#not me because i think people just hear how tired i sound and don't try it

[returnofeternity]

something something butch reader maybe giving misty a massage,,? reader just wants to make her feel good. cos misty has been complaining, extra work hours leaving her sore and tired, reader suggests giving her a massage sometime soon, just trying to please and thinking nothing of it. And misty immediately jumps at the opportunity lol

I need to take care of misty bro

Love your writing as always

-🦇

she comes home and doesn't even greet you with her usual, "i'm home, handsome." all you hear is a grumble and the sound of her purse slamming against the floor.

you know she's been working extra hours, but she hasn't really complained a whole lot. she just wiped her tired eyes and told you she was fine to stay up and spend more time with you since you've barely had time to yourselves. guess this week must've really gotten to her.

"babe?" you call out, pushing yourself off the couch and walking to the front door.

you see her trudging around like a tired zombie, her slippers sliding against the floor as she tries to find her way into the living room. her eyes are fighting to stay open, and she's got this cute pout on her lips that makes your heart melt.

"here, c'mere." you grab her shoulders and lead her the other way, gently pushing her toward the stairs. you hold onto her hips as she slowly finds her footing and walks up a few stairs, but she's so tired that she ends up slumping against the wall and groaning.

you smile slightly and squeeze her hips before you pick her up, and your heart warms even more when she instinctively throws her arms around your neck and her legs over your waist.

"what are those old people doing to you at work, hm? i've never seen you this tired." you push open the bedroom door with your foot and place her in bed, and you spend a second admiring her pretty face as she wiggles and makes herself comfortable before you leave to close the door.

"want me to make you something?" you mumble as you kneel over her, kissing her lips and cheeks as you cuddle in next to her.

she hums and wraps an arm around your waist, stuffing her face into your neck. and as you peer down at her, you can't help but smile at how fogged up her glasses get as her breath tickles your skin.

"no, i'm not hungry." she moans softly as you dig your fingers into her back. "can you make me something in a little bit, though? right now all i wanna do is sleep."

you kiss her forehead. "mhm. anything you want." you keep rubbing her back and shoulder, and she keeps panting against your neck, giving you goosebumps. "can i give you a massage?"

you're already scooting up and moving her on her belly before she can respond, and the second your hands are on her back, digging into her sore muscles, she's gone.

"oh my god." her whine is muffled into the pillow, her nails scratching the bed sheets as your knuckles rub out the knots in her back. "don't stop."

you chuckle and press your knuckle harder into the knot, and her legs shoot up and kick you in the ass.

her back arches as you lift her shirt to stick your hands under, and her stomach melts right back into the bed when you rub her shoulders. it seems like she doesn't know what to do with her head because she keeps alternating between stuffing her face in the pillow or resting it on her arm and biting her skin to muffle her groans as you massage her body so wonderfully.

you lean over and mumble her name as you take her glasses off, placing them down on the dresser, before resuming your ministrations. you think her little sounds of pleasure are cute, but they soon die down as she goes into a deep slumber, and all you can hear is the soft sound of her snoring.

[iguessitsjustme]

work rant feel free to ignore i just need to get this out of my brain before i esplode:

My job not having any social media presence actually drives me insane...I'm going to try to rant without giving away where I work but my god. I work for an extremely well known (at least in the USA) organization and there's a lot of misinformation flying around out there and we do have a website, but just a website. That no one goes to or looks at unless they call and we direct them to exactly what they're looking for because they ask if we have it written down anywhere.

And I think it's incredibly...obtuse...to not have any presence at all. I'm not saying we need to have an extremely loud and huge presence. But even just like an official reddit or an official tiktok (we do have a twitter kind of but it is never used and I honest to god don't think anyone has access to it anymore) and even if those pages just have the most basic information on it, I think that would help. Just like "here's a link to our website. Here's our phone number. Here's which department handles what if you want to be asked for that specific department." I spend so much of my day on the phone with people that have questions that are so easily answered by just going on our website but no one does. Also don't even get me started on what they did to the website it looks like it got hacked now but it didn't.

This is a strange work rant for a Sunday night but I find myself annoyed. My coworkers and I send each other reddit posts of people misunderstanding things. I mean, they are willfully misunderstanding things they were previously informed of. In writing. But if we really want to make it better and more accessible for people, I think having the information presented in multiple ways would be best. Especially when we're dealing with children. These kids are on reddit and on tiktok and on twitter and they have questions and they are more likely going to go searching in those places to find information. And there are people that claim themselves as experts on all of those platforms but none of them work for or have previously worked for my organization. So they don't know. So these kids are getting incorrect information and then I get angry parents and children on the phone because they listened to the wrong person or organization and I'm standing by our policy and our rules and they don't like that.

Also sometimes they aren't angry on the phone because they were misinformed about something saying that they can't do this this or that and it turns out they can. And if they hadn't called they would have entirely missed the opportunity because they're going to the wrong sources because we, as an organization, refuse to be the source on a different platform other than our own.

And I get it. They don't want to hire someone to be the social media person because we are small and don't have the budget for that. But it's 2024. There are many people. Many staff. That have a lot of downtime (not my department unless it's the summer) and this could be the perfect task to give them. Even if it's just coming up with ideas to present. Not even necessarily filming anything. And videos don't need to show anyone's face or voice. We could literally do the most basic shit and it would be beneficial. It would count down on the number of calls we get and my coworkers and I would have time to do our jobs instead of spending half our time on the phone (do not ask how behind we are because it is sad).

There's something else I want to say about a different organization that I think this would help with but I cannot say without giving away where I work and also I can't bitch about our partner without causing problems. But if you live in the USA, you know about our partner, and I guarantee you hate them. But not as much as me. Never as much as me.

[alwaysmaybank]

soft rafe hours

soft!bf!rafe x reader

warnings: barely proofread, use of y/n once, really soft and mushy!

this is my first time actually writing anything fan fic related so idk if this is good or not.. sorry in advance for the people that follow me because of jj or "right in front of you" but when I made this blog I was in my jj phase and now I'm in my rafe one, so sorry! hope you like it !!

the title is so cringy help me

summary: nobody ever saw rafe like this—so soft. well, except for you, especially during soft rafe hours: at night after a long day, when you’re asleep, when he first wakes up, when you’re sick or hurt, after an argument, on rainy days, and even sometimes in bed. you loved this side of him, even if he only showed it to you. people see him as the confident, smug rafe cameron, but one phone call reveals just how different he truly is.

more under the cut!

after tossing and turning the entire night, slumber is finally taking over your eyelids. just as they start to close… ping! you could've sworn you left your phone on silent? after groaning about it and wondering who it could be, it clicks.

ping! it's rafe. this has become a familiar trend now, him not being able to sleep so he texts and texts until you reply.

ping! until you two call.

ping! you consider just ignoring it, ping! but how could you? it's rafe. plus, if you even tried to ignore him, he would come over and break the door down if he had to.

ping! you eventually open your phone, your eyes closing instinctively at the blinding brightness, six texts from rafe.

rafey:

2:14am

hey baby you up? i miss you

rafey:

2:32am

baby? are u up? y/n?

you saw him yesterday. you’re not sure what’s going on, but you suspect it has something to do with ward, given his clingy behavior.

2:35am

hey rafey

rafey:

did i wake you? sorry baby

you lie. you don't want to make him feel bad.

no no dw baby i was watching something

rafey:

oh okay can we call? couldnt sleep without you i miss you

five seconds later, you call him. “hey baby,” you hear his quiet, soft, yet raspy sleepy voice first.

“hi,” you reply tiredly.

“i missed you,” he says, and you can practically hear the radiant smile in his voice.

“how was your day?” you just had a blissfully lazy day today, some shopping on the side.

“good, i went shopping and saw that whiskey you like on the shelf, reminded me of you,” you grin over the phone.

“mm, good,” you hear him mumble out. “just missed your voice,” he continues. “couldn’t sleep without hearing you first, baby.” that’s cute.

“awh, i love you, baby,” you reply, your tired but don’t want to stay silent; you know he needs this.

“i missed you today,” rafe murmured after a beat, his voice rougher now, more raw. “whole day just felt wrong without you in it.” your chest tightened slightly, in the best way as a blush crept onto your cheeks. he said stuff like this all the time; you don’t think you would ever get over it.

“you make everything better, without even trying,” he pauses, taking in a soft breath. “like… just existing.” you didn’t know what to say, so you settled for a soft, “i missed you too, rafey.”

rafe hummed on the other side of the line, clearly content with that answer. the call goes silent for a minute, the only sound both of your soft breaths that blended together.

“don’t hang up,” he mumbled, his voice hard to get the point across but softened immensely. “jus’… stay, okay?” he whispered, and you agreed with a soft hum.

there was another long pause, and then, so quiet you could’ve thought you imagined it, a little, “love you so much, baby,” slipped past rafe’s lips. you held a chuckle in before responding, “i love you too, rafey, goodnight.” but by the time you said that, rafe was fast asleep, his breath slowing down as the gentle trance of sleep pulled him in.

as you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his soothing voice, you felt your own eyelids grow heavy, surrendering to a peaceful slumber where everything felt right.

this is wayyyy too short stop

[sturniolobliss]

⌗ . . . ❛ 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 ❜ christopher sturniolo.

warnings ◞ ˚˖ ࣪ ex!chris, light angst, emotional vulnerability, drunk calling, explicit and suggestive content, heartbreak, longing, mentions of masturbation, guilt . . . etc.

note ◞ ˚˖ ࣪ bow divider by @/bernardsbendystraws · · ୨୧

read part two next!

you miss the first call. then the second. by the time your phone lights up for the third time—chris, glowing across the screen—your chest tightens with that old, unwelcome ache you've spent weeks trying to forget.

you don't answer.

not the fourth time. not the fifth.

by the seventh, he stops calling. starts leaving voicemails instead.

you stare at the notifications for a while, thumb hovering. you know better. you know exactly what this will do to you.

still, you press play.

voicemail one — 2:06am

0:47

"hey. s'me. i mean… obviously s'me, right?"

he laughs, light and bitter. you can already tell he's been drinking. his voice is thick, a little slower than usual.

"i don't even know why m'calling. i shouldn't be. i just—fuck. i miss you. i know m'not supposed to say that. i swore i wouldn't say that.”

a pause. you can hear him breathing.

"i think you'd be proud, though. i've been really good at pretendin'. like you don't come up when someone mentions that movie we loved or when i see someone with that hairstyle you always got or hear a song that sounds like you. i jus' swallow it. every time. like s'nothin'. but tonight i guess i forgot how to do that."

beep.

voicemail two — 2:11am

1:28

"you remember that playlist you made me? the one with all the dumb transitions? i listened to it tonight."

a quiet sound, maybe the shuffle of him sitting down.

"it still smells like you in my hoodie. i don't even wear it anymore. jus'—jus' leave it folded. fuck, i sound pathetic."

another pause. longer this time. then:

"i keep dreamin' 'bout you. about your hands. about the way you used to look at me when y'wanted somethin'. i wake up hard and aching and still smelling you in the sheets, even though you're not there. even though s'jus' me."

his voice drops, softer now, tired.

"you ruined me, y'know that?"

beep.

voicemail three — 2:18am

2:14

"i keep tryin' to find pieces of you in other people."

the silence on this one stretches. you hear the drag of a sigh, like he's trying not to cry.

"but they don't laugh like you. they don't kiss like you. they don't know how to touch me the way you did. no one ever fuckin' knew like you did."

his voice breaks on that last part. your throat goes tight.

"and i hate it. i hate you for it. for knowin' me that well. for leavin' anyway."

then quieter, like it slips out without permission—

"i'd let you wreck me again if it meant you'd come back."

beep.

voicemail four — 2:24am

3:09

he's whispering now. and you realize, with a jolt, he's not alone in his bed.

he's talking to you like you are.

"you used to say my name so sweet, remember? chris. chris. chris—like it was yours."

a rustle of blankets, maybe skin.

"sometimes i touch myself to the sound of your voice. not even dirty shit—jus' the way you'd say good morning. or fuck off. or i love you."

your breath catches.

"m'hard right now. been hard since the second ring."

you freeze.

"i don't care if you listen to this. i want you to. i want you to know you still do this to me. that no one's ever made me fall apart jus' by existing."

he groans softly.

"you always knew how to break me. and you always loved it."

beep.

voicemail five — 2:32am

4:11

"y'said no one else would understand me the way you did."

he's breathless now. slower. like he's working through something, deep in it.

"you were right. they don't."

a low noise—his throat, a choked-off moan.

"i was gonna call someone else tonight. someone easy. but it didn't feel right. because she's not you. her hands aren't yours. her mouth doesn't taste like fire and vanilla chapstick and every fuckin' thing i ever needed."

you close your eyes, biting your lip.

"if you were here right now, i'd get on my knees. tell you m'sorry. beg. let you sit on my face until i couldn't breathe. jus' to feel useful again."

his breathing is louder now. uneven.

"you always made me feel owned. and i fuckin' loved it."

beep.

voicemail six — 2:38am

1:59

"i came," he says, and it's so quiet, so wrecked, your heart nearly caves in.

"i came thinkin' about you. still holdin' my phone. still waitin' for you to pick up."

he laughs, but it's hollow.

"you didn't. you won't. i know.”

a pause.

"but fuck, i needed you to hear it. needed you to know i still think about you. every time. every fuckin' time."

another pause. longer. heavier.

"god, m'so tired. i miss your voice. i miss your laugh. i miss your mouth and the way you used to pull my hair and tell me to be quiet."

you can hear it again in his voice—the unspoken thing underneath.

"you always ruined me in the best ways. i think you still are."

beep.

voicemail seven — 2:43am

0:22

"delete these," he says, voice almost clear this time.

"or don't. i don't care. jus'… don't hate me more than you already do."

a soft inhale.

"i meant all of it."

click.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ : @sturniolo-szn2 / @mattscoquette / @sturnsflirt / @tezzzzzzzz . . . .ᐟ

comment or message to get added · · ୨୧

[mysteryshoptls]

2025-2026 Player Birthday Login Message Lines

These are all the messages that you get from the boys when you log in on the birthday that you set in-game from 18 Mar 2025 to 17 Mar 2026! For those that want to hear them, you can find them in the Archive, under the tab その他　→　監督生バースデー⑤. (This will not be in your game archives until the birthday you set passes.)

You can find the 2021-2022 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2022-2023 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2023-2024 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2024-2025 Birthday Login Message Lines here!

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]. It may only be a small token, but I've prepared a gift for you. Here is a spare tie. I'm sure you won't get yours dirtied often, but there is always the chance. In order to follow the rules and dress appropriately, you should make sure to carry it on you at all times.

Ace

Oh, there they are. Heeey, [Yuu]. You free? Let's go play some b-ball. Why...? I mean, today's your birthday, right? I thought I'd celebrate you in my own way, is all. Come on, let's go, we gotta get moving 'til our stomach growls. There's another bit of "fun" to look forward to after, too.

Deuce

[Yuu], Happy Birthday. I went and rented a blastcycle for you today. I just thought it'd be nice to let my hardworking friend feel the breeze on their face for once. Might be a good change of pace, don't you think? Don't worry, I'll drive totally safe. Here, get on the back. Once you're ready to go, we're off!

Cater

Happy Birthday! Thanks for all the work you do as a prefect. Don't you get tired from working so hard? That's why I got.... this! Some bath salts recommended by yours truly! The rose petals inside are super cute, and the fragrance really helps to soothe your soul～ Tell me what you thought later!

Trey

[Yuu], Happy Birthday. I was actually thinking of heading to a café today, want to come with? Apparently the sweets there are made by a first-class pâtissier. Aren't you curious how it'll taste? You think I'm just wanting to taste it for myself? ...Haha, no way. I'm just trying to celebrate you for your birthday.

SAVANACLAW

Leona

I thought it was sounding pretty rowdy, but I see it was just 'cause it's your birthday. Good for you. Huh? You want to eat lunch with me because it's your birthday? That's a pretty strong demand from a little herbivore like you. Well now, what sort of delicious meat will you treat me to, hm...? You're extending an invitation to me, of all people, so I'm expecting a lavish feast.

Jack

Happy Birthday. I'm just saying that as a fellow schoolmate. It's not like I'm looking to get along, or anything. Hm? The candy jar you got as a gift won't open? Fine, hand it over. ...There you go. I'm pretty nice for someone who doesn't want to get along...? What's that supposed to mean? Don't get ahead of yourself, just 'cause it's your birthday.

Ruggie

[Yuu]-kun, Happy Birthday～ Feels like you're growin' a bit more with another year under your belt. Oh yeaah, you should totally show off how mature you got. For example, maaaybe you can treat me to something. You'll buy me a lil' snack? Sheeheehee, thaaaanks～ This is why it's great havin' cute lil' underclassmen like you.

OCTAVINELLE

Azul

[Yuu]-san, a very Happy Birthday to you. ...Whatever is the problem? You have a concerned look on your face. You haven't finished your homework? Even though the party is right around the corner? Well, isn't this a predicament. Allow me to embody the spirit of compassion and assist you. Not to worry, proper compensation can be discussed at a later date... Right?

Jade

Happy Birthday. I've prepared a present for you. Here you go. This is a patch of moss that I cultivated and separated out just for you. Also, here is a booklet on how to care for it. Please show me how well your moss has grown six months from now. ...You absolutely won't allow it to wither and die, now, will you?

Floyd

Shrimpy-chan, Happy Birthday～ Here ya go, I brought a cake just for you. ...Eh, the cake inside's a mess? Ohhh right～ That might be 'cause I dropped it earlier. So? There somethin' wrong with that? It's not like the taste'll change. Eat it already, c'mon.

SCARABIA

Kalim

Happy Birthday! Pheeew, I'm feelin' so excited. Makes me wanna dance! Oh yeah, wanna dance together at your birthday party later? ...Ahaha, you don't gotta know what moves to make! I'm just gonna dance for you with all my best wishes, so that'll be fun enough!

Jamil

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]. Are you ready to be completely mobbed by everyone in the spirit of your birthday? Eh, you're not? Hey, that's why I'm always telling you to be prepared for any... ...Mm, maybe I shouldn't nag like this on their birthday of all days... Ugh, fine, I'll get you ready. First, we have to do something about those clothes, got it?

POMEFIORE

Vil

Happy Birthday. You seem to be having a grand time. Perhaps you didn't need my well wishes? Of course that couldn't possibly have been the case. That's why I've made my way here before heading to my club. I have a present to hand to you, as well. You should be grateful that I took the time for you like this. Keep on striving for perfection.

Epel

Happy Birthday! It's about your present, but... Wanna come with me to pick something out at Foothill Town? I was looking into a bunch of stuff, but I don't really know what's really in right now... You sure? Great! Then let's go right now! I'm really looking forward to shopping with you!

Rook

Happy Birthday, are you enjoying your special day? Your beauty still astounds as another year passes! This is my present to you. I made sure to thoroughly prepare something that you are guaranteed to love. As a hunter, I cannot allow my aim to be off the mark, after all. Hurry, please open it. I want to hear your thoughts as soon as I can.

IGNIHYDE

Idia

Happy Birthday... ...Eh, you have a favor to ask me? Ugh, that's worse than having to give a present... I'll at least ask, but... what is it? You want me to tell you what computer I recommend? I mean, I build my own... EH, YOU'RE INTERESTED IN BUILDING YOUR OWN COMPUTER TOO!? Suuuure, of course I'll teach you! I gotchu, whether it's air-cooled PCs, liquid-cooled PCs, or anything else you want! When it comes to personal builds, I'm your man～!

Ortho

Today's your birthday, right? Happy Birthday! I have a present for you, too. Here you go, DVD of movies! I searched through all the reviews online and compiled all the most popular movies in each genre. Once you're finished watching everything, I'd love to verify your impress... Wait, I mean, I'd love to chat about what you thought of them!

DIASOMNIA

Malleus

Happy Birthday. In celebration, I've prepared some ice cream. Why did I choose this? Because I remember being elated, myself, when served this in the past. I can only hope you feel the same. ...You are? Well, wonderful.

Silver

Happy Birthday. Is there anything you'd like as a gift? You'd like to train with me? A spectacular attitude... Of course, I do not mind at all. However... The celebratory atmosphere may lead to me being more spirited than usual. Let me know if it becomes too difficult for you.

Sebek

Hey, human! You're looking more lax than usual. Do you not think you're letting yourself go too much, simply because it is your birthday? You're surprised I remembered? Well, obviously I did, my memory is much better than yours, after all! I won't say this is an offering for your birthday, or anything... But I should feed you something that'll put some muscle even on a weak human like you. Follow me!

Lilia

[Lilia pops out from the ceiling] HAPPY BIRTHDAY, [YUU]! Kheehee, a good reaction, indeed. Birthdays should all be about surprises. It seems like my little tactic was a big hit. I've got a present and some cake waiting for you, too. Basically, the plan was to treat you after giving you a little shock like that.

OTHERS

Grim

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]! C'mon, hurry and get ready to go! As the boss of the Gastronomy Club, I made you some real good food! I threw in a ton of leaves and roots, too! You're a real lucky hench-human, huh! Myahaha!

Crowley, Crewel, Trein, Rollo and Fellow do not have new lines. Theirs are repeated from last year’s.

Crowley

Ta-daaa! What do you suppose this could be? That’s correct, it’s an exchange coupon for use at the Mystery Shop! You have been a consistent helping hand, so… This is a special gift for you. Happy Birthday. Incidentally, that is only worth 500 madol (5 Thaumarks). It cannot be exchanged for something pricier than that. Please don’t hold it against me.

Crewel

It seemed rather rowdy in here, but now I see it was just you, pup. Are you excited simply because its your birthday? I see, well, in that case, I have a special present just for you. As for what it is… It is a special alchemy homework assignment. You should be happy; you’ll be able to improve your skills even further with this, don’t you think? Haha, Happy Birthday.

Trein

I hear it is your birthday today. Do continue to put forth your best effort in your studies as a student of academia. Allow me to gift you with some words of wisdom instead of a present, as someone who has been on this mortal coil slightly longer than yourself. Merely aging another year does not a mature person make. However, time spent on fruitful endeavors will always be of benefit to your growth.

Rollo

Whatever is the matter, [Yuu]-kun? There is a strange glimmer in your eyes… …Ah, I see. Today is your birthday. A present? Hmph. I hardly think that it should be something you request of others… But no matter. Indeed, birthdays should be treasured. However, what would be an acceptable gift…? I am afraid I’m rather unaccustomed to this. I would hope I do not disappoint you with a poor gift choice.

Fellow (EN: Ernesto)

Oh, my, hello there, my learned scholar! I’ve been searching, and finally, I’ve found you! I was fervently hoping to wish you well for your birthday. Here, your present. ...As fellows lacking in magical abilities, we should get along together, don'tcha think? Happy Birthday! Fwahaha!

Requested by @butterflyremix.

[mrsjjongstby]

"I don't hate you." - Y.JW

Pairings: academic rival!jungwon x fem!reader Synopsis: One late night project session turns into you both confessing your actual feelings. Warnings: angst if u squint really hard, comfort, fluff, skinship WordCount: 634

You didn't mean to stay up this late in the seminar room. 

The room is silent except for the air conditioner's sound and the typing of the keyboard. The rest of the group left hours ago, their unfinished parts all forced into the shared document with half hearted excuses. 

Now, it's just you and him. (its just me nd uuuuu~ locking eyes ins- sorry. ill stop.)

Jungwon. 

The bane of your existence, the calm to your storm, the person who you always feel the need to compete against and the person whose name is always a constant next to yours in everything. 

You hear the soft click of his keyboard stop. Then the sound of his chair creaking as he leans back. 

“Still not done?” he says. 

You don’t even look at him. “Still watching me?” 

“I’m trying to see if you'll actually ask for help for once.” 

You turn to face him, brows raised. “I don’t need help.” 

He tilts his head, amused. “Right. That’s why you’ve been stuck on the same paragraph for twenty minutes.” 

You slam your laptop shut and glare at him. “Do you ever shut up?” 

A pause. He smiles—but not like he’s mocking you. More like he’s tired. Tired of this back and forth. 

“Do you ever stop trying so hard to prove something?” 

You blink. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Jungwon leans forward now, his voice lower, more serious. 

“It means,” he says, “you treat everything like it’s a battle. Like if you let anyone help you, you lose.” 

“Because people like you never actually help. You just want to take over.” 

He exhales, rubs his temples. “You really think I care about outshining you?” 

You cross your arms. “Don’t you?” 

His eyes finally meet yours. And there’s something different in them now. 

“No,” he says, voice soft. “I care about you not burning out. I care about this project because you clearly do. And… I guess I care more than I should.” 

Your chest tightens. 

“That’s not funny.” 

“I’m not joking.” 

For a second, neither of you speak. 

Then he says your name, just your name and it sounds… warm. Like it belongs in his mouth. 

“I don’t hate you,” he says. “I never did. I just didn’t know how to talk to someone who always kept me at arm’s length.” 

You blink back the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“I don’t hate you either,” you whisper. “But I was scared.” 

Jungwon’s smile is small and real this time. 

You don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him—but suddenly, you’re sitting closer. His shoulder touches yours. He looks down at your laptop and nudges it open. 

“Let’s finish this together,” he says. 

And for once, you don’t argue. 

Later that night, he walks you back to your dorm, hands in his pockets. 

“Still think I’m out to one-up you?” he asks, grinning. 

You glance at him and smirk. 

“Still you,” you say. “But now I kinda like it.” 

He bumps your shoulder. 

You let him. 

After a bit of walking, you stop in front of your door, neither of you moves to go inside. 

There’s a strange tension in the quiet — not sharp or uncomfortable, but warm.  

You look up. 

He's already looking at you. 

There’s a pause. A breath. His voice drops, barely a whisper. 

“Can I—” 

You don’t let him finish. 

You kiss him first. 

It’s not perfect. It’s a little hesitant. But when his hand cups your jaw and he pulls you in, you feel something fall into place — something that’s been tugging at both of you for far too long. 

When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours. 

“You’re really annoying sometimes,” you murmur. 

He laughs softly. “So are you.” 

Then he kisses you again — slower this time. 

And just like that, the war between you ends. 

A/N: this is an anon requesttt!!!!!! hope they like ittt!!!!!!!! nd hope u guys like itt!!!!!! this is my first wonnie fic sooo yeahhh! stay hydrated!!!!!!

[captain-huggy-bear]

Congrats on 1000!!

please may i request “you’re going to bed, even if i have to carry you there myself.” with clayton keller 😊🫶

Sorry for the long wait! I hope it was worth it :) 1000 Followers Celly Finished Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

You've been hunched over your laptop since 6pm, it's nearly midnight with no signs of you stopping, no matter how tired you are.

You kept insisting that you'd just be one more minute, one more hour, that you'd be done soon. But, you never were. Eyes drying out, bags underneath darkening, shoulders hunching up near your ears as you type and type in an effort to finish all the emails you need to send off, all the invoices you need to complete for the wedding. It's stupid, Clay has told you he's happy to just pay someone to sort the wedding, but you wanted to do it yourself and in typical fashion you wanted it sorted as soon as possible rather than taking your time. You have months to do this stuff, it doesn't all need to be done tonight he tries to remind you...but you just wave him off, tell him you'll come to bed in 10 minutes.

That was 2 hours ago, Clay's been in bed for an hour, lying there, waiting for you to come to bed but only hearing the tapping of the keys on your keyboard and the sound your tired sighs.

It's the 50th sigh that has him losing his patience, bed covers thrown back, legs swung around until he's leaving the warmth of the bed and the comfort of your shared bedroom to go find you.

You're where he left you. Still hunched over, hair a mess, head nodding slowly like you're trying to resist falling asleep sat upright. The clock reads 11:42pm. Too late for you to be sat in front of a screen for something that isn't imminent, isn't urgent. Something that can wait another day.

"Come to bed, baby..." He leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, chin resting on top of your head as his arms wrap around you. You just sigh at him, leaning back but not stopping the email you're writing to the venue.

"Just 5 minutes, let me finish this email." You try to keep typing even when he's being cute, pressing a kiss on to the top of your head like he's walked out of some sort of romance book.

"You've been saying that for the last 3 hours, baby..."

"I promise."

"No, no, no....You’re going to bed, even if I have to carry you there myself.” He starts to tug you back, you try to stay where you are, refusing to budge, determined to get this email done.

"Cla-" You go to protest, not expecting him to be serious. You don't get a chance to truly protest because he's dragging your chair away from the table and scooping you up like it's nothing. Until you're arms are linking around his neck, his arm is underneath your legs, and he's lifting you up and walking with you towards the bedroom.

Everyone tells him he's small, he's not that big, he's just a little waterbug. The truth is Clay might not be massive, might not be 6ft 6 or 220lbs, but he's strong enough. He spends more time than people would think strength training, lifting weights, making sure he has the strength in his body to fling a puck quick and forceful. Lifting you isn't something he worries about. It might even be something he factors in during off-season training, seeing how much he can lift, how easy it would be to pick you up if he wanted or needed to...not that he'd tell you or anyone else that.

"Clay!" You're laughing even as you're protesting, smile bright even though you're tired. The sort of laugh in your voice that has Clay smiling that half smile of his, the one where half his mouth twists until his cheek dimples, teeth peeking out from behind his lips.

"I said you were coming to bed, so you're coming to bed."

"But the spreadsheet! The emails!" Your protests are mostly overdramatic jokes now, the seriousness gone as he carries you, enjoying being babied a little bit.

"Can wait. You're tired, baby, I'm tired. We're going to bed."

Your overly dramatic protests stop the minute you're almost thrown onto the bed, pillows soft under your head, mattress sinking beneath you, it's like your mind remembers what it's like to sleep, how nice it is...and you start to wonder why you were so determined to stay up when you could have been here, curled up with Clay for the past 2 hours.

"Oh...."

"Yeah, oh...C'mere." He's unbuttoning your jeans, tugging them down your legs with ease and throwing a t-shirt over you before you have time to fall asleep fully dressed.

Clay throws your clothes in the laundry basket before hunting down your make-up remover and a cloth. The bed sinks under his weight as he sits next to you, tugging you close and bringing the cloth your skin.

You sigh into his touch, body relaxing, eyes closing as he carefully wipes away your make-up. He takes extra care around your eyes, careful not to tug too hard as he helps you get ready for bed. It's the sort of quiet care that you've grown to expect from Clay. He's a provider. Loving in a way that you weren't used to before him. It's not a chore for him to take your make-up off, even though you could do it yourself, instead he views it as a privilege, that he gets to look after you. That you trust him to do this.

"All done, lie back, baby." You do as you're told, squirming underneath the covers and pulling them around you. Your eyes follow Clay as he goes back out, seeing the light in the hall turn off and knowing he's checking the house is locked up.

When he comes back in he turns the bedroom lights off and joins you under the covers, curling around your back, mouth pressing a kiss to your shoulder like you're the most precious thing in the world.

And it's this that makes every day feel okay, no matter how hard it was...because at the end of it you get to feel Clayton curl around you, get to feel his arms hold you close while he kisses your shoulder, your cheek. No matter how hard or long your day, you get to come home to Clayton and that's all you could ever ask for.

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 6: "The one with the late night talk" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: After spending a couple of weeks tormenting yourself over your argument with Frankie, you finally open up to Santi. He offers you a different perspective—one that hurts, but one you need to hear. WC: 6.8k

A/N: TW!!! This chapter touches on sensitive topics such as mental health and references to self-destructive behaviors. If these subjects are difficult for you, please proceed with caution. Thank you so much for reading and for your support! I truly appreciate it. Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, love reading them!!! love you guys<3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

Tuesday, August 27th

August was dissolving, slipping through your fingers like the last ice cube in a too-warm drink. The days were heavy, pressing down on your skin, thick with the kind of heat that made everything feel slow and sticky. And the nights still belonged to it, summer—restless, humming, too warm to be comfortable but too familiar to resent. Inside, your apartment was quiet, the only real sound the steady, hypnotic whirl of the ceiling fan.

You kept busy. It was easier that way. There was always something to do: the new café down the street had changed the flow of foot traffic past the bookstore, drawing people in, pushing them through the doors in lazy waves. Customers wandered between the shelves, asking about novels they’d heard mentioned on a podcast, about poetry collections they’d been meaning to buy for months. You answered every question, made polite conversation, pretended you weren’t hyper-aware of how your own voice sounded when you used it too much.

Yesterday, a woman had lingered by the register, chatting about the café. She mentioned the owner—a charming man, she said, the kind of person who gave out free donuts on Friday mornings, which struck you as an objectively good and decent thing. You nodded along, made a mental note to stop by one of these days, even though you knew you probably wouldn’t.

But now it was tuesday night, and you were exhausted.

You collapsed onto the couch, grabbed the remote, pressed play. When Harry Met Sally. A movie you loved, though you weren’t really watching. Your legs stretched out along the cushions, arms folded against your chest, eyes on the screen but unfocused.

At the other end of the couch, Mr. Darcy curled into himself, his eyes dark and unblinking, watching you with something close to judgment. Because he knew. He knew that you were pretending. That you were acting like none of it had happened.

When Santi called, you told him you were fine. More than fine. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. You kept busy, your bank account was in better shape than last year. You knew how to work, how to keep your head down. If he asked about Frankie, you told him you hadn’t seen him—true. If he asked about Harry’s wedding, you lied, said you hadn’t decided yet.

Lying over the phone was easy. You’d always been good at it.

But then Santi showed up in person, unannounced, standing in your doorway with his arms crossed and his head tilted slightly, like he was already trying to figure you out.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice even, his gaze sharpening like he could see right through you.

“I’m just tired,” you said, and maybe that was true in a way, but not in the way he meant it. “Didn’t sleep well. Stayed up too late watching tv.”

He hesitated, like he was waiting for you to crack, to fill the silence with the thing you weren’t saying. But you didn’t. Instead, you pivoted—smooth, practiced—asked about Yov, about the wedding. He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

And you told yourself you wouldn’t think about Frankie.

Except that you did.

At night, when the house was still, when you were alone, his face surfaced in your mind with alarming clarity. The last thing you’d said to him. The way his expression had changed the second he heard you. The way it had made something deep inside you twist and ache.

You felt guilty. It hurt, a slow, deep kind of hurt, like pressing a bruise just to see how much you could stand. But then you reminded yourself—he had hurt you too, in ways you still carried with you. That should’ve made it easier. It didn’t.

Across the room, Mr. Darcy watched you, his gaze unmoving. Like he knew. Like he could see the way your thoughts kept circling, caught in a loop you didn’t know how to break.

The movie flickered on, a blur of motion, of dialogue you’d heard a hundred times before but suddenly couldn’t follow.

When the credits rolled, you stood, crossed the room, reached for your journal where it sat on the kitchen counter.

You flipped to the right page—the one where you kept your list. Little things. Big things. Things that made you feel like you were moving forward, even when you weren’t sure you were.

You uncapped a pen, pressed the tip to the page, and wrote:

Have a New Year’s kiss. Just like Harry and Sally. Less romantic, I guess.

You stared at the words, then exhaled sharply, almost a laugh.

Then you rolled your eyes at yourself, shut the journal, and left it there.

Thursday, August 29th

Yov was out of town, and Santi called that morning while you were at the bookstore, his voice warm but edged with something careful, like he was trying to keep things light. He asked if he could come over later, maybe stay for the night. You told him yes, of course. But you knew there was something beneath the surface of the invitation, an intention that had nothing to do with food. He was checking in on you.

It wasn’t unusual, the dinners. He loved coming over, eating something homemade, stretching out on your couch to watch a movie, half the time falling asleep before the credits rolled. Sometimes you’d drink wine and end up crying with laughter over Scary Movie, even though you could both quote it word for word. But this time, you could tell—he had noticed something. A shift in your mood, a dullness in your voice that you hadn’t managed to hide.

Still, you weren’t complaining. You loved spending time with him.

You closed the bookstore a little earlier than usual and walked the two blocks to the grocery store, the sun pressing against your skin. It was warm, but not suffocating, which felt strange for august. You slipped in your headphones, letting music filter in as you walked past the park. It was quiet today—only a few people scattered under the old trees, some walking, others sitting on benches, faces tilted toward the sky.

And then you crossed the street.

At the intersection, your eyes flicked up, catching the traffic light without thinking. It was green, glowing steadily above you. For some reason, it hit you in the chest like a second heartbeat. The last time you’d seen Frankie, it had been right here. You could still see it in your mind—the green light, the blur of the quiet night, the way your hands had felt too empty as you stepped out of the car, a weight forming somewhere deep in your ribs.

Pointless, thinking about it now. You exhaled, pulled out your phone, and skipped to the next song. The first few notes played, something familiar, something that made you smile despite yourself. Just Like Heaven.

Inside the store, the air conditioning wrapped around you like a cold, weightless hand. A relief. You grabbed a cart and started down the aisles, scrolling through your notes app for the grocery list you’d made after Santi had texted, asking if you could make that spaghetti—the one with the sauce he always raved about.

Ten minutes later, you had almost everything. A bottle of rosé sat nestled between vegetables and pasta, but now you hesitated in front of the wine section, eyeing the rows of deep reds and pale golds. You wanted something good. Something that would feel nice in your hands as you curled up on the couch later.

Merlot. You reached for a bottle, ran your fingers over the label before setting it gently in the cart.

Maybe you’d grab something sweet for later too—chocolates, gummies. Something with nuts and caramel.

Eyes without a face faded out, replaced by the sharp, unmistakable opening of Toxic. Without thinking, you smiled, mouthing the words as you steered the cart down the cereal aisle. Your eyes drifted over the shelves, barely registering the neon-colored boxes, the cartoon mascots grinning at you from their spots. You weren’t really looking for anything there, just moving through the motions.

At the end of the aisle, you turned left.

And then, you saw him.

Frankie.

He was crouched at the far end of the aisle, head tilted slightly, eyes scanning a label like he was deciphering something complicated. He hadn’t seen you.

Black T-shirt, dark gray cargo pants, messy hair. You weren’t sure why you noticed that, why your mind cataloged the details like they meant something. But it did.

For a second, you froze.

Your fingers tightened around the handle of the cart. A quick assessment: the space between you, the angle of his gaze, the seconds you had before he looked up.

You turned.

No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just a sharp turn on your heel, a swift retreat in the opposite direction before he could lift his head, before his eyes could meet yours.

You’d buy candy somewhere else.

Santi dropped onto the couch beside you with all the weight of a falling tree, the cushions sinking under him, a rush of air brushing past you.

"Hey!" you groaned, swatting his shoulder in mock protest.

He just grinned, unbothered, reaching past you to grab his wine glass from the coffee table. You watched as he took a sip, settling in like he had nowhere else to be.

You picked up the remote and resumed the movie, the screen flickering back to life after the pause you’d hit when he disappeared into the bathroom, grumbling about his bladder. You’d made a joke about him getting old, and he’d laughed, but then he muttered something about making an appointment with a urologist. You didn’t ask for details.

Tonight’s movie was his pick. As Above, So Below. A group of overconfident explorers descending into the parisian catacombs, searching for the philosopher’s stone. Things go wrong, as they always do. They end up in hell itself. Santi loved this kind of thing. Honestly, so did you.

It was something you’d shared since you were kids—sitting cross-legged on the floor with your dad, watching horror movies long past bedtime. He had a deep, unwavering love for them, and your mother always scolded him for scaring you senseless. But you loved it, even when you had to sleep with the hallway light on for weeks, even when the images stuck to the backs of your eyelids like aftershadows.

You still remembered the night you watched The Blair Witch Project. Your dad had told you, very seriously, that it was real. That the film had been pieced together from actual footage, that the people in it were still missing. You and Santi believed him completely. You spent days afterward peeking around corners, flinching at the sound of snapping twigs, avoiding the woods near your house like they held something waiting just beyond the trees.

For days, you couldn’t shake it. The idea that somewhere out there, in some dark, endless forest, they were still lost. And then, one day, Santi came home from school, eyes wide, voice low.

“They found something in the woods,” he whispered.

You blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Candles. Leftover wax, melted onto the ground. Bones. Like from some kind of ritual.” His eyes were wide, serious. “One of the guys at school told me. He said there’s probably a witch.”

You swallowed, trying to look unimpressed. “There’s no witch.”

“There must be,” he insisted. “That’s why I’m telling you—you cannot go near there, okay? Or you’ll get lost, and who knows when we’ll find you. I don’t know how to fight witches. Do you?”

You shook your head, lips pressed together, pretending to be indifferent. But during the next few years, you avoided that stretch of forest like your life depended on it. Even when you turned twelve and realized he had made the whole thing up, even when you knew, logically, that there was nothing out there in the trees, you still found yourself watching from a distance, something uneasy curling in your stomach whenever you passed by.

On the screen, one of the protagonists was panicking, struggling against the rope wrapped around his foot. His breathing grew ragged, his face contorted in fear. The music swelled, sharp and urgent. You squinted at the television.

Santi snorted next to you. “Come on, don’t be scared. Nothing’s happening yet.” 

The living room was dark except for the glow of the TV, washing the room in flickering light. Even the small lamp beside you was off. Mr. Darcy, usually nestled against your leg during movie nights, was nowhere to be found—probably curled up in your bed, fast asleep.

“I know,” you murmured, shifting slightly, “but something’s going to happen.”

Santi let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he stretched out beside you, rotating his shoulder with a wince.

“God, I’m so full,” he groaned, then yawned. “But I won’t complain if you give me the leftovers.”

You turned to him with a smirk. The soft glow from the screen reflected in your eyes, and the slight haze of wine made the moment feel heavier, slower.

“You really have no bottom, do you?” you teased, reaching for the half-eaten chocolate on the coffee table. “Fine. You can take them. But only if you make me some of that stew you do later.”

Santi scoffed, sitting up a little. “What did you think of the last one I made? I changed the recipe—more cumin, extra celery. I was waiting for your opinion on it.” His expression was expectant, a little put out.

You frowned, trying to recall. “When?”

He blinked at you, then sat up straighter. “Are you serious?”

You shrugged.

“You couldn’t have missed it,” he insisted, narrowing his eyes. “I put so much more celery in. You didn’t taste it? And a little ginger. That was Yov’s idea.”

“Why are you so fixated on the stew?”

“Because it’s my thing,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest like he was deeply wounded. “I take your spaghetti seriously, right?”

You tilted your head. “I take your cooking seriously too. But I—wait, when? When we had dinner after going to the movies?”

“No, dumbass,” he scoffed. “When you and Frankie came over.”

Your mouth opened slightly. The realization hit you all at once.

Right. That night.

You had completely forgotten about Santi’s meal. If you were remembering correctly, you'd left the container in Frankie’s car.

Your gaze flickered back to the screen, where the protagonist was now screaming. You exhaled.

“Ah. Yeah. I forgot your stew in Frankie’s car.” Your voice was quieter, like the words had escaped before you fully thought them through. Then you turned back to Santi, offering a small, sheepish smile. “But I won’t complain if you make me more.”

Santi studied you for a beat, then tilted his head. “So, are you giving me the leftovers or not?”

“Yes. And some apple pie I made yesterday.” You lifted your eyebrows, watching the way his face lit up.

“Done.”

You settled back into the couch, shifting your gaze toward the screen. The movie was unfolding exactly as expected—each character trapped in their own personal hell, doomed by their own choices. You found a strange sense of relief in knowing this was something that could never happen to you. Not because you thought you were immune to disaster, but because you simply weren’t the kind of person who would put themselves in a situation like that.

The Paris catacombs? Sure, there were guided tours with clear paths and bright lighting—why would anyone willingly crawl through some secret, uncharted part of it, especially when history had already proven that people got lost down there?

You never understood that kind of thrill-seeking. Rock climbing? Fine. Trekking through forests, deserts? Sure. Skydiving, bungee jumping—adrenaline junkies, you got it. But willingly wedging yourself into a cavern, not knowing if you’d make it back out? That part never made sense.

Santi shifted beside you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Have you seen him?”

Your eyes remained on the screen. The only two survivors were finally making their way out, and you felt your body relax.

“Who?”

“Frankie.”

The name landed somewhere uncomfortable, somewhere in your chest. Your eyes flicked to Santi for just a second before returning to the television.

“Oh. No.”

“I thought you were supposed to have dinner at Helena’s weeks ago.”

“As it turned out, no.”

“Why?”

You shrugged, still watching the screen as if it required your full attention. “Been busy. I think he has too. It’s all good.”

Santi didn’t say anything at first, just watched you like he was waiting for something more. You ignored it, eyes trained on the credits rolling up the screen.

“That’s weird,” he said finally. “I talked to Helena this week. She asked about you.”

You nodded, fingers tightening slightly around the remote.

“She also said Frankie’s been dodging her questions. She’s a little worried.”

You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together as you casually scrolled back in the movie.

"Do you want to watch something else, or are you already falling asleep?" you asked, scrolling absently through the app’s home screen, your thumb hovering over different titles without really seeing them.

Santi shifted beside you. "No, let’s watch something else if you want. Pick whatever."

You nodded, though you weren’t really listening. Your focus had already drifted, your eyes moving over rows of movies and shows, not settling on anything in particular. You were just going through the motions, waiting for something to click. The thought of anything too heavy, too thought-provoking, made your stomach clench. You needed something easy, something you didn’t have to engage with beyond letting the sounds fill the space.

Eventually, your finger landed on Family Guy, and you hit play without much thought. The opening chords of the theme song played like muscle memory, a familiar noise cutting through the low hum of tension in the room. Your head felt a little fuzzy from the alcohol, pleasantly weightless in a way that made it easier not to think too hard.

Next to you, Santi exhaled, long and deliberate, before tilting his head against your shoulder. A few beats of quiet passed before he spoke again.

"Aren't you going to tell me what happened?" His voice was careful, measured.

You blinked at the screen. "What?"

"With Frankie."

"Nothing happened with him," you said automatically, too quickly.

Santi made a small noise, like he didn’t believe you for a second. "Right. Sure."

You turned your head slightly but kept your gaze forward. "Why—why would that surprise you, anyway? It’s not like we’ve ever gotten along." You let out a dry, humorless laugh, the kind that barely reached your throat.

"Exactly," he said, sitting up straighter beside you. "That’s exactly why I’m asking. I know you well enough to know when something’s off. And I know him well enough to know the same thing. You add those two things together, plus the fact that Helena sounded concerned when she talked to me earlier, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out something must have happened." He turned to look at you fully now, voice shifting into something closer to amusement. "I mean, I knew this whole plan between you two wasn’t exactly solid, but I didn’t think you’d manage to mess it up this fast."

You turned to him then, incredulous. "Seriously? You, Santiago—the one who’s been saying from the beginning that this was a terrible idea, who’s been acting like a prophet of doom about the whole thing—you’re surprised?"

Santi’s lips quirked up, eyes glinting. He looked, irritatingly, pleased with himself.

"Knew it," he said. "So what happened?"

You let out a breath, shaking your head before turning back to the TV. The theme song was over now, the first scene of the episode already unfolding. You folded your arms, pressing them tightly against your chest, like maybe you could keep whatever you were feeling contained that way. But it was still there, that dull, unwelcome ache settling back in.

"We had an argument," you said finally.

Santi waited a second, then: "About what?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, weighing your options. Santi was staring at you, waiting. 

You’d already talked to Emma about this. She had listened carefully, nodding at the right moments, offering up her own quiet honesty in return. She hadn’t sugarcoated things, hadn’t let you off the hook. She had even agreed with you—that yes, you had been cruel, whether or not Frankie had deserved it.

So you had already said the words once, already unburdened yourself. But the weight of not telling Santi felt different, heavier in a way that had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with trust.

You wanted to tell him. Of course you did. He had been listening to you your whole life, letting you spill your secrets without fear of judgment. And he had never once betrayed you, never let anything slip where it wasn’t supposed to. Nothing you told him would reach Frankie. Nothing. You knew that.

But this—this was harder. It wasn’t just about Frankie. It was about you. About saying something out loud that you weren’t even sure you had fully admitted to yourself yet. It was one thing to talk about your insecurities with Emma. It was another thing entirely to lay them bare in front of your brother. To tell him that Frankie—of all people—had seen them before you’d even opened your mouth.

Still, what choice did you have? Santi wasn’t going to let this go. He never did.

"About Harry," you said finally, your voice flat, stripped of any real emotion.

Santi frowned. "Harry?"

You nodded.

"Why?"

You exhaled, suddenly hyperaware of the breath leaving your body, the way it felt too sharp, too deliberate.

"Because," you said, shifting against the couch, "I’m not as over him as I thought I was. And Francisco apparently decided that was his business. Thought it would be a great idea to ask me a million questions about it, maybe even offer up some unsolicited advice."

Santi folded his arms, his expression shifting from confusion to something more serious.

"What kind of advice?"

You turned to look at him then, and whatever was in your expression must have given him pause.

"Santi," you said carefully, "I’m going to tell you this, but you can’t say anything until I’m done. No opinions, no interruptions. You can ask questions, but don’t react until I finish. Okay?"

He straightened slightly, concern settling into the lines of his face. Then he nodded. "Okay."

You swallowed.

"The thing is…" Another breath. Another hesitation. "I haven’t been feeling okay. And it’s not just because of Harry, or Frankie, or any of that. It’s… more than that. It’s been going on for a long time. Years, even. It’s about me. It’s about the way I am, the way I live my life. Or, maybe, the way I don’t. I feel like I’m afraid all the time. And that fear—it limits me. It always has. You know that. You’ve seen it. Remember when we were kids, and you and Dad would invite me camping? And I’d always make up some excuse because the idea of sleeping in the middle of nowhere freaked me out? Or that weekend you wanted me to go rock climbing with you?"

He nodded, his expression unreadable now.

"And I hate that about myself," you admitted, voice quieter now. "Because fear holds me back. It keeps me from doing things that—who knows?—maybe I’d like. But how am I supposed to know that if I never try?"

Santi opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

"No," you said, holding up a finger. "No opinions yet. Remember?"

He lifted his hands in surrender, pressing his lips together like he was physically stopping himself from speaking.

You exhaled, pressing your palms against your thighs. “Well, that’s just it. That’s the thing that’s been bothering me for a long time. Longer than I want to admit. And it—it doesn’t feel good. I don’t feel good about it.” You paused, fingers twitching like they wanted to pick at something, to fidget with the hem of your shirt, the couch cushion, anything. “And then there’s Harry.” You let out a small laugh, barely more than an exhale. “I really thought I was over him, or at least I told myself I was. But I don’t think I am. And I don’t even think it’s about him, exactly.”

Santi tilted his head slightly, watching you closely. You waved a hand, dismissing whatever concern you saw creeping into his face.

“It’s not really about him,” you clarified. “It’s about what he did. How easy it was for him to let me go. How easy it was for me to let myself fall into something I knew wasn’t going to end well. I wasn’t stupid—I knew he didn’t want anything serious. He told me that. But I still didn’t leave when I started to feel more than I should have. And I guess—” you swallowed, your throat suddenly tight, “I guess some part of me really thought that if I just waited long enough, he’d start feeling the same way.”

You shook your head, eyes flicking back to the TV screen. The cartoon characters moved in exaggerated motions, their voices playing somewhere in the background of your thoughts. You weren’t really hearing them.

“But he didn’t,” you added, quieter now. “If anything, he did the opposite.”

Santi didn’t say anything, and you appreciated that. He just sat there, listening, waiting.

You rubbed your hand over the couch cushion beside you, letting the soft fabric ground you before you spoke again.

“And then, when we saw him that day,” you continued, “Francisco basically laughed in my face when I told him I was going to the wedding. He thought it was pathetic. Told me I was a masochist. And I got pissed off, obviously. But the thing is, I hadn’t actually thought about it that much before then. I mean, yeah, I knew Harry was oblivious, that he probably hadn’t even considered how it might feel for me to be there. But I hadn’t really let myself think about how ridiculous it was that I said yes in the first place.”

You swallowed, tracing the seam of the couch absentmindedly.

“Francisco, though—he was vocal about it from the start. He never held back. He called Harry an idiot, told me it was obvious he knew how I felt and just pretended he didn’t. And that night at your place—” you hesitated, glancing at Santi, “I’d had a bad day. Like, a really bad day. I was already in my own head, already torturing myself by checking Harry’s social media, going down the usual spiral. And Francisco, of course, noticed. And he asked me about it on the way home.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “But it was the way he did it. He was relentless. He just kept pushing and pushing, like he was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I—I just felt awful. Like he was doing it on purpose. Like he wanted me to crack. Because…” You trailed off, staring blankly at the screen again. “I don’t know. It’s like he knows exactly which buttons to press to tear me apart. He always has. He finds my weak spots and then just—shoves them in my face.”

Your voice wavered slightly, but you didn’t look at Santi until you were finished speaking. When you did, your eyes felt heavy, glazed over with something you didn’t want to name.

Santi’s expression was unreadable. His voice, careful. “What did he say to you?”

You felt your heartbeat pick up, steady but noticeable, like a pulse pressing against your ribs.

"That I needed to get over it." Your voice came out unsteady, something raw beneath the words. "That I had to stop making Harry into this tragic hero who unknowingly destroyed me." You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeve. "But he wasn’t gentle about it. He wasn’t even neutral. He was the opposite. And I—" You hesitated, feeling the weight of it settle in your chest. "I know he’s probably right. I do. But that didn’t make it feel any less awful. It didn’t make me feel any less—"

You stopped. Your throat burned. Your vision blurred at the edges, a tear threatening to spill over. You blinked hard, forcing it back.

"He made me feel stupid," you admitted finally. "Like I was ridiculous for feeling this way in the first place. And that’s what really gets me—because I know he doesn’t actually care. It’s not like this was some act of concern, like he wanted to help me move on. He did it just to dig at me. To get a reaction. To remind me that I’m weak in ways he isn’t." Your breath came out unsteady. "What the fuck does he know about how I feel?"

Santi exhaled your name softly, the way he always did when you were teetering on the edge of something painful. Then, without a word, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in.

The warmth of it—his steady heartbeat, the way his chin rested lightly on the top of your head—worked like a balm. It didn’t erase the feeling completely, but it dulled it, took the sharpest edges away. You closed your eyes for a second, just breathing.

"I know your relationship with him is complicated," Santi murmured, "but, really… Frankie’s not that kind of person."

You pulled back, looking up at him in disbelief.

"He’s different with you," you said, shaking your head. "With me, it’s—something else."

"No, no, I get it," Santi said, his voice careful. "I’ve watched you two argue for years. But what I mean is… he wouldn’t ask you those kinds of questions just to be cruel. He wouldn’t push you about something painful just to see you suffer."

You scoffed, looking away. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know him." Santi’s tone was even, patient. "Better than anyone. I know he can be unbearable and insufferable, and I know he gets under your skin. But he doesn’t have an ounce of real cruelty in him. Whatever his reasons were, they weren’t to hurt you."

You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Doesn’t seem like it." You ran a hand through your hair, shaking your head. "Why would he care so much, then? Why does it even matter to him? He doesn’t know anything about what it’s like to regret something this much."

Santi didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression. Like he was deciding what to say, or maybe whether to say anything at all.

Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, his eyes flickering to the coffee table before landing back on you.

"What has he told you about Rachel?" he asked finally.

You blinked.

"Not much," you admitted. "That she dumped him. Maia didn’t like her. Helena mentioned something, but she never gave me details."

"Yeah," Santi nodded, exhaling through his nose. "Well, Frankie and Rachel were together for almost two years. Longer, if you count the months they spent circling each other before making it official. It wasn’t perfect—none of them are—but this was… different. He loved her. I mean, really loved her. The kind of love that makes you a little unrecognizable, you know? I’d never seen him like that before. But it wasn’t good for him."

He looked at you then, more serious now, like he was weighing his words before saying them out loud.

"I don’t know if it’s my place to tell you this," he said, "but you’re my sister, and I trust you."

You didn’t say anything, just kept your eyes on him, still reeling from everything you already knew—and everything you didn’t.

"A few years ago, Frankie left the CAG after one of his closest friends died in the middle of a mission." Santi paused, his jaw tightening for a brief second. "It hit him hard. Too hard. Took him a long time to find his footing again. He came back to Austin, took a year off before he even thought about working again. And, you know, he got better. Kind of. But never fully."

You blinked at him, stunned. You had no idea.

All those years ago, when Santi had mentioned a friend who had returned to Austin, a friend who needed help—you’d never really thought about it. He’d never given you details. He’d talked about Will and Benny often enough, but Frankie had been a more distant presence, like an acquaintance who existed on the fringes of your brother’s life. Someone he never really brought up.

"And then, a few years later, he met Rachel," Santi went on. "And at first, we thought—okay, maybe this is good. Maybe this will be good for him." He shook his head. "But it wasn’t. She was… possessive. Controlling. Not good to him at all. But Frankie was in love, and what were we supposed to do? He was happy—at least in the moments where she let him be—so we let it go, even though we didn’t approve."

You could hear the resentment in his voice. The hindsight.

"But he was still up and down. And then, his dad died."

Santi rubbed a hand over his face, and when he looked back at you, there was something deeply weary in his expression.

"He spiraled," he said. "It wrecked him, just like you’d expect it to. And then—two months later, Rachel left him."

You felt the words hit you square in the chest.

Santi exhaled sharply, shaking his head again, looking indignant in a way you rarely saw.

"She told him he wasn’t what she wanted anymore. That he wasn’t enough. That he wasn’t acting like the man she needed. That he spent too much time holed up, too much time in bed." Santi’s voice turned hard. "Frankie was fucking depressed, and she had the audacity to tell him he was being selfish. That he wasn’t stepping up."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Jesus," you whispered, closing your eyes. You could feel the sharp sting of tears, the words you had thrown at Frankie earlier coming back in painful flashes.

Santi let the silence settle for a second before continuing.

"Anyway," he said, his voice lower now, "she left. And two weeks later, Benny saw her at the mall, kissing another guy. He told us, asked if we should say something. If it was even worth it. And at first, we thought maybe we shouldn’t. But Frankie… he thought he could still win her back. He was talking about changing for her, about fighting for her. And I swear—" Santi let out a breath that sounded close to a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. "I’ve never been so angry at someone in my life. And the worst part?" He glanced at you. "She had been seeing that guy for months."

You felt something tighten in your throat.

"You told him?"

"Yeah," Santi said. "We had to. Even though we knew it would wreck him."

"And what did he say?"

Santi’s expression turned unreadable for a moment. Then he furrowed his brows, shaking his head.

"Nothing," he said. "He just nodded, got up, and walked away."

You didn’t say anything. A moment passed, stretched and heavy, and you felt Santi tense beside you. Like he was bracing himself.

You turned to look at him, already knowing he wasn’t finished.

"Less than a month later," he said, his voice quieter now, like the words had to be handled with care. "Helena called me. Said Frankie was in the hospital. He’d taken something—pills, a lot of pills. And he’d been drinking."

Your stomach twisted, a deep, sinking feeling settling in your chest.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you saying he tried to—"

"I don’t know." Santi shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "I never asked. And none of us did. He didn't wanted us to, he was clear about it. And I think we were afraid to." He hesitated, like he was weighing his words again. "And to ask him now, after all this time… I don’t know, it feels... it feels out of place. Because I really think he's in a better place now, so."

You just stared at him, eyes wide, unmoving. Something inside you cracked, like a hairline fracture deep enough to make the whole structure feel unsteady.

Santi exhaled and looked down at his hands.

"What I’m trying to say," he went on, his voice softer now, "is that if anyone understands what it feels like to be abandoned, to feel like you’re not enough—it’s Frankie. That’s why I don’t think he was trying to hurt you. I think he was just… misguided. Trying to help in the only way he knows how."

Your lips trembled, the weight of everything pressing down on you, thick and unbearable. A sharp breath caught in your throat, half a gasp, half a sob. You turned to Santi, searching his face for something—understanding, reassurance, maybe a way out of the feeling that had settled, heavy, inside your ribs.

He furrowed his brows, watching you carefully, a crease of worry between his eyes.

“I…” You barely got the word out before tears blurred your vision. A thick, aching regret filled your chest. “I said horrible things to him.”

Santi didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, one hand resting against the back of your head.

You let yourself sink into the hug, but it didn’t make the feeling go away. If anything, it made it worse—because you couldn’t undo it. Because knowing the truth now didn’t erase the things you’d said, the sharp edges of your words still lodged somewhere deep in your memory, in Frankie’s memory.

And yes, he had been cruel to you for years. Yes, you had convinced yourself that whatever existed between you was just mutual disdain, nothing more, nothing less. But now, everything felt different. Everything had shifted, changed color. And you hated the way it looked now.

You weren’t this person. The kind who threw words like weapons, who dug into wounds just to make them deeper. You knew too well what it was like to feel that kind of hurt.

“What did you tell him?” Santi asked, his voice gentle, careful.

You swallowed hard, keeping your face pressed against his shirt, as if not looking at him would make it easier to admit.

“That he must have a lot of experience feeling like shit. That he was nothing but a failure, a loser. That he was drowning in his own misery.”

Santi let out a quiet curse under his breath, his fingers moving absently over your hair.

“I was awful, Santi,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

Santi exhaled. “I’m sure he knows you were angry—”

“Why?” You pulled away, looking up at him, your face tight with frustration. “Why would he believe that? We’ve never been kind to each other. Not once. Why would he think this time was any different?”

“Because you’re not cruel,” Santi said simply.

You shook your head. “I wanted to hurt him.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person.” He studied you, his gaze steady. “I think… Unfortunately, I think you’re both a little messed up in the same ways, and that’s exactly why he recognizes it in you so easily. But that doesn’t make you a bad person. And it doesn’t make him one either.”

Silence settled between you. You lowered your gaze, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve.

“Do you think I’m fucked up?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Santi snorted, shaking his head. A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Not really. Not really, really fucked up. Just a little. Fixable.”

Despite yourself, you let out a weak, uneven breath—something that wasn’t quite a laugh, but close enough. You glanced up at him, the smallest trace of humor flickering in your eyes.

“What am I supposed to do, Santi?”

Your voice was so soft, so uncertain, that he visibly winced. He didn’t like hearing you like this. Santi sighed, his own exhaustion catching up with him, but there was something warm in his expression, something steady.

“Right now? You go to bed and get some sleep,” he said, nudging your arm. “Later? Maybe we figure out how to fix this. Talking to Frankie would probably be a good start, don’t you think?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll get back to you on that in the morning.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler

[littlelovelunette]

HI

Hope you're having a good day

I'm here to put this request for your consideration: ambessa having a past lover that greatly impact her... maybe they had to break up over something that they didn't have a control on maybe a loss...a duty that pulled them apart

Reader is the first one after that relationship that even got close to be inside the walls that ambessa had all over herself yet she still thinks there's more...and she's right

I was thinking an ambessa who hasn't fully let go and a reader who's catching hint about that and they're not big give aways that she could actually say something about them but they're also not too subtle that she could let go

It's a gnawing ach inside her heart even when they're in bed tangled together ambessa sleeping beside her but still the worry is overwhelming inside her

Even though in Ambessa's mind there's completely different thought as if she's finally getting closer to get over everything...

I don't know you have a really open creative mind and I wanted angst and heartach soo

With the greatest thanks in advance ⌛

Maybe We Weren't Meant To Be

—Past Trauma!Ambessa x Try Hard!Reader

Slightly angsty, Ambessa gets cheated on in the past, mention of past lover, comfort(?), not proofread, kinda ass ngl

Ambessa Medarda, the chosen wolf, an otherwise imposing woman with no known fears, had something people termed "trauma" but she always called it a weakness.

Bree, a beautiful woman with luscious brown curly hair had Ambessa in a trance since they've met. But all Bree had done throughout their courtship, was lie and lie. Ambessa, being the ever so trusting with her potential lovers, eradicated any thought or doubt that crossed her mind.

Now, she only calls herself foolish for doing that.

Time didn't heal, the wounds stayed. The scarred trust slowly turned her into a woman of few words and more observation. She didn't see anyone after that, she actually resorted to seeing multiple people at once. However, the night that she encountered you— she felt a shift in her own self.

For once, her rough and gruff façade could shatter— no, melt.

That's how you made her feel. Like, you were melting away all the walls she built up because of her trust issues.

"Are you okay?" You asked Ambessa who had been staring out of the window with a pen in hand for so long now it was worry some. Ambessa didn't move, eyes locked on the dark sky outside, her golden gaze distant and solemn.

"Hmm?" Ambessa hummed in response.

"I asked, are you okay?" You repeated and this time Ambessa finally looked your way, putting her right hand down, letting go of the pen as she rubbed her eyes.

"Yes, dear," she muttered, "I'm okay."

"Do you want to call it a night?" You asked, sounding a little less concerned, but eyes still narrowed only a little.

"You can go to bed if you're tired," Ambessa replied, looking at the fresh batch of paperwork, drumming on the surface of them with her fingers, "I think, I'll finish these up first."

"Don't overexert," you said in a motherly, firm tone.

"I won't. Sweet dreams, my love." Ambessa gave you a tired smile.

You got up from beside her and pressed your lips against her forehead, pulling her hair back gently and stroking your fingers through the grey locks. Ambessa's smile deepened into something soft, something more passionate than before and she let her hand rest against your jaw, fingers tracing the shadows of your face.

"I love you." You confessed.

"Do you, now?" Ambessa retorted, but then her lips pressed tight. Forming a line, as if instantly regretting what she said, and you could hear the gears in her head turning, her heart hammering against her ribs and the fear of ruining something so good because of her past lover flooded her chest and head.

"I do," you pressed on, "Don't you believe me?"

"Right, my apologies, it's just that—" she swallowed the lump building in her throat.

Flashes.

The confessions, the whispered promises, the kisses, the talks of giving Ambessa an heir.

So stupid to believe something like that in the cold, cruel world. How could you? You're a warlord. You're not cut out for domesticity, it's blood, war, rage, battlefields, swords—

Your voice pulled her back to reality, "It's Bree, isn't it?"

Ambessa felt like she'd just been dunked into a tub full of cold water, one leg bouncing beneath the table. You caught on, glancing down.

"I shouldn't have let her actions cloud my better judgement, I shouldn't have—" she tried to explain.

"Ambessa, Ambessa," you cut in, hands gripping her muscular shoulders, "It takes time to heal, and if anyone doesn't acknowledge that you've been hurt and need some nourishment to get back on your feet— do they really understand you?" You gave her a soft, sad smile. It was the truth, laid out in front of her but then why? Why didn't she believe you? She wanted to, but she was scared deep down that she'd end up with all her feelings shattered, picking them back up piece by piece.

"Has anyone ever even?" Ambessa's voice cracked.

"..."

You didn't say anything. What were you supposed to say? That it'll all be okay? That would've been a big, fat lie. You knew it. Trauma didn't heal easy, it would take millions of attempts, setbacks and even then there was a chance of being stuck with it lifelong.

"You should sleep." Ambessa looked away.

"Ambessa," you pulled out her chair just enough for her to face you.

"Yes?" Ambessa looked at you, voice quiet. Not the commanding kind like the usual.

"Hold my hands." You said, your voice measured and gentle.

"Why?" Ambessa narrowed her eyes.

"Hold them." You said, shaking them in her face before she rolled her eyes and held your hands down, thumbs rubbing over the back of your hand. "I'm not leaving you." You cooed, "Ever."

Ambessa looked at you, maintaining eye contact for a while before she let out a deep exhale, smiling. "I know, baby."

Even as she said that in the following days her behaviour had been withdrawn and you could tell she was still troubled by her past even if she didn't verbally address it. The way Ambessa hugged you a bit tighter than before whenever she returned from long campaigns as if trying to sniff down whether you'd been with someone but her.

Often asking you if you're sure whenever you tell her about where you'd been and who you'd been with. Almost everything that she did or said was a dead giveaway, she hadn't completely moved on from being cheated on.

"Bessa?" You saw her sitting on the marbled floor of the balcony, eyebrows furrowing.

Ambessa wasn't clothed in extravagance today, which was quite concerning given how much she liked dressing up even indoors.

"Yeah?" She looked up, eyes glinting under the setting sun's light, setting a peaceful shade of gold behind those usually hurting eyes, "You're back early."

"Mhm," you sat down beside her, letting your body melt against yours, smiling a little although it was a very content smile.

"I was thinking," Ambessa wrapped one arm around you, fingers toying with the sleeve of your top.

"Yeah?" You looked at her.

"Maybe I am getting over whatever went down with Bree. It's been a while, and I'm pretty sure I don't act like it affects me anymore." Ambessa said.

"Oh," was all you could manage.

"Don't you think so, too?" Ambessa asked.

"I don't know... You've been a little distant lately." You muttered.

"Yeah, that's it. I need to distance myself in a certain way that I don't get attached and so if you do end up doing what Bree did, it won't hurt as much. So now, that I understand the system, I can move on being this way—" Ambessa said almost excitedly, your heart broke with every word spoken and you felt like you'd just been stabbed.

"Bessa—" you tried to add in but she continued.

"I know it sounds so bad and it is, it is. But just imagine how much harder it could've been if I was severely attached to you." Ambessa went on before her breath hitched, "My apologies. That was... That was wrong of me to say."

You smiled despite the pain gnawing in you. "It's okay, baby," you looked at the setting sun, "Maybe we weren't meant to be."

[writinginatree]

Kisses & Confessions

Relationship(s): Garrick Tavis/fem!Riorson!reader

Summary: Garrick accidentally steals your first kiss, which leads to some long overdue confessions.

Prequel Sequel

You wake up to the sound of someone knocking on your door. Though, really, waking up is an exaggeration. You're blinking at the pale sunlight streaming into the room through the half-open curtains, too sleepy to even sit up. Maybe you're lucky and whoever is at the door will go away if you don't answer.

"Y/N? You still in there?"

You groan. Guess they won't go away. And worse, you hear a click as the bothersome person uses lesser magic to unlock the door. It swings open, revealing — Garrick. You let your head drop back into the pillow and turn to face the wall, whining for him to let you sleep.

"If I do that you're going to miss breakfast," he answers.

You hear the sound of your door being closed again, followed by his footsteps coming toward your bed. Your stomach growls at the mention of breakfast, but you're so warm and comfy right now. If Garrick let you, you could fall right back asleep. Unfortunately, he seems to have no intention of that. The mattress dips as he sits down on the edge of the bed, and you clutch your covers tighter around you, sure he'll try to snatch them away any second.

But he doesn't — not yet, at least. For now, he just pokes you in the side. "Come on. I'm tired, too, but we have to act normal, or people will wonder what we were doing last night."

That gets you a little more awake. You'd been out smuggling weapons to the fliers the night before, and had almost gotten caught returning. Afterwards, you'd lain awake for hours, tossing and turning uselessly. You couldn't have been asleep for much more than an hour or so when Garrick woke you up.

"Xaden won't let you come on these trips anymore if you can't get up the next morning," he adds.

Turning on your back to face him, you rub the sleep from your eyes and explain, "It's not the trip. I just couldn't fall asleep afterwards."

"Why not?"

"Dunno. Too many thoughts in my head, I guess. Srian got tired of it and blocked me out so she could go to sleep. I was gonna get up and do some last minute studying, but then I guess I fell asleep for a bit after all."

The last word stretches into a yawn, and Garrick gives you a sympathetic look. You wonder how you look to him right now. Does he think you're cute, all sleepy and soft like this? Or do your messy hair and the dark circles you doubtlessly have under your eyes make you look appalling to him? Not that it should matter. He's seen you in much worse states before — like that time when you were eight and you and Xaden both were down with the flu, or when you got depressed over your mother leaving. But you were kids then. It's different now, and things that never mattered before suddenly do.

"Five more minutes," you grumble. "I'll just skip breakfast."

Garrick laughs. "Alright, sleepyhead. I'll tell Chradh to tell Cuir to tell Bodhi to save you a pastry or something. But if you don't get up in the next ten minutes you'll be late for class."

"Mhh, thank you. Tell him I want something with chocolate, yeah?"

"Right, because he totally doesn't know that. You always want everything with chocolate, Y/N."

"Tell him anyway," you insist. "Just to be sure."

"Okay, okay," he laughs, and after a moment, "I've passed it on."

You close your eyes again for a moment, cautiously reaching out to your own dragon. Lazy thing that she is, Srian is still asleep herself, just like you expected. If only you could afford the same luxury.

"Is this your definition of getting up?" Garrick asks.

"You said I still have ten minutes before I'm late for class."

"Yeah, and I'm guessing you'll need every one of those minutes to get dressed and search that mess on your desk for everything you need for class."

Unfortunately, he's not wrong.

Sitting up, you only now realize just how close he is to you. The fact that you would be sitting on his lap if you moved just a little closer to him shouldn't make your heart race the way it does, but ever since you came to Basgiath a little over a year ago, you've been developing a crush on Garrick — a crush that only seems to get worse with time. You still don't know where it came from. You've known Garrick practically your whole life, and he's always been one of your closest friends, but until last year, your feelings for him were strictly platonic. Maybe it's just that you'd never thought about it before. But on your first day in the quadrant, when you'd seen him again for the first time in what felt like forever, he'd looked so undeniably hot in his new second-year uniform that you saw him in a completely new light. No longer just your brother's best friend, but a very hot and loveable guy. You'd thought it was just a temporary crush you would soon get over, but now that you're a second-year yourself, you're still hopelessly pining after him.

While you're distracted thinking about how close he is, he leans in even closer to kiss your cheek — only you turn your head to look at him better at the same moment, so instead his lips land right on yours. Your breath catches in your throat, and if you weren't awake before, you definitely are now. It's barely a second before he pulls back and apologizes, but that second might honestly have been the best of your life. You can't exactly tell him that, but you do tell him he doesn't have to apologize. You know very well that he only meant to kiss your cheek, like he's done hundreds of times before throughout all the years you've known each other.

And unlike you, he seems to be completely unaffected by your accidental kiss. No trembling, no quickened breathing, not even the hint of a blush. He's as cool as ever, and you kind of hate him for it.

"I don't think I've ever seen you this flustered," he chuckles. "You're almost acting as if you've never been kissed before."

"Well, I haven't!"

"Wait, seriously?"

The shock on his face is almost comical, and it takes all your willpower to bite back your grin so he won't think you're messing with him.

"Yeah, seriously."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

Now you do smile. "It's okay. There's no one I'd have rather given my first kiss to," you admit. It's true — it's certainly not for a lack of opportunities that you've never kissed anyone. You simply refuse to get involved with people who only want you for your last name, and ever since you joined the quadrant, you've only had eyes for Garrick, anyway.

"That wasn't a very good kiss, though. Barely even counts as one." He hesitates for a second, then adds, "I could give you a real one if you'd like."

Oh gods. Did he really just offer to kiss you again? For real this time? If this is a dream, you never want to wake up.

You nod — maybe a little too eagerly.

Garrick cups your cheek with one big hand, turning your head a little to get the perfect angle. "Close your eyes," he softly instructs, and then his lips are on yours again, only this time they stay there longer, moving against yours while you kiss back as best as you can.

You don't think about the consequences this might have for your friendship, of how awkward it might make things. All this time you've tried to ignore your feelings, because this is your brother's best friend, because you didn't want to make things weird, because you thought he doesn't see you like that anyway. And now here you are, chasing his lips when he pulls away after a few seconds.

"You liked that, huh?" Garrick teases.

"Maybe," you say, grinning even as all the blood rushes to your face. "But I think I might need another one to be sure."

Shit. You can't believe you actually said that. You're going too far, you're sure of that the moment the words are out.

"Is that so?" Garrick asks. He's still grinning too, but even so it makes you regret asking. You're making things awkward, gods damn it.

"I mean— you don't have to, obviously. If you don't want to—"

He cuts you off. "Shh, just come here."

Just like that, his mouth is on yours once more, and oh, you're definitely getting addicted. This is bad. But it feels so damn good, so right, even more so when his tongue parts your lips to explore the inside of your mouth. All logical thought leaves your head at that point, and if your mouth wasn't otherwise occupied, you would've blurted out your feelings for him then and there.

"I've wanted to do this for longer than you can imagine," Garrick surprises you by saying when you separate again, both a little out of breath.

"You did?"

Now he's the one looking like he regrets saying anything, and a tiny spark of hope blooms in your chest. Could it be? Could he really feel the same?

"Well— I mean... yeah," he says, unusually reluctant. And is that a blush spreading on his face? You think it is, and gods, if that doesn't make you want to kiss him some more.

"Well, I've thought about kissing you for quite some time, too, to be honest," you say.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

For a moment you sit in silence, both processing what the other just revealed. You want to say more, take the chance to tell him you like him, but at the same time you're scared you're reading too much into this. Just because he's been wanting to kiss you doesn't have to mean he has feelings for you too, does it? If he did, surely he would have said something. Though of course you haven't said anything, either. And you're still not sure you should. This could ruin your friendship.

But damn it, you're a rider, not a coward, so you take a deep breath and admit, "Actually, I've kind of had a crush on you for a while now."

You closely watch his reaction, whole body tense with anticipation. Please don't laugh, you pray. Whatever you do, don't laugh at me. On some level, you know that fear is completely unnecessary. Garrick isn't mean like that; if he doesn't feel the same, he'll let you down gently. But part of you still worries he'll find the thought of you crushing on him so ridiculous he won't be able to help laughing. After all, you're his best friend's little sister. Only a year younger, sure, but when you've grown up together, a year can mean a lot. But if that were all he sees you as, he wouldn't be wanting to kiss you, right?

Slowly, a smile spreads over his face, and no, it's not a mean or disbelieving one. It's soft and genuine and takes your breath away.

"I like you too. I just didn't say anything because... you know..."

"Xaden."

He nods. "Xaden. I was going to ask him for permission before asking you out, but I kept putting it off because I wasn't sure how he'd react."

"Well, I don't care what Xaden thinks." That's not entirely true. In fact, you care a lot what your brother thinks, which is one of the reasons you tried to ignore your crush on Garrick. But even if Xaden does have a problem with you being into his best friend — now that you know Garrick feels the same, you're not going to let that get in the way. "He'll just have to deal with it. Now stop worrying about my brother and kiss me again."

Garrick happily complies, and in the end, you're both late for class.

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Effects of the Curse.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader

main masterlist

Summary: After receiving some outside comments, the topic of marriage comes up. Unfortunately, you and Aaron have different views on the matter.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: mention to marriage, divorce, jack and haley. angst WITHOUT happy ending. established relationship. about a year after hotch's departure from the fbi. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: As a person who wants to get married, this is pretty personal lol.

You were leaning against one of the kitchen counters as you waited for the water you had put in the kettle to heat up and allow you to brew coffee. Behind you, you could hear your boyfriend rummaging through the cupboard for your favorite mug and carefully placing it next to his, going through the same routine the two of you had already established.

But something was feeling different this time.

It had more to do with your memories of the family dinner you'd gone to the day before, where there hadn't been a single person who hadn't asked when you were going to officially become Mrs. Hotchner, when you were going to take that big step down the aisle, and maybe even expand the family beyond that. It was a little silly for you to think so much about it, because those were the typical comments people made when they saw a functioning couple, and it had happened to you before with ex-boyfriends you took home, but this time it felt more serious.

Maybe it was because of how your heart was racing as you imagined wearing a ring that would show your total commitment to love someone to death, or maybe it was how Aaron reacted, or rather his lack of reaction, and how much that bothered you.

The sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window and filtering through the trees in the yard had you so mesmerized at that moment that you barely felt when his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you let out a slight sound of surprise and relaxed a little under his touch.

“What is on your mind? Perhaps the new coffee maker we should definitely consider purchasing?” He asked with a cheerful tone.

Yes, you two definitely had to buy a new one after the old one suddenly stopped working. But that wasn't what you were thinking about. You were a long way from that.

“Sure, we should do that.” Your answer was blurted out almost out of obligation and came out robotically.

He wasn't stupid, nor had he lost the habits of a profiler after so many years as one. He knew you well enough to know that something was troubling you, even if he didn't know exactly why. He pulled you a little closer and planted a small kiss on the top of your head, tightening his grip on your waist a little more to comfort you as he spoke.

“Darling.” He murmured softly, wanting you to give him your full attention. “I can practically see the gears turning in your head, what's wrong with you?”

You, were what you wanted to say.

“Nothing, just...it's been a long day.” That was all that came out of your mouth.

To tell the truth, it had been an exhausting day, and at least you hadn't lied that much. You had been very restless, trying to do many things to keep the destructive thoughts out of your mind, and it had made you quite tired.

“Don't try to fool me. I know you well enough to know when you are lying.” He gently pinched the sides of your waist and turned you to look into his eyes.

“I...I was just thinking about some things my family said yesterday.” You finally confessed, your voice a little shaky, as if telling him would embarrass you.

“Like what?” He furrowed his brow in concern, brushing a hand against your cheek in that way that always made you feel a bit weak in the knees.

His touch was so warm and loving against your skin, and for a moment, it almost made you forget what you were thinking about. Almost.

“Just a few things about how I haven't married you yet, and...” You didn't even want to finish the sentence, feeling your heart beat a little faster as the words got stuck in your throat. “That we don't have, you know, kids.”

Aaron took a quick look at your face as he heard your confession. His heart clenched a little as he realized what you were talking about, and he couldn't help but be curious about it. The topic of marriage and having children hadn't come up much since you started dating because he already had Jack and had been married once. It was a goal he'd already achieved. However, he knew it was a topic that needed to be discussed, as he saw your worried expression and slightly trembling voice.

He put his hands on your shoulders, giving them a gentle massage to relieve the tension. He didn't want to seem careless or unconcerned, so he spoke after pausing.

“And you were worried because...?”

He looked at you with a kind of intense gaze that made you feel like your heart was going to burst out of your chest at any moment. As he massaged your shoulders, you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“Well, from the way you reacted, I guess.” You admitted, your voice full of doubt. “I mean, I know we haven't really talked about it, but...it's hard to know what you're thinking when the subject comes up and you have that cold expression on your face, like it's nothing relevant.”

His expression softened, and he brought his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks to make sure you were looking directly at him.

“You know very well that I have already taken care of that.” He said softly, trying to find the best words. “Marriage, children...I had that. I have Jack. And he's enough for me.”

Enough for him. Were you too?

His words had a surprising effect on you, leaving you with a somewhat bitter taste in your mouth. Despite this, you maintained a calm exterior, striving to conceal your true feelings.

“And what about what's enough for me?” You inquired, addressing the issue with a candor you had previously avoided. The words emerged from your mouth almost involuntarily.

Hotchner was taken aback by your question. The way you asked it gave the impression that you were accusing him, although he was unsure if this was the intention. He took a deep breath, searching for the most tactful way to respond to your words.

“I...I didn't realize.” He began, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “You never mentioned that you wanted to get married or have children. I thought you were happy with our current situation.”

“Not really.” You admitted, avoiding eye contact as you looked down at the floor. “I mean, I really love Jack, he's a wonderful boy.”

Aaron listened intently as you continued, your words coming out hesitantly.

“And being with you...it makes me so happy.” You sighed and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “But…I feel like I need more. I want more, and I'm not necessarily talking about a child. I want to know that you belong to me as much as I belong to you.”

Aaron walked over and stood in front of you, placing his hands on your hips. He stared at you as he spoke, his voice soft but firm.

“Darling, my love...I belong to you, and you belong to me, and you don't need a ring to know that. If you want one, I'll buy it for you, that or whatever you want.”

You let out a small sigh and leaned closer to him, resting your head on his chest. You could hear the steady beat of his heart as he held you tightly and his body enveloped you in a warm embrace.

“I know.” You said quietly, the words somewhat muffled against his shirt. “But it's not just about the ring. It's about the commitment, the symbol of our union...and how that gives me security.”

He ran his fingers through your hair gently as he listened, his touch soothing against your scalp.

“Listen to me.” He began, his tone affectionate. “I've always been committed to you. From the moment I allowed myself to open up to you to the first night we spent together, and every day since. You know it. Does it really take a ceremony to make you believe it?”

When you looked at him, you felt a rush of emotions. You knew he loved you, and he was right. He had shown you his commitment many times. You had even been living together for a couple of years. But there was still a part of you that longed for that tangible symbol of love.

“I don't doubt you.” You said, choosing your words carefully. “But it's about symbolism. Having physical proof of our commitment shows the world how firmly bound we are to each other. And I know you believe in it. You were married once for a reason.”

Oh, that's a sensitive topic.

He let out a small sigh when you mentioned his previous marriage, and his fingers stopped stroking your hair. It was an uncomfortable and painful subject he didn't like to talk about, especially with you. The memories of his failed marriage were difficult to process, not only because of Haley's death but also because of the many problems that had plagued their relationship before its sad end.

“Maybe I believed that before, or at least I thought I did.” He replied after a short pause. “But that doesn't mean I want to go through it all again.”

“Even with me?” You asked softly, lifting your head to look into his eyes. There was a hint of vulnerability and sadness in your expression, your heart trembling slightly in anticipation of his answer. “Even in the future?”

Aaron observed your expression and the slight shift in your demeanor. He was aware of the impact his words could have on you, and he took care to choose them carefully. He gently traced your features with the back of his hand, his thumb gently moving across your face.

“This isn't about you or time at all.” He said in a soft voice, trying to express his love for you. “I just couldn't go through that again. The expectations, the disappointment, the divorce. It's too much.”

As he spoke, he paused and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to contain his emotions. His previous marriage had left him deeply scarred, and the thought of suffering the same fate again, especially with you, filled him with dread. He silently prayed every day that history would never repeat itself.

But your situation was quite different. The concerns he expressed, which he did not fully explain, only served to increase your doubts. You were aware that Aaron had every reason to be fearful after experiencing so much in the past, but you were surprised that he seemed to be afraid to be with you in front of the law.

How could he be so sure that a marriage with you would end in divorce? If his demanding job could no longer be the cause of the failure, could it perhaps be something else? Could it be you?

“You're not the same as before, and I'm not-” You started to say when you were interrupted by a loud whistle.

The unexpected sound of the kettle whistling gently interrupts the moment between the two, if only for a brief moment, allowing you both to take a breath.

He carefully put out the fire and poured the steaming water into the cups he had thoughtfully prepared earlier. He then added a teaspoon of sugar to each and a little milk to yours, taking care to ensure it was just the way you liked it. As you both watched the hot liquid swirl in the cups, he let out a sigh. Aaron felt a sense of responsibility, knowing he wasn't able to deliver what you desired.

Hotchner handed you your cup with care, ensuring that he did not accidentally burn himself in the process. The kitchen fell silent as he stood next to you while you both sipped your coffee, lost in your own thoughts.

The taste of coffee with a little milk on your tongue distracted you from the heavy atmosphere that had settled between you and him in the kitchen. In that moment, you took the opportunity to watch him closely and try to decipher what he was thinking. Maybe use a little of what you had learned from being with a profiler for so long.

His face was set, and you could easily see the emotion in his eyes. He was not happy with the conversation, and his expression had given him away from the first crossword on the subject.

When Aaron noticed you staring at him in the midst of his silence, he looked up into your eyes and held them for a few seconds. He knew exactly what you were trying to do, but it didn't bother him. Being a profiler, he found it ironic, and a small smile appeared on his lips.

“You can look at me all you want.” He said with a dry laugh. “And try to profile me if you want.”

“It's not that...” You began to say, but you knew he was right. That was precisely what you were attempting to do, trying to discern his feelings, even utilizing some profiling techniques he had taught you himself. You let out a small sigh, feeling a little foolish for your lack of subtlety.

Of course he'd realize. The man could leave the FBI, but the FBI couldn't leave the man.

“I find it challenging not to.” You confessed, tilting your head and taking a sip of your coffee. “I've picked up on some of your habits, I suppose.”

He let out a soft chuckle, acknowledging that you were trying to get a read on him and feeling relieved to see the earlier tension ease. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a small sip, letting the hot liquid warm his insides before speaking in a friendly tone.

“And what have I taught you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“A few things.” You replied, with a hint of sarcasm. “Like how to spot lies, read body language, and how to read people well. Basically, all the skills required to be a profiler, except how to not profile your loved one.”

“I see your point.” He replied, a soft smile on his face, grateful that things between you were feeling good again. “Perhaps I should have taught you that last part too, but you would have made a good profiler.”

“I would have made a good wife too.” The comment came out before you could stop yourself, and you immediately covered your mouth with your fingers after saying it.

Aaron's smile faded as soon as you spoke, and the tension in the room intensified. He exhaled, a combination of fatigue and frustration, and placed the half-finished coffee on the counter behind you before crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I'm sorry.” You spoke up before he could even open his mouth, hoping to get a word in first.

“Don't.” His answer came almost automatically.

It was then that you grabbed your cell phone after hearing it vibrate, hoping to avoid the situation. “It's the seamstress. Jack's costume is ready.”

He nodded silently as you picked up the cell phone from the kitchen table. The comment was still in the air, and you sensed that he had heard it, but he didn't react at all. Instead, he seemed relieved that the awkward moment between the two was over, if only temporarily.

Thank you, Halloween.

After a brief pause, Aaron inquired gently. “Would you like me to accompany you to collect it?”

“I believe it would be best if I went alone.” You replied after a moment. “I need to take some time to process things, and you need to wait for your son. He will be out of school soon.”

Aaron felt a slight discomfort in his chest at your words. He recognized the truth in what you said, that some time apart might be beneficial for both of you to reflect on the conversation and all that was left unsaid.

And after that, you proceeded to retrieve your keys and walked through the door without so much as a moment's hesitation. This time, there wasn't even an ‘I love you’ or a goodbye kiss as a reminder that all was well. This time, the silence conveyed a message that was perhaps more profound than any gesture or sweet word.

In the end, the marriage was scarier than any Halloween costume.

[itsnesss]

hi! i read your other works and i LOVE your junho stories! could you write one where reader comes back from the games (maybe everyone voted to leave) and junho has been trying to find them? i love angst but please with a happy ending 🙏🏽

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | angst, emotional turmoil, implied trauma, mentions of running away, themes of guilt and forgiveness, hurt/comfort, fluff ending

word count | 2.1 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You stand in front of your apartment door, breathing heavily. The key trembles slightly between your fingers, and a gust of cold air runs through your body. You've been out longer than you wanted, though the truth is, you still don’t know what to say to him. You don’t know if the words you’ve prepared will be enough. All you have is fear, uncertainty, and a growing sense that you can’t delay this moment any longer.

With one last deep breath, you turn the key and open the door. The familiar smell of the place envelops you, but there’s something different. Something you hadn’t noticed before. A trace of anxiety seems to linger in every corner. The silence of the place surrounds you, and in that instant, everything feels heavier. And there he is. Asleep on the couch. His jacket is wrinkled, his face tired, his hair disheveled, but still as beautiful as ever.

You let out a sigh as you take in the scene. He’s been waiting for you. He’s been looking for you relentlessly. For days, he’s been following your trail, calling your phone, sending messages. But you never answered. You never told him anything. You had left, but you couldn’t tell him the truth. He couldn’t know what had really happened.

You approach slowly, trying not to make a sound. Each step is a small reminder of what you’ve lived through. You sit next to him on the couch, and for a second, you just watch him, his calm breathing and relaxed face. You’d like to think that, in some way, all of this is real, but you know it isn’t. The shadows of what you’ve been through follow you, and the scars of everything you’ve endured are still too fresh.

The sound of your breathing is the only thing you can hear, and that sound seems to make the outside world fade away. The world you once believed in, where everything seemed simple. But now, nothing is as it seems. Everything has changed. Everything inside you has changed.

"Junho..." you whisper softly, not wanting to wake him. But you do. He opens his eyes slowly, confused by the change in the air. His gaze is slightly clouded with sleep, but when he sees you, something in him ignites. Concern begins to settle into his face, displacing the exhaustion.

"Are you... are you okay?" His voice, though raspy, is filled with worry. He immediately sits up, taking your hands in his. His grip is firm but gentle, as if he’s afraid to let you go, as if he fears you might disappear again.

Your eyes drift to the floor for a moment, unable to meet his. It hurts so much to see him like this. You’ve missed him, but the fear of what he might think if he knew the truth about what you experienced in that cursed game is greater than anything else. You don’t want to see him suffer because of you. You can’t.

"I’m sorry..." The anguish is palpable in your tone, but you don’t want to tell him the truth. Not immediately. Not now. The last thing you want is to drag him into your torment.

"I was looking for you everywhere. I didn’t know what had happened to you. I thought... I thought something terrible had happened," he says, his expression a mix of pain and frustration. The worry shines in his eyes. His breathing is uneven, and you realize how much he’s suffered during these days without hearing from you.

The guilt consumes you. Leaving him, making him suffer while you... you were living through an endless nightmare. But the worst part is that you can’t tell him.

"I had... I had some things to take care of," you reply, trying to make your voice sound steady, though inside you’re falling apart. "I didn’t mean to worry you."

A bitter laugh escapes your mouth, as if those words could justify everything you’ve done. He looks at you in disbelief, as if he can’t believe what you’ve just said.

"But I was so scared... why didn’t you tell me anything?" His voice trembles with restrained emotion, a small thread of anguish in his tone. "I looked for you everywhere, sent messages, called you, but... nothing. I didn’t know if I should come find you, if I should keep waiting, or if something terrible had happened—"

You feel like you’re trapped, trapped in a deep pit you don’t know how to climb out of. The truth weighs on you, consumes you, but you can’t tell him.

"I... I’m sorry," you say, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Your hands tremble as they touch his, but somehow, the warmth of his touch comforts you. It’s not enough. It isn’t. But for a second, you feel safe.

Junho stays silent for a moment, watching you. You don’t know what’s going through his mind, but you can see how deeply every word affects him. His face is marked by a mix of frustration, desperation, and pain. But instead of pulling away, he moves even closer, his fingers gently brushing your face. The softness of his touch burns you, and your eyes fill with tears. You sink a little further into that pit. But now, it’s different. You’re not alone anymore.

"Don’t leave me," he whispers, his voice deep, laden with emotion. "No matter what you’ve done, I don’t want to lose you."

And those words pierce your heart like an arrow. Those words are the purest truth you’ve ever heard. But you still feel the weight of what you’ve done, of what you’ve lived through. Of what you’ll never be able to tell him.

"You can’t..." you murmur, your eyes fixed on the floor. "I don’t deserve to be near you..."

Junho takes a step closer to you, his forehead touching yours, the warmth of his body almost merging with yours. He makes you feel a little lighter, as if, for a moment, everything is okay.

"Don’t talk like that," he says softly, but his eyes are filled with pain. "What happened? Why are you so tired? What have you been doing?"

Your eyes fill with tears. In your heart, you know you can never tell him everything that happened. But you also don’t want him to keep suffering because of your absence. Because of what wasn’t. Because of everything you couldn’t avoid.

"It was just... just a rough time, Junho. I don’t want to talk about it now," you say, trembling slightly. You feel his breath near yours, his warmth surrounding you. But inside, you feel broken. What will you tell him? How do you explain everything that happened?

He takes a deep breath, but instead of pressing you, he simply hugs you. His body envelops yours, and he holds you tightly, as if he wants to merge with you, as if he can’t bear the thought of you leaving without a trace. The hug becomes a refuge, a safe place where words don’t matter, where all that’s left is the moment.

"What hurts me the most isn’t not knowing what you did, but how I felt when I thought I’d lost you," he says, his voice breaking. "All I want is for you to be here, with me."

The sound of his voice, filled with such pure emotion, makes you feel something you hadn’t felt in days: peace. Peace amidst chaos.

"I’m here, Junho," you finally say, looking up at him. "I don’t know what else to do, but I want you to forgive me."

He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes so soft they seem to hold everything he feels for you. And in that moment, you know. You don’t need to tell him anything else. It doesn’t matter what happened, what you lived through, what you endured. What matters is what you both have now. And that’s enough.

"I forgive you," he says softly, before moving even closer. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, full of promises. He holds you as if he’s grateful to have you back, and you do the same, giving him everything you have in that moment.

Love isn’t always easy. It’s not always what we expect. But here, in this small corner of his apartment, under the dim light of the lamps, you know that together, you can face whatever comes.

"Promise me we’ll never be apart again," he murmurs against your lips, smiling softly.

"Promise," you reply, letting the tears fall freely now, unafraid.

And in that instant, all the pain, all the suffering, disappears. It’s just you, Junho, and the warmth of his embrace that makes you feel safe again.

[eternalxvenus]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 3 ࿐ྂ

summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain.

wc: 1.4k

notes: part three out in less than 24hrs?!? who would've thought

previous chapters: part 1 | part 2

Topper: hey we need to talk, it's about Rafe.

Your heartbeat started to pick up, but you weren't sure why. Topper didn't say it was anything bad, but you knew realistically he wouldn't be texting you unless it was.

You: hey Top, what's going on?

Topper: are you busy? can I swing by?

You: i'm on the mainland right now, can you tell me over text? i'm worried

Topper: yeah... so I don't know if you know but Rafe went to Kelce's party a couple days ago.

You: yeah I know

The sinking feeling in your chest lifts a little. You figured Topper was going to tell you Rafe had been doing coke since he knew Rafe was supposed to quit.

Topper: while he was there he started doing lines off the table. then a little later he started making out with Sofia. i'm not sure how far it went

You stared at the message for what felt like forever. Then a video pops up in the chat, so you click play.

There are some random people doing lines, but then in the back corner, you can see Rafe and his ex-girlfriend Sofia practically trying to eat each other's faces. You couldn't seem to find the energy to be sad about it. You felt almost indifferent but shocked at the same time.

You: thanks for letting me know Top

Topper: of course and just know you don't deserve that.

You click out of your messages and before you can think twice, your phone is ringing, waiting for your call to be picked up.

"Hello?" Rafe's voice came in through the speakers. He sounded tired but not like he had been asleep.

"Rafe. I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth." 

"Okay... what is it?"

There was silence as you took a deep breath. Your voice was smooth and calm as you asked, "Did you cheat on me?"

You heard shuffling on the other end of the line. "What?"

"Did you cheat on me, Rafe?"

"No, I didn't cheat on you. What is going on?" He sounded baffled by your question.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Rafe! I saw the video," You tried to keep your voice low since your parents were probably asleep.

"Baby what are you talking about I'm not lying! I didn't cheat on you. You know what, I'm coming to the mainland. I'll be over there soon." 

He ended the call before you could tell him not to bother. The last thing you wanted to see was his stupid face, knowing his lips were all over Sofia's, and God knows what else they did. 

At the beginning of your relationship you were really insecure because of his history with Sofia but Rafe always assured you that he wasn’t interested in her anymore. You laid in bed staring at the ceiling while the video played over and over in your head. All you could wonder was what made your relationship with Rafe go left so quickly. You felt like crying and punching Rafe all at once. He made you feel so much at one time it could be so overwhelming.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Your phone chimed a while later with a text from Rafe saying 'I'm here. Please let me in so we can talk.’

With a sigh you begrudgingly made your way downstairs and to the front door. When you opened it Rafe was standing there with a tired yet worried look on his face.

"Can I please-"

You put a finger up to your lips. "Shh. You'll wake up my parents." You let him inside and signaled him to follow you into your room. Before you can close the door fully, Rafe starts asking questions. "Why do you think I cheated on you? What video are you talking about?"

"Rafe, I saw a video of you sucking face with Sofia at Kelce's party. Did you fuck her too? Is that why you didn't text me all day?"

Rafe was looking at you like you'd grown two heads. "I am so fucking lost right now. I don't even think I saw Sofia at the party!"

You pull up the video and show it to Rafe. He watches it a few times before sitting on your bed with a sigh, dragging his hands over his face. You watch him with your arms crossed, waiting to see what he'll say. Rafe then pulls his phone out of his pocket, pulling something up.

"Look, this is a picture taken the day of the party." He shows you a random photo that was taken of him and Kelce, also displaying the date on it.

"So what?"

Rafe grabs your phone going back to the video and zooming in on the spot where he is seen kissing Sofia. "My outfit isn't the same in the video. It's an old video from when we were together."

Looking at both the phones you realize that he's right. "Oh... well why would Topper send me this if it's old?" You question out loud

"Wait a minute, Topper sent you this?"

"Yeah he texted me earlier saying we needed to talk but I told him I was on the mainland." You show Rafe the texts from Topper and he's seething.

"I could kill that son of bitch!" He shouted, and you had to cover his mouth, reminding him your parents were asleep. You sat on the bed looking at him, now you were the one who was confused so you decided to flat-out ask him what was going on.

"When you weren't talking to me I had told Kelce and Topper what was going on and he was the one who convinced me you didn't wanna be with me anymore. You were ignoring my calls and everything so he said I should just forget about you and not make things worse." Suddenly Rafe was on his knees with his hands on your hips.

"Baby listen, I know that I can be a major fuck up sometimes and that I don't have the best way of dealing with stress and everything but I would never cheat on you. I'm sorry about y'know, the coke and your birthday and everything else that I've ever done wrong, but I hope you realize that I love you so fucking much. You mean the world to me, and I don't wanna lose you." You stared at him with wide eyes as tears started to fall down his cheeks and brought up your hand to gently wipe them away. "So if you still want space, I'll give it to you. But I know I'm ready to change and make everything up to you."

You leaned down to place a soft kiss on his lips. You definitely weren't expecting him to pour everything out like that. "I love you too, and I don't want you to think I'm ever judging you or being a hardass. I just worry about you. If something ever happened to you..." you sighed, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"I promise not to make you worry." Rafe stood up and kissed you hard while cradling your face. He tried to leave to give you space, but you insisted he'd stay and said you'd head back to the OBX tomorrow. Rafe wanted to talk to Topper in person, which you didn't see going well, but you'd worry about it tomorrow.

You gave him plenty of blankets and pillows since he didn't want to take up so much space in your twin bed and chose to sleep on the floor. Once you'd gotten under your blankets, sleep whisked you away. 

Rafe, on the other hand, could barely get his mind to calm down. He was fucking enraged with Topper for trying to pull some bullshit like that. Rafe should've known he was a snake. He noticed the way Topper's eyes would linger on you or how his hugs went on for a little too long. But Rafe didn't think Topper was stupid enough to try and break you two up.

Now that he had finally cleared everything up with you, he wasn't worried. Rafe was going to take care of Topper as soon as he got back to OBX. He'll make sure to get the point across that nobody fucks with his girl and his relationship.

part 4

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[fanged-fanfics]

Slides in with a very polite request of Dr Phosphorus/ Alex Tudyk x GN!Reader pretty please (๑╹ω╹๑ )

Story can be however you like heh.. 𝓘’𝓶 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓴𝔂

☆ Melting Sounds Much Sweeter Than Burning — Dr. Phosphorus x GN Reader Fic☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || Warning for canon-typical violence + a lot of swearing

A/N: I don't think it came across clear in the writing but this is pre-canon for context-

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

You were one of the humanoids caged up with the rest of the Commandos, locked up for your own big name crimes. There wasn't much the prison guards ever really let you do, and for quite a while you kept to yourself to try and avoid trouble. Sure, it was mundane to follow the guard's routines, but it kept you from getting shoved into solitary confinement or extra charges. But, in a flurry of green flames, trouble ended up quite literally landing in your lap during a mealtime brawl, and you found yourself fighting mutant assholess off of a radioactive green guy who was backing you up hit for hit.

From that day on, you couldn't seem to get rid of Dr. Phosphorus. You kept being in the same vicinity, or gravitating to each other subconsciously. Even if you tried to pick up conversations with someone else, he'd likely be the one to help you walk back to your cell. It was one of the better things to come from your time here. Phosphorus was one of the smarter criminals you interacted with on an average basis. He could at least hold a conversation without trying to gnaw his own leg off halfway through it like some other inmate (his name was apparently Weasel, but you didn't find that out till much later).

Unfortunately, despite your initial approach of being under the radar, Phosphorus was prone to trouble. You'd seen him melt a whole table enough to punch it in half, burn through walls, or sucker-punch people who pissed him off with a fist hot enough to literally kill them on impact. Suffice to say, you usually didn't offer him a handshake or give any pats on the back, for obvious reasons. Even though it was amusing to see him get himself out of alterations, you got into the habit of standing up to others by proxy.

Today, you'd gotten into a brawl. Not because of the great green doc, moreso of your own volition. You didn't get to see how it ended— swelling around one eye and dirt in the next prevented it. But due to the shouts you'd heard, it was easy to conclude the wardens broke it up. You were finally released back into your cell, seeing the familiar irradiated skeleton waiting for your arrival. The second the steps of the warden couldn't be heard, he walked up in front of you.

"The nurses didn't do a damn thing, did they?" He asked upon seeing your visible bruises and scrapes. You heaved a tired sigh as you sat on the edge of your stiff mattress "Hello to you too, Doc" you muttered. "Hey, I wasn't the one who jumped that guy" Phosphorus reminded, walking past the front of your vision "You had a hell of a stick up your ass today". "You heard him, he deserved every bit of it" you replied. Phosphorus kneeled down in front of you while saying, "Well all I see is you're the one with a fucked-up mug". You grumbled, keeping your gaze off to the side. He was right, of course, he usually was, it was just exceedingly annoying. He could never not be smug about it, even when he insisted he wasn't smiling.

"Guess you rubbed off on me" you commented back. "Better than you getting radiation poisoning like most around me do" Phosphorus countered lightly, reaching his hand up. You leaned back, scooting to the very back of your mattress as quick as possible. Phosphorus quickly retracted his hand "Still stings?". "No, dumbass, you're gonna melt my face off!" You said with pressing worry, almost in a yelp. For a brief moment of pause, silence and the soft hum of radiation was all you could hear before Phosphorus broke out in a loud laugh. It was always a little strange, watching his bony mouth open, blank eye sockets making the expression vacant even though he sounds happy. Speaking of, what the hell was there to laugh about-

"Ah, you may be smart, but you're sure as hell not observant" Phosphorus said, casually leaning his arm on your bedsheets "See?". You slowly leaned forwards, brow creasing in confusion "But- I've seen you- how the hell-" you stammered. He chuckled again, leaning his head into his palm "I can control when it burns anything. Right now, you're just fine. I don't plan to set another cell on fire". "Another?" You echoed, and he shrugged "There's a reason I got moved to being your cellmate. Now come on, you're just gonna look more fucked up if you don't let me see" he said.

You hesitated for just a second. There was a brief flicker of a thought that he could just be messing with you, but you pushed that aside. He didn't have reason to suddenly turn you into a walking molotov cocktail, right? And it's not like you ever did much to piss him off, intentionally anyways. You scooted up, and he leaned back to allow you the room. With a gentle hand, he touched your swollen black eye. You winced back at first, but thankfully his hand only felt warm rather than scalding. You sat up a little straighter, letting him look you over. "Do you even know what you're doing?" You asked. He pressed two fingers under your jaw, moving your head a bit to see the damage better while he spoke "I know more than anyone here would, unless you think leeches are still good for sore throats"

You nodded, still feeling a little uncertain. Even with his surprisingly gentle guidance, you saw the man break way too much 'invincible' shit to just forget. His touch eventually became a gentle hold on your jaw, guiding it back down "Jeez, way to go, pal. You're gonna be feeling this one for a few days". You nodded quickly, and he fell quiet. He pulled back his hand, holding it up in front of you instead "See? You're fine! Not even a little melting" he said, attempting to be reassuring. You nodded, looking at the hand he was holding up. With faltering motions, you very gently pressed your fingertips together. It definitely felt warm, but still bearable. Your palm slowly pressed to his.

You couldn't see his face change any, but his tone was warm with encouragement. "Not so bad when you get used to it, huh?". "Nah" you mumbled in agreement, slowly interlocking your fingers with his "Not bad at all". Phosphorus tilted his head down a bit to look fully, only waiting a moment before gently rubbing your hand a bit with his thumb. It had been quite a while since anyone felt comfortable enough to let him near, much less this. Not since... well, he didn't like to think about it too much. You both glanced up together, empty sockets meeting your eyes. Not wanting to overstep, you slowly pulled your hand back.

"Aaaanyways-" you began awkwardly, trying to transition back into casual conversation "You sure this didn't give me mercury poisoning or something?". The doctor chuckled, standing up "Who knows, you might wanna get checked". You gave him a small, non-serious glare in reply, and he laughed a little louder. He pointed to his face "Sarcastic smile". You huffed a small, exasperatedly fond sigh. You reached under your pillow, pulling out a stowed away deck of cards. "Wanna play blackjack?" Phosphorus asked as you began shuffling. "Sure, if you don't burn them when you lose" you replied. "I'm not promising anything" he said, hopping up to sit across from you on your bed.

As you prepped the game, a thought came to mind. "Hey, did the guards drag off that other guy?" You asked "I heard a lot of commotion". "Oh yeah, you know how they are" Phosphorus said casually "Can't handle a little third degree". You halted your motions all at once, squinting suspiciously at the man across from you, who had the nerve to innocently ask, "Something the matter?". You shook your head, smiling as you handed him his cards "Nothing, doc. Thanks"

[ikeupied]

"Maybe people leave you because you're impossible to deal with."

My breath hitched, my heart started pounding, and my hands began to shake. No matter how hard I tried to respond, the words wouldn't leave my mouth.

"Have you ever thought about that?"

I stared at him in shock, unable to believe what I was hearing. I never in a million years thought I would hear those words come out of his mouth.

"What...?" I whispered, but my voice cracked before I could finish. How could he say this to me after everything we’d been through? His words echoed in my mind, too strong, too painful.

"It's the truth," he said, as if talking about something as simple as the weather. "You've clung to people, to me, for so long, and now... I don't know. Maybe it’s time to stop expecting people to never get tired of you."

My chest tightened. I could feel the air in the room grow heavy, like my soul was suffocating. Did he really think that?

"You think I'm... that I'm just... unbearable?" The words tumbled out, shaky and uncertain. No, this couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

He didn’t look at me, diverting his gaze to the floor, like he didn’t want to see the damage he had already caused. But the words still lingered between us. They felt like daggers, stabbing me again and again.

"Maybe if you weren’t so insecure all the time, people would want to be around you."

Silence wrapped around me like a cold blanket, and I couldn’t help but think of all the times I’d felt invisible, insecure, wondering if maybe he was right. Maybe everything I did was wrong, maybe my whole life had been somehow wrong, and I didn’t even know it.

7:30 AM, the sound of my alarm jolted me awake. I immediately noticed my face was wet; I had been sweating. I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes with my hands. It had been a dream, just that.

I inhaled and exhaled a few times, trying to calm my breath. My hands were shaking, everything felt overwhelming. I squeezed my eyes shut, and tears that I didn’t even realize I was holding back, fell.

"It was just a dream, it’s nothing," I told myself, trying to calm down, and slowly, the crying stopped.

After taking a long shower and staring at myself in the mirror for a while, I got dressed and left the apartment.

8:25 AM. When I saw the time, I realized I was running late for practice. "Shit," I sighed, quickening my pace.

"You’re late," he said, looking at me with his usual smirk. I gave him an empty look and simply walked past him without saying anything.

"Seems like you're in a good mood," he commented. I sighed, holding back the urge to launch myself at him and punch him in the face.

"Can we just start with the choreography? The sooner we get this over with, the better," I said. He gave me a typical smirk.

"Sure, whatever you say."

10:00 AM. I walked out of the dance studio, and Taesan was waiting for me outside.

"How did it go?" he asked as soon as I stepped out, and I could hear genuine concern in his voice. Taesan always worried too much about me, and that made me feel like a burden to him.

"It was... fine," I shrugged, and we started walking toward the university. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, we talked just enough and made good progress with the choreography."

"Good... I’m glad," he said, ruffling my hair gently, which made me laugh faintly. "I hope you’re not too tired. This afternoon we’ve got the group rehearsal to review the choreography for the first round."

I sighed at what he said. Honestly, the only thing I wanted to do was stay in bed all day, staring at the ceiling, reevaluating everything I’d said and done since I was three years old. But I couldn’t, so I just nodded and kept walking.

It was going to be a very long day.

just a dream (wc ; 2798)

SYNOPSIS: Y/n and Riki were inseparable. The kind of friendship everyone envied, the kind that felt unbreakable. But somewhere along the way, something shattered. Now, every word they exchange is a fight, every glance a silent war. Neither of them wants to admit how much it hurts. Neither of them wants to be the first to let go of the anger. But how long can you hate someone who once meant everything to you? Because the line between love and hate has never been thinner.

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note: I actually cried writing and reading this chapter, but it's one of my favourites.

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© all rights reserved to ikeupied, please don't copy.

[requiem-for-a-raisin]

Villains in Casino - Ellis and the Dangerous Game

*Fan translation for funsies! IP owned by Cybird, translations are my own and may be inaccurate. See About page for more info.*

:readmore:

We infiltrated a casino on a mission,

and because we were disguised as waiters, we ran around the floor.

Female Waitress

"Next, please bring this drink!"

Neema

"Yes, ma’am!"

Casino Dealer

"Waiter there, bring me the drinks for our guests."

Ellis

"Okay, I got it."

Finally, it was time for a break, and we leaned against the wall and checked each other's information.

Ellis

"So far, nothing seems suspicious. I haven't seen any illegal transactions."

Neema

"Was it really just a rumor?"

Rumors of illegal transactions happening in the casino reached Her Majesty's ears, so we decided to go undercover, but so far we haven't seen any problems.

Ellis

"Maybe it's best to come back another day to investigate as a customer."

Neema

"That's true..."

Perhaps because we'd been running around the floor, Ellis looked unusually tired and I looked gaunt.

I turn my attention to the floor, thinking that if I can't get any more information, maybe I should go back out and try again.

A surreal space with sparkling chandeliers, excited people, and large sums of money constantly moving around.

(Everywhere is sparkling... Everyone looks like they're having fun.)

As I squint my eyes at the dazzling world, suddenly Ellis speaks.

Ellis

"Shall we try it, too?"

Neema

"Huh?"

Ellis

"Gambling. You seemed interested in it when you first got here."

(He noticed that ・・・・・・)

I don't have a taste for gambling, but the air of fun has piqued my interest.

Ellis

“I'll be the dealer and we'll both try it. Is the game Boker okay?"

He pulls me by the hand and we move to a secluded table, facing each other.

Ellis

"What should we bet? We don't have any chips."

Neema

"How about a punishment game? Maybe something that bothers each other a little."

Ellis

"That sounds fun."

As I watch him shuffle the cards, I think about a lot of things.

(That's it!)

There's something that the always kind Ellis-kun might be a little annoyed about.

And that's...

Neema

"If I win, how about no kissing for a week?"

Ellis

"Ehhh..."

In an instant, his hands stopped shuffling the cards and a look of despair appeared on his face.

There's something amusing about that face, and it awakens my mischievous side.

Neema

“I'll go with no kissing. What about you, Ellis?"

Ellis

"I've decided too."

Ellis deals 5 cards with his lips tightened.

Ellis

“I won't lose, I'll stop what Neema-san is up to.”

He stared at his cards with more enthusiasm than usual and changed two cards.

I changed three cards, but could only get one pair.

Ellis

“Are you ready?"

Neema

"Okay, here we go!"

We both show our cards on the table at the same time.

I have one pair, and Ellis has two pairs.

He wins.

(Too bad, I lost.)

I drop my shoulders and look away from the cards.

(Come to think of it, I didn't hear about Ellis' punishment game.)

I look up and see him staring at me, his eyes locked on mine.

Neema

“Congratulations, Ellis, you win.”

Ellis

"Thank you."

He walks around the table and stands next to me, looking down at me.

Neema

"By the way, what's the punishment for you winning, Ellis?”

In an instant, my lips are stolen.

My thoughts melt away as he kisses me so passionately that I feel like I'm being devoured, and when I reach for his chest his lips finally part.

Ellis

"If I win..."

But then his eyes meet my own, filled with heat.

Ellis

"In one week, I'll kiss you so much that your lips will be red and swollen."

Neema

"Huh?"

Ellis

"The moment you said you wouldn't allow me to kiss you, I thought of doing the exact opposite if I won."

Ellis-kun stroked my cheek with a dreamy look on his face, and gave me a sweet, intoxicating smile.

Ellis

"I won't stop even if my lips get cut or swollen."

Ellis

"Let's keep kissing, Neema-san."

My lips were sealed again, I regretted what I had said.

The sweet, indulgent kiss was like a slow-acting poison, driving me crazy and preventing me from ever going back.