#like it just felt so curated if that makes any sense

[booksandpaperss]

me when i was watching the heartstopper “makeout” scenes: yeah that is definitely not how teenagers make out w each other lol

[leclerc-hs]

73 Questions with Mrs. Leclerc - cl16

pairing: husband!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you do a 73 questions interview with Vogue OR charles can't help but third wheel your interview warnings: none??? just cute fluff basically, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 2.1k author's note: I actually got a request by someone to do this and thought it was such a CUTE idea and concept. I obviously didn't do ALL 73 questions cause that would've taken forever. But thought this was a cute little piece to do. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think don't be shy !! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE DELICATE FOLDS of the pale pink sundress fluttered like petals in a gentle breeze, framing your figure with a soft, ethereal elegance. As the front door yielded to the push, the fabric danced around your legs, caressing the tender skin of your thighs with a whisper of touch. Your radiant smile illuminated the scene, a beacon of joy amidst the fluttering fabric and nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey!” The male voice chimed brightly, his tone cheerful as a songbird greeting the dawn, echoing through the air with an infectious energy that mirrored your own bright smile.

“Hey!” You respond with effervescent warmth, your smile stretching across your face like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. With a graceful gesture, you swing the door open wider, revealing the inviting warmth of your home’s foyer. The soft light spills in, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and elegant furnishing. The first thing to notice is the giant painting of a Ferrari Formula One car, hung high above the entry way table.  

“Look who we have here! It’s Mrs. Leclerc!” A delicate blush warms your cheeks, a subtle reminder of the tender affection that tingles within you whenever you’re addressed as such. Though you and Charles have been together for many years, your marriage has infused your relationship with a fresh sense of intimacy and closeness. And despite that it’s been almost five years, the title of “wife” feels forever new and unfamiliar.

“On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“I would say 8, so I’m super excited!” With a gentle click, you shut the front door behind you, enveloping the foyer in a tranquility as you made your way down the hallway to the kitchen. Along the way, you stooped to pick up a scattering of children’s toys that lay scattered like confetti on the polished wooden floors, offering a quick apology for the perceived “mess.” However, you couldn’t help but inwardly smile at the orchestrated chaos around you. While the house was meticulously maintained by the cleaning company before the video shoot, every detail was carefully curated to strike the perfect balance between lived-in warmth and elegance, ensuring a setting that felt both inviting and authentic to you and the viewers.

“Any reason for that?”

In the heart of the home lies a kitchen adorned with a stunning green cabinet motif. The cabinets, painted in a rich emerald hue, exude an air of sophistication and charm, perfectly complemented by gleaming brass hardware. Sunlight filters through the vast array of windows, casting a warm glow over the polished marble countertops. 

“You mean other than the fact that the kids go back to school soon?” You and the interviewer let out a soft laugh as you made your way behind the kitchen island, opening the fridge in a smooth motion to pull out a water bottle. “Want one?”

“No, but thanks though!” His voice is light-hearted. 

As the fridge door remains open, a tantalizing glimpse is offered to the audience of its well-stocked interior. A colorful array of fresh produce fills the shelves, showing an abundance of vibrant fruits and crisp vegetables. Among the healthy offerings, assortment of juice boxes catches the eye, adding a playful touch to the wholesome scene.

“That’s a lot of juice boxes you have in there.” He makes a comment, it’s not a question, but you take it as one.

“Two kids and a husband,” You start, your tone light and casual before lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper for the camera, “who practically is also a kid, results in a lot of juice boxes.” With a playful wink directed at the lens, you punctuate the statement, adding a touch of humor to the scene. Setting the water bottle down on the expansive kitchen counter, you resume your easy demeanor, effortlessly blending candor and charm for your audience.

“Hey!” Your head shoots over, the camera seamlessly following your gaze to where Charles, your husband,sits on the floor of the living room, two of your kids, aged two and three, beside him with an abundance of toys strewn about. “I heard that!” Charles retorts with mock offense, a playful grin lighting up his face as he joins in the banter.

The living room exudes a chic sophistication with a distinct Formula One flair. Charcoal-gray walls provide a sleek backdrop, accentuating the mounted flat-screen television. A striking statement piece dominates one corner—a display of artwork showcasing all of the racetracks Charles has conquered – infusing the room with a sense of triumph and energy. A plush white sofa, adorned with an array of vibrant red pillows, invites relaxation and style. Across the room, a sizable shelf proudly showcases a collection of racing helmets, some belonging to Charles and others gathered over time, adding a personal touch to the space. Below the television, was a long console table that was adorned in various plants and photos of your family. You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced at them.

With a casual wave of your hand, you dismiss Charles’s playful interruption, maintaining your position at the kitchen island as the camera refocuses on you. The gesture carries an air of affectionate familiarity, a gentle reminder of the dynamic energy that permeates your bustling household.

“If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?”

“Definitely Austin Butler.” You answer almost immediately, no hesitance in your voice.

“Hey!” Charles’s playful yelp echoes through the room once more, accompanied by the joyful laughter of your children. One nestled in his lap, the other engrossed in a picture book, their presence adding warmth and vitality to the room. You share a knowing smile with Charles, the affectionate banter a familiar melody to your family life.

The laughter of the interviewer joins the playful exchange. The camera effortlessly captures the dynamic interaction between all of you with ease.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Restez en dehors de ça.” Stay out of this!

“Arrête de faire semblant de vouloir faire l’amour avec quelqu’un d’autre que moi!” Stop pretending you want to make love with anybody but me!

With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you turn back to the camera, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Can I change my answer?” You inquire, injecting a hint of playful anticipation into your tone.

“Sure,” the interviewer replies.

“You’re supposed to say no,” You quip with a chuckle.

“Oh, um no?”

With a playful pout, you glance over at Charles who is already staring at the interaction. A smile adorned on his face like he is in complete awe of you, regardless of what you are saying. “Sorry honey!” You wave your hand around. “Answers are final!”

Leaving the kitchen behind, you make your way towards the backyard, where the promise of relaxation and leisure awaits. Stepping through the door, you’re greeted by the sight of a large pool shimmering under the sunlight, its crystal-clear waters beckoning for a refreshing dip. Surrounding the pool, lounge chairs are strategically place, some on the pool’s ledge, inciting you to bask in the sun while enjoying the cool water. A wide arrangement of pool floaties from unicorns to racecars litter the pool as well.

It’s a breathtaking sight: a vast expanse of bright blue skies stretching overhead, adorned with barely a wisp of cloud in sight. The warm rays of sun dance upon your skin. With a stylish flourish, you slip on a pair of your favorite Ray-Bans, a subtle nod to your husband’s sunglass collection. 

“Vintage or new?”

You ponder for a moment as you stand in the backyard, a breeze blowing your hair behind your shoulders. “Depends, but definitely vintage.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Aisle, although Charles likes to take the aisle more.”

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“Wait, do my children count as two of the three?”

“Up to you.”

“Okay, so my two children. And my lip gloss.” You laugh, pausing for effect. “Kidding! My two kids, and my lip gloss…” You pause, jokingly. “And my husband of course.” The light-hearted remark reflects the joyful chaos of humor and love in your life. “He’s really the sweetest man. I’m so lucky.”

The glass door slides open with a whisper, and into the frame steps Charles, his presence incessant. With a carefree demeanor, he approaches you clad in a pair of baggy jeans and a plain white t-shirt that stretched at the seams from his muscles. He presses soft kisses to your cheeks, the stubble of his own rubbing against your smooth skin, his love evident in each tender kiss.

“Désolé,” Sorry. He apologizes before pecking another kiss to your cheek. “Tellement ambrassable.” Just so kissable. He places one more on your cheek, your face bright red from the camera’s catching all of this.

“Looks like he can’t be far from you for very long.”

Charles looks at the camera, a glint in his eye with a large smile, like he was the happiest man on earth, and nothing could dampen his spirits. Especially with you nearby. “Est-ce que tu la vois?” Do you see her?

The interviewer, unaware of Charles’s words, simply nods in response behind the camera lens, acknowledging the affection in his tone. Later translations will reveal the depth of Charles’s words no doubt. Elle est tellement belle. Bien sûr, je ne peux pas rester loin longtemps.” She’s so beautiful. Of course, I can’t stay far long.

Your face is bright red as Charles remains at your side.

“Where are the kids?”

“Put them down for a nap!” Charles answers, his arm slung over your shoulder as he leans on you comfortably. 

As the interviewer continues the questionnaire, Charles can’t resist interjecting with playful remarks and comments on almost every question. His spontaneous interruptions add an element of humor and spontaneity to the video, turning what could have been a standard interview into an entertaining and engaging exchange.

“How do you define beauty?” “My wife.” “Charles, the questions are for me!”

"What do you love most about your body?" "That's an easy one...I think her--" Charles begins, but you swat his chest and cut him off. "I love my arms. Not because they're that nice but they give me the ability to hold my children." Charles clicks his tongue, hating that you even implied something about yourself as 'not that nice'.

"Least favorite color?" "Red." Charles lets out a large gasp with a string of phrases in French, clearly hurt by your response. "It's a joke, mon amour!" "How did you know you were in love?" You look at Charles then, his eyes already on you, a soft smile pulling on both of your lips. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with him. Probably when I realized I would rather be awake in the middle of the night, since he was traveling so much, just to talk to him for even a few minutes, instead of going to sleep." Charles plays with the ends of your hair, twirling the ends around his fingers as he chimes in. "We've known each other for so long. But, when I first met her, it was like meeting someone I've known my entire life. There was no awkward silences between us. We just clicked."

“Diamonds or pearls?” “Pearls.” “Mon chou, don’t lie.” “I’m not!” “The diamond on your finger says otherwise!”

“If you made a documentary, what would it be about?” “Charles’ brain. I seriously question what goes on in there sometimes.” “Hey! It’s only you…”  You raise your eyebrows at him, like he’s a liar. “And racing.” “Definitely racing.”

“If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Charles smirks deeply, like he knows something the world doesn’t, the interviewer picks up on it. “Wait, you have a tattoo? Can we see it?”

“No! It’s for me only.”

You playfully swat at Charles’ chest, a playful blush coloring your cheeks as you both wander throughout the house, showcasing its beautiful décor. Despite your embarrassment at Charles’ antics, you can’t help but be thankful for him easing your nerves. You weren’t one for the public eye, normally. So, when you agreed to this interview it came out as quite a surprise.

“Okay final question of the day.” 

You both stand by the front door, the interviewer on the front step outside of the home. 

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Definitely ki—” You don’t get to finish your answer as Charles’ fingers grasp onto your neck, his fingers sprawled along your jawline as well, and tugs your face into his. He shuts the door as soon as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It’s a few seconds before you push him off you. “You’re unbelievable!”

A giant smile spreads across his face as he looks down at you. “Only for you, mon chou!”

[theonottsbxtch]

PRIVATE | LN4

an: requested by @bhuijnbhuijn-blog this was so fun to make! it feels to good to make a smau after a few days of straight writing

fc: random girls on pintrest and isabel larosa

yourusername

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thank you london and thank you to my beloved

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userone: seeing her live changed my brain chemistry

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yourbestfreind: mi amorrrrrr

yourusername: chiquita 😽

userfour: beloved??? has our man hater girl got herself a boyfriend

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yourusername: ethan, basta.

userfive: is her beloved carl gallagher?????!??!?!?!?

appartment in monaco

You were perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, barefoot, legs dangling as you watched Lando move around the open kitchen. The soft click of cabinet doors and the muted thud of a cereal box landing on the counter are the only sounds, apart from the faint music playing from your speaker. It was your calm playlist, just background noise, a playlist you curated 100% but one Lando pretended he created to wind you up. He didn’t mind—he hummed along sometimes, absentmindedly, just like now. The late afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting a warm, golden hue over everything, making the moment feel even more private, more intimate.

Lando was shirtless wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. It was a version of him few people ever get to see. No fireproof suit, no helmet. No world watching his every move. Here, in this quiet corner of your shared world, he was just... him. And you loved him like this, more than anything.

As he fumbled with the coffee machine, you leant back on your hands, your fingers curling against the cool granite of the counter. The smell of coffee mingled with the lazy warmth of the afternoon. You were both settled into this comfortable rhythm of being together, the kind of domesticity that felt almost foreign when you thought of your lives outside these walls—your career, his racing, the flashing lights and the fans.

But here, it was different.

You’d been thinking about it for a while now. The thought had been on the tip of your tongue for weeks, and today felt like the right time to broach it. Or maybe it was just that the stillness of this moment made you feel brave. You took a breath, voice soft as you broke the quiet.

“I’ve been thinking…” Your words drift into the space between you, casual but with a certain weight that you know will catch his attention. Lando looked over at you, coffee cup in hand, waiting for you to continue. You smiled, trying to keep it light. “Maybe it’s time we go public… on Instagram.”

He froze for a beat, his eyes locking on yours as if he was trying to read your face, gauge how serious you were. Slowly, he set the cup down on the counter, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that meant he was already thinking too much.

“Public?” he repeated, like he was testing the word, feeling it out. His voice was calm, but you could sense the undertone of concern, the hesitation that came with anything that involves exposing more of your lives to the world outside. “You sure about that?”

You nodded, even though you knew he was not just asking for the sake of it. There was more behind his question than the words. It was not just a simple post to him—it was a line you were crossing, a step into a world he was all too familiar with, and not in a good way.

“I am,” you said softly. “We’ve been so careful, keeping things private, but… I don’t want to hide us anymore. I don’t want to pretend we’re not a part of each other’s lives.” You watched him as you spoke, searching his face for any sign of agreement, but he was still quiet, arms folded across his chest, his gaze drifting somewhere just past you.

Lando shifted his weight, leaning against the counter, his fingers drumming lightly against the granite, a telltale sign that his mind was working through what you’d just said. After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his curls, the kind of movement that let you know he was trying to choose his words carefully.

“I get it,” he said finally, his voice softer now, but there was still a trace of reluctance. “But… it’s different for you. Your fans, they’re supportive. You’re already used to the attention. My world… it’s not like that. It can get ugly fast. And once we put it out there, it’s out there. We can’t take it back.”

You slid off the counter and moved toward him, your bare feet silent on the floor. Standing in front of him, you reached for his hands, threading your fingers through his. “I know, love. I know how hard it can be for you. But I’m not asking for some big, dramatic reveal. Just something simple. A photo. Something that feels like us, something quiet.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the protective instinct he’d always had when it came to the life you’d built together versus the part of him that wanted to trust in your strength, in the fact that you could handle it.

“I don’t want them coming after you,” he said quietly, almost more to himself than to you. “I don’t want you to deal with the kind of hate I get.”

Lifting one hand to his face, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb grazed over his skin. “I’ve been in the public eye for years now. I’ve had my share of negativity, too. But we’ve got each other, right? We can handle it. I can handle it.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And I’m tired of hiding something that makes me so happy.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to imagine what it would be like—the backlash, the media storm. But when he opened them again, there was something softer there, a quiet surrender. He still looked hesitant, but there was an acceptance in his expression now, like maybe, just maybe, he was willing to trust you on this.

“A photo,” he repeated, his voice almost resigned but not unkind. “Something simple.”

You nodded, your smile growing. “Just one.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you into his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You really want this, huh?” His voice was a little lighter now, though you could still feel the weight of the decision lingering between you.

“I do,” you murmured into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean and warm, like home. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. Just something that feels like us. Something honest.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your waist. “Alright,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “But if it all blows up in our faces, you’re the one dealing with the PR disaster.”

You laughed, the sound soft and full of relief. “Deal. I’ll take full responsibility.” You leant up and kissed him, your lips brushing his with a gentleness that said more than words ever could. “Promise.”

landonorris

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enjoyed the final show of the break, time for austin

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maxfewtrell: sick hoodie where's it from

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userone: he is so HOT

usertwo: my man my man my man

quadrant: that helmet 👌

userthree: why is this man at so many concerts gah damn

userfour: i don't want to sound crazy but...

userfive: LET'S GO LANDO

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yeah, my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me

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userfour: HER BOYFRIEND IS LANDO NORRIS

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appartment in monaco

It had been a few weeks since you had gone public, and the house felt the same. The kitchen still smelt like coffee in the afternoons, and Lando’s laughter still echoed through the rooms. But outside, in the world that wasn’t contained by these walls, things had shifted.

The first few days after you had posted that picture—a simple, candid shot of you two tangled on the couch, laughing at something neither of you can remember now—felt like a blur. Your Instagram blew up instantly, flooded with comments, some gushing, some not so kind. The had media picked it up, headlines spun their usual stories, and of course, his world—Formula 1, with its intense, relentless scrutiny—had its own opinions. Most of it was harmless, but some of it... wasn’t.

Lando was standing in front of the window, staring out at nothing in particular. You could tell from the way his shoulders were tense, from the way his hand kept moving to rub the back of his neck, that something had been weighing on him. He’d been quieter these last few days, not in the way that shut you out, but in the way that let you know he was overthinking, worrying about things he didn’t need to.

You were sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through Instagram, but your attention was on him. You watched as he checked his phone again, probably seeing another headline or some new wave of comments. His jaw tightened, and that was when you knew it’s time to say something.

“Lan,” you called out softly, trying to break the tension in the room. “Come over here.”

He hesitated for a second, like he was debating whether to pull you into his worry or let it be, but then he walked over, his feet dragging slightly on the wooden floor. He sank down beside you on the couch, letting out a long, tired breath. His arm came around your shoulders instinctively, pulling you closer, but his mind was clearly somewhere else.

“Talk to me,” you said gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He didn’t meet your eyes at first, he just stared at the floor. “I’ve been seeing some of the comments,” Lando admitted, his voice low, as if he was trying to keep it casual but couldn’t quite manage it. “There’s a lot of hate. A lot of people saying… awful things. About you, about us.” He paused, running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t want this for you.”

You felt his arm tighten around you, like he was trying to protect you from something that was already out there, something he couldn’t control. It broke your heart a little, the way he carried that weight, like he was responsible for every cruel word thrown your way.

You shifted in his arms, turning to face him, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “I know,” you said softly. “But, darling, it’s not getting to me. Not even a little.” You smiled, trying to get him to see the truth in your eyes. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that people are going to say whatever they want. But they don’t matter. You do.”

He finally looked up at you, his brow furrowed, still sceptical. “But some of it’s brutal,” he insisted, his voice tight. “They’re dragging you through the mud just because we went public. I didn’t want you to deal with this part of my life, the ugly part.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and the sound seemed to catch him off guard. “Honestly? I’ve dealt with worse. You should’ve seen the comments I got after that one music video,” you teased lightly, hoping to ease his worry. “But this? This is nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced, but you could see him trying to process what you were saying, like he wanted to believe you but couldn’t quite let go of his own guilt. So, you decided to prove it to him in a way you knew would get through that thick head of his.

With a sly smile, you grabbed your phone and opened Twitter, your fingers moved quickly over the screen as you pulled up your account. He watched you, confused, until you glanced up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it, then you tilted the phone toward him so he could see the tweet you’d just typed out. In bold letters, it read:

"how i sleep knowing i get to sleep with this hunk of a man at night and you don’t "

Below the text was the picture you’d been sitting on for a while—one of him sleeping in the paddock last season.

His eyes widened as he read it, then flicked to the photo. “You’re not serious,” he said, though there’s a laugh hidden in his voice now.

“Oh, I am very serious,” you said, grinning at him as you hovered over the “Tweet” button. “If people want to hate, let them. But I’m going to remind them who I get to come home to every night.”

He stared at you for a second, then shook his head, a small, incredulous smile finally tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

You shrugged, your finger tapping the button before he could say another word. “It’s out there now,” you said, holding up the phone in triumph. “Let them come for me.”

He leant back against the couch, running his hands over his face, but you could see the way his shoulders had finally relaxed, the tension ebbing away. He laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and it warmed you from the inside out. “You’re actually insane,” he said, pulling you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

You looked up at him, beaming. “Sweetheart, they can say whatever they want. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters.”

For the first time in days, the worry in his eyes faded completely. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his breath warm against your hair. “I love you,” he murmured, the words soft but full of meaning.

“I love you more.”

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haters gunna hate, anyway check out my new song x

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landonorris: te amo x

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i have the coolest girlfriend ever 🤭

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comment if you want to be tagged in future works x

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𖥔

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ; you make coriolanus feel like he's losing control.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!reader, whole bunch of fluff honestly.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ; 1.3k .ᐟ

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ; not going to lie... i loved writing this one. i don't think i've written anything as fast as i wrote this bc it truly just flew out of me. this man really has me acting up and i am so here for it.

coriolanus snow was never one to let himself be vulnerable in the eyes of another, and for as long as you had known him there was one thing you were always certain of, he had to be in control. he depended on it. craved it. the thought alone, of everything slipping from his grasp and not going to plan, made his head swirl and his skin crawl. 

so when he met you, he began to question himself. question everything he had been working for, everything he had been fighting for, as you slowly wiggled your way into his heart. he was taken by you, and that scared him. 

you were a breath of fresh air in his carefully curated world, a burst of colour amidst the struggles of his life. your spontaneity and liveliness enchanted him, capturing his attention and leaving him craving more. he had never felt this way about anything before. 

as you sat there in the beauty of the meadow, a gentle breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of the wildflowers. the sunlight streamed through the canopy of leaves above, painting a warm hue across everything it touched. the tranquillity of it all enveloped you, filling your heart with a sense of contentment.

you and coriolanus were close together on an old picnic blanket you had found, not needing any words to communicate as you took in the peacefulness. his presence alone was enough to make you feel safe and at ease.

you watch on as his fingers trail through the grass, stopping when he comes across a dandelion, and plucks it from its root, “it certainly doesn’t compare to the roses grandma’am grows.”

“some people think of them as weeds, but not me. i think they’re beautiful all the same,” you add, bringing a smile to each of your faces, and take the flower from his hands. “in some ways, i feel just like them; a weed in a world where i should be seen as more.”

coriolanus observes you as you take a closer look at the small flower, appreciating its simple beauty. the yellow, though not as vibrant as a rose, held its own charm. you don’t hold it for long before he takes it back, twirling it with his thumb and forefinger. 

he stares at the flower for a moment before reaching to brush the stem behind your ear, his fingers then lingering as he trails them along the line of your jaw, sending a surge of emotions down your spine. you smile at him, it’s all you could do. if you spoke you weren’t sure what jumbled mess was sure to spew out. 

you bring your hand up to meet his, intertwining your fingers as you lean into his touch. his eyes bore into you, taking you in, appreciating your features under the sunlight. 

“look what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, as if it were some unspoken secret. which, in your case, it was. 

intrigued by his statement, you perk up, “and what exactly is it that i’ve done to you, coriolanus snow?” 

you watch him intently as he opens his mouth to speak, a thought lingering in his mind before he stops and lets his head fall between his shoulders instead. his silence is heavy, lingering in the air between you. you can almost feel the weight of the unspoken words pressing against your skin. 

you reach out tentatively, your hand hovering just inches from his, wanting desperately to bridge the distance but afraid of intruding. the two of you have always shared a deep connection, but something feels different today. something is weighing him down, and you yearn to understand. 

as he continues to fiddle absentmindedly with a blade of grass, you can see that his mind is working overtime. thoughts and feelings swirl like a whirlwind, causing his brow to furrow and his grip on the grass to tighten. 

eventually, he looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty. two things coriolanus liked to keep to himself. 

it’s then that you decide to break the silence. “what’s wrong, my love?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone, you know.”

he looks at you, gratitude mingling with a wisp of fear in his eyes. whatever it was bothering him, you could see that it was taking its toll, and you simply wanted to take him in your arms and kiss it all away, but you knew that that wouldn’t help. 

“i don’t know what i’m doing anymore,” he finally answers. “i feel like i’m losing track of who i am and what i want, what i’ve always wanted, the longer i’m out here.”

“things can change, coriolanus, and you don’t always have to live up to others' expectations of you. especially, your own. so long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.” his gaze falls from yours once again, but you refuse to let him suffer in silence anymore. so you reach for him, gathering his face between your fingers and pull him back towards you. “is it really such a bad thing? you get to be here with me.”

“that’s exactly the problem,” he admits, and your breath hitches momentarily as you wait for him to elaborate. “you make me feel like i’m losing control.”

for so long coriolanus had been bound by societal expectations and concerned with maintaining a pristine reputation. he had become so accustomed to a life ruled by rigid schedules and strict rules, never allowing himself to deviate from the norm. 

but with you, everything changed. 

you were afraid to ask, but you knew you had to, for your own piece of mind. “is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

he reaches to touch your face this time, your hands falling from his, and he pulls you closer towards him until your faces were merely a couple inches apart. “i have never felt so free, and yet, so scared in my life.”

“is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” you ask the question a second time, this time with more hesitancy as your voice shakes slightly. 

“it’s the best thing.” tears well up in your eyes as his words sink in. you never imagined that you could have such a profound impact on someone’s life, let alone someone as lost and conflicted as he was. “you’re my wildflower, and while i might not have been looking for you, i certainly found you where i least expected it.”

he smiles, his hands caressing your cheeks, as your heart thrums loudly in your chest, overjoyed and so full of love. leaning forward, you close the space between you, pressing a tender kiss to his lips, so full of passion that it almost envelopes you completely. 

you had brought coriolanus a sense of newfound freedom, showing him the beauty of embracing life’s uncertainties and every unpredictable moment. your spirit was infectious, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to your untamed soul. 

as he fell deeper in love with you, he realised that his heart yearned for the wildness and unpredictability you offered. he saw the vibrant world through your eyes, letting go of his inhibitions and stepping out of his comfort zone. 

you became his wildflower, a symbol of untamed beauty and unapologetic love. 

as you hold each other close, only pulling away to catch your breath, but not daring to pull away too far, coriolanus runs his thumb across your bottom lip. then, with his voice filled with tenderness and newfound appreciation, he whispers, “my wildflower.”

[f-t-e]

I started watching SUPERNATURAL in November 2020. I know, I know. My partner and I had been isolating alone since March. The timing felt right. I went though a wild amount of upheaval and trauma over the next year and SPN was there for me through it all. It was THE show at THE time and it kept me afloat when I needed it the most. Since November 2021 I've written just about 110,000 words of SPN fanfic, a number that seems unbelievable to me, and that too has been a real blessing to my creative life, no matter what haters say. (why didn't I write my own novels in that time? Because I have a hobby, Karen, and I love it.) And I've read about 500000x that much fanfic, which has been the biggest blessing of all. (ETA: oh right, if you want to read my fic, you can find my stuff here, I wrote a fic where Dean reads books. Lots of books.)

I know I'm a nobody in this fandom but I thought on this, our #DestielDay, I would submit my own humble rec list. I've curated this very deliberately: every fic here has just about 4000 hits or less (most under 3000) and all were published in 2020 or after. So, sort of a rec list for some lesser known and newer fics, something you maybe haven't stumbled on yet. Especially thank you to @jewishcharliebradbury, her rec lists gave me a place to start back in the day and I have tried to model the depth and quality they brought to their lists. I tried to link to everyone's tumblr, but if I missed one, let me know.

Most of all, thank you to everyone who has EVER created something for this fandom, from 2005 to 2023. I am so thankful and, honestly, honored to be among your number. You're not supposed to be cringe and say a show saved your life...but SUPERNATURAL saved me, it really did. See y'all when the movie/reboot drops, to quote Ryan Gosling in The Notebook: IT WASN'T OVER, IT STILL ISN'T OVER. And I'm glad.

-----

Finale Fix-It & S15 and Beyond

What The Moon Was Saying by Amiril (@runawaymarbles)

This is hands-down one of the coolest “Dean Rescues Cas from the Empty” fics I have ever read and the concept is brilliantly structured to mirror the literal and metaphorical things Dean needs to give up and let go to get free. Every scenario is very satisfying and they make sense, is there any better feeling? Dean is very open in this, but in a believable way that still has edges. And, oh, the reunion is so good. Plus all the family stuff. Just excellent, exactly what you want in a fic like this: lovely, well-written, smart, fulfilling, all the pieces clicking, the show but better.

Awake and Annoying by skycruise

I love the use and passage of time in this one, it has some real impact, and I love the way Dean gets into the Empty (so smart, fits just right) and what I REALLY love in this one is the way it lets Dean be really clear-eyed and honest about his relationship with Sam, both the strengths and the weaknesses. And the last line, very clever and moving inverse of one of fandom’s favorite things. 

Living the life you chose by allthismusic

THEEEEE post finale Sam Winchester-Outsider-POV this fandom needs. Sam is absolutely awesome in this, the most believable, loving, realistic mix of “I knew all along” and “I had no idea” versions of Sam, landing somewhere I think that’s really true and in character. It fills in and develops so many gaps and silences in what the show let Sam know in the absolute best way. Best Brother Sam is a weakness of mine and he really shines here, there for Dean in the best ways but also coming into his own, I love it so very much. (this author also has a very great 2022 Big Bang fic, hugely recommend that one too.)

your ear to the wound that whispers by EmandFandems (@lazarusemma)

Who doesn’t love a HANDPRINT FIC?!? And boy this is such a good one. It follows Dean and his thoughts on the handprint from the first touch all the way to fixing the finale and it simply buzzes with longing and desire, tenderness and rawness. It’s great insight in lot of ways into Dean’s journey. It’s short but fulfilling and oh that very perfect last line. (this author also has a lot of great Jupernatural content.)  

Somewhere Off in the Dark by magickastiel 

Another awesome fic that traces Dean’s shifting/growing feelings for Cas from when he shows up in his hotel rooms to a HEA fix it after canon. Dean, again, is handled so deftly in this one, his confusion and sorrow at all the times Cas is slipping away from him all the way through the things he won’t let himself know. He feels really true in this one, sharp and tender in the best Dean ways. Also it has an agonizingly romantic end, you love to end up there.

Pins and Feathers by theskywasblue (@buttherewasnogod)

This author has so many freaking good SPN fics, omg it was almost impossible to pick just one to include on this list. Go treat yourself with their entire list because there’s so much good stuff there! But this one, oh I am a sucker for a finale fix-it that lets Dean be this tender. While I LOVE fics where he just jumps right into Cas’s arms (and write them lol) I also feel like this is so true to Dean too: that “maybe I misunderstood, maybe I shouldn’t say anything, maybe he doesn’t still –” And on top of all that, it’s a “they go the beach” fic and it gets the details of it so right, sand in your toes and all. Tender, amazing slow-burn, real, hot, full of heart and longing and everything unspoken and just waiting. Very satisfying!

i loved you first by kalmialatifolia

A set of four short fics that create an entire world of feeling and emotion. These feel like little whispered stories told under the covers, very atmospheric. There’s one very sexy one, a haircutting one (so good) and they’re just intimate. All together a great set and did I mention they’re in the “Cas saves himself” genre which is mmmm an underrated treasure.

no other faith is light enough for this place by anonymous 

A fix-it fic that has a particularly unique and beautiful visual of both how and why Cas comes back. The mechanics behind it are fairly standard but the way this author creates the visual of it, the sheer emotion and force behind it and how it happens, it really stood out to me and stuck with me. It’s Dean being brave enough to really feel and the way that just blossoms – lovely, aching, full-tilt wonderful.

 no proof, one touch by TakeThisWaltz (@watchinghimrakeleaves)

One thing I absolutely cannot get enough of is fic where Cas is hiding out from Dean in heaven. It just hits. And the only thing better is Dean chasing him down and the WAY he does it in this fic, methodically and – well the method (sobs) it is so endearing and OBVIOUS and gives Dean a chance to shout in all the best ways. This one is just real sweet and kind of goofy and if they have to be in heaven, I want them to still be these same two dorks.

Stay by redbrickrose

This is a post S15x18 from Cas’s POV and I think it’s very true to where he would be in the moment of getting yanked out of the Empty: resigned, hesitant about what he has in front of him, still a little in shock. And then. And then. Sweet and simple and Dean gets a chance to say, say, say it. This author has a good post series AU and a lovely little spate of S15 codas, all good. And then wrote this in real-time in the week after 15x18 Despair and right before 15x19 Inherit the Earth aired (could you just sob over the possibilities?!) and then hasn’t wrote anything since and that’s a shame but, like, yeah I get it.

like a one-two punch by Muir_Wolf (@muirmarie)

Don’t you love a short fic that feels like it’s a whole novel? This goes AU after 14x20 Moriah but it is a truly delightful twist on how Chuck could’ve reacted there and it makes Dean sharp as a knife, which is one really resonant image woven through this fic. Great imagery here and so many clever solutions for the lazy plotting of S15, including simply one of my all-time favorites in any fic ever solutions to Cas’s deal (genius) and getting rid of Chuck. Brilliant like a puzzle box yet still full of so much fucking joy.

maybe i like pleasure pain by tothewillofthepeople (@kvothes)

The fact that this was written in October 2023 and is so agonizingly good fills my heart with joy and tells me Destiel will never die lol. Cas, in particular, is great in this – he’s having a hard time adjusting to being in a body and with all the fuzz of the world. I love fics where Cas struggles with coming back from the Empty and this uses a really unique approach to it: Cas facing sensory overload and not knowing how to feel but wanting it all. Lovely, hot, Dean is just right in this too.

Earlier Canon (pre S15)

Proverbs 13:12 by starlingcas (@angelcasendgame)

Many might say I am biased because Renu has beta’ed everything I have written in the SPN fandom and they can read my brain and make everything I write better. But it’s not just that. Renu has done something beautiful and delicate in this fic, which is about Dean and Cas getting trapped in a net together (forced proximity trope, yes please) and weaves a web of its own; pulling you in just as they are pulled together. This is set mostly in early S14 (before fixing the finale in the most heart-healing way) and captures that feeling so well. There’s so much that’s unsaid between them yet still conveyed and Renu absolutely nails that, along with the tender longing that was always there. This is a fic to relish.

you may tire of me (as our december sun is setting) by deludedfantasy

You know how the show just sometimes is like “uh so anyway uh then Cas…uh…left.” and it just doesn’t make one lick of sense? FINALLY FINALLY a fic where Dean says “I’ll go with you,” and then goes because he actually would do that. This is a post Tombstone fic so it is exactly where/when he WOULD go and it is tender and hesitant and aching in just all the ways it would be between the two of them at this time. It’s about needing to keep someone in sight, it’s about having another chance to say something so important, it’s slow and soft and just right for the characters in this place. I could read this one about 100 times.

the anatomy of flightless birds by cowlovely (@dollhousemary)

This fic is basically the way you feel when you get all cozy and snug underneath your favorite blanket. This is a domestic-life-in-the Bunker S9 fic where everyone behaves like they are in character and not just like they have to get Cas off screen because the writers panicked. You’ll just want to curl up in this fic and savor it the way you wrap your fingers around a hot beverage on a very cold day, there’s no better way to describe it.

virtue by JenTheSweetie

I think I’ve read this about 100 times and it still gets me everytime? It’s a five things fic about Dean and Cas hooking up and it’s all you’ve ever wished for. This is set in an amorphous S8 and it is not just agonizingly hot but also romantic and very funny. It feels really in character! Sam is hilarious, Dean is clueless but bowled over and letting himself be swept up, Cas is delighting in every second and smarter than he lets on and it ALL feels fated and lovely and sexy and just splendid. (this author only has 3 SPN fics but they are all so good and if you try sometimes, well you just might find is an absolutely brilliant deconstruction of Dean learning the differences between “needing” and “wanting.”)

Romance at the Motel 6 by shelia_amour 

This fic makes me feel like Stefon from SNL. This fic has everything: Cas and Sam pretending to be married, just the right amount of jealous Dean, Dean randomly pretending to be married to Cas, Dean realizing maybe this isn’t so fake after all, motel vibes, Cas in Dean’s clothes, Cas getting bee slippers. If you are not sold on this already, we are very different people. So good, aches just right. (set in a kind of “whenever” of canon, but I like to put it somewhere in S8.)

que sera sera by Purple_Starflower (@hauntedpearl)

The epitome of how fanfic unfolds for us all the things that COULD happen. You can’t PROVE to me Dean and Cas never snuck off to snuggle and feed Dean’s touch-starvation early in S13. I had to check when I finished because I just couldn’t believe this fic was under 4000 words because it feels so full of touch, longing, the things unspoken, and all the ways Dean was reaching, reaching, reaching. The best kind of ache, and everything by this author is lovely. 

the hard edge that you’re settling for by lesspopped (@trekkiedean)

This is some S10 Demon!Dean that made my stomach hurt and my heart ache and I absolutely loved it and I absolutely hated it and it all felt so REAL with who Demon!Dean was and could have been. There’s a TW for mildly dubious consent in this, but to me, Cas was so agonizingly true to who he was/where he was at this point in canon too. This fic is gloriously, claustrophobically intimate. I say unbearable because as a reader you know that this closeness, this intimacy, is what Dean wants/craves/deserves but can only give himself as a demon and the author does an exquisite job at getting all that across. Hurts so good! 

four of swords by sundryvillians (eurythmix) (@perenial)

Can the world ever have enough post 12x12 fic? The answer is, of course, no. Dean and Cas bake bread and in the soft space of creating something with their own hands, get so close to the words Cas said. It’s about healing and anger and making something just because you are so tired of everything breaking. If that alone isn’t enough to convince you, let me also throw in this is another one of those “possible off-screen moments in canon” that gives them something honest and tender and raw and it feels so very possible. 

Fifteen Prayers From the Faithless by koyas_cat

Short, achy, that sweet sting. A set of prayers for Cas from the beginning to the end, full of all the things Dean doesn’t let himself say outloud and just reflecting the changes in their connection over alllll the years. So good.

[my-religion-greek-myth]

Burnt Pancakes

Little snippets of fluff series of Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio and Nicky. I don't know what to name this series, and it's gonna be just one shot each time. Also, if you have any idea of a fluffy family moment, let me know!

Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio + Nicky

Word: 4.5k-ish

The first rays of sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. The warmth of the morning light stirred you from sleep, and you groaned softly, burying your face deeper into the pillow. The bed was luxuriously comfortable, and the scent of lavender lingered faintly on the sheets—Agatha’s doing, of course. She always insisted on things smelling just right.

You stretched lazily, a contented smile curling on your lips as your mind wandered back to the night before. Even now, in the soft light of morning, the memory felt so vivid it was almost tangible—like it was unfolding all over again. Agatha’s low, velvety laughter still resonated in your ears, the perfect counterpoint to Rio’s mischievous snickers. The two of them had been a magnetic force, one commanding and sharp, the other playful and cunning, and you’d been caught deliciously in the middle.

Agatha, as always, had carried herself with a sense of authority, her teasing laced with a deliberate edge that sent shivers down your spine. Her fingers—steady, confident—had left a trail of heat wherever they touched, her gaze a smouldering thing that seemed to burn right through you. Yet, as commanding as she was, there had been fleeting moments of softness in her eyes, a tenderness that only revealed itself when she thought no one was paying attention.

And then there was Rio—wild, irreverent, and utterly unpredictable. Her laugh had been the soundtrack to the night, light and lilting but never without a wicked edge. She had darted in and out of the game like a fox, quick and clever, always one step ahead. You could still picture how she’d sprawled out on the bed, looking every bit like the queen of her little kingdom. “Careful, Agatha,” she’d purred at one point, a devilish grin tugging at her lips. “You’re hogging all the fun, and I’ve got a few tricks of my own.”

The way she’d leaned forward, her eyes dancing with mischief, had made your pulse quicken. She’d caught you off guard more than once—her hand brushing yours under the guise of a casual touch, her breath warm against your ear as she murmured something that left you blushing furiously. “Relax,” she’d teased, her tone playful yet laced with just enough heat to keep you guessing. “You’ll enjoy this a lot more if you let me do my thing.”

And, oh, had she done her thing. Rio had a way of making everything feel like a game, a thrilling dance where the rules changed on her whim. She’d nudged Agatha out of her carefully curated control, making her laugh—a genuine, surprised laugh—when Rio pulled some cheeky stunt like when she’d stolen Agatha’s glass of wine, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before handing it back with a wink. “Sharing is caring,” she’d said, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

Yet, for all her antics, there had been a subtle kind of care beneath Rio’s mischief, an unspoken understanding that left you feeling seen and safe, even as she pushed boundaries with her playful jabs and daring gestures. At one point, she’d tugged you to your feet, twirling you in an impromptu dance that left you laughing so hard your sides ached. “See?” she’d said, grinning up at you. “I’m not all trouble.”

The interplay between the three of you had been electric—Agatha’s sharp wit, Rio’s boundless energy, and your own giddy exhilaration all feeding into a perfect storm of chaos and chemistry.

Agatha and Rio—so different, yet so perfectly balanced—had turned the night into something unforgettable. You closed your eyes and let yourself relive it all, every laugh, every touch, every glance that lingered just a second too long. The thought brought a blush to your cheeks, warmth spreading through you as you replayed the memory. It wasn’t just the passion—though there had been plenty of that—it was the way the three of you clicked so effortlessly. The love, the teasing, the connection. The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you pressed your face into the pillow to hide your grin, even though no one was watching.

You were quietly grateful for Agatha’s meticulous nature as your thoughts lingered. She had insisted on soundproofing the master bedroom with magic before you started—‘fun time’ as Rio put it.

Nicky’s room was across the hall, a good distance from the master bedroom, and you couldn’t imagine the mortification if he had woken up to hear what his mothers had been up to. Instead, he’d been able to sleep soundly, blissfully unaware of the chaos behind your closed door.

Just as you let out a contented sigh, a sharp bang broke the serene morning silence, making you jolt upright. You didn’t even need to see it to know exactly what happened. “Rio,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your eyes.

Sure enough, the sound of footsteps followed, heavy and unapologetic. Rio was the only person who could make closing a door sound like a declaration of war. You and Agatha had nagged her countless times about being careful when closing doors, especially in front of their son, but her half-hearted promises to “try” never amounted to much.

“Of course,” you mumbled, shaking your head with a small smile. Why would she change now?

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stretched, your muscles pleasantly sore from the night before. The floor was cool beneath your feet as you padded toward the door, but instead of heading downstairs immediately, you turned toward Nicky’s room across the hall. The soundproofing may have kept him asleep through the night, but you always made a point to check on him in the mornings.

Pushing the door open gently, you peeked inside. The soft morning light filtered through his curtains, illuminating the room warmly. Nicky was still curled under his blanket, clutching his favourite stuffed animal—a well-loved fox missing a bit of fur on one ear. His dark curls framed his peaceful face, and the soft rise and fall of his chest was enough to make your heart swell.

You stepped inside quietly, crouching beside his bed and brushing a stray curl from his forehead. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, a small sigh escaping his lips as he burrowed deeper into the blanket. Smiling, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his head.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” you whispered, tucking the blanket around him a little more snugly before standing.

Satisfied that he was still blissfully unaware of the chaos that awaited downstairs, you headed for the door. Somewhere in the house, Rio was probably getting into trouble, and you could already imagine Agatha’s sharp voice scolding her for whatever mischief she was causing.

With a smirk and a shake of your head, you tightened your robe and headed downstairs. If nothing else, mornings in this house were never boring.

You shuffled into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, warm and inviting. Agatha was already seated at the table, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. Her usual air of perfection was slightly dishevelled this morning—her curls loosely tumbling over her shoulders, her sharp blue eyes soft with the remnants of sleep.

She was wearing a simple, baggy grey t-shirt that fell just long enough to cover her bottom, and you couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing shorts. It was a rare sight; catching her in something so casual made you pause for a moment, a lazy smile tugging at your lips.

“Good morning, doll,” Agatha said, her tone smooth but tinged with amusement as she caught your gaze lingering. She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her coffee. “Like what you see?”

You cleared your throat, grabbing a mug for yourself. “Morning,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. “Nice shirt.”

Agatha smirked. “Nice try.”

You busied yourself pouring coffee, trying not to let her fluster you too much first thing in the morning. “So, what’s for breakfast?” you asked casually, leaning against the counter as you sipped your coffee.

Agatha arched an eyebrow. “I was going to ask you that. What do you want?”

You paused, considering her question. “Pancakes,” you decided, nodding to yourself. “I’ll make pancakes.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw Agatha’s expression faltered ever so slightly, her blue eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as if bracing herself for disaster. She quickly masked it with a tight smile, but you’d already caught the hint of panic.

“Pancakes?” she repeated, her voice overly calm. “That’s… ambitious.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Agatha replied smoothly, waving her hand. But the look in her eyes told you everything. She hadn’t forgotten the infamous pasta incident—a night of charred pots, ruined sauce, and a lingering smell of burnt... everything.

“Okay, I see what’s happening here,” you said, narrowing your eyes at her. “You think I’m going to mess this up. Again.”

“Did I say that?” Agatha asked innocently, though the corner of her mouth twitched as she fought back a teasing smile.

“You didn’t have to say it. I can see it.” You pointed toward her face. “That’s the face of a woman who doesn’t trust me in her kitchen.”

“Can you blame me, doll?” Agatha teased, setting her coffee down. “Last time you ‘cooked,’ we had to replace an entire pot.”

“That was one time!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up. “And pasta is harder than it looks.”

“It really isn’t,” Agatha deadpanned, resting her chin on her hand as she watched you with barely concealed amusement.

“Well, today’s my redemption arc,” you said, puffing out your chest dramatically. “You’ll see. I’ll make the best pancakes you’ve ever had.”

Agatha leaned back in her chair, clearly unconvinced but entertained, nonetheless. “I can’t wait,” she said, her voice dripping with mock encouragement.

“Even Nicky doesn’t trust your cooking,” she added, her lips twitching as she fought back a wider grin. “Remember when he refused to eat your ‘special’ cheese noodles because it smelled funny?”

“That was a bad box of noodles!” you protested, pointing at her accusingly. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course, it wasn’t, doll,” Agatha said, her tone saccharine with mock understanding. “But our poor boy has a sensitive palate now. Mummy scarred him for life.”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “He ate that pudding you made last week, and it was basically a bowl of sugar.”

“That’s because I know how to bribe him properly,” she quipped, sipping her coffee. “You should take notes.”

You turned toward the pantry with renewed determination, grabbing the needed ingredients. Behind you, Agatha sipped her coffee, her amused gaze following your every move.

As you started assembling the ingredients, you couldn’t help but drift your thoughts to Nicky. He was still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the playful bickering happening in the kitchen. You smiled to yourself, picturing his messy curls and the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed. Maybe he wouldn’t trust your cooking skills, but you’d make pancakes so good they’d change his mind—or so you hoped.

This time, you’d prove Agatha wrong—or at least, you’d try not to burn the house down.

With a newfound sense of determination, you began your pancake mission. Ingredients were gathered, a mixing bowl was placed centre stage, and the whisk held firmly in your grip like a sword of culinary redemption. You attacked the batter with gusto, whisking it furiously as though you could whisk away any lingering memories of the Great Pasta Incident.

Agatha, perched elegantly at the kitchen table, looked as though she were preparing to judge a cooking competition. Her sharp blue eyes followed your every move, and her coffee cup was held with the poise of a queen observing her kingdom.

“Doll,” she began, her tone laced with amusement, “you’re supposed to whisk the batter, not bludgeon it into submission.”

“It’s a technique,” you said defensively, glaring at her over your shoulder. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, her lips curling into a smirk. “And when will I get to taste these so-called revolutionary pancakes?”

You returned to the counter with renewed focus, determined to ignore her snide remarks. The first pancake hit the pan with a satisfying sizzle, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. Things were going smoothly—for now.

That is, until the pancake started to burn.

The distinct smell of something charred filled the air. Agatha’s nose wrinkled delicately, and she leaned back in her chair with a pointed glance at the pan. “I think your revolutionary pancake is revolting,” she quipped.

“It’s fine!” you insisted, frantically flipping the pancake. The sight of its darkened, crispy surface made you wince. Okay, maybe it wasn’t fine.

Just then, the back door swung open, slamming shut with a familiar bang. You didn’t even flinch—you already knew who it was.

Rio strolled in, her hair slightly tousled and a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. She had twigs clinging to her shirt, and dirt smudged on her hands, and the air of someone who had definitely been up to no good. “What’s burning?” she asked casually, sniffing the air as she leaned against the counter.

“Nothing!” you snapped, cheeks flushing as you tried to salvage the now-definitely-burned pancake.

“Smells like ‘nothing’ is on fire,” Rio replied, peering over your shoulder with a grin. And she strolled over, leaning on the counter to peer into the bowl of batter. She raised a single eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smirk. “This?” she asked, motioning to the bowl. “This looks like cement.”

Agatha nearly choked on her coffee, her laughter spilling out in a musical and maddening way. “I was trying to be supportive,” she said between chuckles, waving her hand toward Rio. “But thank you for your honesty.”

“Oh, great,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you tried to pour a second pancake. “Two critics. Just what I needed.”

Rio grinned, her dark eyes gleaming mischievously. “Well, if you can’t take the heat—”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, pointing the spatula at her like a weapon.

“—stay out of the kitchen,” Rio finished with a wink.

Agatha clapped her hands together, clearly delighted by the exchange. “Oh, I’m keeping you around in the kitchen with F/N, Rio.”

“You don’t get a vote on that,” you snapped, pointing the spatula at her this time.

Rio snorted, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. “I think she does, actually.”

You turned back to the burned pancakes with a groan but decided to put another batch in the pan. Determined, you poured more batter, hoping this one might redeem the previous attempts. As the new pancake started to cook, a faint, familiar smell of burning filled the air again. You winced.

Rio smirked at the charred pancake, leaning forward slightly as she raised an eyebrow. “You call that a pancake?”

Before you could respond, Agatha took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee, savouring the moment. When she caught Rio’s eye, she made an exaggerated face of mock disgust, sticking out her tongue and pretending to gag.

Rio stifled a laugh, her shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth as she mimicked Agatha’s expression behind your back. You turned slightly, catching only the tail end of their exchange.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Rio said innocently, though her smirk gave her away. She reached for a red apple from the counter, biting into it with a loud crunch as she leaned back to enjoy the unfolding chaos.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” you muttered, grabbing another ladle of batter and pouring it into the pan with perhaps a bit too much force.

“I am on your side,” Rio replied, teasing but light. “I’m just… objectively observing.”

Agatha chimed in, her voice dripping with faux sympathy as she rested her chin on her hand. “And how’s that working out for you, doll?”

You ignored them, your focus fixed firmly on the task at hand. This time, the pancake came out slightly less burnt—an almost passable golden brown with just a touch of overdone edges. As you flipped it onto the plate with a sigh of relief, Rio glanced at Agatha and sneaked a sarcastic thumbs up, mouthing the word ‘yummy’.

Agatha snorted quietly, her laughter muffled behind her coffee cup.

Before the third pancake could meet a similar fate, Rio stepped in with her usual grace, whisking the pan off the burner smoothly. “Careful there,” she said, glancing at you with mock seriousness. “I thought you said you had this under control.”

“I do!” you protested, though the sad, slightly charred pancake sitting in the middle of the pan betrayed you. “Mostly.”

Agatha sighed theatrically and rose gracefully from her chair, her curls bouncing slightly as she moved toward you. “Alright, doll,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperated affection. “Let me show you how it’s done.” She took the spatula from your hand, her fingers brushing yours. “Step aside.”

You watched as she flipped the pancake with practised ease, her movements precise and annoyingly perfect. The golden pancake landed on the plate like a taunt, its flawless surface mocking your earlier attempts.

“Okay, fine,” you huffed grudgingly, crossing your arms. “You win.”

Rio leaned against the counter, arms crossed and her grin smug. “Was there ever a doubt?”

“Plenty of doubt,” you shot back, grabbing your coffee cup to console yourself. “I just let her win because I’m nice like that.”

“Sure, doll,” Agatha said, smirking over her shoulder as she reached for more batter. Her tone was teasing, but the softness in her smile as she glanced back at you made your heart swell. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Rio sidled up beside you, nudging your shoulder with hers. “At least you tried,” she said warmly, her teasing softened by genuine affection.

“Thanks,” you replied dryly. “I feel so supported.”

By the time breakfast was finally ready, the kitchen was filled with laughter and the mouthwatering smell of fresh pancakes. Agatha plated the stack with the precision of someone who clearly had mastered the art while Rio snagged a pancake directly from the pile, earning a mock glare from both of you.

By the time the pancakes were ready—thanks mostly to Agatha’s intervention and Rio’s sharp eye—the kitchen smelled divine. A tall stack of golden, fluffy pancakes sat in the centre of the table, accompanied by a small jug of maple syrup, fresh fruit, and a dish of butter. The chaos of earlier was replaced by a cosy sense of accomplishment. Well, mostly.

Nicky appeared in the doorway, rubbing his sleepy eyes and clutching his favourite stuffed fox. His dark curls were mussed from sleep, and he yawned loudly as he padded into the room. “Mummy, is breakfast ready?” he asked, his voice still groggy.

You smiled, ruffling his hair as he climbed into his seat at the table. “Yes, sweetheart. Pancakes, just for you.”

“Mama!” Nicky called Rio brightly as he saw her, who was already pouring him a small glass of orange juice. “Did you help?”

Rio grinned, sliding the glass toward him. “Of course I did, kiddo. Someone had to make sure Mummy didn’t burn the house down.”

You shot her a mock glare. “Really, Rio? That’s the story we’re going with?”

Nicky giggled, his wide eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mummy’s cooking’s bad.”

Your jaw dropped in mock offence, and you huffed dramatically, placing your hands on your hips. “Excuse me, young man. I am standing right here.”

Agatha chuckled softly as she took her seat at the table. “You’d better watch out, doll,” she said, smirking as she helped herself to a pancake. “He’s not wrong.”

Nicky turned to Agatha with a sweet smile. “Mumma, did you make the pancakes?”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, clearly relishing her moment of triumph. “I may have stepped in to help,” she said smoothly, slicing a piece of her pancake.

“You saved breakfast!” Nicky said with pure, four-year-old sincerity, making Rio burst out laughing.

You sighed, slumping into your chair. “This is a conspiracy,” you muttered, reaching for the syrup. “A family-wide betrayal.”

Rio leaned over to nudge you playfully with her shoulder. “Aw, don’t pout, Mummy. Your pancakes just needed a little… guidance.”

“A lot of guidance,” Agatha chimed in, earning a glare from you that only made her laugh harder.

Nicky, oblivious to the teasing dynamic, happily devoured his pancake, syrup smeared across his cheek. “Mummy, these are yummy now!” he declared, flashing you a bright smile.

“See?” you said, holding up your hands triumphantly. “Even Nicky thinks they’re good—now.”

“Mama and Mumma fixed them,” Nicky added innocently, making Rio chuckle and Agatha smirk into her coffee.

“Traitor,” you muttered, though your heart warmed at his happy grin.

The table soon settled into an easy rhythm. Nicky happily chattered about his plans for the day, his stuffed animal perched beside his plate as though it were joining the meal. Rio listened attentively, her dark eyes twinkling as she occasionally added playful comments that made him giggle. Agatha, ever the composed one, cut small pieces of pancake for Nicky, her calm demeanour hiding the soft affection in her gaze.

You watched them all, a small smile tugging at your lips. For all the teasing, for all the chaos, this was your family—messy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect at the same time.

As the meal wrapped up, Nicky climbed into your lap, his sticky hands clutching your shirt as he rested his head on your shoulder. “Mummy, can we have pancakes again tomorrow?” he asked adorably, his voice muffled against you.

“Maybe,” you replied, kissing his curly head. “If I’m feeling brave.”

Rio snorted, earning a swat on the arm from you, and Agatha simply shook her head, muttering something about getting back up before letting you near the stove again.

As the sunlight poured through the windows, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet, profound happiness settle over you. This was home—complete with burnt pancakes, endless teasing, and the people you loved most in the world.

The kitchen was finally calm after the earlier chaos, though the faint smell of burnt batter still lingered in the air. Despite the rocky start, breakfast had been served, eaten, and thoroughly enjoyed. The perfectly golden pancakes on everyone’s plates had been, in the end, Agatha’s doing.

You leaned back in your chair, sipping your coffee and watching Nicky as he happily finished the last bites of his pancake. The sticky syrup smeared across his cheeks, paired with his radiant grin, was almost enough to make you forget the earlier mishaps.

Agatha, sitting across from you, was the picture of smug satisfaction, her blue eyes sparkling as she cradled her coffee mug. “So,” she began, her tone dripping with feigned politeness, “how would you rate your contribution to breakfast today, doll?”

You shot her a mock glare, clutching your coffee defensively. “I got us started. If it weren’t for me, there’d be no batter to burn.”

Rio snorted from her spot, lounging casually in her chair. “That’s one way to spin it.”

“Thank you for your support, Mama,” you said dryly, rolling your eyes at her.

“Mama’s funny,” Nicky piped up, giggling as he pointed at Rio. His small hands were still sticky from breakfast, though his stuffed fox seemed to have escaped the syrupy carnage.

Rio gave him an exaggerated wink. “I aim to please, kid.”

Nicky beamed and turned his wide eyes toward Agatha. “Mumma made the pancakes because Mummy burned them,” he said innocently, his voice lilting with glee at his perfect observation.

Agatha nearly choked on her coffee, her lips twitching as she fought back a laugh. “He knows everything,” she said, smirking at you over the rim of her mug.

“Traitor,” you muttered, reaching over to ruffle Nicky’s curls. He laughed and pressed his fox to his chest, clearly unbothered by your mock offence.

“You should be proud,” Rio teased, standing and stretching lazily. “It takes a special kind of talent to set off a smoke alarm with batter.”

“That didn’t happen!” you protested, narrowing your eyes at her. “The smoke detector is fine.”

“For now,” Agatha quipped, her tone dry but affectionate. She stood and began gathering the empty plates, her movements effortlessly graceful. “Alright, doll, I think it’s fair to say breakfast was a team effort—though the team carried you.”

“Rude,” you replied, though you couldn’t help but grin. Watching her move about the kitchen, so perfectly composed, even in a baggy t-shirt, you felt that familiar warmth bloom in your chest.

Nicky hopped down from his chair, grabbing your hand with his sticky little fingers. “Mummy, can we go outside now?” he asked, his wide eyes sparkling with excitement.

“In a little bit, sweetheart,” you said, brushing a sticky curl off his forehead. “First, let’s clean up the kitchen.”

Nicky immediately shook his head, his curls bouncing as he declared, “I can’t, Mummy. I’m too little!”

Rio chuckled from the sink, where she was rinsing a plate. “Convenient,” she muttered with a smirk, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

You leaned down and lightly tapped Nicky’s nose, earning a giggle. “You still need to be cleaned up first, sticky boy,” you teased.

Before Nicky could wriggle away or protest further, Agatha’s calm, steady voice cut in. Standing beside Rio with a plate in hand, she glanced back at you. Her sharp features softened as her eyes met yours. “Don’t worry, doll,” she said gently. “We’ve got it.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, scooping Nicky into your arms as he squealed with laughter. “What would I do without you?” you asked, your voice full of affection.

“Burn down the house,” Agatha replied with a smirk, earning a laugh from Rio.

“Probably true,” Rio added, her grin widening. “I mean, someone’s got to keep the syrup monster under control.”

As the three of you worked together—well, mostly Agatha and Rio, since Nicky was still “too little”—the sticky chaos seemed to fade into the background. Nicky’s laughter bubbled up as he chattered about imaginary pancake adventures, his little hands flapping excitedly. Rio’s boisterous laugh echoed in the room, punctuated by Agatha’s sharp wit and quiet chuckles.

By the time the kitchen was tidier, the air felt lighter, filled with warmth and the lingering hum of shared moments. It wasn’t perfect—there were still smudges of syrup here and there, and Nicky had managed to sneak another sticky handprint onto your sleeve—but it didn’t matter.

The kitchen, chaotic and messy yet filled with laughter and love, was a perfect reflection of your family.

[amalainse]

𖦹 AM I THE SAME GIRL? ⇆ atsumu miya

┆︎summary ┆︎you've taken up two new interests―geology and unearthing the truth behind atsumu's new cryptic behavior.

┆︎tags┆︎getting together, friends to lovers. reader is oblivious. atsumu is predictably, a loser in love.

┆︎wc┆︎3.7k

┆︎an┆︎it is the beginning of winter and for some reason i always think of summer. and also this 100% an excuse to research further about something that has always interested me. half of what i learned didn't even make it into the fic but just know i have about 3 hours worth of stuff lodged in my brain now.

okinawa is a long thirty-six hours from your home in hyogo. you've already vowed to visit once your curator job takes off―and you actually have enough money to stay there. but anyway. the reason you want to visit so badly is because of the hoshizuna no nama―or the star sand beach. where sand is typically made up of tiny rocks and particles, the sand is made of tiny star-shaped little particles.

you know this, and other odd things about rocks you've never heard of before, thanks to your monthly subscription to the petrology society journal. the part time job you've gotten at onigiri miya doesn't allow much for extra expenses, but the journal is one of the things you don't mind dipping into your budget for.

it's nothing something most people would expect from you (and certainly not something you thought you would enjoy so much) but you had caught the tail end of a documentary on the history of the earth while studying for yet another exam.

you're reading the latest issue now, or you're trying to. it's more like you're pretending to read it, as your eyes scan over the same paragraph seven times. in reality, you're way too interested in watching osamu and a few of his friends play a friendly (?) game of volleyball. and more specifically―watching atsumu play volleyball.

osamu had asked if you wanted to join, or maybe if you wanted to keep the score but you had declined. these were osamu's friends, and you felt more than a little out of your element just by being there. you attended the inarizaki high, same as osamu and his friends, but to say you were friends then was a generous statement.

at most, you and osamu partnered together often to work on projects or study. classroom friends. not the sort that hung out together outside of school hours. and when you started working part-time at onigiri miya, you assumed it would be the same. it isn't, and as a result, the two of you have struck up a tentative new friendship.

atsumu, osamu's twin, is an entirely different story. even in highschool, he was never someone you were able to understand. and nothing about him ever made any sense. even after all the time that has passed, that remains the same.

it's like he pays too much attention to you, but at the same time―none at all. you don't get it.

suit yourself atsumu had said, putting his hands on his hips as his eyes traced over you―watching keenly as you found a place to sit off to the side. you can just be my cheerleader instead.

your scowl had been instantaneous. feathers ruffled, you planted yourself down on your beach chair and forced yourself not to give atsumu the time of the day. a challenge, when he's possibly the hottest person you've ever seen. he carries himself differently than osamu, and you wonder if that's what makes you so drawn to him.

you aren't sure if you want to know the answer. what does that say about you, being attracted to boys with bad attitudes and piss colored hair?

"i don't hear any cheerin" atsumu drawls out, when he catches you staring for maybe the third time in a row. you scowl again, and cross one long leg over the other, body language clearly expressing your displeasure.

the star sand, in the end, isn't made up of anything mythical―not like you had been expecting. you know magic isn't real, but still your mind had conjured up the idea that the star sand was made of remnants from magical stars. sand, star shaped or not, are made up of decomposed organisms.

your eyes slide once more towards atsumu. for once, he isn't looking back at you. people, famous volleyball athletes or not, are made up of the same things.

--

today had been taxing in a way it hasn't been in a long time. you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, plastered with heat and sweat. class fared no better, and you forced yourself to trudge through the lessons―completely fumbling when a professor suddenly cold-called on you.

the one time you decide to give yourself a few extra hours of sleep instead of keeping up with the reading, you make a fool out of yourself in front of everyone. you're sure no one even remembers it, or gives it a second thought. but you wouldn't know how to stop being so mean to yourself, even if you wanted to.

your day hadn't gotten any better. you spilled a cup of iced coffee all over yourself, tripped and skinned your knee, had a disastrous shift at onigiri miya (to the point where osamu sent you home early)―and to top it all off, passed out the moment you arrived back at your apartment, instead of working on a paper that was due the next day.

never again will i take a summer class, you think to yourself, as you stand sleepily in line at the nearby convenience store.

"you seem tired" a voice says, next to you. and you turn blearily to face atsumu miya himself. "you're in grad school, right?"

it's totally and completely unfair that he gets to walk around looking that perfect. if there is a god, it's clear that he has favorites. and you are most certainly not one of them. atsumu, on the other hand, is.

"i'm regretting taking summer classes" you explain, tracing the floor pattern with the toe of your beat-up sneakers. you don't want to delve too deeply into your issues, and you're unsure if atsumu even cares to listen. "it's―challenging. at times"

"it might be a busy day, but try to make some time for yourself. any time spent settling your mind is time well spent. staring pensively into that cup of tea for a few moments can be equally beneficial" says atsumu, reading off of his phone, tone unusually wise. "calm your mind, and your heart, and make it an at-peace day"

it's night. your brow arches, thoroughly concerned.

"what?" is all you say, looking at him.

"it's pretty straightforward you know" atsumu pouts―pouts. this whole infatuation...thing, would be a lot easier if he weren't so pretty to stare at. "just, keep it in mind, okay?"

"...okay" you promise, because what else can you even say at this point.

a grin spreads across his face, surprisingly genuine. you don't even want to begin to unpack what that might mean, so you don't. you pay for your things, and part ways outside of the entrance of the store, going in opposite directions.

you get back to your apartment. and you make yourself a cup of tea, staring at it in the snoopy shaped mug.

it does help you feel a bit better.

--

your favorite shifts at onigiri miya are the morning ones. well, late morning and the beginning of the rush hour. you and osamu typically chat politely, where he asks about the different events happening in your life. neither of you seem to have many friends and you're all the more glad for the easy friendship you have with him.

this morning had been passed in comfortable silence, both of you in separate parts of the shop, working.

that is, until osamu sticks his head to the front of the shop and throughs a wrench in your entire life. "you know you could just talk to him"

"huh?" you say ineloquently, serving spoon held above the rice. it dawns on you pretty quickly, what osamu is saying and you don't have to look at him to know that he knows. still, you lie and reply with, "i have absolutely no clue what you're talking about"

"really? because 'tsumu's standing right there" your head snaps up. atsumu is not there. you turn to glare at osamu, who only laughs loudly at your expense. "god you're easy"

"i'm going to quit" you threaten, though both of you know that isn't the case. osamu only laughs louder. "i don't deserve this treatment"

the bell jingles overhead. "what treatment?" atsumu says, in the flesh this time―fresh from a jog. both you and his twin look surprised. speak of the devil, they say, and he shall appear. "osamu you better be treating your best employee with the utmost respect!"

"i don't even treat you with the utmost respect" osamu drawls, before heading into the back of the shop so he doesn't have to hear his twin's response.

atsumu, thoroughly annoyed, stalks to the front. he stares down at you through the separation glass and smiles. "good morning. doing better?"

"uhhh" you say, awkwardly, staring at him. or trying not to stare at him. he's wearing a tank top today and you can feel your brain shutting down. eventually, your brain reboots itself and you remember what it is he wanted to know. "yes―the tea helped. thanks for that"

"no problem" atsumu replies, and rattles off his usual weekend morning order. two spicy tuna and two yaki. he watches you make them with eerily focused eyes―like it's his first time ever seeing anyone make onigiri or something.

you make your way to the cash register, and atsumu follows. his eyes land on your latest issue of the petrology society journal. "you've been reading those a lot."

your eyes, naturally, also track to the magazine. you usually like to read to pass the time when there's no customers in sight. but being noticed, perceived, by atsumu of all people, makes you feel suddenly too-conscious. you try to remind yourself of the star sand, and how it's just like regular sand. atsumu is just another person. no need to get so worked up about it.

"every time i see you, your nose is usually in it" atsumu says―unaware of the effect it has on you. he points to the cover. "do you know what kind of rock that is?"

"basalt" you gurgle out, avoiding his stare.

atsumu's eyes light with understanding. "looks kinda like gravel to me" he lifts his gaze to you once more. "is that a rock? gravel?"

you pretend to think on it―like you haven't covered that topic on one of your earlier issues weeks ago.

"gravel's made up of a lot of other crushed rock" you explain, eyeing him. he's looks genuinely interested. "usually limestone, sandstone and basalt"

atsumu smirks, victorious, and snaps his fingers. "i knew it"

he did not 'know it'. you hand him onigiri with a small smile and a shake of your head anyway.

--

osamu, atsumu, their friends and a handful of new faces you don't quite recognize are playing volleyball in an indoor gym. once again, osamu has extended an invitation to you―but you learn that atsumu has asked that you be there as well.

this time, you bring along an ice cooler, stashed with water bottles. you don't really know what volleyball players eat to conserve energy and after classes sucking the joy from your body, you didn't feel too up to making anything. but they seem overjoyed at the snacks you've brought anyway.

what excites a bunch of grown adult men about mere trail mix and greek yogurt, you'll never understand. but if it means everyone likes it, then you're happy. you're chatting with a few siblings and close friends of the players and you're having so much fun you haven't bothered to pick up your magazine once. but its tucked into your crossbody bag, pressing up against your side as a gentle reminder of its presence.

watching them play volleyball is fun all on its own, too. atsumu and his brother play on the same team, playfully bickering with one another. and then atsumu's eyes search through the small gathering of people watching until they land on yours. he slaps the back of osamu's shoulder and jogs off the court before he can retaliate.

"give me your hands" atsumu says, instead of greeting you like a normal person.

you, predictably, do no such thing. instead, you shoot him a cautious look, cradling them to your chest. "i'm not doing that"

atsumu rolls his eyes. "just do it"

he holds his hands out, expectant. side-eying him, you comply. he takes hold of them―touch surprisingly gentle. his hands are warm, but aren't sweaty like you'd expect. he turns your palms over, and his eye's scan over them, studying them.

there's not much else for you to do, but join him. you look at your palms, trying to see what he see's. if he's seeing anything at all.

"you know, by looking at your hands, i'd say you would make a pretty good spiker" he says, and then, cryptically―"a twist in your plans will lead to unexpected joy. embrace the change"

"what are you, miya-san, you aren't making much sense at all" you say, trying not to give away how much you like it when he gently starts to trace over your palm lines with his thumb.

atsumu holds up one of your hands, comparing it to his own. "your palms and your fingers are proportional―see? signs of a good hitter they say"

that sounds like you made it up, you want to say, but don't.

"and the last part―it was your horoscope this morning" he says, continuing to make less and less sense. why does he know your horoscope in the first place? does he check it periodically, or is this a spur of the moment thing? the two of you are still holding hands. what does any of this mean?

i didn't know atsumu was into this kind of stuff, you think to yourself, as you stare at his hands in return. you suppose you aren't the only one with new, emerging interests.

"and what do your hands say?" you reply instead, hoping that he doesn't pull away.

atsumu snorts, and this time, places his in yours. "well i guess you can check. not that you know what you're looking for"

"well explain it to me then" you retort with a roll of your eyes, turning his palms over in your hands, like he had done with yours. you hear the hitch of breath that follows, before you see it.

"well my fingers are slightly longer and that means they're unproportioned to my palms" he explains, matter of factly. you stare more pointedly at his hands, so you don't have to look up into his face. "so you could say i would make a good middle blocker"

"but you're not" you say, frowning.

"i'm not" atsumu confirms, smirking at you―like it's a fond secret the two of you share. someone laughs in the background, surely not at the two of you, but he pulls away anyway, running a hand through his hair.

"is it really that hard for you to want to cheer for me?" he asks suddenly, staring at you.

confusion falls upon your face. every time it seems that you finally have a handle on the conversation, atsumu has to flip them so that you remain ever puzzled. "huh?"

"i always ask you to. cheer for me, i mean." he explains, uncharacteristically looking away. "but you never do. you cheer sometimes for osamu, or suna. oran especially."

you wish for the contact of his hands again. "i didn't think you were serious. i'm sorry"

it dawns on you then, that he has. nearly every time they play, in fact. he asks without fail. but you assumed it was a joke, or something.

"try it next time?" he asks, 100% serious, ignoring the way his team calls out for him. you have a feeling this isn't about the cheering anymore. but it's like you're missing several pieces of a particularly large and complex puzzle. in other words. you have no idea what it is that atsumu means behind his words.

"okay" you say, because what else is there to say?

atsumu beams, and jogs back onto the court.

--

osamu says he's going to head out to go pick up some supplies. he returns forty-minutes later with no supplies and with atsumu in tow, flanked on the other side by suna.

"hi atsumu, hi suna" you greet, waving, closing your magazine. "are you guys getting anything?"

suna and osamu look to be in much higher spirits than atsumu, who looks seconds away from puking. he doesn't. suna leans close to whisper in his ear, and atsumu glares at him fiercely―trying to turn around to leave the store. osamu doesn't let him, looking all too cheerful to push him towards you.

you decide you really don't want to know what shenanigans the three of them are up to.

"your usual, miya-san?" you ask again, putting on a pair of serving gloves.

atsumu spares another look at his brother, before shuffling forwards half-a-step. he rubs nervously at the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. "there's a market. for crystals and stuff, about an hour from here in osaka. it's here for two weeks and i wanted to know if you wanted to go with me"

then, looking up at the ceiling of all things, continues. "it'll have other stuff too. like horoscopes and fortune telling."

you don't really need the extra information. you figured that sort of thing would be there. but horoscopes are kind of atsumu's thing. you're pleased he wants to share it with you―even if you find it a little cool as well.

"sure" you smile "sounds fun"

atsumu looks as though he could faint. or puke. or maybe do some combination of the two. but his color improves, and he gives you a small smile in return, shockingly bashful.

he peers down at you, shedding all of his strange behavior. "okay. great. tomorrow? i'll pick you up"

"tomorrow works for me, miya-san" you reply, good-naturedly.

atsumu turns and leaves onigiri miya without another word.

"you should dress nice" suna says, oddly, once he's completely gone. osamu's too busy typing madly on his phone to interject, so you look at him strangely. now he is starting not to make sense.

--

you do dress nicely. so much so, that atsumu compliments you on it at least four different times before you can even make it to the marketplace. i like your hair, it's cute. pretty, like your skirt. things like that. you don't know what to make of it.

"are you excited?" you ask, once the security guard hands the two of you wristbands.

atsumu clasps his on deftly, but signals for you to hold out your wrist once he notices you struggling. you try not to jerk in place every time his fingers graze your skin―but you aren't sure how successful you are at keeping a straight face.

"shouldn't i be asking you that?" he asks, raising his brows in confusion. he doesn't wait for you to answer, tugging you along by the hand in the direction of one of the booths.

"oh i recongize this one" you tell him, pointing down at a jagged stone. "its called chalcedony. i read about it a few days ago. it's a type of cryptocrystalline"

"a what?" atsumu asks, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stares down at the stone with a puzzled expression. it's cute on him, the casual bewilderment. he looks at it like he's trying to place where he's seen it before.

"a cryptocrystalline" you repeat, smiling at him. much easier to do when he isn't looking at you. "it means you can only tell that it has the structure of crystalline when its under a magnifying glass"

atsumu hums, pleased. "cool", he says, and browses the rest of the booth with you. once you're done with that one, poiting out all of the stones and rocks you've read about―atsumu pulls you along to the next one, eager to repeat the process. he's seems interested in what you have to say, asking questions to pick your brain for more information when he senses you might be holding out on him.

"i'm glad i heard about this" he brings up, as you walk away from a food stall―matching bowls of yakisoba in hand. "i read yesterday that opportunity only seizes those who are ready to take it and that i need to take the fearful leap"

you stop a stray noodle from landing on your crisp yellow cardigan, looking over at him. "what?"

atsumu's eyes are on yours. "my horoscope" he says, like it means something important.

"oh!" you exclaim, once realization hits you "i'm surprised you've gotten so into horoscopes and fortune telling"

a odd look crosses his face. "i'm not―you are"

"no i'm not" you tell him. "why would you think that?"

atsumu's face heats. "well, you're always reading about the rocks. the crystals and gemstones"

"i like petrology. not crystals and gems" you explain, unable to hide your smile. "it's about rocks in general. like their origins or what they're composed of"

you remember all of atsumu's cryptic words, odd, strange ways of speaking. the sage advice in the store that one time. they were horoscopes. before you can stop it, you burst out laughing. you try to muffle it into your arm, but the sound escapes anyway.

"that's what you were meaning with all those weird things you kept saying?" you ask, once you've managed to stop laughing. "i thought you were trying to―i don't know, warn me of my ominous and impending doom!"

"i wasn't" atsumu pouts, tossing his unfinished yakisoba into the trash. "i was trying to find something to start a conversation with you. i didn't know how else to tell you i liked you"

your amusement dries up and your throat closes up. your eyes look around, at everywhere else but him.

"...are you going to say anything?" atsumu asks, looking like the boy you remember from highschool.

"i―uh. i like you too" you stammer out, staring down at your shoes. it's shockingly easy to do. logically, you knew there was always a small, small chance that he would reciprocate your feelings, always in the most pleasant of dreams.

in them, atsumu would blush (much like he is now) and ask "are you sure?" much like his is now.

and in your dreams, you would throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. or confess your undying love and attraction to the most strangest boy you've ever known. but like the star sand, and so many other rocks you've learned about, reality does not end up like your wistful imagination.

"i'm sure" you nod, and gingerly reach for his hand. "do you want to keep looking around?"

atsumu beams. squeezes your hand in his own. it feels better than any of your dreams could have ever conjured up. "'course i do"

© amalainse -- do not copy, steal or plagiarize my works.

[comet-forgot-you]

satisfaction

demon!amber freeman x virgin!reader

summary: you have reoccurring dreams of the same demon and you finally figure out how to get her.

warnings: 18+ pls, smut, fingering, manipulation (??), bath sex, oral, face riding, switch amber, virginity loss, amber’s a little mean. just a little. i think thats all idk i don’t remember.

a/n: hey yallll, long time no see.. finally finished with this, i used google translate so if the latin makes no sense, blame google 😬. it took me like a week to finish but anyways, ITS DONE. ENJOY. do not repost for any reason.

demons used trips to the human world as stress relievers or entertainment. they haunted the dreams of those whole occupied the world and fed off of the fear they felt. it was an activity every demon took part in at some point or another.

amber was amongst those who visited the human world regularly. she found it entertaining, seeing just how easy it was to elicit fear in those who caused it. stumbling into your room was a complete accident, but something about you drew her in, and she couldnt find it in herself to leave.

she knew she was hooked the moment she saw you. calm auras she usually sought to destroy suddenly became something she wanted to preserve.

your dreams soon became tainted with images of a beautiful girl. you longed to meet her, to know her. you fell asleep every night knowing you’d see her, you looked forward to it. only to wake up feeling empty and alone, craving the demon that haunted your dreams. you needed to see her, you needed to feel her, and thats all amber wanted.

amber planned it all out perfectly. months of her manipulating your dreams, showing you how good she could make you feel only to rip it all away at the last minute, forcing you to crave her like she craved you. then she showed you how to get her, and you were quick to follow the ritual she gave you.

steam filled the bathroom, you were wrapped in a towel, watching hot water fill the bathtub. candles littered the dark bathroom, flickering light from the flames painting the walls. worry pooled in the pit of your stomach. you were following a ritual given to you in your dreams, how could you not worry? you could be crazy, all of this, every dream, it could all just be some fucked up fantasy you had curated out of pure loneliness.

despite your worries, you continued to follow the instructions. you turned the water off, slowly dropping your towel. you felt like you were being watched, goosebumps rising on your skin. you glance around the bathroom despite knowing there was no way someone else could be in there without you knowing. you lower yourself into the tub, the hot water burning your skin ever so slightly as you do so. you take a breath, the feeling of eyes on you more prominent than before. you hold onto the edge of the tub in an attempt to ground yourself.

“te quaero, quaere me, te volo, coniunge me. te quaero, quaere me, te volo, coniunge me,” the words fall from your lips, clear and steady despite never saying them before. the candlelights flicker as if a breeze blew through the room. “amber,” the name falls from your lips but its not your voice.

the water level rises, arms snake around your waist and a chin rests on your bare shoulder, firm horns lightly pressing against the side of your head. “finally,” its the same voice that haunts your dream, quiet in your ear. “you want me, baby?” you let out a shaky breath, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

you hesitate, the demon that controlled your dreams was here, holding you. months of the same dreams of her, and she was finally here, actually here. “yes,” the word falls from your lips and amber smiles against your skin. her hand trails up your chest, her thumb tracing your nipple. you arch off of her body at the contact, a shaky breath leaving your lips. her other hand trails down your body, spreading your thighs apart. her middle finger grazes your clit and your quick to grab her wrist.

“i’ve never.. you know..” the words escape your lips in an embarrassed whisper. amber presses a kiss against your neck and your tilt your head ever so slightly to allow her more access.

“i know, baby. i promise i’ll be gentle,” she nibbles your ear gently, voice low. as if on queue, her fingers sink into your cunt. you bucking your hips into her palm, allowing yourself to lean back against her while she worked herself in and out of you.

shadows of the two of you dance on the wall with the flickering of light from the candles. you let your head fall back against her shoulder, eyes closed. “you’re so naughty, baby,” amber whispers, “i saw all of those dreams you had, where i fucked you just like this, what a slut.” the words are quiet. every movement amber makes causes the water to ripple, the noise fills you with embarrassment. you open your eyes, taking in her appearance for the first time outside of your dreams. dark circles rested beneath dark eyes, sharp fangs held her bottom lip captive. she was beautiful. her fingers curl inside of you, her thumb moving to rub gentle circles around your clit. you moan at the added pleasure. finding her free hand with your own, you guide it to your boob, squeezing her hand around it.

“please,” you whimper out, your hand dropping from hers, droplets of water splashing onto your chest. amber smiles, twisting your nipple between her fingers.

“so needy, hmm?” she asks. you nod breathlessly, your orgasm fast approaching. you grip onto her thigh as she works you to your high, fingers working effortlessly to do so. amber litters hickeys across your neck, feeling the vibrations of your moans against her lips.

your orgasm hits fast, and if you weren’t so desperate for the demon, you’d be embarrassed about it. amber eases her fingers out of you, pressing gentle kisses over the marks she made on your neck. “one more?” she asks. your eyes are heavy, cunt still pulsing from your orgasm. you nod quickly, not wanting to lose the opportunity. amber smiles at your eagerness.

you sit up, letting her get out of the bath. she grabs a towel, wrapping it around her body as you let the water drain. amber holds a towel out for you, arms around your waist as she wraps the towel around your body. she litters more kisses against your neck as you guide her out of the bathroom.

“wait the candles,” your eyebrows furrow as you turn around in her hold. amber lets out a quiet laugh at your worried tone,

“don’t worry about them, i’ll deal with them,” she mumbles in your neck, guiding you back until your legs hit the bed. her lips are on yours the second your back hits the bed, desperate whines falling from your lips.

amber opens your towel, lips trailing down the expanse of your body. you’re soaked by the time her lips meet your thighs. sharp fangs scrape the skin and it takes everything in you not to buck your hips into the air.

her warm mouth meets your needy cunt before you know it, lips wrapped around your pulsing clit. a loud moan falls from your lips. it was all so new, so fucking good, it was almost too much. her tongue presses flat against the bud and your hands fly to hold onto the base of her horns. amber groans against your cunt, the vibrations eliciting a whimper to fall from your lips.

amber’s mouth detached from your cunt and she looks up at you with blown eyes, eyebrows furrowed in need. “baby.. you can’t..” you tug her back towards your cunt with her horns and a loud moan falls from her lips, her own hips bucking into the mattress. “baby..” she draws out in a whine, her tongue works messily against your cunt, needy whimpers muffled in your cunt at every tug of her horns.

“please..” you whimper out, amber’s arms wrap around your thighs. she knows you’re close, your clit pulses erratically under her tongue. she tries her best to keep herself under control, but every tug at her horns has her closer and closer to her own orgasm. with one final tug at her horns, you’re coming undone on her tongue. she’s quick to lap up your juices, her tongue soon becoming to over stimulating for you.

you push her head away from your cunt, her lust filled eyes meet yours and you can tell she’s still desperate for more. “let me taste you,” you mumble.

“you don’t need to,” she mutters.

“i want to.” your voice is firm and amber’s quick to position herself above your face, her thighs on either side of your head. your arms wrap loosely around her thighs, bringing her down against your tongue.

you circle her clit with your tongue, her hips bucking at the sudden contact. “fuck,” she moans out. your tongue swipes through her folds, prodding at her entrance. amber grinds down against your face, your nose bumping her clit with every roll of her hips. shes a mess above you, her legs struggling to keep herself up.

your hand trails up her body, taking her nipple between your fingers. amber’s head falls back, a loud moan falling from her lips. “fuckfuckfuck,” she mutters. your pick up your pace, desperate to bring her to her high. “sure you’ve never done this before?” amber asks between shaky breaths, her hips desperately bucking against your face. “so fuckin’.. so fuckin’ good for a first timer,” she mutters. you fight the smile that threatens to break out.

amber lets out a loud moan as her orgasm washes through her, her hips slowing down their pace. amber lifts herself off of you, moving to straddle your hips. she leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

for the first time in months, amber was feeding off of strong emotions, and for the first time in her life, it wasn’t fear, it was satisfaction.

[imonanotherlebel]

In Bloom Together

Chapter 1

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Pairing: Florist San x client reader

Warnings: WARNING, LOT OF LOVE AHEAD!

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨

The sun's gentle rays filtered through the petals, casting a warm glow upon San's flower shop. and in walks Y/N with the doorbell chiming like she's in some movie. She checks out all the flowers – roses, tulips, daisies – it's like a freakin' rainbow exploded in there. Smells nice, too.

A symphony of floral scents hangs in the air, making the whole place feel like a dreamscape. The vibrant colors of petals and leaves decorate the shelves, each bloom telling tales of beauty and grace.

Y/N's eyes widen, taking in the visual feast before her. It's a haven she didn't expect, a place that's like reality and fantasy had a lovechild. A soft smile touches her lips as she inhales the floral perfume, feeling a sense of calm wash over her.

San, a tall figure behind the counter, can't tear his eyes away as Y/N's fingers delicately trace the petals. His florist's heart knows a kindred spirit when it sees one. As she wanders deeper into the floral wonderland, he's captivated by her childlike wonder, a spark that lights up the shop even more.

Looking up from his work since the door opened, his eyes finally met Y/N's, and in that moment, he felt a subtle shift in the energy of the room. This wasn't just another customer; it's someone who vibes with the soul of his creations, a connection he didn't see coming.

"Hello there," San greeted, his voice carrying the warmth of a spring breeze. "Welcome to Blossom Dreams. Is there a particular flower that caught your eye, or are you in need of some inspiration today?"

"Heyy," Y/n responded with a cheerful smile, her eyes sparkling with a look that screams, "I love this place!"

And then, plot twist, as she takes a step forward, engrossed in the enchanting scenery, an unforeseen obstacle – a rogue flower pot – appears in her path. With an unforeseen twist of fate, she trips and gracefully stumbles forward.

But guess what? San's superhero reflexes kick in. San, quick on his feet, reacted instinctively. In a split second, he reached out, catching her arm to prevent a graceful fall from turning into a less elegant descent, saving her before the floor becomes her next best friend.

"Whoa, easy there," he chuckled, a genuine warmth in his eyes as he helped her regain her balance. "Wouldn't want the flowers to witness a grand entrance like that."

Y/n blushed, a combination of embarrassment and amusement. "Well, they do say a dramatic entrance sets the tone, right?"

San couldn't help but laugh, finding her lighthearted spirit contagious.

"Absolutely. I'm San, by the way, the curator of this floral wonderland. And you are?", He spoke, smiling so wide that his dimples showed.

"Y/n," she replied, her embarrassment giving way to a genuine grin. "I guess I'm the girl who tried to waltz with your flowers and lost."

San joined in her laughter, finding an unexpected delight in her presence. "Nice meeting you.", he said with a genuine smile, the words flowing like poetry from his lips. "Well, Y/n, consider it a unique initiation to my shop. Now, tell me, any particular blooms that caught your fancy?"

"So we're going to continue talking in poetry?", Y/n asked, giving him her Doe eyes which never failed to make any boy shut up.

Now it was San's turn to blush.

Y/n continued to grin, her eyes sparkling with genuine delight. "I usually buy flowers every Monday, and my usual shop closed down recently. This is like stumbling upon a hidden treasure!" Her fingers trailed delicately over the leaves of a blooming orchid as she spoke.

San chuckled softly, appreciating her enthusiasm. "I'm delighted you see it that way. Flowers have a way of revealing themselves when you need them the most. Is there a specific type you're drawn to?"

As Y/n explored the shop, her gaze lingered on a display of elegant lilies. "Lilies have always held a special place in my heart. They symbolize new beginnings, right?"

"Indeed, they do," San replied, his eyes gleaming with understanding. "They embody the language of emotions within petals. Let me create a bouquet that reflects the poetry of lilies for you."

"Thanks, San.", Y/n replied, loving the way his name came out of her lips so effortlessly. Her blush was well hidden from San as he was busy looking for the most perfect flowers for the bouquet.

"So Y/n....", he spoke in a soft tone.

"yes?"

"Is today a day for new beginnings for you, Y/N?", he asked, his eyes hiding a hundred questions he wanted to ask. Will you come here again? What is your favorite place to hang out around here? What is your ideal type? These were type of questions running through his head. But he managed to keep them to himself.

As the conversation unfolded, a subtle connection formed, like the first petal unfurling in the morning sun.

A subtle blush tinged her cheeks as she pondered the poetic notion. "Maybe it is."

As she continued to explore the shop, San found himself captivated by her every movement. Watching Y/N navigate through the blooms felt like witnessing a dance. Her fingers moved with a grace that echoed the delicate nature of the flowers themselves. There was something special about the way she interacted with each petal, as if she could understand the language they whispered. Oh man, She is not going to be just another customer. My heart is in trouble.

As he expertly arranged the lilies into a breathtaking bouquet, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the skill and passion San infused into his work. "Do you arrange all of these bouquets yourself?" she asked, genuinely intrigued.

A soft smile played on San's lips as he continued his work. "Yes, each bouquet tells a unique story. It's a way of translating emotions into a visual language. Nature has a way of expressing what words often fail to convey."

Y/n's eyes sparkled with curiosity, and San continued, "Every flower holds a story that is waiting to be shared."

The more Y/n conversed with San, the more she felt a sense of connection beyond the petals and stems. As she selected the lily bouquet, San shared anecdotes about various flowers, making the experience more than just a transaction—it was an intimate exploration of shared appreciation.

"These lilies symbolize purity and the quiet beauty that resides within us," San explained, presenting the bouquet with a gentle smile. "Perfect for someone who sees the poetry in every petal."

"Thank you," Y/n replied, the sincerity of her gratitude evident in her eyes.

"So, any special reason you're buying flowers each week?" San asked as she strolled toward the checkout, breaking the silence with an easy chat while slowly following her. Also trying to sneakily find out if she has a boyfriend.

Y/N chuckled, adding more cheerfulness to their conversation. "Nothing special, just treating myself. Flowers have this thing where they can turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, you know?"

San grinned, resonating with the carefree joy she radiated. "Totally get that. They have this power to sprinkle a bit of magic into life."

Y/N nodded, paying for her blooms. "Exactly! They're like tiny happiness boosts you can carry around."

"Spot on," San agreed, presenting the carefully wrapped bouquet. "Hope these add an extra sprinkle of magic to your day."

"Thanks, San. Your shop is like a sanctuary for flower lovers. I'll definitely be coming back.", she said, genuinely happy.

San's heart skipped a beat, touched by her words. "I'll be looking forward to it. Mondays just got a whole lot brighter."

With her lily bouquet cradled in her arms, Y/n bid farewell, the doorbell chiming once again. As she stepped back onto the lively streets, San watched her leave, a sense of anticipation and a lingering fragrance of lilies in the air. This encounter was more than a sale; it was a blooming connection that held promises of more to come.

As the floral fragrance lingered in the air, and the flower shop seemed quieter in the wake of her exit. San's eyes followed her until she disappeared from view, leaving him in a contemplative state.

What just happened? San asked himself, placing his hand on his heart. He wasn't usually the type to be flustered, but something about Y/n made him feel some type of way. Her genuine appreciation for the flowers and the effortless way she connected with their stories left an imprint on his thoughts.

The doorbell chimed again as another customer entered, but San's attention remained tethered to the memory of Y/n.

His mind is stuck in a daydream, picturing those lilies he arranged now in Y/n's hands. The shop, once filled with bustling sounds and the rustle of leaves, now felt like a quiet haven where the fragrance of lilies lingered, mingling with his thoughts.

The new customer approached the counter, but San's focus wavered. His mind replayed snippets of their conversation—the easy talk, her eyes lighting up at the mention of lilies, and the genuine joy she expressed, the genuine happiness he felt after a long time. It wasn't just about selling flowers; it was the connection, the shared appreciation for the beauty that surrounded them.

"Hey, excuse me, could I get a bouquet of roses?" the new customer interrupted, snapping San out of his contemplation.

"Of course," San replied, his professionalism kicking back in. He skillfully arranged a bouquet of roses, all the while stealing glances toward the door, half-expecting Y/n to walk back in.

The new customer left with their roses, and San's thoughts returned to the unexpected encounter. He couldn't shake off the anticipation of her next visit. Would she return next Monday? The thought added an uncharacteristic flutter to his usually composed demeanor.

Maybe this is the start of something different, he mused, rearranging flowers absentmindedly. The rhythm of his work was now intertwined with the rhythm of his thoughts about Y/n.

Outside the flower shop, Y/n strolled through the city, the lilies in her arms. The fragrance accompanied her like a soft melody, and she couldn't help but replay their interaction in her mind. Little did she know, San stood behind the counter, equally lost in thoughts of her, eagerly awaiting the next chapter of their connection.

Y/n and San found themselves unknowingly entwined in a blossoming story—one that held promises of emotions yet to bloom and connections waiting to unfold.....

...............................................................

To be continued.......

@danihow I hope you enjoy this babes<3

[runby2]

hi it's the creator of horse plinko and other huge posts on this site.

i wanted to make a quick post on here, not to keep everyone updated on my life, because i'm going to keep staying far away from social media, but to let everyone know that if you feel like you are endlessly changing yourself to fit your following's perfect standards, you are not actually getting better as a person. why do i say this? growing up, i had a horrible childhood and it was hard to grasp a sense of self, so the internet was a good escape. i made posts about current topics, tried to get a lot of notes, and when i got those notes i felt like my life had a purpose. i didn't let myself ever find out who i truly was because early on i was so obsessed with being the perfect persona on the internet and avoiding home life, that i had literally linked my life cable to the internet. i was the living definition of chronically online. i was so young too, so i saw a bright future ahead of myself. "it can only go up from here." 3 years of complete isolation happened after my 18 years in a cult, and recovering from mental institutional abuse. and i went by juicedoesthings. and i fought with every part of myself, ignoring my DID and even having alters post inspirational paragraphs about why DID is 'something i know i don't have because ___'- some you can probably still find on this blog buried deep somewhere - i was lost in a cycle of amnesia and perfectionism to the point ALL of my identities were juicedoesthings, and we were all the same, and if one of us stepped out of line, we'd shun it. we couldn't risk being problematic. we couldn't risk everything we've worked up to be crumble. because that was all we were. don't make your identity a username. don't keep track of what is and is not acceptable at the current time in a fandom of any sort. don't curate your art just because a discourse blog reblogged it for clout. don't overthink some personal statement you made just because thirty people sent you personalized death threats. don't forget about nuance, and in the most sincere way i can communicate this, touch grass. and find out what comforts you. learn what makes you happy, not what can improve you. this post will probably be drowned under reblogs as my life goes on and i occasionally check back into this ghost town of what used to be my only identity. but tumblr fame has irreversibly damaged me, and how i perceive myself. it took so long for me to feel like it was okay to make mistakes. if the above sounds like you, i desperately urge you to find a way out of that cycle. don't chase fame online. anonymity can definitely get you where you want to be safely. over my years on here ive seen children adults and teens ask how to make a webcomic, how i got this many followers, how i became "me". i was conforming. i became perfect for the internet, but i didn't have any sense of self. don't be like me. don't become me. just create, and disconnect yourself from who you think you need to be in order to be enough.

[seulgiwifeee]

I need a seulgi x reader when she comforts the reader that's going trough a family issue pls

( bcs I just discovered that my parents are divorcing and I need comfort)

🎀 anon

♡ Member: Seulgi x Femreader

♡ Theme: Angst, fluff

♡ Warning: Going through a parent divorce

Word count: 2.6k

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

That look on your face—it's one Seulgi knows of too well. The underlining despair melded in the contours of your features, your absent-minded gaze, the unshed tears that gloss over your eyes as the late afternoon rays seep past the gauzy curtains and shine over them, making them glisten in a way that Seulgi believes accentuates your beauty effortlessly, making you look ethereal despite yourself. However, it also leaves a heavy ache in her heart, striking her with a pang of guilt and pity as it's only a sheer reminder of the amount of pain you're enduring internally.

It's been a rough week for you, to say the least—your main emotions mostly consisting of sorrow and apprehension. Recently, there has been an influx of conflicts stirring between your parents, some new, some old, and some that have stuck around since you were a small child, barely old enough to add numbers without using your fingers and shielded with a mask of innocence that, at the time, prevented you from fully comprehending the weight of their ongoing feud. But it didn't take long before you, eventually, were deprived of that same innocence, and each day you mourn and strive to cling onto any remnants of purity that may have survived throughout the years just so you can ground yourself to a semblance of sanity and serenity at times you need it most.

It was always a displeasure growing up having to witness every unfiltered argument that unfolded, all cruel and loud. Painfully loud that it was near impossible to block out any words echoing past the already paper-thin walls, every unforgettable word of hatred and resentment exchanged forever ingrained into the back of your mind. Still at quite a young age, your ears grew accustomed to the arguments, the muffled voices becoming almost indistinguishable from white noise any time you managed to zone out.

You had become desensitized quite a bit, though your sensitiveness still crept just beneath the surface, ready to unsheathe your true emotions any moment if you were provoked the right way. And you were beginning to accept the fact that there would never rest a day where you weren't woken up for breakfast to pancakes and deafening shouting with a side of torturous migraines caused by your sleep deprivation, but one day—a day you had never expected to occur in a million years—your parents suddenly decided to turn a new leaf and change all of that.

Deciding this a few years back, the two felt it would be best to try and settle their disagreements once and for all, hoping to someday reconcile that spark of love and trust that once rendered their bond and relationship. They also just wanted to make their everyday life easier, wishing to recoup a sense of normality and stability back into yours as well. It was all truly a miracle; you believed the angels above had finally listened to your desperate pleas and prayers.

Things were guided back on track, arguments rarely broke out, and it finally seemed like things would come out well in the end, but after one unforgiving slip-up, chaos unfurled and things had gone from 10 to 10000 within a matter of days, being 10x worse than what you were living through prior their attempt at reconnection. The damage inflicted has no means to be rekindled, and in recent months, their disputes have worsened to a point that what you once felt was unfathomable has become more than a possibility, more of a reality.

Seulgi knows all about your parents' issues, it was one of the first things you'd ever wrought up the courage to confide after the two of you had curated a bond where you two were comfortable enough to confess sensitive topics to each other such as this. She's witnessed all your breakdowns, seen the tamed and ugly aspects, and has always been there to comfort you on tough days well like this one. But on this day in particular, Seulgi can tell things happen to be hitting you a lot harder than usual.

With a tender gaze, Seulgi watches you from a distance, her eyes growing duller watching sadness consume you profoundly, your face contorting with anguish. She can tell you're trying to evade your emotions, withholding your tears desperately, not wanting to unleash them for whatever reason it may be.

Motionlessly, you sit on the rear end of the bed, your knees tucked into your chest and your chin rests there as you glance down at the carpeted floor. You're well aware that Seulgi's standing at the bedroom entrance, observing as you sulk, but you don't say anything and she doesn't expect you to say anything to her either, at least, not on your own accord.

"Y/N?" Seulgi calls out softly in hopes you'll grow responsive to the timbre of her voice, but your body remains still. You don't even flinch. All the thoughts racing through your mind right now make it nearly impossible to hear or focus on anything other than it; it's insanity!

Exuding a low sigh, Seulgi forces her weight up from the doorframe and limply ventures deeper inside the bedroom. She meets her end in front of you, slightly blocking out the sunlight as her body stands in the way of the curtains. Her expression is sympathetic looking down at you, and her chest tightens examining a better look at your sulky expression.

Stepping aside, Seulgi situates herself in the space next to you, miming your posture as she hurls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Her hand tentatively reaches out to your side, but she suddenly retreats, creeping it back to herself. Seulgi's unsure of whether or not to touch you right now, not knowing if any sudden contact would agitate or spoil your mood further. So she just sits there in the silence with you, mindlessly clawing her nails into her thighs as her thoughts run in conflict with each other, struggling to join in a unanimous agreement on the best way to approach you.

Seulgi herself is quite the awkward latter, she's not the most confident at handling people's emotions or consoling others since she never really knows what exactly to do. Because everyone reacts differently when moody, she's never 100% certain about what may be the appropriate response, so she's always extra cautious with her wording and actions, hoping that she doesn't adhere to the person's woes. And even though she's known you for almost three years now, dating you for half of that time, and has consoled you plenty of times before, she still hasn't reached a high level of confidence or sureness in herself.

But after fighting the internal battle against her own thoughts, Seulgi settles on what her heart's urging, what she's certain is the right thing to do, even if you end up rejecting it. She slightly shimmies her body closer beside you, the movement barely going unnoticed. Her body scoots again, this time, her shoulder now on par with yours as she rests her legs down, allowing them to hang over the edge of the bed.

Gingerly, Seulgi extends her arms, encircling them around your huddled frame, and holding you in a gentle embrace. Her face rests in the nuzzle of your neck, her breath light and warm against your skin, and she adjusts her grip, making sure you're secure in her hold. Her hand soothingly rubs up and down your back, feeling the way your body tenses beneath her, hoping to tranquilize your nerves.

Right upon feeling her touch, you're reluctant. Your muscles clench and your jaw tightens, almost like you're trying to resist her, as if she's an alien force, but the longer she holds you, her hold unyielding and comforting, you find yourself easing into her ministrations. First, your muscles relax, unclenching as your stress levels dissipate, then, your body adapts to the warm touch and learns to accept the embrace, falling more lax in her arms.

You slowly unravel your arms from your knees, extending your legs out and allowing them to freely hang over the edge of the bed. Your posture right now is quite awkward and uncomfortable, but you remain silent and at a still, continuing to look off with your faraway gaze, your eyes yet to connect with your lover's.

For a few minutes, you're both motionless and don't speak a word, sitting amid the room's silence, save for the soft buzzing of the fan. You take the time to sit in and ponder your emotions, but suddenly, a part of you cracks. It all becomes too overwhelming—you can't take it anymore.

Like a coil spring, your body jolts up and you jump into Seulgi's lap, squeezing your knees tightly around her waist and clinging your arms around her neck, leeching onto her as if she's guaranteed to disappear any moment. Heavy sobs escape your lips, your back heaving up and down erratically as your body shivers with emotion.

Seulgi's left stunned by the abrupt shift in, well, everything, but she quickly adjusts to your weight and unrelenting hold, hoisting you atop her lap in a position that's less awkward and causes less discomfort and grasping onto your lower back securely, making sure you won't slip off anywhere. Your muffled sobs ring throughout the bedroom as Seulgi comfortingly rubs her hand up and down your back, her hand lingering on the small of your back.

"Y/N.." Seulgi trails off, glancing down at you with hurt and slight panic in her eyes as she tries to configure the right words. "It-It's okay, Y/N. It's okay. Just let it all out."

You nod at her reassuring words amid your breakdown, though your tears remain uncontrolled, and you begin to hiccup, making you unable to voice out any coherent words if you attempt to speak any. Your sobs are unceasing, seemingly looking like they're not going to end anytime soon, which is no bother to Seulgi; she doesn't want you to rush your emotions, if anything, she's encouraging you to unleash all of your pent-up sadness. But.. you've never wept this hard before, your body's never shaken this intensely between sobs, you've never had to cling this desperately onto her just to seek out an ounce of comfort, and that worries her, deeply.

For what feels like an eternity, your sobs somewhat relent, though not coming to a complete halt. With a sniff, you withdraw your teary face from the crook of Seulgi's neck, suddenly getting stricken with embarrassment as you notice a large section of her gray shirt now dampened to a darker gray from your tears. Your gaze averts upwards, and for the first time today, both of your eyes meet.

Seulgi feels a tight strain in her chest as she takes sight of your bloodshot eyes, swollen tear bags, dampened lashes, dry lips, and mascara ruins smudged all around your eyes and stained in long streaks down your cheeks. Her heart is sore, causing her more distress, and if it clenches any more it'll surely implode.

All Seulgi wants to do is hold your face back down, cradle you into her as tightly as she can, and assure you again and again that everything will be okay; she just wants to strip away all of your pain completely. You stare at Seulgi through blurred vision and rub the back of your hands over your eyes, clearing away any tears. Your lips part just barely, and the sibilant words that slip past your throat leave Seulgi appalled.

"They're getting divorced."

Seulgi's eyes stretch wide, her throat going dry. "S-Seriously?" Seulgi mutters, her voice shrinking to a breath. With a despondent expression, you give a confirming nod, feeling a second breakdown already attempting to cut through as you whimper dejectedly.

Your girlfriend frowns and looks down in her lap; she's still unsure of what to say. Seulgi of course feels terrible about the news, pitying that the outcome had to be like this, but she doesn't want to end up saying the wrong thing or respond with something that may offend or worsen your mood. Should she sympathize with you? Or should she tell you all is going to be okay, even though the worst possible scenario, the one thing you had feared most, has become your reality? Seulgi's never gone through anything like this before so it's not like she can even empathize with you or find something to relate with.

Her lower lip is caught between her teeth, and she sighs, lifting her gaze and staring at you lightheartedly. "I'm so sorry this is happening, I really am. I wish I could just reverse time and change something that could somehow prevent any of this from happening or something."

Seulgi places her palm on your cheek, watching your lips tremble as she uses her thumb to swipe a stray tear. She sighs lowly before continuing. "I know I may never know how it feels to go through something like this, and I'll never fully know the true depths of your emotions and what underlies them, but I know that you'll be alright. It may be hard to adjust to, but just know I will always be with you on your toughest days and be here to listen to your hour-long vents. You're not alone. And remember that they both still love you and I love you too."

Seulgi leans in, placing a quick and chaste kiss against your lips, not caring if hers gets coated in a mix of your salty tears. Once she reels back, she takes a second to look at you before leaning in again, pressing a gentle kiss slightly off-centered on your forehead, her lips lingering longer than before.

You thought it was going to be impossible to feel any amount of happiness or emotions kin to it today, yet, you start to feel the tiniest pull of a smile tug the corners of your lips. For some reason, you fight against it, almost as if you're trying to stay in your somber mood, but eventually, you lose authority over your lips and flash Seulgi a bittersweet smile, your eyes gleaming with appreciation and love.

You thank the universe each day for bringing Seulgi into your life; you're not sure if there's anyone else in the world who's capable of sitting with you through hectic moments like this, take the time and patience to console you, even if you resist, and still manage to pull you out of such a mood, making you feel invigorated, and bringing a sense of solace and serenity upon you in a way that makes almost all of your worries wither away as if they never took place. You're so incredibly grateful for her.

"T-Thank you, b-baby," you stammer out, your breaths still uneven as your heart pummels against your ribcage. "I really appreciate you for this."

Seulgi's heart warms at your voice, a rewarding change from the heavy feelings she's been dealing with for the last twenty minutes. She reaches out to hold your face in her palms, and once you lean into her touch she doesn't say anything, she just takes the time to study your features, looking at you lovingly.

Your hand grazes up her arm, and you stop once your hand falls on top of hers, letting it rest there, "I love you so so much."

The two of you lean in, meeting your lips once more as you melt into the kiss, along with any remnants of your worries, anger, and sadness. You know the next couple of months are going to be rough, and you're not so sure if you're prepared to endure them yet, but as long as you have Seulgi by your side, you're sure everything is going to be okay just like she said—like she had promised.

Everything's going to be alright.

Hi 🎀 anon! I know this is like a month late, but I hope everything’s going alright rn, I know this must be tough having to go through☹️. How are you doing?

— Seulgiwifee ໒꒰ྀི♡˵ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ꒱ྀི১

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Five

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: Tom hurts himself like an idiot and tries to hurt reader like an idiot

— WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

I

When she returned the next morning, she didn’t have the sense that anything was wrong, even when she found the ledgers placed in the wrong order underneath her desk. It wouldn’t be the first time… So she followed her routine and spent the chill hours of the morning making coffee in the little kitchen in the back and finished a review of Pliny the Younger she’d begun two days ago.

It wasn’t until later, after lunch, when she went into the back rooms to put Pliny in his place that she realised something was definitely wrong. The carpet, usually so carefully smoothed over the trapdoor, was creased in a light wave, its yellow tassels ruffled. The table in the centre of the room was quite askew as well, the items on it shifted to the right. She froze, then rushed to check the hidden door.

But the door was safe. There wasn’t even a scratch on it… She placed her signet ring into the keyhole and it popped open with a click, just as it always did. She lifted it and stepped inside, down the steps that led into the tunnel. It was dark and quiet… Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe she was the one who made that mess the last time she was there. She did tend to be a bit clumsy sometimes…

With a sigh of relief, she climbed back up, and as her face reached the level of the floor, something shiny underneath the table caught her eye. She got up and closed the door behind her, then crawled on her knees underneath the table to grab the foreign thing.

It was one of those fancy pocket knives with all sorts of uses… Red handle, stainless steel blade. Her heartbeat turned frantic and sweat cloyed at her hairline, and she felt her stomach drop — someone else had been there. And she’d have to report this. With brisque and heavy steps, she went back to her desk and picked the phone up.

“Hello?” she whispered once the Curator picked up. “It’s me, upstairs. Erm, has anything gone missing? What? Oh, n-no reason, just, I think we had a break-in and — No, it’s fine! Just — I don’t think so. Erm, did I call him? Not yet. I —”

She listened to the frustrated cursing of the man downstairs as she stared at the Swiss knife, turning it in her hands, her whole body tense and weak, when suddenly her frown melted away and lips parted. There were two letters inscribed into the blade: C. M.

“It’s someone with the initials C and M,” she said quickly. “Know anyone? No, I don’t either… Alright. Alright, I’ll call him now. Thank you.”

II

“Yes, it’s not much to go on, but —”

“There is no need,” scraped the voice from the other end of the line.

“What?”

“You said nothing was taken?”

“A-as far as I can tell… Downstairs is safe too.”

“Hm. Possibly something forgotten by a customer.”

“H-how can you be sure?”

“If it had been an intruder, you would not have found a knife,” he said. “You would have found a corpse.”

She frowned, not really understanding him but ready to accept this resolution.

“S-so, what would you like me to do?”

Silence on the other end. Perhaps he expected her to increase security, or just carry on as normal since he seemed so calm about it…

“Put a copy of Torchia on display.”

“What?!”

“If it really was a break-in, and it has to do with the auction, we will test the resolve of our thief.”

“Do you want that book or…”

“Yes. Ask Ambrogio,” he said, and in the background, she could hear the scratching sound of him writing something down.

“Alright, sir…”

The scratching persisted until he hung up on her.

III

Tom smiled against the receiver. He so hated telephones with their smooth plastic in unnatural colours, but they were faster than an Owl… Besides, muggles seemed to love them.

“Yes, if you could manage it, I’d be ever so grateful,” he drawled silkily, putting on the same boyish airs he did when meeting with another of Burke’s clients. “No no, not right now. I’ll tell you when. Is that alright? It is? Oh, wonderful. You know, I keep thinking of that hotel you mentioned. You were right about this one, it’s awful. Yes. Yes, I’ll consider it.”

He hissed a few more pleasantries and said goodbye. When it was over, he reached to the bedside table to hang up, but not without some difficulty. He sighed and rested his cheek against his long cold palm cushioned by the pillow. Tom was lying on his front on the narrow hotel bed, a pack of ice on his hip — just a few cubes tied up in a handkerchief. It did little to reduce the bruise that bloomed there, but at least it kept the swelling down. He could think of a dozen potions that would do much better than this, but he had none of the ingredients on hand. His own fault for leaving London without buying some supplies first…

He held the pack to him and got up gingerly, growling all the while. He should have been happy, he’d made a great deal of progress in finding where they held the book, even if the way was closed to him. And with a bit of luck, he might yet find a way to gain their trust.

Tom limped over to the window, a drop of water sliding down his naked leg. The sun was setting and the streets were filling up, frothing with white dresses and silk scarves. How he hated being around muggles…

He let the curtains close again and waved his wand to brew him a cup of tea. Fire spells were so useful even if you didn’t have your mind on arson. He was at least glad he’d brought some tea leaves with him, and could brew them at just the right temperature. The milk they served around these parts was also not so bad, and worked wonderfully with the brew. It soothed his nerves if nothing else.

He sat down in the armchair, legs askew, loose shirt covering him to his thighs, and picked up his notebook. At least he knew they had the Trevisan that he was after... It would make the perfect excuse to visit again — in a more overt manner.

Absentmindedly, he placed the ice pack on his lap, and immediately jumped up in his seat.

“Oh fuck! Cold!”

He growled and with a sharp flick of his wand transformed the pack into a pillow, and settled down again.

IV

It should have delighted her that Frederico found the freedom to ask her out for lunch again. She sometimes thought she worked too many hours, but that impression faded when she heard from him. All Fred ever talked about was work. His shop was two streets away — not his of course, just as Casa Ur wasn’t hers — but he behaved as if it was his child sometimes, so dutifully he tended to it. She put it down to the speed with which she worked, as she was younger than most of the other book dealers in the city and less worn down by its pressures. But even she could not muster the endless enthusiasm of her friend.

Their lunches together had nothing romantic about them, they never did. He was a kind, soft-spoken man in his mid-forties, his skin just starting to sag around his cheeks, his forehead creased from frowning, brown eyes wet and tired behind a thick pair of glasses. The way he looked at her unnerved her sometimes, but then again, he seemed to look at everything that way…

He picked her up from Casa Ur and they went to a restaurant together, his paunch swinging before him and the sun shining brightly on the bald spot at his crown. He loved to talk, his high hoarse voice filling up the silence. She didn’t mind. She needed the company.

“And anyway, to prevent the shipment from being late, we found an old pathway they could take to avoid the flood, and they arrived five minutes before schedule,” he said, finishing the latest drama from his shop as they sat down at the restaurant across from the Fontana Trevi. “Can you imagine? Flooding, in the hottest summer on record?”

“Oh, last summer was even hotter.”

“You think so, but that’s not what they said on the weather report.”

“I think I’ll have carbonara,” she hummed, licking her lips. She loved the menu at this place…

“Hm? Oh, parmesan gnocchi for me, I think. With cream and garlic, oh yes… Wine for you?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just water.”

“Might be a while until they come around to us. So many tourists out today. Awful. Anyway, I wanted to tell you about the reason we found that route. Guess.”

“I don’t know,” she laughed.

“Guess, guess! Alright, so, it was our collection of Martinelli maps.”

“Fascinating. Oh, there’s a waiter! Scusi, cameriere!”

She hadn’t liked Fred when they first met two years before, but she’d gotten used to him. Or, she’d learned how to put up with him, allow herself to be carried on the wave of conversation that he wove. Now, it was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, eating in the open air, letting his enthusiasm drown her worries as he wagged his sausage fingers in the air to summon up the largess of the maps that saved his boss’ shipment.

Every one of their colleagues was different, each with their own flaws and problems — broken marriage, spiteful children, loneliness and illness and malaise — but they all carried the same passion for books. Books most people never heard of, books only obsessives cared about, books older than countries. They, few and a little insane, were together enchanted by their beauty.

So she could forgive Fred his childlike wonder, even during their lunch break, because the same passion smouldered, albeit very deeply, within her. It was what kept her going in spite of her loneliness, her anomie, and the drudgery of daily life.

“By the way, who’s coming at the next auction?”

“Most of the same,” she sighed, her breath fogging the half-empty glass of water. “A few new names this time. Foreign names. Can’t say I know any of them.”

“Must be invited by Oso.”

“Oh, I doubt he has the authority.”

“No, but you know how the Baron looks up to him.”

She chuckled, her lips pursed to stop a toothy grin. “Given his condition, it’s hardly surprising.”

“What do — Oh, you mean the… Oh, that’s quite cruel,” said Fred, his eyes two charcoal slits beneath the fat dark crinkles of a smile.

“Sorry, sorry…”

“But anyway, you know he could talk him into doing just about anything.”

“Maybe… Would you like to have some coffee before we go?”

“Sure,” he said. “I know you don’t really like talking about the auctions.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just that… just that…”

“Just that you don’t like it,” he laughed.

She was playing with her fork in the leftover sauce of carbonara while Fred waved a waiter over when she noticed from the corner of her eye a familiar contrast of black hair and deathly pallor. Was that Mr. Riddle? His eyes were hidden by shades and his full lips were pressed against the rim of a wine glass, but she was certain it was him. She turned before he spotted her.

While Fred kept droning on about another fascinating problem he’d had at work, she found her thoughts drifting, dreaming, and a soft smile blossomed on her face at just the memory of how good Tom looked the last time he was in her shop. Those dark curls falling over his eyes, how she longed to ease them back, to trace the sharp angles of his jawline, to kiss him… His lips looked so soft.

She sneaked another glance his way when the waiter took their plates. Leisure looked good on him, even if he seemed an amateur at it. A workaholic, perhaps, like her… He wore a pale green shirt today. The colour tasted sweet in her mind, like pistachio gelato. It was generously parted at the neck where his sweat was cooling, and underneath the table she could tell his legs were crossed, clad in sinfully tight silver-grey trousers.

“And once we had the original manuscript, we realised it referred to the Capuchin Catacombs, not the Parisian ones! My dear, are you listening?”

“What? Yes, the catacombs, of course,” she said, hiding her warm smile behind a cup of coffee.

V

The shop was more quiet than usual when Tom stepped in that day. That was to say, it was quieter than when he’d broken in. There was a tense silence to the place, one that slithered up his spine and settled pleasantly at the back of his brain.

He hadn’t missed the Torchia displayed in the window, in the centre of a carefully constructed swirl, holding court over far lesser volumes. In fact, it was the reason he had come.

“Buongiorno.”

“H-hello!” she called from behind her desk, getting up quickly enough to knock over a stack of papers when she noticed him.

“Didn’t expect to see me again, did you?” he grinned, sliding a hand casually in his pocket.

“Not really, no,” she chuckled. “How can I help you?”

Her eyes flitted to the window before coming back to him. She was expecting him to ask for the Delomelanicon again. She probably had a whole little script ready once he did. As if Tom would fall for so obvious a trap…

“Well, I was wondering if you had a copy of The Lost Word, by Bernard Trevisan.”

“W-what?”

“Is it a bit too obscure? He’s a —”

“Fifteenth-century alchemist,” she said, her smile suddenly beaming with nothing of the apprehension from before. “The Lost Word is a famous alchemical treatise! Yes, I know it. Which edition?”

“Doesn’t matter. Any would do.”

“We have a solid copy. Not too old, but faithful to the original, and at a good price.”

She began leading him into the second room before she’d even finished speaking. What a charming girl… She’d hoped he hadn’t been the intruder, and Tom had just confirmed it. He had gained her trust.

He followed her quick and careful steps, a heady perfume trailing behind and the metronomic echo of her thin high heels.

“It’s quite deep inside,” she said.

“Is it indeed?”

His hand came slowly out of his pocket, holding his wand.

“Not much further now, through this door.”

Tom stopped, took aim, and cast it.

“Imperio.”

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked as she kept walking.

“…Nothing?” Tom muttered to himself in wonder. He looked down at his wand as if it were impotent.

“What?” she said, half-turning.

He shoved the wand back between the folds of his jacket before she could see it.

“Ahem, nothing,” he smiled. “Please, continue.”

A chill ran down his skin and bile rose in his throat in anger. It was clear to Tom now that this building, or perhaps the very land it sat on, was protected by some counter-charm. His usual solutions of bending locks and minds would not suffice, but he could not call himself the Heir of Slytherin if he could not find a way. Tom eyed her figure, infuriating and sleek, and decided then and there that she would be his key.

[unhappy-last-resort]

Vampire Drabble

Fandom: Punishing: Gray Raven

Warnings: Yandere, forced blood sucking (?), angst, lmk if I missed any

Word Count: 768

A/N: I initially had another fic planned for Halloween but it's grown into something too large to cram while also trying to keep up with what I'm already scheduled to write.

This can be read as either Chrome or Roland.

Crimson is not his favorite color. It's a blossom he'd seen more times than he'd prefer, a condemnation to both those he loved and himself. It was a reminder of what he'd done, and what he'd failed to stop.

He hated silver, the color that hung in the sky that now served as his sun and the little glittering specks surrounding it that looked down upon the Earth he tread with cold disdain.

He hated iron, the rustic scent that seemed to always be in his nostrils, the slick liquid that coated his tongue every night and poured down his throat…

—and what dragged him to your door, breath ragged, nails curled into claws, and throat dry with a thirst that wanted more than just the life that flowed in your veins. He can still remember when he first met— no, you didn't meet, he merely saw you, smelled the traces of your home on your figure, and heard your vocal cords string a song that's made him weak in his knees ever since.

It's humilating, how he's found himself crumpled on your doorstep, shaking with trepidation as he warred within himself. Should he call to you? Prey on your good will to let him in just a little closer? Should he control himself and rip away from your homestead and find some poor, hapless, livestock to drain?

Let's not pretend.

He takes a breath, his lips parting slowly to let the most pained, desperate sounding cry he can muster. "H-hello? Is anyone home? I'm injured!" He waits, listening as he wets his dried lips.

He can hear your sheets rustling further inside. If he had to guess, your room must be the second. He knocks at your door haphazardly, hoping to curate a sense of urgency. "Please! If anyone's there, please help me!"

Success. He could hear your quickened steps patter out from your bedroom to right in front of him, your fingers fumbling with the lock as digs his nails into his shoulder, tearing through the flesh until the familiar chill of his blood gushes over skin.

He hates the color crimson, but he can't deny its usefulness sometimes.

The door swings open and he falls forward, hands catching him at your feet as he hears you gasp above him. Panic laces your voice as you stumble, muttering a mix of "are you okay" and "what happened" as you awkwardly half-crouch in front of him, unsure if you should come closer or keep your distance.

Just a little more.

"Ow! Please…This— this really hurts, if you could—"

Of course, you respond beautifully. Gently pulling him up and leading him to the kitchen, your soft hands are so warm it almost burns him, almost makes him want to recoil from you and retreat back to the cold and dark where he belongs and not the warmth of your home, not the kindness that lurked in the corners of the room.

Almost.

You rush off to find wherever you keep medical supplies and he contents himself with listening to your heart beat and your little, puffed breaths as you rummage through the cabinet.

It's a mistake, on your part. To have your back turned to someone— something you don't know.

It would be so easy for someone to just…

Come up behind you.

You thrashed a bit— or tried to, anyway. It felt a bit like holding a mouse and watching it fruitlessly try to wriggle and nibble its way to freedom. Soft, cute, and precious.

He held you tight, arms wrapping around you in something between comfort and confinement as eyed your neck. Should he start with a kiss, or leave that for later?

Perhaps later, you're starting to cry and he doesn't need to drag out am already traumatic event for you.

You seem to know what this is all about before his breath even grazes your throat, you jerk away and shout, beg, for him to stop or someone to help, so he whispers apologies to you.

He would be lying if he didn't say that a part of him enjoyed your sudden stillness as his teeth pressed into your flesh and your blood oozed eagerly. That he didn't hold you a little tighter at your muffled squeak as you froze into place, that he didn't memorize the taste of your iron that he'll hate tomorrow.

Maybe one day you can forgive him for the marks left on your neck, and maybe one day he can forgive himself for craving you more than anything in the world, even more than his disgust of himself.

[brooklynn3253]

Unspoken Signals pt. 3

Bucky Barnes: The Best Kind of Hero Returns Home with Pregnancy Cravings

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across the skyline, you found yourself lost in thought, eager yet anxious for your husband’s return. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier turned devoted boyfriend, was out on a mission for the Avengers—one of those missions that seemed endless, filled with the weight of responsibility and stakes that felt impossibly high. Yet, tonight was special. Tonight, he would not just return as the superhero you met, but as the father of your child, a reality confirmed through the tiny bump growing in your belly and the moments of pure joy that accompanied the journey of pregnancy.

While you busied yourself with small chores around the house, the sound of the door clicking open pulled your attention. Any trace of worry quickly dissipated as you turned to see Bucky striding in, his tall frame silhouetted against the doorway. His cobalt blue eyes shone with warmth, and a smile broke across his face at the sight of you. The bond that you had forged through trials, buttressed by his scope of hardships and your shared love, felt even more potent amidst the excitement of your impending parenthood.

As he approached you, a playful twinkle ignited in his eyes. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said softly, enveloping you in an embrace, his arms wrapping protectively around your midsection. You could still smell the traces of the leather jacket he had donned earlier, mingled with the faint scent of the mission—a hint of gunpowder and adrenaline. You embraced him tightly, feeling the love radiating from him anchor you in a tumultuous sea of hormones and emotions.

“Did you bring it?” you asked eagerly, the anticipation of your pregnancy cravings igniting an infectious smile on your face. For weeks, Bucky had teased about the little experiment of picking up your wild cravings from the various parts of the world he had visited on missions. You weren’t entirely sure what he had in store for you, but the thought itself ignited a spark of excitement in your heart.

With a theatrical flair, Bucky reached into his backpack. He pulled out various items, each comically exaggerated, revealing his talent at fulfilling your cravings with nothing short of precision. First came a box of gourmet donuts from a café he found in Brooklyn—a raspberry-filled delight you had been pining for since the first trimester began. Next, he produced artisanal cheese from a farmer’s market he stumbled upon in Vermont, accompanied by a variety of crackers. Then, to top it all, a bottle of sriracha sauce he had been carrying from a Thai food stall in Tokyo.

“What can I say?” he grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter, “Your cravings are my commandments.”

You laughed, taking in the selection as if it were a treasure trove curated just for you. “You’re insane,” you remarked fondly, “but oh my God, it all looks amazing!” You felt an overwhelming sense of appreciation for him—this man who had once lived a life of turmoil, now transformed into your partner in this beautiful journey. Together, you were building a family, even amidst the chaos of his previous life as an assassin.

After indulging in the sweet, rich, and savory delicacies he had brought, the two of you settled on the couch, Bucky’s arm draped protectively around your shoulders. With the warm glow of the lamp illuminating the cozy living room, you couldn't help but share some of your thoughts and concerns.

“What’s it like out there?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You deal with so much, and I worry about you.”

Bucky turned to you, his expression softening. “It’s a world out there, full of chaos and danger,” he replied, his voice thick with sincerity, “but knowing that you’re here… waiting for me... it makes everything worth it.” He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, emphasizing the intimacy of the moment.

You could feel your heart swell with love and pride. Bucky had a past filled with darkness, a past that still haunted him. But he had emerged modern-day phoenix-like, and his devotion to you and your unborn child illuminated his path. Even in the toughest moments, he kept pushing forward, not just for the mission, but for the family that was growing.

In the months leading up to your baby’s arrival, there was an unspoken understanding between you. You changed as a couple and as a family. The nights spent planning and dreaming of parenthood felt like a sacred ritual. It was a shared experience laden with hope and, yes, a hint of nervousness. As your body changed, so did your relationship, growing deeper in ways neither of you could have anticipated.

That night, Bucky held your hands, warmth spreading between your fingers as he looked at you, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “We’re gonna be great parents, you know that, right? We have each other,” he affirmed, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

You smiled through your own tears, feeling valor grip your heart. Resilience was a hallmark of your relationship, woven through the battles you had fought together. In this shared journey of parenthood, you imagined two parents learning, making mistakes, and growing alongside their little one. It was thrilling, and it was terrifying.

In that moment, with laughter echoing off the walls and the scent of sriracha still lingering in the air, you and Bucky began to transform a quirky evening into the foundation of your future—a tapestry rich with love and adventure. The winding road of parenthood lay ahead, paved with affection, laughter, and the occasional culinary adventure, but it didn’t matter what lay ahead.

As long as you had Bucky by your side, the journey was bound to be extraordinary, complete with the magical intersection of heroics, cravings, and the undeniable joy of family. You closed your eyes, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling content and ready for all that was yet to come.

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (2/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, namjoon is pretty much not the nicest dude lol (will add more as it progresses), kinda sugar daddy au but not really. It will make sense I promise.

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 9k

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

a/n: Hello, this is longer than I expected it to be, but anything to get the story moving. LMK your thoughts and if you want to be added to the tallest! Enjoy!

m.list

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“I thought you stopped smoking.”

Jungkook jumps at the sound of your voice, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. The burning cigarette in between his index and middle finger. He opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it and closes it, shaking his head. He looks out into the backyard, and takes another puff of his almost gone cigarette.

You sigh and go to stand next to him, leaning against the porch railing as you stare out into the same backyard. Silently wishing it was Spring again. Mrs. Jeon and Lia’s backyard always felt magical. Filled with flowers and greenery that always made it feel like a dream. But in the winter months it was barren and depressing. Nothing exciting grows except for the Lenten Roses in a pot next to the last porch step.

“Bad habits die hard.” He shrugs, taking another puff. “You should know.” He looks over at you, blowing out the cloud of smoke in your face.

You cough, fanning the cloud away. “You’re an ass.”

“Sometimes you ask for it.” He shrugs, throwing the white stick on the ground and squashing it with his boot. “Shouldn’t you be inside, gushing about wedding dresses and invitations with mom, while dad kisses Namjoon’s feet for once again being the perfect son.”

He stuffs his hands into the pocket of his pants. You sigh, coming to stand next to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. “Don’t be like that.” You whisper. “You’re lightyears a better person than your brother.”

His chest shakes with a humorless laugh. He has the urge to push you away but you’ve always been the only one with the ability to see through the perfectly curated images he and his brother have built over the years. “It’s always the same. I’m always the degenerate, the one who broke the rules growing up while Namjoon followed them. I’m the one who dropped out of college but he’s automatically the better son because he didn’t, and is now working on his PHD. While I work at a small flower shop, with a freelance photography job on the side. I’m the leech they can’t seem to get rid off.” He lets out a shaky sigh before pushing himself away.

“Jungkook d–”

“No, don’t say anything because you’re helping him knowing very well what he’s done to you. You’re feeding into what they want, and you can tell me it’s to benefit yourself. But how many times did I offer to help you pay out your student loans? How many times did I offer to help you find a better job? And you never took it because you wanted to do it yourself and I respected that boundary. But now that he comes back and offers you the same things with an added marriage proposal on top. You suddenly decide to take up on the offer.” He rants, running a tattooed hand through his long hair. “It fucking sucks because I know he’s going to hurt you and I don’t know if I can be there for you when he does because even if I have never had any sort of romantic feelings for you. I do love you and it hurt so much seeing you so broken and not being able to do anything about it.” He paces, invisibly mapping out the situation with his hands.

“And I can’t even fully hate him either because he is my brother and not many people understand our relationship but I know he loves me. He just has this weird ass way of showing it, and if he hurts you again, I’ll be put in the middle and I don’t want that because I can’t leave you alone and I can’t leave him alone either.” He breathes out, dropping his head feeling defeated.

It’s everything he wanted to tell you yesterday at the flower shop, but he didn’t want Yoongi to see him like this. Truthfully he wasn’t going to let you know either, but seeing the happiness on his parents' faces made him feel more bitter than usual.

You walk to stand in front of him, placing your hands on top of his shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Jungkook clicks his tongue in annoyance before shaking his head in disbelief. “I know a part of you still loves him and I know that part will fall for him the second he starts acting like the old Namjoon again. I can’t stop you and I can’t stop him either.”

“You out of all people know that I’m not the same person I was then and you know why. You’re right the person that loved him is still inside here but she knows better. I won’t fall for him the way I did then and what happened that night won’t happen again.” You say, hugging him tightly again. “I appreciate you worrying about me, but I can take care of myself.” You whisper, rubbing his back lightly.

He sighs, finally hugging you back and kissing the top of your head gently. “I wish it was Jimin instead.” He adds, making you laugh a bit at the end. That was a whole new can of worms you didn’t want to get into.

At least not now at your fake fiance's parents house.

“I was scared.” He admits, burying his head into your neck. “When you called me and told me to pick you up in tears. I honestly never wanted to kill anyone more than I did that night.” He whispers. You blink away the tears forming in your eyes. Jungkook’s never been honest with you about what he felt that night. You never asked because you were scared of knowing the truth. And now that he’s voiced it you can’t help but feel your heart break all over again.

“I’m sorry, I did–”

“No, don’t be sorry it’s not your fault that he–”

“Am I interrupting something?” Namjoon’s curiosity breaks the two of you apart in an instant. Quickly you wipe away the fallen tears from your cheeks. You step away further from Jungkook while he does the same, avoiding eye contact with the older man as if you’ve been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Namjoon has always had a wild imagination, hence his profession of choice. And right now his imagination is running him up a road he knows he shouldn’t go down. He had been looking for you for at least fifteen minutes, and when he heard your voice along with Jungkook’s voice coming through the patio screen door. He couldn’t think straight, especially not after hearing his little brother be so vulnerable, but he also couldn’t help but wonder what else the two of you were talking about.

As far as he’s concerned the infamous fight between the two of you happened in your old bedroom. Your parents were out on a date and he had come over so you could look over one of his essays. He left your house in a hurry, getting on his bike and pedaling as fast as he could to get away from your house with his heart pounding against his throat.

Had you gone somewhere else after?

Now, he needed to know, only because his curiosity would not let him forget until he knew. It was one of his fatal flaws. Probably the most annoying one.

“Um, I know you came with Kook but it would be weird now if you left with him.” He too feels weird, especially because the two of you looked like you’ve just stolen three cookies out of the jar before dinner. He hates it, it only feeds the little curious demon inside of him. “I have to be somewhere at five so I came to tell you that I’ll take you home but we have to leave in like fifteen minutes to beat the traffic.” He nods, scratching the back of his neck before taking a look between the two of you, and it suddenly hits him like a truck.

Wait, were the two of you secretly seeing each other. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Wait, but what about that Jimin guy? Hold on, were you seeing the of them at the same time, hol–

“It’s fine we are done here.” Jungkook looks over at you, giving you a smile to ease your overwhelming anxiety, and walks to the entrance, patting Namjoon’s arm before heading inside.

There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, before you decide that it’s been long enough for you to go back inside too. Before you even get the chance to move, Namjoon speaks up, burning his stare into yours.

“Are you seeing each other?” He voices out, finally giving in. He regrets it because the look on your face makes him realize that he’s said the wrong thing.

“You’ve been saying a lot of stupid shit lately.” You shake your head, taking it as your sign to leave. If you have to be in a car with him for an hour. You might as well save your energy. His genetic material is full of nonsense. “I’ll wait for you inside.” You say walking in and leaving him alone in the barren patio.

He can’t help but wonder about a lot of things. All of them start and end with you.

Namjoon is driving.

It’s a view you never thought you would ever see. Back when the two of you were friends he had very strong opinions about driving. The one time you asked after he showed up at the coffee shop drenched in rain water.

He said, “The world will be better without me on the road.” He laughed running off to ask the workers for a towel.

“What?” Namjoon says after stopping at a red light and looking over at you. One eyebrow raised.

“Nothing, it’s just strange.” You shrug. “I never thought I’d see you driving.” You point out, watching as the red light turns green. He steps on the gas, making a smooth right turn and glances over at you. A smirk painted on his features.

“I got tired of biking everywhere.” He says, leaning his right arm on the middle counsel. “This is also more convenient than asking JK to drive me everywhere when it rains or snows.”

You nod looking out the window. “What happened to priding yourself in having a small carbon footprint and world peace or whatever?”

Namjoon chuckles, shaking his head “I still bike most of the time just not to moms house or when it rains. As for the world peace thing. I don’t think being off the roads will stop wars.” He pulls the car to a stop and looks over at you again. Now that the two of you are alone he can’t help but think that maybe you did get a little prettier than what he remembers. Though you still don’t compare to all the women he’s ever dated. Most of them being nepo babies or supermodels. You’re still quite attractive, maybe in another life he wouldn’t have thought twice about sharing a life with you. But you still weren’t the woman of his dreams. Though, the more he navigates through life he’s realizing that such a person simply doesn’t exist.

If they did he wouldn’t be here in the car with you.

“Oh,” you jump up as if you just remembered something important. And before Namjoon can begin to understand what was happening the light turns green again and he’s pressing on the gas pedal. “I forgot to give this to you.” You say, holding out your hand in his view of sight with his mothers ring.

“Keep it.” He says without missing a beat. You’re shocked and you’re about to fight against him, but he beats you to it. “We’re going to be spending lots of time together. It’d be weird if you didn’t wear it when we’re together.” He reasons. It makes sense but you hated every second that passed by in which you had it on.

In a few months it wouldn’t be yours anymore. Plus it just felt wrong to be wearing it knowing it will someday go to someone else.

“You can just keep it and then when we go to places together, just give it to me.” You nudge his arm with your open hand. He glances down at it before looking out to the road.

“No need, you’ll be moving in anyway.” He nonchalantly says, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t drop another bomb on you.

Moving in?

This whole deal was taking turns that you didn’t expect. You knew he offered you a house in which you honestly weren’t going to take. But you didn’t think you’d be moving in with him. From what Jungkook tells you his apartment is more of a museum than a home. And you like your little apartment. It was perfect for one person, it had everything you needed and it was close to two subway stations. It was absolutely perfect and the rent wasn’t crazy expensive.

Rent.

That’s another thing to take into consideration. Would he make you pay for rent if you did by some miracle agree to moving in, because you’re more than positive you wouldn’t be able to afford it. Not now with your passable income from the flower shop. Of course, that chapter of your life will soon come to an end, but even working as a professor in your prestigious alma mater wouldn’t be enough to pay whatever crazy amount his rent is.

“Hold on, that wasn’t in our deal.” You close your hand in a fist and bring it down onto your lap turning your entire body to face him.

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “The cats out of the bag what would people think when they figure out we are engaged but not living together.” He pulls up into the parking lot of your apartment building and puts the car in park. He turns his entire body to face you, one hand gripping onto the steering wheel. “I don’t think you understand how crazy mom can be. She will be over unannounced every other day now that she knows we’re getting married. It’s best to avoid all those questions because they can get invasive.” He states, turning off the engine and opening up his door. He looks over at you. “I can’t stay long but I’ll walk you to your door.”

You were beginning to get annoyed with how nonchalant he was acting about all of this. For a person who claims this was all fake he seemed to be trying his hardest to make it seem as real as possible. You’re starting to wonder if you should set up some ground rules first before you make such a serious decision.

What if you do move in? When all this is over what will happen to you?

You have no doubt in your mind that he will kick you out the second he gets tired of this scheme. You have no doubt in your mind that he will begin to act like this never happened. It is what he does best. He crosses boundaries and when you make it known he acts like he didn’t and that you were in the wrong the entire time.

It’s what happened then, but this time it will be different. This time you’re determined to keep your guard up as high as a skyscraper. This time you won’t fall for his smile, his charm, his laugh or his heart. This time you’re going to put yourself first and to be able to do that you need to have a serious conversation. Set some ground rules before you can continue anything else.

“Namjoon, wait.” You say as he’s getting out of the car. He rounds the front and opens the passenger door for you.

“What, I need to be somewhere in fifteen minutes, let’s go.” He rushes out looking down at his Rolex then you.

You get down from his car, stepping to the side as he closes the door. “We need to talk about this.” You use your pointer finger to single the space between the two of you.

He lets out an annoyed sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “We will, but not today. We can have lunch next Wednesday after you come in for training.”

“Namjoon I just don’t think you understand. You’re making all these choices without getting my opinion first. I understand you want your parents to believe that we are actually engaged. And I understand that you have a lot left to lose. But you’re not the only one in this. I get to have say in this too and I–”

Namjoon holds his hand out to your face, blocking your words from coming out. “I get it and believe me I would love to talk about it because we have a lot of things to discuss but I really can’t today. I have a dinner meeting with a coworker and I need to pick her up in—” he looks down at his watch and up, “-in ten minutes.” He finishes and starts walking in front of you.

A dinner meeting? On a Sunday? With another woman?

You don’t want to be that person. You firmly do believe that men and women are able to be friends without anything romantic and sexual happening between them. But he’s acting a little bit suspicious and you can’t help but wonder if he’s going out on a date.

God, you’re so annoyed it’s honestly becoming very tiring. And you’ve only been fake engaged for a few hours. You can’t begin to imagine what the next months will be like or for however long he plans to keep up the scheme.

He calls out your name. He’s standing in front of your building entrance, snapping his fingers to hurry you up.

“I’m not a dog.” You roll your eyes, and push past him. You press the button to the automatic door and hold your hand out before he can take another step. “And I don’t need an escort.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re going to be late for your date.” You state stepping inside, leaving him floored with your little outburst. He wants to follow you and tell you a few choice words, but the ringing of his phone keeps him from pressing the button again.

He can talk to you another day. Right now you’re right about one thing. He is late. Even if it’s not a date like you have just assumed. He hates being late to places.

In a relationship.

The little phrase next to yours and Namjoons name has been haunting you since you got the notification last night. Least to say you had not gotten a wink of sleep. You had messaged Namjoon asking him what it was all about. The two of you had not talked since Sunday and making your fake relationship official on Facebook for friends and family to see was definitely something you didn’t see him doing.

It had caught you by surprise. What surprised you the most was the comments underneath the status, offering you kind words and congratulations. The few “it's about time,” comments had set you off. You weren’t sure if it was because you were engaged or because the two of you were engaged to each other. It had your mind racing in all sorts of directions.

Yet, what really didn’t let you sleep was Taehyung’s messages and Jimin’s cryptic “it all makes sense now,” text you had woken up too.

Your fake fiance always prided in living a life away from the drama. And while he’s having a blast living a fantasy you were on the other end receiving nasty messages from your friends and what you assumed were women he had been with once upon a time.

It was all getting too much. You were supposed to be enjoying your last shift ever at Euphoria before you ventured off into the world for bigger and better things. But here you were blocking comments and ignoring Taehyung’s angry spam and Jimini’s nasty comments, with a knot at the base of your throat.

You’ve never hated Namjoon more than you did now. Since he was ignoring you, probably annoyed with your constant pleading to delete the status. You would have to wait until you saw him again next week to scream in his face.

What didn’t help was that Jungkook had called in sick, so you were stuck with the brooding owner, sending you a glare whenever he heard you sigh.

“Okay, out with it. What has you acting like the queen has died?” He cuts a stem off a rose, before placing it in the middle of a few baby breath branches.

You put your phone down, face down hoping it would somehow keep the notifications from coming. “First the queen has died. Second, Namjoon is so fucking annoying. I…ugh.” You let out a frustrated sigh. Probably the thousandth one of the day before putting your head in your head, cradling it.

The headache that you had woken up with after three restless hours of sleep was only growing to be worse. You hear the older man laugh before patting your back awkwardly. “I think this is the part in which Jungkook would be saying I told you so, but I still fully support you getting the bag you deserve, and unfortunately whatever he did is part of the consequences you just have to face.” He states proudly before retrieving his hand and going back to the bouquet he was working on.

You raise your head, hoping your glare would bury him six feet underneath the ground. “You’re no help sometimes. I don’t know why I even ask for your advice.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue before shaking his head, “You see that’s where you’re wrong. You didn’t ask for my advice. I’m just telling you the honest truth. Now if you can’t take it then you shouldn’t have accepted the deal in the first place.” He shrugs, wiping his hands on his apron before grabbing a pair of scissors. He goes to the ribbon wall behind him, taping his chin with the tip of them in thought.

“What did he do this time anyway?” He says getting a hold of a lavender one and measuring it before cutting it off.

You lift up your phone, opening it quickly and navigating yourself through the homescreen before clicking the bright blue app. “This! He did this without letting me know.” You extend your phone showing him the status.

He leans his head forward squinting his eyes before breaking out into a smile. “Congratulations, I knew the two of you would be perfect together.” He jokes, making you groan out in annoyance. He chuckles, cutting up some flower bouquet paper. “Jokes aside, that is an asshole move, but what else would we expect from the devil himself.” He says grabbing the bouquet and placing it in the middle of the pale pink paper. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

“Ugh, I know, I know, I know. I don’t need you to remind me.” You push yourself off the counter as soon as the bell to the shop dings signaling someone has walked in. “It’s the aftermath of his actions that’s sending me up the wall. I really ha–” You turn around putting your best customer service smile only for it to fade away the minute your eyes come into contact with ones you’ve grown up with.

The warmth they once held for you is gone, now replaced with stone cold anger.

“Jimin.”

“Do you want to explain to me what’s going on?” He pushes his way past you and walks to the aisle full of supplies. “Because the last time we talked you told me you weren’t ready to be in a relationship and as much as it hurt I respected that but now you’re here engaged. And to Namjoon?” He says exasperated. You follow him, thanking god the shop was empty because this wasn’t where you wanted to have this conversation.

You knew it would eventually come and you would have no other option but to have it. Yet, lately the world has been throwing curveballs at you left and right since Namjoon came back into your life. So, what else could you expect?

Plus Jimin has never been one to keep his emotions bottled up. It’s one of things you admire most about him. When he was angry he would voice it. When he was sad he would cry freely and explain why. And when he was happy and in love he had no shame in letting the whole world know. Which is why you couldn’t continue anything with him anymore. Even if he was the one that made you feel comfortable again in your body and encouraged you to explore things with him. You didn’t feel anything towards him other than friendship. It’s not like you didn’t try. You did the moment you realized he had fallen for you months ago. It’s probably why you prolonged cutting things off with him, but you couldn’t do that to him anymore.

Not when he had verbally confessed and was giving you everything he should’ve been giving to someone who didn’t view him as more than a friend. The two of you should’ve listened to everyone who said it was a bad idea, but both of you were stubborn. That’s something you aren’t afraid to admit. Unfortunately the decision the two of you made almost a year ago was now coming back to bite the two of you in the ass. Though for some reason it felt like you were getting the shorter end of the stick with everything that had gone down in the last few days.

Maybe you were cursed?

“Min I can explain.” You whisper yell, reaching out to him. He retracts, throwing his hands up and steps away from you.

“No, I don’t need you to explain anything to me. I saw what that man did to you and you went back to him after cutting things off with me.” He spits out, venom laced in his voice as he cards a shaky hand through his already messy hair. He stops for a second biting his bottom lip and looks over at you.

“Were you seeing him while we were together? Were you with me when he couldn’t be with you? Because I can’t even begin to explain how fucked up that is. Especially for someone like you but I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did.” He rants, his hands shaking as he finds somewhere to put them to hide the visible anger he is feeling inside.

“It’s not like that Min, please just let me explain.” You plead, taking cautious steps closer to him. Gripping your apron tightly to keep yourself from crying. This is why you admired your oldest friend for the longest time. He wore his heart on his sleeve whereas you couldn’t let yourself cry in fear of looking pitiful and weak.

He takes one final look at you before shaking his head. “No, I don’t want anything from you. I just want you to stay out of my life.” He says before walking past you, bumping your shoulder with his and walking out.

This is what you feared the most. Losing him. You did have the intention of telling him what was happening when the time was right. This whole situation with Namjoon wasn’t something you ever intended on keeping a secret from both him and Taehyung, but of course you could never walk at your own pace.

For as long as you can remember nobody ever let you march to the beat of your own drum. Everyone around you always forced you to act whenever it was suitable for them. And right now as much as you were at fault too, you couldn’t help but blame Namjoon and his impatience.

Every day that went by, you realize how much this was inconveniencing you rather than benefiting you like you had originally thought.

“Now, I think this is the part in which Jungkook would say I told you so.” Yoongi speaks out from behind you.

You roll your eyes, shake your head and send him a glare. In a haste you untie your apron and rip it off. “I quit.” You say walking past the counter and throwing the fabric onto it.

Yoongi shrugs, trying his best to give you a reassuring smile in which it looks like he’s in pain instead. “Impossible when you only had five more minutes left of your final shift.”

That’s the last thing you hear him say before walking into the back and finally letting your tears fall down.

You’ve had your fair share of heartbreaks in the past.

When you were five you had your first boyfriend–Paul. A blooming relationship that lasted merely three days. On the first day of school he gave you a note with a poorly drawn flower and “I love you” written in the center. In his best five year old handwriting. On the second day he kissed you in the line on the way to Spanish class–dared by his best friend–Pedro. And on the last day, he played with you on the playground but on the way back to class he was holding hands with another girl.

Your first heartbreak.

Then you embarrassingly harbored a crush on him for three years after. In fifth grade–Christian had stolen your heart as soon as you saw his crooked smile and overly slicked back hair, but of course he had picked the prettier and meaner girl in class–Yuni.

Your second heartbreak.

Though, the infatuation didn’t last long, you forgot about him as soon as you entered middle school.  But you remember your heart beating out of time when you saw him at Sunday school. You were in seventh grade. Your body was changing. You felt awkward as hell listening to a sermon while fantasizing what it would be like to hold his hand.

When you were fifteen on the other hand. All hell broke loose.

You fell out of love with a lot of firsts in your life, and everything felt so black and white. Things that made you happy. That you viewed as pillars slowly started fading away. It started with ballet, then it trickled down to your studies. You didn’t feel like doing anything, your feelings were confusing and you felt angry with everything and everyone around you. To add the cherry on top your crush of possibly four years broke your heart–Jung Hoseok.

He was perfect. He was tan, tall, and handsome. He had a beautiful smile with moony eyes. He was funny and smart and loved to dance. You had met him during your first dance practice back in seventh grade. All it took was a smile, a wink and a killer freestyle for you to fall head over heels for him. He was nice, he sat with you during lunch whenever Taehyung and Jimin had a different one. He helped you out with your math homework and he even cracked jokes about your favorite boy band at the time. He would ask you about your day and make sure you didn’t skip your meals.

Jimin and Taehyung were so tired hearing you yap about him twenty four seven and so they offered to help you out. The three of you came up with a plan on how to confess to him, but all of that went down the drain one Wednesday afternoon.

The tears didn’t start falling when you saw the self proclaimed bad boy holding hands with one of the popular girls from school–Harley. They came after when you ran out of the dance studio because Of course it had to be her. God had blessed her with the perfect genes. The perfect hair, the perfect smile, the perfect body, and she was a way better dancer than you. She was beautiful and you were a colorless painting next to her that lacked detail. You had acne on your forehead, and even if you had ditched the contacts and braces a year prior. Your hair was still frizzy, and your body wasn’t desirable. Your boobs were practically non-existent, your hips were too wide and your stomach wasn’t flat

It sucked because you seriously thought he could’ve been it. He had been it for a while. You pulled back. Curating a home in a fantasy world, caging your heart in. Despite your friends being protective over you like a little sister. Their protection was nothing compared to how locked up you had your heart. That is until you met Kim Namjoon–and that also ended in a disaster. After that you didn’t give a fuck, you let men come and go. Use you for their needs until one night you awoke from your slumber. Sadly it had already been too late.

Jimin was there to repair you brick by brick. He helped you rediscover yourself in more ways than one. He helped you feel comfortable in your body. Something that was so foreign to you it took lots of trial and error. Yet, you broke him.

Despite all the heartbreak you have experienced in your life. This had to be the one that hurt the most, because you hurt him, and nothing you do will ever bring him back to you.

All because you wanted to have the upper hand.

This is why you disliked Kim Namjoon. Just like he brought you back to life he had dulled you at the same time. He made you feel special but at the same time ordinary; and because of him–though it wasn’t his entire fault you were equally to blame–you had lost one of the most important people in your life.

In honor of such event you had been avoiding the world for the entirety of three days. On the fourth day–today–you had finally forced yourself out of bed.

It was your first day of training at your new job which meant you were going to be in the same room with your nemesis AKA your fake fiance. Listening to him brag about how much better he is at everything.

Everything was a shit show.

You purposely took the longer route, hoping it would work calming you down. The Cherry Blossoms were finally blooming, signaling the end of a bitter winter and the birth of a new chapter in your life. You had hoped that Jimin and Taehyung would have been here for the ride, after you explained everything. You didn’t get the chance too and now the two of them were acting as if there wasn’t a decade of memories between the two of you.

Your phone buzzed in the pocket of your hot pink slacks. You weren’t going to be teaching yet, just observing some classes and following Namjoon around while he condescendingly explained what your life would be like as a University Professor.

Are you close? - N

You rolled your eyes at the message. You had been scheduled to come in at ten-thirty. It was ten on the dot and he was already rushing you. You begin to wonder if this is what it was going to be like the entire time the two of you will be together.

Don’t forget to wear your ring, we’re going to mom’s for dinner tonight. - N

The annoyed sigh made its way out of you before you could stop it. You hope that it won’t always be like this. Him making plans for you without consulting you first. Or him outing the relationship is such an irresponsible way without letting you know. If he was going to make every single decision for you, then you will call things off. You had taken the entirety of your night writing down a list of demands in order for you to continue things.

Well it was more of a list of things that annoyed you about him. A list in which you only hoped the two of you could come to a compromise. You don’t want to change him. Mostly because he is stubborn and doesn’t see anything wrong with himself no matter how many times people close to him have mapped it out for him. He won’t turn the other way keeping his ground. All you want to do is meet in the middle for however long he wants to keep this charade up.

One of my TAs  is waiting for you at the front of the building. I’m assuming you know the way. She will show you around and I will meet you for lunch. Don’t be late. - N

The third text came in making you grip your phone tightly in your hand. Even when he wasn’t around he somehow manages to make you want to scream out in anger.

I’m five minutes away.

You reply, putting your phone away and ignoring the last text he sends you. You will not let him ruin your last few minutes of freedom.

Eunseo is amazing.

She immediately greeted you in high spirits and complemented your hot pink blazer and slacks combo. And offered to carry around your bag because to her it seemed too heavy, but you refused.

Despite having attended HYBE U almost a decade ago. It hadn’t changed much. There were a few new buildings to compensate for the enrollment capacity, and a carpark where dorms used to be. But other than those slight changes nothing had changed. Even the large field in between the common hall and the dorms was still the same. The trees always bloomed beautifully in the Spring. Though you couldn’t ignore the pang you felt in your chest while walking through the field with Eunseo as she talked about her classes and how much she looked up to Mr. Kim.

This was where you found out you were in love with Namjoon all those years ago. It was Fall, the foliage was at its peak and the leaves were just starting to fall down. The two of you had decided to meet here instead of the cafe that day to enjoy the weather a little more before it turned gray. There was a particularly strong wind and the leaves came rustling down landing on the two of you making the both of you laugh. The sun was shining in the most perfect way possible, his skin glowed underneath it and something inside of you turned.

That day all you could do was think about him. You fell asleep dreaming about his smile and woke up expecting his scent to cloud over you like a blanket.

It was so beautiful yet tragic and you had never turned back since then.

That is until he turned on you.

With the way Eunseo was describing him. You could almost picture him being the same way he was when he tutored you. According to Eunseo he was funny, kind and really cared about his students. He always went out of his way to explain the material in ways his students could understand, and listened to everybody’s opinion extensively. But he also challenged them and pushed them to work harder.

He loved his job and profession more than anything in the world. It’s something you always did admire about him. Even on late nights or when the stress was too much for him to handle. He always found a way to look at it in a different light. For some time you had wished he would’ve done that with you when you confessed your feelings to him. That night he was someone you had never known. It was like something switched off inside of him and he became the heartless jackass you’ve come to know about in recent years.

“You’re very lucky. He will be such an amazing husband.” Eunseo said bringing out of your long train of thought. You stopped dead in your tracks, surprised as she giggled at your reaction.

“H-How do you know.” You clear your throat, bringing your hand up to your chest and playing with the little aquamarine pendant you never take off.

“He told me before I went down to meet with you.” She shrugs, grabbing onto the straps of her backpack. “Don’t worry he’s only told me and I don’t have many friends to tell. So your secret’s safe with me.” She winks turning around and skipping away.

You shake your head and follow her trying to keep up as best as you can. Maybe wearing heels wasn’t the brightest idea, but it was your first day on the job. You need to make a good impression on your future co-workers. In which you hadn’t met yet, but you assumed it was because Namjoon would be the one to introduce you and he was currently in a lecture.

You jump when you hear your name being called from across the field. You turn around quickly as Namjoon makes his way to you. His beige trench coat blowing in the wind. The combination of his nike’s, light blue jeans, and airy button down shirt was more casual than what you expected. Even his hair wasn’t styled. He looked stress free or a normal person.

“Mr. Kim, I have taken care of her and now I am returning her to you in one piece. Just like you instructed.” Eunseo says from beside you. You look over at her. She’s wearing such a bright smile on her face. Her proudness over such a nimble task makes you chuckle. A moment you will never forget now because it’s made you realize how much you desire to inspire someone.

The same way Namjoon has inspired her.

“Thanks Eunseo.” Namjoon replies once he gets closer, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his coat. He looks you up and down, raising his brows before turning over to his student. “This doesn’t mean you’re getting extra credit or an extension on your next paper.”

“It was worth the shot.” She smiles, sending him finger guns making him laugh. She turns to face you, “It was so nice to meet you Mrs. Kim, I’ll be sure to keep on the lookout for your class next semester.” She says giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up. “I’ll see you in class Mr. Kim.” She finishes before turning around and heading down the path leading to the library.

“She’s not going to turn in her paper on time.” Namjoon says from next to you shaking his head. “But she’s one of my best students. Somehow her papers always manage to impress me even if I threaten to take away a whole letter grade for every late paper. It somehow motivates her to do even better and I can’t.” He sighs and looks over at you. “Did you find everything okay, I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you. I told the office to schedule you after my classes today but they refused. Even being head of a department has very little perks.”

You look around quickly to see if anybody was around. There were a few students making their way to classes but each of them were engrossed with their phones or notes or conversations amongst themselves. They weren’t paying any attention to the two of you. So, he didn’t have to act so nice. “You’re so strange.” You comment, widening your eyes and covering your mouth as quickly as possible.

Namjoon rolls his eyes before sticking his hand out for you to take. “And you’re so nice.” He retaliates. The slight pang of bitterness slicing through his words. You almost feel relieved that he was still in there somewhere.

“Thanks, you bring out the best in me.” You take his hand, watching as he interlaced your fingers with his, forcefully pulling you to walk.

“Whatever, let’s just go to lunch. I’m starving. We can talk about things then.”

Okay you take it back. HYBE U was definitely still not the same.

There was a whole dining hall with the bougiest restaurants that you one hundred percent would not have been able to afford when you were a student here. You assume that’s why it’s pretty empty, except for a few faculty.

Namjoon and you had been sitting in silence since the two of you sat down after ordering. Your mouth almost fell open when you saw an avocado toast for almost twenty dollars. Thankfully Namjoon had offered to pay. Now the two of you were waiting for your overpriced food in complete silence. You weren’t sure what to say if you were honest.

Hey thanks for the job, you're still an asshole though.

Or

My best friends hate me because you ruined my life and now they think that what we have is real because you decided to make it official on Facebook. And like who uses Facebook anyway you old man.

In the end you settle for the nice quiet, listening to the ambience around you until your food arrives. The waiter carefully places your plates in the middle of the table and the two of you quietly thank him. Then Namjoon clears his throat, grabbing your attention.

“I usually bring my own lunch but I like this place whenever I forget to cook.” He cuts the toast in half and puts one of them on your plate, and makes sure you get a piece of avocado too.

“You cook?” You tilt your head to the side, picking up your utensils and poking the soft egg in the middle, letting the yolk run.

Namjoon nods, placing some pasta on your plate. “Jin taught me a couple years ago.” He hands you a napkin and starts filling up his plate. You have no idea who this Jin guy is. Namjoon says his name as if you’re supposed to know already, but you’re curious. Namjoon was a genius but he was a complete incompetent buffoon in the kitchen. You can’t explain how many times you witnessed him and Jungkook fighting in front of you whenever you were over their house because he always burned the simplest things. It would stink up the kitchen and Jungkook would lose it because he always lost at rock paper scissors and ended up being the one to clean the kitchen.

“Who’s Jin?” You wipe your mouth, and take a bite of the pasta humming in delight. Maybe the price of the food was worth it.

“He owns the gym Kook and I go too. He sometimes comes over, you’ll meet him soon.” He clarifies.

You nod, letting the silence consume the two of you once again because what else are you supposed to say. Instead you just take another bite of your food.

Maybe if you prayed hard enough, Jungkook would waltz in and break the awkward air looming between the two of you. Of course you had things to say to him, but how were you supposed to bring it up if the conversation wasn’t going down the route.

“Kook’s mad isn’t he?” Namjoon puts down his fork and takes a sip of his water. “I saw him at the gym last night and he almost beat the shit out of me.” He chuckles like it’s no big deal.

“He’s not the only one.” You retort, reaching into your bag and taking out a sheet of notebook paper in a plastic sleeve and place it on the table. Not the most professional looking thing but you were short on time.

“Lo–” Namjoon starts, you assume he’s going to defend himself and his actions. But he doesn’t get very far because you immediately cut him off.

“No, I understand you want everybody to believe whatever this is.” You say pointing between the two of you. “But there’s not just one person in this act. You can’t keep making choices without consulting me first. The brunch was fine. I was able to come up with something on the spot. But the moving in is not, nor is the fucking Facebook status or telling your student or the dinner we have with your mom tonight.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, “It’s a stupid status is not a big deal.” He takes a bite of pasta. The nonchalance in his demeanor causes the anger you had somehow managed to push away resurface once again.

“It is a big deal Namjoon. Because of that stupid status, neither Jimin or Taehyung are talking to me. You didn’t give me the chance to tell them and finding out through the internet is a pretty shitty thing.” You try to reason. He pokes his cheek with his tongue and crosses his arms.

“Isn’t Jimin the guy you were with at the party? You two were pretty close.”

“He was my best friend. But because of your actions he’s cut off all communication with me.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing the two of you aren’t friends anymore. He looked pretty comfortable touching you at Taehyung’s place.” He says looking around then you. Yeah, you’re adding this to the list of dumbshit he says. Hopefully by the end of this you’ll be able to publish a whole book.

“Are you listening to yourself?” You say tapping your ears. “You sound so dumb right now.” You shake your head, suddenly losing your appetite. He does bring out the worst in you, and you’re beginning to regret ever saying yes in the first place. “Jimin and I used to fuck and sure things were a little rocky between us since the night of the party. But I still care for him. He's still someone important to me and you’re not respecting that. You outed our relationship to the whole world without consulting me first and you keep doing shit without asking if I am okay with it.”

“It sounds like you’re just looking for someone to blame instead of owning up to whatever you did to your precious Jimin.” He shrugs, digging into his avocado toast. You truly want to dump his iced americano all over his head, but your hushed voices are getting a bit louder and people are starting to take notice.

“You’re completely missing the point. This isn’t about me or Jimin’s relationship. This is about you not willing to see that in order for this to continue you need to include me in big decisions like that. I am my own person Namjoon. I have a life outside of this, and you can’t just expect me to stop it and be at your mercy whenever you need me. What if I had plans tonight?”

“Then you cancel them. This is important.”

“Fucking hell, are you not listening to me. I honestly have no idea how to explain this to you in an easier way or without sounding like a broken record. I’m not a doll Namjoon, you can’t wind me up when you need me. I am a fucking human being and you’re not treating me like one. If this continues I will literally call this whole shit off.”  You pick up your fork and forcefully shove some pasta in your mouth.

“You can’t do that. You promised.” He accuses with his finger, furrowing his brows in anger.

You roll your eyes and swallow. “Just like you, I can also break promises.” You shrug before sliding your forgotten list towards him. “These are my rules, if you can’t follow them then I swear  Namjoon I’ll call your mom and tell her everything, and it would totally suck I mean this job seems to be amazing.” You threaten crossing your arms in front of you.

He huffs, snatching the list from the table and reading them. This time you welcome the silence as you wait for him to finish. After what seems like his third run through he puts the list down again, your bubbly handwriting makes his head hurt a little. He could never understand why you always wrote in colorful pens and marked your i’s with hearts.

In his opinion it was overrated and you were a full grown adult, not a toddler.

“You can’t expect to change me. This isn’t forever.” He says like he’s reminding you. Despite you being his fake fiance he never really assumed you would expect him to remain monogamous. He was still a man with needs and he refused to touch you in that way.

“I’m not asking you too. I’m asking you to meet me in the middle and respect me a little more. I know you hate me but I’m not your biggest fan either. Yet, I agreed to this and I am here.”

He tugs his bottom lip in between his teeth in thought. He stares into his plate of food for what seems like hours. He could do that. Maybe things won’t be so unbearable if the two of you were just walking side by side rather than on opposite ends. He also can’t deny that you’re a little right, this was harder than he assumed. You are definitely not the pliant girl he knew once. Maybe this version of you excites him a little, but of course he won’t ever admit that to anyone. He’s already having a hard time admitting it to himself. If you’re going to ask him to meet you in the middle with your annoying list of demands then he’s going to ask the same of you.

Eye for an eye.

“Fine, but only if you agree to move in with me.”

“That’s ridiculous. I don't understand why I can’t just be at my place. I mean you just said this wasn’t forever.” You mumble.

“Ahh then I guess I’ll just rip this up.” He says taking out your sheet of paper and holding it out in front of him ready to shred it.

You panic and hold your hand out to stop him. “Fuck fine, I’ll move in with you.”

“Perfect, I’ll clear out the guest bedroom this week and you can move in on Saturday.” He smirks, and resumes to his meal.

Once again he’s won, but you will find a way to have the upper hand one of these days. “This is so dumb I still don’t understand your reasoning.”

There’s a part of Namjoon that also doesn’t understand it. That part of him he’s pushed away for years. It’s the part of him that wants you there with him. It’s incredibly selfish. He’s aware he’s asking too much of you already, but he hopes having you in his home will give him an excuse to come home. Lately, he’s been tired of just his plants and artwork receiving him when he gets home.

Yet, that’s something he won’t ever admit out loud either.

“It just makes things easier.” He shrugs, shutting down the conversation. Leaving you to wonder if his actions have more meaning to them than his words.

[stedefxckingbonnet]

Past Lives | Izzy Hands x Reader

Izzy Hands x Gn!Reader

Summary: Quite some time has passed since you joined the crew of The Revenge per being saved, and you've grown particularly close to the one who brought you aboard. One night in particular is breathtaking and you decide you cannot contain your feelings anymore, but you had never learned exactly how to express these sorts of feelings to another person, let alone Izzy Hands. So, you do so in the only way you know how.

Warnings: slight angst/tension, slight avoidant attachment style (w/resolution though), kissing, some strong language

Word count: 2264 (some longer ones coming your way in the near future, though!)

A/N: hi hi lovely people! This is honestly the first x reader I've written since I was probably 14-15, so please bear that in mind! My interpretation of Izzy I feel like, isn't always 100% representative of him in the show itself, but I feel like I tried to capture him at his core while exploring this more sensitive side of him that we are getting in season 2, perhaps more of a what he is on the pathway to being, and therefore already is, if that makes any sense. Just has to be unlocked in levels. Plus, Izzy deserves the world so I just wanted to write something sweet to dip my toe back into this sort of writing. Anyhow, I'd like to get back into the habit of writing these so please, do request! I hope you all enjoy this one, comments are much appreciated xx

The stars illuminated the sky in such a way that it almost looked like a painting—a bit too picturesque, like one of those artworks that only aristocrats could afford to have on the wall of their ornate mansions passed through the centuries, or even built and curated just for them. Nonetheless, it was breathtaking, and the fresh air coursed through your veins and senses so effortlessly and made you feel alive. Nights like these weren't meant to be spent hidden away in your quarters and you knew that. Once you were sure everyone had retired for the night, you quietly crept onto the main deck, ready for your moment of solace that you had been seeking for weeks now.

You approached one of the railings, scanning across the deck still to see if anyone had been lurking nearby. The coast was clear, and finally, you found somewhere to lean on as you stared out into the night sky, the wind blowing through even the hairs on your neck, making them stand. On occasion, you'd be sprayed by the sea but it was the most at peace you had felt in weeks.

"Rough night?" you heard someone quietly call from a short distance away. You almost jumped, but you quickly turned around only to see Izzy Hands. Relief washed over you, as did a nervous feeling that had only begun recently. You inhaled sharply as Izzy waltzed over, thanking the stars for not illuminating this spot too much, therefore being no way he saw you craving that much air in your lungs. He leaned beside you on the railing, awaiting your reply.

"Not at all," you admitted. "Quite the opposite. It's so beautiful out tonight."

Izzy only nodded. He joined you in looking out at the landscape presented before him. In all of his years of sailing, it was all he had ever known--the sky and the sea, yet, he had never thought it to be this ravishing before. He never noticed how lovely it could be. Being here with you, he saw it all in a new light. He discreetly glanced over at you once again. He had noticed the way your lips slightly parted when you saw something you liked, and the way your shoulders lowered when you were relaxed. He noticed that you'd twiddle your thumbs when you were truly happy—in fact, you happened to be doing it right now. Izzy allowed his lips to curl into a smile upon realizing this. Finally, he broke the silence.

"I've never seen anything like this," he admitted, almost out of breath whilst he was still looking over at you. You still hadn't noticed.

"Isn't it...divine?" you chuckled. "Beautiful seems too weak a word."

"I feel the opposite. I don't think I've ever described anything as beautiful before."

"Really? Not once?"

Izzy shook his head. "Saving it for something special, I guess."

Silence filled the space between the two of you once again, but for once in your life, it was a comfortable silence. You looked out at the sea, but this time, you could feel Izzy's eyes on you. You attempted to discreetly glance his way, and you couldn't help but smile when you locked eyes. You looked away as you practically felt your cheeks burning and your stomach turning, and you hoped to the sea gods that you weren't falling ill. But these forlorn feelings felt honestly incredible, for once. A wave of confusion crashed over you, and it was growing more and more difficult to ignore.

"You alright?" Izzy inquired with genuine concern. This entire time, his eyes have not left you.

"What? Me?"

Izzy chuckled. "Who else?"

"Fine. Just fine."

"Just fine?"

"Do you believe in past lives?" you suddenly heard yourself ask, and already you were cursing yourself for it.

"Past lives?" Izzy repeated pensively. You nodded, looking over at him intently. It took him a moment to think of a response, and even still, he seemed unsure. "This sure as hell feels like the first time I'm living. Otherwise I probably wouldn't have made a lot of the decisions and mistakes I've made, I suppose."

You felt your heart sink, and it almost felt like there was no way to retrieve it. "I see. Well, goodnight."

Without letting Izzy have another word, you scurried back to your quarters, tears streaming down your cheeks like waterfalls.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You awoke the next morning with a sharp pain in your chest. You winced as you forced yourself out of bed, though as you dressed, the feeling began to dissipate. You almost teared up again upon reminiscing last night. What were you thinking, asking something like that of Israel Hands? Where did that even come from? Why did his answer hurt so terribly? A million thoughts swarmed around in your head like flies, and there wasn't much you could do to swat them away. You felt like holing yourself up in your room but you knew that with Stede as one of the captains, this wasn't much of an option. After hovering your hand above the doorknob for what seemed like ages, you finally twisted it, revealing yourself to the crew. Already, everyone seemed to be intertwined in their usual antics and fuckeries--it would have been fun and refreshing to see if not for the somber mood you were in. Lucius waved you over, and you seriously thought of walking right past him, but he was your dear friend, like a brother to you and you wouldn't have forgiven yourself if you dismissed him. You trudged over to him, and he immediately recognized your gloom.

"Well good morning, mopey," Lucius teased, nudging you in the shoulder.

"Not today, Luci," you mumbled. "Not today."

Lucius' smile dropped, though he raised a brow. "Talk to me. Who do I need to punch?"

"No one. I'm just having a bad day."

"You are such a bad liar."

"I just don't wanna talk about it," you grumbled. Lucius was at a loss for words, but thankfully you knew just what to say. "The sky was lovely last night. If only you'd been awake to sketch it. You're the only one who would have done it any justice."

"Maybe I'll have another chance tonight," Lucius said hopefully.

"Maybe you will," you breathed out as suddenly, none other than Izzy himself appeared onto the deck. You gulped and turned away from him immediately.

"Whoa, whoa. What's going on with you and Iz—“

"—I don't wanna talk about it," you almost seethed. Before you knew it, a finger tapped your shoulder. You swiveled around, fighting the tears in your eyes.

"Got a minute?"

"Not exactly."

"What better do you have to do?" Izzy demanded. Your jaw dropped, and you were waiting for your thoughts to catch up with your mouth but they never did. "That's what I thought. Come on, Y/N."

"Later, okay? Not right now. Tonight," you promised. "That's my best offer."

"I'll hold you to it."

You immediately realized the mistake you had made, and how difficult and miraculous it would be to get through this entire day before possibly knowing what Izzy wanted from you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The shadow of the moon was present once again, and for once, you dreaded the wonders of nighttime. It felt perilous and peculiar now, like a friend you didn't quite recognize anymore. But, a promise was a promise, you'd be damned if you broke one, let alone this one. As frustrated and almost devastated as you were, you'd never allow yourself to break a promise to Izzy. You pulled your favorite capelet over your shoulders and started toward the deck to find Izzy already waiting in your usual spot. You hadn't realized it until now, but this really was your and Izzy's spot. It's where you wiped away his tears when he cried in front of you the first time, it's where he sat with you countless times when you couldn't sleep, it's where the two of you conversed until dawn frequently. Always this spot. It took everything in you to fight off a pang of joy upon experiencing such an epiphany. Izzy didn't notice that you had appeared beside him until you looked over at him finally.

"Are you alright? You seemed a bit...I don't know. Not yourself this morning, and last night."

"I'm fine," you shrugged, knowing Izzy would see right through you like you were a phantom.

"I don't buy that for a second," Izzy rolled his eyes. And with that, silence surrounded you both once again. It frustrated Izzy to no end that he couldn't figure out what was plaguing you. He always felt as if he was able to put a finger on whatever it was that bothered you, he prided himself on knowing you that well. The last thing he wanted was for you to become a stranger after all the two of you had endured together. The thought of losing you filled him with a sorrow he had never felt before.

"I'm sorry about what I asked you last night. About past lives and stuff," you suddenly said. Yet another moment where your mind and mouth weren't synced. You regretted saying this as soon as you began to speak, but you knew that once you did, there would be no stopping, no taking anything back.

"What was that all about, anyway?" Izzy implored. You almost scoffed at his tone but when you met eyes with him, you instantly realized that he genuinely wished to know. His eyes sort of twinkled when he was curious, and this was the first time you noticed such an endearing phenomenon.

"I just," you exhaled, pausing before you spoke again, this time choosing your words carefully. "Why'd you save me that day at Jackie's?"

Izzy was taken aback at such a question. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Not at all, actually," you laughed in annoyance, which was only a coping mechanism for the extreme anxiety you were undergoing in this moment.

"I honestly can't give you an answer you'd want," Izzy admitted. "I just felt...called to. I could tell it would be nice having you around here. I wanted to give you a place you could call home."

"So, wait, you care about me?" you inquired seriously, which only earned a chuckle of disbelief from him.

"Of course I do, dammit!"

"I don't know, Iz, I just...from the moment we met I felt this connection to you and I can't explain it. No matter how hard I could try, I won't be able to. I felt like I was meant to be around you."

"You think I didn't feel that way, too?"

"You did?" you asked, a glint of hope looming in your voice.

"Of course I did. And, I do. I can't explain it either. But I felt as if we were meant to be around each other, in each other's lives. I don't know," he rambled nervously. This was the first time you had seen Izzy like this. It was a side of him you weren't even sure he possessed until now.

"I guess I sort of caked that to the past life shit," you sighed. "And when you said you didn't believe in past lives, I freaked out and took that as you not caring about me and everything we've built just felt like a huge lie."

"Everything we've built," Izzy repeated.

"I'm so sorry," you laughed embarrassedly. "I don't know what I'm talking about."

"No," Izzy cut you off, putting his gloved finger to your lips. You could feel Izzy's breath on your face. "If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't have asked you to come with me. I had only known you for a few moments and I already knew you would be...important to me."

You were absolutely baffled. You opened your mouth to speak, and not a sound escaped it. Izzy took a step closer to you, slowly moving his hand to cup the right side of your face.

"And it helps that you are just...beautiful," he whispered as your foreheads touched. You could've sworn your heart was going a million miles a minute and that you would need some sort of village medic after this. As if it were instinct, your hand made its way into his carefully swept hair, and it felt like silk between your fingers. All of your worries suddenly melted away as you melted into one another, your lips brushing up against one another's. You nodded pleadingly, yes, you wanted this, followed by a nod from Izzy and finally, like puzzle pieces, your lips connected. It felt effortless and so, so right to share such closeness. Two becoming one, two souls merging to create a love bigger than either of you. A love that had been carefully crafted ever since the first day of meeting. A love that the both of you knew would inevitably take hold, because it always did in all the stories you devoured and then later went on to show to Izzy. A love that you had craved since you heard of the concept of it. A love that Izzy never thought he would attain in his lifetime.

You gasped happily for air, yet your foreheads still touched. Izzy gazed at you as if you were the only other person in the world and the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon.

"Perhaps I haven't had any past lives," Izzy breathed. "but I will have love for you in all my next."