#music: cadence call | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thewriteadviceforwriters · 9 months ago

Text

25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1

Hey there!📚✨

As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.

But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.

Power of Rhythm 🎵

One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:

a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.

Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."

b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.

Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."

c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.

Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)

Paint with Words 🎨

Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:

a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.

Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."

b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.

Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."

c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.

Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."

Choose Your Words Wisely 📚

Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:

a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.

Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."

b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.

Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."

c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.

Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."

Play with Sound 🎶

The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:

a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.

Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."

b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.

Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."

c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.

Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."

Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️

How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:

a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.

Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."

b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.

Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."

c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.

Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."

Power of White Space ⬜

Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.

Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside, a single word.

'Yes.'"

Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️

One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.

Edit Ruthlessly ✂️

Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.

Study the Masters 📖

Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.

Practice, Practice, Practice 💪

Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.

Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.

Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:

Create a Word Bank 🏦

Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.

Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣

There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.

Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."

Power of Silence 🤫

Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.

Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."

Play with Perspective 👁️

Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.

Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.

Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️

While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.

Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."

Create Contrast 🌓

Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.

Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."

Use Synesthesia 🌈

Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.

Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."

Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊

Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.

Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️

When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.

Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."

Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️

While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:

Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."

Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨

Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.

Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."

Play with Time ⏳

Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.

Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."

Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.

Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."

Create Word Pictures 🖼️

Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.

Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."

Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭

Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.

Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy

Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.

Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.

Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

2K notes · View notes

pastel-peach-writes · 6 months ago

Note

Hii, i just read all and i mean ALL of ur fics, but i saw you wrote for arcane women and was wondering if you could write headcanons abt them with a socially awkward/anxious reader?? If not thats A-Ok 👌 with me

Sure! How is everyone doing after the first three eps? I still haven't seen it but the edits I've seen... oh boy.

"I Got You." | Arcane Ladies Headcanons

╰┈➤ PLOT: How the ladies of Arcane(Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, Mel) act with a socially awkward and/or anxious partner

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Spoiler Free, On The Shorter Side, Cursing, Not Proofread

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

JINX

– At first, Jinx didn't get that you were socially awkward. She was used to people being awkward or even scared around her so she thought it was the same case with you until you two got closer.

– After knowing that your awkwardness was just you and not your fear of her, she observed you in social situations and noted what made you more anxious than normal.

– For example, she noticed you're more anxious and timid in bigger, louder spaces but if a space was quiet and quaint, you would be just fine so she often took you to quiet places for dates.

– If Jinx notices you're anxious in places you typically aren't, without a doubt she's removing you from the situation and taking you home where you can relax. No words, just grabs and tugs.

– She's tried the pep talk route before but it ended up in her rambling and somehow planning a terrorist scheme aloud... (yeah, a few patrons quickly left the area after hearing that), so she decided to scrap that idea altogether.

– At home though she would prepare what she calls, "A Safety Nest". It was a place in your shared space that had all your favorite things and trinkets, and she usually kept the space dimly lit and played your favorite music to calm you down.

– In social interactions where you take the lead in conversation, Jinx would quietly encourage you with big, almost alarming smiles and "gentle" pats on your back. Let's face it, Jinx can be socially awkward herself.

– Once the conversation concludes, she'll jump on you proudly, ruffle up your clothing, and pinch your cheeks endearingly all while calling you weird nicknames and quoting what you said while mimicking your tone and cadence.

––

– Before you've had your first real conversation together, Vi could sense that you were an anxious individual.

– You fidgeted with your body while speaking, didn't hold eye contact long, and used a decent amount of filler words to casualize your sentences.

– She thought it was endearing to watch you act and move as if you thought no one truly cared about what you were saying or were afraid of boring others but you never bored her. She didn't think it was possible.

– You had tells and quips that revealed themselves with each conversation you two had. You showed more and more of your personality the more you got comfortable with her too. Vi loved it.

– When you spoke to her, especially when you went on tangents about things you were interested in, she always showed signs of active listening by nodding and asking follow-up questions. Even days later, she'll bring up the topic again to see if you have any updates.

– She made you feel seen and heard, something you've subconsciously craved. And when you went on your worry rambles, she consoled you and tried her best to stop you from spiraling.

– You thought about a lot of things and oftentimes about things no one else thought about. Vi thought your brain must've been exhausted with all the worries, doubts, and judgments that were usually wrapped up as others' but were truly your own; it was a lot for one person to handle so she strove to let you know that you were not alone.

– Is there a night you can't sleep because of your racing mind? Vi is there, holding you or reassuring you that everything is going to be okay. She can't sleep until you do anyway so why not speed the process along?

– You often had yourself stuck with your head stressing and worrying about multiple things at once and Vi was always there to bring you down to Earth.

CAITLYN

– Caitlyn's an encourager and a comforter with you.

– She's patient and silently allows you to take your time when gathering your thoughts midconversation but she'll also be the one to say, "It's okay, take your time," in the sweetest way possible.

– If there's an instance when you two are out and about and you really want something but are too scared to get it, she'll spring into action and get that thing for you. (Even if it was just a napkin).

– The only time she's frazzled socially is when you both are in an unfamiliar area and need to ask for directions. She'll stumble over her words and try to get someone's attention but they're moving too fast to hear her soft words.

– She'll get frustrated and you end up comforting her, but after a few backrubs, she's ready to try again. Her voice is strong and powerful, and people have no problem hearing her.

– You secretly thank whomever you have to for her determination but there was no way in hell you were going to walk up to a stranger and ask for directions like a tourist... which you were.

– Since Caitlyn's job has her socializing with a lot of people, she can get burnt out easily. Especially if work hasn't been going her way lately but even if she's burnt out and tired, if you seem to be more awkward or anxious than her, she's more than happy to step up socially.

– When you both have someplace to attend to or some event that holds significance, Caitlyn will not hesitate to stage a "social rehearsal" with you. She'll make flashcards of topics you could bring up, you'll both dress accordingly for the event in her living room, and she'll pretend to be an assortment of people so you can get used to different personalities all at once.

– It may seem like this is all for you, but honestly it helps her too. Sometimes she misses the personal cues of conversation leading the other to think she's a black-and-white thinking who has no time for pleasanties. Not true! She's very pleasant... sometimes she's just shy.

– Shyness is not a crime!

– After talking with the host and a few others she has to talk to due to her job, her social battery is depleted. She's extremely thankful you're able to recognize this and suggest leaving early. What would you two do without each other?

––

SEVIKA

– Oh, man. This lady found your awkwardness charming as hell.

– Your awkwardness was different than all the nerds and scaly-beings she's forced to be around. You were cute, looked perfect sitting next to her, and your awkwardness, as mentioned before, had a certain charming quality she can't quite place.

– She'll see you in your workplace trying to make casual conversation or small talk but none of your topics seemed to be landing. Your coworkers would give you a thin pressed-lips smile that she wanted to strike off of them to your attempts and then scoff at you behind your back.

– You were authentically yourself and those bastards didn't know what to do with it. They were scared, not her though.

– When you two got closer and comfortable enough with each other that you could tease one another or make playful jabs at the other's expense, no doubt she would tease you about your awkwardness.

– With those gorgeous eyes of yours, you would look everywhere else but her own, prompting her to say, "You know you can look me in the eyes, right? I won't bite", with the stupidest most shit-eating smirk on her face. And then when you look at her, a bit shocked and playfully annoyed, her smirk would only grow. "Unless you want me to."

– Sevika never made your awkwardness seem like a flaw. Your awkwardness came with you and she wanted all of you so she often encouraged your awkwardness.

– If she caught you trying to "reel" it in or realizing that you've talked for a few seconds too long, she'll playfully scold you and tell you to continue or to "let it out". Y'know. As someone who seethes dominance does.

– There would be an instance in which you go to Sevika asking for advice to be "less awkward" and her only response would be, "Why? I like your awkwardness, you don't need to change it. Anyone else who thinks otherwise is a sad loser and don't deserve to be in your life anyways."

– like damnnnn, okay!

– Safe to say you never asked her a question like that again.

MEL

– Mel understands your worries about what others think and the awkwardness that can come with it so she likes to help you in any way she can.

– If you're stressed about a council meeting and afraid of what everyone's going to think about the new perspective you'd like to bring to the table, she'll reassure you and tell you she's right by your side.

– If she can't physically with her hand on the small of your back, she give you nods of encouragement, raise her brows proudly, and look at you with that sense of pride and admiration in her golden eyes.

– After the meeting goes well, which she knew would, she'll congratulate you with your favorite drink and a night in doing all your favorite things.

– Even if there were parts in the meeting that were rocky, like the council people asking questions you weren't prepared for or getting rowdy, she'll say you did an excellent job and what you presented will help the people of Piltover.

– Oh, and don't think for a second that she wasn't sending glares and daggers to those who stirred up your anxiety even more. If looks could kill.

– Mel sees that sometimes your awkwardness and anxiety result in people-pleasing and she would shut that down real quick. She's fallen into that dangerous pool before and knows how hard it feels when you disappoint others and how much harder it is to get out of that mindset.

– She can get quite spirited with her encouragement...

– "Well, if they don't like it, that's on them! They don't know something good when they see it." "I've learned that hard way that you can't please everyone. You might as well say what you have to now. They can get over themselves later."

– It's actually quite attractive to see her stand up for you, even if she was standing up for the possibility.

– Always keeping her words in your mind, you find yourself navigating through life easier and you only have her to thank.

WC: 1,705

1K notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

Text

book 7 chapter 12 part 3 thoughts!

***THIS POST CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7 PART 12 OF THE MAIN STORY!!*** This spans part 269 to part 294, focusing on Riddle.

Please note: this is NOT meant to be a summary or a translation; these are only my initial thoughts on the events that roughly unfold. There may be details overlooked or misunderstood in this post, so PLEASE do not use this as a translation.

They land in a new location! New assets and everything. Trey identifies it as Crimson City in the Queendom of Roses.

This update opens with Silver showing the first signs of fatigue. (He audibly sighs; Ortho shows concern.) Silver insists he is fine but advises they avoid battles.

Cater laughs at Trey’s expense. He has never heard him scream so loud!! They should go to an amusement park in the waking world together. This is ironic xhsnsvekakw because these two technically did go to Playful Land together 😂

Trey begins to worry about where his glasses have gone. Apparently they fell off while they were hopping to Riddle’s dream. Idia says searching for lost items in a dream can be difficult but Trey would have perfect vision if he thinks hard enough about it. (Me, sitting here: this is a dream. Can you not literally just conjure up a new pair by imagining it.) Trey’s vision is so bad (he’s squinting just to see people’s faces) and he’s had glasses since preschool, so it’s hard for him to do that.

Ortho suggests using S.T.Y.X. tech and data to make Trey new glasses. But then Ace interrupts and announces he snagged Trey’s glasses. He saw them while falling and brought them to himself using magic; they aren’t damaged. The others, even Leona, praise him. (… but I don’t, because what is this time wasting nonsense 😭 MOVE ON ALREADY…) For a first year, his magic control is very good. Is it because he’s dexterous from basketball?

In exchange for saving the glasses, Ace asks for a cherry pie at the next unbirthday party.

LMAO apparently Ace got to practice using magic precisely because of being in Heartslabyul. Changing the color of the roses + other unbirthday party prep is done with magic. Ace also quickly learned how to clean up using magic to avoid Riddle’s wrath when the dorm leader patrols.

UHHHHH a police car starts chasing them?? It stops and a policeman exits, pulling… R rIDDLE?????!!??!?!?!

THE HE c K Is tHIS… CAtER MiSTAKES HIM FOR a CUTE giRL OR A MAGICAM INFLUENCER (IN thE FULL bODY MODEL YOU CAN SEE FisHNETS ON HIS leGS)

He calls the police officer an “old man” and speaks in a different cadence than usual. Higher pitched and more childlike. UHHHHH RIDDLE USES RUDE SLANG TOO… It’s not slang I understand; Adeuce identify it as exclusive to the Queendom of Roses

Errrrrrr, so Riddle was arrested for singing in the streets. He says he doesn’t see why people have to follow the rules 😱

Ah, Chenya’s in this dream!! He was in the cop car as well.

vdkabsjsvsusbkxks OH MY GOD Trey’s sounding like a concerned father 👨 Riddle spots Trey and gets all excited; the animation of the live 2D models also implies Riddle is grabbing and clinging to Trey’s arm.

Riddle and Chenya got arrested for starting a “surprise live” in front of the police station. (A “surprise live” is a spontaneous musical performance done in the streets or in public; they’re common in Japan.) They’re in a 2-man band! Riddle is the vocals and Chenya plays bass. It’s hard to keep members because Riddle keeps changing what kind of music they play. He says it’s boring to play the same thing every day.

Riddle doesn’t recognize everyone else so they reintroduce themselves. xhdvsjwbwkw Leona is smart enough to just call himself by first name; the last name might have given away that he’s royalty. (Typically, giving only your first name is a sign of familiarity or casualness in Japanese culture, but I don’t think that was the intention here.)

Riddle asks them to play with him in his band. H needs a guitarist, drummer, and keyboard player! Backup dancers and composers are also welcome, but even if not experienced.

Cater coming in clutch again… He volunteers to play guitar and changes into his Pop/Light Music Club uniform.

THIS iS SO WEIRD… Riddle calls Cater “Cay-kun” and “nii-san” 💀 Cater is freaked out by this too, even though he told Riddle earlier it was okay to call him “Cay-kun”.

Cater lies and says everyone else with him is skilled at playing too. For example, Leona is as good as a professional at drumming!! Leona starts to protest but Cater shuts him up. They need to do this to investigate 🎵 I continue to be baffled at how active Cater is in this dream and the last two. Holy hell, leave some crumbs for the rest of us…

DROPS TO KNEES AnD WEE PS OTL LEONA CHSnges tO HIS DIRM unIFORM AnD DAYS SoME CORNh shIT AbOUT HoW hEmMa SkILLED At DRUMS (lying bitch) THERe’A SpArKLE EFFDcts AnD EVERYTHING

Adeuce and Grim bring up their VDC experience (+ how Rook gave them 100 points in beauty)! Ortho volunteers his synthesizing abilities. He also can do lighting and video production. Sebek has been playing violin since he was little because he admires Malleus (erm, though Harveston Sledathon showed us Sebek sucks at playing it sooooo—). Silver says his farther showed him how to play the ocarina.

Riddle is so excited to have so many different people joining him. No matter how many times he invites Trey, he doesn’t join the band. Cater teases Trey and says his singing for their dorm’s events isn’t bad.

Riddle suddenly invites everyone to his house for tea?! This alarms Trey, but Riddle insists his mom will be happy to see him.

Trey worries the strawberry tart he brought with him from his own dream will get them in trouble. Cater and Grim offer to eat it in case of emergency!

L ch avajGqian SRBRk 😭 He says Riddle’s mom can’f be anywhere near as fierce as Malleus’s mom…

Leona starts to say something but doesn’t finish the thought.

Aaaand here we are at the Rosehearts residence!! Look at all the family photos. (This is not what the home looks like irl; there aren’t this many photographs, probably because Riddle implies that his parents don’t have a happy marriage 😢)

WhAT YhD fuKKKJKKk

Riddle’s mom speaks in a much higher pitched voice and sounds so caring. (We don’t get to see her; it’s just a voice since she’s speaking from the kitchen.) She calls him “Riddle-chan” and is happy he brought so many friends.

Chenya notices the strawberry tart Trey brought in. Grim tries to eat it but Riddle explodes on him, saying that it is HIS. Riddle’s mom is okay with this 💀 and Riddle confesses he has tarts twice a week, even when it is not his birthday.

Riddle goes to have his mom slice the tart up. As soon as he leaves, Trey releases a HUGE breath. He was so nervous about Mrs. Rosehearts losing her temper. Ortho senses his vitals shooting through the roof and recommends he sits down.

They start looking at the photos on the wall. Oh, Riddle’s dad is there too. Ace comments that the focus of the pictures if Riddle while the parents’ faces are blurry. (Is it because Riddle cannot imagine what his parents’ happy faces look like 😭) One of the pics is 6th grade sports day (an egg balancing on a spoon race), another is them swimming, Halloween, etc. Riddle was able to have a happy childhood with Chenya and Trey; their families hang out too.

Lore about family photos time?? Cater’s sisters and mom of course love to take them. Ace’s mom shows baby photos in the house. Sebek’s dad wants to take pictures more than his mom does. Deuce’s mom uses her phone. He has the framed photos in the closet in his rebellious phrase but wants to take them out when he wakes up. Lilia has an instant camera and uses it to take pictures once a year on Silver’s birthday. The Shroud parents have family photos at their work desks. Ortho regularly sends them photos and videos of school events.

Leona’s special cuz he’s a ✨ prince ✨ A newspaper has a photographer assigned to the royal family. He’d take pics without permission and the public relations officer had to confiscate them. Leona naturally hates family reunions that are arranged just to enhance their image. They’re not fun and people just pretend to be friendly.

dbjsbsjwjens Leona doesn’t really have photos of himself when he was young but his mom and Kifaji would take casual pics. He hates when he gets pestered for photos… like his Ceremonial Robes vignettes! Apparently they want the pictures to decorate the private dining room, Mr. Kingscholar’s hospital room, etc.

Ummmmmmmmmmm… Trey ain’t lookin’ so hot…

He says he has no memories of what is in these photographs. He + Chenya only played with Riddle for a month or two before the tart incident, and Riddle went to a private school whereas he + Chenya were public.

Riddle drops 5 sugar cubes into black tea, plus plenty of milk and honey. Leona makes a snide remark about how it’s rude for the host to not take the guest’s preferences into consideration to serve them OTL (you’re so right, king—)

Riddle offers everyone a chiffon cake and butter cookies his mom made. But… hm? That’s weird. They taste strangely hard and aren’t very sweet. Trey automatically identifies the ingredients; they must be the healthy ingredients Mrs. Rosehearts actually uses irl, because Riddle’s imagination is pulling from memories of his mom’s cooking.

Chenya can use magic but… Riddle can’t?! His dad is a novelist who writes stories with his son as the protagonist and his mom is a housewife full time. Neither can use magic.

sdlhbsdyoaeyai RIDDLE SHOUTED ME OUT/j He said that him being able to use magic is "as impossible as a raven being like a writing desk" 😇

Riddle becomes upset that they’re whispering to each other. They should speak up at his tea party!!

HUHHHHHHHH Riddle says be didn’t go to school?????? And he hates studying?! Deuce shouts that he uses to hate school and studying, but at NRC his dorm leader and the teachers taught him well. dhsvsjjww Riddle hates books without illustrations, but Sebek counters that there are books that will suit his taste.

Riddle doesn’t want to read??? His dad will tell him stories orally while Riddle plays with toys. And he works from home, so Riddle can ask him whatever he wants whenever he wants.

Cater brings up play croquet at their dorm.

Uuuh Riddle becomes fed up with the topic and demands it be changed. No problemo, cuz Ace was gonna talk off the cuff anyway. People start to consider leaving the band due to Riddle’s inability to read the room and his lack of ambition.

Riddle gets mad and starts raging. In seeps the darkness. We try to leave but Riddle prevents them. The entire room they’re in becomes like… locked? So they cannot leave.

A simple color palette swap makes this look like a scene straight out of a horror game.

A bunch of tea rushes in from another room and everyone works together to close it. They dream form change out of their tea-Soaked clothing.

They deduce that the room itself is the NPC and it must have been pretending to speak in Riddle’s parents’ voices since no one ever saw them. The room where Riddle’s dad works produces a flood of manuscripts, whereas the kitchen is a torrent of black tea. Suddenly, a hand emerges from the tea…! IT’S RIDDLE’S MOM TRYING To DrAg ThEM IN

They hear humming and Chenya appears! Leona threatens to turn the house to sand BUT HE GETS COLLARED 💀 Trey tries to overwrite the collar with his own UM but gets collared too. “Anyone that tries to escape the house will be beheaded”, according to the dreamer’s will.

It’s hard for them to locate Riddle; the space keeps twisting and turning and the magic formula governing it keeps rewriting itself.

ERRRRRR the black tea in the room is increasing even if nothing is gushing in from the kitchen anymore… This truly is one big horror movie now OTL

They try to climb onto/into stuff to keep afloat. Then we hear someone crying… Riddle? His tears are what’s filling up the room. He says, “I want to get out…” UM???? Of your living situation????? (Not me laughing around Leona saying in his most insincere voice “We’ll help you, so show yourself”…)

Leona compares Riddle to a rose with thorns, hurting people indiscriminately. (Okay, oddly poetic when you’re on the brink of death but sure, pop off)

Trey begs dream!Chenya to please show them the way to Riddle. The other card soldiers speak up and talk about how strong and admirable of a leader Riddle is. Finally, Chenya agrees to show them a shortcut.

ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

We cut away to Idia’s dream?? He is preparing hacks and such for the final battle against Malleus. But um?? Is struggling to reconnect to Ortho and the others to provide support.

Suddenly, knocking at his door! Idia wonders if it is S.T.Y.X. staff???? UH-OH IT’S MALLEUS AND HE DEMANDS TO BE LET IN (he realizes Idia is awake)

We don’t get to see what happens to Idia; we cut back to the second layer of Riddle’s dream. It’s a ruined rose garden…

Ortho realizes the connection to Idia was dropped…

Riddle is berating some mobs (rule 372: if a red mushroom grows, the roses must be white). He has dream!Adeuce send them off to a punishment room where they have to write down rules 300 to 500.

Dream!Cater overhears some mobs whining. He and dream!Trey remind everyone Riddle is always correct and they should salute and follow him. Riddle has an evil laugh… and then has a smile as he says his mother was right all along.

Seeing this, Trey wonders if this is the future that would have happened if he didn’t get “lucky” and overwrite Riddle’s magic that one time.

Oh???? Silver says his father told him magic originally was a miracle birthed from a strong desire in the heart. He says that it was, then, no mistake that Trey’s Paint the Roses trumped Riddle’s magic. It was Trey’s own strong desire to stop Riddle that allowed him to turn the rose bushes into playing cards.

Chenya reappears and offers to show us more. He sneaks over, pulls on Riddle’s cloak, and makes him fall over?! Which pisses him off, obviously.

Riddle blows away the bushes we’re using to hide and is shocked to see doubles of his students. Leona gets fed up and confronts Riddle about how this is all a dream.

LMAOvvvvvsnbabzgajavaowkw Dream!Trey tells Riddle to not listen to Leona… LEONA IS A CORRUPTING FORCE AND A BAD INFLUENCE 💀 I want to argue, but… he sort of has a point…

Riddle commands we be captured and taken to the punishment room too. The mobs start to praise Riddle for everything he has done for them, including (for some reason) lowering their tension and giving them a reason to live????

Leona tells Riddle’s it’s empty and meaningless to be cheered on by an illusion. But Riddle insists he is happy this way. THIS IS SAD, he’s equating fear, respect, and love… What the fuck does this say about his own feelings towards his mother??

A bunch of Heartslabyul students descend on them. Without help from Idia, we can’t defend!! We tear off into smaller groups and run into the rose maze.

This is fr so sick and twisted 💀 Riddle is starting to wake, but dream!Cater and Trey tell him not to think of painful things. If he wakes up, everyone will hate him and he will be alone again—and Riddle doesn’t want that, right? So Riddle agrees, no one should be able to leave the world of dreams.

Okay so group 1 is Yuu, Grim, Sebek, and Ace. Group 2 is Leona and Deuce. Group 3 is Silver and Cater. Group 4 is Trey and Ortho.

Their phones don’t work so they cannot text or call each other.

Rule 63 is this: those who upset the queen in her court will be chased in the rose maze by card soldiers. If you try to climb or jump over the trees, they will attack you. In Diasomnia, there are thorns under the drawbridge that have a similar protective function. Though now, Malleus has a protective barrier around the dorm.

They hear Deuce calling out to them and Ace is suspicious. He tells Sebek, Yuu, and Grim to be quiet and let him handle this.

Ace goes up to Deuce and “reveals” himself to be darkness. Deuce is relieved and reveals himself to be darkness too. Ace, pretending to be darkness, tries to convince dream!Deuce that the real Deuce and Leona went “this way”. Unfortunately, Sebek concludes Ace was actually darkness and intended to betray us. So Grim breathes fire, melting away the wax (?) Ace was using to disguise himself as darkness and he realizes their mistake.

dbsjbsjw THERE’S a SiLLY TRUMPET SfX TO suMMON THE oTHER CARD sOLDIERS

They beat back dream!Deuce, but now too many soldiers are swarming them. Sebek accepts the onus for not trusting Ace and jumping to conclusions; he uses Living Bolt to clear a way for Yuu, Ace, and Grim to run away while he stays behind.

Now let’s bounce to Leona and Deuce! dgshevkw Deuce thought he was with Ace, Yuu, and Grim… but nah, it’s Leona! Leona tried to run off by himself, like in the opposite direction of the loudmouth Sebek www Instead he’s stuck with Deuce…

LEONA syING hE’S GONNA SMSvk RIDDLE

Omg Vargas Camp canon to main story??? Deuce talks about a sports club camping trip to the mountains led by Vargas.

Ace shows up acting relieved he found Deuce and Leona. REALLY starts glazing Leona up too, talking about how strong he is and how he could easily overpower Riddle if they act as bait. Deuce becomes suspicious because Ace wouldn’t say stuff like that, even if he thought it. He demands to know what Ace’s dream was—but Ace cannot answer, so Deuce knows this must be darkness?

Leona tells Deuce he will turn some bushes to sand; he should sprint through them quickly.

nuuuUquUUYYR hE CALLS bdeuCE A GOOD BOyYYYTG OTL (like, loyal dog/follower of his dorm) AnD HE DIESNmF DiSLIKE THAT OTL

Leona claims to be a kind prince LOL uhhh he does The Plan and Deuce escapes! Leona is left behind to fight off dream!Ace and his heart suit goons.

Silver and Cater run into what I assume is dream!Trey. Cater wants he and Trey (who are familiar with the ever-changing maze) to split up and search for the first years, but dream!Trey wants to stick together.

Cater asks Silver if he ever gets tired of fighting the darkness. How does he do it?? Silver confesses he almost gave into it many times but his friends were always there to pull him out of it.

Oh, Cater’s dad has been transferred for his job less as of late, so now he is able to have more long term relationships. Cater also reveals he used to room with Trey prior to third year (where they have separate rooms).

Lore drop, Heartslabyul is the second oldest dorm.

Cater tells a story about how he pitched the idea of transferring to Scarabia with Trey, which dream!Trey agrees with. Turns out, it was a bait laid out by Cater to test of this Trey was real—and dream!Trey fell for it! He admits that he started to suspect Trey was fake when Trey wanted to stay together rather than split up. Trey, who is an older brother, would always prioritize the safety of the first years!

AHHHHHH they’re being overwhelmed and they’re running short on magic :<

Last group to check in with is Trey and Ortho…! Trey shares more about the plants in the garden. They’re magical and must be grown by hand. Some of the plants move if you command them to, bur some others are stubborn. In spring, they have a concert with the flowers. Ortho says the trees in Pomefiore are raised similarly to the Heartslabyul plants.

OKAY SO. Pomefiore is the oldest dorm, then Heartslabyul, THEN Diasomnia. This all but confirms a fan theory that the age of the dorms corresponds with each dorm's irl film inspiration release date. From oldest to youngest, that would be

Pomefiore- 1937

Heartslabyul- 1951

Diasomnia- 1959

Octavinelle- 1989

Scarabia- 1992

Savanaclaw- 1994

Ignihyde- 1997

Aaaaah here comes the dream!Cater. He claims he escaped alone.

Trey discusses Cater’s magic and how it’s like casting 2-3 spells at once since Cater has to use magic to manipulate each clone. Thus, the power level of Cater and his clones goes down. Meanwhile Riddle’s UM can impact multiple people at once and he can spellcast quickly.

HUUUUH Cater applied to duel Riddle not too long before his third year? Wait no, that’s a lie Trey came up with to entrap dream!Cater! Trey knew it must be a fake because he doesn’t see Cater as the kind of guy to leave others behind and escape to safety on his own.

Trey tells Ortho to escape without him…!

That leaves us with only Adeuce, Ortho, Grim, and Yuu able to escape. They regroup and find their captured allies tied to rose trees. Trey begs Riddle to wake up.

Deuce suggests to use his UM to defeat Riddle, and Ortho volunteers to be Deuce’s shield (~10 seconds) while he aims, since Riddle’s UM does not work on Ortho.

Rare moment of development for Yuu??? They have dialogue options and can express that they feel useless, constantly being protected and not able to help.

Ortho asks us to protect Idia’s tablet. And Ace is entrusted to protect Yuu and Grim!

dbjsnsksks Deuce’s plan doesn’t really work out. Riddle starts spamming spells that throw Ortho off; Deuce can’t get his aim quite right.

Grim tries to scamper out to fight but Ace holds him back. Ace becomes increasingly frustrated that he keeps being protected by others (Sebek, Deuce, Ortho) and can’t do anything to help.

AhHHHHHH Ace has his own little depression flashback moment 🥺 calling himself pathetic, lame, useless… unable to save anyone at all. But then words start coming to his head…!! He disrupts Riddle just as he’s able to collar Deuce!

“I’ll take your best/most precious treasure. Joker Snatch…!”

HE COLLARS RIDDLE :000 Deuce uses his UM and shovk Riddle awake… I can’t believe the class 2E boys both got physically beaten into submission 💀

WOW Cater NYOOMS to Riddle and hugs him?!.?:’snwkgelek

Sebek offers to carry Ortho, but Ortho is super heavy.

UHHHH here comes the darkness… Adeuce rush over to help Riddle, even though he commands them to go to someplace safe. (SEBEK CALLS ADEUCE BY THEIR NAMES AND NOT "HUMANS"!!!) Riddle commands Trey and Cater to remove Adeuce and they do as he says; we of course follow after Riddle as he sinks.

Riddle has his moment squaring off against his Phantom. It's quite interesting; his darkness exclaims that he must hang onto the seat because he has nothing else. Everyone loathes him, so he has to do everything he can to cling to power. Riddle calls himself out for the tyrant that he is and expels that darkness.

Rule 1 of the Queen of Hearts: to stay where you are, you must run with all of your might. From now on, Riddle says he will do just that.

He resurfaces in his home and is approached by his mother, who claims he fell asleep while reading about crocodiles in the Nile River? (Wh-Why is the Nile River canon in Twst when that’s a real world location that should not exist in this one...)

Riddle summons his magic and collars his mother, making her melt away into nothing. He gets a really cool line...! "I refuse to stand in front of a door that won't open anymore. Even if the opening is as narrow as a keyhole, I will pry this door open with my own hand and move forward. I will walk forward, on my own path!"

THIS IS REALLY FASCINATING BECAUSE ALL THE WAY BACK IN THE EPISODE OF HEARTSLABYUL MANGA... THEY USED A DOOR AND KEYHOLE IMAGERY TO DEPICT RIDDLE COMING OUT OF HIS OB

Right as Riddle regains his senses, he crashes through the floor of his dream and... somehow lands where Idia is?! He's busy programming.

There seems to he… maybe a reference to Idia’s Bloom Broom vignettes??? Idia’s best subject is Summoning and he seems to have summoned Riddle to him? And Riddle says that he has read Idia’s research papers before; this was also mentioned in said vignettes (Riddle expresses an interest in his papers).

Idia tells Riddle that the Final Boss, Malleus Draconia, is waiting on the other side of his bedroom door...!

THAT'S IT, THAT'S WHERE WE LEAVE OFF???????? WE'RE DEFINITELY NEARING THE END, BOYS...

Okay, so first major thought I had!! Riddle’s dream confirms many of the thoughts I have ha about Trey and his feelings toward Mrs. Rosehearts and his own role in Riddle’s trauma. I have legitimately NEVER heard Trey sounding this panicked or scared, not even when Riddle was about to OB. Trey hurriedly rushes to put away the strawberry tart out of fear, just waiting for Mrs. Rosehearts to start shouting hysterically at him. Ortho even comments about Trey’s vitals rocketing. This definitely reads to me as Trey being traumatized by that whole incident 💦

BIG BRo CATER CONTINUES… Him making up the lie about Leona being a great drummer was so dumb but it worked!! And then he cares so much about Riddle when he finally wakes… would never run off on his own and abandon his friends… 😭 HNNNNGH CATERRRRrrRRRRR WhEN i CmgEFt MY gaNDS ON YOUUUUUuUUU

And holy cow, there was SO much symbolism in Riddle’s dream 😳 dream!Mrs.Rosehearts’s sweets looking good but is insincere and tasting terrible, as opposed to Trey’s tart which looks terrible from the rough travel but is made with care and tastes good… Riddle wishing for a happy family life so his house is crammed with photos… parents that are always emotionally available for him… not having the pressure of being a mage or having a legacy to live up to… the house being a place that locks them inside (because it might feel like a prison to Riddle)... Not just symbolism for Riddle's desires too, but also tons of Alice in Wonderland references!! ASFIHBAYOSFPADFIA I'D WASTE SPACE IN THIS POST LISTING THEM ALL OFF, BUT JUST KNOW THEY'RE THERE AND THEY WERE AMAZING FOR ME TO EAT UP AS AN ALICE IN WONDERLAND STAN

It’s interesting how Chenya here serves as sort of a helpful NPC to us, similar to Kifaji. His actions are a lot more dubious here; he’s not strictly good and spends most of the dream siding with Riddle. Chenya only swaps sides when we convince him. I wonder if he, too, represents some self-aware part of Riddle??? Since Riddle was later shown trying to maintain the dream world even when he learned it was fake.

They tried to recapture the glory of book 6 by having the characters split up. I'm not sure if it worked as well (since each was kind of short and repeated a lot of the same lore about the Heartslabyul rose bushes), but it served its purpose. The best part was definitely how the Heartlabyul students used what they knew of each other to figure out the fakes. It's a very effective but subtle way to show how they've become more familiar with one another. I feel like this update overall was very lore-heavy. We learned new stuff about the dorms' ages, their protective measures, their plants, etc.

It was interesting to have a rare moment of character development for Yuu? They barely get anything in way of characterization, so that surprised me. I wasn't expecting ACE to get his whole Depression Arc in the middle of Riddle's dream either--but I guess whining hard enough works, because he finally FINALLY got his UM!! Still not sure how it works yet. It seems to let him steal/borrow or copy other's UM??? But Sebek describes it as "it seemed like you and Riddle swapped magic". We have to wait for more details to drop in a later update. Can't say I like the name for his UM though; it makes me think of him stealing a clown's wig. ASDULBIADBSPSAB So proud of Ace; with this, we now have the UMs and chants for every one of the NRC students!

Overall, Riddle really surprised me. His dream ended up being roughly THREE TIMES LONGER than the average dream 💀 Not sure if I like that pacing, but at least this was fun to dissect. I like that they seem to have put extra effort into this portion, especially since the game is called Twisted Wonderland. It feels like a homage to the original story, especially since that novel ended with Alice waking up. I loved that Riddle has an inner child that he represses, but that even his desires are "held back" by knowledge he doesn't have... like his parents' happy faces or what his mom's homemade baked goods might taste like. It made me feel for him. ASDIUBASDASBDBPASIqryrqp I kind of feel like a proud parent reading his cool line about finding his own path at the end. It's very different than himself earlier in the dream, ignoring difficult topics and actively denying reality, where he fears he will be left sad and alone OTL Ndhdiwjekw Not sure if I care for his actual childish behavior though… Slightly grating to me.

THE HORROR STYLE PRESENTATION WITH MALLEUS REALLY UNNERVED ME. I would shit bricks if I was Idia too, dang... I'm on the edge of my seat for the next installment. S-Surely book 7 will have to wrap up soon, right? RIGHT?????

488 notes · View notes

shiftthemoon · 4 months ago

Text

50 WAYS YOUR LOVER SAYS, "je t'adore, mon amour"

✦ read this and let it be your reminder: love exists for you, too.

before you keep scrolling, let’s play a little game. close your eyes and place your phone down gently—it’ll still be here when you come back. take a deep breath and step into the life waiting for you. imagine them—your lover—holding your hand, leaving little kisses on your forehead, doing all the quiet, beautiful things that whisper “i love you” in ways words never could. picture it vividly, feel it in your chest.

you’re closer than you think. let these words carry you closer still. this is what love feels like when it’s made just for you.

✸ “whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

— emily brontë, wuthering heights

1. they trace constellations on your back with their fingertips until you fall asleep, whispering the names of stars like they were named just for you.

2. every morning, they memorize the exact shade of your eyes as sunlight touches them for the first time.

3. when they see a flower, they always pick the one that reminds them of you.

4. they hum songs they wrote in their head about you, forgetting the rest of the world even exists.

5. their hands hold yours like they’re anchoring themselves to the only thing that’s real.

6. they remember how you like your tea or coffee, down to the exact second it needs to steep.

7. they’ll start reading your favorite book, even if they can’t make sense of the metaphors, just to understand what makes your soul hum.

8. they run baths for you after hard days, scattering petals and lighting candles like it’s a ritual for a deity.

9. they defend your name in rooms you’ve never stepped foot in, making sure the world knows how sacred you are.

10. every time they kiss your forehead, they close their eyes, like they’re making a wish.

11. they memorize the cadence of your voice, the way it lilts when you’re excited or drifts when you’re tired.

12. they notice the tiny details no one else sees—the way your nose wrinkles when you think or how your foot taps to an invisible rhythm.

13. when you feel invisible, they find a way to make you shine.

14. they make plans for the future and always say “we” instead of “I.”

15. they look at you like they’ve just found a piece of eternity tucked away in the mundane.

16. they remember the things you’ve forgotten—like where you put your favorite sweater or what your dream was three weeks ago.

17. they’ve written your name in the margins of their notebooks, just to feel closer to you when you’re not around.

18. they tuck blankets around you when you fall asleep on the couch, careful not to wake you.

19. they call you by nicknames you didn’t even know you needed, sweet and soft like poetry only they can write.

20. they let you win arguments sometimes, just because giving you a kiss after is more satisfying than proving their point.

21. when they laugh, it sounds like music only you get to hear.

22. they’ve memorized the way you like your pillow fluffed and always fix it before you lay down.

23. when you’re sad, they remind you of all the reasons the universe is lucky to hold you.

24. they press their forehead against yours, quiet and gentle, like they’re saying “i’m here” without words.

25. they notice the little ways you show love—your touch, your words, your silences—and treasure each one.

26. they’ve started carrying your favorite snack in their bag, just in case you need it.

27. they touch the small of your back as if grounding you to this moment, this place, this love.

28. they dream of you when they’re awake, turning every thought into a love letter.

29. they’ve memorized the rhythm of your heartbeat and swear it’s their favorite song.

30. they walk on the outside of the sidewalk, shielding you from passing cars like you’re made of glass.

31. they press kisses to your wrist, your temple, your shoulder—anywhere their lips can reach.

32. when they see something beautiful, their first thought is to share it with you.

33. they hold space for your silence, knowing it’s just as important as your words.

34. they learn your love language, even if it feels foreign to them, and speak it fluently.

35. they let you wear their clothes, claiming you make them look better anyway. (you do!)

36. they find ways to bring your name into conversations, just to say it out loud.

37. they never forget the sound of your laugh, even when the world gets too loud.

38. they hold your face like it’s the answer to every question they’ve ever asked.

39. they light candles during thunderstorms because they know the flicker calms you.

40. they kiss your scars and call them the roadmap to your soul.

41. they tell you their secrets, the ones even they are scared of, because they trust you with their heart.

42. they leave notes in your bag, on your mirror, in your books—little pieces of love tucked away for you to find later.

43. they say your name like it’s their favorite word.

44. they teach themselves your favorite song on a musical instrument, even if they don’t know how to play.

45. they dance with you in the kitchen.

46. they stay up late just to talk to you about the things that matter to you.

47. they carve your initials into the soft bark of their heart, promising to carry you with them always.

48. they hold your hand in crowded spaces, making sure you feel safe in the chaos.

49. they memorize the way you breathe when you’re asleep, every inhale a symphony.

50. they love you not just in the grand gestures, but in the quiet, everyday moments—the ones where love doesn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

𖦹࣪˖ shift with the faith that someone, somewhere, is ‘waiting’ to love you this fiercely. you are worth every ounce of it. ׄ ִֶָ.

#shifting #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #loassumption #shifting tips #shifting antis dni #shifting script #law of assumption #shifting motivation #shifting blog #shifting realities #reality shift #shifting diary

665 notes · View notes

iamnotoriginalphil · 6 months ago

Text

Shadows and Light (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Agatha shouldn't want you. But she does. She wants you so much. If only she'd let herself have you.

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Alcohol, self loathing, mentions of blood, angst, one bed trope, fuck you everyone lives

She couldn’t believed she’d allowed this to happen. It was inconceivable, even more so because she hadn’t noticed it happening. It had crept up on her.

You, with your wide eyes and easy smile, hair that shone, laughter that was like a bell ringing, you were everything she was not. Soft and sweet and nice. Kind. It would be disgusting if you hadn’t managed to charm her the way you charmed the rest of them.

Sitting back in her chair, nursing a glass of wine, she watched as you spun in the firelight. Dancing around the bonfire, bare feet kicking up leaves, you were a picture to watch. You were signing along, your voice clear and bright, melding with the other voices of the coven. You grasped both of Billy’s hands in yours, spinning with him in the flickering light.

The way he laughed was full of delight. You were grinning, tugging him closer as you sang, as free as she’d ever seen you. The weight had lifted and you were easier. Your head tipped back as you drank in the moonlight up above and she had to do her best not to reach out and sink her teeth into the long column of your neck. Your skirt twirled around your calves, flashes of skin in the firelight making her fingers clench.

You fell away from Billy, arms raising as you spun, such a pretty picture in the moonlight. Lilia’s arm curled around your waist, snatching you up in the dance and you went willingly. You were always so easy, so happy to give in to the whims of others, to fulfill their desires.

She wondered what would happen is she whispered her desires into your ear.

She could just imagine the look of disgust that would pass over your delicate features. The way you’d flinch back and begin to avoid her. The whispers she’d overhear about how there was something wrong with her. The confirmation she was everything anyone had ever called her.

She lent back, draining the last of her wine as she watched you, spinning and laughing and so free. So comfortable in your own body. So sure of yourself. Your head turned and even in the shadows, you found her. You smiled, so big and bright and beautiful and her heart squeezed in her chest like you’d reached through her ribcage and grasped it in your bare hand.

It was fucking pathetic.

��If you stare any harder you might set her on fire.”

She didn’t bother turning to look as Rio settled into the chair positioned beside hers. You’d been sitting in it earlier, rambling on about your plan for the garden you’d be planting this week. The cadence of your voice had been soothing after the day she’d had. There was something about it that always helped ground her back into the present, rather than plans spiralling out of control.

“I can understand your fascination,” Rio continued, “it’s not often we meet a witch so saccharine. And it’s genuine. When was the last time you met someone with no facade?”

“Everyone has facades,” she replied, automatic, uncaring if it was true or not.

“Not her.”

Rio tipped her beer towards you, drawing Agatha’s gaze back to you. Your hand was on Jen’s, twirling her, your arm curling around her waist as you did a clumsy waltz around the fire, out of time with the music and uncaring.

“If we teamed up I’m sure we could ruin her,” Rio said, voice a purr, “tear her apart, find out what makes her tick, make it so no one can put Humpty together again.”

“Stop it,” she said, not caring if her harsh voice gave away more than she usually would. There was no point pretending around Rio.

“We’d have so much fun playing with her,” she said, putting thoughts in Agatha’s mind of what she could do with you.

“Don’t,” she said, firmer, refusing to let her continue.

“Well, sweetheart, if you want to play with her, you might want to get a wriggle on or someone else will get there first.”

Rio dragged her gaze over to you significantly. Her head snapped up. Your fingers had wound with Jen’s, no longer dancing but swaying as you whispered together. Your face was so open and you were dazzling. It was incomprehensible that anyone could survive under that gaze without falling for you.

No wonder she’d had no chance.

The sharp jab of jealousy was familiar, tart and metallic in her mouth. She wanted to stop watching, didn’t want to see you fall under someone else’s spell, but feeling the inevitability of it. There was no possibility you were going to find joy in the darkness she knew she was made up of. But she couldn’t look away. She could never look away from you.

She sat with her churning gut, stewing in it. Normally, if this was someone else, she’d do something to lash out, to bring attention to back to herself, to remind everyone of her existence. Under your sunshine, she found herself shrinking back. It was infuriating and left her feeling as if she was on the back foot, unbalanced and unsure of herself. It was a new, if familiar, feeling and she hated it.

You fell into the grass beside Alice, head coming to rest on her shoulder. She passed you the bottle of beer she’d been drinking from, letting you sate your thirst. With your free hand you were pointing up at the stars, pointing something out in the night sky to her.

When Rio dropped down beside you, her jaw clenched.

She watched, a line drawn taut, as Rio’s fingers gently wound themselves through the ends of your hair. Your head rolled towards her, your smile stretching just a bit. With sure fingers, you gently tugged on the pocket of her jacket. Angling your body, you shifted to lean against Alice as your feet rested against Rio’s thigh.

Agatha felt like she was burning.

Lilia dropped down in your huddle and you automatically reached out, hand twining with hers. She watched the soft sigh that parted your lips, the way you relaxed, your eyes fluttering shut. She ached to be in the pile with you, to feel your muscles soften along the lines of her body, your weight sinking into her. She wanted to drag you away, to keep you all to herself, but even in the haze of her own anger she knew you wouldn’t appreciate it. That you liked being one part of a bigger whole. That you thrived with a coven. That you needed something she hadn’t let herself want for a very long time.

She squeezed her eyes closed, tipping her head upwards, taking a long slow breath in.

She didn’t open them again someone dropped into the seat beside her. Squinting them open, she’d expected Rio back. Instead, your soft smile greeted her, knees pulled up, chin resting on them as you tilted towards her.

“Tonight’s been good,” you sweet voice said, “have you enjoyed yourself, Aggie?”

“Aggie?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you not like it?” Your eyes widened and she saw the worry swimming in them, “sorry, I don’t have to-“

“It’s fine,” she interrupted, waving her hand. On your lips, the nickname was spun sugar, her heart beating double time.

“Have you though?” you asked, “enjoyed yourself?”

You reached out, your finger gently curling around a strand of her hair. Your lips parted and you looked at her from under lowered lashes, such hope in your face.

“You sure know how to throw a party,” she said, the way you were looking at her making up for the churning in her stomach.

The pleased tilt to your chin and the brightening of your eyes had her feeling like a live wire. You lent closer, the arm of the chair digging into your body as if you wanted to be close the distance between the two of you. She wondered if the arms weren’t present if you’d climb into her lap. She liked the thought of it.

“Are you going to stay tonight? Only it’s late and if you don’t want to drive you can. Lilia and Jen have already said they will and Billy…” You glanced back towards your house, “he passed out on the couch about an hour ago. I texted Eddie to let him know.”

“Not Rio or Alice?” she asked, the corner of her lips pulling up.

“Alice drove Shannon home and Rio did that thing where she just kind of disappears. If you don’t want to stay that’s okay but there’s space for you,” you said, fingers weaving together like you were anxious, like her answer mattered to you.

She reached out, placing her hand over yours, stopping you from twisting them to the point of breaking.

“I’ll stay,” she said.

You lit up like a goddess damned Christmas tree. Her heart stuttered, stumbling over itself and she cursed the day she’d met you. This was getting ridiculous. She wasn’t some mooney eyed teenager with a crush. She was Agatha Harkness; Witch Killer. You were nothing. No one.

It was amazing how she’d grown so used to lying to herself.

“Okay, but I only have one guest room. So we’re all going to have to share with someone. Do you have a preference?” you asked, rushing over the words.

She definitely had a preference.

“Will any of you be comfortable enough to be so vulnerable around me?” she asked.

“If you kill me in my sleep I’ll haunt you,” you said, “and I can be very annoying. You’ll never get a moment of peace again.”

She would happily spend eternity haunted by you. She had to get a grip. This was just unseemly.

“Then I suppose you know my preference,” she said.

She watched you stand up, bare toes digging into the grass. You held a hand out to her. She stared blankly.

“You take it,” you said, sounding amused.

She took it.

Bare skin brushing together, sending electricity running over her body from her palm. Staring for a moment, she couldn’t quite comprehend the way it looked, your fingers and hers knotted together. You tugged her out of her seat, breaking the moment of confusion from her brain. She was ready for you to pull away, but all you did was lead her back towards the house, hands swinging through the air. Why did it feel like the world had shrunk to that tiny point of contact?

“Are you guys good to share?” you asked as you entered the kitchen.

“We have to share a bed?” Jen asked.

You let go of Agatha’s hand and she had to bite back the disappointment. Your own arm slid around Jen’s waist, leaning into her as you blinked up at her. Lilia was staring at her, an assessing look on her face. Agatha looked back, not sure what she was seeing.

“There’s only two bed so unless you want to sleep on the floor, it’s you and Lilia, and me and Agatha,” you said.

“Good luck with that,” Jen said.

“You know, one day, and I’m not saying it’ll be today, but one day you’re going to have to admit you actually like her,” you said, “we’re a coven, a sisterhood. We belong together and to one another. Even Agatha.”

You looked over to her and she felt frozen in place. She wasn’t used to people talking about her that way. Like she was one of the team.

“Yes, well, if the feeling portion of the night is done, I wouldn’t mind retiring for the night,” she said, placing her empty wine glass down on the counter, trying to move past the rough squeezing in her chest.

“Course,” you said, “c’mon.”

You practically skipped out of the room. Billy was on the couch in your living room, his soft snores surprisingly endearing. Someone had laid a blanket over him. She could guess who. She hated that it made her feel something squishy in her chest.

“Locked the door,” Lilia said, pausing on the stairs.

“Yeah, it’s locked,” you said over your shoulder to her, “don’t worry.”

Lilia shook her head, seemingly coming back to the moment.

At the top of the stairs, you pointed to the door of the guest bedroom and the bathroom. And then the door to your bedroom was closing and she was locked in with you. You didn’t even stop to consider her, moving around the room like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” you said, “I have stuff if you don’t want to sleep in your clothes.”

She took the offered clothes, your hand brushing over hers. The door to the ensuite closed and she let out a long breath. She forced herself to get a grip over herself. Dragging the clothes over her body, she looked at herself in the mirror. It would do for sleep, but she hardly wanted anyone seeing her like this. They were soft and your perfume clung to the material and it was like being wrapped in your arms. No one should be able to see the expression on her face.

“Don’t worry, you look great. Just like always.”

She startled, not having heard you exit the bathroom. In your tank top and shorts, she was having difficulty looking at you straight on. If she did, she knew it would only end in trouble. Self control wasn’t one of her strong suits. Especially around you.

“If you’re not comfortable in them, I guess I can find something else for you to wear, but I’m not sure I really have anything that’s more to your taste,” you said, your worry palpable.

“It’s fine,” she said.

“Okay.”

You paused in front of her, fingers brushing over the back of her hands, featherlight and so soft. Her shoulders relaxed and she looked down at you properly. You were so small, so delicate, a harsh wind would snap you in half. In her hands, you’d have no chance.

Pushing up onto your toes, your fingers brushed over her throat and she had to physically stop herself from shivering. You dropped back down, smiling up at her like she’d made all your dreams come true.

“Left or right side?” you asked.

In the dark, it was so much worse. You seemed to have no issue curling up beside her. Your hand had reached blindly through the dark, fingers tangling with hers, a soft sigh on your lips when you found her. Your face was turned towards her, eyes closed, eyelashes resting on your cheeks. She found herself staring, not able to stop herself, tracing your features with her eyes, yearning to reach out and touch.

She couldn’t trust herself around you.

Muscles clenched, she tried to stay vigilant through the night, refusing to let herself relax. The moment she did, she was certain she would do something to you, something beyond her control, something to ruin you. Only, after some time, once she was certain you were asleep, you rolled over, face pressing into her shoulder, curling into her body. It was what she’d been hoping for, and yet it set off all kinds of fight or flight responses in her body.

She turned her head away from you, closing her eyes, doing her best not to feel the warmth of you against her, the ghost of your breath on her skin, your hand in hers. You pressed closer, seeking out her warmth. It all ached so much.

She tore her hand from yours, rolling over, refusing to give in. She knew she couldn’t listen to that voice inside of her, the one telling her to take what she wanted. Every time she did, someone got hurt and she wasn’t going to let it hurt you.

Your arm curled around her waist, bringing your body closer, aligning yourself with her. She froze. Mumbling something, your lips brushed the skin of her neck, tightening your arm around her. You threw your leg over her, keeping her in your embrace, refusing to let her go even as she tried to wriggle away.

“Sleep, Aggie,” you mumbled, “it’s bedtime.”

She stilled again. You let out a contented hum, burying your face against her. You softened again, muscles relaxing. She squeezed her eyes shut, winding her fingers through yours, holding them to her stomach. Maybe letting herself have this for one night wouldn’t be so bad. She could stop again in the morning and everything would be okay.

One night. She’d give herself one night. And then she’d let you go.

Cracking her eyes open in the morning light, she groaned. She buried her face in the soft hair in front of her, breathing in the floral perfume that she knew clung to your skin. You pushed back against her, melting into the mattress. Her fingers brushed over the soft skin of your stomach. The little noise you made was addictive enough that she did it again.

“Aggie,” you sighed, soft and sweet and delicious.

First thing in the morning, your voice was deeper, lower, a little raspy. She wanted to luxuriate in it, make you speak soliloquies just to hear it. Her arms tightened around you, practically crushing you to her.

“Agatha,” you murmured, almost a moan. She liked that.

If her fingers slipped down, found the heat between your legs, she would be able to hear you moan properly. If she tasted you, she could get you to moan so loudly it would be burned into her brain. If she fucked you deeply into the mattress she could make it so you never stopped moaning.

She couldn’t do any of that.

Dragging her arms from around you, she ignored the chill that went through her. She’d had her one night. She’d slept deeply and well, and now it was time to return to real life.

She lay back, considering getting up, slipping out of the bed and getting dressed and finding coffee. Your ceiling stared back at her, mocking her as she lay in indecision in your bed. The covers tugged and she was reminded of how close you still were, curled up in sleep, soft and vulnerable. Perfect for digging her nails in and shaping you how she wanted.

Only she wanted you exactly how you were. She wanted you soft and gentle and vulnerable. She wanted you with your open heart and wide eyes and trusting nature. She wanted every smile, every flutter of eyelashes, every giggle. She was greedy and she knew she hungered for something she would never have, a hunger she wasn’t sure she could ever satiate. She was every dark thought and every monster, and she would corrupt you, ruin you, rot you from the inside out.

And yet she wanted with such wild abandon she couldn’t stop.

She pushed up, sitting, ready to swing her legs out of the bed and retreat before she did something she regretted. Rio was right. All she brought was destruction and she couldn’t destroy you. It would destroy her.

Warm fingers curled around her wrist and she froze. You were blinking up at her, wide eyes still soft with sleep but the corners of your lips were pulled down. She was already ruining you.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

Your other hand rubbed at your eyes, wiping the sleep from them. Her heart gave an extra hard beat, almost slamming in her chest.

“Were you going to slip out without saying goodbye?” you asked when she didn’t answer, sounding lost and hurt and she hated herself in that moment more than she ever had before.

You were still lying back, hair spread over the pillow, looking perfect for her to ruin. Her lips could paint such pretty pictures on your skin. She could make those wide eyes glaze over as you moaned her name. You would be hers if she let herself have you.

“You were.” You pouted, “you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

You sat up and she had to drag her gaze away from the way the neckline of your tank top dipped, showing swathes of skin she wanted to bury herself in. Turning her head away, she tried not to show the way she felt heat creeping up her cheeks.

Because she was looking away, she had no chance to avoid it when you swung one leg over her and deposited yourself in her lap.

“That’s not very nice, Aggie. I bet you weren’t even going to leave a note,” you said.

Your hands were on her shoulders, winding into her hair, tugging her closer and all she could think of was how nice the weight of you in her lap felt. Her fingers clenched in the sheets, keeping from touching you. She was worried if she started then she’d never stop.

You weren’t making this easy on her.

You were still liquid warmth from sleep, pressing closer, those wide eyes eating her alive. You were still pouting and you were so close and all she wanted to do was close the distance and claim you. To let your warmth consume her until she was on fire.

“That’s so mean,” you said, fingertips dragging over her cheekbones, brushing the pulse in her neck, pushing just under the neckline of the shirt she’d borrowed.

“I am mean,” she said, forcing the words past her lips.

“No you’re not.” You shook your head, hair flying around your face, “you pretend to be but you’re not really.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, not able to meet your eye.

Your fingers gripped her hair, right at the roots, fists clenching until it pulled. She looked up into your face, finding something fierce there. It looked wrong on your face and yet so very right.

“I do. I do know. You pretend you’re this big scary monster who snatches children in the night but you’re not. You’re busy protecting a gooey centre that could break so easily.” Your fingers tightened in her hair. She hissed from the pain, “you care, Agatha Harkness. You care so much sometimes I think it scares you.”

“I don’t-“

You cut her off before she could say more than that.

“I see you, Aggie. Every part of you. And you’re wonderful.”

Your lips pressed to hers, rough and insistent, not the gentle brush she’d always imagined. You pressed closer, knees digging into her as they held her in place, fingers in her hair tugging and pulling. She was a live wire, caught under you, a hurricane going through her because of you. You pressed closer, nipping at her lip.

When she kissed you back, you sighed, melting against her. How could she not kiss you back, when you made such a pleased noise in the back of your throat as she did? You were a force of nature and she was merely a speck, destined to bow to you in all your might. Her hands grasped your hips, keeping you there with her, feeling how warm your skin was through the thin cotton of your shorts.

She fell back, dragging you with her, your lips finding their home on her skin. Wet, open mouthed kisses down the column of her neck turned her head fuzzy. She could drown in you, in the tsunami of her feelings for you, in the downpour of desperation she felt. Your tongue tasted her skin and you moaned, almost too quiet to be heard, muffled in her skin.

Her fingers pushed up past your shirt, seeking out the warm skin. There was much of it, swathes of it, all of it unexplored by her touch. An explorer with the sweetest of expeditions before her. You pressed closer, shivering, nose skimming along her jaw.

“Aggie,” you whispered, practically a whimper, pressing down on her.

Her hands kept creeping higher, before she dragged her nails down again. Your teeth nipped at her skin and the surprised laugh that came from her jolted her out of the moment.

“Stop,” she said, ripping her hands from your body, “I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

You sat up and a frustrated look passed over your face. She stayed reclined on the pillows, every inch of her warring with her self control. Your hair was mussed, lips kiss stung, eyes bright. All she wanted was to ravage you, to paint her name behind your ribs and burn herself into your skin. You were a step away from being indecent.

“I see the way you look at me. I know how you feel about it me. It throbs through you,” you said, fingertips on her jaw, on her cheeks over her nose, “it’s a living heartbeat, your want for me.”

“Stop.”

Her fingers curled around your wrists, so delicate her hands became handcuffs easily. She dragged your hands from her, looking up, her chest caving in. You lent down, eyes seeking her out, refusing to let her wriggle out of this moment with her.

“I want you so much it’s like I’m being eaten alive,” you whispered, your hair brushing her skin, your eyes imploring, your lips sweets as they spilled saccharine secrets.

“I can’t,” she said again.

“Why not?” you asked and tears gathered in your eyes like jewels.

“I destroy everything I touch,” she said, her thumb brushing away a glittering tear before it could fall. Another fell in its place.

“No, Aggie,” you moaned, “you don’t destroy. You make. You made us. We were just a group of people and you made us into a coven.”

“I don’t know what it means to have a coven,” she said, looking away.

“You do.” Your forehead pressed against hers, eyes squeezed closed, breath hitching, “you yearn for one so fiercely it burns.”

“Stop doing that,” she said.

The hands still curled around your wrists shoved you away. You fell back, a mess of hair and tears and bare skin and she’d never wanted to tear you apart but you had cracked open her chest and all she could think about was getting her claws deep into your flesh until she was part of you. She refused to see she already was.

“Stop reading me,” she snapped.

“You shout.” You sniffled, “you’re so loud around me I can’t help it.”

She turned away, passing her hand over her face, surprised when it came away wet. She didn’t stop you as you curled your arms around her waist, face buried between her shoulder blades.

“Please, Aggie. Don’t deny yourself this. I’m yours, willingly and completely. You could never destroy me. You’d never let yourself,” you said, muffled in her shirt. She could feel your lips move with every word.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” she said.

“I don’t need to. I only need to know what you will do. And I trust you,” you whispered.

She turned, dislodging you. Your fingers twisted in your lap and she wanted to rip them from your body and she wanted to suck on them and she wanted to feel them run all over her body. You blinked and your lips parted and you were the picture of innocence. How could she mar you? How could she let herself ruin your perfection?

“You shouldn’t,” she said.

“You won’t break me by holding on too tight. I want you to hold on tight. Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts. You don’t understand what it’s like. How I crave you,” you said, “sometimes I think I can only breathe when you’re around. That I’m holding my breath until I see you again.”

“You can’t mean that,” she said, her heart eviscerated at your words.

“I do.” Your hands clutched hers, “I do.”

You were looking at her, such wide eyes, swimming with emotion and she remembered the way you kissed her. Not soft and gentle and safe, but like you would die if you stopped. The desperation was all yours. You held on and refused to let go. Your teeth sunk in. You fought dirty for what you wanted.

“Please, Aggie,” you whispered, fingertips on her cheek again, catching her tears, gaze slipped down to her lips, “let me have you.”

Who needed self control?

She launched herself at you, sending you sprawling over the mattress. The kiss was bruising, demanding, taking ruthlessly. She was thrown on her back, you climbing on top again, fingernails dragging over her skin. Your knees dug in, poking into her soft vulnerable places. You didn’t give her time to breathe, suffocating her with your kisses. But what a delicious way to go.

“Oi.”

A fist slammed into the bedroom door. You startled, sitting up, looking beautifully mussed. She dragged her nails up your thighs and she felt you quiver.

“Are you still alive in there?” Jen called through the door.

“Yeah,” you called, breathless and squirming above her.

“Good.”

The door was pushed open, two nosey witched peering in. Your fingers wrapped themselves in Agatha’s hair, mouth falling open before it snapped shut.

“We, uh…” You turned your eyes down to her. She ran her fingers over the skin of your thigh. Your eyelashes fluttered.

“Oh god,” Jen said.

“You should have-“ Lilia said before cutting off without finishing the sentence.

“Locked the door,” you murmured, eyes squeezing shut.

Your teeth sunk into your lower lip. She yearned to do that herself, to feel the thin skin split, your blood coating her tongue. But then your shoulders were shaking and she realised you were trying not to laugh. You tipped, falling off her, burying your face in the pillow to stifle it as best you could. She glowed, the sound of your giggles pure sunshine running through her veins. She reached a hand out, stroking over your hair.

“No wonder you wanted to share beds,” Jen said, “you were having fun while I spent the night being kicked by Lilia.”

“Next time I’ll take Lilia and you can have Agatha,” you said, emerging, bright and joyful, the tears gone. No, now you were practically shining.

“I’m good,” she replied.

You climbed out of the bed and Agatha had to clench her fingers to keep from reaching out and pulling you back into her embrace. You extended a hand to her, lacing your fingers with her and pulling her with more strength than she’d thought you had.

“Breakfast,” you said, “I’m gonna cook you guys so many pancakes.”

Passing Lilia, Agatha in tow, you brushed your fingers over the back of her hand. You tapped Jen on the nose as you passed and you beamed. Agatha found her own lips curling up in a smile, heart thudding in her chest, the monster in her chest purring.

“My coven,” you said, voice pure happiness, “how I love you.”

Maybe the truth was there were no shadows without light. And maybe you were fierce enough to keep her from destroying you. Maybe you, with your wide eyes and easy smile and soft touches, would destroy her. And maybe she was okay with that.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha all along #agatha harkness

974 notes · View notes

zorosangell · 5 months ago

Text

⛥ﾟ・。 vice admiral

synopsis: after receiving some terrible news by news coo, you're left completely devastated. the crew does their best to console you, to no avail... and zoro realizes that, for once, his actions won't speak louder than his words... and makes a promise he's willing to die to keep.

cw: fluff with a decent dash of angst, parental death if that's triggering for you, reader calls her dad papa, comfort, zoro is once again down bad for reader, their relationship is super cute, zoro hates romance books.

a/n: listened to a lot of sad music for this

"They clashed, blades sparking and bodies twirling in an epic dance of death," you read aloud, completely enraptured by the book. "Their love was strong, but the hatred that kept them apart was stronger... It seemed that violence would once again be the driving force of their separation... as well as their rejuvenation."

Zoro gagged, keeping up the cadence of his push-ups as he rolled his eyes, glancing at you on his back with a raised brow.

Seriously...?

"You told me this book was about swordsmanship..." he grunted out, turning his gaze back to the grassy deck. "For the past three chapters... they haven't shut up about their rival families... or their... love for each other."

You let out a small snicker at his annoyed tone, a cheeky grin stretching across your lips as you turned the page.

"Well, if I told you about the romance part, you wouldn't have let me read it," you stated, simply.

"Gee, I wonder why..." he scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey!"

You flicked him in the back of the head, donning a small pout as he sighed, grumbling to himself something along the lines of:

"Always with the pout... she knows I hate the damn pout..."

It was Calisthenics Day, and with such beautiful weather, Zoro had decided to take his training outside, which meant dragging you out of your room to join him.

Even though he always deflected when asked about it, everyone knew that incorporating you into his workouts was one of his many guilty pleasures.

Wearing you like backpack during his pull-ups...

Having you take a nap on his barbell as he bench-pressed...

Plopping you down on his back for push-ups as you read...

He loved it.

He loved being in your presence because, to him, it felt oddly intimate—having you so close as he worked hard to get stronger, honing his body with the goal of protecting you in mind.

Not to mention it fluffed up his ego, being able to lift up and toss around his woman with such ease.

He was only a man... and couldn't help the renewed confidence he gained after every workout.

"Well, I didn't completely lie. The book's got sword-fights in it," you defended, flipping back through the last few chapters.

"Yeah, one every fifty pages," he scoffed once again. "And they're not even good. Who the hell dances in the middle of a fight?"

Your brows flattened, incredulously.

'Jeez...'

"Zo', it's figurative language. They're not actually dancing."

"Figurative... what?"

"Figurative language. Writers use it to make descriptions more interesting."

"Why don't they just say what they mean and be done with it?"

"'Cause that's boring."

"It would make this crap less confusing. Too many blinding smiles and sparkling eyes. Just say the girl looks nice and move on."

You sighed, not at all surprised by his response.

'He's so backwards...'

Zoro was a man who found it hard to say I love you, yet had no problem throwing himself in front of a bullet for you.

Really.

Most girls got bouquets and chocolates from their lovers after their one month anniversary, but you got to patch him up after he was hit in the chest by a fucking cannonball, all because you were in its line of fire.

A rather heart-warming yet terrifying problem to have.

The memory brought a small smile to your face, your lips letting out tiny chuckle as you recalled the scene.

"Gods, Zoro, why the hell did you do that?!" you sniffled, a few tears rolling down your cheeks as he coughed up another round of blood. "I could've dodged!"

He chuckled, painfully, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"With your reaction time?" he weakly teased, raising a brow as he sat up, "I don't think so."

Clutching his side, he let out a wince, pulling away his hand to see his blood was soaking through the bandages you'd applied.

"This is serious! Stop moving or you're gonna tear it open again!" you scolded, glassy eyed and wobbly lipped as you pressed your hand against his chest, forcing him to lay back down. "Gods, you're so stupid... why did you do that?"

After working tirelessly for a whole hour, Chopper was able to stabilize him, the cannonball having nearly tore off the whole of his side, and the organs along with it.

The doctor said it was a miracle, and medically improbable, that the man was still alive.

Zoro paused a moment, breathing slightly shallow as his eyes bore intensely into yours.

He knew exactly why...

"'Cause it was you..."

"Guys! News Coo's here!" Nami called, exiting her office and snapping you out of your thoughts.

Instantly, your mind pushed away the doom and gloom, making room for the wide grin that broke out on your face.

"Yes!" you cheered, jumping off Zoro's back, the man cracking a small smile at your excitement.

'Must be her dad...'

"Ooo, I wanna see!" Luffy exclaimed, swinging over from the figurehead. "I hope my bounty went up!"

"Me, too!" Chopper agreed, bursting from the med bay.

"Wait for me~!" Brook sang, jumping down from the balcony of the crow's nest.

"I call dibs on the funny papers!" Usopp perked up from his spot on the higher deck, tinkering with a new gadget of his.

"Let's see what's new in the world today," Robin mused with a smile, crossing her arms as she walked over to join the rest.

"It's been so long! I wonder how my father's doing!" you squealed, brimming with joy. "I bet he's captured a ton of other pirates!"

"Wait, (y/n), isn't your dad a marine?" Chopper asked, tugging at your arm.

"Yup!" you nodded, proudly. "One of the best there is! Back when he was in his prime, he was one of the strongest in the Navy! He even fought Gold Roger!"

"GOLD ROGER?!" Chopper and Brook exclaimed, shocked.

With a grin, Luffy threw a stretchy arm over your shoulder, literally pulling himself into the conversation.

"Yuh-huh! He and my grandpa are good friends!" your captain confirmed. "They go way back!"

Like Garp, your father was less than pleased to find out that you'd run away from home to become a pirate, much less a pirate with his best friend's grandson.

But, after some time, he learned to accept your decision, and even went as far as saying so in person, reuniting with you on Dressrosa and assuring that he still loved you with all his heart—you had feared he hated you for your decision.

He promised you both would meet again someday, and probably have to fight, given your luck.

So you promised to get even stronger, that way you'd be able to kick his ass back to the Red Line.

Let's just say your head got a good bonking for that one...

"Here, (y/n)," Nami smiled, tossing you the rolled up newspaper. "Take first look."

Giddily, you caught it, giving her a quick nod of thanks before flipping through the pages, searching for your father's name.

Until you found it.

"I found him!" you grinned, skimming through the article. "It is with a heavy heart that the Navy mourns the loss of one of its finest. Vice Admiral (d/n)..."

Your voice trailed off at the end, nearly dying completely as the words rang in the air, sounding foreign, despite it being you that said them.

Zoro froze mid-push up, eyes wide.

'Oh, no...'

Nami quietly gasped, hands rising to cover her mouth in shock, the others sharing similar expressions.

"After failing to return from a routine patrol of the sea surrounding Dunga, the vice admiral was reported missing. Naturally, the Navy sent out a search party, and discovered his ship floating aimlessly a few miles away from the island, battered beyond repair," you continued, frantically searching for some sort of catch. "According to Vice Admiral Momonga's report, upon boarding, the party found his body, along with the bodies of his entire squadron, on deck, each of them dead by varying causes."

No...

It wasn't true...

It couldn't be...

'Papa...'

You chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself, but you couldn't keep yourself from reading, still hoping for a twist.

"Of course, given the ship's close proximity to Pirate Island, it is safe to assume that the Blackbeard Pirates were the perpetrators of this deed. But, nonetheless, we are still left to grieve over this monumental loss..."

Shaking, your legs finally gave out, dropping you to your knees and your hands tightly gripped the newspaper, crumpling the pages.

"Oh, (y/n)..." Nami dropped to join you, a sorry expression on her face as she rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

You stayed stiff as a board, still in a state of shock.

Your father loved you with every bone in his body.

He was the man that taught you how to fight after finding out you were being picked on.

The man that kissed away your boo-boos after your daily adventures in the woods.

The man that held you during a thunderstorm after finding you hiding under his covers.

The man that paraded you around the house whenever you were sad, just to see you smile.

And despite the fact you ran away from home, despite the fact you joined the side he'd been fighting for over half his life... that reality never changed.

You were still the same, old (n/n) to him, and he was still your papa.

The papa... that you would never see again.

Your throat let out a wail of sorrow as you crumpled into Nami, clutching the paper tightly in your hands.

Everyone froze, hearts breaking at your sadness, expressions falling at the sight.

Your shoulders rocked with sobs, tears rolling down your hot cheeks like rivulets, your brows cinched in a look nothing short of agony.

You couldn't breathe, your chest heaving with effort as it attempted to retain the air you pushed out with your bawling.

"It can't—! I won't—!" you sputtered, coughing and gasping in an attempt to form the words. "He promised me! H-He promised me I'd see him again!"

"Don't start slackin' on me, kiddo. The next time we meet, it won't be as friendly," your dad smiled, ruffling your hair. "You may be tough now, but you better be a hell of a lot tougher if you wanna stand a chance."

"Psh! The next time we meet I'll be a hell of a lot stronger than you," you scoffed, proudly. "And then I'll kick your ass all the way back to the Red Line!"

"Like hell you will!" he exclaimed, hitting you upside the head with a haki-coated fist.

"OW! Papa, that hurt!" you loudly winced, rubbing the spot

"I love ya, (n/n)!"

"Love you, too, you old jerk!"

A new wave of tears erupted, your sobs becoming even more uncontrollable.

Your mind was completely gone with grief, only one word sticking out among the chaos.

"PAPA!"

Setting himself down on one of the mats in the crow's nest, Zoro's chest tightened, the sound of your wails on a permanent loop within his head.

After hours of consoling, Nami and Robin had finally calmed you to sleep, your body utterly exhausted from all the crying.

Sanji had made a banquet of your favorite foods for dinner, but you didn't eat a single bite.

Brook tried to serenade you with happy songs, but they all seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

Even Luffy tried to make you laugh, but it only made you even sadder, reminded of the times your father tried to cheer you up.

Safe to say, the entire crew was worried sick.

But, in a last ditch attempt to lift your spirits, Usopp and Franky banded together to build an altar in the crow's nest, using one of your father's old newspaper clippings as a photo.

It was beautifully ornate, yet simple, clearly demonstrating the skill and care it took to make it.

They hoped to surprise you with it when you woke up.

But before that... Zoro had to do something.

Using a match, he lit the incense that sat in front of your father's image—the picture of him standing at attention, arms crossed over his chest and expression pulled taut.

He looked strong, like a hero in a comic book, and twice as mean.

Though, if your stories were anything to go off of, he was apparently nothing but a big, old teddy bear.

Clapping his hands together, Zoro shut his eyes, paying his respects.

Without this man, he would've never met you.

Never seen your smile...

Never heard your laughter...

Never held your hand in his...

You were among the most important people in his life, and you wouldn't be the strong, kind, and compassionate woman he knew without your father.

That alone made him deserving of thanks.

But that wasn't the only thing the swordsman was there for...

Opening his eyes, Zoro's hand moved to grab the handle of his Wado Ichimonji, pulling the blade out of its sheath and holding it upright.

"Vice Admiral (d/n)... my name is Roronoa Zoro, and I am the man who will be the World's Greatest Swordsman," he started, deadly serious, looking straight into the eyes of your father's picture. "You don't know me, and I've never had the privilege of meeting you in person. But if there's one thing we have in common... it's (y/n)."

He tensed slightly, as if bracing himself for some harsh attack, letting out a smooth, deep stream of breath to calm his nerves.

"I love her... a lot."

He paused a little awkwardly, but cleared his throat to cover it up, pressing forward.

"Okay... maybe more than a lot," he corrected, glancing down at himself. "But it's because of that I put my life on the line for her every day... and it's because of that I'm worried about her safety."

His gaze sharpened, grip tightening on his sword.

'Bastards...'

"The newspaper revealed (y/n) as your daughter," he stated, jaw set tight. "She told me you tried to hide that, in case any of the pirates you put away managed to escape and seek revenge... but now that the secret's out... and you're dead... it's open season on her head."

He felt anger claw at the back of his throat, threatening to spring loose.

The Navy was fucking useless...

In their lousy attempt to honor the vice admiral's memory, they had inadvertently outed you to the world, completely destroying the years upon years of secrecy your father had worked so hard to protect.

Did they forget about his notoriety?

Forget about the thousands of pirates he'd jailed?

Forget about the countless enemies he'd made?

Forget about the hundreds of dangerous Impel Down escapees?

In your state of mourning, you were incredibly vulnerable, and if a blood-thirsty, revenge-seeking pirate came around wanting to settle a score, he wouldn't give two shits about how you were feeling.

Intentional or not, the Navy had thrown you into the proverbial lion's den.

But it would be a cold day in hell before Zoro let anything happen.

"While she's strong as hell on her own, with you gone, someone's gotta step up to support... be a figure or a name attached to her... strong enough to ward off any unwanted attention..."

He tensed, glancing back up at the picture.

"Which is why I'm here."

Taking another deep breath, he turned his gaze to his sword, now more prepared than ever.

"Vice Admiral (d/n)... I am in love with your daughter. And I solemnly swear from this moment forward... that I will never let her know pain."

His brows furrowed, expression cinched tight in earnest.

"That any weapon, plan, or plot made against her will fall at my blade... that any who come with the intent to harm her will be struck down without a second thought."

What Zoro saw that day scarred his heart for the rest of his life.

To see you so distraught... so crushed... broke a piece of him as well, and it was clear based off the others that gestures would not be able to break through to you.

So, for once, he would have to let his words speak louder than his actions.

"That I will stay by her side until she no longer needs me... that I will protect her with my every breath... that I will be a friend, a guard, a partner, or none at all at if she wants me to be..."

He paused, taking a second to make sure he was ready for the next part.

"But most importantly... that I will love and care for her just the same," he finished, before firmly tucking his sword back in its sheath. "She'll be protected... so don't worry."

A smirk rose to his lips, his eyes finding their way back to the man's picture.

"Soon enough, she'll have the World's Greatest Swordsman as her bodyguard."

#zorosangell #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa x reader #roronoa #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #op

532 notes · View notes

monicfever · 10 days ago

Text

matt murdock as your boyfriend. 𝜗𝜚 hc’s

includes ᝰ .ᐟ gn!reader ,, fluff ,, sfw headcanons ,, religious mentions

MATT MURDOCK AS YOUR BOYFRIEND . . . adores you. he can’t believe you’re real — every time you say his name it’s a prayer answered. he listens to the sound of your heartbeat like it’s music, memorized the rhythm of it before he ever let himself memorize the curve of your smile.

matt doesn’t just love you — he carries you. protects you like it’s instinct. like you’re something sacred.

will step between you and anything that looks like danger, even if it’s just a rude stranger or a loud car. and god help anyone who actually tries to hurt you — matt won’t let them walk away. not as the lawyer. not as the devil.

he’s soft with you in a way he never is with anyone else, fingers tracing your wrist like he’s reading braille, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand when he thinks you’re asleep. smiles against your shoulder when he’s tired. holds you tighter when the city feels too loud.

but he gets scared too. scared of losing you. scared of hurting you. scared that the violence stitched into his soul will bleed into yours. so sometimes he pulls back — disappears into himself. tells you he’s fine even when his knuckles are split and there’s blood on his collar. won’t meet your eyes, won’t let you touch him. but if you wait it out, if you reach for him anyway, he always comes back. always folds into you like he never left.

remembers everything. the exact cadence of your laugh, how your breathing changes when you're about to cry, the shape of your hand when it’s searching for his. he notices when you swap perfumes, when you wear new earrings, when your voice sounds a little hoarse because you didn’t sleep well. doesn’t mention it like it’s weird — just softly asks if you need tea. or rest. or him.

his love shows up in rituals. carries your umbrella even if it’s not supposed to rain. calls you after a bad case just to hear your voice. kisses your temple twice when you leave the apartment.

he talks to god about you. not in the way he used to — not asking for forgiveness. not begging for strength. just... saying thank you. like he’s been given something he didn’t deserve. and maybe he hasn’t, but he’s going to protect it anyway.

he always reaches for you in crowded places. not because he needs to — his senses are sharp enough to navigate most chaos — but because he wants to be guided by you. threads his fingers through yours, hand curling into your sleeve, forearm, belt loop. anything to keep you close. anything to let you lead.

“where are we going?” he’ll ask, even though he already knows. grinning like he’s getting away with something. he just likes hearing your voice explain it. likes being pulled along like you’re his compass and the only thing that matters is keeping up with your footsteps.

sometimes he pretends he can’t find something just to get you to come closer. “where’s the salt?” “matt, literally right in front of you.” “i’m blind, sweetheart.” and you roll your eyes, walk over, and he just grins, smug, hands slipping around your waist. “thanks for the assistance.”

lives for slow strolls with your arm linked in his. especially at night. especially when the city has finally calmed down a bit. lets you guide him like you’re dancing through the streets, murmuring what’s around you — the neon signs, the smell of fresh pretzels, the sound of a jazz saxophone in the distance.

he fakes not being able to do tech stuff all the time. “can you post that for me?” “can you read this email out loud?” “can you set my alarm?” and every time, it’s just an excuse to hear your voice, or feel your hands brush against his as you show him how to do it. yeah, he could use a screen reader. but where’s the fun in that?

he rests his chin on your shoulder a lot when you’re doing something mundane. like brushing your teeth, making dinner, folding laundry. just appears behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and leans his whole weight into you.

sometimes he fumbles on purpose. “oops, I missed the cup,” he’ll say with a smirk, spilling just a little water. you sigh and walk over, wiping it up, and he uses the moment to pull you into a kiss.

he gets a little clingy after bad nights. not in a loud way. just won’t let go of your hand. won’t stray more than a step away. stands behind you while you do dishes or brush your hair, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

you guide his hands through everyday things, and he always looks like he’s learning the shape of the world for the first time. folding dough, measuring spices, finding the buttons on a remote — he’s so focused. and he always smiles when your hands touch his to correct something. every single time. like he’s never going to get used to being cared for like this.

sometimes you’ll lead him somewhere with no warning. “trust me,” you’ll say, tugging his hand. and he’ll smile, nod, follow without hesitation. because he does. always has. always will.

he tells you he loves you in the smallest ways. “be careful.” “call me when you get home.” “take my jacket.” “your heartbeat changed — what’s wrong?”

he wakes up the second you stir. even if he was dead asleep five seconds ago. instantly reaches for you, palm brushing your side, murmuring, “you okay?” voice still gravelly from sleep.

he gets weirdly smug when you trip or bump into something. “huh,” he’ll tease, “and here I thought I was the blind one.” and you’ll glare at him and he’ll just kiss your forehead.

he has incredible spatial awareness but pretends to bump into furniture just so you’ll tease him. “you good?” you’ll say, raising an eyebrow, and he’ll grin and go, “guess I need a guide.” cue him holding onto your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.

he randomly kisses your hands. when you’re cooking, reading, doing work — he'll just reach over, take your hand, and press his lips to your knuckles. it’s not always romantic. sometimes it’s just a little thank you for being here.

he’ll ask you to describe things to him in your words. “what does the sky look like right now?” “what’s she wearing?” “what’s the room feel like?” and you’ll ramble through the details, unsure if it makes sense — but he always listens, like you’re telling him a story he never wants to end.

you read to him at night. curled up in bed, your voice soft in the quiet. he’s not even listening to the story half the time — just the way you say the words.

he teaches you self-defense. he takes it seriously, even if you don’t. but every time you land a hit, he praises you like you just saved the world.

late-night walks through hell’s kitchen. just talking. venting. dreaming. sometimes he stops mid-sentence to kiss you under a streetlamp. “sorry. just had to.”

he pulls away when he’s hurting. emotionally, physically, all of it. slips into that quiet place in his head where the guilt lives. tells you he’s fine with a tight jaw and bruises blooming across his ribs.

he’s terrified of burdening you. of being too much. too broken. he thinks if you saw everything — the anger, the damage, the things he’s done — you’d leave. so he tries to handle it all himself. isolates. bleeds in silence. but he aches for comfort, even when he won’t ask.

sometimes he has nightmares. fists clenched in the sheets, breath ragged, muttering things that don’t make sense. and you wake him up gently, touch his shoulder, and he flinches before realizing it’s you.

absolutely refuses to admit when he’s sick. “i’m fine.” you’re shivering. “it’s not that cold.” you literally just sneezed five times. “allergies.” matt, you don’t have allergies. “…okay but i still don’t need soup.”

the moment you take charge — pull the blankets up, hand him tissues, give him meds — he folds like wet laundry. instantly compliant. snuggles into the pillows with a dramatic sigh. “only because you’re cute when you boss me around.”

a huge baby when he’s actually sick. makes the most pitiful groaning sounds, flops onto the couch like he’s on death’s door. constantly wants to cuddle and cling to you.

you catch him trying to sneak out of bed once to go on patrol and you yell. he tries to argue. “the city needs—” “the city can wait, you have a fever and a death wish.” he grumbles. you kiss his forehead. he shuts up immediately.

tries to pretend he’s suffering in silence but keeps whispering things like “baby can you rub my back?” or “i think i need another blanket” or “can you come lay with me for five minutes? ten? okay forever?”

he’s so protective. not in a possessive way — in a “if anything in this world hurts you, it’ll answer to me” kind of way. steps in front of you instinctively. hears a tone in someone’s voice you don’t even notice and subtly shifts between you and them. but if you ask him to stand down, he always listens. because your safety isn’t just about fists — it’s about trust.

always insists on keeping your plans, even if he’s clearly moving slower than usual. “I’m fine,” he says, clearly wincing as he puts on a button-down. you catch him rotating his shoulder like he’s trying to pop it back into place.

he’s not loud about his jealousy. not possessive. just hyper-aware. the way someone’s voice changes when they talk to you, how close they’re standing. you can practically feel the shift in his body next to you — shoulders straightening, jaw tightening. but he says nothing. just listens.

he does subtle things. puts his hand on your lower back when someone’s talking to you for too long. brushes his fingers over yours when someone compliments you just a little too enthusiastically. stands slightly closer. doesn’t speak unless he has to.

if someone gets too bold, though? oh he’s done. still polite. still calm. but absolutely deadly. steps in, voice low and smooth: “Hi. I’m Matt.” smile perfectly measured, hand firm in the handshake — but he’s already evaluated the guy’s heartbeat, stance, and whether he could take him down in five seconds or less if needed. (he could. always could.)

he’ll dance with you in the kitchen. no music. just the sound of rain on the window or a pan sizzling on the stove. he’ll reach for your hand with that little crooked smile, spin you into his arms, and sway like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

you both talk during chores. actual conversations. about your day, about random memories, about the weird neighbor with the too-loud parrot. and he listens like it’s the most important intel he’s ever received. nods, hums, asks questions. you’ve never felt so heard while doing dishes.

he lets you cut his hair sometimes. sits on a stool in the bathroom, towel around his shoulders, completely relaxed. you tease him about how still he is — “you’re acting like you’re on trial.” he just grins. “you’re holding scissors near my head.”

he folds your laundry. not just folds it — does that careful press-and-stack thing. pairs your socks. hangs your shirts so they won’t wrinkle.

does dishes with his sleeves rolled up and a dish towel over his shoulder like it’s a whole ceremony. hums under his breath while you dry. sometimes flicks water at you just to hear you squeal and laugh.

you two have a habit of falling asleep in odd places — couch, floor, roof. anywhere. half a conversation turns into hours curled into each other. his favourite part is waking up to your heartbeat under his ear. says it’s better than any alarm clock.

helping him shave sometimes. it turns into something gentle. your fingers on his jaw, his hands resting on your hips, quiet laughter when he makes a face at the cold razor. it feels intimate.

gets grumpy when you're hurt. even small things — a paper cut, a stubbed toe — he gets all quiet and intense like he's going to take on the concept of pain itself. he’ll crouches in front of you while putting a bandaid on like it’s the most important task in the world.

he insists on carrying all the groceries. all of them. “i’m blind, not weak.” he’ll say, ten bags looped on each arm like a stubborn pack mule. won’t even let you take the bread.

he keeps extra gloves and scarves in his coat pockets — not for him, for you. “you always forget yours,” he says, even though sometimes you don’t. doesn’t matter. he’s already wrapping one around your neck, tugging your hands into his. “can’t have you getting cold.”

he saves the crunchy edges of brownies for you. the soft center of cinnamon rolls. whatever part you once mentioned liking the best, that’s what you’ll find saved for you — tucked in a napkin, handed over without a word, just a warm smile.

when he gets back from patrol he always checks if you’re asleep before doing anything else. listens for your breathing, your heartbeat. if you’re up, he’ll come curl up next to you. if you’re asleep, he’ll just hover in the doorway for a second. breathing it in.

sometimes, when he’s feeling brave, he whispers “i love you” when he thinks you’re not awake. presses a kiss to your forehead and says it like a secret. like it’s breaking out of him and he has nowhere else to put it but right there, into your skin.

always checks if your phone is charged before bed. quietly plugs it in if you forgot. sets your alarm. puts it face-down so the light won’t bother you. doesn’t say a word about it — just does it.

he calls you sweetheart when he’s sleepy. voice all low and warm and tangled in dreams. sometimes murmured against your neck, sometimes mumbled into your shoulder like he’s already half gone — “mm, goodnight, sweetheart,” and you feel it all the way down to your bones.

saves you the last bite. his sandwich, the cookie you split, the best bite of takeout. even if it’s his favourite part, he’ll nudge it toward you and go, “you take it. i’m full.” (he’s not.)

he loves being babied a little. not a lot, and too much of it will have him feeling annoyed and overcrowded, but when you help him fix his tie, button his cuffs, rub his shoulders after a long day, he leans into your touch like he was waiting for it all day.

he’s hopelessly in love with the domestic routine. brushing teeth side by side. carrying the laundry basket while you fold.

he’ll do your skincare with you at night. blindly pats moisturizer into your cheeks with far too much enthusiasm. “did i get it?” he asks, fingers smeared with product, giggling like an idiot when you say “too much.”

when you cry he holds you like he’s made of warmth. wraps you up in his arms, hand at the back of your neck, thumb stroking slow and steady. doesn’t try to fix it unless you ask. just says, over and over, “i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”

started 4.24.2025. finished 4.24.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

#𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ／ ⋆ ۪ MONIC FILEZ #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil born again #daredevil ba #daredevil hc #daredevil x reader #daredevil headcanons #daredevil imagine #daredevil #matthew murdock #matthew murdock x you #devil of hell's kitchen

305 notes · View notes

mcondance · 1 year ago

Text

enraptured. s2 spencer reid x reader. MDNI.

spencer calls up the words that you can’t when he’s inside you.

you’re well-spoken and wildly intelligent, you’d have to be to be with spencer, but he’s got a way with his dick that makes you lose whatever train of thought you think you’d be able to catch, and he just knows more words than you. it’s just him.

you have a tendency to try to be articulate when he’s kissing your face and that spot inside you at the same time, gorgeous groans and catches of breath and spencer-esque sounds flowing from his lips. it never really works, though.

“i feel, fuck, feel. .”

“hm?” he allows you time to conjure up a word to put to what’s going on, but it slips right out of your mind along with everything else except him and all the perfect extensions of him. above you, he looks dazzling, hair that’s grown out just a little longer framing his face and falling down his neck in a wildness that’s everything to you.

the visual, the sounds, the feel is too much and you couldn’t recite your own name, even if you tried your hardest. you stutter through a breath and a moan, and spencer tucks his head into your neck and breathes a broken sound into your skin.

and then, he speaks. “you feel euphoric?”

god, you’ve got to be a sapiosexual with the way that has you whining and clenching down around him.

“mhm. you feel intoxicated. beatific,” he sings, tone and cadence more addicting than any piece of music you’ve ever heard.

and you do, you feel all of it and more with him talking in your ear and making obscene love to every place inside you and out that craves it with every second he’s not like this with you.

he speaks again. “enraptured. that how you feel?”

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x black!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #mcondance 2024

1K notes · View notes

maudie-duan · 20 days ago

Text

Summary: A lingering crush brings two old campers back as Camp Counselor in hopes that maybe, just maybe, they can finally cross a line that they've been dancing along for eight long years, but when Harry turns a cold shoulder, you're left wondering if you'll ever actually get the chance you've been dreaming of. A chance to call him yours. Word Count: 8.9k Warning: Mild Angst, Mild Smut, Fluff, and Falling In Love!

This was it, right? This was the place that set the landscape for most of your daydreams. A place so vivid in your mind that no matter where you were or what you were doing, all you would have to do was close your eyes, and there you were, standing at the edge of the lake, watching the wind send gentle waves swaying across the water.

This was Camp Wildwood.

Your sanctuary

Your escape.

Your body knew this, knew the earthy scent of pine, how it picked up on the breeze skimming over Lake Serenade, the rustle of the leaves echoing their whispers to the soft, warm air on a summer night as the rest of the world went still around you, silence, only the earth singing her praise with the hum of nature.

There was no other place like it. This was what you looked forward to every year: that scent, this view—the wooden cabins nestled between tall trees, the shimmering lake in the distance, and the large campfire pit where you had spent countless summer nights singing songs and roasting marshmallows. This was your home away from home ever since you were ten, a welcome escape from the concrete jungle of New York City.

But this summer was different.

This summer, you weren’t just a camper; you were a counselor.

Your eyes darted across the grounds, desperate in their search for that one familiar face among the sea of arriving staff members, hope swelling in your chest. You didn’t think you would be this anxious or that your heart would be hammering against your ribs. Was it excitement or dread, a delicate mix swirling with a year of emotions you had kept at bay waiting for this one moment.

Would he keep his promise? What if he’d changed his mind?

Harry.

The boy who had claimed your heart with his dimpled smile and laughing eyes, and like clockwork each summer, Harry was sure to take a tiny piece of you with him when the inevitable goodbye rolled off that sweet British tongue.

Eight years of this.

You knew it was more than a summer crush, and the very thought of him not showing made your stomach twist into knots, and you stood there, trying to prepare yourself for the possibility that he might not come.

You still remembered the first time you met him.

You were both ten, awkward and shy, of course, two newbies assigned to neighboring cabins. He had this thick accent that made all the American kids giggle, but you found it endearing, the cadence like music to your ears, and the two of you became fast friends. Over the years, your friendship had grown, evolving into something that teetered on the edge of romance but never quite tipped over. There was always an unspoken understanding between you—always a summer crush that remained just that because what was the point, right? When camp ended, you returned to New York, and he flew back across the ocean to England.

Last summer, on the final night of camp, you had made a pact with Harry. You were both seventeen, sitting by the lake, feet dangling in the cool water as the stars reflected on its surface.

“Next year,” he had said, his voice deeper than when you first met, “we should come back as counselors.”

You looked at him then, memorizing the way the moonlight cast shadows on his beautiful face. “Promise?”

Then he extended his pinky finger, a childish gesture that made you giddy. “Promise.”

And you linked your pinky with his, trying to ignore the flutter in the pit of your stomach as your skin touched. “It’s a deal, Styles.”

You knew this summer marked a threshold.

A dividing line between adolescence and adulthood that neither one of you could ignore. At eighteen, you both stood at the cusp of real life, of college decisions and career paths that would inevitably pull you in different directions. You had both changed; you could hear it in the deep timbre of his voice during those rare phone calls and could definitely see it in the subtle maturity that had crept into his features in the photos he posted, the people and things he surrounded himself with.

Coming back to Camp Wildwood no longer felt like a reunion with a place or even a person—It felt like a collision between memory and possibility. It would no longer be the innocent summers of friendship bracelets and ghost stories around the campfire.

Those days were behind you.

What lay ahead was uncharted territories—a summer where stolen glances might stir something more, or maybe those understood feelings might finally lead to something more concrete. Every fiber of your being knew that the weeks that lay ahead would either transform everything between you or bring eight years of summer dreams to a bittersweet end, and you would have to be okay with that.

You would have to move on.

Now, as you dragged your suitcase toward the counselors’ cabins, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had kept his promise.

“Hey! City girl!”

The British draw made you freeze. Slowly, you turned around, and there he was—Harry, walking toward you with that same smile that had been haunting your dreams for years.

Except, he wasn’t exactly the same. He was taller, his shoulders more broad. His once short, curly hair now fell in loose waves around his face. But his eyes—those fucking green eyes that reminded you of the forest surrounding you.

Those eyes were still the same.

And those eyes were moving down your body at a pace that made you want to run and hide.

“Harry,” you breathed, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “You came back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” He reached for you, hesitant for a moment before pulling you into a hug, and you melted into his embrace, breathing in his scent as a heady rush of emotions coursed through your body, and you closed your eyes, letting the hug linger until he moved away.

When he pulled back, his eyes roamed your face as if reacquainting himself with your features. “You look good, city girl.”

“Not so bad yourself, Brit,” you teased, trying to ignore the way your heart raced, hoping he couldn’t see it beating at your throat like a drum.

For a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

The both of you were still those two kids with summer crushes, stealing glances across the campfire. But then there was a strange shift in his expression, so subtle you almost missed it. A slight hardening around his eyes. A slight stiffening of his shoulders as he took a small step back, creating distance where there had been none.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing your suitcase, his voice noticeably cooler than it had been seconds ago. “Orientation starts in an hour.”

The sudden shift was disorienting as you walked beside him toward the counselors’ cabins. Your questions were already stacking up as you tried to keep pace with his long strides—he was keeping a careful space between you, his responses to your questions becoming shorter, more clipped. It confused you. The warm Harry who had embraced you was disappearing behind a wall you couldn’t make sense of, and somewhere, while you were lost in the anticipation of it all, you still thought maybe, just maybe.

Little did you know how right—and wrong—you would be.

The first week of camp flew by in a blur of orientations, you getting to know the other counselors, some new, some you still remembered. That week was spent preparing for the arrival of the campers. Luckily, you were assigned to the Maple cabin, responsible for a group of twelve-year-old girls, while Harry was put in charge of the Oak cabin with boys of the same age.

But something had definitely changed.

The easy camaraderie you had always relied on with Harry seemed to have evaporated into thin air. He was distant, almost cold. During staff meetings, he sat with the other male counselors, laughing loudly at jokes you couldn’t hear. Somedays, you only crossed paths during activities; those were the times he would give you a quick nod before turning his attention elsewhere, your eyes following him like the lovesick fool you were.

The days he didn’t look your way at all were the days that the sun seemed to swallow you into a fiery pit of hell.

Only a traitor could sink you into a cruel hole of misery.

And that’s what he was—A traitor.

It was as if the Harry you knew had been replaced by someone else—someone cocky, arrogant, and yet he was so fucking attractive.

Because that was the worst part. Despite his new attitude, you couldn’t deny that Harry had grown even more handsome over the past year. His body had filled out, muscles more defined. Had he been going to the gym? It wasn’t just his body—it was also the tattoos—every day, you swore you caught new glimpses of tattoos you had never seen before peeking out from under his tight t-shirt sleeves. The dark ink marking his tan skin was like a mystery you had yet to uncover, it drove you wild, the sight making your mouth go dry in seconds.

And fuck, if you weren’t the only one who noticed because every female counselor seemed to have their eye on him, especially Gwen from the Willow cabin, who couldn’t for the life of her shut up about him.

“God, have you seen Harry’s arms...those tattoos. It’s crazy he has that many already?” Gwen sighed one night as you both got ready for bed in the cabin you shared. “I swear, I almost fainted during the canoeing demonstration today.”

Her words made you cringe as you forced a noncommittal sound, pretending to be engrossed in the book you were reading, But really, you already wanted to bite her little Barbie head off as she brushed her long blonde hair, shiny and perfect, not a split-end in sight. She was the exact girl you pictured him with; you kept thinking every time your eyes moved to her.

“And that accent,” she gushed, oblivious to your discomfort. “It’s, like, illegal to be that hot and have a British accent. It’s not fair to the rest of us.”

“Mmm—” you mumbled, turning a page you hadn’t actually read, thinking it should probably be illegal for two really hot people to even interact; how are the rest of us supposed to have a chance when she’s walking around like fucking Malibu Barbie all day?

Who even looks good in khaki shorts, anyway?

Only Gwen, dammit, only Gwen.

“I think he might be into me,” She added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We were on kitchen duty together yesterday. He kept making these little jokes, and our hands touched when we were washing dishes, and I swear there was a moment.”

You looked at her then, wanting to catch the look on her face as your stomach twisted at the thought, jealousy knotching down your spine with every comment, but you forced a smile. “That’s... great, Gwen.”

“I know—I mean, it’s probably nothing, but a girl can dream, right?” She flopped onto her bed, staring dreamily at the ceiling, and you hated the innocence of her carefree wonderment. You wanted it to be you. He was supposed to be grazing your hand, staring into your eyes, dammit, not sharing those dimples with someone else.

“Do you think I should make a move? or Is that too forward?” She spoke up, cutting through your raging thoughts

You wanted to kill her dreams right then and there, tell her that the Harry you knew wouldn’t be interested in someone so obvious, so shallow. But then again, was that even true anymore? The Harry you knew seemed to have vanished, replaced by this frat-boy version who might very well be into someone like Gwen.

“I don’t know him that well,” you lied, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue.

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you guys were friends. Didn’t you both go to camp here as kids?”

“We did,” you admitted. “But people change.” You forced, each word threatening to smolder out that flame that had been burning bright for him all these years because the truth held an edge you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

Then, it was like Gwen was trying to drive that knife deeper, and she said, “Well, if you have any insider info on what he’s into, feel free to give a girl some hints,” and she fucking winked before turning off her bedside lamp.

Bitch.

Traitor.

Another fake, you thought as you lay in the darkness, listening to Gwen’s breathing even out as she fell asleep. Your mind was racing. This new information opened a festering wound of envy. What had happened to Harry? Why was he acting so different? And why did it hurt so much to see him pulling away from you? and the thought you couldn’t stop repeating was:

What if he feels the same way about Gwen?

The next morning, the questions only seemed to multiply when you saw Harry and Gwen sitting close together at breakfast, their pretty little heads bent too close as they laughed over something on Harry’s phone. It made you sick, the food on your tray no longer appealing, the feeling hollowing out your chest.

But it wasn’t just Gwen. Harry seemed to be charming everyone at camp, from the youngest campers to the oldest staff members.

Even Terry, the camp director, wasn’t immune to his charm. You for sure didn’t miss the way she smiled a little wider when Harry was around, how she always seemed to find reasons to touch his arm or shoulder during conversations. And this new version of Harry didn’t seem to mind the attention whatsoever—the way he made sure to return her smiles with ones of his own, those dimples dipping, the ones you thought were reserved for you now on display for everyone because everyone got something from Harry.

Everyone except you.

That’s when spite grabbed you by the throat, forcing you to call it what it was.

Insecurity.

Harry was making you insecure, and this brought on a whole new round of emotions because never in your life had he made you feel this way about yourself—made you feel like this low hideous being, the fucking green-eyed monster you were slowly becoming in his presence.

And you hated it.

One afternoon, as you were supervising your campers during arts and crafts, you couldn’t help but observe Harry across the field, leading his group in a game of capture the flag. You sat there mesmerized, Harry moving with an air of confidence that was new, shouting encouragements and high-fiving the boys when they scored. His laughter carried across the distance, and for a moment, it was like you were transported back in time, back to a time when that laugh was usually directed at you.

“Miss, are you okay?” One of your campers, a girl named Lily, was looking at you with concern. “You look sad.”

You were quick to plaster a smile on your face. “I’m fine, Lily. Just thinking about what activity we should do next.”

“Can we go swimming? It’s so hot today.”

Relieved you nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Swimming sounds absolutely perfect. We’ll finish up here and head to the lake.”

As your group made their way to the lake, you passed Harry and his campers returning from their game. For a second, your eyes met briefly, and you swore you thought you saw a flicker of the old Harry—Those green eyes softening, a playful smirk playing at his lips when he caught you gawking after he lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, and you smiled, giving yourself away, and he liked it, you swore he liked it. But then he had to go and ruin it all by looking away. His eyes cutting from you like you didn’t exist, slicing the moment by saying something to one of his campers that made the boy laugh, and the moment was gone just like that, pulled from under your feet. Stealing what little joy you had that afternoon.

That evening, after the campers were settled in their cabins for the night, all the counselors were set to gather in the staff lounge for a meeting. Still sour from earlier, you took a seat near the back, trying not to notice that Harry was sitting at the front, right next to Gwen, but what’s new?

“Alright, everyone,” Terry began, her voice carrying through the room. “First of all, great job on the first week. The campers are having a blast, and that’s all thanks to your hard work.”

There was a round of applause, and begrudgingly you forced yourself to join in, even as your eyes remained fixed on the back of Harry’s head, trying to bore a hole with your sharp gaze, it only getting worse any time Gwen leaned in to giggle in his ear.

Nothing was that funny, and here you were again.

Spiteful.

“Now, onto business,” Terry continued. “We’re going to be switching up the night patrol duty partners. We’ve decided to make the pairs co-ed, to ensure a balance of perspectives and skills.”

A murmur broke out, then—a new energy sweeping through the room. Night patrol was a responsibility all counselors shared, taking turns to walk the grounds after lights out, making sure all campers were in their cabins and everything was secure. This had never in the history of you being at camp here been co-ed, and when you saw Gwen nudge Harry’s arm with a giddy smile, it had you seeing red.

“I’ve posted the new pairings on the bulletin board outside. Please check your schedule before you leave. The new arrangements start tomorrow night.”

As the meeting wrapped up, everyone filed out to check the bulletin board. You took your time hanging back, waiting for the crowd to thin before approaching. When you finally got a clear view of the list, your heart stopped.

There, next to your name, was Harry’s.

And dammit, now you were going to be spending every third night on patrol with him, just the two of you, alone in the dark.

What would you even say? Would he say anything to you at all, or would that wall be a stone fortress?

Impenetrable by your existence alone.

You raked your eyes from the list, meeting Harry’s gaze across the crowd. He was looking at you with another one of those unreadable expressions, his jaw tight. It was like the world stopped as the moment stretched between you, charged with something you couldn’t name, and before you could let his cold stare burn you alive, you turned and stormed off, your head a tangled mess of anger, confusion, a sudden traitorous flutter of excitement because god, you had wanted to be alone with him since the day you got here, and now this was your chance.

Sometimes fate gives you exactly what you asked for—and that’s the problem at times, right?

The following day passed in a blur of activities and camper obligations, but your mind was elsewhere, fixated on the upcoming night patrol with Harry, an endless chatter of thoughts circling. By the time evening rolled around, your nerves were stretched thin.

Exhausted. You just wanted to crawl into bed.

But you carried on.

After ensuring your campers were settled for the night, with the junior counselor on duty inside the cabin, you made your way to the main office, where night patrol always began. Harry was already there, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as you approached, his face carefully neutral, and so was yours.

“Hey,” he mumbled, pocketing his phone.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice cooler than intended, and you forced your eyes away from his face. You’re heart already aching for the past.

With perfect timing, Terry emerged from her office, handing you both flashlights. “Standard route tonight, guys. Perimeter check, then a sweep of the main areas. Radio if you see anything concerning.”

You nodded, avoiding eye contact with both of them. You weren’t sure if you could do this if you could play it cool.

“You two have a good night. I always love seeing old campmates reconnect. That’s why I paired the two of you together,” Terry said, her hand lingering on Harry’s arm a beat longer than necessary before she retreated back to her office.

The silence that set in between you and Harry was deafening as you stepped out into the night. The camp was quiet, too quiet. Most of the lights in the cabins were already out. The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the distant hooting of an owl.

Without hesitation, you started walking toward the perimeter path, Harry falling into step beside you, his presence making you angry, yet you wanted him near, which made you even angrier, which made the silence loom, and that made you even angrier, and here you were getting sucked into a vicious cycle until the tension shaped itself into a palpable entity—a living thing that seemed to grow and stretch with each passing minute of silence, trying to steal the words crawling up your throat.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you spoke. “So, what’s your problem?”

Harry glanced at you, his expression guarded. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Harry. You’ve been avoiding me since camp started. Actually, no—you’ve been actively ignoring me. What did I even do?” And you reached for his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

He let out a sigh like he couldn’t be bothered to answer the question, and he ran a hand through his hair, making your insides ache to be the one touching him in this very moment, “You didn’t do anything.” He forced.

“Then why are you acting like I don’t exist? We were friends, Harry. At least, I thought we were.”

“We were,” he said quietly. “We are.”

“Really? Because friends don’t ignore each other for weeks. Friends don’t act like complete strangers after knowing each other for eight years.”

Harry turned away, then shook his head, and you grabbed at his arm, desperate for him to look you in the eyes. In the moonlight, his features were shadowed, but you could still see the conflict in his eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“Well—uncomplicate it for me,” you challenged, crossing your arms.

He looked away, his jaw working as if he was struggling with what to say. “I just... I thought it would be easier this way.”

“Easier for who? Because it’s certainly not easier for me to have you suddenly turn into some kind of stranger.”

“For both of us,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Look, we’re not kids anymore. We can’t just pick up where we left off every summer and pretend like the rest of the year doesn’t exist.”

His words landed hard on your ears, the truth a weight you knew you both had been carrying, “I never pretended that.” You whispered

“Didn’t you? We text what? A few times, like some obligatory check-in, and then nothing until we’re back here. And then what? We have our summer thing and then go back to our separate lives? It’s not real, is it? How could any of that be real?

You took a step back, the pain in his voice washing over you., “It was real to me, Harry. Every moment we spent together was real to me.”

Something flickered in his eyes—a vulnerability that reminded you of the boy you used to know. But then it was gone, replaced by that new hardness you had come to associate with this new version of Harry.

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t have been,” he said, his voice curt. “Maybe we should have just kept it casual, like everyone else does at summer camp.”

“Is that what you’re doing now? Keeping it casual with Gwen? With Terry? Fuck, I don’t know, with anyone who gives you attention?”

The words came out harsher than you intended, your jealousy spewing, all the hurt you had been trying to suppress rising to the surface.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? You come back here all different, with your new look and this new freaking attitude, flirting with everyone except me. What am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to think that maybe I grew up. That maybe I’ve realized that whatever was going on between us wasn’t going anywhere. That maybe I’m trying to move on.”

The confession hit you like a physical blow. You had always known, logically, that your summer connection with Harry had an expiration date. But hearing him say it out loud, confirming that he was actively trying to move past whatever feelings he’d had for you—it hurt more than you could have imagined because these weren’t the words you wanted to hear him say.

“Fine,” you said, your voice barely audible. “If that’s what you want, then fine. Let’s just get through this patrol, and then we can go back to ignoring each other.”

That was it. This was how it would end.

And now you had to move on.

Gutted, somehow, you forced yourself from his gaze and turned to continue walking, your vision blurring as hot tears welled despite your desperate attempts to hold them back. Each step felt heavier than the last, your chest constricting with an ache so visceral you could barely breathe as the heat of the night swarmed your lungs. Your throat burned, a painful lump growing, choking off any words you might have said to salvage what was breaking between you.

But there was nothing because he seemed to have made up his mind.

Behind you, Harry’s heavy sigh cut through the night like a knife, twisting deeper into the wound his words had already carved. He followed, his footsteps hesitant, maintaining a distance that felt both suffocatingly close and devastatingly far—slowly morphing into the physical manifestation of what your relationship had become, but nothing hurt worse than the silence because there’s nothing like the finality that silence brings, a tangible hurt, something that could crush you beneath its weight if you let it.

And you weren’t sure if you could stop it or if you wanted to.

Let him see you cry, you thought.

Make him see the pain he’s causing you.

The rest of the patrol passed in strained silence, both of you performing your duties mechanically. As you approached the supply cabin—the last stop on your route—you noticed the door was slightly ajar.

“The supply cabin’s open,” you forced out, the first words either of you had spoken in nearly an hour.

Harry nodded, pushing past you, and he forced the door wider, his silent gesture adding a sting to the hurt. “Probably just someone forgetting to lock up after getting equipment for tomorrow.”

You didn’t want to but followed him inside, and the small space seemed to narrow, feeling smaller with both of you in it. The cabin was filled with shelves of sports equipment, arts and crafts supplies, and other camp necessities. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting everything in a dim, yellow light when Harry pulled the chain.

“Doesn’t look like anything’s missing,” he said, scanning the shelves, and your eyes roamed over his face wishing that he looked as shitty as you felt, but he still held some kind of power over you, and you felt the ache deep in your bones.

You nodded, suddenly very aware of how close he was in the confined space. The scent of him—the earthy pine from the forest, the woody campfire from earlier, and something recognizably Harry—filled your senses, making it harder to concentrate on the task at hand.

And what was that again?

“We should check the inventory list, just to be sure,” you said, moving toward the clipboard hanging on the wall.

As you reached for it, Harry reached for it, too, his hand brushing against yours, and you both froze, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Slowly, you turned to face him, finding him much closer than you expected.

His green eyes, dark in the dim light, searched yours as the tension between you shifted, transforming from anger and hurt into something else entirely—something buzzing with a dangerous thrill that had you aching for a different ending.

“Harry,” you whispered, not sure if it was a question or a plea.

He swallowed, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah?” He forced.

“Tell me why you came back?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what he meant.

He didn’t answer, just took a step closer, eliminating what little space remained between you both, and your back hit the wall, the clipboard forgotten as it clattered to the floor, the sound making your heart race because you had never felt anything like this before.

This pull.

His gaze.

The magnitude of the words not spoken.

“This,” he murmured, his breath warm against your face. “Us.”

Your heart was pounding, your body painfully aware of every point where it almost touched his. “I don’t want it to end like this...” You breathed.

Whatever resolve he seemed to have before crumbled at your words. With a groan that sounded like surrender, Harry closed the final distance between you, his lips crashing against yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

The kiss was nothing like you had imagined during all those summers of wondering. It was better—raw and desperate, edged with the frustration that had been building between you for weeks, for years. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as yours tangled in his hair, those soft curls you had dreamed of touching for years, now threading through your fingers with a new drive.

When you finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Harry pushed his forehead to yours. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he confessed, his voice rough.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, your fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, his eyes drawing you in, holding you in place, when everything in you was screaming this is a bad idea.

“Because I was scared. Because every summer, I’d go home with this ache in my chest, missing you. And it got harder each year, knowing that whatever we had was confined to this place, to these few weeks.” and fuck, if those weren’t the words you had been dying to hear.

And you felt it.

This flood of realization.

This understanding—his distance, his new persona. It was all a defense mechanism, his way of protecting himself from the pain of wanting something he thought he couldn’t have.

“I missed you too,” you admitted. “Every day, not just during summer.”

And for the first time since you had arrived at camp, his fucking walls were coming down, you could see the shift in his gaze, feel raw emotion replacing the careful distance as his searching eyes met yours. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, pulling him back to you for another kiss.

This one was slower.

Deeper.

Set with a new determination.

You wanted your mouth to speak, your mouth moving against his to drive a conversation without words, to express everything you had been holding back. All the things you wish you had ever said. Harry’s hands slid under the hem of your t-shirt, his touch warm and foreign but delicate, and you arched into him, wanting more, needing more, as a curious edge took over.

“Are you sure about this?” Harry asked, his voice strained as he pulled back slightly.

For weeks, your mind had been racing with conflicting thoughts. This was Harry—the boy you had a crush on for years, the one who had been ignoring you for weeks, the one who made your heart race and your blood boil all in one breath. You weren’t sure of anything except that you wanted him, right now, in this dusty supply cabin with the moonlight filtering through the small window.

You needed him.

Because you had never been more scared or excited in your life.

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “Are you?”

“I want you so fucking bad,” and then he kissed you again, more pressing this time, his roaming hands becoming bolder as they explored your body. You responded in kind, tugging at his t-shirt until he broke the kiss long enough to yank it over his head.

The sight of him shirtless—all defined muscles and tattoos you had only caught glimpses of before—made your breath catch, and you ran your curious hands over his chest, tracing the outlines of the ink on his skin, learning him by touch.

“Your turn,” he breathed, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

With a quiet nod, you raised your arms, allowing him to pull your shirt off, and you saw the want in his eyes as they took in the sight of you in your bra, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his tone awestruck. “So fucking sexy,”

His words sent a rush through you, emboldening you to reach behind and unhook your bra, letting it fall to the floor between you. For a second, you stood there, but Harry’s sharp intake of breath was all you needed to snap you out of your nervous haze, and then his hands were moving to your bare skin, cupping your breasts with a gentleness that contradicted the hunger in his eyes.

“God—I want you so bad,” he admitted, his thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, making your spine straighten. “This. For years.”

“Me too, I want it so bad,” you almost begged, pushing the words out with a hunger you had never heard leave your mouth.

With a breathy laugh that sent a shiver down your spine, Harry lifted you, your legs wrapping tight around his waist as he carried you to a cleared space on one of the tables. His mouth collided with your body in haste, moving to your neck, trailing hot kisses down to your collarbone, then lower, taking one of your nipples between his teeth, then sucking it into his mouth.

You let out a moan, your head falling back as pleasure coursed through you, and your shaky hand fumbled with the button of his jeans, desperate to feel more of him. Even more desperate to see all of him. Harry just as needy lent a helping hand, stepping back just long enough to shed his pants and boxers before helping you out of yours.

And then you were both naked, laid bare before him in the dim light of the supply cabin, years of unspoken desire finally confirmed in this moment. Harry stood between your legs, his hands running up and down your thighs as his eyes devoured you. There was an honesty in his touch that filled the silence with the truth your words had failed to communicate, and as you stared into his eyes, a tiny voice in your head whispered that there was no going back from this moment, that everything would change, and you welcomed it even as butterflies swarmed your stomach.

You felt him in that moment, everything you ever wanted, and your body hummed with it, an electric current of need that overrode the trembling in your limbs. Because no matter how many times you had imagined it, you never truly believed it would happen. His green eyes said it all: you knew this would be worth the wait, that he would be worth the wait.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked his voice horse with an effort to keep hold of his composure.

You nodded as your gaze drifted down his body, “Yes—and I’m clean. You?” You spoke up, trying to stay in the moment, but everything about him threatened to steal you completely.

“Clean,” he almost blurted. “Got tested after my last relationship ended.”

The mention of his past relationships sent a pang of jealousy through you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the realization that this was happening—you and Harry, finally crossing the line you had danced along for years because you knew once you had him, you were never letting go.

Then Harry stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you held your breath as he positioned himself at your entrance, “Last chance to back out,” he said, concern pinching between his brows.

And for a moment, there was fear, and you exhaled, ready to surrender, to give yourself entirely. Then you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. “I’m not backing out. I want you, Harry. I’ve always wanted you.”

“I’ll go slow...” He promised, and then he was gently pushing into you with a soft groan slipping past his lips, his pace achingly slow as he slid past your opening, and you bit down to bite back your moan.

Because even though your word spoke otherwise, it didn’t stop the fear that was gripping your body, every muscle tightening the second he began to push.

Harry’s eyes stayed trained on yours, watching your every reaction with an intensity that made you feel exposed, cherished in the way every touch was tender, controlled precision as the feeling of him gradually filling you became overwhelming—It wasn’t just the bodily sensation that made your breath catch or made your fingers dig into his shoulders, but it was the thundering realization that this was Harry, finally becoming part of you after eight years of wanting and waiting.

And held onto him as your bodies connected. You knew this would go beyond the physical. Each tiny movement carried the weight of countless summers, missed opportunities, and veiled confessions. When you felt the slight tremor in his arms as he held himself above you, restraining himself, you realized he was putting your comfort before his own desire—a devotion that made your heart swell even as your body adjusted to the newness of him.

Neither of you spoke.

It was only the sounds of your shared breaths and the whispered rustle of skin against skin, yet in the silence, years of longing were finally answered in this perfect, imperfect, beautifully human moment of this bond—it was yours, it was his, and a new history was soon to evolve.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, his forehead pressed hard against yours as he stilled, fully inside you now. “You feel amazing.”

But you couldn’t form words.

You could only nod, and you wordlessly pulled him closer, urging him to move, and he complied, starting with slow, deep thrusts that had you gasping his name as air flooded your lungs, your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving marks that would remind him of this moment tomorrow.

It was all happening so fast. This new sensation, Harry filling you in ways you had never been filled before. It was pleasure, and it was pain, and all you could think about was how badly you had wanted this, him, in this moment, him inside you, his body pressed to you in an act you had both played out before, but this was different because you had never wanted something so bad in your life.

The taste of his mouth, his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, heavy and desperate, and as the pleasure built, Harry’s pace increased, his hips snapping against yours with a need that matched your own, and then one of your hands slipped between your bodies, ready to move with the rhythm taking way.

“Are you ready to come for me,” he nudged, his tone rough with exertion. “I want to feel you come around me.”

Your hand picked up the pace then, his words spurring you on, lighting a fire deep in your belly, knowing the extra stimulation was about to push you over the edge. You could feel your orgasm ascending up your spine, a slow burn that hit with such force that the intensity had you crying out Harry’s name, and he quickly muffled you with his mouth, kissing you deeply as your body pulsed around him. Your orgasm triggered his own, and he buried himself deep inside you, one last hard thrust as his body shuddered, and he pressed you into the table as if he could merge your bodies into one.

And maybe in that moment, you were.

Because every single thought you had ever had seemed to slip away in the stillness that was mounting between your bodies.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, connected in a frenzied stillness, the both of you trying to catch your breath. Harry’s head was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as your hands traced lazy patterns on his back, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. The rawness etched across his features sent a pang of tenderness straight through your chest. “That was...”

“Yeah,” you laughed out with a breath, understanding exactly what he couldn’t put into words. “It was.”

Then he kissed you again, softly, this time as he slowly but carefully withdrew, and he broke the kiss to help you down from the table. You both dressed in silence, but it wasn’t the tense silence from before. There was comfort in the shared intimacy, an openness that wasn’t there before as you watched one another reassemble in the sacred moment that could only ever be yours, a moment that no one could ever take away because it could never be undone.

And for once, the silence that stood between you wasn’t a lack of what was or would have been; now it spoke of something different, something looming just over the horizon with endless possibilities now bursting at the seams.

As you finished buttoning your khaki shorts, Harry reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve never seen anyone look better in those shorts, by the way. I’ve been eyeing you all summer,” he announced, breaking the silence, and you had to look away because you knew your face was beaming from the compliment.

“What?” He smirked over at you, and you shook your head bashful all of a sudden. “Come here.” He said, hooking his fingers in your belt loops to draw you closer.

When your body collided with him, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then looked you in the eyes and asked, “What happens now?”

It was the question you had both been avoiding for years—the one that always cast its shadow at the end of every summer. But this time, it would be different. This time, you had both crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I don’t want to go back to ignoring each other.”

Harry nodded, his gentle hand still lingering on your cheek. “Me neither. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I really did think it would be easier. It definitely made it worse.”

“It did,” you agreed. “For both of us.”

Then he released a weary breath and gathered you against his chest. The sensation of his arms around you felt like safety, a rightness you had been missing for so long, a sense of belonging. “Can we just... see where this goes? For now? No pressure, no expectations. Just us, figuring it out day by day.”

Gracious for his honesty, you slowly nodded against his chest and breathed him in. “I’d like that.”

As you left your tiny world in the supply cabin, making sure to lock it behind you, The world grew wider. Harry’s gaze held a new meaning as he took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant, something ordinary taking on a new reality, a giddy sense of hope lengthening your spine as the cool air wisped over your flushed skin, a reminder of what just happened. It wasn’t perfect, and you still felt the fear, but there was promise of something new, something real.

Harry was real.

This was real.

A lingering thrill hung over you both the rest of the night. Patrol seemed to pass in a different kind of silence—a new wonderment emerging with every stolen glance, the secret smiles, or the occasional kiss when you were sure no one was watching. And when you finally returned to your respective cabins as dawn broke, it was with the understanding that something had fundamentally changed between you.

It was like summer had just begun, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, what you and Harry had wouldn’t end when the leaves started to turn.

In the weeks that followed, you lived in the secret fever dream shared between you and Harry. During the day, you maintained a professional distance, focusing on your campers and your responsibilities, but let us not downplay all the stolen glances from across the dining hall, or the brush of his hand against yours during staff meetings, and Jesus, the way his eyes always found yours in a crowd.

They all told a different story.

And the nights—Holy fuck, the nights were spun from stardust and stolen moments, a secret universe belonging only to you two. You knew that as soon as darkness draped its velvet cloak over the camp, you would find each other like magnets drawn across the grounds. Whether officially patrolling together beneath a canopy of twinkling constellations or sneaking away to your special spot by the moonlit lake, you felt it, the magic at the tips of your fingers like you both could bend and stretch time to accommodate your every wish.

Every hour spent in Harry’s arms dissolved into sweet nothings and gentle discoveries as you mapped each other’s hearts and bodies with the enchanted wonder of explorers who had finally, yes, finally, found their promised land. What had lived so long in the realm of dreams now bloomed between your tangled fingers and whispered confessions, now becoming more magical than anything your younger selves could have possibly imagined.

There was so much you didn’t know.

In the quiet hours of the night, nestled against his chest, you had asked about each new tattoo that marked his skin. You watched Harry’s eyes light up as his fingers guided yours over the raised ink, each design carrying its own story of the years you had spent apart, and with every new whispered explanation, you felt the distance of all those separate years contracting as you traced the patterns with your fingertips. Then, your lips would meet his skin with a gentle kiss, silently adding your own meaning to each symbol. These weren’t just tattoos anymore; they were chapters of his life you had missed, now being shared exclusively with you like precious secrets finally coming home.

And this is what it was. Every night, something new was revealed, unpacking each detail of each other willingly, freely, creating a new sanctuary in one another.

He learned that you sang in the shower, that you had a birthmark shaped like a crescent moon on your hip, one he would kiss any chance he got. When you told him that you could name every constellation visible in the summer sky, he rested his head on your bare stomach, and every time you peeled your eyes away from the stars, you saw him looking up at you, his head rising and falling with every gentle breath that left your lungs.

One night, when the conversation turned to dreams, he listened to your dream of becoming a journalist, of traveling the world, of making a difference, and as he pressed your naked bodies together, he whispered, ‘You’ll change the world, you’re already changing mine.” you knew at that moment that you had fallen in love.

As the final week of camp approached, the days seemed to slip through your fingers like water, each sunset stealing the precious hours you could never reclaim, settling over you like a bittersweet yearning already seeping into your bones, at times coloring even the most perfect moments with Harry in gloomy shades of goodbye just knowing that the ending was near.

The summer had been magical—life-changing even—turning you both into versions of yourselves you never knew existed. Those nights spent wrapped in his arms beneath ancient pines had rewritten your understanding of belonging and what it would mean for you moving forward. Every shared secret seemed to build a world that felt both fragile and indestructible all at the same time.

But as the camp calendar thinned and counselors began their whispered goodbyes, that question that had shadowed every summer of your relationship with Harry now loomed impossibly large, casting its long shadow across your happiness, trying to steal the joy you had both worked so hard to cultivate. What would happen when camp ended? When the forest finally gave way to airports and oceans. When this suspended reality came crashing down, forcing you both back into the separate lives you knew were waiting just on the other side of all these little moments.

And as you lay there on the blanket by the lake, far enough from the main camp to ensure the perfect privacy, Harry rested his head in your lap as you mindlessly ran your fingers through his curls. You felt it tugging, goodbye at the forefront of your mind. You couldn’t help the ache knawing at the pit of your stomach even as the stars shone bright above, reflecting on the still water of the lake. The vision was a masterpiece, mirroring back the beauty of another sweet moment you got to share with Harry still in reach.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked, his tone soft, like velvet in the quiet night.

You hesitated, scared, not wanting to break the peaceful moment, but you wanted to be brave, “The future,” you finally divulged.

He shifted, sitting up to look at you. “What about it?”

“Camp ends in a week,” you said, finally voicing the fear that had been growing inside you for days. “And then what happens? Do you go back to England? Do I go back to New York, and we just... what? Text occasionally until next summer? If there is a next summer?”

Harry’s brows drew together at this as a quiet moment stretched between you, his eyes searching yours in the moonlight. “Is that what you want?”

“No—” you forced without hesitation. “But I honestly don’t know what the alternative is. Long-distance relationships are hard, Harry. And we’re both starting university in the fall, and—”

He laughed, catching you off guard when he silenced you with a kiss, soft and sweet, and when he pulled back, there was a determination in his eyes that made your heart race. “I got accepted to NYU,” he said quietly. “For their music program.”

For a second, you stared at him unmoving, not sure you had heard him correctly. “Wait? What?”

“I applied last fall, got accepted in the spring. I was going to tell you when camp started, but then I got scared, and I was an asshole...you know, the bit. When I tried to convince myself that what we had was just a summer thing.”

“But it’s definitely not, right?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “It never was.”

He smiled then, that cute fucking dimpled smile that had captured your heart years ago. “No, it wasn’t. And I don’t want it to be. I want to see where this goes properly. No more summers only, no more oceans between us.”

Joy bubbled up inside you, a happiness so intense it brought tears to your eyes. “You’re really coming to New York?”

“I am,” he confirmed, wiping away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. “If that’s okay with you.”

You laughed, throwing your arms around him, knocking him to the ground. “Harry! It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.”

He hugged you close, his heart beating steadily against yours as the sense of finally hung above you. “I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “I think I have for years.”

The words rushed over your skin, warm and gentle, as you savored them on your tongue. Words so long unspoken but finally given with such thoughtfulness you almost forgot to say them back. “I love you too, Harry. Always have.”

As you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms under the vast sky, the future no longer seemed uncertain. It stretched before you, full of possibilities—just knowing Harry would be by your side seemed to chase any fear you had left. You smiled, knowing that while summer had been your beginning, your story was just starting to unfold. This time, when you left Camp Wildwood, you wouldn’t be leaving your heart behind.

Summer was ours, you thought as you listened to the rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat under the stars.

And now, everything else would be too.

A/N: Man! I think I could have gone on forever with these two. I really liked them! I hope you got as much joy as I got out of them. This got a little angsty. But I think it was well worth it! 🙃

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73 @haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden @spinninc @iloveharrystyles04

Taglist Open<- My Growing Masterlist<- Talk to me<-

235 notes · View notes

dr1diot · 9 days ago

Text

here are those who share the memories

pairing: zhongli x goddess!reader

synopsis: you disappear from morax’s life shortly after the archon war, after he gains the title of geo archon—the title you’d fought tooth and nail to help him obtain. centuries pass, and he hasn’t heard word of you since you left—he assumes you’re dead, faded from existence like so many other gods. until one day, one of his ever-loyal yaksha report a strange sighting near wangshu inn…a human who looks just like you.

aka the real reason behind zhongli’s retirement

morax didn’t think he’d ever shot to his feet as fast as when xiao had reported sightings of a human who looked eerily similar to you near wangshu inn.

he’d been spending his afternoon the same way he always did—keeping a watchful eye over his city from the clouds, hidden from the sight of the mortals who bustled down below.

as the sun had dipped ever closer towards the horizon, he’d landed on the highest peak of the stone forest sprouting from the ground northwest of liyue harbor, shifting back into the form of a man. it was as he sat down at the familiar table hewn of stone that xiao had appeared before him, brows furrowed as he reported his sightings.

morax had believed for a long time that his heart had turned to stone the day you left him. but now, at the sound of your name on his yaksha’s tongue, he felt it thud painfully in his chest for the first time in centuries.

he wasted no time in snapping his fingers and shifting into his human vessel—the one he’d named zhongli some decades ago, when he’d first ventured into the city cloaked under the guise of mortality—before commanding xiao to take him to where he’d seen you last.

so there he was, leaning against the railing on the highest floor of wangshu inn. furiously scanning the milling crowd enjoying the restaurant, power rippling out in waves gone unnoticed by the oblivious humans below as tendrils of his power threaded through them—weaving up, down, side to side as he explored each human, searching for even a drop of the power that had belonged to you. that had felt almost as familiar as his own, that had mingled with his each night spent together, each time you’d held each other after a long, bloody, soul-battering battle.

he searched. he searched and searched and searched and searched—

and he couldn’t find you.

he stayed there until the sun went down, until the lamps were lit, bright against the darkness—until the humans began retiring to their rooms, drunk and laughing and happy—

morax thought he’d never be happy again. not after his heart had risen so high, after he’d been filled to the brim with hope that he’d be able to hear your voice again—

ah, as grief weighed his eyelids down, dropped mountains on his shoulders, even his own mind turned against him.

he could have sworn he heard you. the silky, almost musical cadence of your voice—oh, how he missed your voice.

“morax.”

he laughed hoarsely, silently cursing celestia. the mind was truly an amazing thing—how familiar the trickery his grief-stricken psyche had conjured sounded to the way you’d called his name so many centuries ago—

oh, it was painful. his heart cracked.

but then he felt xiao bristling at his side. and then, heard footsteps from behind.

his body moved on its own, whipping around as a painfully familiar power washed over his senses—

and oh.

he fell to his knees.

because the one in front of him—the human—

it was you.

and damn if he didn’t feel those cracks in his heart mending.

you were smiling softly as you stood several paces from his trembling, crumpled form. “it’s been a long time, old friend.”

how did you sound so unfazed when he felt close to breaking out in sobs?

he hadn’t realized just how much he missed you all those centuries ruling liyue by himself.

“it’s…it’s you. you’re alive.” his voice was hoarse, disbelieving.

he vaguely noted his yaksha disappearing into the night to give them space.

“i am.” you nodded, taking a step forward—and your scent washed over him.

his eyes widened. it was so distinctly human—it was similar to how you’d smelled before—and yet, it had an edge of raw mortality to it—

“how…? why do you smell human?”

“ah, right. i never showed you my human vessel, did i? though it seems you’ve taken one too. i named it ‘huangxi.’ pretty name, no?” you toyed with a strand of your h/c hair, eyes flickering down to the form of the man before you.

he only stared up, eyes still wide. “why?”

you flicked the strand of hair behind you. “i didn’t want people to constantly be falling at my feet and begging for blessings—it’s easier to move around this way.”

“no. why did you leave me?”

ah.

your smile turned into something sad, eyes filling with understand at the hoarseness of his voice. “i’m sorry, morax. i simply…got tired. of being a god. i wanted to experience something new. something human. and you…you could never leave your post. your duties.” you laughed ruefully. “i wanted to travel the world. but you—you were tied down to liyue. you could not have travelled with me. you loved the city guizhong left you too much.”

morax shook his head as he stood on trembling legs. “i—i thought you were dead.” he takes a wobbly step forward. “i would have gone with you, had you asked. breaking my contract with liyue would have been better than thinking you were gone this whole time.” his voice broke, and he took another step.

“i’m sorry. i knew you would have tried to stop me had i told you of my plans. but that was wrong of me. i should’ve sent word to you that i was ok. forgive me. i didn’t know you cared so much.”

didn’t know that he cared? the words made him shake. how could you have not known? after everything the two of you had gone through? after those nights together? he could feel slivers of his godhood slipping through his mortal vessel, his eyes, arms, the tips of his hair beginning to glow.

“are you mad at me, morax?” you questioned softly, cocking your head to the side as he took another step—you were now close enough for him to touch if he simply raised his arms.

oh, how he wanted to be mad. how could you leave him? let him believe you were dead for so long?

and yet, as he tried to muster his anger, all he could feel was pure, heart-wrenching relief at having you standing before him.

“…no.” he raised both hands, brushing your face softly before cupping your cheek, your jaw. almost in disbelief at the warmth beneath his fingers, at the heat that leaked through his gloves.

you were here. in front of him. alive.

before you could react, his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, dragging you to his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

and then he was crying.

his shoulders trembled as he took deep, choked breaths trying to wrest his sobs back to silence.

you tried to lift your arms to wrap around his broad back, yet the slight movement had him squeezing tighter.

“i’ll go with you. i’ll go with you, so don’t leave me again.” he kept his face buried, but this time didn’t react as you lifted your arms to pat his back gently. “i’ll be human for you. then we can travel together.”

you laugh. “oh, morax, morax, morax. you should not give up your godhood so lightly. what would guizhong say?”

“guizhong,” morax breathed as he finally lifted his face, eyes red and puffy, cheeks wet, “would tell me to follow my heart, for she was a kind god.”

his heart.

you stared into his amber eyes for a long time, smile fading as you beheld what was there.

“morax. we are only friends. what we shared after battles—that was for comfort. to forget the horrors of that day.” you began shaking your head. “do not be so quick to give up the archonhood that you fought so hard for.”

“that we fought so hard for.” he corrected, something sparking in his eyes. “and i’m tired too, y/n. it’s been six thousand years.” he smiled ruefully. “i think im ready to stop.”

you both stared at each other for a long time.

“if that is what you truly desire,” you said slowly, “then i will not stop you. but please, do not regret your decision later.”

he smiled, partly in relief, partly in assurance. “i will not. after all, how can i regret a decision made in love?”

in love.

the word threatened to bring you to your knees.

“you do not mean it, morax.” you warned softly.

“i do. i have had centuries to think about it. to realize what my feelings for you were before you left. now i am taking this chance, this miraculous chance, to tell you.” his voice was soft, and yet you heard the conviction there. and your heart squeezed.

“then i must confess something,” you whispered. “when i left you, yes, i was tired of being a god. but i was also afraid—i loved you too. but i was scared. scared of what that meant. so i ran like a coward. even knowing this, can you still say you love me?”

“i do not see why that is a problem.” he took one of your hands, pressing his lips to your palm. “y/n. i would love, more than anything, to spend the rest of my existence with you. as a god, as a human, i do not care—if you’ll have me. what say you?”

your eyes shutter shut, and you begin crying. “i do not deserve your love.”

“you deserve the world and more, dear y/n. in fact, it is i who does not deserve your love.”

you open your silver-lined eyes, beholding the love in his eyes. the gleaming affection. and begin crying harder. “yes,” you sobbed, bowing your head as tears roll down your cheeks. “i will have you, if you truly want that.”

morax looked ready to collapse in sheer relief as he closed his eyes, leaning in to press his brow to yours. “thank you.”

you only smiled tearfully, patting his back as he wrapped his arms around you once again. “i should be the one thanking you.”

“zhongli!”

“ah—there you are, huangxi.” zhongli patted the empty spot next to him, smiling at the sight of his lover waving in his direction as she approached the table. “please meet director hu. she’s my boss at the wangsheng funeral parlor.”

huangxi smiled brightly as she sat next to the immaculately-dressed man, extending a hand to the girl with pigtails. “it’s great to finally meet you, director hu. zhongli has told me much about you.”

“aiya, really? all good things, i hope!” the young funeral director exclaimed, raising an eyebrow at her newest employee.

“of course, he reassured, bowing his head.

“good, good. though i must apologize, ms huangxi—i frankly have no idea who you are, or your relation to my employee here. mr. zhongli is loathe to talk about his personal life at work.” she sighed in exasperation, massaging her temples with mock frustration.

“ah.” huangxi lifted an eyebrow at the man sitting besides her, who cleared his throat.

“do forgive me for not filling you in earlier, director. this is my wife, huangxi.”

“…what?!”

part two: huangxi

#zhongli x reader #zhongli #genshin x reader #zhongli angst #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x you #genshin impact #genshin writing #angst with a happy ending #genshin x reader angst #genshin fanfic #zhongli fluff

242 notes · View notes