving his last group, he appreciated the member's efforts and all of Stay’s support, all 7 summers together were spent with no regrets, but with a schedule like this there should be a lot more breaks 

“Have you finished your song yet {name}?”, {name} groaned not wanting to think about his lack of creativity, “I'm not even close, I have no good ideas”, Felix responded with a hum “We still have a month” A month {name} is sure will be filled no progress since 5 have already passed

“Yeah,” {name} says, turning towards the window, curtains slightly blocking out the beauty of the sunrise. “It's almost light outside, I'll go shower so I won't take too long when we're ready to leave” At this point, it wasn't only the music becoming a burden 

It was everything and everyone, even the shortest conversations like this were exhausting especially when they were about work, he didn’t even feel like he had enough energy for a shower but whatever would help him get away for a few minutes

The thought of a hiatus was never a new thing, he had been on hiatus for a scandal a year ago, and that might be the problem, he had gotten so used to doing nothing only to be placed back with a hectic schedule on a random day when the company decided they wanted him back in the group 

Since this comeback started he has been battling the thought of having this conversation again, this time it being his own decision, he didn’t want to leave the boys worrying while they were all busy with practices and preparing for their solos. He’s usually good at pushing through these moments regardless of how tired he is, but recently the weight of everything feels as if it's trying to crush him

Being in the industry as long as he and being the oldest of the group has made even the smallest mistakes on stage and during recordings made him feel like he’s no longer good enough to be an idol, the other boys have noticed his constant requests for retakes but it never seemed that serious as Seungmin would do the same at times

Now not even being able to write a song was his limit, living like this any longer was just unbearable, all his passions seemed to be dimming, and it was obvious, to him at least, that he needed to take a step back before he completely loses it

The interview goes by as most do, lame jokes, fake laughs to be nice, and the interviewer knowing barely anything about the actual group, fun. Although {name} spent most of the interview zoned out it didn't change much since both felt like a waste of time, one was just more socially agreed on

Chan of course observed all his members making sure they were all comfortable and noticed quickly when {name} wasn't as interactive as he usually was, only sending small smiles his way when he’d seen the leader looking his way

Finally, there's an end to it, the room fills with thank you’s and staff members packing up, {name} quickly made his way over to Chan thanking a random staff member, “Can I talk to you about something” Chan's expression became more serious as he turned in {name}’s direction “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you too”

The two ended up in a bathroom, not the best place but it's private. “Are you okay you barely said anything the whole time” Chan started “Actually, Channie.. I haven't been feeling well lately, I wanted to talk to you about going on hiatus”

With his reaction {name} wasn't sure how he was feeling, Chan simply nodded and stared for a second before speaking again “How long have you been feeling like this, why didn't you tell me earlier”, {name} thought about for a second glancing around but still the design of the room goes unnoticed “it's been 5 months now, I didn't want to bother you guys but right now everything even just talking for too long feels like a chore. I don't want to leave but I think I need time to find myself”

“{name} hyung, this isn't something that bothers us, this is serious. I'm sorry you've been feeling this way and that I didn't notice sooner, you've worked hard, it's normal to get tired, you're human. If a hiatus is what you need we’ll all support you” Chan says going in for a hug

{name} accepted the hug, It was no surprise he’d react this way, he was probably the best leader any group could have, but there was always a thought that leaving in the middle of preparing for another comeback was just selfish competing with the his other thought that if he doesn't take a break his lack of motivation could imperil the group and his relationship with his members

“Seriously don't worry about us, we can talk to the company together and figure out how to handle this. Take care of yourself”

[2 Days later]

For some reason having everyone here talking about this felt embarrassing, almost as if he should be punished for not being strong enough to keep going. The members sat gathered around the main room sitting wherever they could fit

As Chan explained why they were all called here, the attention was fully on him and {name} the only two standing, the atmosphere was awkward but free of judgment. Chan gave {name} a pat on the back before sitting on the couch armrest by Minho “I want to start by saying I love you all, I'm very grateful to be a part of this group and have you guys as my brothers, but lately…I haven't been okay”

The room immediately falls silent, the member's once playful expressions fading into furrowed brows and worried glances. Looking down to avoid eye contact {name} continues “I’ve been feeling burnt out for a while now. I didn't tell you guys because I didn’t want to disappoint you, but it’s been getting harder every day. I feel like I can’t give 100% anymore to our fans, you, or even myself. I already talked to Chan about it, and we both agreed that I needed to take a break”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence with the boys exchanging glances and processing his words. Still unable to meet their eyes {name} continues “I know this might make things harder for all of you. I hate the idea of leaving you even for a little while, but I need this time to figure things out, I’m really sorry”

Jeongin is the first to speak up “Hyung why are you apologizing? You dont have to be sorry for taking care of yourself” his voice wavering slightly “You’ve been so strong for all of us. If you’re feeling this way, we’ll support you no matter what”. Changbin’s usually playful personality wasn’t present 

“{name}ie, we’ve always said that we’d support each other through anything, and this is no different. Your health comes first. The group will manage without you for however long you need—we’ll make it work. You just focus on getting better.”

Felix made a slight humming sound nodding his head to agree “when you’re ready to come back we’ll be here waiting for you”

Felix got up walking to where {name} was standing pulling him into a hug. It didn’t take long before it became a group hug

5 days in, not much has changed aside from now being over rested. It wasn’t a bad change though. Despite the comfort {name} knew it was time to get out of bed and start taking care of himself 

When he walked to the living room his mom was watching the news, it was nothing important just something to follow the weather report 

“Ma?” hearing her son’s voice she looks over “oh you're up?, how are you feeling?” It was a quick glance as she continued to watching the news

“I feel a little better” {name} says walking over to the kitchen behind the couch. “That’s good, I made you something. Also when you’re done eating do you think you could go to the store for me”

This time instead of glancing she got up and walked over to him lifting the cover off the breakfast she made. {name} didn’t have anything else to do so the answer was easy “yea, what do you need me to get”

With 3 things left to find on the list his mom gave to him he turns the cart into another isle to be met with a man standing in front of 1 of 3 things

“Excuse me?” {name} called, The man turned around surprised “Oh! Hi {name}nim,”. It was Soobin, {name} knew him, he was the leader of his friend Yeonjun’s group. {name} had went out to restaurants and played games with members before, but only when Yeonjun was there

Soobin had also recently went on hiatus for health issues, “I saw that you’re also on hiatus now, how are you?”. {name} answered his question while placing what he needed in the cart “I’m doing well, what about you? your break is almost done”

“Ah, I’m good, I feel better” Soobin said observing the cart and its keepings. “{name}nim are you in a hurry to go home after this” 

“Not really,” there wasn’t much for {name} to do at home besides watching tv and talking to his mom and their dog, the groceries weren’t an urgent need

“There’s a café close, do you want to get coffee together?” Soobin asked looking as if he wanted any answer but a the word no

Or is this delusion? Either way no wasn’t an option “yea, I just need 2 more things though”, Soobin smiled softly “What else? Let’s look for them together. I couldn’t find what I wanted anyway”. He took the small blue paper from {name}’s hand

After ordering they took a seat in a corner with the grocery bags resting below them. Soobin angled his head trying to see the one that kept turning over

“Did you just want to get coffee, or did you want to talk about something?” Just a curious question from {name}. Soobin looked up with that one slightly surprised bunny expression he has

S-“I just thought about how I’ve never gotten the chance to talk to you alone”. 

{N}-“Tomorrow I have nothing to do, do you want to go somewhere together?”

For the first time in a while seeing someone didn’t feel like a chore to {name}, if anything it was his main motivation to do better

How would he go see Soobin if he hadn’t showered, brushed his teeth, or got dressed

At this point he’s gotten up early and showered for it to return as a habit. His phone lights up, 2:05 am, from Soobin 

“Hey {name}ie, do you want to go to the store with me?”

{N}- “Soobie it’s so late why are you up😭”

S- “we had to re-record a few things and why are you still up {name}-nim”

{N}- “alright,” “don’t question me” “I’ll go get ready and wait for you outside”

It wasn’t anything speacial but these past 4 months, even though Soobin when back to schedules, {name} has been going on late night or early morning walks with Soobin to a close store or to wherever they decide to stop, talking about any and everything

Surprisingly and unsurprisingly they had a lot in common, and Soobin tells {name} about everything that happens while he’s on hiatus 

Like Felix getting lost on stage again, Jeongin and Beomgyu annoying both groups, and messages of how much both Stay and the kids miss him 

The last one always feels like he was sent to recruit {name} from hiatus. “So how much longer do you think you’ll be on hiatus?” 

He’s been thinking about it, finally seeing his members again. As much as he needed this break, he now misses his members 1000 times more, calls weren’t enough 

Soobin has of course been great company, another thing he’s been thinking about

“Hmm, tomorrow” of course it definitely wasn’t thought out but {name} was tired of not being able to see them

“Really?!” Soobin stopped walking for a while until {name} reached beside him and turned to face him

{name} shook his head “mhm, also since you’re usually the one inviting me for walks, I invited you this time because I wanted to tell you something…”

They were back to walking. Soobin looked over again “Oh? {name}ie what is it?” 

“I like you” a sentence enough to stop their movement again. “I wanted to tell before I got off hiatus since our schedules probably won’t match anymore”

Blank stare. Blink. Was it a mistake? Did he misunderstand?

“{name} are you sure you’re ready to go back to the dorms?” His mom asked looking at him from the doorway

“Yea, I’ll be okay. I was okay when i debuted, I’ll be okay now” he glanced around his old room.

Knock Knock

“Mom did you invite someone?” “No, I’ll go check”. A few minutes later a stream of familiar chatter flowed down the hallway 

“{NAME}IE” Changbin already shouting before they all got into view. {name} got up meeting the members halfway at tge door, Felix was the first one to pull him into a hug

“Oh- why are you guys here?!” {name} accepted the hug motioning for the other boys to join which they did without hesitation except for Chan who just answered giggling at the scene “we had a day off so we wanted to come pick you up”

They separate with the younger members moving to do their own little inspection of the room that held their oldest brother for months 

“Are you feeling better?” Chan asked walking over and picking up {name}’s packed bag. “Yeah, I can’t wait to go back”

2024 MAMA Awards 

Hours of announcements and 4-5 awards won for the night, a performance is the perfect time for a bathroom break

Jisung and Hyunjin went along too. As they entered the bathroom Soobin was by the sink washing his hands and looked over 

The two boys beside {name} quickly greeted Soobin before entering their own stalls

Soobin grab a paper towel drying his hand before speaking. “{name}, I’m sorry,” “it doesn’t matter” before {name} walk away Soobin caught his hand

“After the awards, I’ll be outside for a while just come talk to me” Soobin finished throwing the paper towel away before hurrying back to his seat 

Soobin sat outside on a bench a bit near the building, a vacant area compared to the front littered with confused idols trying to get to their correct vans. {name}’s slow steps lead right to him. Soobin looked up blurry eyed “You're here”. {name} took a seat beside him only looking ahead as if there was something interesting about the same trees hes seen before

“What did you want to talk about Soobin?”. Sooobin let out a light sigh before sitting back “{name}, when you told me you liked me i was scared. I'm sorry”, “why are you saying sorry, it's okay, you don't need to like me , just say thank you for liking me, it sounds better”. 

Looking at each other Soobin finally lets himself smile, even if it was a small one, “thank you for liking me, but i like you too”. “Oh. Soobin-ah thank you, i really liked being around you, but this time i i’d rather someone who gives me the same effort i give”

Soobin glanced down for a second before looking back up to meet {name}’s evercalm expression, “hyung, i'll try again. I promise i wont make you feel that way again”.

“Go for it”

[dix0nvix3n]

𖤓°⋆ Chapter 1 °⋆𖤓

⋆☀︎｡Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader  ⋆☀︎｡Media: The Walking Dead; No Apocalypse & Alternate Universe ⋆☀︎｡Pronouns: She/Her  ⋆☀︎｡ Warning: Smoking (Cigarettes), One mention of weed, Talk of a bad past relationship. (That's it I think?) ⋆☀︎｡ Word Count: 2.5k

⋆☀︎｡ Author's Note: It's finally here... the beginning of my magnum opus. Even though I only have this one chapter out, there hasn't been a single day since I came up with the idea for the fic where I didn't think about it at least once. I just wanna thank all the people who let me infodump about it; y'all are true soldiers, cause I can really ramble on. Special thanks to @sinkdownbeneath for helping me write the intro because I was completely stuck for months with almost nothing to show, and being the person who let me yap the most, he can account for me pretty much talking about it every day for the past five months. So, anyway, I guess I hope y'all like my first finished something that wasn't just a blurb. Last night I only had a little over 200 words at 10 PM something, and now it's 7:44 AM with 2.5k words as I write this... I don't know what got into me, but anyway, enjoy!

June 1st, 1992

Daryl finds himself propped up against a tree, catching his breath. The cool summer air around him makes his chest ache with every breath he takes. He had been running, hearing the twigs snap and the leaves crunch beneath his feet as he darted past every tree, trying to evade potential capture from a party that had him jumping out a window when the cops showed up due to a noise complaint.

He spent much of his life within the comfort of the woodland, underneath the thick canopy of leaves and branches, the first roof he ever felt safe under.

He gasped for air, his legs exhausted and his lungs overworked, adrenaline still pulsing through him as he slid down the rough bark of a tree, pulling his legs up to his chest.

He's close to the road, hearing a solitary car cruise past. He can tell it's late from the stars that peek through the leaves that loom above him in the thick black sky, but he spots his glimmer of hope, which seems to be the soft light of a gas station just a bit beyond the road's traffic barrier closest to him.

With a deep inhale, Daryl knew he had to walk to the gas station and reluctantly call for a ride in a phone booth.

After fully catching his breath, he pulled himself off the ground and began walking towards the gas station, already dreading the thought of the phone call.

Reaching the gas station, he saw two cars; one belonged to the lone worker at the cash register inside, and the other belonged to a woman smoking a cigarette at the side of the building. The woman did a quick wave at him, which he found to be a little odd just because most people at this time of night aren't too friendly, but he gave a polite wave back anyway. 

Finally getting up to the phone booth, Daryl looked down at his watch, which read 1:00 AM, causing him to let out a deep sigh, realizing how late it was and how much of an inconvenience it would be for someone to come and pick him up. 

He stepped inside the phone booth, staring at the phone for a minute before popping in the quarters he luckily grabbed from the living room floor of the party. If he hadn't grabbed them, he'd be completely fucked and have to figure out his way back to his apartment.

After dialing the number he knew would pick up, the phone rang just a few times before a tired and clearly just woken up by a phone at one in the morning voice picked up.

"Hey, Mr. H... Could ya pick me up?"

"Thanks. 'm sorry about this; kinda just started walking and didn't stop. Ended up at some party, and now I don' know where I am."

"Yeah. Place is called Peachy Speed, never seen another gas station called this; it must be family-owned or somethin' and the closest road sign says it's on Navel Street. You know where I'm at?"

"Okay, cool. See ya in a bit. Sorry again."

After hanging up, Daryl stepped out of the phone booth with his head held down, letting out a deep exhale and running a hand through his hair until he heard a pair of feet shuffling up to him.

He looked up to see who it was, and it was you, the woman who waved at him.

"Need one?" You held out an open pack of Marlboro Reds, with only one cigarette missing from the pack.

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks." His thoughts stuttered for a moment because he was caught up in the fact that you came over to him. You're really pretty, and now Daryl feels like a nervous schoolboy trying to ask a girl to the prom just because of a simple gesture.

He grabbed a cigarette out of the box and reached to pull his lighter out of his pocket, only not to feel it, and checked the other pocket to have the same luck. "Shit."

You let out a small chuckle. "Need a light too?” You pulled a lighter out of your pocket and handed it over to him.

He nodded his thanks and popped the cig in his mouth before lifting the black bic with a spiderweb seemingly hand-painted on up to the end of the stick. Flicking the flame to life, he took a long inhale and handed you back the lighter, as he really took a moment to take in the sight of you. 

You were in a black tank top tucked into a pair of black ripped jean shorts. Under the pair of jean shorts were fishnets with an intricate pattern of moons and stars, and you had on a pair of slightly battered-up Doc Martens. 

As he exhaled the first plume of smoke into the night sky, he saw your kind smile, which sent a rush of warmth through his face. Your lips had a simple gloss on them, but your eyes were a different story, painted with smokey eyeshadow, sharp graphic eyeliner, and two rounds of mascara on each set of your top lashes. He also noticed the simple yet pretty titanium stud on the left side of your nose and two helix rings on both your ears.

He thought you were gorgeous, his heartbeat a slightly faster pace than what it normally rested at.

"Rough night?" You asked as you lit up a cigarette for yourself, letting out a slight gag at the taste and smell that you weren't used to, which caused Daryl to let out a small chuckle.

"Sorta. More of just hated the fact I had to call and wake someone up to come and get me. First time smokin'?" He said before he took another drag.

"How'd you know?" You said sarcastically as your face contorted in disgust a bit at the taste building up in your mouth and throat after each puff.

"Maybe try a different brand. You'll find one ya like." A small smile graced his lips as he butted off the ash at the end and took another drag. 

"Nah. Think I'm quitting after this one. I'll just stick to weed."

He let out a chuckle. "May I ask, why'd ya even start?"

You let out a small groan, running your hand through your hair in slight embarrassment. "I finally left my shitty boyfriend once and for all. I finally realized he'd never like me for the real me. I constantly had to put on this mask around him, and I finally found out that it was impossible to fix him and the fact he didn't actually like me. I know it sounds weird, but I guess my thought process was that my epiphany about him would stick with me after smoking one like a character in a movie or something." You let out a laugh. "Stupid, right?" 

He snubbed out the end of the cigarette, as it was almost a roach at this point. "Nah, it ain't stupid. A lot of my best thoughts come after smokin' one, cleared my head more times than I can count. You deserve one after the bullshit he put you through, I think. Hope the prick is havin' a shit night after realizin' he's lost you cause ya seem awesome to me so far."

You felt warmth begin to rise in your cheeks at his words. "Thanks. I know I deserve better. I'm just pissed; it took me so long to realize it. So, anyway, what's your name? I can't believe I haven't asked yet."

"Name's Daryl; what's yours?"

You had a few good puffs left of your cig but decided to snub yours out as well since you didn't like it anyway. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Daryl. My name is (Y/N). Do you wanna come sit with me at my spot against the wall? My most likely melted slushy is calling my name to get this taste out of my mouth." 

"Yeah, I can. Might be a bit till my ride gets here, so I might as well sit down." He started walking to your spot, and you followed in tow. 

When you got back to your spot, you looked down at your slushy on the ground. The dark purple concoction of blue raspberry and cherry slushy combo was completely melted. "Goddammit." You didn't fully care though; you paid for that slushy, because you were stubborn it meant you were going to have all of what you paid for, so you drank down the rest of the sugary liquid with a satisfied sigh. It was luckily still cold, at least, and it was just what you needed to get the taste of the cigarette out of your mouth.

As time passed, you and Daryl talked about whatever came to mind as you doodled some intricate pattern on the front of the pack of the Marlboro Reds with a sharpie, ultimately moving to the back when you ran out of room. You found out that he works as a mechanic for motorcycles and cars at a nearby auto body shop, that he rides a motorcycle that he built himself a few years ago, that he loves to hunt on occasion, specifically with a crossbow, and that he ran from the cops at a house party tonight.

You knew your short time with Daryl was up when you saw a 1987 Ford Sierra MK2 pull into a parking spot at the gas station, and Daryl stood up, doing a quick stretch. The man in the car smiled and made a small wave at you, and you did the same back.

"It was nice meetin' ya, (Y/N). I'd talk more, but I don't wanna keep him up any longer." He said as he gestured a hand towards the man who came to pick him up. 

"It was nice meeting you too. Thanks for talking to me, Daryl." You pulled the pack of cigarettes from your pocket and held them out to him. "Take these. You need them more than me. Plus, I just quit." You grinned at him as he took the box from you. 

"Holy shit, thank you." He smiled back as he placed the box in his own pocket and slowly started walking backward towards the car. "Hope ya have a good night and that Nick the dick has a shit one. 

You let out a laugh at the nickname Daryl gave your ex-boyfriend and waved him goodbye with a "You too." You leaned your head back against the wall, staring up at the night sky as your eyes finally began to feel tired, knowing you should head back to your friend's apartment soon and try and get some sleep before your nine AM shift. 

Once Daryl got in the car, he let out a quiet sigh as he looked out the window at you, wishing he dared to ask for your number. You were the first good conversation he'd had in a while, and his schoolboy-like crush on you kept growing the whole time you talked.

"So, who's that?" The man said as he shifted the car into gear, Daryl noticing the grin on his face.

"A girl that started talkin' to me after our call. Name's (Y/N)." He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, mindlessly tracing the pattern of doodles you did.

"You ask for her number? The car was now beginning to be backed out of its parking spot.

"Nah. Mind if I smoke?" Daryl shook the pack and began looking for one of the lighters he left in the glove compartment a few weeks ago. 

The man shook his head with a slight sigh and said, "Go ahead." He wasn't shaking his head over Daryl wanting to smoke, but over the fact he wouldn't ask for your number when he obviously liked you, but he knew he couldn't push him; he understood Daryl's nature.

Daryl looked back out the window at you, opening it as he blew out the first cloud of smoke. He then looked back down in his lap where the box lay, flipping it over to the back to see what you had drawn there as well. His breath hitched as he saw it. On the back was your phone number, and above it said, "Call me" with a smiley face. 

The tips of Daryl's ears were beet red, and he tried to hold back his face from turning the same color. He looked back out the window at you to see you grinning at him this time, to which he smiled and waved goodbye to you as the car pulled out of the lot. In Daryl's twenty-three years of life, he could say that this night was one of his best.

"Daryl, why'd you call me Mr. H again? Son, you've known me for five years; how many times do I gotta remind you to call me by my name? It's Dale for you."

Daryl let out a small cloud of smoke this time, wanting to savor this one on the peaceful ride back. "I'll tell ya again, it happens when I'm nervous; didn't wanna wake you up, s'all, and you still are my boss after all."

"Daryl, you're like a son to me, and I told you to never be nervous if you need help, and that includes coming and picking you up in the middle of the night if needed. I'm here for you." Dale placed his right hand on Daryl's shoulder, keeping his left on the wheel as he squeezed his shoulder lightly before returning it to the steering wheel.

"Now, it's not Mr. H or Mr. Horvath, son. It's Dale."

Daryl rolled his eyes playfully. "Yes, sir," he joked, letting out a chuckle.

It was the next day around 10:30 PM when Daryl picked up the phone on his nightstand and finally called the number you gave him, nervously wrapping the cord around his finger. The phone only rang twice before the other end picked up, "Hey, is this (Y/N)?" 

The inner teenage girl in your brain screamed in excitement, so happy that he finally called. "Omg, Daryl! I was wondering when you were gonna call me. I've been waiting since I got off my shift."

"Didn't know if you worked a mornin' shift or got off at night, and I didn't wanna leave too many voicemails on your friend's phone."

"Yeah, I worked a morning shift at the diner today. I got off at five. Morning shifts are the fucking worst." You're lying on your stomach on the couch, playfully curling the phone's cord around your finger and kicking your feet back and forth in the air.

You and Daryl talked for an hour, mainly talking about the shitty customers you dealt with today, sounding especially frustrated about the woman who yelled at you just because the diner was out of unsweet tea that you couldn't do anything about because the place was also out of tea bags to make more. What did she want you to do? Just up and leave your job and go buy the tea bags, your fucking self?

"Even though I don't want to, I gotta go to bed 'cause I have another morning shift tomorrow. I get off at five, so call me around six-thirty, okay?" 

"I get off at five too. Works for me. Goodnight, (Y/N)."

"Goodnight to you too, Daryl."

The call ended, and you both looked up at your respective ceilings, smiling as warmth bloomed through your faces. You both slept well that night, falling asleep to the thought of calling each other tomorrow.

⋆☀︎｡ Extra author's note: Here's what Dale would look like in 1992, I took Dale's age of 64 from the show since the apocalypse started in 2010 so he'd be 46 in 1992. I think this picture of Jeffrey Demunn is from when he was 43 maybe? I can't remember but that's close enough to 46 and even if he isn't 43 in the image he fits the look of someone in their mid-forties. Just imagine him without the cowboy hat, okay? There's not a lot of pictures of him when he was younger.

⋆☀︎｡ Taglist: @mrdixon , @yevmarie , and @shadowcitrine

⋆☀︎｡ Divider creds: @ saradika, go check her account out! She has some very cute dividers!

[nameless-jamie]

PR Disaster

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

Jamie Tartt was a nightmare to work for on an average day. But on a day when he was desperate? He was unbearable.

Y/N had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get through her emails while Jamie sat across from her desk, relentlessly attempting to convince her to do something insane.

“Come on, love,” Jamie pleaded, drumming his fingers on her desk. “It’s just one night. Just a little thing. Barely even a date.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend at a charity gala.”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

Jamie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/N, you have to.”

“Oh, I have to?” She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. "M'not getting paid for this so I don't have to do shit, Jamie."

"Don't be difficult, babe. I beg you!"

“Let me get this straight. You, a fully grown man, need a date to some fancy event, and instead of—I don’t know—asking out one of the many women who throw themselves at you, you come to me, your freaking assistant?”

He sighed dramatically. “I can’t take some random girl. That’d make it worse.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Worse than what?”

Jamie slouched lower in his chair and sighed. “Some wanker journalist wrote a whole article about how I’ve ‘lost my edge’ since I’ve been single. Said my game’s sufferin’ ‘cause I’m too ‘unfocused.’” He made air quotes, looking deeply offended. “He said I'm too horny for the pitch or some shit. Like, I can’t be single and good at football at the same time. It’s bullshit.”

“That does sound like bullshit.”

“Right?"

"Too horny for the pitch, is my favorite thing anyone has ever said about you, though." Y/N laughed, wiping a small tear out of the corner of her eye.

"Y/N be fucking for real right now. The plan is, if I show up with a girlfriend, it shuts everyone up. And if I take you, it don’t get messy. No expectations. No awkward post-date texts. Just you lookin’ dead fit in a fancy dress and me lookin’ like a man not in the middle of a public downward spiral.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Why do I feel like you’ve thought way too much about this?”

Jamie grinned. “Because I have.”

She exhaled slowly, staring at him for a long moment. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Best ones usually are.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

"And if the press wants us to kiss it wouldn't be awkward because we already did that once!"

"Jamie, that is still a fucking accident. We don't talk about that!"

"I mean I want to talk about it—" Jamie couldn't finish that sentence before a pen was thrown his way.

"Pick me up at 7. Go away now!"

The night started when he picked her up for the gala, in a freaking stretch limousine.

Y/N opened her door.

Jamie’s brain short-circuited.

She stood there in a dress that was so—fuck. It was tight in all the right places, dipping low at the neckline, hugging her waist like it was personally designed to ruin his life. Her legs? Glorious. The slit in her dress? Criminal. Her makeup? Perfect.

He actually forgot how to breathe.

Y/N tilted her head. “Jamie?”

He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to speak. “Huh?”

Her lips twitched. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking like a fucking teenager. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, you look—” He gestured vaguely at her, struggling to find a word that wasn’t fuckable. “Good. Nice. Decent.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Decent?”

Jamie winced. Fuckin’ idiot. “Nah, not decent. I meant, like, proper good. Like, unfairly good. Like—fuck, what’s the word—illegal?”

She laughed, and Jamie swore it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Well, that’s good to know,” she teased. “Considering I’m supposed to be your date.”

Right. The fake date. The one that wasn’t real. The one where he definitely wasn’t supposed to be thinking about how he wanted to keep her locked in his car all night so no one else could look at her.

Jamie exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Get it together, Tartt.

Y/N gave him a knowing smile. “You ready to go?”

Jamie didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he just opened the car door for her, staring straight ahead as she got in—because if he looked for even a second longer, there was a very real chance he’d be showing up to the gala with a boner.

And that was definitely not part of the plan.

Y/N soon realized that the problem wasn’t the gala.

The problem was Jamie.

Because he was apparently way too good at fake dating.

For someone who was supposedly just trying to fix his reputation, he seemed very committed to the role.

He kept his hand on the small of her back all night, his thumb moving in slow circles against the fabric of her dress like it was second nature. He leaned in close every time he spoke to her, his breath warm against her ear. And worst of all, he kept looking at her like that. Like she was the only person in the room.

He also seemed to be having the time of his life making up a fake relationship history.

“Oh, yeah,” he told an interviewer from The Athletic. “She played hard to get at first, but I wore her down.”

“She pretends to be annoyed by me,” he added later, “but really? She’s obsessed.”

Y/N had to bite her tongue multiple times to avoid strangling him.

But then came the real kicker.

“She makes me a better man. I mean fuck— have you looked at her. She is not going to her own flat tonight, am I right love?”

Y/N nearly choked on her champagne.

What the fuck was he playing at?

She was fully prepared to murder him the second they got into the car.

But before she could, the event photographer asked them to pose for a picture, and—

Jamie pulled her in, his hand sliding around her waist, fingers brushing the bare skin at her side.

Her breath hitched.

And then—

Jamie fucking winked.

The camera flashed.

And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, a journalist called out:

“Jamie! One more shot—how about a kiss for the cameras?”

She froze.

Jamie, however, seemed thrilled by the idea.

“Oh, yeah?” He turned to her, smirking. “What d’you reckon, love? Give the people what they want?”

She stared at him, genuinely considering murder.

But the cameras were waiting. The journalists were watching. And it's not like it would be their first one...

Jamie—the absolute menace—was already leaning in, his lips curling into something dangerously close to a real smile.

She had two options: make it awkward as hell by shutting it down, or commit to the bit.

FUCK, she was his freaking assistant. And she's totally into him. But that wasn't important right now. If she did not kiss him the press would know that Jamie Tartt brought a fake date or worse they would think that his own girlfriend hates him. If she kisses him though, the PR disaster after that would fucking suck.

Fuck it. With a deep breath, she reached up, placed her hand on his chest, and let Jamie close the distance between them.

It was barely a kiss—a soft press of lips, just enough to make it convincing. But Jamie’s hand tightened on her waist, just for a second, and her fingers curled against the fabric of his suit before she forced herself to pull away.

The cameras loved it.

Jamie did too, judging by the way he looked at her afterward.

“Not bad, love,” he murmured, his lips still inches from hers. “Please tell me that one was an accident too. Or else I might have to take you home with me tonight.”

She just rolled her eyes and shoved him. Idiot.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to absolute chaos.

Her phone had exploded.

Twitter was going insane.

She clicked on the first headline that popped up.

"Jamie Tartt Goes Public With Stunning Mystery Girlfriend at Charity Gala—And We Have ALL the Details"

She scrolled down, her horror growing with every paragraph.

"From the way he looked at her to the way he kept a protective hand on her waist all night, Jamie Tartt was absolutely smitten. Sources tell us that he was completely devoted to her the entire evening, barely paying attention to anyone else. And let's not forget the viral moment when he told reporters, 'She makes me a better man.' Our hearts? Melted."

“Oh, for fuck sake. I knew it.”

She stormed into Nelson Road, phone in hand. “Jamie fucking Tartt!”

Jamie, who had been laughing with Dani, turned at the sound of her voice. “Mornin’, love.”

She marched up to him and shoved her phone in his face. “Do you know how many people think we’re actually together?”

He barely glanced at the screen before shrugging. “Yeah. Bit mad, innit?”

“Mad? Mad?” She scrolled further. “People are already speculating about a wedding! I just got an email from Vogue asking if we’d do a couples photoshoot and a fucking interview!”

Jamie grinned. “Vogue, yeah? That’s kinda sick. Let’s do it. I can tell ‘em about how you snore when you fall asleep on the couch.”

“I do not snore.” She gaped at him. “Jamie. This is not funny.”

“Babe, you do,” he said, voice dripping with amusement, "And it’s a little funny.”

She groaned. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “You love me, remember? You make me a better man.”

“You fucking prick. You even liked a post that said, ‘Jamie Tartt and his girlfriend are the it couple of the season’!”

Jamie shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, yeah. ‘Cause we are.”

Her jaw dropped. “We are not.”

Jamie tilted his head, a playful glint in his eye. “You sure about that, love?”

She refused to answer.

Jamie must’ve noticed her hesitation because he leaned in, dropping his voice. “Just say the word, and I’ll post a proper ‘soft launch’ photo of us on Instagram.”

She shoved him away.

But later, when she caught him scrolling through a fan edit of them kissing with that smug little smile, she had the sinking suspicion that Jamie had no intention of letting this fake relationship die anytime soon.

And worse?

She wasn’t sure she wanted him to. She had to clear the air, though...And the PR of all of it was going to be a fucking disaster.

[killuasskateboard]

Killua x reader !

10 days of being seatmates

•.:°❀×═════════×❀°:.•

Day 1

The first day of the semester at Hunter School was always chaotic. Students filled the room with chatter and energy, all abuzz with excitement over new classes and new challenges.

Killua Zoldyck sat lazily at his desk near the window, his silver hair catching the sunlight. Next to him was his best friend, Gon, the only person who made the craziness bearable.

"Alright, brats, listen up!" Biscuit Krueger, their petite but terrifyingly strong teacher, clapped her hands, demanding attention. "We’re doing seat arrangements today! This year, I’ve decided to mix things up."

Killua leaned back in his chair, his usual smirk in place. "Whatever. As long as I’m next to Gon, I’m good."

But his smugness quickly faded when Biscuit announced, "Killua Zoldyck, you’re sitting with y/n!"

"What?!" Killua shot up, glaring at Biscuit. "Why do I have to sit next to her? Gon and I—"

"No arguing," Biscuit cut him off with a sharp glare. "This is for your own good."

'that old hag...' killua cursed under his breath looking annoyed.

Grumbling, Killua slumped into his new seat. You looked over at him, smiling nervously. "Hi, Killua."

He didn’t bother looking at you. "Whatever."

Later, during class, you asked, "Killua, can I borrow a pencil? I forgot mine."

He groaned dramatically, digging through his bag. "Seriously? Why do I have to sit with someone so unprepared? Here." He shoved the pencil toward you without even looking.

"Uhh thanks?" You spoke, laughing awkwardly.

Day 2

The second day started with a similar attitude from Killua. He barely acknowledged your presence and spent most of his time whispering to Gon across the room. 

You decided to leave him be, but during a group exercise, you had no choice but to talk to him.

"Killua, we need to finish this together," you said, holding out the worksheet Biscuit had assigned.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Just don’t slow me down."

Despite his grumbling, you noticed he was actually pretty smart. 

By the end of the exercise, the two of you had finished first.

Day 3

Killua’s complaints continued, though slightly less frequent. During lunch, you surprised him by offering a homemade snack.

"Here," you said, placing the small bento on his desk. "I made too much, so you can have some."

He stared at it suspiciously. "What’s your angle?"

"No angle," you replied. "Just being nice."

He hesitated but eventually took a bite. 

His eyes widened slightly. "This… isn’t bad."

You smiled. "Thanks, I guess?"

Day 4

By the fourth day, Killua had stopped actively ignoring you.

He still complained, but it seemed less genuine. During a particularly boring lecture, you doodled a small cartoon of him looking grumpy and showed it to him.

"Is that supposed to be me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded, grinning. "Yeah. See? I even got your signature pout."

He tried not to laugh but failed, a small chuckle escaping him. "Okay, that’s pretty good."

Day 5

Killua found himself noticing little things about you—how you always came prepared with notes, how you helped other students who were struggling, and how your laugh was… oddly nice.

When you asked him for help during a sparring exercise, he didn’t complain as much as usual. "Fine. Just don’t blame me if you can’t keep up."

Day 6

By now, Killua had stopped complaining altogether. Instead, he found himself initiating conversations with you.

"Hey," he said during a break, "how do you always stay so calm during Biscuit’s training? She’s terrifying."

You laughed. "I guess I’m just used to it. What about you? You’re supposed to be this amazing assassin, right?"

He smirked. "I am amazing. Just… not a fan of authority."

Day 7

Killua started waiting for you outside class, though he pretended it was a coincidence.

"Wow, you’re early," you said when you saw him.

"Yeah, well, I just didn’t want to listen to Gon talk about bugs again," he lied.

You laughed, and he felt his chest tighten in a way that confused him.

Day 8

Killua realized he was looking forward to seeing you every day. During lunch, he offered you some of his food, surprising both of you.

"Here," he said, shoving a snack in your direction. "You always share with me, so… whatever."

"Thanks, Killua," you said, your smile making his cheeks feel warm.

Day 9

He couldn’t deny it anymore—he liked being around you. During class, he found himself watching you more than paying attention to Biscuit’s lecture.

When you caught him staring, he quickly looked away, his ears turning red.

Day 10

Killua finally admitted to himself that he had feelings for you. When you smiled at him that day, thanking him for lending you his eraser, he felt something shift in his chest.

"Hey," he said after class, stopping you in the hallway.

"Yeah?"

He hesitated, scratching the back of his head. "I… uh, never mind."

You tilted your head. "Killua?"

He sighed. "Forget it. I’ll tell you later."

But deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold it in much longer.

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

This was in my drafts hehe , im sorry if there are grammar mistakes and all, thank you for reading! :)

Have a good day/night !!

✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Lentil & The Blueberry (The Surprise, Part 2)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, NSFW, sex, fingering, mention of vomiting (for my emetophobia babies), established relationship, fluffity fluff, worried Emily has my whole heart Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Weeks six and seven of your pregnancy are underway, and you are struggling. But maybe not as much as your wife? Wildly overprotective Emily will do anything to help you feel better during your pregnancy. And I mean anything. 😉

Week 6: The Lentil

Emily had known about the baby for less than 12 hours, and she’d already gone into full Overprotective Dad™ mode. You’d slept in the morning after telling her, jerking awake to find Emily towering over you, watching with her eyebrows furrowed.

“Jesus, Emily!” you exclaimed, stretching. “You scared me!” You glanced at the clock. “Don’t you have to be at work?”

Emily continued staring, a look of deep concern on her face. “I really don’t want to leave you here like this.”

For a brief moment, you forgot you were pregnant. You scoffed. “I’ve had jet lag before, babe. I think I’ll be okay.”

“No! Pregnant.” She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly running her hands through your hair as you moved to rest your head on her lap.

“I’m fine, Em,” you assured her. “I’m a little tired and sore, but that’s probably just from moving.”

“Maybe I should call and tell them I can’t make it in today…” She was speaking more to herself than to you.

Your voice was stern, decisive. “You can’t take off work for nine months just to sit around and watch me be pregnant. Even if you could, I’d rather you take the nine months after the baby’s born.”

She sighed deeply, looking down at you as if she was making the hardest decision of her life.

“You promise to call me if you need anything?” she asked.

“Promise.”

She gently placed your head back on the pillow, then knelt down in front of the bed so her eyes were level with yours.

“Please don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” she whispered. You could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, to make herself feel better about going to work, but she was too worried about you for it to sound anything other than terrified and pitiful.

“Like what?”

“Ladders, lifting things, falling in the shower...”

“Well, I wouldn’t fall in the shower on purpose,” you argued.

“Just…” She leaned forward and kissed you so gently, so softly, running her thumb slowly along your brow bone. “Be careful. Be safe.” She stood, then leaned down to kiss you on the head one more time.

“I love you,” she said, then lifted up your shirt to kiss your stomach. “And I love you.” She shot you one last desperate, anxious look before leaving.

“Promise you’ll call?”

“Go, Emily.” You shooed her out of the room, laughing. Who would’ve guessed that managing your wife might be the hardest part of being pregnant?

Week 7: The Blueberry (18+)

You leaned back into Emily as the warm water swirled around you, the sound of the jets and the movement of the water soothing your aching body. Morning sickness had started in full force, and your abs were sore from mornings spent heaving over the toilet. Your head was killing you most of the time, and you were constantly bloated. All in all, the first trimester was kicking your ass.

Emily kissed your shoulder, pressing her face next to yours and wrapping her arms around you to gently cup your breasts, mindful of the pain you’d been experiencing.

You sighed contentedly as she ran a thumb lightly over your swollen nipple.

“Better?” she asked.

“Mmhm,” you nodded, eyes closed. When Emily had called this afternoon to check on you, you’d told her how gross you felt from puking all morning, how sore your body was. She’d stopped at Bath & Body Works on the way home to buy every single kind of bath bomb they sold, just to be sure you’d have a fragrance that didn’t make you feel sick. She’d brought Epsom salts and fancy body butters and a new candle because the one you usually had in the bathroom smelled like coffee, and coffee triggered your gag reflex right now. She’d come determined to do whatever it took to help you feel better.

“And to think you said paying more for an apartment with a fancy jacuzzi bathroom was, and I quote, fucking dumb.”

“I take it all back,” you said, whining softly and involuntarily pushing your hips forward as Emily continued circling your nipples, her touch light as a feather.

“Honey,” Emily breathed behind you. “You can say no, but…” Her breath was hot against your ear. “Can I touch you?”

Your body wanted it, but your mind was struggling. “I don’t know, Em…”

Emily gently turned your body around so she could look in your eyes, her thumbs running back and forth along your hands. She leaned close, placing a hand gently on your cheek.

“It’s okay if you really don’t want to, but..” She watched you squirm a bit under the water. “It feels like you do. Can you tell me what’s going on in your head?”

You avoided her eyes, following a stream of bubbles as it made its way around the tub. “I don’t feel very pretty…” you mumbled, looking away.

“What?” she said, and you couldn’t tell if she hadn’t heard you or if she couldn’t believe what you’d said.

“I don’t feel very pretty. I feel gross.”

“Y/N.” Her voice was heavy with love and care and you felt a little like crying, not because you were sad, but because she loved you so much it was overwhelming in your current hormonal state.

Emily pulled you onto her lap and wrapped her arms around your body, pressing kisses into your face and neck. “You are so pretty. What are you talking about?”

“I’m pukey and bloated and my hair is greasy because I’m too tired to shower,” you confessed, resting your head on her shoulder. “I feel disgusting.”

“Baby,” she said, chastising you and gently guiding your face so you had to look at her. “You’re beautiful. You’re growing a whole human right now. You’re incredible. You have never been more beautiful to me.”

Almost unconsciously, you started to grind your hips into Emily’s, your breath coming fast, rhythmic. You sighed, wrapping your arms tightly around her neck.

Emily grinned. The words were working! She left a trail of kisses along your shoulder, placing her hands on your hips to guide you.

“You are stunning, Y/N. You’re growing eyes for our baby this week, did you know that?" She thought for a moment, morbid curiosity getting the better of her. "I wonder what it looks like in there…”

You stopped abruptly, as if a record had been scratched. “Not sexy, Emily. I don’t want you thinking about what the inside of my uterus looks like.”

“Sorry,” she replied sheepishly, an embarrassed smile playing on her lips. You pressed your hands to the side of her face and kissed her, your body hungry for hers for the first time since you’d returned from London. You couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough.

“Emily,” you said breathlessly, pulling away to look at her. She was nearly as out of breath as you were–and significantly more flushed. “Touch me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Please.”

You whimpered as Emily’s thumb brushed over your clit, the warm water soft and comforting around you. She rubbed slow, indulgent circles, sensitive to your sensitivity, and your hips rose to meet her each time, even as exhausted as you were.

She kissed you deeply, passionately, her tongue desperate and gentle as it roamed your mouth, your neck. You moaned into her as she slipped two fingers inside of you, your body pulsing urgently around her. She kept her hand still for the most part, letting you control how hard, how fast, how deep.

As your breath grew ragged and your body clenched, surging against Emily’s, she moaned into your mouth, pressing into you. “Oh, god,” you breathed, Emily’s sounds nearly driving you over the edge.

“Come on, baby,” she begged, gasping. “Come for me.”

You drove your hips into Emily as your body convulsed, whimpering while your orgasm washed over you like a waterfall of static electricity. She fucked you through it, only removing her fingers when your breath started to calm and you fell against her, spent.

“Feel better?” she asked, kissing the side of your head, and pushing a string of wet hair out of your face.

You nodded, still too out of breath to speak.

You dragged yourself into a sitting position a few minutes later. “Here,” you said, clearly exhausted. “Let me do you.”

“It’s okay,” Emily told you, grinning.

“I can,” you insisted, pulling her toward you for a kiss.

“No, Y/N,” she said, laughing a bit as she pulled away. “I’m good. As in, I already came.”

“What!?” You giggled, blushing a bit. “Jesus Christ, Em! You were horny as fuck.”

She blushed and kissed you again, then poured some shampoo into her hand and grabbed your head playfully. You sighed happily as she massaged it into your scalp.

“I can’t help it,” she shrugged. “Look at you. Your boobs are fucking huge right now.”

“Well, don’t get used to it.”

Emily stared at you for a minute. Your soapy head. Your arms crossed defiantly over your chest. The slight pouch in your stomach that she knew would grow into her child. The way your eyes shone, holding so much love, so much purity of spirit and heart. What had she done to deserve you? She felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and she used her thumb to wipe them away.

“Are you crying?!” you asked, leaning forward to take her hand in yours.

“I just love you so much,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion.

“Oh, god,” you complained, sniffling yourself. You had a hair trigger for crying these days. “If you cry I’m gonna cry.”

She exhaled firmly. “I’m pulling it together, don’t worry.”

“I love you, too,” you said quickly before dunking your head under the water to get rid of the suds. And because if you thought about it too much, you'd start sobbing and god knows when you'd stop.

You popped back up, flipping your hair over so you looked like a founding father. Emily laughed, and all was right in the world.

[pizzabiscuitwithglasses]

Two people one bed trope with the mashle gang (nothing steamy, mostly crack)

So I recently fell into the mashle rabbit hole and there's not enough content so here are my thoughts about the main cast having to share a room with you, their crush:

Those who will accept to share the bed with you:

Dot is very excited about sleeping in the same bed with you but he has never done it before so he is very nerveous. He spends the whole night awake, sweating bullets, unable to move a muscle and barely breathing as he is anxious about disturbing your sleep. He will still boast the next day to his friends about the "hot" night you spent sharing a bed but everyone is calling out his bluff. 4 out 10 his immobility was concerning you had to check his pulse thinking he died but also don't talk big when you can't even hold a hand?

Lance would probably not care much. He hops in his pyjamas and sleeps on his side his back facing away from you, hugging a giant pillow with the picture of his little sister on it. Also he either sleeps with open eyes or some other uncanny sleeping stuff . 5/10, good night sleep but the lack of physical proximity was underwhelming plus the sleep talk took you by surprise

Lemon pretends to be surprised even though it's no coincidence you have to share the same bed (she swears it's a honest mistake tehehehe). It would be like a nice pyjama party but she will keep asking you questions all night long. If you are still able by some miracle to fall asleep despite her never ending talk, you will wake up after a short moment felling a pair of glowing yellow globes eerily staring at you as if they were piercing your soul... 5 out of 10, too much activity and staring with not enough sleep.

Those who prefer jumping in the mouth of a volcano to jumping in the same bed with you:

Of course Mash breaks the door to your room and is shocked to be greeted by one big bed instead of two small ones. However, don't you worry, he puts the door back in its frame and will guard it to make sure no will disturb your sleep. You used magic to fix the door? Huh, he just remembered he wanted to try a new training. He does an invisible chair and sleeps like that for the whole night. He really doesn't want to invade your intimacy 6/10 confused but got the heart in the right place.

Finn tries complaining to the staff about the mistake which makes you think that maybe he doesn't like you. Him becoming a blushing mess when confronted with the reality of sharing a room makes you reconsider your first impression. He deeply appologizes for the uncomfortable situation and you cannot convince him to get in the bed with you. He chooses to sleep on the chair. 7 out 10 a true gentleman.

Bonus: (because why not)

Like his brother Rayne tries to make the management fix the issue. His intimidating looks and impressive title do not take him very far. Despite your reassurances, he refuses to take advantage of the situation. He sleeps in the corridor, his back leaning on your room's door. 8 out of 10, a chivalrous knight.

You think that Orter would give the hotel an earful when the promised double room is just one king bed instead but the sight makes his brain short cut. He looks at the bed then back at you, announces he will get a drink before leaving and never looking back. He doesn't invite you and drinks the night away at the hotel bar all alone. ?? out 10 because you were kinda hopeful he was coming back and that would spark the begining of your love story but at the same time you appreciate his thoughtfulness about giving all of the space you need??

Ryoh would moonwalk out of the room and go back home to spend the night with his family. He would probably use light magic or teleportation IDK. What I do know is that sharing a room let alone a bed with somebody else would be cheating and ain't no way that man gonna cheat on his baby mama!! 1000 out of 10 for our loyal king 🤴