#if nobody likes this i will start reaching out

[melodyofmbaku]

Touch of a Woman (Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie)

Preview: “Annie, laughing at another man’s touch... And just the thought alone made Smoke sick to his stomach."

Warning ⚠️: sorry in advance

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N Wheeewww. I haven't done something like this in a while. Hope you like it. I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘 My Masterlist __

The invitation came in a stiff white envelope with gold trim and Smoke’s full name printed on the front like he was somebody important.

Elijah Moore.

An old acquaintance from Chicago — one of those slick-talking men who still called him “Big E” — was throwing a formal dinner and ball just outside town.

Society folk. Wine glasses so thin they looked like they’d shatter from a hard look. Smoke hadn’t planned on going. But the man insisted. Said he wanted both of them there.

That’s when the fight started.

It wasn’t loud at first — just a look from Annie when the name was mentioned. A tightness in her mouth when she asked, “So… this friend of yours. He the same one you used to run with your Chicago crowd?”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. And that silence was all she needed.

“I ain’t never hear you mention this man before.”

“Annie, we was boys,” Smoke said, shrugging off his shirt. “Ain’t seen him in years.”

“But clearly ya’ll close enough for you to get an invitation. Funny.”

Smoke exhaled. “What’s funny?”

“That every time I turn around, there’s some part of your past I ain’t never heard about. And now I’m expected to smile pretty and shake hands with folk who think I don’t belong in the same room?”

He turned to her. “Ain’t nobody said that.”

“They don’t gotta say it. It’s in how they look at me.”

Smoke stepped forward, voice low. “You think I’d bring you somewhere you didn’t belong?”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “ I know I belong. It’s just exhausting havin’ to prove it.”

Smoke’s jaw worked. “Annie—”

“I seen the way you talk when you’re with them. Straighter posture. Less drawl. Like you gotta prove something.”

He swallowed. “That ain’t fair.”

“No, you a man who had a life before me. And that life’s gonna be there in that ballroom. That’s fine. I can handle it. But don’t expect me to smile while I’m bein’ measured.”

He didn’t have an answer. So he didn’t speak. He just watched her gather herself. The tension swelling in the room.

“We don’t have to go.”

“I’ll go,” she said finally, looking at her shoes. “I’ll play nice. I’ll wear the dress and I’ll eat the food and I’ll do the dance.”

Her voice dropped then — more vulnerable than she meant it to be.

“But don’t you dare act like I’m crazy for feelin’ what I feel.”

And Smoke didn’t respond. Just shut down.

They got dressed in silence. Shared a ride in silence. And now here they were — walking into the ballroom, with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

___

The room sparkled in soft golds and low voices, the kind of place where everything smelled like money. Annie looked like she belonged — radiant in a deep plum dress, hair pinned to perfection, chin lifted with that sharp, self-made grace.

But her stomach was tight. The heat hadn’t left her all evening, and the champagne did little to cool it.

The two had parted a bit earlier after doing their rounds. Annie with a few ladies she met near the restroom and Smoke to the man who called out to him obnoxiously across the room “I know that ain’t who I think that is!”

It had been some time and she was looking for her anchor. 

She turned her head — her eyes searching the room — and stopped cold.

There he was. Smoke. Near the far end of the room, framed by marble pillars and candlelight.

And across from him, smiling like memory never faded, stood Delilah.

Green satin. Long lashes. Too-close posture.

Annie couldn’t hear a word, but she didn’t need to. Delilah’s hand touched his coat sleeve, light and deliberate. Smoke didn’t move. Didn’t push her away. Just stood there.

Just fuckin’ stood there.

Annie’s throat went dry. Her grip tightened around the stem of her glass.

From across the room, it looked like something private. Something kept.

She didn’t watch long enough to see what came next. Didn’t give him the chance.

She turned.

Walked away.

And the rest of the night passed like the taste of something bitter — stuck in the back of her throat no matter how many times she swallowed.

__

As they entered the house, Annie set down her purse and slipped off her shoes.

“Well, she was real pretty. Real refined. Bet it brought back memories.”

“I didn’t know she’d be there.” Smoke said.

They’d reserved their argument for when they got home. Wanted to spare the cab driver's ears.

He had 40 minutes in the car to formulate an explanation as to why he was talking to his ex girlfriend at the party and that's what he came up with? He was cooked.

“We ain’t even made up from earlier. You barely said ten words to me. And then here she comes — all soft smiles and shared history. Ya’ll get a quickie in the broom closet too?”

Smoke shot her a look.

“Don’t start. You had an attitude before we even got there. This ain’t got nothing to do with Delilah and you know it.”

“Bet you were happy to see her. Your favourite city girl.” She scoffed. 

Smoke noticed it under all that anger, there was a thread of insecurity. 

He sighed deep. 

“Annie. I can’t help that I had a life — a woman —before you.”

“I’m sorry that people got to experience a different version of me, I can’t do nothing about that.” 

She spun on her heel quickly. Heat in her eyes. 

“I ain't talking about people. I’m talking about her.”

Smoke still stood his ground and refused to fight fire with fire. 

“Ain’t no her. I ain’t seen the woman in 7 years Annie and the fact that we talking about this in our home right now is insane.” 

He started towards her. Fingers flexing lightly. He wanted to hold her. Tell her she hadn’t a thing to worry about. 

She stopped him before he got close with a hand. “You stay right there.”

Smoke nodded to himself, once but kept his distance.  A shift passed over him — the soft gave way to something sharper. His mouth pressed into a line, and when he spoke again, the edge was back.

“No woman can hold a candle to you. You ain’t weak. You got nothing to be jealous about. I’m yours. I’m right here!” he beat his chest.

She looked at him almost shocked. 

“Wow.”She laughed bitterly. “That’s what you think this is? Cheap jealousy?”

She shook her head softly before responding. 

“Elijah I’m not mad because you ran into her, I’m mad because…”

She paused before she said the words that broke Smoke's heart into pieces. 

“You let her touch you like she still had a right to.” Her hands shook as she gripped the vanity behind her. 

“Like you ain’t belong to another. You ain’t see anything wrong with that?” She asked.

Now this? This — Smoke could understand. 

He reached out to her once more and she snatched her hand away from him.  

“She touched you.”

Her voice broke. 

“And you’re mine.”

The room went still.

He swallowed. The hurt in her voice hit him in his chest. It wasn’t just about Delilah — it was about him.

“I want you to put yourself in my shoes Elijah.” She started. 

“Another man, with his hands on me. You’d sleep well after that?” She pointed a finger at him. 

She was getting heated again. 

“That image won’t flash behind your eyes everytime you close them? It won’t sow a seed of uncertainty in you?”

Smoke didn’t answer right away.

But the truth crept in — heavy and hot. The picture she painted etched itself behind his eyes: Annie, laughing at another man’s touch, her hand on his chest, her eyes soft.

And just the thought alone made Smoke sick to his stomach.

She saw it land.

“So yeah, maybe it's me. Maybe I’m weak, but if being strong like you means I let people mess with what's mine and I gotta be cool with it? Then I don’t wanna be like you at all.”

He took a step closer, real slow.

“You think I belong to anybody but you?” he asked, voice rough, worn.

Annie didn’t answer. She just looked away.

He exhaled hard, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You ain’t gotta fight for me,” he said, softer now. “You already won." He sought out her eyes. "Baby, I'm right here."

“She touched you,” she said, voice cracking and eyes watering. “And you let her. You didn’t move. You didn’t even look uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t even notice,” he said honestly. “I swear to you, baby. I didn’t notice. I’m sorry.”

Annie swallowed, her voice low and cutting.

“Right. Just muscle memory then.”

Smoke stood there, fists clenched at his sides. He had been keeping himself at bay. Swallowing his anger. Trying. Apologizing. And she’d have none of it. 

Smoke exhaled sharply and stepped back.

Then, without a word, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped parcel. Set it gently on the table between them.

“Here,” he said. “This is what she gave me.”

Annie blinked, not moving. She looked up at him accusatory manner.

"Whats this?" she snarked.

“Open it.”

With shaky hands, she untied the twine and peeled back the cloth. Inside, nestled in paper, was a small muslin pouch — familiar, fragrant.

Sweet balm.

The note underneath read:

“For your lady. Knew she’d need it. You’re lucky, E. Don’t mess this up. —Langston”

Annie stared at it, blinking slowly. Her lips parted, the words not quite coming.

“That’s what she handed me,” Smoke said, voice flat. “That’s what you saw.”

She didn’t move.

Smoke spoke low. “Langston was supposed to bring it from Chicago. I asked him to get it. For you. He got shot last week. Couldn't travel. Sent it down with her.”

Her fingers hovered over the pouch.

“I didn’t even ask her directly,” he said. “She just handed it off. Told me to give you her best.”

Annie’s breath stuttered. The guilt landed heavy.

And that’s when Smoke’s voice changed — quieter, rawer.

She started towards him but it was his turn to keep her away. He shook his head no and took a step back. 

He nodded, more to himself than her.

Smoke stepped back once more and pointed at her.  “You think I’d let another woman put her hands on me — for no reason?”

Annie’s throat bobbed, her fingers twitching on the twine.

Her eyes stayed on the note even as something sharp — shame or sorrow — pulled at her ribs.

“You said you liked that balm from Miss Halloway’s shop. The one you used to buy before from upstate. You been rationin’ it. Thought it might make you feel good to have it again.”

Her arms fell to her sides.

And Smoke saw it—that flicker of realization. The regret. The dawning ache in her eyes as her gaze landed on the envelope with her name on it.

He waited, watching her crumble. But he didn’t soften.

“You wanna know what I find funny?” His voice stayed level, but there was heat beneath it. 

“You stay making all this noise about the person I used to be. About how filthy my lifestyle was to you. And I ain’t say nothing. I took it.”

“But the man I was in Chicago? That’s the same Smoke I am now. Maybe a little softer. But the same damn man. That life — that work, those people — it shaped me. It gave me the spine to stand up for you now.”

“And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you don’t want that version of me.”

He shook his head slowly. 

“I love this life we built. The domestic shit. I really do. I ain’t never been this happy.”

He looked down before looking her in the eyes. “But that don’t mean I don’t carry everything I used to be in my back pocket.”

“I ain’t never dragged up your past like this. I ain’t never ask you to explain that broken engagement. I ain’t never made you pick apart the pieces of who you used to be. I took you. Whole. Mine.” He beat his chest once more.

Annie’s stare didn’t break, but something in her posture shifted. She didn’t stand so straight anymore. Her arms slowly dropped to her sides. The righteous indignation went right with it.

He looked at her, eyes tired. “I know I gotta be strong. I’m a man. My back ain’t supposed to bend, or break. I get it...”

His voice dropped, thick now. “But this? What you doing right now?” He gestured between them.

“You tearing us apart.”

“I knew I’d have to protect myself from bullets, cuffs, and the mother fuckin’ KKK but I ain't never think I’d have to protect myself from you too.”

Annie’s lips parted — but nothing came out.

“And for what?” he asked, nearly whispering. “A trophy for who the most holy?”

His laugh came bitter, breathless “I don’t wanna play anymore. You got it.”

The room felt too small for the two of them. Too tight to hold all that pain.

Smoke nodded to himself, like he’d said what he came to say. He turned, ready to put distance between them.

“You stay here,” he said softly. Always softly with his Annie. “I got the couch.”

As he walked past, Annie reached out — just two fingers brushing his sleeve.

“Elijah…”

He pulled away gently. Didn’t look at her. Just kept going.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Annie stood alone, the silence pressing in.

She looked down at the sweet balm on the table. The note with her name on it. The care he’d shown — even when she’d doubted him.

Her chest rose, then fell.

The tears came slow. No sound, just heat.

She sat down, elbows on her knees, and stared at her trembling hands.

And in that quiet, she saw it clear:

Her grip on his past was standing in the way of their future.

Annie dropped her head into her hands.

And sobbed. __

A/N Ya’ll know me for the love stories but I’m actually an angst monster. ✨Surprise ✨ 😂 

With all this focus on the trio I thought I’d bring it back to give some attention to the OG lovers. 

I am still working on the fic with Annie soft-domming Smoke. Alot of ya’ll asked to be on the taglist for it. It’s there, I’ve got about 3 variations I’m working through. Will likely post it next weekend.

Your thoughts and encouragement keep me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think 🥰

____

Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

___

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[demie90s]

(I LOVVVEEE THIS CAUSE I HAVE BROTHERSSS)

Soft Spot

UConn x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You’re the team menace. Trash talker. Trouble starter. But when your baby brother shows up to watch you play and accidentally runs onto the court mid-possession—only to get hurt—you lose it.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: emotional angst, sibling bond, tough-girl vulnerability

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: injury (not graphic), swearing, intense emotion, reader shows rage then softness

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 0.6k

They never knew what to expect from me. One day I’m practicing full-speed in a weighted vest, the next I’m handing out glittery slap bracelets pregame just to throw off the other team’s rhythm. I didn’t talk the most, but when I did, it was sharp, calculated, said like I already knew how the play would end. I moved different. Never sat still on the bench. Wore gold grills with my warmups. Smiled during free throws. The team just let me do me—mostly because I produced. And because nobody wanted to be on the other side of my mood.

My little brother had been begging to come see me play. He was four—smart as hell, dramatic, and loud. My twin in every way except height. I had begged my mom to bring him tonight. Just one game. She finally said yes.

I saw him before tip-off. Front row, bouncing in his tiny jersey with my number on it, clutching a little pack of gummy bears like it was gold. I tapped my chest twice, winked at him, and got in formation.

The first half was chaos. I was locked in—breaking presses, rotating like I had eight arms, jaw clenched with every bucket I hit. We were up ten. The crowd was loud. I was louder.

Then it happened.

Mid-transition, I heard someone yell—high-pitched, panicked. I turned in time to see a flash of red and navy dart across the court. At first I thought it was some wild fan. Then I realized—his curls, his chubby little legs, the way he was holding up the gummy bears like he wanted to give them to me.

“Shit—no!”

He got maybe ten feet before his foot clipped the edge of the paint. The floor met him hard. The pack flew. His tiny arms braced but not fast enough, and his head bounced once against the court before he stopped moving.

The gym fell dead silent. And I broke.

I shoved past a ref, nearly knocked over a cheerleader. Someone grabbed my shoulder—maybe Geno—and I swung my arm back so fast they let go. My vision blurred, chest heaving. I yelled something—don’t even remember what. The words were hot and harsh and flying out of my mouth before I could stop them. I wasn’t yelling at him. I was yelling at the world. At the ref. At myself.

“WHY THE FUCK WASN’T ANYONE WATCHING HIM?!”

He started crying. Loud. That little hiccup-sob that sounds too big for his chest. I stopped moving. Just dropped.

My knees hit the court with a thud, and suddenly I wasn’t the player with the stare, or the girl with the edge. I was just a big sister. Scrambling. Gently lifting his body off the floor with shaking hands. He clung to my jersey so tight it almost ripped. He wasn’t bleeding, but his lip was busted and he was scared—really scared.

“I’m right here, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

I held him like he was glass. Rocked with him. Whispered against his curls while the rest of the world just stood there, watching something they never thought I had in me.

I felt Azzi kneel beside me. She didn’t say anything—just put a hand on my back. Paige hovered nearby, frozen. Even Nika looked heartbroken. Nobody knew what to do. They’d never seen me quiet.

Geno didn’t yell. Didn’t rush. He just stood with his hands on his hips, like maybe he finally understood what made me tick.

I stayed there until my mom reached us. Until he calmed down. Until I could breathe again.

And even then, I didn’t get up right away.

The locker room was too quiet.

No speaker, no music, no jokes, no yelling. The usual noise that echoed off the walls after a win was gone. We’d taken the game by double digits, but nobody was celebrating. They were still looking at me like I might snap again. Or fall apart. Or both.

I sat at my locker, head down, jersey half off, arms still tense like I hadn’t unclenched since I carried my baby brother off the court. My knee bounced. My palms were still sticky from where his tears soaked into them. He was okay—my mom texted me already. He was eating fries and watching Bluey like nothing happened. But I was still in that moment. That damn scream still ringing in my ears.

KK was the first to move. She didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over and dropped a water bottle by my feet.

“You good?” she asked, voice low.

I nodded, but it didn’t feel real. “He’s fine.”

“That ain’t what I asked.”

I didn’t answer.

The rest of the team slowly filtered back to their usual routines—shower, tape off, slides on—but their eyes kept flicking over to me like I might crumble into the floor. Paige was whispering with Nika. Azzi hadn’t taken her shoes off yet. Geno was talking to a trainer outside the door, but I could tell he kept glancing in.

Finally, Ice sat down across from me. Elbows on her knees. Serious.

“We didn’t know you had that in you,” she said. “The soft part.”

I looked up at her. “I don’t show it.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause the second people know it’s there, they think they can touch it.”

She nodded like she got it. And I think she did.

Paige stepped over, slow, like she was approaching a wild animal.

“You scared us,” she said. “Like… genuinely. You were—”

“I know.”

And I did. I knew what I looked like. Feral. Screaming. Crying. On my knees in front of thousands. It wasn’t just rage—it was fear. The kind I’d buried deep. The kind that only surfaced when someone I loved bled in front of me.

“He’s your baby,” Azzi said softly, finally speaking up. “You were just being his sister.”

I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand, breathing deep through my nose. “He brought me gummy bears.”

Paige smiled a little. “Of course he did.”

I reached into my duffle and pulled out the half-crushed pack. Put it right in my locker like it belonged there. Nobody said anything else. They didn’t have to.

They saw the realest part of me tonight. Not the menace. Not the monster.

Just me.

@draculara-vonvamp @non3ofurbusiness @toorealrai

[wcnderlnds]

sober ★ choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: seunghyun's way to deal with your breakup is to drink his feelings away so you have to come and save him from himself ・❥・word count: 1.7k ・❥・warnings: alcohol consumption, angst. ・❥・ authors note: this is track six for the MADE event which you can find here. i mostly focused on seunghyun's verse. i also haven't proofread because headache but <3

The breakup had happened barely three weeks ago. Everyone said with time it would get better but when would that happen? Everyday Seunghyun woke up with a weight in his chest, feeling like something was missing. It felt like there was a hole in his head, like he would never be whole again. He’d heard all the stories about how much heartbreak sucked, the pain that came with it but he had never believed it until the day you had left. Waking up to the empty space beside him in bed every morning brought a fresh wave of pain. It felt like he was drowning with no way to reach the surface.

Seunghyun had known you practically his whole life. It had started out as an innocent friendship but as the years passed by and you grew older, it blossomed into something more. Love was messy and complicated but with you it had always felt easy. Seunghyun thought you were the most beautiful person inside and out. Nobody had ever captured his heart like you had. Every smile in his direction, every laugh that was just for him, the way you had looked at him like he was the only person in the world – it made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

Then the breakup happened.

His whole life had been falling apart and no matter how much you tried to be there for him, he had done the one thing he shouldn’t have and pushed you away. He hadn’t wanted to drag you down with him but in turn he had ended up losing you completely. The day you had broke up with him had been the worst day of his life. He had lost the one good thing in his life and blamed himself entirely.

Seunghyun knew it wasn’t the best way to deal with it but drinking numbed the pain. It was better than being sober because at least then he wasn’t haunted by his thoughts. Most of the time he opted to drink at home, having a few glasses of wine – TSpot, of course – just enough so he didn’t have to think about you. Not that really helped. You were always on his mind, it just made him feel lighter. Today, however, he had called Jiyong and asked if he wanted to go to their favourite bar. Never one to miss an opportunity to spend time with his best friend, Jiyong had immediately agreed.

So, that’s where they were. Sat at the bar, four shots in. Well, Seunghyun was. Jiyong had given up after two opting to move to beer instead. Seunghyun had ordered himself another couple of shots, downing them one after the other, his words slurred with every word he spoke. Jiyong sighed, patting his friend on the back as he talked about you. There was only one person who could help now. Jiyong excused himself for a moment to make the one phone call he had tried to avoid making.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It hadn’t been any easier on you. Leaving Seunghyun had been the single, hardest decision you’d ever made but there came a point where you had to put yourself first. No matter how hard you had tried, Seunghyun had kept shutting you out whether he realised it or not. The walls he’d built around himself were too strong, he was too scared of letting people in but you’d always assumed you’d be an exception to that. You were wrong. It got to a point where you couldn’t do it anymore even as much as you wanted to. Feeling like you couldn’t help the person you loved the most was one of the hardest, most painful things to go through. You felt useless because there wasn’t anything you could do. Nobody wanted to feel useless. It didn’t help that at that point, there wasn’t even much of a relationship. There were no date nights, no intimacy – Seunghyun had closed in on himself, not wanting to do anything with anyone. So, you had made the painful decision to end things. He had to fix himself first before your relationship could be fixed.

Your way of coping with losing your person was to cry yourself to sleep every night. Not that you got much sleep, it was hard to really sleep without Seunghyun by your side. He had been your comfort, your home for so long and now you didn’t have that, it felt like nothing had any meaning. But, you had to keep going on, no matter how hard it was. Even when Seunghyun had text you, called you, left you voicemails. That made it harder because you wanted to reach out, to tell him everything would be okay but you couldn’t. It was only when you got that call from Jiyong did you finally cave.

Seunghyun needed you.

As you stepped into the bar, the stench of alcohol and smoke hitting your senses, you scanned around the room to find Seunghyun hunched over at the bar, downing yet another shot. You sighed, feeling your heart skip a beat in your chest. Seeing him like this, so broken, so defeated; it broke your heart even more if that was possible. Your feet carried you towards him, silently sitting in the stool next to him. He turned his head slowly to face you, a stupid smile on his face, eyes glazed over.

“Jiyong, you’ve changed,” he giggled, laughing at his own joke. It took him a moment to really focus on you and when he did, his eyes widened, body stiffening. Were you really there or was he imagining you? It wouldn’t be the first time. He tried to act cool, his head resting on the hand that was propped up by his elbow on the bar.

“Seunghyun,” you spoke gently. Your hand reached out, hovering over his free one but you pulled back. “What are you doing?”

“Drinking,” he replied back shortly. 

“I can see that,” your eyes scanned across the shot glasses scattered in front of him. 

“Hmm,” he hummed. As he reached out to grab the one shot he had left, you moved quicker, grabbing it before he could and pulling it away from him. He pouted at you, his lower lip jutting out like a child. “Hey, I was going to drink that. Don’t be mean.”

“I think you’ve had enough, baby.” It had slipped out before you could stop yourself. Seunghyun instantly straightened, turning away from you.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can’t call me that when you don’t even love me anymore.”

You frowned, feeling tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Seunghyun, I still love you. I love you so much.”

“Then why did you leave me?” He asked quietly. The way he sounded so sad and defeated made the first tear fall from your eyes. When he turned again to face you and saw it, he reached out with the pad of his thumb to wipe it away.

“You wouldn’t let me in. You pushed me away and I didn’t know what to do anymore. It was never a question about loving you. I’m always going to love you but I can’t show you that if you don’t let me,” you closed your eyes at the feeling of his touch. It had only been three weeks but you had missed it so damn much.

“I know.”

The silence lingered between you, the air thick with tension and all the unspoken words that neither of you could bring yourself to say. It was hard not to throw your arms around him at that moment. The way his eyes looked at you so soft, gentle like you were the most precious thing in the world. Your felt your heart rate quicken as he cupped your cheek, resisting the urge to lean into his touch but you couldn’t. You pressed your cheek against his palm, selfishly revelling in the way his skin felt against yours.

“Why are you drinking?” You asked gently.

“So I don’t have to think about you,” he pulled his hand away from you, looking down at the floor. “If I’m drinking then I don’t have to realise how badly I messed up, that I lost the one good thing I had.”

“Seunghyun,” you sighed. This time you did reach out to take his hand in yours. “I know it hurts. It hurts me too but what hurts the most is seeing you like this. Things are hard, I know but this isn’t you. You’re strong, you’re determined and… you can get through this. I’m not just talking about the breakup, I’m talking about everything else.”

“Yeah, not so sure about that,” he mumbled under his breath but you caught it.

You stood up, tugging at his hand to pull him up to his feet, too. Jiyong, who had been sitting away from you both to give you a moment, rushed over to help you. Each other you threw one of Seunghyun’s arms over your shoulders to help him stand because there was no way he could walk on his own two feet. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Seunghyun didn’t even protest, instead he nuzzled his head into your neck, closing his eyes. You had never been more thankful for Jiyong in that moment as he helped pull Seunghyun into the cab. He had asked you if you wanted him to come with you but you shook your head, telling him you’d be fine and you’d call him in the morning to let him know how things were. 

“You’re still so beautiful,” Seunghyun mumbled drunkenly as you helped him back into his apartment. Without Jiyong, it took you twice as long but you managed to drag him into his bedroom, placing him down on his bed. He laid back, allowing you to pull off his shoes. He was mumbling to himself but you didn’t quite catch it. When you were finished making him more comfortable, you were about to leave but he reached out, grabbing your wrist. “Stay with me?”

The pleading look in his eyes was too hard to refuse so you nodded your head, climbing onto the bed beside him. He wrapped his arms around you, sighing contently as he nuzzled into your hair. “I love you. Don’t leave me.”

“Let's talk in the morning when you’re sober, okay?”

Seunghyun drifted off to sleep quickly and, unsurprisingly, so did you. It was the first sleep you’d got in three weeks and it was all because you had your person. Maybe, just maybe you really would be able to fix this.

event tag list

writers: @namsgyu @mashtatosworld @gds-daisy @gdinthehouseee @ldydeath @eru-vande @emmiesoverthemoon @breakmeoff @makeitworse

readers: @seungttttop @keiraryan @moontabi @mintandmuse @steponupbabe @heartubeatusalon @thanosspills @aizshallnotbefound @burningheartdetective @soragojo

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib @moontabi @loonybunn

[ldydeath]

If You | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: You feel like you come second to Jiyong's career. Will he be able to fix it before it's too late? Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking/partying I think that’s it? Author's Note: So excited to be participating in the Made event this month! Here is track 5. You can check out the event list here to see what's been written and what else is to come!

It had been happening for a while, Jiyong could feel you slipping away. You didn’t cuddle up next to him at night, hardly greated him when he came home. You were barely interested in anything he had to say, but still he tried. He guessed because he was a masochist. He also loved you, despite it all. 

He needed to find a way to turn this around, to keep you from leaving somehow. You were the best thing that ever happened to him, he couldn’t lose you. He’d left work early setting up the kitchen table with candles and flowers. He was in the middle of pouring wine, the take out had already been plated when you walked in the door. 

“What’s all this?” You asked with raised brows, clearly shocked.

“I thought we could have a nice dinner. Maybe watch a movie - or whatever you want.”  Jiyong set the bottle down, walking over to you.

“You cooked?” He scoffed, pulling you in for a hug.

“I’m not trying to kill you. I ordered in.” You didn’t move to hug him back.

When was the last time he’d done something like this? You couldn’t remember. You knew what you’d signed up for, dating one of the biggest names in K-pop, but you hadn’t expected to feel as lonely as you did. Jiyong released you from his arms, placing a kiss to your lips before walking you over to the table. He pulled out your chair for you, even. He was trying. But it was just a little too late. 

You sat down with a small smile, taking a sip from your glass. 

“How was your day?”

“I think we should break up.” 

You both spoke at the same time. Jiyong blinked, letting your words sink in. This is what he’d feared. With a small nod he sat back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the table. 

“Okay.” He said slowly, his eyes staying on you. “Why?”

You stared at him for a minute, sitting up straighter in your seat as you sat your glass down. How do you explain to someone that you always feel alone, even in their presence? How do you tell someone that you’re not leaving because you don’t love them anymore but because you haven’t felt loved in so long that you feel like you’ll whither away if you stay another day? 

“Because it’s not good anymore.” You ushered between the two of you. “We haven’t been good for a while, Ji.” 

“There’s nothing I can do to make you stay?” 

“No.” You gave him a sad smile before standing up. “I’m staying with a friend tonight, I’ll come back for my stuff once you’ve left for Japan.” You walked over to him, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Bye Ji.” 

Jiyong stared at the door long after you’d walked out of it. You’d been everything to him and now you were gone. He imagined he’d never see you again, he couldn’t wrap his mind around that one. You’d been his constant in this world of chaos and now he was just supposed to let you go? He should’ve done better while he’d had you. 

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Jiyong had left for tour and you’d gone back to the life you’d lived before meeting him. Jiyong would reach for his phone to text you whenever someone did something dumb and then he’d remember there was no you to text anymore. He really should just remove you from his contacts, maybe that would make the temptation go away. As time went on he figured he’d miss you less, the ache in his chest would fade away, but he’d been wrong. He wanted you, he would always want you.

You were trying your best to move on. You hadn’t expected it to hurt this much, considering you were the one that had wanted to end it. You’d tried going out on dates but nobody was Jiyong. You were starting to think that maybe you’d overreacted just a little. Maybe you hadn’t been as lonely as you thought, because this was killing you. But as time went on the lack of contact had confirmed what you’d assumed when you’d left. He didn’t love you. If he did, surely he would’ve reached out by now.

He’d been about to text you, fresh off the stage, adrenaline running through his veins. He needed to tell you what happened out there. How funny it had been, how he knew you’d appreciate it had you been there. But then Instagram popped up. You were with some other guy. He nearly threw his phone across the room, his heart shattering all over again. How was this so easy for you? 

“Hey. Some of us are going out for drinks, you should come.” Ji-woo, one of the dancers, popped her head in the room.

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good.” Jiyong grabbed his things and followed Ji-woo out. 

The night had started off innocently enough, Jiyong not the type to cross that line with co-workers, but as the drinks flowed, he’d gotten a bit more responsive to Ji-woo’s advances. So much so that when he woke up in the morning he wasn’t even surprised to find her laying next to him. If you could move on, he had every right to do the same. It hadn’t worked though. The entire night he’d spent with her he’d compared her to you. He was starting to think he’d never get over you.

That didn’t stop him from trying. He spent most nights with Ji-woo until he was sure she wasn’t the answer to his problems. The rest of the tour ended with him in bed with different girls in different cities. The guys were worried about him but would never speak on it. 

Once he was home though, all the effort he’d tried to make faded. The apartment was too empty without you and all your things there. As much as he’d hated your style he wished for it back. He plopped down on the couch with a sigh, letting the loneliness consume him as memories of you came flooding back.

Jiyong stopped in his tracks as he entered the apartment. He knew you were unpacking your things while he was at rehearsals but he hadn’t been expecting all of this. There were pops of you everywhere, the pink fluffy blanket, whatever the hell that creature was on the coffee table, all your books scattered around. He smirked as he walked over, picking up one of the miniature gargoyle statues.

“This is hideous.” He teased, holding it up in the air.

“Don’t talk about him like that.” You glared as you attempted to grab it from him. “He’s precious.”

Jiyong snorted as he held it just out of reach, spinning around to see what other damage had been done to your now shared apartment. Spotting the movie collection, he raised a brow, walking over to it. It was no secret he was big into film and had always judged your taste in the past. But seeing them next to his caused him to laugh. 

“We have to do something about this.” He smirked as he handed the collectible to you.

“My taste in movies is perfectly fine.” You folded your arms as you moved to stand in front of the movies. “You wanted this.”

“I didn’t realize how pink it would be.” He shuddered as he looked around the room.

“Wait until you see the bedroom.” You teased.

“What did you do to the bedroom?” He practically ran into the room, finding it completely untouched and let out a groan as he walked back into the living room. “That wasn’t cool.” 

“No. But it was funny.”  You laughed as you placed the gargoyle back down.

“Are you messing with me?” He raised a brow and you snorted. 

Yes, you’d moved your stuff in but you’d picked up some interesting items from a local thrift shop just to prank him. He was too uptight sometimes, needed a little bit of chaos in the perfection that was his apartment. You nodded your head with a laugh and he rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, that’s it.” He walked over to you, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Jiyong!” You laughed as he carried you off to the room. 

He looked around the room with a sigh. He’d give anything to have your hideous things back in his apartment. He should’ve appreciated what he’d had before he’d lost it all. Maybe one day you’d give him another chance, not that he’d blame you if you didn’t. 

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

A late night hankering for some spicy ramen had brought you over to where Jiyong lived. You’d been avoiding this side of town since the split, but when cravings called you couldn’t ignore it. You doubted he’d even be in town or at the ramen place anyway. So you’d walked in head held high and then stopped in your tracks when you saw him. And of course he wasn’t alone.  Seunghyun and Youngbae sat with him, laughing. They hadn’t noticed you.

You snuck over to the counter, ordering quietly but then you heard your name. You let out a sigh as you turned around to face the guys. Jiyong was staring at you like he’d seen a ghost. Seunghyun nudged him and he blinked before standing up. He was heading your way. Great.

“Hi.” His eyes didn’t quite reach yours and you nodded.

“Hi Jiyong.” You turned to wave to the guys before looking at him. He looked awful. Run down, thin. “How are you?” 

“Great.” He lied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How are you?”

“Yeah, you look it.” You snorted, causing his eyes to snap to yours. “I’m great though. Just wanted some ramen. Didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Ah yeah. They dragged me out.” He smiled at you, and you tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Your name was called and you turned to grab your food.

“Big appetite these days?” Jiyong joked as he took in the size of the carry out bag.

“It’s not all for me.” You paused. “I’m seeing someone.” 

“Oh.” Jiyong already knew of course, but he wasn’t going to let you know he still followed your instagram. “That’s good. Happy for you.” He scratched the back of his head. “I should get back to them.”

“Yeah, see you around.” You waved before heading out the door. 

He watched you go, standing in the same spot until he couldn’t see you from the door anymore. His head hung low as he walked back over to his friends. There was no point in talking as Jiyong finished his noodles. Seunghyn and Youngbae made sure he got home okay and Jiyong was alone again.

He wondered if this was how you’d felt before you left him. If it was, he really was the worst person in the world. He poured himself a drink before making his way to his bedroom. Lounging out on the bed, he took a sip and pulled out his phone. It was time to let you go. He clicked on his contacts and deleted you out before moving to instagram and unfollowing you. Now maybe he could move on too.

event tag list:

Writers:

@namsgyu @mashtatosworld @gds-daisy @gdinthehouseee @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @eru-vande @emmiesoverthemoon @breakmeoff @makeitworse

Readers:

@seungttttop @keiraryan @moontabi @mintandmuse @steponupbabe @heartubeatusalon @burningheartdetective @thanosspills @aizshallnotbefound @soragojo

tag list: @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @aizshallnotbefound @loveesiren @gdinthehouseee @tulentiy @petersasteria @ttturnitup @flymetothexmoon @mashtatosworld @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @mirahyun @breakmeoff @1950schick @sherrayyyyy @bettelaboure @allthoughtsmindfull

[fellominaarcher]

New York's Finest — Spiderwoman!Sophia x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS

» » When your girlfriend Sophia decides the best way to help you overcome your fear of heights is a romantic swing through Manhattan's skyline, you're pretty sure this isn't what the self-help books had in mind. Between your death grip on her shoulders and the very undignified screaming, it's not exactly the graceful spider-and-passenger duo you'd imagined.

» » genre: AU, superhero, romance-comedy

» » warning: fight scenes ig, fear of heights, swinging thru Manhattan

» » fic type: oneshot

» » inspo: i literally had a dream of sophia being a spiderwoman and was my gf in that dream

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12:37AM. Obviously, midnight. The two of you, Sophia and you, were waiting for these small numbers of people to dissolve. Away from the dock you two were at. Waiting for the lights out too. A part of you were thinking that this is a terrible idea.

Definitely is a bad idea. Very ironic because you're dating the Spiderwoman but you're scared of heights which was quite the irony, even when you're climbing onto the chair to hang a tinsel on the wall. It gives you the slight heebie jeebies.

“In the count of 3,” Sophia said in a low voice, literally sticking to a wall under the darkness and her eyes were as sharp as a high specs digital camera.

“2...”

“1,”

“Okay!” Sophia then jumped further into the darkness and so quick, she changed from her hoodies and jeans to her spider suit. Jumping out of the darkness and did a little flip to show off in front of you before landing.

Were you excited? A little. So you stepped up to her and desperately clung to her. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Soph?” you questioned the principle of the situation.

“Jumping heights to heights is my stuff, Y/N,” Sophia's answer did not assure you for one bit.

Definitely one of the worse ways to overcome your fear of heights. Internally, you started to curse at the world but not your girlfriend because you love her so much and so the two of you tip toe to the nearest giant pillar that led to a crane.

You gazed up, the view zoomed out and the height of that pillar felt nauseating to you, almost making you dizzy. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope,” you muttered under your breath.

Sophia gestured to you to climb on her back, “Hop on, princess!” she teased you a little and so you did, climbed on her back. Legs around her waist and arms wrapped around her neck.

Crazy. You should get off the moment you climbed on your girlfriend. How does Sophia deal with all of these for two years? Nobody knows. With you on Sophia's back, she started to climb up and up, her movement was not too fast just so you could get used to the height.

“Try looking down for a sec then look up and look again then brace yourself,” Sophia's voice was a little muffled through the mask and you hold onto her tighter, afraid that one slip will bring you down.

“I literally cannot do that,” you squeaked, your voice about three octaves higher than usual. “My eyes are permanently glued shut, thank you very much.”

“Come on, baby, trust me. I've only dropped someone once.”

”ONCE?!”

“Kidding! Kidding!" Sophia's laughter vibrated through her chest. "I've never dropped anyone. Well, except for bad guys, but that's intentional.”

Your Spiderwoman noticed that you were slightly trembling and she shot her webs on your feet and hands to stick onto her for maximum security.

“There you goooo,” Sophia assured you in a sing-song voice and the two of you continued to climb up on the crane before stopping at the top of it.

Finally reaching the top of the pillar, Sophia paused to let you catch your breath. The city sprawled out below you both, twinkling like scattered diamonds. It would have been beautiful if you weren't currently having an existential crisis about gravity.

“See? Not so bad—”

“SOPHIA, I CAN SEE MY APARTMENT FROM HERE AND THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING!”

“Y/N, it's about to get fun!”

“Fun for who exactly?” you muttered, but before you could protest further, Sophia shot a web line across to a nearby building.

“Ready?” she asked, but didn't wait for an answer.

The world suddenly dropped away beneath you as Sophia launched into the air. The scream that tore from your throat was probably heard in New Jersey. Your arms locked around her neck like a vice grip, and your legs squeezed her waist so tight you were pretty sure you were cutting off her circulation.

“SOPHIA LAFORTEZA I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” you shrieked as the two of you swung through the night air.

“You'll have to survive the swing first!” she called back, and you could hear her laughing even over the rush of wind. “Besides, look at that view!”

“I'M NOT LOOKING AT ANYTHING!”

Your scream echoed across the Manhattan skyline as Sophia launched both of you into the air. The sensation of falling and flying simultaneously made your brain short-circuit. You were pretty sure you were going to die, and your last thought would be about how your obituary would read: "Died because her girlfriend thought web-swinging was good exposure therapy."

“YOU'RE INSANE!” you screamed into the wind.

“BUT YOU LOVE ME!” Sophia called back, clearly enjoying herself way too much.

“I'M RECONSIDERING THAT!”

The city lights blurred past in streaks of gold and white, and despite your terror, there was something oddly exhilarating about soaring through the Manhattan skyline. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the way Sophia moved with such confidence and grace, but for just a moment, you felt like you were flying.

Then you made the mistake of opening your eyes.

“OH GOD WE'RE SO HIGH UP!” you screamed, immediately squeezing them shut again.

“Y/N,” her voice was gentler now, coaxing. “I promise you, it's beautiful. And I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Against every instinct screaming in your brain, you slowly opened one eye, again. Then the other.

Manhattan stretched out below you like a blanket of stars, lights twinkling in windows and street lamps creating golden rivers through the darkness. The harbor sparkled in the distance, and you could see the faint outline of bridges connecting the boroughs like delicate jewelry.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“See? Not so bad, right?”

“It's...” you paused, still clinging to her but feeling your death grip loosen slightly. “It's actually kind of gorgeous.”

“Just like my girlfriend,” Sophia said smugly, and you could hear the smile in her voice even through the mask.

“Did you just... did you seriously just use this moment to flirt with me?”

“I use every moment to flirt with you. It's part of my charm.”

“You're unbelievable.” But you were smiling now, some of the terror ebbing away as you took in the view.

Despite the terror, there was something almost magical about it, the way Sophia moved with such confidence, the graceful arcs between buildings, the fact that you were literally flying through the air with the greatest of ease. You might have even started to enjoy it if you weren't busy having a panic attack.

“See? You're getting the hang of—OH SHIT!”

“OH SHIT? OH SHIT WHAT? SPIDERWOMAN DON'T SAY OH SHIT!”

Sophia's trajectory suddenly changed, and you both swooped lower toward an industrial area. Below, you could see a group of people in dark clothing moving around what looked like stolen goods near a warehouse.

“The Crimson Crew," Sophia muttered. "I've been trying to catch these guys all week.”

“Soph, no. Whatever you're thinking, no.”

“I just need to—”

“SOPHIA LAFORTEZA, SO HELP ME, IF YOU—”

But it was too late. Sophia was already changing course, swinging both of you down toward the warehouse. Your romantic evening of facing your fears had just become an impromptu superhero stakeout.

“I'm going to need you to hide while I take care of this,” Sophia said, gently lowering you behind a stack of shipping containers and didn't forget to rip off the webs she had stuck on you.

“Hide? HIDE? I just survived aerial acrobatics without a safety net and now you want me to HIDE?”

“It's dangerous, Y/N. These guys have been planning something big all week.”

You peeked around the container at the group of criminals. They looked like discount Halloween villains, all dramatic black outfits and unnecessarily complicated masks. “They look like they shop at Spirit Halloween.”

“Spirit Halloween villains can still shoot people, babe.”

“Fair point.” You crouched lower behind the container. “Just... be careful, okay? And maybe wrap this up quickly? I'd like to get back to ground level sometime this century.”

Sophia squeezed your hand. “Stay here. I'll be right back.”

You watched as she swung into action, and despite your terror about the height and the danger, you couldn't help but feel proud. Your girlfriend was literally a superhero. She was graceful, powerful, and had a surprisingly extensive repertoire of spider-themed one-liners.

“Hey guys!” Sophia called out, landing dramatically in the middle of the group. “Hope you don't mind if I drop in!”

You winced. “Oh, honey, no.”

One of the jumpsuit guys turned around. “Oh, come ON! We were having such a good night!”

“Sorry to web up your plans!” Sophia shot a web that yanked a weapon out of another guy's hands.

“Did she just... did she actually just make a pun?” you whispered to yourself. “My girlfriend is making PUNS while fighting CRIMINALS.”

The fight was actually pretty incredible to watch. Sophia moved like she was dancing, flipping and swinging and somehow managing to avoid every punch and kick thrown her way. She webbed two guys to the ceiling, used another one as a human yo-yo, and somehow managed to tie three of them together without them realizing what was happening.

“Is this your first day?” she asked one particularly confused criminal. "Because usually people try to hit me BACK."

“We are trying to hit you back!” the guy protested.

“Well, you're not very good at it!”

You had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Your girlfriend was literally roasting criminals while beating them up. It was the most ridiculous, amazing thing you'd ever seen.

But then one of them got lucky and managed to knock Sophia off balance. She recovered quickly, but not before you saw her stumble.

That's when your promise to stay hidden went right out the window.

“BEHIND YOU!” you shouted, banging on the glass as another criminal tried to sneak up on her.

Sophia spun around just in time, but now all the criminals knew exactly where you were.

“GREAT JOB STAYING HIDDEN, STRANGER!” Sophia called out as she webbed the sneaky guy to a wall.

“I PANICKED!”

“I CAN SEE THAT!”

The fight continued, and you found yourself getting genuinely invested in the action. You cheered when Sophia landed a particularly good hit, gasped when she narrowly avoided a thrown wrench, and definitely did not swoon when she did that thing where she flipped upside down and shot webs with perfect accuracy.

“Okay, that was actually pretty cool,” you admitted to yourself.

Finally, the last of the Crimson Crew was webbed up and ready for the police. Sophia stood in the middle of her handiwork, hands on her hips in classic superhero pose.

"Another successful night for your friendly neighborhood Spider-Woman!” she announced.

“And her extremely terrified but supportive girlfriend!” you added, emerging from behind the container.

Sophia swung over to you, landing gracefully beside your hiding spot. “So... how are we feeling about heights now?”

“I'm not saying I'm ready to take up base jumping,” you said slowly, “but... maybe it's not so bad when you're with someone who actually knows what they're doing.”

“Does this mean you'll let me take you web-swinging again?”

You considered this. The terror had been real, but so had the exhilaration. And watching Sophia save the day had been pretty incredible, even if her one-liners needed work.

“On one condition,” you said.

“Anything.”

“We workshop your superhero quips. 'Web up your plans'? Really?”

Sophia laughed, pulling off her mask to reveal her grinning face. “Deal. But I'm keeping 'your friendly neighborhood Spider-Woman.'”

“That one's a classic, I'll allow it.”

She wrapped her arms around you, and for a moment, you both just stood there on the container, looking out over the place. It was beautiful and terrifying and absolutely nothing like the quiet evening you'd planned.

“Ready to head home?” Sophia asked.

You looked at her—mask off, hair messy from the fight, eyes bright with excitement and affection and felt that familiar flutter in your chest that had nothing to do with fear of heights.

Even if you were definitely investing in a helmet for next time.

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[halfbloodwhore]

Mr. Brightside (Eddie x Reader)

And it's all in my head but She's touching his chest now He takes off her dress now Let me go 'Cause I just can't look, it's killing me And taking control

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　

Eddie closed his eyes as the smoke from the freshly rolled joint hanging between his fingers filled his lungs. He had always been a bit of stoner, but lately getting high was becoming a crutch that he depended on to get through the night. He'd take a large, suffocating hit and imagine that the smoke was weaving through his chest, filling the gaps left behind by your absence until the high kicked in and numbed the near constant ache.

As far as he was concerned, Eddie came from a long line of nobody's. His father's only skill in life seemed to be finding inventive ways to get locked up and expertly forgetting about the existence of his son for long stretches of time. Growing up in that type of environment had beaten Eddie down until he was convinced that dreams were for the privileged, which the Munson's were not.

But then, he'd met you. Somehow you broke down the walls that Eddie spent his entire life building up and he finally felt like he could be a somebody.

Eventually, Eddie allowed himself to dream. He envisioned the future he wanted with you. He pictured the two of you escaping Hawkins after graduation and moving to the city. You'd work towards a degree and he'd take on odd jobs while writing music. Within a few years he'd propose and somewhere down the line you'd be a white picket fence kind of family, with a dog and beautiful kids. Eddie wanted it all and he wanted it with you.

You spent countless nights staring up at the stars with Eddie and planning the great escape. At the time a happily ever after with Eddie seemed like such a sure thing. You only applied to colleges in the cities that you and Eddie both agreed on and when you were eventually accepted to the University of Chicago, you and Eddie started imagining the beautifully romantic life you'd have together in the big city. A life where you could be anybody you wanted to be because nobody would know who you were.

"What do you want to be known for in Chicago?" You'd asked Eddie one night as you were sprawled across his lap in the back of his van. Eddie had taken a long drag of the blunt you were sharing before finally responding as he passed it back to you.

"I just want to be that chill metalhead everyone likes." You nodded, sitting up slightly to take a hit. "And I want everyone to know that I'm the guy taking the most beautiful girl in the city home every night."

You'd passed the joint back to him, rolling your eyes at him playfully.

"Well, I want to be the girl that always says yes," you'd confessed, remembering all the times you missed out on socializing because you were too afraid. By the time Eddie had come around and pulled you out of your shell, everyone had long given up on trying to be your friend.

"Not always I hope," Eddie had joked suggestively.

"You won't have to worry about that," you purred, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Everyone will know I'm Eddie's girl."　

All it took to crumble the illusion of a happy ending for Eddie was one single slip of paper with a bold "F" inked across the top. Eddie didn't graduate with you. Instead, he was forced to stay behind in Hawkins to repeat senior year while you moved to Chicago. Eddie felt helpless as everything he allowed himself to dream of slipped away just out of his reach, including you.

You tried to make it work for as long as you could, but eventually the distance, mixed with your demanding schedule and Eddie's insecurity at being left behind, became too much. All it took was one emotionally charged phone call before you found yourself breaking up with Eddie Munson.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　

Today, Eddie had overheard some girl in one of his classes recounting a party she'd attended over the weekend. She spared no details, including those about the random guy she'd hooked up with. Despite himself, Eddie immediately thought of you. He wondered if you'd become the girl who always said yes yet and, perhaps more pressingly, he wondered who you were saying yes to now that you were no longer "Eddie's girl."

Eddie released the smoke he'd been holding. At this point he usually felt somewhat settled. Not happy and definitely not over you, but rather devoid of any emotion at all which was a welcome feeling these days. However, tonight was different. This time around Eddie's thoughts continued to spin. Desperate to make them stop, he took another long pull and then one more for good measure.

Still, he couldn't shake the mental image of you turning up to some party thrown by a stranger he'd never met, wearing one of those tight little skirts he adored. He imagined a preppy looking douchebag spotting you from across the room and wading over to you, asking for your name and offering to grab you a drink. You'd probably say yes. The music would be too loud and the room too crowded, so the preppy douchebag would take the opportunity to put his hand on the small of your back and pull you into him. He would lean down and brush his lips against your ear as he asked if you wanted to get out of there. You'd say yes.

Eddie dropped the blunt on the ash tray beside him and ran his hands over his face roughly, as if he was trying to rip the tortuous vision right out of his brain.

"Alright," he said to himself, standing up and crossing his room to throw open the door. "This is who I want to be."

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　

You shuffled into the lobby of your dorm building with a stack of textbooks delicately balanced in your arms. It was the end of finals week and you just needed to get through one more test in the morning before the semester would finally be over and you could catch up on some much needed sleep. In the meantime, you'd been taking up residence in the library, staying until the librarians kicked you out for the night.

The last few days you'd come to dread the moment that the clock would strike midnight, which signaled the end of the library's extended hours. You knew you'd be relegated back to your dorm where you'd be forced to sit with your own thoughts. You enjoyed the bustle of finals week in the library and being surrounded by the other library patrons, it kept your mind from wandering back to Hawkins. It kept you from thinking about the fact that tomorrow you'd be back in your hometown where you'd inevitably have to face Eddie at some point during your break.

Breaking up with Eddie was more a spur of the moment decision than anything else. You didn't have the intention of ending your relationship when you called up the Munson residence that night. On the contrary, you had been desperately missing Eddie and needed to hear his voice even for just a minute, long distance costs be damned. But once he was on the phone, it was as if you were talking to a stranger. In that moment you realized that for weeks, in every letter you wrote, you had been leaving out details about your new life as a college student to protect his feelings. You didn't tell him about the friends you were making, the parties you'd gone to, or even the rock show you'd caught at a small dingy venue, because you knew that he wouldn't be happy for you. You knew that Eddie wouldn't think about the growth or courage you'd displayed by opening yourself up to new experiences, he'd just be sorry that he was stuck in Hawkins.

Still, you couldn't deny that you missed him. At one point in your life, he had been your best friend and your soulmate. It felt like when you let go of him you had chipped out a piece of your very own being and you were painfully aware of its absence.

"Hey, Y/N," Shelly, one of the building RA's called out to you from behind the front desk. "Fair warning, there's a guy in your room."

You groaned. "Miranda found another one already?" Your roommate had a tendency to jump around when it came to dating. Too often you would come back to your room in the evenings and find her making out with someone new. She had just dumped the last one yesterday, so you figured you'd have a break until next semester at least.

"Oh no, Miranda already left for break. This guy, Eddie something, came looking for you. I know I shouldn't of let him up but he just looked so sad."

You lost your grip on the textbooks, sending one of them clattering to the ground.

"What?" You asked, sure you'd misheard her.

"Uh, an Eddie came looking for you? He's up in your room?"

Paying no mind to the textbook you'd dropped, you ran to the stairwell and raced to the third floor. As you finally made it to your door, your heart was pounding from both the exertion of throwing yourself up three flights of stairs and from the idea that Eddie was in your room waiting for you. Surely Shelly had been mistaken, no way was Eddie actually here.

You slowly pushed open the door. As your room came into view, so did the features of the boy sitting on top of your small, twin sized mattress.

"Eddie?" A lump lodged itself in your throat at the sight of him. He looked the same as he always did, but there was an unmistakable aura of despair reflected back at you in his eyes.

"Surprise," he said weakly, none of his usual spiritedness shining through.

"What are you doing here?" As you asked, Eddie realized he had no idea what his plan actually was. When he got in his van and started driving, he just knew that he needed to see you.

"I don't really know."

"You don't know?" You repeated back to him, dropping the textbooks onto your desk. Eddie stood up and approached you. You weren't used to being in the same space as Eddie and not being physically connected. The two of you had always been like magnets, the moment you entered a room Eddie would scoop you into his arms. It was as if he couldn't bear to see you but not be touching you.

"I know I shouldn't be here, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," He admitted. "You consume my thoughts every moment of every day and tonight I just couldn't stop wondering about what you were doing, who you were with. And I know you're not my girl anymore, but damn it, Y/N, I was just consumed with this burning jealousy. I couldn't stand the idea that you may have moved on."

You shook your head. "Eddie, I haven't moved on."

"You haven't?"

"No, you idiot. I miss you. All I do anymore is bury myself in textbooks so I don't have to think about you."

Eddie reached out a hand timidly, like he was scared you'd send him away if he approached too quickly. Only when he realized you were leaning into the touch did he allow himself to make contact and cup your face in his hand.

"I know I fucked up, Y/N. But life doesn't make sense without you. Let me prove that I can be the boyfriend you need me to be."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay," you confirmed, grinning widely at him. Eddie felt a piece of his heart slide back into place as he held you and he swore he'd never felt so complete.

"Are you the girl who always says yes now?" He asked. It took you a moment to recall the memory and when you did you couldn't help but laugh.

"Sometimes."

"How about right now?"

"I can be."

"May I kiss you? He asked softly, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," you whispered back.

Eddie let his hand slide to the back of your neck and gently, he pulled your face to his. His other hand grabbed onto your waist, his grip tight and needy. You sighed as his lips made contact with yours. Eddie wasn't one for gentle kisses and this time was no different. His lips were hard against yours but the pattern of his movements was familiar and you immediately fell into your usual rhythm. After a few moments, Eddie forced himself to break the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours.

"I've missed being Eddie's girl."

[feelbokkie]

L♡VE IN F♡CUS | Chapter 31

WARNINGS: none(?)

PAIRING: idol!Changbin x fem reader

GENRE: smau, crack, angst, fluff

P♡V: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

SUMMARY: Amateur concert photographer Y/n has recently been promoted to junior music journalist. Her first assignment? An exposé on the popular Kpop boy group, Stray Kids. Spending an entire tour doing in depth interviews with eight men seems simple enough, but one member isn't exactly open to the idea. Will Y/n be able to break down the walls around his heart, or will her big break turn into a big disaster?

TAGLIST: ♡PENED

W♡RD C♡UNT: 1,617

SCREENSH♡T C♡UNT: 28

A/N: she's a longer chapter so buckle up and maybe get some snacks. i decided that since i made you guys wait so long for ch 30, i’d give you ch 31 earlier as a treat and a thank you for being patient

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

“I’m falling in love with you."

Changbin's words echo loudly in your head, drowning out every other sound around you. Changbin's hand is no longer in yours, whether you dropped it or he let go is something you're unsure of.

"Y-you...you're...what?" You stammer as you try, but fail, to understand what is currently happening.

"I'm falling in lo—"

"No, no. I heard you. It's just..." Your voice trails off as the words die in your throat and sink deep down to the pit of your stomach. You pull the towel off your head like that's going to help you understand.

Part of you feels like you're drowning. Time has slowed down, and gravity is pulling you deep into the ground. Your heart is pounding so fast that it's tripping over its own rhythm. Maybe you're having a heart attack. Maybe you finally overworked yourself to your breaking point and this is just some sort of weird vision before you die. Your pulse drums in your ears, adding an out-of-tune melody to Changbin's words.

Another, larger part of you is floating, lifted by the wings of the butterflies in your stomach. Despite the intense chill running through your body, you can feel whatever heat you had left rushing to your face. Giddiness swirls around your body, mixed with nausea, because for some unexplainable reason,

Seo Changbin is falling in love with you.

"Noona?" Changbin asks slowly, his hand landing gently on your shoulder.

"Are you stupid?" Your voice cracks and is tight, constricted in your dry throat.

"...well sometimes when people are in love they tend to be a little st—"

"Stop saying that," You whisper, your voice trembling with fear. "Just...just stop."

You push yourself off the floor and walk to the opposite side of the hallway. Changbin is up almost just as fast, but he keeps his distance from you. He watches you intently, waiting for your next move, while fiddling with his fingers.

"What is wrong with you?" You ask, your voice raising an octave. "You just had a front-row seat to that shit show that was Hyunjin's dating scandal with me and you just--"

"If that's what you're worried about, you don't need to be. If we did start dating and got found out or revealed or whatever, nobody would care." Changbin's hand reaches out towards you before he stops himself and leans against the wall behind him. He tosses his hands behind to keep himself at bay.

"Stop saying that people won't care. Your fans care, trust me they do. I can pull so many posts to prove it to you. And I don't know if you're aware, but according to your fans I'm an evil manipulative sasaeng trying to poison the group." You run your hands through your hair out of frustration.

"But you aren't. I know you're not. You know you're not. So why should what anyone else thinks matter? All that should matter is how we feel about each other. And I already know how I feel about you." His voice softens, filled with a tender melody.

"The fact that when something like this was speculated I was doxed and relentlessly harassed for weeks aside." You push yourself off the wall and start pacing back and forth, trying to make sense of everything happening. "This—whatever the hell this is—is highly inappropriate. I'm a reporter and you are the person I'm actively interviewing and reporting on. Any sort of relationship between us beyond that is unprofessional and a major conflict of interest. I'm sure it's a breach of ethics."

"I'm big on ethics and principles, you know that." Changbin starts, his voice determined to break through the storm raging in your head. "But this is a little different. We're both adults and can separate our personal and professional lives. I know you can. So if our feelings are mutual and we decided to—"

"Oh my god," You mutter to yourself.

You walk off in the direction you're already facing in the middle of your pacing. You're not entirely sure if you're even heading in the direction of your hotel room. You just desperately want to get out of this conversation. What you do know is that there are elevators on either side of the hallway.

"Y/n, Y/n wait," Changbin runs after you and grabs your hand, effectively stopping you from getting away.

"This is a bad idea." Tears well up in your eyes as you try to pry yourself from his grip.

Changbin's hand slides down from your wrist down to your hand. "You're just scared."

"N-no I'm not." There's a pang in your chest as Changbin catches you off guard. "You're confused is all."

"I'm not confused." Changbin's brows shoot up in surprise as he scoffs at you.

"Yes, you are. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I do know what I'm talking about. I know how I feel about you and I'm serious when I say I'm falling in love with you."

"Well stop,"

"That's not exactly in my control,"

"Just take it back."

"I can't,"

"You have to!"

"I don't want to!"

"You're making a mistake!"

"You are not a mistake!"

Creak...

Both of your heads shoot in the direction where one of the doors opens. Before you can think of an excuse as to why you're arguing with Changbin in the hallway at three in the morning, Changbin pulls the two of you into a nearby linen closet.

"What are you—"

You're cut off by Changbin's hand covering your mouth. In the dimly lit cramped space, you watch as Changbin raises his finger to his mouth telling you to be quiet. Your bodies are close, almost pressed together. Your hands are on Changbin's chest to give you as much distance as you can get. But you can feel Changbin's heart pounding beneath your fingertips. And you're almost certain he can feel yours.

"Whoever is out here being loud, knock it off and go to bed." The muffled voice on the other side of the door warns. You can't be sure, but you think it might be one of the other members.

After a few moments, you can hear the door close again. But neither of you move nor do you talk. Surrounded by the sound of both of your hearts drumming against your chests and your breathing, you calm down. Your gazes locked into each other, and time seems to have stilled, an eternity within a fleeting moment. Changbin lowers his finger from his lips and lands on your waist. He slowly moves his other hand from your mouth and moves it to your cheek. With a gentleness that feels foreign, he wipes a stray tear from your eye with his thumb.

"You're scared, and that's understandable." His voice is low in a whisper. His eyes search your face before letting out a shaky breath and starting again. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—the last thing I wanted was to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t even mean to say it out loud. I was just…thinking about it and I guess I’m so tired that I said it out loud. But I said it and I’m not taking it back. I’ll even say it again: I’m falling in—”

"Please, don't," Your voice breaks as another tear falls.

"I'm falling in love with you, Y/n." He repeats, all formality gone in words. "Trust me, I didn't mean to and I certainly didn't want to. But I did and I'm going to continue to do so."

You continue to stare at Changbin with your lips parted like you're ready to argue back. But you can't. Your head is empty again.

"If you rejected me...If you told me that you don't have feelings for me, I would respect your wishes and leave you alone. But you didn't. In all your reasons why we shouldn't be together, not once did you say that you didn't like me back."

He's right. You mentioned how it's a bad idea and that you shouldn't get together. But you never said that the feelings aren't exactly mutual. Whatever those feelings may be.

"I'm not falling in love with you, Changbin." You whisper so quietly, you're not sure you actually said it out loud.

"Doesn't mean you don't feel anything." A hopeful glint shins in Changin's eyes.

"That's not..."

"Tell me you don't feel anything for me."

"I can't,"

Ba-dum

Your answer takes you by surprise. But something in you can't lie about this. You're not sure what you feel but there is something there. It's not love, but...

"You don't have to respond now. I won't push you, I promise. But I won't back down either. Just...just wait until you're done working with us." Changbin presses his lips together for a moment while he chooses his next words. "The tour is almost over and so is your project. Then we won't be working 'together' anymore. Give me your answer then. I'll respect your decision, just give me until the end of the tour."

You're not sure why, if it's the soft vulnerable tone in his voice that sounds like he might crack any second. Or maybe it's the warm intense gentle gaze in his eyes that you've never seen in anyone's eyes before. At least, not when they're looking at you. Every fiber in your being is telling you to trust him, and so you do. "Okay,"

A genuine fond smile that you've only seen when he admires one of his members or talks to his family on the phone appears on his face. You can tell that he wants to add more but he refrains, not wanting to spook you further.

Ba-dum

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[spr1ngpvrinbunny]

Another DESPERATE request cause this won’t leave and it’s swirling:

I’ve seen this headcanon about how Harley is ridiculously and extremely ticklish like- wheezing laughter kind of ticklish which is why he avoids physical contact (except for his s/o) in the first place. Even though personal space doesn’t exist to him unless it’s his own.

However…what if his s/o tried to exploit this…weakness? In front of everyone. His colleagues sometimes, the executives…maybe the children. He’d be pissed and even more paranoid lol. I can imagine a scenario where they’re with Stella, Leith, and Eddie and they’re like: “Watch. This.”

Harley’s like: “DON’T. YOU. DARE.” Naturally, they do it anyway. And it’s hilarious lmao!

Headcanon: Harley Sawyer Is Ridiculously, Catastrophically Ticklish (And You Exploit That Like a Menace)

It’s an open secret in Playtime Co.—the kind nobody dares confirm aloud.

Dr. Harley Sawyer is terrifying.

He’s calculated. Controlled. Utterly untouchable.

Except... when he’s not.

You were the first to find it out—probably by accident. Maybe your hand brushed his side one night while reaching for a dropped pen, and he jerked like someone had electrocuted him.

You didn’t mean to.

But God, his reaction.

“Don't—ever—do that again.”

(glaring, blushing, flinching back like a startled cat)

You didn’t believe it at first. So you tried again. And Harley squealed.

He denies it, of course.

Insists it’s “a hypersensitive neurological reflex, not an emotional weakness,”

but the truth is—Harley Sawyer is devastatingly ticklish.nAnd now that you know it? You are armed with power.

You're with Stella, Leith, and Eddie in the break room, sharing a rare quiet moment. Harley’s across the room, rifling through a cabinet, back turned. Too focused. Too vulnerable.

You smirk. “Hey, wanna see something fun?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You mean illegal?”

Leith: “Oh God, you’re gonna do it, aren’t you?”

Stella, snorting: “They're so gonna do it.”

“WATCH. THIS.”

Harley freezes mid-reach like a wild animal sensing danger.

“Don’t. You. DARE.”

Too late.

You sneak up behind him—deft, predatory—and jab a couple of fingers into his ribs.

Carnage.

Harley yells. Not a scream, but something between a gasp and an indignant squawk.

He jolts like a marionette whose strings just got yanked, shoulders tensing violently. His clipboard goes flying. Coffee sloshes. He spins around, eyes wide, expression betrayed.

And then—he laughs.

That’s the real kill. That laugh. Sharp and uncontrollable. Almost wheezing.

It bursts out of him like he’s trying to strangle it but can’t. You get maybe three full seconds before he scrambles back like a panicked cat, swatting your hands away.

“YOU ABSOLUTE GOBLIN—”

Leith is doubled over, sobbing with laughter. Stella has actual tears in her eyes. Eddie—stone-faced—just nods solemnly and says:

“Worth it.”

Harley? Red-faced.

Frantic. Muttering about security breaches and how “this violates several interdepartmental HR clauses.”

He starts wearing more layers.

Starts standing with his back to the wall during meetings.

At one point, he tries to implement a “No Contact in the Workplace” policy, but you find the draft document with "[EXCEPT (Y/N)]" scribbled at the bottom like he couldn’t help himself.

The paranoia? It intensifies.

You reach for a stapler too fast, and he flinches.

Walk too close in the hallway? He backs away.

(But not far. Never far. Not really.)

But the Soft Part?

When it’s just the two of you—no audience, no threat—he lets you rest your head against his shoulder.

He lets you touch him. Play with his fingers. Rest a hand on his stomach, even though he knows how dangerous that is.

“I should fire you.”

“You could.”

“I won’t.”

“Because you like me.”

“…Because firing you would be inefficient.”

You can feel his heartbeat—fast, fluttery—where your hand rests against his side.

And you know.

Ticklishness or not, he trusts you. He hates touch—except yours. He hates losing control—except when you’re the one holding it.

[havens-iphone]

── how mornings began ꫂৎ ; barista!megumi x reader

wc ⋮ 658

authors note ⋮ short lil story as an apology for going missing.. been lacking motivation💔💔✌️ BUT im back!! lmk if u catch my little how i met ur mother reference (im rewatching it for the 50th time heh) ANYEAYYY enjoy thehehehahah

you've just moved into a new town—stacks of unpacked boxes, mismatched set of utensils, and a quiet apartment that still smells like someone else. everything feels unfamiliar and quiet. a little too quiet for your liking.

you decide to take a walk, trying to get use to the new surroundings and environment. moving to a big city like new york was.. difficult to say the least. you were states apart from your family and knew absolutely nobody. lost in your own thoughts, your eyes drift across the street to a random coffee shop. you smile as you cross the street, hoping to meet new people in the shop.

you step inside, the air smells crisp and cinnamon-y. behind the counter is a guy with messy hair and a grin as if he already knows you.

you approach the counter, eyes browsing the menu. "first time here? he asks, not even waiting for you to speak.

you nod.

"then youre legally required to try the chocolate croissant. its in the town charter." he teased.

you laugh, maybe harder than you should, and order a chocolate croissant and a pumpkin spice latte. "i do love pastries. it better be legendary." he writes your name on the cup in careful block letters dotted with a smiley face at the end.

your eyes wander towards his name tag, megumi.

you thank him as you walk off, unable to wipe the stupid smile off of your face.

you start going there everyday—at first for the lattes, then for the way megumi teases and flirts with you. he remembers your name, the way you like your latte with oat milk, he remembers your love for pastries. he even starts recommending you pastries you never even knew you would enjoy.

it becomes routine. something your morning didnt feel right without.

then one rainy tuesday, he hands you your usual order. you peek at the neat writing on the cup. no smiley face just your name and beneath it, a text that reads,

"i cant stop thinking about you."

you pause, cup in hand, heart beating faster than ever. its subtle, sweet, undeniably him. by the time you look up, hes already taking the next order, pretending nothing happened.

you dont know what you'll say tomorrow, but you know you think about him just as often.

you spend the rest of your day thinking about that cup.

you tell yourself not to over analyze it, maybe he meant it in a friendly way—but you read the words again, carefully peeling the label off and sticking it on the cover of your notebook. just in case. just so you wont forget how it made you feel.

the next morning, you show up earlier than usual. the shop is quieter, just the low hum of indie music and the hiss of the espresso machine. megumi glances up, surprised—but only for a second.

he smiles like hes been expecting you anyway.

"youre early," he smiles warmly, already reaching for a cup.

"couldnt sleep," you reply. you dont need to tell him why.

he slides your drink towards you, same as always. no writing this time. just his hand lingering a second too long on your cup.

"about yesterday.." you begin, voice soft.

his smile falters—not in a bad way, more like hes bracing for something. you meet his eyes and suddenly youre not nervous anymore.

"i liked it," you say.

"the note."

a pause. the milk steamer hisses behind you like its holding its breath.

"yeah?" he says, and now hes not smiling. hes just watching you. really watching.

you nod. "i think about you too. probably more than i should."

that gets him. a quiet laugh, almost shy. his fingers drum the counter once.

“you could let me think about you properly,” he says.

“let me take you out?”

you smile as you bite your lip.

“tomorrow,” you say.

“and dont write it on a cup this time.”

[mattslilies]

Coffee and Cookies - M.S.

"you always order that coffee but you never drink any of it." or... the one where matt keeps buying coffee he doesn't like just to have an excuse to talk to the cute barista behind the bar. warnings: none! soft, fluffy fic word count: 741 a/n: i probably will not post tomorrow! we're getting a new puppy and he's coming home after i get off of work!

matt loved the small coffee shop and bakery on the end of his street. it was one of his favorite places to be, the atmosphere always warm, smelling like freshly made treats and hot coffee.

matt wasn't a coffee drinker. he had never really liked the taste of it, never being able to find a perfect mix between too bitter and overly sweet. he loved the smell of it, hence why he didn't mind sitting in a coffee shop to get some of his work done, but he always felt obligated to order something.

that was how he ended up seeing you for the first time. the shop had been understaffed, you being one of the few people behind the counter, having to double making orders and taking them. he'd gotten up to order, getting a black coffee and a chocolate chip cookie, sitting down in his seat, pretending to sip from it and slowly eating the cookie.

the next few times he came in, it was you working again, and he continued to order the same thing, slowly beginning to work his way up to a conversation while he ordered. he didn't learn very much about you in the short interactions, but you had a sweet personality, and were always kind. this, on top of being strikingly beautiful, kept matt coming back time after time.

you would be lying to yourself if you said that you never noticed him. you did. you noticed almost everybody who came into the coffee shop, your brain remembering regulars and those who only came in every now and again. as matt quickly became a regular, you took note of his order, and one day, you quietly set it out for him when he walked in, giving it to him free of charge.

he'd smiled, and tried to argue with you.

"i can't take this. just let me pay for it! it's not a big deal."

"no. take it. it's a gift, i'm giving it to you."

you'd given him a playful grin, making a gentle remark.

"as long as you don't start expecting free stuff every time, then it's okay."

he'd shaken his head, accepting defeat, your smile always a way to win him over.

"alright, alright. thank you. really."

he'd left the total of the cost of his coffee and cookie in the tip jar.

you continued to quietly watch him when he came in, noticing that he was sipping out of the coffee cup, but it still looked the same amount of heavy every time he dropped it into the garbage can outside of the shop, thinking you couldn't see him. you watched him do it multiple days in a row, and when he came back, you said something about it while taking his order.

"your usual, again?"

he nodded, already reaching for his wallet to pay.

"why do you get the coffee?"

he froze, confusion on his face.

"what do you mean?"

you tilted your head, noticing he clearly wasn't expecting to be called out.

"you always order that coffee but you never drink any of it. why order it then?"

he smiled, paying for both of the items and moving to put his card away before answering.

"you got me. i don't like coffee. i ordered it at first because i felt obligated to order something to drink while sitting in here, but i kept ordering it because this really pretty girl kept taking my order, and i needed some way to get her attention on me, even for just a few seconds."

a furious blush rose to your face as his words registered. you'd found him attractive, of course, but you didn't think you were the reason that he'd kept coming back all these times.

"there are easier ways to get my attention than ordering coffee you so clearly hate."

"yeah? and what would those be?"

you grinned, being grateful that there was nobody behind him in line, because this conversation was making your entire shift better. you decided to go out on a limb.

"ask me on a date."

he looked a little surprised at your forwardness, but smiled at you anyways.

"when are you off?"

"six."

"so, can i take you out around seven-thirty?"

you moved to grab his cookie, putting it into a small paper bag.

"you can. no more ordering gross coffee."

he laughed, shaking his head.

"no. just the cookie from here on out."

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[districtunrest]

coda

Hazelle pins another corner of a sheet onto the clothesline. With the machine inside constantly cycling their clothes, she dries their bed linens and the like out here when she can. The ones she's hung so far billow back and forth along the line, batting at her sides as Hazelle adds more, one after the other.

The sheet she's on now almost flies into her face when it slips its pin. She’s reaching up to pin it back into place when something more solid - a hand - touches her shoulder.

With a start, Hazelle turns to find Haymitch there, blocking another sheet from waving into them with his arm.

“Oh," she breathes. "Back already?" She's already turning back around with the sheet.

"Skipped out on the last couple stops. Nothing I haven't seen before.” She hears the shrug in his voice - his offhand way. Only nine days gone, then. It's been two days since the talk show in Seven.

"Get homesick?" She bends to grab a damp pillowcase from the basket.

“Sure." The wind dies down, and in her periphery he lowers his arm. "Need any help?"

"No." Hazelle hangs the pillowcase, and then a blanket, and then another pillowcase.

“Did you happen to hear the, um-” Haymitch breaks off, which gets her to look over her shoulder. He’s waving a hand as if swatting a fly. "The show?”

“I did. With Katniss and Peeta.” Hazelle starts to dip down into the basket again but finds it empty. She suspects Haymitch noticed that before her. She straightens. “It was funny. I'd never heard one all the way through before.”

“Johanna does a good job - mostly. She likes to amuse herself more than anything, which gets her carried away at times. Part of the appeal but-” he punctuates this with another shrug, “not for everyone.”

For all his show of acting casual, Hazelle can see now there's some strain to his face, particularly when he's not talking. With the laundry done for now, she sets her hands on her hips and gives him an in. “Yeah, she really put you on the spot there. But you got around that well enough, we thought.”

“I can think on the fly,” he agrees. 

She regrets giving him an in.

She’s considering taking up her basket and heading inside when Haymitch clears his throat.

“Hazelle…” he starts again, his voice gone soft and uneasy, and she can’t breathe for a moment, let alone think to answer. “Did I lie?”

She almost laughs. “You tell me. I didn’t know a thing about it until you said so.”

“And I didn’t think Johanna would force the issue,” Haymitch grumbles, more to himself than to her, as he rubs a hand across his face. He lets out a breath like he's been holding it this entire time. “Look, I came straight home to tell you I’m sorry. I didn't mean to force anything. It can be a lie and we move on," he all but decides, crossing his arms. His jaw ticks and, quieter, he asks, "Nobody's given you a hard time about it, have they?"

Hazelle shakes her head. "Katniss and Peeta figured you were lying. Not a doubt in their minds, and I was sitting right there with them."

Haymitch takes this in with a nod. He's looking anywhere but at her - down to the grass, over his shoulder, then out to the green hills. The wind there rolls over them in waves with a sound that now reminds her of radio static.

Another gust kicks up the linens again. The sheet he'd been blocking before whips up against them, between them, around their shoulders. Hazelle holds a hand out against it and steps closer to him. 

His eyes are back on her; hers are on his height over her, on his mostly dark hair, on his scarred face. 

She has to commend Johanna: it’s a fair assessment, overall.

“You tell me,” she says again. She raises her brows, prompting, and watches him begin to realize. 

“No,” he says slowly as he does. “Not a lie."

In place of a nod, she lifts her chin, and there's the smallest dip of his head, his gaze, downward in response.

Keeping her voice even, she tells him, “Still would’ve preferred to know that before you up and left,” except now she’s as good as lying. She's warm all over, bathed in sunlight that’s not there, blustery and overcast as it is, save for the open, curious look he's giving her. “I‘d have known how to miss you.”

His brow starts to furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Rightie or leftie,” Hazelle answers, matter of fact, and that gets Haymitch laughing - really laughing. She pulls him to her by his shoulders, and he’s grinning like a fool. Maybe she is, too.

“We should be glad Alice goes to bed at nine,” she says offhand, given Johanna’s radio show airs then.

“Would you believe me if I said I actually factored that in at the time?” 

Her only answer to that is to wrap her arms around his neck, pull him down to her, and kiss him before the bedsheets give them away. 

Though it’s not a nosy neighbor or a stray linen on the clothesline that breaks them up. Haymitch starts laughing to himself through his nose until it's rolling low from his throat against her lips. She pulls away enough to raise her brow in question.

“The boy got shoved into vase for his publicity stunt of a confession,” he explains, "and here I somehow got through to you, and only you, with everybody else who'd give us shit none the wiser, and right now it's looking like I was right to do it after all. By all accounts, this has really worked out well for me.” 

Hazelle rolls her eyes but she is, in fact, in his arms enabling all of this and she can't stop smiling. She tempers it as much as she can to say, “You know, there's still a handsome veteran in Seven looking for love. I've half a mind to send something in."

"Oh, really," he murmurs glibly against her temple.

"Mhm. How about: Widow in her forties with an undisclosed number of children. Friendly, made of sterner stuff. Likes hot drinks and long walks in any season. Could do without another move but willing to negotiate. Animals must stay outside."

He chuckles into her hair. "Kind of undersold yourself there. We'd have thought you were ugly."

"Haymitch!"

"Had a face for radio," he corrects himself, and Hazelle pushes against his shoulders with a snort.

“All right, you can leave again now.” He doesn't budge; if anything, he’s pulling her closer than before, and she’s thinking they’ll need to be mindful of the time - school lets out in an hour - when she finds she meant what she said. “No, really, Haymitch. Go make those last stops. Don't stop on my account.”

“You do know how to miss me now," he reasons aloud, against the soft patch of skin behind her ear. He seems intent to kiss her entire hairline. She has to wonder when he got the idea. He pulls back to consider the clothesline absently in thought. "And I do owe Johanna now, don't I? Since she ended up playing matchmaker after all."

"She'd want to know that at least," says Hazelle, despite still not having met Johanna and only listening to a single episode of her show - all of which gives her a bad idea. She tends to shoo those away when she can.

But she can't stop smiling, and her hairline is tingling from her forehead to her neck. And Haymitch is raising a brow at her, smiling in a way that invites something, anything from her.

So Hazelle says, innocently enough, "Think Johanna would take a call-in?"

On the Air

for @mollywog

inspired by this nonsense

The thing Hazelle misses least about her old home is the television. Sleek and alien, set into the old wooden wall like a black mirror, it would turn on by itself whenever the Capitol thought they needed to watch it. It couldn’t be switched off until the closing seal, after the anthem. Nobody ever had a problem watching the Hunger Games, not even during brownouts. 

There were heavy fines if the home television was damaged. Gale used to try to cover it with a blanket but she’d pull it right off before someone saw through a window or an open door. So, instead, he took to sitting in front of it at dinner, his elbows spread to cover as much of the carnage as possible.

Except those last two years, where he made no move to cover it. He sat facing it at dinner when he wasn’t watching it with the Everdeens, waiting for Katniss.

Hazelle finds herself thinking of that now as she sits before a radio that’s been set on the fireplace mantel. She’s in Katniss’ living room but the radio belongs to Peeta. Hazelle knows that’s becoming a fuzzier boundary by the day now; what she doesn’t know is where he found the junky old thing.

Peeta turns a dial on the radio and it crackles to life. He fiddles with it until they can hear the evening weather report. And then he turns another knob, where they catch the end of a high cackle.

“There she is.” He crawls backward until he’s sitting against Katniss’ legs, leaving her and Hazelle to the couch. 

Hazelle has never met Johanna Mason, and she’s never listened to her new radio show all the way through, either. There’s too much swearing and talk of matters she can’t have playing out loud in the house with her children home. 

But tonight she won’t have to turn it off. She can listen to the whole thing, no matter how sideways it gets. And with tonight’s guest, it just might.

Johanna’s talk show is known for many things but it’s a special occasion altogether when another victor joins her. So far, she’s interviewed Beetee and Annie. It was the first and only interview Beetee gave since the war, and they spent more time heavily discussing the new album of the winner from that singing competition than any worthwhile update on their lives. It was the same with Annie, where they talked about everything and nothing. They laughed a lot. They laughed so much there would be seconds of on-air silence as they fought to catch their breaths. 

As far as Hazelle knows, Katniss and Peeta have declined to guest star themselves, given they intend to go to their graves without another interview or television appearance. But they still like to tune in.

While Peeta comments on missing the cold open and the opening jingle, Johanna Mason is saying, “-and anyway, who's counting?” 

“Not me,” Haymitch replies, and Hazelle smiles despite missing the joke. 

He sounds the same. Of course he would.

He and Johanna spend the first few minutes catching up, which she leads into with an irreverent, “So, what’s new with you?” as if the entire world didn’t upend itself last year.

“Whole lot of nothing,” he answers. “Let’s see… I got a bird feeder but haven’t gotten around to getting birdseed yet. My porch railing’s wobbly. Gotta fix that when I get home.”

Johanna laughs. “You sound like an old man.”

“I am retired,” he points out, and Hazelle can picture him shrugging a shoulder in time with his brows in that offhand way of his. “Meanwhile, I see you couldn’t stay out of the limelight.”

“Can’t help myself,” Johanna agrees. “Much better to be on this side of it.”

“You’ve become a professional complainer,” he says, which makes Katniss and Peeta crack up.

They go back and forth like this, and Hazelle can tell they’ve done this for years. It’s surprisingly nice to just listen in; it feels like meeting one of his friends at a party, but all the banter and inside jokes are actually funny, even from the outside. She bets Johanna will get him laughing - really laughing - in no time. Maybe it’ll sound like the one he’ll give Hazelle from time to time, often enough that she’s started to miss it. 

It was his therapist’s idea that he leave for a bit. He needed time away for himself and to go wherever he wanted for a change. She’s surprised Haymitch agreed to it. 

It’s not lost on her that he’s only been gone a week, and here he is on a late-night show. At this rate, he'll ironically dive off a cliff if he's bored enough. Though, Hazelle supposes he’s in good company with Johanna in more ways than one. She’s another victor, for one, and she’s in recovery herself. It’s something Johanna doesn’t hide on her show, that talking the country’s ear off at home in her pajamas serves her more than being high in a train car, on her way to nowhere. 

It’s not long before Johanna broaches the similarity herself - in her way. “I’m so fucking bored now. Aren’t you?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?” There’s a wry, knowing smirk in his voice. Hazelle can picture the moment it fades a little from his face.

“I make my bed every morning.”

“I match and fold all my socks.”

“I’m now ambidextrous - at jerking off,” she’s sure to clarify.

“Oh, no,” Katniss grumbles, digging her palms into her eyes, while Haymitch laughs out in surprise.

“A leftie now, huh?” he asks.

“Always was for when I was lonely. And then rightie was for when I wanted someone who knows what they’re doing. Sobriety has taken that from me.”

“Shame.”

“Well,” Johanna starts leadingly after a half-second pause, “what’s your schedule now that it’s working again?”

“Oh, please no,” Katniss begs now, trying to stand, but Peeta keeps her legs in place. She leans over for a pillow that he intercepts over his shoulder.

“Don’t you break my radio!” he chides with a laugh. 

Her arm propped on the headrest, Hazelle rubs her temple and ignores how she can feel both their blushes.

Somehow all of this happens in the beat it takes before they hear Haymitch’s reply. “All right,” he says, conspiratorial, “now that the kids back home have destroyed the radio, what did you really want to ask?”

“Who’s your favorite?” Johanna asks back immediately.

“Leftie - Wait, no! Peeta!” 

Hazelle snorts as they erupt into laughter over the sound waves. She takes in Katniss with her face in her hands, her shaking shoulders betraying her, while Peeta has thrown his head back into her lap, laughing himself red. 

Johanna returns with, “Ah, Haymitch. A class act, as always. So glad you could come tonight.”

“Easy there, dollface. Happy to end all the voicemails once and for all. It was really getting pathetic.”

“Yeah, I was running out of ideas. Clearly,” she adds pointedly. “Which leads me to our final, special segment for the evening.” She clears her throat, the sound punched from the radio like the old time clocks at the mine entrances. “Haymitch.”

“Johanna,” he mimics.

“You’re forty-three this year. That’s not that old.”

“I count it in dog years.”

“Shut up. Anyway,” Johanna goes on, “you’re funny, crazy, rich - Whoops, misread my notes. You’re crazy rich. And you’ve looked worse.” Hazelle can attest to that. 

Haymitch coughs in wry disbelief. “I’ve looked better.” She can attest to that, too.

“Stop interrupting me on my own show. What I’m getting at is, you’re kind of a catch. It’s just, you know, your reputation precedes you.”

“Sure,” he says, more curt than before, like he’s lost interest. This is completely at odds with their rapt attention in Katniss’ living room. 

“Where is this going?” Peeta asks aloud in a hushed voice while Katniss looks on in dumbstruck horror. Hazelle shakes her head a little but neither of them is looking at her. She’s quickly getting the impression Haymitch doesn’t know, either.

“And as we both know, sometimes what we need is a little outside help. So,” Johanna resolves, making her flinch from six feet and two thousand miles away, “I took the liberty of putting a little something together for you.”

Nobody breathes as this is met with a few seconds of silence.

“Did you now?” It sounds innocent enough - which is to say, bored and dismissive. Hazelle can only imagine the look that came with it.

Johanna is undeterred. “I did! Allow me to share.” There’s the muffled sound of thin papers crinkling - a newspaper being opened, maybe - and then she clears her throat again. “From the personal advertisement section of the District Seven Post: Veteran in his forties with a house, outdoor pets, and too much time on his hands. Tall enough, dark enough, handsome enough. Looking for something, anything.”

Hazelle’s mouth drops open. Katniss and Peeta have their own reactions but she cranes her ear past them so she doesn’t miss what Haymitch says next.

Which is: “Sounds more like a lonely sod than a catch.”

Her eyes drop to her hands folded in her lap. They’ve been clenched so tight the past couple minutes, her knuckles are white and her fingers sore. She works to loosen them.

“The people of Seven would disagree with you there,” Johanna counters. “You got quite the response.”

Hazelle can almost hear the joints in her hands creak as they tighten again.

“I’m sure. You left it too open. Looking for something, anything?” Haymitch quotes, not hiding his derision. “That sounds desperate as all get out.”

His tone is so flat, so flippant, like this is nothing to him but a flopping segment he gets to pan in real time. It might be true. 

He and Hazelle, they’re both alone. They’ve both commiserated about how people make that weird when it doesn’t need to be. It’s okay to be alone. 

She knows he’s lonely. She’s lonely, too, in some ways. It lessens when they’re together, and she’s thought he might feel the same at times. But his therapist told him he needed to get away for a bit, and so that wasn’t something Hazelle could bring up without it meaning things he might not be in a place to receive well.

Johanna interrupts her thoughts. “First of all, you’ve never been clear about your type. So I cast a wide net. And secondly, I wanted to make it true to life without giving you away-”

“I’m not desperate,” he cuts in, his voice a little more raised and irked now.

“Yeah, you’re perfectly content with your bird-less bird feeder and your wobbly porch railing. And leftie,” she adds. “Let me go through the responses. I think you’ll be surprised to find how many people are just looking for someone to talk to.”

“Yeah, sure - talk.”

“Since when did you get so stuffy? You could use a good bit of anything, to be honest. Look, here’s a letter from a guy in the logging camp outside of-”

“Don’t share it on air!” he all but sputters, indignant. “These people didn’t know they’d be broadcast.”

“Oh, hush, it’s anonymous. I don’t mess around with that. The plan is, we’ll go through them and you pick who has the pleasure of going on a blind date with you. That’s what you’re doing tomorrow, by the way. That dinner reservation we made? I’m actually staying home.”

“Johanna-” 

Hazelle’s heart clenches at how desperate he’s starting to sound, wearing thin at the edge of his exasperation.

“I mean, I can sit at a different table if you want. I’ll wear a hat and one of those fake mustaches-”

“I didn’t sign up for that, Jo,” he presses, talking over her. “I won’t do it.”

“Oh, come on. Why not? You have nothing else to do. Just you and your birds - Oh, wait,” she corrects herself breezily, very much on purpose, “you don’t even have-”

“Enough!” he shouts, so loud his microphone shorts and whines. Hazelle is already wincing. 

It feels like the whole world goes quiet and waits with Johanna. 

Haltingly, Haymitch grits out, “I’m… sort of seeing someone already.”

There’s more than a few seconds of on-air silence. Nobody is laughing.

Finally, finally, Johanna comes back with, “Oh.” It’s not dripping with intrigue or even guilt. 

Then, there’s a shuffling of papers.

“Could’ve prefaced with that,” she goes on under her breath, probably for comedic effect. “And there’s no way I’m getting you to share more about-”

“Not a chance.”

“Right.” A small exhale, not quite a sigh. “Well, folks, you never know what you’ll get with me. Sometimes I don’t even know. Special segment cancelled.”

The show ends soon after; Johanna tries to recover the conversation, fill the time with something else, but Haymitch has lost all will to participate. Hazelle almost feels for her, as someone who’s also been on the other end of a sullen Haymitch with his shutters closed.

The living room sits silent through the ending jingle. Hazelle has never heard it until now. 

Peeta breaks the following silence. “Huh. Guess he’ll say anything to get out of a date. And he took the episode down with him. That’s the earliest she’s ever wrapped up.”

Katniss leans back and crosses her arms with a huff. “Serves her right. She had no business doing all that.”

“You can’t say you weren’t a little curious, though? To see how it went? I think it’d be nice if he got a little date out of his trip.”

“Do you hear yourself?” she asks back, her brow raised. “He’s supposed to go and find himself. Not shack up with someone in another district.” She looks disturbed at the thought. 

He starts to grin at her. “What, you think that’s how every date should end?”

“No, I’m just saying-”

They go on like this. But Hazelle barely hears them. She’s staring at the radio.

She’s certain there’s nobody like that in Haymitch’s life. They talk too much for that not to come up. They go on too many walks for her not to notice a whole other person in his life, someone he’s seeing. He’s never even said anything about wanting to date, let alone starting to.

But… Hazelle has the oddest sense Haymitch wasn’t lying just then, like the kids assume. While they could all tell he was starting to feel cornered, his escape didn’t seem painless, either. If that was a last-ditch effort to get Johanna off his case, he held onto it longer than necessary, like he was holding it close and didn’t want to give it up. 

Because maybe he thinks there’s truth in what he’d said.

Which begs the question of who the hell he thinks he’s talking about - because it’s not Hazelle. 

But if it’s not her… who else could it be?

She runs through anyone she can think of in the district that’s even on a first-name basis with him, that she’s heard him commend more than complain about. 

There’s no one else. 

Hazelle doesn’t stay long, which Katniss and Peeta pay no mind; they invited her over to listen to the show, and that’s over now. She leaves thinking about the responses Johanna garnered with her ad. Hazelle ignores how much it eats at her stomach, that she almost heard reply after reply of people interested in something, anything from him - almost heard him give his impressions, deliberate with his host, and pick the winner. All while Katniss and Peeta bickered over it, none the wiser to Hazelle burning a hole in the radio beside them. The idea of a follow-up episode on how the date went makes her face twist up. She has to shake the thought from her head.

She imagines herself reading that newspaper. The man in the ad does sound pretty lonesome - that goes without saying - but he sounds intriguing, too, with baggage of his own. Just like her. Just like so many people these days. She’d read that and reach out and wait to see if anything came of it. Maybe he'd pick her and they'd go to dinner. Someone else might have minded if the man in the ad ended up being Haymitch Abernathy - but she wouldn’t have. At the very least, it would make quite the story, and Hazelle could use some lighter stories in her life again. 

Too bad he’s seeing someone already. 

She just would’ve liked to have known that before the rest of the country.

[v4vile-a]

pls pls PLS people. for the life of me, i have zero time to be on the dash right now but i miss chris so bad. give this a ❤️ if u consent to swapping discord tags & developing/writing on there.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

january month of yuugi

[bellatrixdulac]

This might be controversial but…like the vindication I've felt when Mu Qing and Feng Xin spelled it out for Xie Lian that Hua Cheng is creepy as hell in book 6? I was thinking the same since the start and I felt like I was the only one. Unreliable narrator and toxic shipping are fun but genuinely everyone seems to think that HuaLian is like a "goalsss" kind of relationship in the fandom, super cute and romantic but uh? If it wasn't the main ship, everyone would likely hate Hua Cheng for being a creep, let's be real. I felt like I was living in a bizarro world until those two finally spoke about it. Not that I had any doubt he would not turn creepy. I have believed since the start that Hua Cheng picked the colour red so he could use all his red flags as clothes lol He was always so... icky.

[hana-bobo-finch]

i hardly ever mention Glad for some reason. you. you know the one. the cousin. the mouthless one. bellona’s cousin that I have probably only mentioned once but she does actually do stuff in the plot. yknow. i only have concept sketches of her but uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[immortalsins]

:/