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goldfades · 3 months ago

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TROUBLE ─── RAFE CAMERON (part two)

part one!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | after that fateful night, you begin to see rafe cameron differently - and it seems like he feels the same.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | ooc!rafe, teasing, descriptions of bullying (?), sweet rafe, a lot of word vomit, um... idk what else? it's pretty sweet and wholesome

⟢ ┈ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 | @psychicnatural @evermorx89 @slipawaylrh @renasjourney @aesthetic-lyss

The thing about Rafe Cameron is that he doesn’t linger.

Not in the way you might expect. He has a reputation for showing up, making noise, and leaving behind chaos in his wake. Rafe doesn’t hover, doesn’t check back, doesn’t get involved. But ever since that night—since the low rumble of his voice pulled you from the edge of panic and his steady presence walked you safely out of danger—it feels like he’s everywhere.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. A coincidence. But the truth is, you’ve caught him watching you more than once. At Sarah’s party last weekend, his eyes found you across the bonfire, the flickering light sharpening his sharp features and softening his smirk. At The Wreck, when you stopped by for takeout, he was there at the bar, casually nursing a drink, his gaze flicking to you the moment you walked in.

And now, standing in the backyard of the Cameron estate during Sarah’s infamous summer party, you can feel the weight of his presence even though you haven’t seen him yet tonight.

It’s like he’s threaded into the atmosphere now, an undercurrent you can’t ignore.

You’re holding a drink in one hand, the other resting on the edge of the pool as Wheezie chatters beside you about some drama from school. Sarah is off somewhere playing hostess, and the crowd is a mix of Kooks, tourists, and a handful of Pogues Sarah deemed “cool enough” to make the cut.

The air is warm and heavy with the scent of salt and chlorine, and you’re doing your best to pretend you’re not scanning the crowd for him.

You tell yourself you’re not hoping to see him.

But then, you do.

Rafe steps out onto the patio, a drink in hand, his posture relaxed but commanding as he surveys the party. He looks effortlessly at home here—like the house, the lights, the music all belong to him in some unspoken way.

When his eyes find you, it’s immediate, like he knew exactly where to look.

Your pulse quickens, and you glance away, trying to focus on Wheezie’s story. But even as she rambles on, you can feel Rafe’s gaze burning into you. It’s a mix of heat and challenge, daring you to acknowledge him.

And when you finally give in and glance back, he’s smirking.

He doesn’t approach right away. He never does. Instead, he takes his time, drifting through the crowd like he’s in no rush, talking to people here and there, all while his attention keeps circling back to you.

It’s maddening.

You take a sip of your drink, willing the flush in your cheeks to disappear, and try to focus on Wheezie’s latest complaint about her friends. But then Rafe’s voice cuts through the noise, low and unmistakable.

“Having fun?”

You look up to find him standing beside you, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, the other holding his drink. He’s close enough that the faint scent of his cologne reaches you—something warm and sharp and entirely too intoxicating.

“Trying to,” you reply, your voice steadier than you expected.

His smirk deepens, and his eyes flick to Wheezie, who’s already grinning at him. “Don’t let her bore you to death,” he says, nodding toward his sister.

“Hey!” Wheezie protests, shoving him lightly.

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and easy, but his attention is back on you in an instant. “Come find me later,” he says, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

And then he’s gone, disappearing back into the crowd, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and Wheezie’s teasing grin.

“Are you blushing?” Wheezie asks, her tone all too knowing.

“Absolutely not,” you say quickly, turning back to your drink.

But you are. And the worst part? You know Rafe knows it too.

There was a time when the idea of Rafe Cameron being anything but insufferable would have been laughable.

You remember those long, sticky summer evenings spent at the Cameron house, sitting at the kitchen island with Wheezie while her parents were out at one fundraiser or another. Babysitting wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it was better than working at the marina, and Wheezie was sweet enough to make it bearable.

Rafe, on the other hand, was a different story.

He had this knack for showing up just when you thought you’d have a quiet night. You’d be helping Wheezie with her math homework or making her one of those ridiculously specific sandwiches she liked, and then—bam. There he was, leaning against the doorway with that signature smirk plastered across his face.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he’d say, nodding at whatever you were doing, even if it was as simple as slicing bread.

“Doing what wrong?” you’d snap back, barely sparing him a glance.

“Existing,” he’d tease, stealing a chip off your plate and popping it into his mouth like he owned the place.

It was endless. He’d make fun of your clothes, your car, your playlist. Anything and everything was fair game, and he never missed an opportunity to remind you that you didn’t belong in their world. You were a Pogue, after all, even if your dad’s business had climbed its way into something respectable.

But there was one night—one moment—that always stood out, no matter how much you hated to admit it.

You were sitting at the island again, Wheezie at your side, her little hands clutching a glass of milk while you tried to get her to eat a handful of carrots. Rafe was there too, slouched in one of the barstools with his phone in hand, half-listening to whatever you were saying just to mock it later.

Everything was normal—until Wheezie came stumbling into the room, tears streaming down her face.

“What happened?” you asked immediately, rushing over to her.

“They—they were making fun of me,” she hiccuped, her words barely audible through her sobs.

“Who?” you pressed gently, crouching down to her level.

“Those boys…from down the street,” she managed, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “They said I was weird and that no one likes me.”

Your heart clenched, and you reached out to pull her into a hug, murmuring something soothing about how those boys didn’t know what they were talking about. But before you could say much else, Rafe stood up.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud. He didn’t say a word. He just… stood.

And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him as you sat there, stunned.

“What—where’s he going?” you asked, looking down at Wheezie, who just shrugged.

Fifteen minutes later, Rafe came back. His knuckles were scraped, his nose was bleeding, and there was a bruise already forming on his cheekbone.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “What the hell happened to you?”

He grabbed a dishtowel off the counter, pressing it to his face as he shrugged. “It’s taken care of.”

“Rafe…” you started, but he just waved you off, heading for the stairs like nothing had happened.

Looking back on it now, it’s almost funny how you didn’t see it then. He didn’t make a show of it or stick around for the praise. He just… handled it. The same way he handled everything, quietly and with a bluntness that often left more questions than answers.

Rafe Cameron wasn’t always like this.

You can still remember the version of him from when you were younger: loud, impulsive, and seemingly incapable of taking anything seriously. He was the type of kid who would shoot spitballs in class just to watch people squirm, who cared more about his next thrill than the consequences that followed. There was a recklessness about him then, a streak of carelessness that made you write him off without hesitation.

But now, standing on the edge of Sarah’s party and watching him weave effortlessly through the crowd, you can’t help but notice how much has changed.

His hair, once a shaggy mess of blonde that fell into his eyes, is buzzed now, the sharp cut emphasizing the strong line of his jaw and the defined shape of his cheekbones. He’s leaner, but more solid too, his movements deliberate instead of erratic. Even the way he holds himself is different—confident but restrained, like he no longer feels the need to demand attention because he knows it’s already his.

It’s not just his appearance, though that’s hard to ignore. It’s the way he seems more grounded, more present. You’ve heard whispers about him stepping up to help his dad with the family business, even if people still question his motives. You’ve seen him around town, not in his usual haunts, but at the construction sites or walking out of Grady’s hardware store with blueprints under his arm.

He’s working. Actually working. And it’s not just for show.

The realization hit you that night, downtown, when he pulled you out of a situation that could’ve gone sideways fast. The way he handled it—calm, capable, and protective—was so at odds with the Rafe you thought you knew that it left you reeling. You’d always thought of him as a spoiled rich kid, someone who relied on his family name to coast through life without lifting a finger. But in that moment, when his steady presence shielded you from danger, you saw someone entirely different.

And now you can’t unsee it.

It’s driving you insane, honestly. Because no matter how mature he’s become, no matter how different he seems now, he’s still Rafe freaking Cameron. The boy who used to mock you for your Pogue roots, who once threw a party so wild that Wheezie had to call you to help clean up the next morning. The boy who, for years, seemed to exist solely to prove that Kooks always win.

And yet, here you are, catching yourself looking for him at every party, every gathering, even when you don’t want to admit it.

You hate it. Hate how your pulse races whenever his sharp blue eyes meet yours, how your mind replays the way his voice softened when he asked if you were okay that night. Hate how, even now, as you stand with Wheezie by the pool, your thoughts are consumed by the memory of him leaning closer in the kitchen just a few nights ago, his tone teasing but his eyes saying something else entirely.

It doesn’t help that Rafe seems to sense it. The shift in the air between you, the way you’ve started noticing him in ways you never did before. And the worst part? He seems to enjoy it.

He’s not obvious about it, not in the way he used to be when he was younger. No, this Rafe is far more subtle. He doesn’t shout or flaunt or draw attention to himself. Instead, he waits. Watches. Pushes just enough to leave you questioning everything but never enough to let you get comfortable.

It’s infuriating.

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping the buzz will drown out your spiraling thoughts. But even as you try to focus on Wheezie’s chatter and the hum of the party around you, your eyes keep drifting back toward him.

The worst part is, he doesn’t even have to try.

It’s like he’s rewritten the rules of who he is, and now you’re stuck trying to figure out where you fit in the story.

You shake the memory from your mind, blinking back into the present as the Cameron estate buzzes around you. The party has shifted into full swing now—music booming from portable speakers, a few brave souls splashing in the pool, and clusters of people laughing and drinking under the string lights that crisscross the patio. Wheezie’s long gone, swallowed up by her friends, and Sarah is playing hostess somewhere, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Or rather, alone with the memory of Rafe, the boy who used to tease you mercilessly but once left the house with a determined glare and came back bloody for his sister’s sake.

The worst part? That moment, that side of him, wasn’t as much of an anomaly as you’d tried to convince yourself. Sure, he was arrogant and annoying and drove you up the wall, but when it came to the people he cared about, Rafe was all-in. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t back down. And now, years later, you can’t stop replaying the way he showed up for you downtown, the same intensity in his eyes, the same protective edge to his voice.

It’s maddening, really.

You hate that you’re noticing these things about him. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his shirt fits just snug enough to hint at the strength beneath, the way he moves through the crowd like he knows exactly how to command attention without asking for it.

You catch sight of him again, standing near the bar and laughing at something one of his friends says. The golden glow of the string lights above him catches on the sharp cut of his jaw, the subtle curve of his smirk. He’s relaxed, leaning casually against the counter, completely at ease in his element.

You should look away. You should focus on something else, anyone else. But your gaze lingers, drawn to the effortless way he commands the space around him. It’s maddening.

And then, as if sensing your attention, Rafe’s eyes flick up and find yours across the yard.

The breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re frozen, caught in the intensity of his gaze. He doesn’t smirk this time, doesn’t do anything but hold your stare, his expression unreadable. It feels like an eternity before he finally moves, pushing off the bar and heading in your direction with that same unhurried confidence that drives you crazy.

You glance around, your nerves buzzing. Part of you wants to walk away, to avoid whatever game he’s playing. But your feet stay rooted in place, and before you know it, Rafe is standing in front of you, close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his cologne—something warm and woodsy that makes your pulse race.

“Looking for someone?”

Speak of the devil.

You turn, already knowing what you’ll find, and there he is—Rafe Cameron, standing just a few feet away, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His smirk is firmly in place, but his eyes carry that same quiet intensity you’ve come to associate with him, the kind that makes your stomach flip in a way you’re not proud of.

“No,” you say quickly, too quickly, and his smirk deepens.

“Sure about that?” he asks, stepping closer.

You resist the urge to step back, holding your ground even as your pulse quickens. “Positive. Just enjoying the party.”

“Right,” he drawls, his voice low and amused. “Because you look like you’re having so much fun standing over here by yourself.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “What do you want, Rafe?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way that always feels too knowing. “You,” he says finally, his tone soft but laced with something that sends a shiver down your spine, “are way too easy to mess with.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat rising in your cheeks. “Glad to know I’m such a source of entertainment for you.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he replies, his grin widening.

He’s teasing, you know he is, but there’s something else beneath his words tonight, something that feels more real than the surface-level banter you’re used to.

“Seriously,” you say, trying to shift the conversation before your heart gives itself away. “Don’t you have a crowd to charm or something?”

“Maybe I’m right where I want to be,” he says, leaning just slightly into your space. His voice drops a fraction, soft enough that it feels like it’s meant just for you. “Ever think of that?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t think of a single thing to say. He’s too close, his presence overwhelming, and all you can do is stare at him, your mind spinning with thoughts you shouldn’t be having.

You huff, turning to look out at the pool instead of his stupidly smug face. “What do you want, Rafe?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you glance back at him, surprised to find his expression softer than you expected. “You looked like you needed saving,” he says lightly, nodding toward the now-empty lounge chair where you’d been sitting.

You roll your eyes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you?” He leans a little closer, just enough to make your heart skip. “Because you seem a little... tense.”

Your breath catches, and you hate the way your body reacts to him—like it’s tuned to his every word, every movement. “I’m not tense,” you manage, though your voice betrays you with its slight waver.

He grins, and it’s infuriatingly charming. “If you say so.”

The silence stretches between you, charged and crackling with something you can’t quite name. You expect him to keep teasing, to push just far enough to leave you flustered before walking away like he always does. But instead, his gaze softens, and for a moment, he just looks at you—really looks at you, like he’s trying to figure you out.

“You’re not like the rest of them,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.

The words catch you off guard, and your brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he says simply.

And maybe you do. Maybe that’s why your chest tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s looking at you like he’s seeing something even you don’t fully understand.

Before you can respond, one of his friends calls his name from across the yard, breaking the moment like a snapped string.

Rafe sighs, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to you. “Guess I’m needed elsewhere,” he says, his usual smirk returning as he steps back.

“Shocking,” you mutter, trying to ignore the weird ache in your chest as he starts to walk away.

But then he pauses, turning back to you with a grin that’s equal parts mischievous and genuine. “You ever need saving again, you know where to find me.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you standing there, flushed and frustrated and entirely too aware of the fact that Rafe Cameron is under your skin.

The rest of the night passes in a haze of chatter and laughter, but you barely hear any of it. Your mind keeps circling back to Rafe, to the way he looked at you, the way his words lingered in the air like a challenge and a promise all at once. It’s maddening.

By the time the party winds down, you’re exhausted—not from the noise or the crowd, but from the mental gymnastics of trying to convince yourself that Rafe Cameron doesn’t affect you. It’s a losing battle, and you know it.

Wheezie insists on walking you to your car, her arm looped through yours as she chatters about some drama with her friends. You do your best to focus, nodding at all the right moments, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

When you finally get into your car and start the drive home, the silence feels heavier than usual. The streets are dark, the glow of the headlights bouncing off the familiar bends in the road. You roll down the window, hoping the cool night air will clear your head, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the memory of Rafe’s gaze feel even sharper, like a ghost you can’t shake.

You pull into your driveway and sit there for a moment, the engine ticking softly as it cools. Normally, you’d go straight inside and crash, but tonight, you linger, your fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The night feels unfinished, like there’s something left unresolved.

You shake the thought away, grabbing your bag and heading inside. The house is quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards under your feet. You kick off your shoes, toss your bag onto the counter, and start the familiar routine of winding down.

But even as you wash your face and crawl into bed, you can’t stop thinking about him.

The next few days pass without incident, but the memory of Rafe sticks with you, weaving itself into the mundane moments of your routine. You see flashes of him in the strangest places—in the sharp line of a customer’s jaw at the boutique, in the golden sunlight filtering through the trees on your drive to work, in the steady confidence of someone walking down the street.

It’s ridiculous.

It’s Rafe.

And yet, no matter how hard you try to push it away, the memory of that night lingers. The way he stepped in without hesitation, the quiet assurance in his voice, the way he didn’t make a big deal of it afterward. It’s all so at odds with the version of him you’d built in your head, and it’s throwing you off balance in a way you can’t quite explain.

The next time you see him, it’s at the Cameron house again. Wheezie had texted you, begging you to come over for dinner, and you’d caved, mostly because you missed her and partly because you were curious.

You tell yourself it’s not about him.

But when you walk through the front door and spot Rafe leaning against the kitchen counter, his head tilted back in laughter, your pulse stutters.

“Hey!” Wheezie greets you, bounding over to give you a hug.

You hug her back, trying to focus on her and not the sharp blue eyes that flick over to you from across the room.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Wheezie says, pulling you toward the dining room. “Come on!”

You follow her, keeping your head down, but you can feel Rafe’s gaze on you as you pass.

The meal is lively, filled with chatter and the occasional bickering between Sarah and Wheezie. Rafe is mostly quiet, chiming in here and there but keeping his attention on his plate. You try to ignore him, but every time he moves, every time his fork scrapes against his plate or his voice cuts through the conversation, your stomach twists.

After dinner, Wheezie and Sarah disappear upstairs, leaving you alone in the kitchen as you help clear the table. You’re stacking plates by the sink when you hear footsteps behind you.

“You always this helpful?”

The voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

You glance over your shoulder, finding Rafe leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Just trying to earn my keep,” you say lightly, turning back to the sink.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “You don’t have to do that here, you know. You’re practically family.”

The comment catches you off guard, and you pause for a moment before setting the plates down. “Didn’t realize you thought of me that way.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he says, his voice closer now.

You glance back again, finding him only a few steps away. His expression is softer than you expected, his smirk replaced by something more thoughtful.

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. “Guess I figured you’d still see me as the annoying Pogue babysitter.”

Rafe’s lips twitch, like he’s holding back a grin. “You were annoying,” he says, his tone teasing. “But you’re not a babysitter anymore.”

The air between you shifts, the playful edge to his words giving way to something heavier. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves buzzing like live wires.

“I should—” you start, but your words falter as Rafe takes another step closer, his gaze locked on yours.

“You should what?” he asks, his voice low.

You don’t have an answer. Or maybe you do, but it’s lost somewhere in the haze of his closeness, the way his presence seems to fill the room.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the tension crackling like a live wire. And then, just as quickly as it started, Rafe steps back, his smirk returning as he grabs a glass from the counter.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he says, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer than necessary.

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the overwhelming realization that you’re in deep trouble.

That night, lying in bed, you stare up at the ceiling, your thoughts running wild. The familiar shadows stretch across your walls, the faint hum of the ceiling fan filling the quiet room. Normally, this is when your mind would wind down, drifting into blissful silence. But tonight, there’s no such luck.

Rafe Cameron is an enigma that refuses to leave your head.

You keep replaying the evening in your mind—his teasing smirk, the way he stepped closer like it was the most natural thing in the world, the way he looked at you with something you couldn’t name. It’s maddening.

And then, unbidden, another memory surfaces. One you haven’t thought about in years but suddenly feels impossible to ignore.

You were sixteen, still babysitting Wheezie regularly, and you’d just gotten a new pair of shoes. Nothing extravagant, just a pair of sneakers you’d saved up for with months of odd jobs. You were excited about them, maybe a little too excited, and you made the mistake of mentioning it when Rafe wandered into the kitchen where you were helping Wheezie with her art project.

“Nice kicks,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery as he leaned against the counter. “Did they give those away for free at the thrift store?”

You glared at him, bristling. “I bought them, actually.”

“With what? Spare change you found under the couch cushions?” he shot back, smirking as he reached over to steal a cookie from the tray you’d set out for Wheezie.

“Leave her alone, Rafe,” Wheezie piped up, frowning at her brother.

But Rafe didn’t listen. He kept going, poking fun at everything from the color of the shoes to the brand, all with that infuriating grin plastered on his face.

At the time, you’d been furious. You’d wanted to snap back, to tell him off, but you didn’t. Instead, you’d rolled your eyes, muttered something about how he didn’t know anything about fashion, and went back to helping Wheezie.

Now, though, lying in bed, the memory feels…different.

You remember the way his eyes lingered on your shoes, the way his teasing felt more pointed than usual, like he was testing you. You remember how, when you finally left the house that night, you caught him watching you from the window, his expression unreadable.

And then there was Ward.

Ward, who always seemed to have some sly remark about how much time you spent at the house, about how Rafe “just couldn’t leave you alone.”

You’d dismissed it at the time, laughed it off as some weird dad joke that didn’t land. The idea of Rafe Cameron—spoiled, obnoxious, impossible Rafe—having a crush on you was absurd.

But now?

Now, as you lie there, replaying every interaction in excruciating detail, the idea doesn’t feel so absurd anymore.

The way he teased you relentlessly, always finding a reason to be around when you were at the house. The way he’d watch you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way his smirk would falter sometimes, just for a second, like he was debating whether to say something more.

It all takes on a new light, and the realization sends a shiver down your spine.

Rafe Cameron had been in your orbit for years, a constant, infuriating presence that you’d never thought to question. But now, as the pieces start to fall into place, you can’t help but wonder if you’d been blind to something that was always there.

And maybe—just maybe—you were starting to see it now.

The realization lingers with you, threading itself into your days like an invisible tether you can’t shake. Every time you think you’ve managed to push Rafe Cameron out of your head, something brings him back. A passing thought, a fleeting memory, the sound of a voice that’s too close to his. It’s driving you mad.

It doesn’t help that the Cameron house has become a second home again. Sarah and Wheezie keep pulling you into their plans, which always seem to conveniently land you back at the sprawling estate. And Rafe? He’s there more than ever now—clean-cut, focused, and still as infuriating as ever.

You keep telling yourself it’s nothing. That whatever strange shift you’re feeling is in your head. But the tension between you is undeniable, crackling in the air every time you’re in the same room.

The Cameron living room was alive with laughter, the sounds of dice clattering against the wooden coffee table and Wheezie’s triumphant cheer filling the air. Game night had started with its usual chaos, everyone fighting over who got to pick the first game, but now the competition was in full swing.

“What are the odds,” you muttered under your breath, eyeing the tiny slip of paper in your hand with a mixture of resignation and disbelief.

Sarah leaned over your shoulder, peering at the name written there, and burst out laughing. “Oh, this is too good.”

You shot her a look, crumpling the paper in your fist. “What’s so funny?”

“Just… you and Rafe? On the same team? It’s poetic, really.” She wiggled her eyebrows before ducking out of reach as you swatted at her.

Rafe, of course, was leaning back against the kitchen counter like he didn’t have a care in the world, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. His eyes slid to yours as if he’d been waiting for this moment, his smirk just wide enough to make you want to throw something at him.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.

You forced a tight-lipped smile. “Looks like it.”

It wasn’t that you disliked Rafe—not anymore, at least. But being paired with him for family game night meant opening yourself up to endless teasing and that annoyingly competitive streak he’d never quite grown out of.

“Don’t worry,” he added, pushing off the counter and heading toward you. “I’ll carry us.”

“Oh, how generous of you,” you shot back, earning a quiet laugh from Wheezie, who was busy setting up the game board in the living room.

By the time everyone gathered around the coffee table, the mood had shifted to something lighter, easier. You found yourself sitting shoulder to shoulder with Rafe, his broad frame taking up far more space than was necessary.

“Alright, Cameron Dream Team,” Sarah said with a grin, motioning between you and Rafe. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The first few rounds went about as expected—Rafe being overly confident, you rolling your eyes, and the rest of the Camerons watching the two of you with varying degrees of amusement. But as the game wore on, you realized something strange: you and Rafe actually worked well together.

It wasn’t just that you were winning (although that certainly helped). It was the way he’d glance at you for confirmation before making a move, or the way your banter seemed to flow effortlessly, pulling laughter from the rest of the room.

“Unstoppable,” he declared after another win, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

You snorted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Rose, who had been quietly observing from her spot on the couch, chimed in then, her voice cutting through the lighthearted chaos. “You two make a good team,” she said, her tone casual but her gaze sharp. “In the game and… otherwise.”

The words hung in the air like an errant firework, startling and impossible to ignore.

You felt your face heat immediately, your fingers fumbling with the edge of your sleeve. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe shift in his seat, his expression unreadable for a moment before a small, almost sheepish smile tugged at his lips.

“Maybe she’s right,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

Your stomach flipped. Whether it was the implication behind his words or the way his gaze lingered on you just a moment too long, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that the heat in your cheeks was impossible to shake.

The rest of the night passed in a haze of laughter and friendly competition. Rafe stayed closer than usual, his elbow brushing yours every so often as he leaned over the board or reached for the dice. You told yourself it was nothing—coincidence, proximity—but your heart betrayed you, skipping every time his eyes found yours.

By the time the last game wrapped up, the clock had crept past midnight, and everyone was beginning to drift. Sarah and Wheezie headed upstairs, Rose disappeared into the kitchen, and Ward had retreated to his office hours ago.

You stood by the front door, pulling on your jacket, when Rafe’s voice stopped you.

“Hold up. I’ll walk you out.”

You turned to find him shrugging into a hoodie, his hands already sliding into his pockets.

“You don’t have to,” you said, though you didn’t mean it.

He shrugged. “It’s late. Humor me.”

The cool night air hit you as the two of you stepped outside, the faint crash of waves in the distance punctuating the quiet. You walked side by side down the driveway, the gravel crunching under your feet.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “remember when Wheezie tried to convince us she’d trained that stray cat to do tricks?”

You laughed, the memory flooding back. “She was so serious about it too. I think she even made a schedule for ‘training sessions.’”

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “And then it scratched the hell out of me when I tried to pick it up.”

“Serves you right for thinking you could pet a feral cat.”

“It wasn’t that feral,” he said, grinning. “Just… misunderstood.”

The conversation flowed easily, memories and laughter spilling out like water from a cracked vase. It felt natural, effortless, like no time had passed since the days you spent chasing Wheezie through the halls of the Cameron estate.

When you finally reached your car, the laughter faded, replaced by a quiet that felt heavier than before. You turned to face him, leaning against the door as his gaze dropped to the ground, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

“So, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I was thinking…”

You tilted your head, waiting, your heart thudding in your chest.

“Would you wanna grab dinner sometime?” he blurted, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Like… just us?”

For a moment, you stared at him, thrown by the nervous energy radiating off him. This was Rafe Cameron—confident, sharp-tongued Rafe—and yet here he was, looking at you like a boy afraid of being turned down.

You couldn’t help it—a soft laugh escaped you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” you said, your smile widening. “You’re just… nervous. It’s kind of cute.”

He rolled his eyes, but the faint flush in his cheeks betrayed him. “Is that a yes or not?”

“It’s a yes,” you said, still smiling.

His relief was immediate and almost comical, his grin spreading wide enough to make your chest ache. “Good,” he said, nodding like he was trying to play it cool. “Good.”

As you slipped into your car, he leaned against the door, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

“Drive safe,” he said, his voice softer now.

“I will,” you replied, your heart still thrumming as you pulled away.

For the first time, the idea of Rafe Cameron didn’t feel impossible. It felt… right.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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mrsriddlenott · 1 month ago

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JJ Maybank Series!!!!

~ Oh, It’s You ~

Ex-Sneaky Link!JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader

Struggling Adult OBX AU, post season 4 by a year but I won’t be mentioning canon plot points bc of JJ’s s4 ending. This will be very angsty and there will eventually be smut. I don’t have a definitive end to this story yet either so I will likely take y’all’s opinions into account if this story is enjoyable for those of you who read it.

~~~~

After months of hooking up with JJ in secret, you both began developing deep feelings for each other, but when his friends, Kie especially, learn of your relationship and plot on it’s downfall JJ leaves you reeling and confused as he enters a relationship with his best friend leaving you to wonder what you did to push him away so quickly. Unbeknownst to you however. the blonde was struggling more than he let on, wanting nothing more than to go his own path but feeling trapped with those who used to make him feel free. The only person he can think of now that makes him feel as open as he once did is….you.

[Part One]

[Part Two]

[Part Three]

[Part Four]

[Part Five]

[Part Six]

Overall warnings(each chapter will likely have it’s own warnings depending on it’s contents.): Slowburn, Angst, emotional Cheating, ooc Kie(she really sucks but it’s for plot). There will be no “full” physical/sexual cheating on Reader or Kie bc idfwt, the furthest I plan to go is kissing which IS still cheating imo but I live for drama. JJ is very confused in this story for a good while and really doesn’t know what to do to not hurt you or Kie or everyone else he cares about. Eventual smut, fighting and confusion.

Lmk if anyone wants tagged, but if the Taglist gets too long it will be closed just for my own sanity keeping up with it lmao❤️

I have been formulating this idea for a week or so and have the beginning largely written out, I will be posting the first part this weekend if everything goes to plan. The parts will be shorter than some stories I have done in the past just to help me keep up with the plot I want w/o getting overwhelmed or pushing myself towards writers block again. I will try and update it at least once a week after that as long as y’all enjoy my ideas!!

Lmk if y’all like the idea❤️

~~~~

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solarnomoon · 7 months ago

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tame - nishimura riki

ni-ki always stood out to you, or atleast, in his own way. when you started noticing him more, it was easy to like him.

pairing >>> ni-ki x male reader

tags >>> college au, fluff, friends to lovers

warnings >>> swearing, substance usage, suggestive themes

wc >>> 3,073 words

author's note >>> ni-ki is just so freaking pretty i want to give him the biggest hug and never let go＼(≧▽≦)／ also js remember this is ooc also if you guys ever to just talk about random enhypen stuff or virtually anything im always down to talk n stuff anyway i hope u guys enjoy this one!! it kinda spawned out of nowhere and also all over the place so idk lol bye!!

it wasn’t like you to fall for a boy so easily. at least, not in the way that occurred, especially for a guy like nishimura riki. it was cheesy, to say the least: you two have been acquaintances since middle school, quite literally knowing each other for 6 years now, even now attending the same university (completely unintentional, of course). you always just kinda knew him as that lovely kid that was the same height as you, even throughout high school. don't get it twisted, you weren't that tall, but regardless of the fact, he was the same height.

the first time you saw him the summer after high school was at your orientation. you were placed in the 12th group, and when you reached the meeting spot, you noticed riki immediately, much, much taller than before, giving you two a height difference that wasn't present before. the second thing you noticed was the drop of his voice, which you discerned from his "yo, y/n!" coupled with a slight wave.

"ni-ki? what-" and before you even finished your sentence, the orientation leader interrupted, telling the group as a whole that they were about to start as you happened to be the last person they were waiting for. your conversation had to be put on halt until 20 minutes later where she began a tour of the school.

while you began to follow the group to the first destination, ni-ki reconvenes with you after speaking to a couple of the other group members, nudging your shoulder with his own to get your attention. "y/n, i didn't know you committed here? i thought you were gonna go to ucla for sure," he questions you with a voice of slight familiarity.

"no yeah, i was, but i thought about it and i just wanted to go here." he hums in acknowledgment, giving a few seconds of downtime before you begin to speak again. "dude, when did you become so tall? and have that deep ass voice? weren't we like basically the same height a few months ago?"

a few other differences were left unspoken but assumed nonetheless. first off, his hair, which historically was left black and much shorter throughout highschool, but now was longer with an ombré effect going from a light grey to black at the ends. secondly, his style, which flipped 180 from sweatpants and a normal shirt to something straight out of k-dramas. and lastly, his piercings, double lobes with a helix on both. or maybe one? point is, he looked good. too good.

he laughs, knowing this must come as a shocker to you because last time you checked, he was completely anew. "well for one, i turned 18 and was basically allowed to do whatever i wanted with my body. for some reason i went through a second puberty," he signals your height difference by putting his hand out flat at the top of your head and then bringing it to his, just shrugging. "also, i got a modeling job that allowed me to buy random ass clothes. so... yeah!"

your mouth slightly ajar combined with your head tilt let him know you were still in fact lost, so he continued on. "well, you know that dance group i've been in since a few years ago right?" the nod coming from your stature allowed him to finish the thought, "so basically some of the guys in that group like... told? their manager about me and gave me a chance to attend one of their casting calls, and i made the cut."

the group stops in front of the library, allowing you guys to sit down at one of the slabs nearby, half listening to your tour guide, but more focused on conversing with one another because you two had already toured the school when filling out college applications.

"wait, congrats ni-ki, that's insane!" you turn to him, giving him a quick cheeky smile with two thumbs up, and he just chuckles at you, putting his face into his hands at the sight of your cuteness playfulness. "what, did i say something wrong?"

"n-no, it's just... nevermind..." he tsks at you, not wanting to reveal the fact that he found you cute for a second.

you two continued to chat about anything and everything, eventually learning more about the guy that you would've never known previously. for one, he hates the color pink, even though all of his friends tell him that the color suits him—even his model designer thinks pink is his most suitable color. you also learned that the group that he's apart of, enhypen, is actually pretty popular on tiktok and youtube: garnishing over 4 million subs on youtube and 2 million followers on tiktok. he's also been with his group for multiple years now, and you even met some of them at sports events and stuff, like sunoo and jay.

other things include the fact that he has an older and a younger sister, he loves to dance, he likes to play piano, and one time he met jung ho-yeon before she was on squid game and he was so confused on why they looked so familiar, he thought they were long lost siblings or something. then he found out that she's korean.

he still believes it though...

soon enough, you guys find yourselves at the end of the orientation, having made friends with others, but especially between you two. you asked him if he could hang out during summer, but he has plans to go to japan the rest of summer, so you just plan to hang out during your time in college.

᧔◍᧓

the one thing that you didn't talk about was your rooming situation, so imagine your surprise when you're in the middle of your move-in, and in the hallway, you see ni-ki, walking into the suite right across from yours. "no fucking way, nishimura riki." you yell to him due to his headphones over his head, and he turns over and immediately puts a grin onto his face.

"y/n l/n." he puts his box down and walks over to you, embracing your smaller body, allowing you to practically melt in his scent and hug. once he lets you go, he just gazes at you, still smiling. "how have you been?" he leans against the wall in his cool-guy-esque fashion, but after talking with him the entirety of orientation, you know that he's a lot more of a nerd and introvert than he lets on.

"it's been good! honestly dude, i missed you." you don't miss the fact that his cheeks slightly flush with color, losing the eye contact that was previously held. "how was fucking japan, you looked like you had so much fun on your story and shit!" while asking, you point toward his box, silently questioning if you could come in and help him with his stuff while you updated each other.

while speaking, he brought you to his room that was surprisingly extremely decorated: full of neutrals and darker tones with some pop of color, many boxes and clothes on the floor but already pretty put together.

"wow, you're already way farther in the move-in than i am—i feel like there's just so much fucking stuff," you explain, taking a seat on his bed. you bounce on it a couple of times, mouth wide open by how comfortable it is. "wait, ni-ki, how did you do this?"

"mattress topper." he replies, placing his last box down on the floor and beginning to re-arrange his clothes onto the outside hanger he had bought. "looks like we're gonna be neighbors, y/n," he said in his deep tone, always catching you off-guard, but somehow giving you a tinge of butterflies in your stomach.

"yeah!" you chirp, excited to explore the newfound friendship with ni-ki.

᧔◍᧓

after the first month of university, many people in both of your guys' social circles had created a conceived notion around ni-ki: that he was a nonchalant, cool guy.

you knew this wasn't him at all though.

but you understood why people had thought that of the guy. for one, he's 6 foot something (he doesn't tell you his exact height just to tease the fact that he's much taller than you). next, he dresses stylistically as if every day is his last waking day. lastly, he loves to observe, and not talk much, but every time he did, he always had something witty or something flirtatious to say.

that is until people saw how he was whenever he was with you.

the cool guy persona had completely shifted into something more friendly, more recognizable as a regular person. ni-ki explained his day rapid-fire, telling you basically everything that happened, showed you a specific dance that he and his members had learned, or maybe gave you a sneak peek of what he was gonna wear to some fashion show. he also would tell you about his interests, the things he did on the side, even the people he met. when his friends saw how different he acted around you, they confronted him first, then confronted you after.

"what did ni-ki say?" you ask, wondering why he acts so different around yourself than other people.

"he just said that's how your dynamic was." heeseung had shrugged. "even though we've been members together for like 5 years now, i've never seen ni-ki open up this much to someone. it's like you guys are like... dating or something."

the sentiment gets a cough out of you, not expecting those words to come out of his mouth. "w-what?! of course not, we're just friends!" you deny frantically, waving your hands in front of him. "me and ni-ki are just friends."

just then, an arm wraps around your waist, a voice entering the conversation, "who's just friends?" ni-ki questions, smiling at you and heeseung.

of course, heeseung just looks at you, looks at the arm around your waist, then at ni-ki, and back to you. he raises his eyebrows and puckers his lips before walking away. ni-ki turns to you in confusion. "what's that all about?"

᧔◍᧓

as time went on, you and ni-ki had become exceptionally comfortable with one another, becoming each other's ride or dies. unfortunately for you though, it meant he had become increasingly flirtatious with you. you knew he was straight, he had explained his previous crushes to you and what he was looking for in a girl, but you on the other hand had fallen susceptible to his advances, convincing yourself that this is just what friends do.

on his birthday, he had brought you to smoke at the "top of the world," so he called it, which was literally just a trail that led you to the top of a scenic cliff. romantic, you thought, but you knew it was just out of you two becoming best friends.

"y/n-ie," he starts, the nickname sticking after calling you that one drunken night during halloween. "what do you think about teddy bears?"

you passed the joint back to him after taking a hit. "teddy bears? ni-ki, what the fuck are you on about??" the words come out a little too harsh for your liking, so you quickly follow-up, "sorry, i didn't mean it like that."

ni-ki gets up and turns to you. "that was kind of mean," he pouts, putting out his joint before putting back into the metallic holder he had thrifted. the taller had shifted slightly closer to you, wanting to lean his head on your shoulder. it was a little awkward due to the height difference, but the guy made it work, and it made you begin to sweat on your palms.

"sorry, ni-ki." even through the nervousness, you had half a mind to pretend like nothing's wrong, so you lean your head on top of his just barely. in case he questions it, then you could always play the ambiguity card: 'i didn't do anything, it was all you.'

"it's okay baby." he also started calling you that after thanksgiving, when he heard sunoo calling you it. he crossed his arms and wouldn't talk to you for the rest of the day until you came over to his room and asked you why sunoo called you baby and he couldn't, so after that it was a deal that he was allowed to.

you checked the time, which just hit 12 am. "oh, happy birthday ni-ki." you tell him, reaching from your tote bag for a smaller, paper bag within. you hand it to the guy, looking into his eyes for validation. "for you, it's not a bomb, i swear!"

he takes it from you and opens it, revealing two keychains that matched, alongside bracelets from his favorite brand. "y/n..." he trails off, not knowing what to say to you.

"i know, i know, the bracelets are expensive. but ni-ki, you're my best friend. i would do anything for you." you tell him, not wanting him to freak out.

the bracelets had been on his mind since the summer, you remembered from one of the random conversations that you had during orientation, and even though it was a long time ago, you knew he had been wanting them for months, but couldn't allocate the right funds to get it, especially because he was building his closet at the time.

"y/n... i... thank you." he finally stammers out, looking back at your eyes. even in the pale moonlight, you could discern the water in his eyes, but you knew that he hated when he cried, so you didn't say anything of it. "you remembered, huh?"

"uhh, duhh! of course i did," you joke, attempting to lighten the mood. you place your hand onto his shoulder to give him some comfort, but he takes that arm and uses it as leverage to push you onto your back, crawling on top of you. "w-woah, ni-ki?!" you yelp in surprise, not comprehending what just happened.

he just grins, placing his large hand on your face, rubbing your cheek softly. "y/n..."

little did he know though, this was your final straw. you couldn't take it anymore, the incessant flirting, the changes in his behavior around you, hell, even the constant sleepovers that he asked you all the time. so you did the only thing you could think of: run.

᧔◍᧓

of course it didn't really work though.

he was miles more athletic than you were, so he caught up to you within like 5 seconds which is honestly embarrassing on your behalf but you were too sad and a little turned on to even care.

"ni-ki, let go of me, i can't take this anymore!"

the taller just holds your arm, but the rest of his body was frantic, like he was afraid that if he let go he'd lose you for good. "w-what, y/n, what! you can't take what?!" he yells, not knowing what happened.

you twist your head around, looking at him like he grew a second head. "what do you mean, this! i can't take it, calling me nicknames and pet names, flirting with me constantly, sleeping over, acting different around me than your friends. friends don't do this, so you need to st-" and with that explanation, he gently grabs your head, leans down, flutters his eyes shut, and places his lips onto yours.

the scent you know and learned to love floods your senses, and with that brief moment of confusion, he grabs your waist and pulls you in closer, deepening the kiss. and considering this is all you've wanted for the past months, you allow him to take your lips, kissing him back with the same softness.

after moments pass you by, eventually he lets go of you, wanting to look at your reaction. "y/n, i really like you. i kinda... always have. even since we were in middle school." your mouth opens to say something, but you let him speak. "you were always so... cool. and i just... i wanted to be something to impress you... if i'm being honest, i knew you were going here, to this college, sun told me, so i wanted a chance, a possibility, anything to impress you."

he lets go of you, reaches into his pocket to fish out the matching bracelets. "these are beautiful y/n. but, it would be more beautiful if i could put this on you, use this as a courting gift even, and show you that i really do like you, and i want to be yours."

he unclasps the bracelet, handing out in front of him. "will you let me?" you reach your arm out, allowing him to put it on you.

"yes, nishimura riki."

᧔◍᧓

with that, nothing really changed. except for the fact that you and ni-ki are now dating, of course.

people around you realized that the cool nonchalant guy was ni-ki from the dance group enhypen, giving him massive amounts of popularity quickly (you didn't even know popularity in college existed...)

however, it also came to light the fact that you were dating ni-ki, and you slowly began to be known as y/n: the ni-ki tamer, which was crazy in your opinion, but ni-ki loved the title, so you let it slide.

other than that, you started to become integrated with the rest of enhypen, the rest of the members seeing how ni-ki changes when he's with you, but they realized it was for the better as you all hung out, as they saw a side of him that didn't even know existed.

you loved enhypen, they took you in as their own and integrated you into their friend group, even giving you free dance lessons just so you could also join in some of their choreos.

"guys," you pant, exhausted from the lesson ni-ki was giving you. "why did you not tell me that ni-ki is considered the best dancer in this fucking group? and why did you let me take lessons from him?" you complain to the rest of enhypen, who are watching from the sides.

"you have to suffer like we have," jake shouts while jungwon cheers for you.

sunoo and jay also just laugh, the former explaining, "i swear, before you, ni-ki was a fucking nightmare if we didn't get the choreo correct."

"alright, enough talking, more dancing, y/n, one more time."

you love ni-ki. but damn sometimes you regret falling for him.

...

nah, not really though.

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colonelarr0w · 10 months ago

Text

Promised Protector

Sypnosis - When a particularly pushy Araj begins to make Astarion revert to a past self that he had been trying so desperately to grow from, it leaves you to step in. It leaves Astarion with a small realization -- you did care for him, really truly cared for him.

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, mentions of abuse (physical and sexual), Araj being an ass, slightly OOC Astarion

Word Count - 1.8k

A/N - Trying my hand at BG3 fanfiction. I have yet to actually play the game, so I'm going purely based off of the playthroughs of others and random clips that I've found sprinkled around YouTube. I do plan to write more for this little vampiric shit, so y'all can leave requests for him as well!

“Must we be here darling? I’m not rather fond of dungeons with … medieval torture devices.”

You bite back the breathy chuckle in your throat as you continue forward, eyes expertly searching your surroundings to ensure that no creature in the dark would ambush you or Astarion.

“For a creature that usually prefers the dark, you’re quite the complainer,” you bite back, tilting your head to cast a glance at the vampire over your shoulder. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shooting you a warning glare – one that you laugh off.

“And for a creature as clumsy as yourself, you’re doing quite well in avoiding any potential traps.” Astarion’s eyebrow raises as you now shoot him a glare. His shoulders rise and fall in a nonchalant shrug as he moves to walk in sync with you, scarlet eyes scanning his surroundings before they allow themselves to return to you.

“I am not clumsy. It was one time,” you roll your eyes, continuing forward and clenching your jaw as Astarion dares to chuckle at your side. “Rich coming from the one who threw a tantrum even after I revived him.”

“Darling, need I remind you that you dropped an entire building on my head?” Astarion whips his head to the side to face you, his eyes narrowed now in a pointed glare that only brings a wide smile to your face. In any other situation, he too would have smiled simply at the sight of your own, but your revealed teeth only make his chest twist in faux anger.

“And need I remind you that it was an accident?”

“In what world is dropping a building on someone an accident?” Astarion murmurs under his breath, stopping when you do. Your eyes flicker to a figure standing just a few feet in front of you – a drow.

She turns as your footsteps and Astarion’s become more audible, curiosity painting itself onto your face as you both approach. Her eyebrows raise, and you’re not sure if her expression is one of intrigue.

“Hello,” you say politely, bowing your head in greeting as the drow eyes you curiously, irises raking over the entirety of your figure before they curiously flicker to peer at Astarion.

“Araj Obladra, a pleasure,” the drow returns just as politely as you, her head dipping in the same bow that you had offered her. “How nice it is to stand in the presence of a True Soul … and her paled companion.”

Astarion’s eyes roll at the nickname, you catch it just out of the corner of your eye. But you choose to ignore it for the sake of not wanting to stir up any unnecessary drama – you had come to Araj for a reason, after all.

“I’ve traveled to inquire about your services if you’re willing to provide them,” you explain, already noticing a glint in Araj’s eye. You’re not quite sure what expression it’s meant to convey, but from the way that she shifts from one foot to another, your gut tells you that it may not be the most positive.

Another thing you notice … how her gaze continuously flickers to Astarion.

“But of course,” Araj replies without hesitation, angling her body so that it faces Astarion rather than you. Your eyes narrow, brows momentarily pinching together. Just what was she playing at?

“You seem … interested in my pale friend here,” you think aloud, immediately wishing that you could swallow your words the moment that you register both Astarion and Araj’s reactions.

“It is not every day that one encounters a vampire spawn,” Araj notes, the term bringing a disgusting taste to Astarion’s tongue. His nose scrunches in that same disgust, and for a moment, a flicker of anger dares to flare up within the depths of your chest. “After all, in exchange for blood, I craft potions.”

A hum rumbles in your throat, though you say nothing. Araj continues, choosing to ignore the expression you wear – the anger that you so clearly display.

“All I truly need is a single drop, and then whatever potion you require … well, I can brew it,” she explains, finally moving from where she stands to circle you and Astarion. It reminds you of a predatory lion, one with slit-like pupils that eyes its prey before promptly pouncing on it.

“And with the rest of it?” you prompt with a raise of your eyebrow. “My blood, I mean.”

“I shall keep it for myself … other potions need to be crafted, as you well know.”

She steps forward, extending her hand and holding her palm out to you. For a moment, you simply think, pondering whether or not you should even trust the drow – especially considering how her eyes still dared to flicker to Astarion. Why was she so interested in him?

You can sense Astarion’s worry from over your shoulder, the feeling rippling off of him like rolling ocean waves. But even with it, you lay your palm over Araj’s.

“There, finished,” Araj says, already stepping back from you the moment that your skin comes into contact with her own. Her eyes, once again, meet Astarion’s.

“And now wh—“

Araj’s attention turns completely now to Astarion, who momentarily falters underneath her gaze. His worry for you morphs silently into disgust directed at the drow.

“There’s still much to discuss,” Araj comments, a smirk just barely pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Such as your paled companion.”

Astarion glances at you, and in return, he’s met with an expression of suppressed anger and jealousy — that would be a conversation for later, he dictates.

“He’s a vampire, is he not? Or vampire spawn?” Araj’s eyes wander over Astarion, drifting down his entire body and ignoring the way that his eyes narrow in a glare at her. She turns then back to you, once again choosing to ignore the fury that glints in the depths of your eyes.

“He belongs to you, am I correct?”

If you weren’t angry before, you were now. Your eyes flicker to Astarion, his expression a mixture of hurt and shock – it was one that you had never seen him wear before, and with the way it made your heart positively crack, you never wanted to see it again.

“The last I checked, he was his own person,” you turn to Araj angrily, “he does not belong to anyone.”

Araj bites back the chuckle that threatens to crawl up her throat, lifting a hand in front of her mouth as she laughs breathily into the skin of her palm. Your teeth grind against each other, jaw setting into place as the drow regains herself.

“Oh, you were serious?” Her eyebrow lifts, the sight of it taking everything in you to not lunge at her and promptly wedge the blade of your dagger into the skin of her neck. “It’s adorable really … if he truly believes you, that is.”

Astarion swears he could hear one of your teeth chip with how roughly you set your jaw into place. His eyes wander down to your hands, taking note of how they clench into white-knuckled fists. Your fingers itch towards the blade in its holster, but you fight the urge to remove it.

“Does your spawn have a name?” Araj shifts her attention back to Astarion, eyeing him once again. He opens his mouth to speak, but with a speed that feels almost inhuman, you answer for him.

“His name is Astarion, and if you dare to call him my spawn again, I will surely–”

“Now, now darling!” Astarion’s hand closes around your mouth, palm pressing to your lips as he flashes you a too-sweet smile – hoping to whatever God was above him that you wouldn’t turn your anger onto him and plunge a dagger between his eyebrows. “Let’s be civil, yes?”

You bite back the angered insult that bubbles up in your chest, swallowing your words and settling back on your feet. Astarion nods, slowly removing his hand from your mouth before he turns to Araj.

“It’s been quite the dream of mine, being bit by a vampire … spawn or the like,” Araj explains, her tone taking on an almost dream-like lull. You can already feel the bile rising in your throat.

And it seems that Astarion shares your sentiment, what with the way that his eyebrows raised and his lips curled in that adorable little scowl.

“I’ll have to decline,” Astarion is quick to answer, shaking his head and taking a tentative step away from Araj, almost as if he’s trying to hide his body behind your own. You allow it, going so far as to then sidestep him and stand protectively in front of him – an action that he smiles gently at.

“I’ll compensate–”

“He said no, thank you very much,” you butt in, glaring down your nose at the overbearing drow. She falters on her feet for a moment, but just as quickly, she recollects herself. “We’ll be going now.”

You turn on your heel, reaching swiftly for Astarion’s hand before promptly leaving – not once sparing a glance to the disappointed drow over your shoulder.

< … >

“Darling?” Astarion hesitantly lifts the flap of your tent, ducking beneath it and entering. You hum from where you sit at your desk, tilting your head slightly to show your acknowledgment. “Are you alright? Your lively presence was missed. You left me to deal with … them … on my own.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you turn in your seat to look at Astarion. At the sight of your face, he falters, his expression softening.

“You’re still upset over that vile drow, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am Astarion!” you rise from your place, throwing your hands up. He flinches, not having expected a violent outburst from you.

“She … she thought that I had ownership of you! All because of what, the fact that you’re a spawn and not a vampire? The nerve of some creatures disgusts me! I mean honestly–!”

“Darling.”

You pause, head lifting so that your gaze finally meets Astarion’s awaiting gaze. His eyes are soft as they gaze at you, lips turned upward in a smile of equal softness. He approaches you, offering his hands to you – which you take without hesitation.

“I want you to know that I … appreciate what you did for me today,” Astarion admits quietly, speaking low enough that you could barely hear him. “It has been many years since I was able to choose my own.”

You soften, squeezing at his hands. “Astarion, you deserve to have your own voice. Nobody should be able to control what you do besides … well … you.”

He draws you closer to his chest, arms locking around your waist as his face buries itself into your hair. You chuckle lightly, returning his embrace and laying your face against his shoulder.

For 200 years, Astarion had never known the sound of his own voice.

But now?

Now he knew the sound of it, and he knew that it mattered.

#colonelarr0w #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion acunin x reader #astarion acunin #bg3 #bg3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 x reader #astarion x tav #astarion bg3

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cozmowrites · 25 days ago

Text

The Fire Burns Out

ooc: cheating

===

The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. You sat on the couch, staring at the television screen displaying a paused scene from a movie you'd stopped paying attention to.

It had been a week since Bakugou came home late, smelling of someone else's perfume, and three days since you had confronted him about it.

Even now, the echo of his words replayed in your head, sharp and cutting.

"It didn't mean anything, alright?" He had snapped, his voice raw. "I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of this." Why would he say something like that?

The argument had spiraled out of control, leaving behind wounds that words couldn't heal. His guilt was there, you saw it in his eyes. But it wasn't enough to stop him. Not enough to fight for you the way you had always fought for him.

Your fingers traced the rim of your coffee mug. Four years. Four long years together, and it all felt like it was unraveling at the seams. You remembered the beginning.

The way he shyly asked you out in your third year of high school, his cheeks flushed as he tried to play it cool. He loved you. The way he'd held your hand for the first time, his touch hesitant but warm.

You had believed in him, in the fire that burned so brightly in his soul. But now, that fire felt cold, its embers scattered.

The front door clicked open, and you heard his boots against the floor. He didn't announce himself like he used to. No, "I'm home," or teasing remarks about your taste in TV dramas. Instead, he walked straight to the kitchen, avoiding your gaze.

"Late night again?" You asked, keeping your voice even. You wanted to cry, but you had to show how u bothered you were. Just to get through it.

"Work," he muttered, not looking at you as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Work," you repeated bitterly. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

His movements froze, and for a moment, the air between you was thick with unspoken tension. Finally, he turned to face you, his crimson eyes hard but tired.

"What do you want me to say, (Y/n)?" he asked, his voice low. "That I'm sorry? I already said it. What more do you want from me?"

"I want the truth," you shot back, standing up. "I want to know why. Why her? Why now? After everything we've been through, Katsuki, how could you—" Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it.

His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "It just happened, alright? I don't know what else to tell you!"

"You don't know?" You said, your voice rising. Cracking. "You don't know why you decided to throw away four years like it was nothing?"

"It's not like that!" He snapped, his own temper flaring. "Stop acting like I don't care about you, because I do!"

"Do you?" You challenged, stepping closer to him. "Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like it. You haven't looked at me the same in months, Katsuki. I'm not stupid. I know you've been pulling away, but I thought—" Your voice broke again, and you took a shaky breath. "I thought we could fix it."

His silence was deafening, and for the first time, you saw it in his eyes—resignation. He wasn't going to fight for you.

"Maybe we can't," he said quietly, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe. The tears you'd been holding back spilled over, and you turned away from him, covering your face with your hands.

"God, you're such a coward," you choked out. "You'd rather cheat than talk to me. You'd rather hurt me than admit you're falling out of love. How did we get here, Katsuki?"

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice softer now. "I don't know, (Y/n)."

The fight drained out of you, leaving behind a hollow ache. You sat back down on the couch, burying your face in your hands.

"I loved you," you whispered. "I still do. But maybe that's not enough anymore."

Bakugou stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked like he wanted to say something, to reach out to you, but he didn't. Instead, he turned and walked toward the bedroom, leaving you alone with your broken heart.

+++

The days that followed were a blur of cold silence and awkward avoidance. You both went through the motions, pretending you could coexist in the same space without addressing the chasm that had grown between you.

One night, you found yourself scrolling through old photos on your phone. There was one from your high school graduation, the two of you grinning like idiots with your arms around each other. Another from your first vacation together, where he had carried you on his back after you twisted your ankle hiking.

You missed that version of him. The version who looked at you like you were his entire world.

But people changed. Love changed. And as much as it hurt, you couldn't ignore the truth any longer.

+++

The final fight came a week later.

"I'm moving out," you said, breaking the silence as you packed your suitcase.

Bakugou stood in the doorway of your shared bedroom, his expression unreadable. "So that's it, huh?"

"What else is there to say?" You asked, not looking at him. "We've been pretending like this can work, but it can't. Not anymore."

He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. "You're giving up."

You laughed bitterly, turning to face him. "I'm not the one who gave up, Katsuki. You did. The moment you decided she was worth more than us, you gave up. I'm just finally accepting it."

His gaze dropped, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But he didn't. Instead, he nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"I know," you replied, your voice softening. "But sorry doesn't fix this. It doesn't fix us."

You finished packing and zipped up your suitcase. As you walked past him, he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

"(Y/n)," he said, his voice cracking.

You looked at him, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of the boy you had fallen in love with. But it wasn't enough to make you stay.

"Goodbye, Katsuki," you said, gently pulling your hand away.

And with that, you walked out the door, leaving behind the man who had once been your everything.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

#anime and manga #boku no hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugo katsuki #writer

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starrvsn · 1 year ago

Text

` ִ ꔫ ۫ ⊹ D.HUME ࣪ ˖ VICTORY BLISS.

﹙ MOVIE/FANDOM ⠆THE BOYS IN THE BOAT ﹚

PAIRING ⠆don hume x fem!reader.

CATEGORIES ⠆fluff!, lil bit of angst- drama for no reason.. for the plot HAHA, shy!don, slight ooc with the boys, don going through it, the reader is lovely i swear, the guys being the #1 supporters of don, bobby being his #1 protector, sassy!bobby, bobby’s kinda mean in this but he means well i swear!

WORD COUNT ⠆4,613 (fun!)

star left a message! this was actually my first draft i had of don and i finally came around to finishing it! this came out much longer than i expected but i hope you enjoy~!

𝟒𝟏𝟏. don finally garners the courage to ask out the girl he's had his eyes on since the beginning of the semester.

"don! hey! so how you gon' celebrate?" bobby calls, jogging up next to him. the faint sounds of the other guys’ voices behind them, they had just come back from germany and all still high from the victory bliss. don had just gotten over a horrible fever, thanks to the guys he didn't think he'd be able to row– and be there when winning gold. now that it's over, they want to celebrate as much as they can, take advantage of a golden opportunity.

"er, not sure— sleep it off maybe." don utters, stuffing his hands in his pockets as they walk further onto campus— towards their dorms, completely exhausted from traveling. the fact that they won olympic gold hadn't hit him yet and with their victory banquet in a few days time, maybe it would hit him then. the shorter man scoffs jumping in front of the taller, stopping him abruptly in his tracks.

"oh come on don, you gotta celebrate! you know soon enough girls are gonna be at your feet." bobby attests, arms flailing about in attempt to prove his point. don finds it almost comedic at how desperately bobby is trying to get through him, trying to hold back his laugh— he lets out "so?"

bobby squints his eyes looking a don incredulously "so? this time right now is your best shot— its now or never."

don could hardly speak to anyone, let alone girls— it became what he was known for. he didn't hate it because it was true, there was no room to deny it— it was just easier to manage, less to worry about but he could see where bobby was getting at, finally the narrative of seizing the moment getting through his thick skull after the many attempts of the team encouraging him to talk to girls more, so maybe this was it.

“i-i’ll think about it.” don nods, almost unsure of himself, he wasn't sure if he was saying it to satisfy his friend or to give himself some sort of encouragement. digging his hands deeper into his pants pockets. bobby’s face softens and he gives the taller male an optimistic smile, patting him encouragingly on his arm before joining the rest of the group. don heaves a sigh before continuing — his thoughts weigh his options for the rest of his walk to the dorms.

don mulls over what do over the course of a few days, with their banquet in a few days he knew had to do something soon. he had many ideas but one just kept coming back to him so he is putting all his chips in on this, hoping he doesn’t crash and burn.

don was nervous, he tossed and turned in bed just thinking about this. his heart beating loudly in his ears and almost out of his chest— he was sure people in the common room could hear it. he looks down at his feet, counting his steps as he approaches your table—trying not vomit from how on edge he was feeling. the words from bobby echoing in his head "this time is your best shot—its now or never."

taking a deep breath, he takes his gaze from his shoes to you. words couldn't describe how you looked, the sunlight peering through the window reflecting beautifully on your features making you look ethereal. he was enamored.

you were in the same physics lecture, you always sat two rows in front of him. he would catch himself drifting his eyes to the back of you head when the lecture got boring or when you turned to talk to your classmate, showing him your pretty side profile. he knew he was infatuated when you were paired during a lab and while don barely spoke– not even introducing himself. you were polite, nice and smart, a perfect trifecta. you always knew what to say and was so patient with him when you had asked him something and he didn’t respond right away. most times when he wouldn’t respond, people would get impatient or just brush him off; ignoring him completely. it was nice for someone to treat him with respect besides the guys on crew for a change.

breaking from his reverie, he realizes he’s stood before your table longer than he initially wanted to and yet you still haven’t noticed, to absorbed in your studies. don almost feels bad for interrupting and the thought of him just walking away and trying again some other day— or never crosses his mind but before he can even make up his mind, you finally notice.

"don! hi!" a soft smile peering at your lips as you stop writing, looking up at him. don's eyebrows jump in surprise, taken aback that you know him. a lump forms in his throat unsure what to say, awkwardly avoiding your gaze.

"yo-you know me?" letting his thoughts continue the conversation. he watches as you laugh- shaking your head for a moment before collecting yourself.

"it's hard to not know the stroke that won us a gold medal." you respond, voice laced with praise.

dons hand shoots up to the nape of his neck, flustered. "well i wouldn't say it was just me, it was all of us." he immediately denies, a faint blush glowing on his cheeks.

“i must give credit where it’s do, i mean you guys must’ve been amazing! well from what i heard on the radio at least.” you boast. his heart swells with pride hearing you sound so elated with how well they did— how well he did, in berlin. he felt his heart swell as you told him. his mouth runs dry as he tries to find the right words to continue the conversation and he kind of kicks himself for letting silence fall between the two of you. you speak up insisting you join him at your table, closing your books and putting them aside. he sits across from you, taking in your features that he thought about from time to time when he was away. you scoot you chair further in, knocking your foot against his, a shock coursing through him– no has ever made him feel this way.

“tell me about berlin, i heard you were feeling under the weather over there.” you start, quirking your head in curiosity awaiting his response. clearing his throat, don gathers his words.

“uh— yeah, it was an otherworldly experience. i never been out of country, out of state even but it was definitely different. an experience i would never forget” you can see his face brighten from talking about it, he speaks so descriptively about his time there it feel like you were there with him. “i was sick with some kind of bug. it was a grueling few days but was worth it after winning. it was amazing! i would do it all again if i had to.” you offhandedly realize that this was probably the most you’ve ever heard him speak and you find him so endearing as he spoke, he was so expressive when he was talking about something he was so passionate about and you loved it. you watch as he goes on about the olympics and the number of athletes he saw compete, you head rests on your hand watching him with attentive eyes letting him continue with his ventures.

minutes pass from dons tales and he realizes that he got lost in speaking about the olympics and droned on and on about it , he felt selfish for taking such time to talk about the most trivial of things— or so he thought.

“'m so sorry, i must’ve talked your ear off.” don cuts in the middle of a story he was telling, as he realized what he was doing. feeling guilty as he casts his eyes to his hands, falling quiet again. what he doesn't see is the small frown that casts on your face, your heart pangs at the thought of him thinking that what he was talking about wasn’t important, looking so dejected. a moment passes as he fiddles with his hands then he sees your hand coming into view clasping his. he raised his gaze and he sees you looking at him with a comforting smile smile.

“it’s okay, i like hearing your voice. i could listen to you talk all day” the compliment was simple but made his heart skip a beat. it’s now or never don gulps, his calloused hand encasing yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, you can tell he has something on his mind and he could take all the time in the world to say it and you would wait. “would you want to come to the victory banquet with me? it's in a few days.” his voice is timid and small, if the room was any louder you wouldn’t be able to hear what he said.

you face brightens at his proposal, accepting without a moment passing “i would love to.”

the next few days passes with a blur as don and the rest of the team were whisked away to do interviews and photoshoots on their ground breaking win. it all happened so fast and before they knew it; it was already the night of the banquet.

you had promised don you’d meet outside of your dormitory so you could walk together to the hall. he gets there a bit earlier than you were promised to meet, he was nervous— maybe that being the reason he didn't want to be late and have you waiting outside for him. a cool summer breeze passing through as he leans against the brick ledge accenting the dorm building, soon moments turn into minutes and it crosses don's mind that you might have stood him up.

the thought makes him feel hopeless, pulling up his sleeve to reveal his art deco watch- a gift from coach ulbrickson, it was 6:40. 10 minutes had passed since your agreed meeting time. soon 10 turns into 20, he wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt but you made him feel like a fool— embarrassed that he stood outside of the girls dormitory looking like some kind of perv. he rubs the back of his neck in frustration as he pushes himself off the brick wall, ready to leave. a part of him wants to wait— the part of him that hopes you lost track of time and were rushing out to him but to no avail. even in the moment more he waits, he ends up leaving with his heart heavy and pride wounded.

he thought you weren't like the rest. he was so sure you were different from the people who gave him odd looks or comments on how quiet he was. it makes him wonder if you even meant anything in the library that day, weighing heavy on his mind as he walks to the banquet, alone and dejected.

don was acting quieter than usual.

which, for anyone who wasn't close with don wouldn't have noticed but the guys on crew— who he spent almost everyday with, noticed. it was abundantly clear as they sat around the table at the banquet enjoying their dinner. usually don would laugh along with the jokes being made, react to when someone was telling a story— it was a small tells that he was having a good time but there was none of that. he sat in his seat— eyes casted down on his plate, pushing around his peas. there was something obviously on his mind; the guys could tell. they pass knowing glances around each other, unanimously decided they just had to know what was wrong.

"hey don, you okay?" joe speaks up besides don. he has a blank stare down his plate, lost in his thoughts not paying attention to the current conversation at hand. "don?" joe calls again, nudging his arm against don's, snapping him from his reverie. looking over at joe like a deer caught in headlights.

"i said are you okay?" joe repeats himself, his mates looking at him with concerning gazes awaiting his answer.

"hm, yeah— 'm fine." don lamented, sounding like he was more trying to convince himself rather than his friends. they had wondered where he was before the banquet started and didn't see him until the dinner. bobby raises his worry for don, the other boys agreeing. don continues to deny but they weren't going to let it go. he should be enjoying winning gold at the olympics, something never done before in UW history— they didn't want whatever was on his mind to hinder that.

"come on don, you can trust us— whatever it is we'll understand, even give you advice if you need." roger speaks up this time, his voice laced with comfort. as much as the guys teased and joked, they truly cared about each other— after all the hardships they went through together, they stuck close. the quieter male was heavy with emotion and with a lot of his mind. he confines in them, a reluctant sigh passing through him as he tells them— he wonders what went through your head the day he spoke to you and the days leading up to tonight. he was excited to see you again, talk to you, get to know you even better but it was all thrown out the window when you flaked on him. don tries to not miss any details and by the end of his explanation, the boys were feeling a mix of emotions. some felt bad that don went through all that— going out of his element to ask out a girl he was interested in and other were upset that you'd have the balls to stand up someone with the purest intentions. it's hard to dislike someone who you've never met but after hearing what was weighing heavy on don's mind, bobby had made up his mind that he didn't like you. though he would never tell don but if he were to ever come across you, he'd be sure to give you a piece of his mind.

don doesn't see you as the days pass.

he continued to wonder how you were, what you could be going through. he couldn't bare the thought of something bad happening to you and as much as the guys tried to steer him away; his mind always came back to you. practice helps him take his mind of you for a few hours, he knew better than to slip up during their practices— their tireless efforts to get better never ceasing even after their win.

it was around evening time when practice ends. they’re tired; mentally and physically— it’s been a rough week in general. the last thing don expects is you standing at the entrance of the shell house, rocking on your heels. don stops dead in his tracks, his jaw slacks and heart drops. he doesn't notice bobby almost bumping into his whilst walking closely to catch up to him.

huffing, bobby was about to ask him what was the matter when he follows the line of sight of his friend, before either two of them could say anything— bobby is trudging towards you, don just letting him go, still shocked.

"are you y/n?" a man with cloudy blue eyes glares at you, he stands square; inches away from you. his presence intimidates you— you glower under his gaze unable to stand your ground. you can barely speak up against him.

"y-yes, is don around?" your eyes wander behind him and you see don standing a few feet back. you try to move around the man in front of you but he stops you.

"who the hell do you think you are huh?" he accuses, leaving no room for you to respond as he begins again "you charmed don and lead him on— you made him get his hopes up! you know i'm the one that encouraged him to take advantage of this *pure winners bliss* but you just had to come around and screw it up huh? made his biggest fear come true and for what—? to make don the laughing stock for your friends? he had the best intentions you know, all he wanted was for you to give him a chance and it was just flushed down the drain!” the man was fuming, unable to keep his voice level as his emotions got the best of him. soon the guys who were still getting dressed peeked out to see what all the commotion was about. a heavy silence falls between the two of you, tensions high. you feel small in front of him as he berated you about what happened with don. your eyes cast down, wringing your fingers as you tried to compose yourself.

don heard everything, watched as bobby yelled at you for everyone to hear— he should've stopped him, stopped him from even approaching you in the first place but he couldn't, he froze in his spot the second he saw you, he felt *awful*— what happened a few days ago on the back burner. it wasn't until it was over don suddenly gained feeling in his legs again. he hadn't felt this nervous since their race in the olympics. as he nears the two of you he hears you speak up. voice small and meek.

"i deserved that."

their coxswain huffs– brows furrowed “you know what you don’t deserve? his forgiveness because—“

“that’s enough bobby.” don rests his hand on his friends shoulder, motioning for him to go. bobby was hesitant but reluctantly, he leaves but not before giving you another glare. that leaves you with don, the resting frown on his face as he looks at you– you avoid his eyes, sheepish and feeling embarrassed for what happened. you didn't even know how to begin, you weren't sure if he would even listen to you, give you the time of day but you wouldn't know unless you tried.

“don i–“

“let’s take a walk hm?” he starts past you before you have a chance to reply, following after him as he walks down the port. there’s knots piling in his stomach as he walked ahead, his fists balled so tight in his pockets they began to feel numb, he had no idea how to go about this. he wasn’t even sure if he was ready to forgive you— but after seeing you get yelled at and berated by bobby, something inside him felt off. he couldn’t stay mad at you forever, the least he could do is hear you out.

the water splashing against the wooden beams of the deck fills the silence as don stops at the end, his back facing you. hands stuffed in his pockets and heart heavy. he didn’t say anything as moments pass so you take it as your cue to speak.

“don… i know i have no place in apologizing but i’m sorry and i understand if you never want to talk to me or forgive me for what i did” you pause for moment, watching his back– waiting for him to say something but you’re met with silence so you continue.

“i-i really wanted to go with you, i did! i was looking forward to it all week… i had a dressed picked out and everything! but when the day came—" you fault for a moment, your hands fiddling with your sleeves. eyes cast down "m-my parents called and my sister got into an accident… i went home for a couple of days and the whole time i was there; i just felt horrible for leaving you, and knowing how much i hurt you. i would make it up to you any way i can if you let me…”

the silence was deafening, you try your best from losing composure and crying on the spot. overcome with emotion— the silence was killing you as you waited for don to say something, anything— he could tell you he didn’t want to see you ever again and that would be enough for you.

"is your sister alright?" you let out a sound of surprise when he asked, doe eyes looking at him. he’s turned around now– the sun setting a glow that illuminates against his figure. you eyes focus on his face, nose slightly red from the cold.

"yes, she's perfectly fine now." you nod, wringing your hands. tears threatening to spill as you look at him.

don turns to look at you with a mix of emotions, his eyes filled with hurt and longing. you can see the conflict in his expression as he tries to process what you've said. after a moment of silence, he takes a step closer to you, closing the distance between you.

“you really hurt me you know.” he utters, voice fragile.

“yes and i would do anything to remedy that—” you’re desperate for his forgiveness, your voice sounding aspirated as you tell him. you’d go to the ends of the earth just for him to forgive you.

“and yet no matter how much i felt hurt by you, i couldn’t get you out of my mind.” he confesses, his voice soft and vulnerable. "i was angry and disappointed, but deep down, i still cared about you."

tears well up in your eyes as you listen to his words. the weight of the misunderstandings and missed opportunities of that day feels heavy on your shoulders. you reach out and gently take don's hands in yours, holding them tightly.

"i'm so sorry, don," you whisper, your voice filled with remorse. "i never meant to hurt you, i should’ve told you somehow… i’ve never regretted anything more in my life.”

don's grip on your hands tightens as the other dabs at the tears that fallen on your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours.“i’ve never felt this way about anyone y/n, i hope you realize. you plague my mind day and night, these past few days where i was supposed to be upset with you; i was worrying if something bad happened, how you were feeling, what you were thinking.” he confesses, sorrow and regret lacing his voice “i thought what happened that day would make me loathe and resent you for hurting me… but i could never hate you, i can’t let what happened define our relationship.”

you look up at him with a glimmer of hope. you watch as he takes a deep breath, standing ever so closely.

“i want us to start again.” dons eyes shine a soft amber as he looks down at you, the sun encasing his features with a soft glow. illuminating the freckles that litter his face; imitating a galaxy of stars. he’s a dream come true.

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you feel a sense of relief wash over you. his expression softens as he sees the smile he’s come to adore so much, the tension that had been building between you starts to dissipate, replaced by a sense of hope and comfort.

“i promise, i will never hurt you like that ever again.” you say, your voice filled with earnest. don feels as if hes back in the common room with you, talking to you for the first time. he’s lovestruck and there was nothing that could happen that would get rid of it. he’s sure you’ll never do anything to break his trust again, your devotion now so clear to him.

“i know.” a crooked grin plastered on his lips, his arms wrapping around you in a soft but tight embrace. as if he were to let go you’d be gone again. he felt content, all the stresses from the week leaving him as he’s in your arms. a feeling he will never tire of.

“so how should we properly start again?” you breathed, your face incredibly close to dons. a soft flush crawling on your neck as you flicker from his lips to his eyes, him doing the same. it feels as if time stops as you share this moment together, drawing closer until your lips touch. the kiss is slow and tender— moving slowly as he relished on the way your lips feel on his. they’re soft and plush, fitting perfectly against his, like a breath of fresh air. he thought about what it would feel like to kiss you but nothing could compare his thoughts to the real thing. it was just you and him. his his hands rest against on your hips pulling you flush against him, your arms around his neck as he slightly dips you back. passion growing ever so slowly as he continues to kiss you, his kisses becoming more heated, the addictive feeling of your lips on his. he couldn’t get enough of you.

you break away from him reluctantly, mirrored heavy breaths as you look at each other with affectionate gazes. he clears his throat, composing himself. he pushes your hips back to create space between you. trying to fight the nerving urge to kiss you again as he looked at your rose tinted lips.

“i propose we properly take advantage of this winners bliss everyone keeps talking about.” a giggle escapes you as you embrace him again, this time he twirls you, in your own little world—happy with a profound adoration for each other. the sun setting behind you, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink.

the fact they won gold really hitting him now, considering he had a win of his own.

bonus.

“bobby! what could i do for you?” your brows jump in surprise as you look up from the book you’re reading, you had thought it was don since the spot you were in wasn’t as well known, the last person you expected to see was bobby.

“i just wanted to apologize about what happened… a week ago.” he trails off, looking sheepish in front of you. a stark contrast to the man that defended his friend so willingly against you.

“did don send you here?” you tease, a playful smile on your lips. bobby huffs, denying immediately. no, don did not send him to apologize. he came on his own accord, after what happened that evening. don was lovesick the moment he entered the dorms and bobby felt terrible for what he had did, even if he thought you deserved it at the time. he knows now that you make his friend happy and that’s all he cared about.

“don’t worry bobby, i forgive you. i needed that berating, i deserved it. you’re a really good friend to don you know.” you state matter-a-factly. looking at him with appreciation, bobby’s chest puffs at your praise. he crosses his arms over his chest, proud.

“oh i know, i was the one who encouraged him to go for it remember?” you laugh, nodding.

you guess you have bobby to thank for this, you'd have to mention this to don later... speaking of you'd have to tell you're friends about your new lover... speaking of friends:

“hey you’re not seeing anyone by chance?” you suddenly ask, bobby falters—taken aback from your question.

“uh, no. why?” he responded, his head quirking in curiosity from the sudden and a bit uncalled for question.

“no reason, i just feel like a friend of mine would really like you.” you shrug, returning to your book. bobby takes the book from your hands, resting it on the table.

he takes a seat across from you, his hands laced together. as if in a business meeting “say no more, what’s her name?”

he’s all in.

(this is how you and bobby became bffs btw.)

stars ending-ment! i honestly love how this came out and omg is this a segway to a bobby fic????? who knows... it could be hehe. (lmk if you guys would want that lol)

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

#(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠) the boys in the boat #don hume #the boys in the boat #the boys in the boat imagines #don hume imagines #don hume x reader #fanfiction #x reader #don hume fanfiction #jack mulhern #the boys in the boat fanfiction

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 12 days ago

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All My Desires

── fiyero tigelaar x fem!witch!reader (no use of y/n but i do use she / her. no descriptors other than reader being shorter than fiyero. he’s able to rest his head atop readers when they embrace. jonathan bailey is 5’11” irl so do with that information what you will.

ooc glinda and elphaba, neither want fiyero romantically.

based on THAT scene in bridgerton 🙂‍↔️ but obviously changing things to fit my story. finally finished that episode of anthony’s season and just had to write this

Tension has been building between you and Fiyero for a long time now, and not all of it was good.

The end of the school year was nearing, there was just 1 week of normal classes, followed by a week of final exams. Assuming you passed all those, and you knew you would, you’d finally get to go home for a few months. You’d finally get away from this place, from him.

Things hadn’t always been this tense. In fact you used to be good friends. But then the drama started.

Glinda, your roommate and one of your best friends, had shown interest in Fiyero in the beginning, but she’d confessed to you that a big part in that was the fact that she didn’t want to end up alone.

You pointed out that she was so young and beautiful and had all the time in the world to find someone, that she didn’t need to marry the first man to show any sort of feelings towards her.

“I think if you’re not… if you’re not in love, you should break up with him. It might be sad for a while, but you don’t deserve to be in a relationship where you’re unhappy.”

There were also your unspoken reasons. Like the fact that Fiyero flirted with you just as much as he did with Glinda even though technically, they were together. That reason didn’t need to be unspoken, though, since even your pink loving friend noticed.

“Maybe it’s you he’s secretly in love with,” she joked.

You rolled your eyes as you threw one of your makeup brushes at her. “Now I think we both know that’s not true.”

“I dunno… I think maybe you two should get together.”

“Aren’t you still technically in a relationship?”

Glinda turned to you and shrugged. “I think even he knows we’d never last. Like you said, I’ve realized that part of my attraction to him comes from the fact that I just don’t want to end up alone. I love him, but I think we work better as friends. I’m just saying, I see how he looks at you. There’s something there. And if the two of you were to end up together, I’d be so happy for you. You deserve love, you know.”

“Even if that was something he wanted, you know I’m considering leaving Shiz and not returning next school year.”

Glinda shook her head, refusing to believe that you leaving was a possibility. Shiz University wasn’t the only school that taught magic potions and all that stuff. Before you’d even met Glinda or Elphaba, transferring after your first year was always a possibility.

Both of you were unaware of a certain brown hair, blue eyed individual standing outside of your room door. He’d come to study with you and Glinda, but upon hearing your conversation, he swiftly turned on his heels and stormed off back to his room.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

About a week after that conversation with Glinda, you were shocked to learn that he was the one who initiated the conversation that led to them breaking up.

You should’ve suspected that something was up when Fiyero wasn’t in Professor Wilson’s class. It was the one class you heard him say he was genuinely interested in, and he’d yet to miss a day throughout the entire school year. The professor’s favorite thing to discuss, as of late, were what he deemed the big 3. Aliens, androids, and wizards (and witches) were the 3 worst things you could possibly come across and have to fight.

Less than halfway through class, you thought you heard your name being called. But you looked up and saw Professor Wilson hunched over his desk as he graded papers, and your classmates were all concentrating on reviewing notes since final exams would start tomorrow. Assuming you were going crazy from the amount of studying, you looked back to your notebook.

But then you heard your name again, and this time you looked toward the door. Fiyero stood with his arms crossed, and waved at you to come out of the classroom. You shook your head and held up your notebook. But ever the stubborn man, Fiyero simply entered the classroom and approached Professor Wilson’s desk. The 2 men talked in hushed voices for a minute before your name was called again.

“It’s alright,” Professor Wilson spoke to you. “Prince Fiyero just told me, you may be dismissed early.” You suspected that whatever Fiyero said that allowed this was due to his charm and the fact that you were easily the best student in class. It wasn’t even a question of if you’d ace the final exam.

Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as your classmates all paused their studying to watch you gather your things, you finally exited the room in record time.

“What—”

“Not here. Your room,” Fiyero spoke, grabbing your books from you at the same time. You could tell he was upset about something, but you didn’t know what.

You had to speed walk to match his stride. “If you’re upset with me, why are you carrying my books?”

He rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious. “I’m upset but I’m still a gentleman.”

When the 2 of you finally reached your room, Glinda and Elphaba were just leaving.

“Oh shoot I thought we’d be gone already, sorry!” Glinda pulled Elphaba along, not even bothering to say anything else.

“What? Where are you guys going?” You watched as Elphaba turned and shrugged, mouthing sorry.

Glinda, on the other hand, got a big grin on her face as she whispered “good luck!” while giving you a thumbs up. “Actually let me just,” she ran back to you and fixed your hair, then pulled out a tube of lipstick from her purse. She was a second away from applying it on you when Elphaba grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Good luck!” She whisper-shouted again.

Now you were more confused than ever. As soon as you walked into the room, Fiyero stepped behind you and shut the door.

When he turns back around, you realize something is genuinely upsetting him.

“What—”

“Do you and Glinda make a habit of discussing me when I’m not in the room, hmm? Were you scheming to break us apart?”

Now it’s your turn to be upset, and you realize he somehow overheard your conversation last week. “Excuse me? I have never schemed to break you apart as you so kindly put it.”

“Oh what do you call encouraging her to break up with me??”

You scoffed. “If you eavesdropped on that part of the conversation then surely you heard everything else as well. I didn’t have a goal of hurting you, although I really am sorry that I did. But that conversation wasn’t intended for you and I think you knew that. I was telling Glinda that she shouldn’t settle, and don’t go twisting my words saying being with you is settling. You’re an incredible man and any woman would be lucky to have you. But that relationship wasn’t fair to either of you. I could see she wasn’t happy. And judging by the way you’d flirted with others I’m going to be bold and say that you weren’t happy either.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? I—”

“You’re right, we were both unhappy together, had been for a while. But it wasn’t others I flirted with. Only you.”

This has you pause.

He continued. “And why do you think that is?”

You shook your head and took a few steps back. “No. Fiyero don’t go there. Why are you bringing this up now? Practically all school year you’ve been with Glinda despite admitting that you were both unhappy! Don’t come at me with questions like why do I think that is. We both know that as much as you flirt and maybe it was just with me, it was all talk. And as much as you were both unhappy I know you wouldn’t have just ended things with Glinda on a whim. So what has she done to you—”

“She has done nothing. It is you. You have made a relationship with her impossible. My flirting with you wasn’t just talk, I know that, and so do you.”

“But why! You heard Glinda and I, right? Then I know you heard me tell her I might not be coming back after final exams—” You were interrupted again, and had lost count.

“There is nowhere far enough! Do you think that there is a corner of this earth that you could travel to far away enough, to free me from this torment? I am a gentleman, my father raised me to act with honor but that honor is hanging by a thread that grows more precarious with every moment I spend in your presence. You are the bane of my existence… and the object of all my desires. Night and day I dream of you, and that it is you I’m with. You say that it is all talk, but I assure you it’s not. Do you even know all the ways a lady can be seduced? The things I could teach you…”

You shake your head again and take another step back, but Fiyero takes 5 steps forward and puts a hand on your waist as he pulls you closer.

“I did not ask for this. To be plagued by these feelings. But I was going to keep quiet because you were with Glinda and I thought that was what you both wanted. My intent was not to confess my feelings for you the moment that you two were no longer together.”

“I know,” Fiyero reassures you. He leans forward so that his forehead touches yours and you both close your eyes, only for a moment. “But you do, have feelings? For me?”

“Fiyero I—”

“Please. I need to know if I’ve just made the biggest fool of myself. What feelings are you plagued with?”

You’re unsure if you should tell him everything, but ultimately decide that at the very least, he deserves the truth.

“I am driven to distraction every time you enter the room. It’s why I never study with you and Glinda unless Elphaba is also there.”

“Do you feel for me, as I do for you?” Fiyero puts a hand on either side of your face and moves so that his face is less than an inch from yours. But just moments before your lips touch, you both step back.

You were so caught off guard by his question that you weren’t sure how to answer at first. “Is… is that why you ended things with Glinda?”

“It’s not the only reason,” his answer came instantly. “I love her, truly. But it’s as she said, we work better as friends. Where you and I are concerned, if I were to remain with her, it would bind me and you together in a way that would have me spending every day of my relationship wanting you. Dreaming of you. Dreading the day when my last thread of honor finally snaps. Is that a future you’d want for us? For your best friend?”

You’re not given a chance to respond when you hear talking outside of your room. After a few seconds, the voices grow softer and you realize it was only some students passing by. Still, the interruption was enough to scare you and Fiyero a little.

“You have to go,” a tear falls down your cheek, and without thinking, Fiyero wipes it away. He whispers your name, but you can only shake your head.

As much as he wants to push back and force you to talk, Fiyero can see that you’re close to your breaking point. You need time to be alone, and in truth, so does he. “Can we talk again, before we both leave for the summer?”

Once you nod, he steps forward again. “You and I haven’t even had a chance to begin yet, so I know this isn’t the end.” After placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he turns around and exits your room, closing the door softly behind him.

left it sort of open ended, may or may not do a part 2 depending on if more than a handful of people are actually interested.

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onlinesuzie · 7 months ago

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☆ hamzah vs. watching love island ☆

words: 2.3k

summary: Hamzah has always found Love Island embarrassing an unrealistic but on a warm summers evening spent pouring drinks and binging the show with Martin and Mandy, Hamzah’s disdain for Love Island changes when he has the opportunity to ‘pull you for a chat’.

notes: GUYS I LOVE LOVE ISLAND SO BAD and martin and mandy mentioning it on ooc inspired me to write this!!

♡

It was one of those lazy summer evenings at Mandy’s house, where the air was thick with warmth and your favourite part of the summer was about to begin. You, Mandy, and Martin had gathered in the living room, ready for your weekly tradition of binge watching that week’s episodes of Love Island. The show was a guilty pleasure for the three of you, a chance to unwind and indulge in the drama and romance unfolding on the screen.

You thought it was stupid but some part of you wanted that cheesy romance, the type where you just make out for no reason or just anything. It had been months since you had even kissed someone let alone all the borderline soft porn you laugh at with Mandy and Martin. But regardless of how much action you were getting, alcohol and snacks were scattered across the coffee table, and you were nestled comfortably on the couch next to your friends.

The night was in full swing, and the alcohol kept flowing. The more you drank, the funnier the islanders’ antics appeared. You, Mandy, and Martin were laughing loudly, making bets on who would be kicked off next, and sipping your drinks between comments.

As the opening credits rolled for the Wednesday’s episode, Hamzah wandered into the room, his expression one of mild disdain. “I still don’t understand how you guys can watch this shit,” he remarked, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway.

“Fuck,” you thought. Maybe it was the alcohol or the grossly horny scenes you’d been watching for the past few hours, but Hamzah looked incredible. He looked so good, with his biceps straining against the fabric of his loose shirt and his hair falling casually over his warm brown eyes.

Mandy rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh, come on, Hamzah. It’s fun! Besides, you don’t have to watch it with us, you just like to complain.”

Martin grinned, tossing a piece of popcorn at Hamzah. “Yeah, man, just let us have our fun. You’re always free to join us if you want.”

Hamzah dodged the popcorn with a chuckle, shaking his head. He approached the three of you and leaned against the back of the couch, his arms looking impressively defined in the artificial blue light. You found it hard to focus on the show as you admired how good he looked. “I think I’ll pass,” he said, releasing his grip on the couch and gesturing toward the TV as he made eye contact with Martin. “This whole thing is just so… fake. Who behaves like that when they actually like someone?”

You couldn’t suppress a smile at Hamzah’s typical response. It was a long-standing joke among your group that he was the self-appointed critic of all things reality television. It made sense; the thought of Hamzah behaving like the guys on Love Island was a bit unsettling. You had never seen him with a girl before, and while Martin mentioned that Hamzah had dated in the past, none of those girls had ever made an appearance since you’d known him.

Mandy laughs at him, “You don’t even know what that’s like Hamzah, you don’t even know how to talk to women let alone have the opportunity to pull someone for a chat”

“I could, but whatever, it doesn’t matter cause this isn’t what dating is like” Hamzah criticised.

“Suit yourself,” you teased, glancing over at him. “But you’re missing out on some quality entertainment.”

Hamzah’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could see how warm and inviting his eyes were, his thick eyelashes, the deep brown colour. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it, shaking his head with a smile. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Enjoy your show.”

As he walked away, you felt this disappointment of him leaving. Over the months, you couldn’t deny how attracted you were to Hamzah, and maybe it was just the alcohol speaking but he looked gorgeous tonight, and every interaction with him seemed to intensify the emotions you tried so hard to keep in check.

The evening progressed with the usual mix of laughter and commentary, and the frequent refills of your drinks. Mandy and Martin were engrossed in the latest drama between the islanders, while you found your thoughts drifting back to Hamzah. You could hear him moving around in the kitchen, and the low hum of his voice as he hummed a tune. The alcohol in your system made you feel bolder, more aware of your surroundings, and undeniably drawn to Hamzah.

Eventually, a commercial break gave you an excuse to get up and stretch your legs. “I’m going to grab another drink,” you announced, making your way to the kitchen with slightly tipsy movements.

Hamzah looked up as you entered, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Taking a break from the love triangle drama?”

“Something like that,” you replied, leaning against the counter. “I needed a breather. And maybe some real conversation as you would say.”

He chuckled, passing you a glass of water. “I can definitely offer that. How are you holding up?”

“Good, just the usual work stuff,” you said, taking a sip. “And you? How’s everything going with the channel?”

“Busy as always,” he said, running a hand through his curls. “But I love it. Keeps me distracted.”

As you watched him, you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he looked tonight. His dark curls framed his face perfectly, and his eyes sparkling with the dim lighting making your heart warm to him more. Was it the alcohol making you see him in this romantic light, or had you always felt this way?

There was a moment of comfortable silence, the kind that often fell between you two. It was in these moments that you felt closest to him, the quiet allowing for an unspoken connection to surface.

“You know,” you began, your voice dropping to a more playful tone, “you’re missing out on all the fun out there. Maybe you should join us and see what all the fuss is about.”

Hamzah looked a little taken aback by your forwardness, his cheeks coloring slightly. “I don’t know if I’d call it fun,” he said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “But I guess I could sit with you guys for a bit.”

You stepped closer to him, feeling emboldened by the drinks you’d had. “I think you’d enjoy it more than you think,” you said, your voice soft and teasing moving closer to Hamzah.

Hamzah’s eyes widened slightly, and he seemed at a loss for words. “Maybe… maybe I’ll give it a try,” he stammered, his usual confidence momentarily shaken by your proximity.

You smiled, taking another sip of your drink. “Good. It’s always more fun with you around, Hamzah.”

Before he could respond, the sound of Mandy calling your name from the living room broke the moment. “Come on, we’re missing the show!”

You gave Hamzah one last playful look before turning to leave. “Think about it,” you said over your shoulder as you made your way back to the couch.

As you settled back in with Mandy and Martin, you couldn’t help but glance back towards the kitchen, where Hamzah stood, looking a little dazed but undeniably intrigued. The night continued with the usual banter and laughter, but now, there was an unspoken tension between you and Hamzah.

The chatter of Mandy and Martin filled the living room as you huddled on the couch, eyes glued to the chaotic drama of Love Island. The alcohol coursing through your veins loosened your inhibitions and heightened your senses. Each moment spent watching the ridiculous antics on-screen only made you think of Hamzah, who had just slipped into the kitchen for a drink.

You couldn’t help but admire him from afar. The way his dark curls fell effortlessly around his face, the way his shirt clung to his frame just right—it was all mesmerizing. With every laugh that rang out from the room, you felt a flutter of excitement mixed with longing. It was as if the alcohol had amplified everything you felt for him, making him the most attractive person in the room.

Suddenly, Hamzah reappeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. “Hey, can you come here for a second?” His voice broke through your thoughts, and you found yourself looking into his warm, inviting eyes.

“Me?” you asked, slightly surprised but undeniably intrigued. “What’s up?”

“Just something I wanted to show you,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

Your heart raced at the invitation, and you quickly excused yourself from the couch, making your way to the kitchen. As you stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. It was just you and Hamzah, and the air was thick with unspoken tension.

“What did you want to show me?” you asked, leaning against the counter, feeling slightly tipsy but more confident by the alcohol.

Without answering, Hamzah closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His hands found your waist as he pulled you closer, and before you could process what was happening, he leaned in and captured your lips with his. The kiss was sudden and electrifying, igniting a rush of warmth that spread through your body.

You melted against him, surprised at the intensity of his kiss and the urgency behind it. Hamzah’s lips moved against yours with a passionate hunger, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. As you responded, kissing him back, you felt your head spin, the world around you fading into nothingness. The kiss deepened, his hands roaming to the small of your back, pulling you even closer as if he never wanted to let go.

Your heart raced as you leaned into him, savoring the taste of his lips and the warmth radiating from his body. The moment felt electric, charged with all the unspoken feelings you had harbored for so long. Hamzah’s breath mingled with yours, creating a shared rhythm that left you breathless. You could feel the heat rising between you, the chemistry strong as you lost yourself in the kiss.

As the kiss continued, you tangled your fingers in his dark curls, deepening the connection, feeling every rush of adrenaline that came with it. Hamzah responded by pressing you against the counter, his body a reassuring weight against yours, grounding you in the midst of the overwhelming emotions swirling around you.

You pulled back for a moment, breathless, your foreheads resting together as you both gasped for air. The playful glint in his eyes now had a serious undertone, a depth of feeling that sent your heart racing all over again. “Wow,” he breathed, still trying to catch his breath. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, feeling a giddy rush of exhilaration wash over you.

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Really?” you asked, your heart soaring at his confession.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze steady and sincere. “You’re beautiful, and I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.”

Just then, the sound of Mandy calling from the living room broke the intimate atmosphere. “Hey! What’s taking so long in there?”

You exchanged a knowing look with Hamzah, both of you unable to suppress the smiles spreading across your faces.

“Guess we should get back before they wonder if we’re plotting something,” you said, reluctantly stepping away from him.

Hamzah nodded but lingered for a moment longer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe we are,” he said teasingly, his voice low.

With one last shared smile, you turned and headed back into the living room, feeling the thrill of the kiss linger in the air. You settled back onto the couch next to Mandy and Martin, trying to focus on the screen while your heart raced with the memory of Hamzah’s lips on yours.

As he rejoined the group, Mandy immediately looked at him with a teasing grin. “What took you so long? Did you find the secret stash of snacks or something?”

Hamzah chuckled, glancing between you and your friends. “Just… got distracted,” he said, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Martin raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing something had shifted in the air. “Distracted, huh? Doing what, exactly?” he probed, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, you know, just talking,” Hamzah replied, his tone casual, but you could see a hint of nervousness in his demeanor.

Mandy smirked, nudging him playfully. “You two were in there long enough for a serious conversation. What happened!”

You felt your cheeks flush at the teasing, but Hamzah simply laughed it off, shrugging his shoulders. “Nothing major. Just catching up. “

As the teasing continued, you settled into the couch, the warmth of the moment still lingering between you and Hamzah. You could feel his presence beside you, the comfort of being near him made you blush. The electricity of your earlier kiss hung in the air, unspoken yet there.

In a bold move, you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. To your delight, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in closer. The warmth radiating from him made you feel safe and cherished, and you couldn’t help but smile.

Hamzah glanced down at you, his expression softening. “You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you replied, looking up at him. “I’m really good, actually.”

He smiled back, his eyes shining with warmth. “Good,” he said softly.

As the episode of Love Island continued, you found yourself stealing glances at Hamzah, who seemed engrossed in the show. Yet, every time your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between you, you are going back to his house tonight.

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #thatmartinkid #hamzah x reader #hamzah x y/n

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520cafe · 2 years ago

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🍇 SOUR GRAPES.

pairing ! dan heng x gn reader (ft. blade) ╱ SMAU

─── SYNOPSIS. after being in the same tight-knit friend group for over a few months now, suspicions begin to rise when march, seele and bronya start to notice the awkward tensions between you and dan heng. little did they know, you and dan heng were once high-school sweethearts who shared a romantic and fairytale-like past where the pages only lasted for a year. this heartbreak led you to meet another unfortunate victim of cupid but that chapter flew away as quick as stardust. yet, it appears that you two were also destined to cross paths once more.

↳ GENRE. exes to lovers, love angle?! hurt-comfort, angst, ex-situationship, fluff, college au, SMAU w/ narration, crack(?)

↳ WARNINGS. slight profanity, death threats (jokingly), some characters ooc(?)

status. on-going! (04/07/23—?) ╱ taglist. CLOSED!

profiles. pom-pom fan club ╱ team rocket (we’re blasting off again) ╱ serval’s unhinged daycare

ACT ONE ━━ a sour taste that makes you cry

01. operation: loose strings! 02. avoidant and distant?! ◇

03. ignorance is a bliss 04. weird coincidences

05. preparing a funeral 06. lost in your eyes ◇

07. k-drama male lead 08. trip down memory lane ◇

09. unchanged habits 10. cupid and vulnerable nights ◇

11. oversized black tee ◇ 12. latte flashbacks ◇

13. matching keychains ◇ 14. glue song

15. operation: knotted strings!

ACT TWO ━━ sometimes the tip of my heart trembles

16. that’s what it’s called? 17. bad news

18. wrong right number 19. memories between strangers ◇

20. cupid is so dumb! 21. a strange illness

22. a familiar keychain? 23. you and only you ◇

24. secret love song ◇ 25. the moon is beautiful tonight ◇

26. what’s after like? ◇ 27. silent treatment

28. lost in a train of thought ◇ 29. deja vu ◇

ACT THREE ━━ love is sour, love is sour grapes

30. try again ◇ 31. amber huadiao wine

32. sober thoughts 33. say yes to heaven ◇

34. perfect night 35. sunshine

36. melting ice cream

#🍇 ━━ SOUR GRAPES !#♡🥛━━ 520cafe masterlist #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #blade x reader #hsr dan heng #hsr blade #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail smau #hsr smau

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merakiui · 17 days ago

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HALLOWEENIE. [3]

skully j. graves x (female) reader cw: nsfw, retail au, smoking, modern au (no magic), cheesy workplace romance, may be ooc (some creative liberties were taken for various aspects of skully's character and may not align with characteristics shown in tnbc event), characters written as 18+ note - skully returns for another season of work at fellow honest's halloween store. is this the year he finally musters the courage to confess to his cherished coworker, or is it going to be another year spent with his nose buried in his poetry journal? // split into three parts due to size. read part one and part two.

Fellow saves everyone from the nail-biting tension by not scheduling you and Skully together, which takes the duo out of his prized Dynamic Duo. Now you’re just a disaster. Skully doesn’t fade into obscurity, though. Rather, he’s ever-present in your thoughts. You think about him when you drag yourself down the halls at school, occasionally sticking your head into the drama club or the music room in hopes of spotting him. You’re not sure why. You’ve never had anything to do with either of those spaces, but now you’re haunting them like a pesky poltergeist in search of something just out of your grasp.

That’s what it feels like to have this cavern open up between you and him. As if you’re confined to separate worlds. You dwell in the realm of the dead and Skully exists in flesh. It’s impossible to cross paths like this.

No one seems to know of him either, which makes him seem more cryptid than he actually is. When you interrupt a drama club meeting with, “Which one of you nerds knows Skully J. Graves?” they blink owlishly at you.

You’re beginning to think he really is the ghost and you’re actually the living person.

You’ve considered visiting him during one of his shifts, but then you’d be no better than Salad Fingers.

This is so lame. Why do I care so much? I shouldn’t, you think, scrolling on your phone while Rollo does inventory for Fellow. You search for Skully’s number before remembering you never exchanged contact information.

“Your moping is bringing sales down.” Fellow raps his cane against the linoleum to get your attention.

“I’d argue it’s bringing in more business. Not often the customers get to see me without my usual swag.”

“That’s what she’s calling it?” Rollo mutters from behind his clipboard.

“Miss (Name), it pains me to see you in such a tizzy. Skully hasn’t been any better, I assure you.”

You perk up at the mention of him. “What does he say? Does he talk about me? Does he hate me? Should I disappear forever and never return to this town?”

“Whoa, whoa! Where is this coming from? Honestly, the youth are so complicated nowadays.” It’s a whack from Gidel’s hammer that sets Fellow straight. “Ahem! Right. What I meant to say was that it’s obvious this situation is causing a fair bit of trouble for both of you. These conditions limit your ability to work as you normally would. As your boss, I should only intervene when it’s truly detrimental, but as someone with a brain I think we’d all benefit from a quick solution to this mess.”

“Believe me—if I could wave my magic wand and fix this, I would. But we can’t just kiss and make up. I hurt his feelings.” You run your finger over your phone and catch your shattered expression in the cracked screen. “No amount of apologizing can undo that.”

“You ought to know he asks after you.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“It’s true,” Rollo adds. “Incessantly.”

“Why?” When all three of them look at you like it couldn’t be more obvious, you throw your arms up. “No one answer that. I’ll take you out back and curb you if you do.”

“I won’t speak on Skully’s behalf, but I believe it’s rational to assume he would never want you to disappear.”

“And he certainly wouldn’t hate you. Goodness, I don’t think that boy has the heart to harbor hate.”

“No, he does. He definitely does,” comes your and Rollo’s swift correction.

Gidel opens to a page in his notebook, where he’s doodled you and Skully holding hands in a heart. It reminds you of the flower wreath, which still resides on your desk even though the flowers are beginning to curl up and wilt.

You groan and slump in your chair, arms hanging limply at your sides. “Halloween’s in two weeks! If I can’t find some way to make it up to him, he’s gonna spend his favorite holiday sad and miserable.”

“Heartbreak isn’t something you can simply mend with goodwill. It’s a process. You heal over time.” Melancholy descends on Rollo’s face. You get the feeling he’s weathered the woes of a broken heart before. If anyone understands loss, it’s Rollo Flamme.

He loves me and I crushed him.

“You don’t think I gave him false hope, do you?”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“Even though it was as clear as glass to anyone looking in,” Fellow murmurs, and you choose to ignore that. “Well, what’s done is done. Cliché as it sounds, you can only move forward from here.”

You lift yourself off the chair and stretch. “I’ll grab the broom and get to sweeping.”

“Don’t bother. We won’t do all of that tonight.”

“Ooh, looks like someone was bitten by the bug of benevolence. How sweet.”

Fellow chuckles and collects the completed inventory from Rollo. “You’re free to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. And, Miss (Name), try to get some sleep.”

Immediately, you open the camera on your phone to check for any noticeable signs of sleep deprivation. Finding none, you scowl at Fellow.

“Not funny. I actually thought you were being serious.”

“But you checked.”

“That she did,” Rollo notes with a small grin.

“Because you—ugh. You could’ve just said my shoes are untied.” You click past the both of them in your Mary Jane pumps. “What does it matter if I’m losing sleep?”

“Are you?”

“I’m not. Shut up.”

You’ll bury yourself alongside the worms and maggots before you confide in them about your recent sleepless nights, each one punctuated with a replay of your fight with Skully and all the ways it could’ve gone differently had you just been honest.

There are two sides to your honesty: the lies that can pass as the truth and the actual truth—the truth you were keen to shelve ever since it cropped up.

The truth that feels a little like the onset of…

You won’t dwell on it or the profound consequence it has on tonight’s dreams.

You’d praise the convenience that is small town logic if it applied to Skully. In this foothill town enshrouded in trees and mountain peaks, everyone knows everyone. Students only have one choice for university, and it’s a dinosaur-aged institution that’s probably seen every era and more with countless graduating classes having been fostered in its brick walls. If you’re searching for someone, you shouldn’t have to look very far. Inevitably, you’ll stumble upon someone who knows someone who knows someone who can get you into contact with that person. Everyone’s stapled into the paper chain here.

Everyone except Skully, apparently.

It continues to baffle you that no one—not even any of the students in his classes or club—knows of his existence.

“Skully J. Graves,” you stress to the head of the drama club, who stares absently in reply. “He’s literally in your club. White hair, glasses, tall, kinda nerdy but overall really sweet. Does any of that ring a bell?”

When you’re met with silence from him and the rest of the club, you smack your hand against your face and groan. “Jack Skellington.”

A murmur of collective consideration sweeps through the group.

“You mean that weird guy who keeps to himself?” a girl pipes up.

You give her a censorious look. “You’re gonna hafta be more specific, girlfriend. You’re naming, like, a decent chunk of the school’s population.”

“Always has his face in his books,” another offers. “Not really friendly, that one. Definitely on the quiet side.”

“And he’s usually scribbling stuff in a journal during club meetings, right?” a third student asks.

“Yes!” You clap. “That’s my guy!”

“Ohh, you’re talking about Halloweenie,” the head of the drama club says, snapping his fingers once the descriptions finally click.

Halloweenie?

You’ve known Skully to go by all kinds of nicknames at the shop: Skulls, Skeleton, my boy, and (from snotty Salad Fingers), Prince of Darkness. This one, however, is brand-new. You don’t need a thesaurus to get the general gist of the meaning behind that self-explanatory name.

“What do you want with him?”

Apple-red lips curl up into an impish grin, and you lift your finger in shush. “It’s a secret.”

“Well, good luck finding him,” he says with a snort. “Halloweenie’s practically a ghost when he isn’t working on props for the shows. He could be anywhere on campus.”

The rest of the club confirm this with mechanical nods. It’s so synced it’s almost like they’re a group of mind-controlled marionettes.

I can’t believe none of these losers know where Skulls is.

You remember browsing the drama club’s website with Rollo. Skully was noted as an ordinary stagehand there. Once more, it seems like fate is having a grand time keeping the two of you apart. Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe you don’t deserve a friend like Skully.

Before you can sink into self-deprecation, you whirl towards the door.

“You come by looking for Halloweenie a lot, y’know,” a member accuses, arms folded like some hard-boiled detective. “You into him?”

What the fuck? Why is everyone assuming that?

“Nooo—oh, hey! What’s this?” You point to the poster pasted on the door. The words Drama Club Presents: A Thrilling Tale of Treacherous Love and Music! are printed in fancy font above an infamous mask. “Is this what you’re putting on for this year?”

“For Christmas, yes. It was either that or an actual Christmas play. Like ‘A Christmas Carol’ or something equally festive. Majority wanted the charming and dangerous Opera Ghost.”

“Good taste. So where can I audition?”

“Can you sing?”

“In the shower.”

“Can you act?”

“What is life if not the stage we play on?” you counter, stealing a philosophical page from your boss’s book of esoteric wisdom.

The head of the drama club isn’t impressed. To be honest, you’re not either. An actor’s life is not for you.

“Why? No offense, (Name), but you’ve never been interested in us or the work we do. You’ve gotta have passion and soul to put yourself on that stage—something you so clearly lack. If you’re only doing it for Halloweenie—”

“That stings, Prez. And here I was ready to dazzle my way to stardom.”

“Sure.” He rolls his eyes. “If you have no other business with us, have a good day.”

Are all the presidents in this school hard-asses?

Sensing your presence is no longer welcome, you wink and take your leave.

Now left to aimlessly wander the halls, you think back on Skully’s lamentations from before: I was all alone before you moved here—nothing more than a quiet, transparent existence.

You know what that’s like because that’s exactly how you lived when you were growing up. There is no trick to surviving the devils of childhood. You just have to hope that if you’re silent enough they’ll leave you alone. Because hiding beneath the covers only works when they’re figments of your imagination. When they’re very real and oh-so-tangible, they can dismantle the seemingly impenetrable blanket fortress you put so much faith in.

If you lived as a ghost back there, then this dreary town was your resurrection.

Perhaps she, sitting solitary on her throne, is lonely just like me.

Skully was right. As it happens there is no truth in being accessible to everyone in your infamously obnoxious, effervescent way. You’ve built yourself up on flowery lies—a faux Spider Queen who isn’t so venomous as she’d like everything to believe. The (Name) who smiles and flirts, who holds every bed partner at arm’s length because she’s too scared to let them into her embrace, is a phony.

The Spider Queen is scared of loving and being loved.

That’s why she strings everyone up in her web, never letting them know what hides beyond gossamer strands woven so meticulously thick.

Because once they start to disassemble her messy masterpiece they’ll see its flaws and insecurities woven into unmistakable patterns.

Get it together, (Name). No way were you about to throw yourself into a school play all for some guy! Be more swag and less dramatic.

But just as you admonish yourself with that, a discordant note rings out. You failed to realize you were traversing random halls until now, where you find yourself in a desolate corner of the building, just outside the music room. Shaken from your self-doubt, you peek into the room out of plain curiosity…and immediately come to regret it when you spot a familiar head of white hair.

His back is turned to you, head bowed, and he plays according to the sheet music propped in front of him. You linger in the doorway to listen and it hits you then—what he’s playing.

A piano rendition of “The Music of The Night.”

Transfixed, you allow yourself to creep in closer. The soft, soulful melody lulls you into a state of serenity. Watching him and his fingers waltz along the keys, you can’t help but feel like you’ve missed your chance. What that chance might’ve been, you don’t have the guts to name.

Just when he’s about to reach the chorus, he misses a chord and the entire piece falls apart.

“Consarn it!” He slams his hands down on the keys.

You wince at the strident smash that echoes through the room, but nothing is more jarring than his language. You’ve never heard Skully, the quintessence of chivalry, curse so openly, even if it’s very 1800s. But after your argument with him, you’ve acquainted yourself with his temper and all that boils within it.

“It needs to sound just like the song.” The sound of shuffling sheet music follows. “If I can’t get past this chord…” He sighs and taps a few keys in random succession. “My dear will never be impressed with my lousy performance.”

Your heart flips over in your chest, knots itself like Ouroboros, and then collapses into your stomach. Any confidence you had in approaching Skully vanishes in a blip. Of course he’s still into you. Why wouldn’t he be? Rejection and a few weeks of separation aren’t going to undo years of infatuation. Silently cursing the world, you press the heels of your palms into your eyes, realize you’ve just ruined your eyeliner, and drag them away with an aggravated breath.

“Is someone there?”

Skully turns on the bench right as you stumble out of sight. Your sneakers squeak on the tiles as you make your escape, darting around a corridor just in time to avoid the confrontation. That’s all you’re good at. Salad Fingers’s criticisms play in loops. You hasten your steps. Running away.

Rollo’s slender fingers work deftly to lace up your corset. In the background, faintly pouring in from the kitchenette, Halloween music plays.

“Tighter,” you hiss at him, bracing yourself on the edge of your vanity desk, hips jutted out and ass raised high. “Make it so I can’t breathe—like I’m getting disrespectfully choked by the latex. None of that ‘Love Me Tender’ shit. I need to be fighting for my life in this fit.”

“This is foolish. You should prioritize your comfort over…whatever this is.”

“Aww. You really are an angel, looking out for me and my lungs.”

In retaliation he yanks on the ribbons and the corset cinches around your ribs, effectively stealing your breath. You crumple against the desk with a wheeze.

“Is that tight enough for Her Majesty?” he asks, smirking at you in the mirror.

“P-Perfect…” You raise a weak thumbs-up. “Thanks, Uriel.”

Rollo rolls his eyes. He looks every bit the modest angel in pure-white robes with accompanying gold accents. The look is finished off with feathery wings, a halo headband, and a pair of open-toed sandals. He adjusts one of the aureate cuffs around his wrist and scrutinizes his reflection in the cheap material. Conversely, you’re dressed as a sexy succubus, all red, tight-fitting, skimpy latex and matching thigh-high stockings. The costume came with horn hair clips, an attachable tail, and a pitchfork. It was your creative idea to accessorize with a black choker, sheer, lacy gloves, and suede knee-high heeled boots. You even got your nails done for the occasion, and they drip in grisly patterns of blood splatter.

“It’s missing something.” You pull Rollo against your hip so he can see what you’re attempting to visualize.

“Your makeup looks fine, (Name).”

“Not that.” Your blunt-toothed, smiling reflection peers back at you. “Oh, I know!”

You rifle through your makeup box to find them: the packaged fangs you swiped from Fellow’s store just the other day. Your boss graciously gave you and Rollo the day off after it became clear he wasn’t very willing to shell out holiday pay. Knowing your erudite roommate, he would’ve debated Fellow into his grave until he budged. Day off or holiday pay? It would’ve been his losing battle no matter which side of the argument he fell on.

Gleefully, like a cannibal ripping into a corpse, you tear open the plastic and fit the fangs on over your teeth.

“What do you think?” you ask, flashing a wicked grin at Rollo.

“Appropriately hellish. Anymore and the Devil might come up here to give you his regards.”

“Aren’t I just the luckiest girl?” You giggle and nudge him. “You’re not half bad yourself, Bible Study.”

“High praise coming from Satan’s Sweetheart.”

“The Devil wears imitation Prada.”

“‘By all means,’” he quotes, draping a fuzzy jacket over your shoulders, “‘move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me.’”

With a snicker you follow him out the door, playfully poking at his back with the pronged pitchfork to hurry him along. He swipes the car keys on his way.

Paper lanterns and strands of amber-hued lights are strung up on low-hanging branches. In the very center, hollowed out into the ground and circled with sizable stones, is a bonfire pit. The flames lick towards the stars, wavering in time with the bass thumping through the trees. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the swaying silhouettes were monstrous fiends gathered for Halloween night.

Having left your jacket in the car, you’re quick to pull Rollo towards the refreshments. You’re desperate to warm yourself with a few drinks before you make your way towards the fire and the throng of bodies. Rollo, while not the partying type, is very particular with his preferences, so you don’t expect him to jump at the sight of beer. It does, however, startle you when he slides the cloth covering away from the basket draped on his arm to reveal a bottle of sacramental altar wine.

Sometimes you forget your roommate can be cool.

“You’re the best.” You pull him against your side in another hug. He doesn’t fight it. The yellow-orange glow casts shadows on his face, obscuring his pleased smirk. “I cherish you, you know that?”

“Yes, well, I can’t allow you to indulge in this party slop.”

“Amen!”

You squeeze him once before releasing him from your constriction to grab two cheap chalices. After checking to make sure they’re clean and haven’t been tampered with, you stride over to Rollo. You notice he’s eyeing the pit warily, his haunted expression looking much more cadaverous in the firelight. Gently, you shake his shoulder and step in front to intersect his view of the fire.

“Hey, you okay?”

Rollo shakes himself out of his head and loosens his grip on the bottle. “Yes… Yes, I’m fine.”

You want to trust him, so you hold out the cups. “Wanna say our prayers and indulge in the Body of Christ?”

He taps your head with his fist, features drawn in a humorless lour. “Bread is the body. Wine is the blood.”

“My bad, Father.” You pout at him. “Forgive me for my sins and transgressions and everything else. I’m just sooo unholy.”

He spends a quiet moment staring at you—long enough that it has a smile spreading on his lips. He breathes a soft laugh. “What a peculiar choice of words for a demon.”

“Even more peculiar for an angel to be drinking on the job.”

“I suppose that makes us even.” He unscrews the cap and pours a generous amount in both cups. You watch the scarlet liquid slosh within. Capping the bottle, he tucks it away in the basket and takes the cup from you. “Merci.”

“A happy Halloween to us.” You raise your cup and his bumps against yours in toast. “Are you ready to be dead on your feet for tomorrow’s shift?”

“Only undead,” he replies, following you to a fallen tree. “I’m driving, so I mustn’t become too much of a zombie.”

“Who cares about coherency? Live it up tonight! We can sleep in the car. I’ve got pillows and blankets in there.”

“Mhm,” he hums around the plastic rim.

You plop down on the tree trunk and take a gulp, smacking your lips in approval. “If it’s cold, we can just cuddle.” You bump shoulders with him.

“I’ll pass. The last thing I need to earn is more of Skully’s frosty envy. I’d like for my plants to survive winter, if possible.”

“Ugh, right.” Your gaze drifts to your pitchfork propped against the tree. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I mean, I almost joined the school play for him. That’s bonkers even by my standards.”

“As if the club would allow that.”

“They hate me for my potential.” You click your tongue. “How can I make this…not worse? Because it feels like all I’ve been doing is making it significantly worse.”

“You should have a proper conversation. One that isn’t senseless screaming.”

“He was inside me, Rollo. How the hell am I going to have a ‘proper conversation’ when that’s our history?”

He peers into his chalice, contemplation burning behind his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you to lay with him. ‘Disprove his alleged crush,’ she said and then proceeded to do the exact opposite.”

“I mean, I don’t want him to think I hate him or that he has to avoid me. That’s not it. And I wasn’t trying to sound so cruel that day. Stuff just slipped out unchecked and he wasn’t listening. It’s not like we can go back to being friends with this whole cloud of unrequited romance hanging over our heads.” Sighing, you draw circles into the leaf-strewn ground with the tip of your boot. “I wish things weren’t so complicated. It’d be easier if he was terrible through and through, but he’s not.”

“What makes it so complicated?”

“His feelings.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

You narrow your eyes at him, perplexed. “Why? Is there supposed to be something else?”

“What about yourself?”

You chug the rest of the wine in your cup. It burns the back of your throat and straightens out your thoughts. Not so much your heart, though. Rollo takes his time pouring to give you a moment. He even offers you half of a baguette from the depths of his basket, which draws a snort from you.

“What? You can’t drink on an empty stomach. Last time you did that, you sullied the car with your vomit. It took days to clean and freshen up the interior.”

“At least it was pink! That’s much prettier than non-pink barf.” You shake your head, unwilling to argue old news. “Thanks for your concern, Little Red Riding Rollo, but I’m not hungry.”

“I’ve brought an assortment of jams and cheese.”

“Oh, my gosh,” you say around a high cackle. Rollo doesn’t see the humor in any of this, but he still manages a pinched smile. “You’re amazing. The best roomie I’ve ever had.”

“I try.”

“Okay, Father, I yield. Break the bread and let’s give thanks.”

Between sips of altar wine, you and Rollo munch on pieces of baguette spread and topped with strawberry jam and nettle cheese.

“Why me?” you ask around a mouthful of bread. “I know Skulls isn’t sociable at school—drama club told me all about the unlikable Halloweenie—but I’m sure there are better candidates for him to crush on. I’m a mess. I can’t garden or look after houseplants like you do. I can’t do any of that cute shit girls do on their socials—like live aesthetically or be effortlessly adorable. I don’t think I’m Skulls’s type.”

“Hmm.”

“He said I’m the only one who’s ever understood him, but isn’t that what friends do? You and I understand each other and we’re friends.”

“Somehow that’s different.”

“How? What makes it different?”

Rollo shrugs. He looks like a mouse as he nibbles at his bread and cheese. “Perhaps it’s because my relationship with you is nothing like the one you have with Skully.”

You scowl at the crowd of dancing, costumed partygoers. It’s only different because of love and sex.

“Putting that aside, what makes you think you’re not his type? Have you ever considered what his type might be?”

You hadn’t given it much thought. Skully has never mentioned love and its variations at work. That’s your job—to complain about and commend all of your flings and situationships whenever it’s necessary. To flirt with customers who look wealthy, attractive, or like they’d be good in bed. To aim for a phone number or an exchange of socials when they’re funny, sweet, or just annoying enough to seem charming. Your list of past lovers is as long as a photo spread in a wallet.

“If we consider his poetry,” Rollo says, as if pushing you towards a cliff you don’t want to jump from, “his preferences aren’t so elusive.”

Even though there’s no reason for it, you feel an unusual warmth climbing up to settle under your cheeks. You hurry to tilt your cup back, putting your mouth on the same lipstick stain from earlier.

“So what sort of type is the Spider Queen?”

“She’s meant to be you, is she not?”

But you’re not sure what he sees in you—in the Spider Queen. You annoyed him during the first real conversation you had, back when he was just fifteen and you were an angsty eighteen-year-old trying to look like she hadn’t just gotten disowned by her family. What changed in the four years since then? You remember he absolutely hated the Halloween party and spent the entire time scribbling in a journal. You wouldn’t be surprised if the entry about his first impression of you was written that very night. He has every right to despise you for your rowdy spirit. What he sees in you, you clearly can’t see in yourself. Maybe you’d feel less guilty about the situation if he hated your guts, but that’s not the case.

“I don’t know!” You groan. “Maybe he’s in love with the character he’s created and not me.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Do you have candy in there? I need something that’ll mess me up and make me forget all about this.”

I need to stop running away and face reality.

“I’m certain the alcohol will do the trick.”

And it is. You haven’t kept count of how many chalice-sized drinks you’ve had, and at some point you’ve even swiped the bottle from Rollo’s basket.

“Shall we address the facts?” he tries again, and you’re tempted to listen because he’s logical enough to sort through the emotions. “Skully is in love with you, a truth too blinding for you to notice, but we were all wearing sunglasses.” You smack him for that and he clears his throat. “Right. The two of you went on a ‘date’ and it ended in bed. You’ve told him you don’t love him. Really, (Name), if your feelings don’t match his, I see no other reason to stump yourself.”

And isn’t that the truth?

But there’s a niggling sense of something more that you can’t confront. You push it down to make room for the wine.

“I need a cigarette.”

“From one vice to the next. Very clever.”

Your acrylics tap anxious pitter-patters against the glass bottle. A distraction would suffice—anything to take your mind off of Skully. If you could saunter into the crowd and fall into the arms of a temporary thrill, you would. It’s what you plan to do as your eyes survey the crowd, cherry-picking faces from the firelight. And then, just past the flickering flames and undulating ghouls, you see him.

“Erik!”

You stand up so quickly that you lurch forward. The bottle almost slips from your grasp. Rollo catches your arm before you can fall.

“What?” Rollo blinks up at you in bewilderment. “(Name), sit down. You’re drunk.”

“Piss off. I know what I saw. Someone’s come as the Phantom.” You throw your head back to suck down the rest of the wine. “And it takes more than that to get me tipsy.”

“Congratulations. How’s the liver?”

“Ha-ha-ha,” you snap, sarcastic. “Unlike you, I’m about to tongue it with the Phantom. Not many can say they did that on Halloween night. Be back soon!”

“No one else is trying to accomplish that!” he calls after you, but you only catch part of it as you beeline for the fray.

Pitchfork in hand, you weave around kissing couples and clusters of friends. You have your sights set on the mysterious Phantom, his back turned to you. You call out to him: “Hey, you!” but your voice is lost in the deafening beats and the ecstatic, tipsy whoops from the partygoers.

“Excuse me! Pardon,” you hiss, pushing past a witch and a knight. “Move.”

You’re nearly there. But then someone knocks into you, and you stumble into another person. He catches you with a whistle, his palms strangely slimy.

“Hey there, little lady. Looks like it’s my lucky night. You sure you’re not actually an angel in disguise?”

You scrunch your face, looking past him. The Phantom is gone. “Fuck!”

“At least introduce yourself.” He laughs and spit speckles your cheek. “Then we can get there, yeah?”

“You want an introduction?” You slam your heel on his foot and are quite pleased when he draws back with a curse. “How’s that for angelic? Happy Halloween, asshole.”

Equipped with a mission, you disappear into the darkness. Stapled to your feet, your shadow stretches into the trees behind you. In hopes of locating the familiar mask or cape, you whirl to and fro. It seems like you’ll never find them, and for a second you wonder if they’re a hallucination birthed from your tumultuous feelings. Of course you’d be imagining the Phantom after that day in the bookstore with Skully. It’s like he’s everyone you look. How could he not be? Halloween is his day.

You hope he’s happy, even if it’s only for tonight.

This is a waste of time. I’m going back.

You pivot on your heel…and there he is. The Phantom of the Opera, hunched over between the trees, his gloved fingers splayed against the rough bark. The exact opposite of dignified and mystifying. More of a mess than a graceful, gothic beauty. Your mouth drops open, and then you cringe when you hear a not-so-musical retch.

Oh.

He’s sick.

“Uh, hi…” You inch closer. “I recognized your costume. You’re supposed to be Erik, right? The Phantom. You know—that guy from the opera?”

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and turns to look at you, woozy and mechanical. Your heart rushes into a gallop when those infamous orange eyes fall upon you. Even with the mask hiding half of his face, you know it’s him. You think he’s worked out your identity as well because he straightens to his full height on unsteady feet, as if he’s been slapped sober. The only indication he’s inebriated is the way he sways like a spinning top on the verge of falling over.

“Skulls—”

“(Name)—”

“Ah, um. My apologies. You should go first.”

“No, it’s nothing.” You wring your hands around the length of the pitchfork. “Um. You… You came.”

“I was looking for you.” He gestures to the crumpled can at his feet, sheepish. “Found that instead.”

“Why?”

Skully twists the hem of his cloak in his fists. “I wanted to wish you a happy Halloween and show you my costume.”

His costume? You remember he told you and Rollo he was going to dress up as something scary, and while the Phantom is technically a fearsome villain… It’s not the first thing you’d think Skully would go for. Did he dress up for my sake? What if he had another costume planned but changed his mind after—stop that. Don’t go down that rabbit hole.

“But you hate parties.” You poke at the can with your pitchfork. “And you don’t drink.”

His eyes glaze over. You watch his lip tremble. “I’m sorry. I… I thought that if I… If I could just—” He inhales a rattling breath. “If I was more like you—like Mr. Rollo or any of your partners—you might… Y-You might want to—” He breaks off from that sentence with a choked cry and sinks to his knees.

“Skulls…” Lowering to his height, you reach out for him, hesitate for a strained breath, and then gingerly peel the mask away to reveal his teary, snotty face.

“I’m so s-sorry,” he continues, his voice breaking more and more. “I yelled at you. I wouldn’t listen. I pushed you into a corner and provoked you, and that wasn’t right. I was no better than Salad Fingers.” He places his palms on the ground to steady himself. A sob shudders through his body. Salty globs pool along his lash line and slide down to his chin, landing in steady drops on the leaves below. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair, not fair, not fair! All of those undeserving people who get to behold you! Those… Those foolish, idiotic bastards—none of them are worthy of you. I don’t understand. They never see you. They’re so attached to flimsy, vapid pleasure that they don’t even cherish you properly. Why?”

You manage to find your voice then. “I don’t care about them. I mean, I did. I always care. Just not like…that.”

“So then why? Why do you let them—why won’t you let me—”

Love you?

“Skully, you’re drunk.” Hardening your heart, you stagger to your feet. “Now’s not the time for this.”

Running away again. Typical, Salad Fingers jeers. She’ll eat your heart if you aren’t careful. Save yourself while you can.

You swat his influence away.

A twig snaps behind you. You almost don’t hear it over Skully’s sniveling.

“Do you know how many fools have been pointing me to ‘Grandmother’s House’ whenever I ask after you?” comes Rollo’s voice, every accented syllable threaded through with annoyance. “I’m sick of this asinine nonsense. It’s not even funny. I’m very clearly an angel, and yet everyone thinks I’m on my way to see—oh, Skully’s here. Ahem. Pardon me.”

“It’s just not fair,” he’s mumbling to himself, over and over, like a broken record. He doesn’t even acknowledge Rollo’s arrival or greeting. “Not fair, not fair, not fair.”

“Is he…all right?”

“Does that look ‘all right’ to you, brainiac?” You knock Rollo upside the head with your plastic pitchfork, and he rounds on you with an indignant glare.

“You tell me! I only just found you.” Rollo can’t hide behind his handkerchief, so his frustration is on full display. It twists his features into something loathsome.

“He’s drunk.”

“Clearly.” Sighing, Rollo stoops over him. “Skully, can you hear me? How did you get here?”

He pans his bleary gaze over to him and sniffs. “What’re you supposed to be?”

“God’s little lamb.”

“That’s not terrifying at all.”

“It is if you carry the guilt.” He takes a harsh elbow to the ribs for that, one he begrudgingly accepts with a scoff. “You should go home, Skully.”

“Did someone bring you here?” you ask, peering into his face. It’s hard to imagine him willingly coming with a friend or classmate.

Actually, it’s hard to imagine he came here at all.

He lifts an unsteady arm and gestures in a general direction. “Bicycle,” he says.

A silent debate mushrooms between you Rollo, wedged in the space where your eyes meet.

“He’s a liability,” you whisper after pulling him aside.

“A liability to your love life, maybe, but we can’t just leave him here.”

“I wasn’t saying we should! I just don’t think it’s gonna help if he comes home with us. He’s not thinking straight. And last time he was there…”

“So we drop him off at home and his parents can handle it. I know the way.”

“They’ll kill us. Are you looking to be lectured tonight?”

“He’s nineteen.”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s their baby—all two-hundred-something centimeters of him—and he’s drunk off his ass on Halloween night.”

“He risked a scolding all for you, didn’t he?”

“He…” You groan, unsure of what to say. “I’ve never met a guy like him. He’s in another league of his own.”

“And I don’t suppose he’s ever met a girl quite like you.” Smiling, Rollo cocks his head playfully. “You’re meant to be.”

“I’m meant to punch you in the mouth if you keep talking stupid. Just—ugh, fine, whatever! You carry him back to the car. I’ll get his bike. He can crash with us tonight. A slumbie is safer than getting him and ourselves in trouble with his parents.”

“So the demon’s secretly a good girl.”

“All that altar wine’s going to your head and making you cheeky, ‘God’s little lamb’. I guess you do care for your friends after all.”

Index pressed to his lips, he hushes you. It takes a few minutes of coaxing and “Lift your head, Skully. How else are you going to look up to Jack Skellington?” before Rollo manages to get him to his feet. He’s all gangly limbs as he drapes himself over your roommate, clinging like mildew to a damp corner. Grunting with the effort, Rollo hoists his arm over his shoulders and Skully flops against him like a worm.

Before the two of them begin the hobble to the car, Rollo asks, “Will you be okay on your own?”

“I’m the Devil. There’s nothing I can’t do!” You wave your pitchfork around and flash a fanged smirk. “They don’t call me God’s strongest soldier for nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Well, be safe. If you’re not at the car in the next five minutes…”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll exorcise me on the spot. I hear ya.”

Rollo turns away then. “Could you be any more boneless, Skully?”

“Why, of course I can! Does this help?”

“Wha—hey! Don’t go limp! Stand up straight!”

After locating his bike and wheeling it through the woods to the car, where you and Rollo work together to load it in the back, you both head for the driver’s side.

“I’m driving.”

“No, you’re not. I am.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you merrily sipping your little God juice like a sailor.”

“You had more than me, and it’s not ‘God juice’. It’s sacramental altar wine, sourced from the finest—”

“Blah, blah, blah. My name is Rollo Flamme and I—”

“My wonderful, spectacular, amazing…deeeaaarss,” comes Skully’s slurred voice. He pokes his head out from the back, half-leaning out the open door. “I can drive.”

Rollo stares blankly at the very inebriated Skully.

“Yeah, go on, Rollo. Let the Phantom drive. I trust him with my life.” You stick your arm out and present him with a cheerful thumbs-up.

“Skully, sit back down. And don’t even think of getting sick in the car.”

“Yes, sir.” You hear the click of a buckle and then, miraculously, he passes out.

“Walk a straight line and I’ll let you drive.”

“I got this. Watch.”

You shove your pitchfork at his chest and, looking to make sure he’s observing, walk along the strip that divides the road from the forest. It doesn’t feel like you’re doing it right, your feet blurring and crossing over each other clumsily, but somehow you think it must look straight to Rollo. Once you’re thirty paces from the car, you whip around to hear the verdict.

“Well? Straighter than straight, yeah?”

“About as straight as a rainbow. Now get in.” He opens the passenger side for you and tosses the pitchfork in the back next to a snoring Skully.

Wordlessly, you perform your staggering walk of shame back to the car. The drive home is punctuated by the sophisticated notes of Indila’s Mini World album. The song’s instrumental—the one where you can only parse the lyrics love story—reminds you of a music box. You sink into the worn polyester seat and paint yourself as a princess in a grand, glittering palace. Waiting for you in the gardens, haunting your head like your very own gothic ghost, is the too-tall, dorky Phantom of the Opera.

Maybe it’s the alcohol—it’s definitely more than just the alcohol—but you feel warm thinking about him. So warm you forget you’re not wearing your jacket.

Fuck. This altar wine is really hitting. How are they not partying during every sermon? Oh, wait, they only drink a pinky’s worth. Laaaame.

“I think, if I were to murder someone, I’d get your help getting rid of the body.”

“Please don’t,” Rollo mutters, awkwardly lifting Skully out of the car with your aid.

“Don’t ask for help or…?”

“Don’t make me accomplice to a crime and don’t murder anyone.”

By the time you’ve carried Skully up the stairs to your door, you feel the mawkish beginnings of affection weighing on your shoulders. That, and Skully’s arm.

“Hey, Rollo?”

“Mhm?”

“Thanks.”

“What for?” He fiddles with the keys in the dimness, half-listening.

For being my friend. For never getting tired of me even when I’m nothing but trouble.

“For being my roomie.”

His hand stills. “Don’t be foolish,” he says, clicking his tongue in chastisement. The key twists in the lock. He pushes the door open with his foot, revealing an apartment cloaked in shadow. “You said it yourself. We’re a team. We need to stick together.”

“How else is rent going to be paid?”

He exhales a short, authentic laugh. “That’s the million madol question.”

Skully is deposited on the sofa, snoozing away like it’s the middle of winter and he’s hibernating. After locking the door and flicking on the lights, where you then proceed to hiss like vampires as said lights burn holes into your eyes, you and Rollo roll your stiff shoulders.

“We should stay indoors next Halloween.”

“Agreed. Maybe introverts know what they’re doing. This was exhausting.” Plopping down on a nearby stool, you work to remove your heels. It’s more challenging than it seems, what with alcohol muddling your motor skills. “My feet are killing me.”

Rollo pulls the fridge open and pokes his head inside for mindless inspection. “Hmm. Whose turn is it to buy groceries?”

“Mine, probably.” You toss your boots across the room and flex your toes. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“We can survive a little longer. At least until the middle of the week.”

You snort. “So are we leaving Skully out here? Should we call his parents?”

“I doubt they’re worried. Not truly.” Rollo shuts the fridge and comes to stand on the other side of the kitchenette peninsula. “It’s a small town with a middling population, and the majority are harmless elders.”

“But what if they think he got murdered?”

“Because someone’s itching to put Halloweenie in his grave. Sure.”

“Okay, fair point.” You glance over your shoulder at Skully, his legs hanging over the end of the armrest. “He’d make for a difficult corpse.”

“If two of us struggled to drag him back here, imagine how much more burdensome he’d be undead.”

“Ooh, a zombie. Something tells me he’d rather be bones than rotting flesh. Just like Jack.”

“Somehow—“ Rollo drums his fingers along the countertop— “I feel it’s poor manners to talk so morbidly of our very alive and well coworker.”

“Mm, probably.” You swivel in your seat. “More importantly, where’s he gonna sleep?”

“I’m keen to leave him here. We’ll dim the lights.”

“Kinda rude to make him sleep on the most uncomfortable couch in the world.”

“It could be worse.” Rollo walks around to the wall opposite of you to lower the switch. The lights lessen in their intensity, from searing to merciful. “Besides, where else is he going to sleep? There isn’t room on my bed.”

“He can sleep in mine,” you say without thinking, and you really aren’t because he looks at you like he can’t believe he’s hearing you right now. “He deserves a comfy bed, at the very least… It’s not gonna mend heartbreak, but it won’t give him stiff joints in the morning.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“On the floor.”

Rollo raises a dark brow. “The (Name) I know would never sacrifice her comfort for someone else.”

“For flings, fuck no. But he’s a friend.”

“All right,” he concedes. “Let’s get him to your room. He’s staying there, though. I’m not going to move him anywhere else.”

“Roger that, roomie.”

Like before, the both of you lift him from the sofa and, taking care not to disturb his slumber, transport him to your room. He’s lowered onto your unmade bed. You move with absolute precision, undoing the clasp around his neck to pull his cape from his person so it won’t tangle around him in sleep. And then you drag a fluffy quilt over him. His fringe falls over his face in a way that reminds you of Sleeping Beauty…only if she had been pie-eyed and prone to vomiting in the hours before her eternal slumber. He looks less of a prince and more of a pale monster.

Sleeping Liability.

You wince. That sounds a lot like something Fellow would say. You’re too young to start thinking and speaking like your boss.

It’s then when you realize you’ve been staring at him like you’re about to lean in for true love’s kiss.

“Are you going to bed?”

“No, I’ll be up.” Rollo rubs his tired eyes and stifles a yawn.

“Try to get some sleep. I’d say let’s watch a movie, but I don’t think I can stay awake for another hour.”

“Don’t force yourself. We all need the sleep for tomorrow’s shift,” he says, but you suspect he’ll be up late into the night and he’ll wake just as early.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I guarantee Fellow’s gonna be just as sleep-deprived as we are. Gidel probably kept him out as late as he could for trick-or-treating.”

Shaking your head, you begin to pick off pieces of your costume. The detachable tail, the horns, the little fangs. You prop your pitchfork against the vanity desk.

“So we all have valid reasons to complain.”

“I’m always ready to be a hater. No fair we have to go into work after a fun night. Why couldn’t he be nice and give us tomorrow off as well?”

“One can hope.”

“And one does.” You open your closet and retrieve a few spare blankets from within. “Good night, Rollo.”

“Yes. Good night to you as well.”

His footsteps pad down the hall to his room and then you hear him ease the door shut. It’s not even a minute later when your thoughts begin to buzz in your ears. You busy yourself with spreading out the blankets and creating a comfortable place for yourself on the floor, listening to the low hum of a fan in place of soothing music. The fairy lights strung around your bed shine soft light on the snoozing Phantom, who’s curled into your bed like it’s to become the chrysalis that envelops the squishy, vulnerable pupa that is Skully.

You don’t want to think about it. About why he was here tonight and why he came dressed as one of your favorite characters. And the last time he was on your bed was when…

Blotting that memory out, you snuggle into the blankets and rest your head on a sizable plush you’ve swiped from the end of your bed. If you can sleep all of this mess off, you’ll have a better time making sense of it once morning dawns.

That was your plan, but now that you’re in the position for sleep, eyes closed and mind racing, you find yourself unable to settle down. You turn one way and spend the next few minutes in your own head, tossing around Skully’s motives and what everything means. Maybe you’d sink into slumber if you were contemplating brain-bruising philosophy, but when every route leads back to that complex, confounding feeling it leaves your body crackling with nerves.

Shifting over on your back, you gaze up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, Skully,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. “Salad Fingers was right. I’m only good at running away. I’m the best at being the worst. I’m, like, super, pathetically, abysmally bad at romance. I don’t know how to do it or what it means to feel it. I… I’ve never given myself that chance.”

I’ve spent too long pushing everyone who’s ever tried to love me away.

You feel around blindly for your goat plush and hug it to your chest. His name is Mini Rollo.

“The truth is that my worst fear isn’t even thunderstorms. I hate those, too, yeah, but it’s love that scares me the most. Which probably sounds really silly to you because you’re so…full of it. Full of love, I mean. And I was afraid. Afraid that you’d found something about me that’s worth loving. I mean, you kinda saw through me from the very beginning and not many people do that. It made me feel so itchy. Like, what the hell? Who does this guy think he is, solving me like I’m some lousy cube puzzle? How’d you do that?”

A weak laugh tumbles out of you then. You’re not sure where the humor is in any of this. Maybe you’re just laughing at yourself.

“What scared me most, though… I caught myself considering it. It’s all I’ve been able to think about, actually.” You bury your face in Mini Rollo to save yourself the embarrassment of addressing a dim room with an unconscious audience. “I really don’t know how you do it. You’re like an infection. Or, uh—hold on. That came out wrong. Ugh. Just as bad as the lice poem. What I meant to say is that you’re so good at making me feel happy. So I guess that means your energy is infectious?”

Sighing, you shut your eyes and place yourself in the memory of that day, swapping cruel cowardice for a real confession. Mini Rollo’s soft head is tucked beneath your chin. “No one’s ever danced in the rain with me before to chase away my anxiety. And they’ve never made me their muse or written pages and pages of poems about me. They’ve never made me smile and laugh as much as you do. They certainly didn’t come to my door to give me an entire handmade flower wreath. That’s the stuff you’d only find in romance novels. You’re seriously one of a kind.” You force another sad, pitiful laugh. “I don’t deserve you or your love. If anything, you’re the cool one. Definitely way more than a fly.”

You’re my Pumpkin King.

“Never mind. What am I saying? Ew, ew. Gross. This is so…yuck.”

Stop talking. You’re making it worse, (Name).

You yank the blanket over your head and stuff down whatever else is threatening to spill out in this moment of alcohol-addled vulnerability. Although you’re not sure how much of that was liquid courage.

Is love supposed to feel so…itchy?

Like a sweater woven from coarse wool. Like an irritating bug bite that’s just out of reach. Like an allergic reaction.

But then that same love is also so welcoming—a blanket fresh from the dryer, a flattering poem penned from the heart, a dance in the rain. A distinctly Skully-shaped love, one that’s cradled in the cobwebbed confines of his heart.

You don’t want to run away from that—from him.

Warmed by these revelations, made weightless from the truth, you drift away on a stream of waning consciousness.

Good night, Skully.

Morning trickles through the mountains, bringing with it strips of sun that shine through the thin part of ratty curtains.

Your body is strangely light when it should be heavy with a skull-crushing hangover. Even your mind, which is normally fuzzy and filled with an unshakeable pressure in the dawn of last night’s chaos, is the shape of a Zen garden. You think you hear movement in the kitchen, but your sixth sense tells you it’s still too early and so you roll over in search of Mini Roll, who somehow slipped from your embrace during the night.

You find Skully instead.

He’s squished in the space between your bed and the nest of blankets piled around you, and it leaves you wondering how he managed to get down here. From how soundly he slept last night, you didn’t take him for a restless sleeper. You realize then that his eyes are open, watching you, and suddenly nothing else matters.

Oh.

“H-Hey,” you whisper, cringing at the roughness in your voice.

“Hi.” His voice is no better. More of a crow’s call than fluttery birdsong. “Good morning.”

You’re not sure what to think at first. Is this real? How did he get on your floor? Why is he here? Where’s Rollo? Where’s Mini Rollo?

You reach out; your palm hovers over his head. To save you the trouble, he leans into your hand. He feels real. He looks real.

“There’s only 365 days left until next Halloween,” you blurt.

Skully blinks at you. “364.”

You start to smile. He follows your lead.

He’s real. It wasn’t a dream.

“Um… So,” you start, but he reels back before you can get the rest out.

“S-Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m much too close.” He scrambles to sit up, but the sudden change in position has him gripping his head. “Spinning… Oh, I feel ill… Please give me a moment and then I assure you I’ll be out of your hair.”

You bare your teeth in an awkward, sympathetic simper. Welcome to hangover hell.

“Why were you on the floor anyway?” you venture, sitting up with him, and then the shitty feelings descend. You hiss out a colorful word.

You realize you’re still wearing your costume from last night and, even though you think you should wrap yourself in a blanket, it’s nothing Skully hasn’t seen before. He’s seen all of you, as a matter of fact, and the knowledge of that sends a timid tremor ricocheting through your veins. You feel like you need to cover up now, as if you’re somehow exposed in your skimpy latex and sheer stockings, and it’s a ridiculous thought. The time for diffidence and modesty has long since passed.

Skully refuses to meet your stare, opting to gaze at a boring corner of your room instead. “I…” He sighs. “I heard you last night. And shortly after you retired… Well, I was struck with a jubilation like no other and I…”

“Rolled right off the bed?”

You picture it then: a squealing Skully squeezing the pillows and kicking his legs out, tangling himself in the sheets, every nerve alight with celebration.

“I’m sorry. I would’ve moved, but I feared I’d wake you if I wasn’t careful. You looked so relaxed… I couldn’t bring myself to risk it, so I remained there until now. Oh, but I promise I didn’t do anything untoward while you slept! I’d never!”

You exhale through your nose. “I trust you, Skulls.” And then you stiffen. “Wait. You heard me? H-How much?”

“All of it?”

You flop back onto the floor and muffle your groan in your hands. Not how you’d been hoping to start your morning. The hangover, you can handle. No problem. Whatever’s going on between you and Skully? Big problem. Massively heart-sized problem.

But you’re not going to tuck your tail and flee. Not this time. You’re better than that.

“I think…” Skully hesitates around the mouthful perched on his tongue. “I acted rashly last night. You saw such a terrible, immature side of me—and on Halloween, no less! There are no words in the dictionary to describe my shame.”

You remember his drunken meltdown. It’s not the prettiest image, but there’s no one else in this world you know of who’d go to such lengths for you.

“You’re upset. I get it. Alcohol will do that to you. Makes you ten times more of an emotional wreck than you already are. I would know.” You’re not sure where you’re going with this, but you peek through your fingers at him and hope the tenderness in your tone hits its mark. “What I’m trying to say is that I’d like to try. If you don’t mind. If you’ll have me.”

I think I understand now—what I want.

“Try?”

“This. Us.”

He stares at you with dinner plates for eyes. A few seconds of silence bloom between you, and all throughout it he’s growing more pink-cheeked.

“We don’t have to! I mean… I completely understand if you don’t want to after everything. I’m a mess and I haven’t treated this situation very well, but I’m willing to give it my best shot. Fellow always says there’s only one way out of a ditch and maybe—”

Skully’s outstretched arm is in your face next. You follow the length of it to find his encouraging expression. Tentatively, you place your palm in his and allow him to help you up from the floor. You sit in front of him on your bed, and it’s as if you’re the last two humans on the planet.

This is new. The anxiety and the nervous sweats. The rushing blood in your ears. You’ve never felt this way before.

Then again, you’ve also never done any of this before. It’s all instinct; you’re treading the path projected by your heart this time. It’s every bit the terror you imagined it to be, but it’s exhilarating and refreshing all the same.

He’s still holding your hand. When you look down, you notice it’s shaking. You can’t tell if that’s from you or him, but it settles once your fingers interlock.

And then, before you can prepare yourself, he’s yanking you towards him. The force of his pull has you falling, and your arm shoots out to prop yourself above him.

“MayIkissyou?” he babbles, hurrying through the question so it’s pronounced like one gasping breath. And then he catches himself. “Forgive me. I’m just…so relieved! Oh, I was terrified you’d hate me and think I was a rotten person.” He’s tearing up, but you surmise these are happy tears. “I thought we’d never end up together. Like in ‘Sally’s Song’! I thought we were doomed. I thought I wasn’t the one for you…”

“No, I couldn’t ever hate you! You’re not a rotten person. Never. I—” think I’m falling for you— “I’m feeling things for you. Like in-my-heart things. Good things. That’s a horrible way to put it, I know, but I promise I mean every word. I’m just not as eloquent when it comes to these things. Compared to your poetry, I probably sound so dumb and—whoa!”

His arms wind around you, and he traps you in a tight embrace.

“(Name)… My darling.”

“Y-Yes?”

He sounds so serious… Wait, wait. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! Don’t tell me he’s gonna say it? The L word! I don’t know if my heart’s ready. It wasn’t the first time he said it. Will I be okay? This is fine, right? It’s normal. It’s just…love. Aaahhhh!

“I’m pleased we’re so close.”

“Uh, yeah. Me too.”

“Without my glasses, I can scarcely see anything. You’d be nothing more than an indistinguishable, blurry shape. A beautiful shape, of course, but still impossible to discern!”

“Oh.”

Never fucking mind.

Hand in hand, you emerge from your room as more than friends. A couple. Lovers. A pair. So many florid titles you could probably fill the remaining pages in his poetry journal with. You’re not sure which one you should use to describe you and Skully. You’re used to temporary affairs. But this—what you have with him—feels like more than that.

Us. It’s us, you decide, and it’s the cheesiest thing but you’ll be damned if you deny yourself this newfound sweetness.

Skully’s wrapped you up in his cloak. He’s also still clad in his costume, and he made quite the fuss about yours just moments ago.

“Now that we’re together,” he said with a childish pout, his face burning red-hot, “I don’t want others to see you like this. It’s selfish, but I can’t help it. I want to preserve these lovely sights for myself.”

“It’s just Rollo,” you argued.

“Especially Mr. Rollo.”

You find his possessiveness endearing. Maybe you’re crazy for thinking that, but it’s addicting to be wanted so robustly and appreciated in full. Honeymoon phase be damned. You want to giggle and blush over everything Skully says and does, even if it’s complete nonsense. He could tell you the moon is made of cheese and you’d turn gooey like fondue.

“Good morning, you two,” Rollo greets, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. His pale lips quirk up knowingly. “And what a good morning it appears to be. Gidel and I are due for a payout.”

You level him with a glare that could wilt lettuce. “I can’t believe you. Your greed sickens me. Isn’t gambling a sin?”

What happened to being honest examples for the youth, Fellow?!

“When it’s a gamble you have every chance of winning, does it truly count as such?”

“It does if you’re betting money! And even Gidel got in on it? Are you serious?”

“Fellow owes him new art supplies. The fancy kind.”

“Well, if it gets the kid his crayons…”

“Might I ask what the bet was for?” Skully pulls out a barstool for you, ever the winsome gentleman. He seats himself beside you.

“Whether you and (Name) would get together on Halloween or Christmas.”

“In that case, my sincerest congratulations to you and dear Gidel! Isn’t that wonderful, my love?”

“H-How do you know we’re together? You don’t even have evidence to confirm…” You trail off. Skully props his elbows on the countertop, a moony look softening his eyes.

“Surely you’re not as blind as you are dense.” Rollo glances between the both of you, as if asking, Are you seeing this shit?

Before you can snap back with defensive vitriol, he sets a paper bag down. A sugary peace offering awaits. It works a little too well because you forget everything he’s ever done at once.

“Pastry day! You’re the best, Rollo.”

“I’m aware.”

“It looks and smells divine! Thank you graciously, Mr. Rollo.” Skully fishes something from out of the bag. “Shall we share this croissant, my dear? In honor of our first meal together as a pair of love-doves.”

Whoa. That’s so official. Hearing that is…really nice, actually. Kinda huge and a little scary, but nice.

“Skulls, I’d say let’s do it, but I’m way too hungry to go halfsies.” He’s quick to wither at that, his cuteness a weapon you’re unable to fight. You giggle and lean it to peck his cheek. “How’s that instead?”

“Not even a dozen sugar cubes could compare to how sweet you are.” He clutches his chest, swooning like a fanboy struck down by Cupid. “Aah, I adore you most ardently.”

Rollo fills two mugs with what’s left in the coffee pot. “There’s tea if you’d rather that.”

“It would be rude for me to turn down your hospitality. If it’s not too much trouble, tea would be much appreciated.”

“More for me.” You take hold of both mugs and are instantly soothed by the warmth bleeding through the ceramic. The caffeine will ward off the rest of whatever hangover symptoms might be encroaching.

While Rollo fills the kettle with water, Skully searches through the bag for a pastry that suits his tastes. You’re already licking your fingers clean of croissant crumbs.

“I must thank you for allowing me to stay here through the night. I apologize if I caused you any trouble.” Skully bows his head. “You must forgive me. I don’t quite remember much of last night’s escapades.”

“It was nothing. We weren’t gonna leave you in the woods.”

“We considered it.” Rollo sips idly, unbothered by the now distraught Skully.

“Don’t listen to him. Rollo’s being morbid on purpose. We’d never do that to you.” You take Skully’s hand beneath the counter and squeeze it. “We almost dropped you off at your house, but we decided against it at the last minute.”

An awkward chuckle rumbles through him. “I owe you more than my gratitude.”

“As long as you’re safe and comfortable, that’s all that matters. Make sure you let your parents know if they’re asking after you.”

“Mr. Rollo… Your kindness precedes you.”

“Rollo has a big heart today,” you tease around a bite of pain au chocolat. “He bought sweets, he made coffee, and he’s so chatty. Must be a lotta money Fellow’s coughing up if you’re in a good mood.”

He rolls his eyes, quietly amused. “We all have reasons to be pleased.”

You suppose that’s true. It’s a happily ever after for each of you.

“Oh, that reminds me!” You turn towards Skully. “Give me your phone. There’s something I owe you.”

He relinquishes it without a second thought, which allows you to input the digits for your number. You should’ve done this a long while ago—back when you first extended your hand in friendship—but as they say there’s no time like the present. You can move forward with this. It’s a stepping stone in a new direction!

You catch a glimpse of his contacts while you make one for yourself. He doesn’t even have ten contacts. Of the few saved, you spot his parents—named Mama and Papa separately—and then Rollo and Fellow. And then there’s the latest addition: you. You’re not sure what to call yourself, so you simply leave it as your name. You’re certain Skully has plenty of contact names in mind already. You won’t veto any of them because you’re positive they’ll stick.

“There.” You hand him the device. “My number’s saved.”

With a gasp, he stares at the screen with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Oh! Oh, how splendid! I will treasure this gift forever.”

“It’s not that special,” you start to say, but the rest of the argument dies in your throat. It is to him. Very special. You don’t want to take that away from him. “Don’t hesitate to text me. I’m always down to chat.”

“I shall text you every morning and night without fail. And every hour between then, too.”

“D-Don’t overdo it!”

“She says that, but she’ll enjoy every second of it,” Rollo cuts in, setting a fresh cup of tea down in front of Skully.

You hide in the ruffles of Skully’s oversized cloak. “I never said I was opposed to it…”

To think I was missing this all along. This warmth… It’s so sweet.

You waste the rest of the morning away with the both of them, laughing about whatever you can remember from last night’s Halloween.

“It may not have been very successful, and it certainly wasn’t my ideal Halloween,” Skully explains to Fellow and Gidel hours later, both of them rapt, “but it didn’t end in complete disaster.”

“All’s well that ends well,” Rollo applauds.

“Of course you would say that,” Fellow grumbles. “To be loved is to be changed apparently. What a scam.”

“Ah, that’s right. Seeing as our resident lovebirds have taken to the nest, I do recall someone owes me the sum we agreed upon. And Gidel is awaiting his art supplies. It’s only fair, no?”

Gidel, who is brimming with excitement on Skully’s behalf, a supportive mirror image of his joy, snaps over to give Fellow puppy eyes. To really sell it, he digs around in his pockets for a few halves of crayon. Your squirming boss is looking everywhere but at the two of them, sweating from head to toe.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Fellow lifts his arms in timeout. “Why must we let our desires lead us? Shouldn’t we learn to live as minimalists? Repeat after me! Hi-diddle-dee-dee! A minimalist life for me.” When no one follows suit, he drops to his knees in desperate prostration. “Best two out of three? We can bet on whether they’ll stay together long enough to get married or if they’ll split along the way. How does that sound? Just peachy, yes? If we’re in agreement, just name the terms and then we shall see! I’ll double the payout. Gidel, you can have an easel and oil paints. Isn’t that much better than a few measly crayons? And Rollo—my fair friend, surely you’d rather pay rent for the next five months rather than just one?”

That was fast. He really has mastered the art of begging like a bitch baby, you think, folding your arms over your chest. A few customers glance at the spectacle, curiously attracted to the obnoxious whines of a grown man.

“You made a bet and you lost. I’m merely here to collect my promised payment, as is Gidel.”

“How’s about you get yourself something from the store? It’s on me!”

Rollo surveys the store and the major half-off sale that has descended over what’s left of this year’s stock. “I don’t celebrate Halloween.”

Gidel shoves the broken crayons at him. Neither is going to budge. It’s amusing in the way an old sitcom is, but the way they interact with each other makes them look more like puppets than people.

“Aaaaghh! You’re unrelenting!”

“Just give Rollo his money and Gidel his art supplies.” You prop your feet up on the counter, your back poised against the wall. Skully nods in agreement. “Begging only makes you look worse, Fellow.”

With a growl, he pushes himself up onto his feet. “Yes, yes. I suppose you have me cornered.” And then with a woeful sigh: “Skully, my boy, couldn’t you have waited until Christmas? The holiday is right around the corner according to every marketing scheme ever. Halloween isn’t even remotely romantic!”

Skully gasps, scandalized. “It is if you’re Lord Jack and Sally! Halloween is the most romantic holiday! Have you never heard of traditional gothic romance?” He huffs and turns his nose up. “You have much to learn, Mr. Honest.”

“You’d be ill-advised to argue Halloween with the Phantom of the Opera,” Rollo says, holding a hand out. He scowls behind his handkerchief. “My money, if you would.”

“All right, fine. Don’t give me any more trouble, you hear?”

“Perhaps next time you should have more faith when placing bets.”

He stuffs a handful of crumpled bills in Rollo’s palm, grumbling all the while. You watch your roommate count each one, double- and triple-checking to ensure it’s the correct amount.

Gidel blinks up at him, hammer raised in threat.

“Yes, Gidel, I’ll get you those supplies. You have my word.” Fellow heaves a withered sigh. “You little devils are so conniving.”

“You love us. Don’t lie.”

“We cherish you, too, Mr. Honest!”

“I suppose you’re not impossible to tolerate. A semi-sensible boss,” Rollo agrees, pocketing his well-earned cash.

Fellow huffs, face tinged pink, and refuses to look at any of you. “You’re all nothing but trouble. I can’t believe I’ve put up with you kids for another year. How many more can I take?”

That’s right. Halloween’s over. The store closes in a week, you realize with a start. It went by so fast, and so much has changed.

You look at your humble work family—because that’s exactly what they’ve become in the time you’ve known them—and feel a smile stretching. These are your people. Misfits who have struggled to find their footing in the world. You watch a smirking Rollo and Gidel playfully push all of Fellow’s buttons, with Skully occasionally chiming in with a comment of his own, and you can’t imagine working minimum wage with anyone else.

If someone told you you’d end this season with love, you’d have laughed in their face. Back then, the mere idea was preposterous! Lust has always been your prerogative—loveless desire placed on a towering pedestal, far enough from the blooms of romance cluttering at the base, desperate to claw their way up into your heart. It’s not a joke or an aversion anymore. It’s real. Your first relationship that isn’t built on intermittent sex.

You wonder if you’re still stuck in last night’s Halloween, drunk off your ass and on the verge of passing out. Maybe you did and this is all a surreal dream—a fantasy spun from the silky strands of your heartstrings.

It’s not. Thank the stars it’s not.

There’s a lot you don’t know about romance and what it takes to maintain a relationship with sentimental stakes. You’re not an expert and neither is Skully. Perhaps no one is. Perhaps there is no such thing as experts and perfection where love is concerned. It’s a mystery—one you won’t be investigating alone.

Glancing at Skully, who’s still without his glasses and has been squinting at things from afar ever since this morning, you realize he looks different like this. In his Halloween costume—something he wore exclusively for you—and with his autumnal eyes uncovered by his trademark shades.

He’s cute.

And he’s all yours.

What a magical thing.

The sticky, sweet smell of sugar cookies and gingerbread umbrellas the apartment, cloying like dew on grassy lands in the first rays of sun. A cinnamon-scented candle mixes with the natural scent of the balsam fir positioned in a corner of the sitting room. It reeks of Christmas in here—of commercialized cheer and festive fun—like Santa Claus crash-landed through the door and spattered against the walls in a smattering of good tidings and season’s greetings.

Rollo was against a real tree at first, grousing over the mess and all the work, but even he couldn’t remain a grouchy Scrooge for long. He always softens around the holidays, which makes it easier to exploit his tender heart. And so together, while blasting a playlist of Christmas tunes at full volume, you hung ornaments and strung lights and garland along the full, fragrant boughs.

“We used to do this a lot,” he told you as he placed the star at the very top, and you turned the speaker down to hear him. “Before my brother… Ahem. My father would lift him onto his shoulders and he’d be the one to put the star on the tree.” He smiled at it, his eyes glazed in reminiscence. “And what a luminous star it is.”

You pulled him in for a reassuring side hug. “It’s gonna be a good holiday. Your brother would love it. He’d like that you’re carrying on the star tradition, too.”

Rollo hummed, and for the next few minutes you stood and admired the tree in peace.

Now you’re weeks into December and basking in the break from school. Normally you’d take this time to catch up on lost sleep, wasting the hours away into late afternoon in a comforting cocoon of blankets, aimlessly scrolling through your phone, but today you’re up plenty early. Excitement buzzes through you, even more so when you sniff the air and come away with all kinds of mouthwatering smells. You jump out of bed at the sound of “Last Christmas” and throw on a slim-fitting white sweater and a red jumper skirt with fur trim. After gliding through your makeup routine, you pucker your ruby-red lips in the mirror and fit a Santa hat on your head. It matches the peppermint patterns on this month’s set of acrylics.

You find Rollo hunched over the counter, wearing an apron and garnishing the Yule log with red currants and fondant mushrooms. He sprinkles icing sugar over the cake to give the impression of snowfall.

“You’ve outdone yourself.” Whistling, you examine the counters crowded with all kinds of dishes—some native to Rollo’s hometown and others from your favorite recipes. “Santa’s Little Helper works so hard. I hope you got some sleep.”

He smacks your hand away when you reach to pluck a berry from the cake. “This is nothing. Besides, I’m almost certain Skully’s going to bring snacks.”

“Probably.” Pouting, you cradle your hand and feign hurt. It’s ineffective against the no-nonsense Rollo Flamme. “You should’ve seen the way his parents lit up when he introduced me last month. You’d think he was telling them about how he won the lottery or something—the way they couldn’t stop gawping. I guarantee they’re sending him over with a tray of something to repay the favor.”

“Good. And I hope that Fellow sticks to his promise of bringing an appetizer.”

“He will. Gidel’ll make sure of it.” You sniff your wrist and frown. “Do I look okay? Am I overdoing it? Too much perfume?”

Rollo glances at you. “It’s Christmas. Everyone overdoes it.”

“I know, I know. But… I dunno. It’s my first major holiday with Skulls and I don’t wanna look like I’m trying too hard.”

Rollo places the glass dome over the cake and sets it off to the side. “Isn’t that the whole point?”

“You’re not helping. Do I look nice, at least?”

“You look very nice.” And then he ducks down to check the cookies in the oven. “Why are you so worried? Skully will appreciate you and your efforts regardless.”

“That’s just it! What if I look just okay? I’m not saying he has to drool over me, but if he shows up looking like a prince and I look like a bog monster—”

A sharp rap at the door shakes you out of your spiraling ramble. You and Rollo look between each other and then at the door. He starts for it and you throw yourself into his path to intercept him.

“Wait! I’m not ready. Put a different song on—something to hype me up. Like Michael Bublé’s Christmas album! I need his confidence.”

“(Name), you’ll be fine.”

He strides past you, but you race the rest of the way to get to the door before he can. Wrenching it open, your heart sprouts wings like Icarus…and then immediately burns away at the sight of Fellow and Gidel. Temporarily relieved, you usher them in with a welcoming grin.

“Happy holidays!” You bend down to Gidel’s height and ruffle his hair. He beams up at you, his face half-hidden in a scarf that seems to swallow him whole. “Are you excited for Santa, Gidel?”

He nods and, digging through his pockets, pulls out a crumpled list. You read through the shaky misspellings (and the added corrections from Fellow) and your heart melts. It’s so wholesome. He wants art supplies, carrots for the reindeer, a new sewing kit for Fellow, books, a new hat…

“This is a great list! I’m sure you’ll get everything you want and more.”

“Now why can’t there be a Santa for adults?” Fellow huffs. “I’d love for the big man to come down and shovel my walkway or pay my bills. Winter Wonderland, they say, and yet I’m more frozen than the tundra!” He shakes himself out of his coat, which Rollo gracefully hangs on the nearby rack. He takes Gidel’s winter wear next. “Merry Christmas, both of you. I’ve brought apples.” Looking quite proud, he holds out the bag.

“Nice to see you, too, Fellow.” You lean in to embrace him and he returns the gesture merrily. “I hope the winter’s been kind to you and Gidel.”

“You’re too kind, dearie.”

“You didn’t think to do anything with the apples?”

“Now that, my fine friend, is where your imagination comes in! An apple is a very versatile fruit.” Fellow plucks one from the bag and, after shining it on his sweater, takes a greedy bite. “To some, it’s just an apple, but to others it could be candied or turned into pie. Limitless possibilities.”

“Hmm. Well, thank you for this. I’ll wash them and put them out with the rest.”

“Make yourselves comfy,” you add.

“Oh, and by the way… Would you assure (Name) she looks the furthest thing from a bog monster?”

“What’s this about a monster?” Fellow peers at you, incredulous, while he helps Gidel out of his winter boots.

Embarrassment flashes through you. “N-Not important! Don’t listen to Rollo.”

“She’s fretting over her appearance.”

You bark out a sudden laugh. “Who said anything about that? Me, fretting? No way. I’m just…conscious of today and everything. You know how it is.” You wring the hem of your dress. “It has nothing to do with fretting.”

The three of them—yes, even Gidel—look on with mutual disbelief. Fellow’s the first to break the silence.

“You’ve been together for—how long has it been now?—a month or so, and now you’re afraid of these things?”

“It’s been one month, three weeks, and three days, actually, and I’m not afraid.” You scoff. “Christmas is a big deal for couples. At least, I think it is. If the movies are to be trusted—”

“Miss (Name), take it from me—”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

“Holiday romance is a scam—ack!” Gidel jabs Fellow in the side for that. He clears his throat before carrying on. “But! But, but, but—I’ll be the first to tell you that that boy loves you more than anything, be it during the holidays or on a regular day. Bog monster or not.”

Nodding quickly, Gidel points at you, poses like Skully, and then forms a heart with his hands.

“Based on what we saw of his poetry, he’d probably salivate if you became a monster,” Rollo says, and you can’t refute his claim. “So what’s really plaguing you?”

Sometimes you hate how easily Rollo can read you.

“I haven’t told him I love him. We’ve been together all this time and he showers me in it—it’s obvious—but I haven’t been able to say those words myself. I don’t know why.”

You miss the way they all facepalm.

“I don’t want him to think I don’t feel the same—because I do! I love him to bits. Just…how? How to put those three words into a sentence, and how to say that sentence to him?”

“‘I love you, Skully’. Easy. Wouldn’t you agree, Gidel?”

He stalls around a nod.

“If only.” Rollo sighs. “You show your appreciation for him in other ways. I’m sure he understands.”

“But I think he’d like to hear it. Anyone would.”

“Lucky for you, Skully isn’t ‘anyone,’” Fellow remarks, patting you on the shoulder.

Still… It’d be nice to say it.

Just then, a rhythmic knock resounds. You look to Rollo for help, but he, Fellow, and Gidel have retreated to the oven to pull the cookies out. Why it’s a two-man-plus-spectator job, you don’t know.

The door opens to reveal Santa. A much thinner, lankier version, but Santa nonetheless. With a beaming smile and a hearty chortle, Santa Skully announces his arrival.

“Merry Christmas to you, my dear! You look as lovely as always.” He grabs hold of your hands and pulls you in, kissing each of your cheeks in turn. “Simply ravishing.”

You’re hot down to your toes. The cold air from outside helps regulate your temperature, if only for the moment.

We literally went on a date last week and yet I can’t stop myself.

“You look very handsome, as always.” You tug him down to your height to return his smooches with some of your own, placing one directly on his mouth. You linger long enough to leave him reeling with rekindled cravings. “I hope I’m on Sandy Claws’s nice list this year.”

“Let’s see,” he teases in a singsong, pretending to unfurl an imaginary scroll. He scans it for a few seconds and then leans in to whisper, “Sandy Claws says you’re just shy of naughty, but we can arrange a solution.”

“It won’t be an easy fix.”

“Then aren’t I lucky to have a wonderful soul such as yourself to call my own? A little naughtiness never hurts.”

Fuuuuck. I love him.

With a giggle, you release him and pat his suit down. “Everyone’s already here. Let’s get back inside before we freeze.”

“We wouldn’t want you to become Frozen Charlotte. Beautiful as you would be, I quite like you warm and alive.”

“As do I.”

You step aside to let Skully in. He hauls a red sack through the door. “Good day, wonderful people! Happy holidays and Merry Christmas!”

“Skully, my boy, you made it!” Fellow slinks over to shake his hand. “A very merry one to you as well.”

You shut the door to keep the cold out and watch as he takes his turn greeting everyone.

“I’ve brought gifts for everyone, and my parents sent me with a treat for today’s gathering. They send their well wishes and regards, each one baked into this tantalizing treacle tart.” Carefully, he pulls it from the bag, wrapped delicately in foil, and passes it to Rollo. “It’s my mother’s own recipe. I wish I could take the credit, but unfortunately I’m still learning how to bake.”

“I’ll be sure to send them a card to express my thanks.”

“Why, I’m honored, Mr. Rollo! They would love nothing more.”

“Ooh, a tart? Now that sounds scrumptious. What say we tear into the food, Gidel?”

Gidel agrees with two thumbs raised.

“If you fill up on sweets now, you’ll never have the appetite for dinner,” Rollo scolds.

“By the time the food’s done cooking, we’ll be plenty hungry. And we have lots of stuff to do to pass the time.” You make a vague sweeping gesture with your hand. “Decorating cookies, making gingerbread houses, watching movies… It’ll be fine.”

No one’s going to argue with that. And even if they were about to, the delightful Christmas music puts everyone in bright spirits.

While you and Rollo prepare the main courses, Fellow, Skully, and Gidel clear the table to make space for trays of now-cooled cookies and gingerbread. A rainbow of frostings and various toppings are set down next.

“A very smart use of your guests’ labor,” Fellow comments, but he doesn’t have any credibility when he’s clearly putting his soul into crafting a little bow for his gingerbread man. And then he catches Gidel’s arm before his sleeve can drape into one of the bowls. “Be careful! Now what have I told you about rolling up your sleeves when you’re going to be working?”

He sets his cookie down and turns in his chair to help Gidel fold his sleeves back. He’s given a grateful smile in return.

“What do you think of mine so far, dear Gidel? I’m recreating Lord Jack’s terrifying likeness in cookie form! Ooh, are you decorating yours based on Mr. Honest? How darling!”

Skulls, you’re a delight. I hope you know that.

“What is it?” Rollo asks.

“I’m thinking,” you reply absently, gazing at your reflection in the oven. The Christmas ham cooks within.

“How dangerous.”

“I really like him, Rollo. It’s one thing to show it, but I want to be able to tell him. I want to say it and not feel so…insecure. Yeah, that. That word fits.”

We’ve gone on dates, we kiss, we hold hands, we have sex. He tells me I’m pretty and I melt. I give him all kinds of things because I like spoiling him. I’m going to spend Christmas Day with him and his parents. Everything we do is lovey-dovey, so why can’t I say it? It’s not like it’s a forbidden phrase.

It was for most of your life, though, and that’s the crux of the problem. The phrase has negative connotations. It’s been weaponized in the past, a verbal dagger meant to carve at your chest. Even now, a month into your relationship, you can’t tamp down the surprise whenever Skully lavishes you with that three-word phrase. Over and over, as if it’ll imprint itself on your soul if spoken enough. He means everything he says—each iteration of fondness. You wish you could be so unfaltering in your approach. You wish you could just scream the words because they’re trapped inside your ribs and you desperately want them out. You want Skully to know.

“I’m glad everyone can come together like this,” you say instead, and thankfully Rollo doesn’t press the matter. “We should get together to celebrate the New Year, too.”

“So long as our schedules align.”

“As if Fellow’s gonna be too busy for a free meal.”

For the rest of the day, you decide it isn’t worth it to sweat over the complications of love. You can do that after the holidays. Or later tonight when you’re alone with your thoughts in the shower. Either way, now’s not the time.

I’m too pretty to stress over this.

Somehow it works. You’re beginning to wonder if procrastination (alongside a dusting of delusion) really is the solution to all of life’s issues. Maybe not a long-term fix, but it provides temporary relief from the demons haunting your every thought.

I’ll say it once I’m ready, you catch yourself thinking hours later while Skully feeds you. Mindlessly, you open your mouth to receive another spoonful of whatever’s on his plate. There’s not a time limit on stuff like this. It’s not like I have to say it today or tomorrow or two weeks from now.

“I really should capitalize on Christmas…” Fellow announces, mostly to himself, as he peers out the snow-frosted window. “This town grows so soft during the holidays. It seems far more profitable than Halloween.”

“We can dress Lord Jack up as Sandy Claws and have him pose in the very front!” Skully suggests, pausing midway to accept a bite from your fork. “Wouldn’t that be marvelous?”

“Hmm. There’s potential.” A flicker of mischief spots Rollo’s green hues. “You could play mall Santa and listen to everyone’s Christmas wishes.”

Fellow laughs and cuts into the slab of glazed ham on his plate. “Sounds to me like someone’s offering to stand in as an elf.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” You slam your hand down on the table. “He’s Santa’s Little Helper! Who’s with me? Gidel?”

Said boy is looking at Rollo with hope painted across his youthful face. Any initial objection Rollo had promptly vanishes at the sight. He sighs loudly behind his napkin.

“Ask me again next year and then we’ll see.”

“I didn’t hear a no! Did you, Skulls?”

“We can all dress up together! How lovely!”

“Then it’s settled. Santa’s Workshop will open for business next holiday season!” Fellow raises his glass in toast, and the rest of you follow suit.

“Cheers to that!”

Some time later, while you and Skully exchange gifts with Gidel, Fellow and Rollo slip out of the room. You don’t realize they’re gone until it’s just the three of you, Skully’s chatter filling the space and tricking you into believing there are more people present. It’s not like them to scheme so collaboratively, and they’re not going to pick at the desserts. Suspicion crawls up your back and spins its web in your chest. Those two are up to something. You’re sure of it.

“This one’s for you.” Skully’s voice draws you back to the present. He hands you a tiny box with a bow. “From dear Gidel.”

“For me? Oh, that’s very kind of you.” You peel the lid back and lift a beaded necklace with an accompanying drawing from inside. It’s of you and Gidel holding hands, happy smiles and flowers all around. “This is beautiful! Did you make this yourself?”

He nods, face flushed with pure happiness. You fasten it around your neck, swelling with pride the whole time.

“It suits you well. An excellent job, dear Gidel! And your art looks exquisite. You’ve captured my darling’s radiant smile.” Skully pushes his gift into Gidel’s hands. “Here—open mine next!”

The packaging remains intact for all of five seconds before it’s shredded to pieces. Inside are an artist’s sketchbook and a how-to art guide. Gidel’s mouth falls open at the sight of them.

“I thought you could use something a little more professional. Notebooks are great to start with, but a real sketchbook suits our budding artist even better!”

He hugs both books to his chest and then, setting them down, throws his arms around Skully.

“You’re very welcome! I await the masterpieces that shall soon grace these pristine pages.” He places his hat on Gidel’s head. “Nurture that imaginative spirit of yours and never stop creating.”

“Miss (Name), would you be a dear and come here for a second? Rollo needs you for something,” Fellow calls from just down the hall.

And then Rollo, in a hushed hiss: “Fool! You’re supposed to call Skully first!”

“Oh, pish-posh. They may as well be one body, the way those two fawn over each other.”

“Just be quiet!”

These idiots… you think and shake your head, amused with their antics.

“I’ll be right back.”

You kiss Skully’s cheek and pat Gidel’s head, and then you’re rising to your feet to tromp down the hall towards your bedroom. You’re not sure what to expect when you round the corner and find the both of them there. And nothing’s amiss. Your suspicion triples, and you cast a dubious glance between them.

“Okay, you two, what’re you doing? It’s not like you to plan…whatever’s happening here. Hold on. What is happening?”

“Call it a Christmas miracle, dearie.”

“Or a favor. Whichever is sweeter on the tongue.”

You roll your eyes and that’s when you spot it. The mistletoe hanging from your doorframe.

“All right, Gidel, you can bring Lover Boy over!”

Right on cue, Gidel drags a sputtering Skully along.

“What’s this about? Dear Gidel? Mr. Honest? Mr. Rollo?” He looks at each of them. “Is this a surprise? Am I meant to cover my eyes?”

He’s brought in front of you. Gidel grabs both of your hands and forces them together.

“Merry Christmas, you two,” Rollo says as he departs for the sitting room, where a few gifts still linger untouched beneath the tree.

“Three words,” Fellow reminds you with a hum. He mouths them to you as he passes: You got this.

Even Gidel offers you an encouraging thumbs-up before he, too, skips after Fellow.

“I’m not sure I follow…”

“Look up, Skulls.”

He turns his bespectacled gaze skyward and gapes at the mistletoe. “Oh… Ohhh! Did they put this up for us?”

“Seems like it.”

Awkward silence gathers in the hall.

“Should we kiss?”

“We should kiss.”

“Ah, sorry. You first.” You shrink away, but Skully holds firm to your hands.

“I would be honored to kiss you.” And then he squeals. “Aah, it’s really mistletoe! My first kiss under the mistletoe with my sweetheart!”

He leans in, but you’re not ready. You can’t kiss him until you’ve told him. Until you’ve uttered three magic words.

“Skully, wait!”

He pauses. “Is… Is something the matter?”

You steel yourself. “I… There’s something I want to tell you.”

“I’m listening. You can tell me anything, my dear. Anything.”

“Okay. Cool. Good.” Where the fuck am I going with this? Words. Love. Right. “I know we haven’t been together very long—I’m hoping we stay together forever—and you’ve always been so expressive about your feelings. Heart on your sleeve and all that. But I… I’m not the best at this and I know it’s painfully evident, but I’m really happy to call you mine because you get it. You get me. And I guess I’m the luckiest girl alive to have someone like you. No, not guess. I know I’m the luckiest. Wait, that’s not the point I’m trying to make. Ugh. This is so rambly. Sorry, sorry. The point I’m trying to make is…”

I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone and I need to say it. I need you to know.

Skully’s hand grasps your chin and turns your head back to face him. The contact—his warm palm, soft fingers, gentle, magnetic touch—reminds you of why you feel these things. Tongue-tied, buoyant on a sea of clouds, always strung up in the wonderful web that is romance.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at this. I wanted to say it the first day I realized it, but I couldn’t. I was scared and maybe I still am, but I want to tell you.” You inhale a deep breath. “Skully, I… I really, really… Really, really, really—”

He sweeps you against him, his lips on yours for but a breath. “I know,” he murmurs, closing his hand around yours. “I love you, too. And until you feel comfortable saying it out loud, I’ll continue to echo the sentiment. Now and onwards.”

You stare at him. The first tear tracks down your cheek and then another. Before you can stop yourself, you’re crying. He smiles in that sweet, sympathetic, Skully way. It sculpts your heart into a candle, and the wax organ weeps all over your ribs. Messy. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“No fair… You’re too cool and I’m a mess.”

Thumbing your tears away, he cradles your face in both hands like a saint. “The Spider Queen is always cool and so is my darling (Name). I will always think so.”

“Even when I’m a dreadful mess?”

“Especially when you’re a dreadful mess because that, too, is beautiful. Dreadfully beautiful.”

“You’re seriously amazing… I adore you, Skulls.”

Glassy-eyed and sniffling, you yank him in for a starved kiss underneath the mistletoe.

You might not be able to say those three words right now, but this comes close.

It’s love all the same.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #skully j graves x reader #skully x reader #n/sfw

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obsidianpen · 10 months ago

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What's so great about Harrymort, anyway? This ship basically consists of Stockholm syndrome, power inequality, and abuse. The same can be applied to Tomione but I understand that last one and I even started to appreciate this ship a lot. Hermione is the character most similar to Tom, if she had the ambition that Tom had, she could have become something similar to Voldemort in canon. But beyond that, Hermione is someone Tom/V could respect and have as an ally. She is someone who would be able to rule alongside him, and everyone would benefit from that, since she is fair and good. Also if Tom/V had her by his side, he would be a more stable version than the one in canon. So.. I understand why you like this ship so much but.. the more I think about Harrymort the more I feel disgusted. Harry is not a character that people respect and fear, he is just Harry. Just that. Some random boy. There's nothing special about him, and if it weren't for the horcrux he would already be dead since chapter 1 of the books. Tom/V is a prodigy, one of the most powerful wizards in the books, he wouldn't be interested in someone so ordinary. But let's say yes, that Tom/V is interested in Harry precisely because he is common and average, since they have a similar background - This is difficult to happen, V is not an empathetic character but let's pretend so - and because of the horcrux, of course it's because of the horcrux, that's the only reason, the only thing that makes Harry stand out among the others -not even that came from him lol so sad- If our hypothetical scenario happened, Harry would be a toy for Tom /V -he already is- "ah, but the fun is in how much Harry fights, he was going to fight, that's what he is" oh yes, this argument is the favorite of the Tomarymort fans, huh? He wouldn't be able to fight forever, this character has been in fight or flight mode since the beginning, he'll get tired eventually, V would be able to break him, and do you think V is the type to keep things broken? I don't think so. My point is Tomarymort is a ship that explores abuse, toxic and destructive relationships, physical and psychological torture, Stockholm syndrome etc. And that's fine if you like it but I think we can all agree that this ship and love should NEVER be put in the same sentence . Because love and respect would never exist between these two characters. No matter how good the writer is, some things just don't work. Just become them ooc, that's what happens most lol

Preface: I’m breaking this one down point by point, and then I am never responding to anything similar ever again. I will also not be posting anonymous responses to this. I hate being the middle man for a tumblr shipping war, so I’m not going to participate in that. If you want to respond, you can leave a comment or reblog it into your own page. 💖

What's so great about Harrymort, anyway?

The drama, the intensity, the wrongness, the clashing of opposites, the most extreme version of enemies to loversâ€¦

This ship basically consists of Stockholm syndrome, power inequality, and abuse.

In some fics sure, yeah. But these are all really interesting - terrible, yes, but super interesting to dive into. There is a reason people like to read/watch psychological thrillers, horror, etc. I don’t feel like I should have to explain this very massive, common human drive, so I won’t. Go google it!

The same can be applied to Tomione but I understand that last one and I even started to appreciate this ship a lot.

Cool, you like these things too! And you’re completely allowed to prefer Hermione to Harry. Whatever you want to read.

Hermione is the character most similar to Tom, if she had the ambition that Tom had, she could have become something similar to Voldemort in canon.

Strong disagree here - she did have that ambition imo, she justâ€¦ wasn’t evil, and she became Minister of Magic in canon, so. Pretty ambitious and somewhat similar, just in the legal, ‘good’ way.

But beyond that, Hermione is someone Tom/V could respect and have as an ally.

Mm, no, she was a muggleborn, so in canon, a LOT of major shifts would have needed to happen for her to simply not be killed, or maybe tortured a hunch for fun, first, before eventuallyâ€¦ being killed.

She is someone who would be able to rule alongside him, and everyone would benefit from that, since she is fair and good.

Again, LOTS of things would have had to happen in canon for this to be even remotely possible. Unless you’re imagining some kind of AU where Tom Riddle is the same age as the trio, and they grow up together and can therefore influence each other on more equal footingâ€¦? But that’s Tom, not canon Voldemort, and you started this referencing Voldemort.

Also if Tom/V had her by his side, he would be a more stable version than the one in canon.

Uh, would he? Assuming we’ve jumped over the impossible canon hurdles to get Hermione by Lord Voldemort’s side, by the time Hermione is even in the magical world, he’s been a bodiless spirit with a shredded soul for years. It would be a tall order for Hermione - or anyone - to make him more stable. I like arguing that Harry could sort of manage this in canon because of the horcrux connection, but that’s me making things up that are FAR from canon, and Hermione doesn’t have this.

So.. I understand why you like this ship so much but.. the more I think about Harrymort the more I feel disgusted.

Cool, your feelings are valid! You should probably stop thinking about Harrymort for your mental health. You can block tags/keywords/etc on tumblr so that you see less of it.

Harry is not a character that people respect and fear, he is just Harry. Just that. Some random boy. There's nothing special about him, and if it weren't for the horcrux he would already be dead since chapter 1 of the books.

Well, that’s not true, imo. Harry was the best at Defensive Magic, he was an amazing flier, he is brave and bold and puts his life on the line for others without question - even people who don’t deserve it and who tried to harm him, like Draco. Those are all extraordinary traits that maybe some people make the mistake of ignoring and underestimating.

Tom/V is a prodigy, one of the most powerful wizards in the books, he wouldn't be interested in someone so ordinary.

If not for the horcrux, maybe not. But also, maybe. We don’t know what Harry would have been like if he grew up with a normal happy healthy family. Maybe he would have thrived in many ways, and he would have gleaned some interest. But even without that, see above comment to take note of some of Harry’s traits that he has despite growing up in an abusive home. Voldemort said himself that he values bravery.

But let's say yes, that Tom/V is interested in Harry precisely because he is common and average, since they have a similar background - This is difficult to happen, V is not an empathetic character but let's pretend so - and because of the horcrux, of course it's because of the horcrux, that's the only reason, the only thing that makes Harry stand out among the others -not even that came from him lol so sad- If our hypothetical scenario happened, Harry would be a toy for Tom /V -he already is- "ah, but the fun is in how much Harry fights, he was going to fight, that's what he is" oh yes, this argument is the favorite of the Tomarymort fans, huh? He wouldn't be able to fight forever, this character has been in fight or flight mode since the beginning, he'll get tired eventually, V would be able to break him, and do you think V is the type to keep things broken? I don't think so.

None of this logic adds up to me. How can you say all this about Harry and not apply it to pretty much everyone else, including Hermione? Voldemort WAS far from empathetic. Canonically. And yeah, sure, no one would be able to fight forever. But if anyone has a fire that would last an infuriatingly long time, I’d argue that it would be Harry.

My point is Tomarymort is a ship that explores abuse, toxic and destructive relationships, physical and psychological torture, Stockholm syndrome etc. And that's fine if you like it but I think we can all agree that this ship and love should NEVER be put in the same sentence .

Obviously this depends on what the story is. If it’s a story that explores all those former themes, then it’s probably not a lovey dovey romance anyway. But there are definitely stories that don’t have all those dark subjects, and if someone wants to write a platonic romance where the word love shows up between these two, more power to them! But you don’t get to say everyone in the world can never do a single thing in their fiction. People can write whatever they want! And you get to decide not to read it! Everyone wins.

Because love and respect would never exist between these two characters. No matter how good the writer is, some things just don't work. Just become them ooc, that's what happens most lol

I feel sorry for you. Where is your sense of curiosity, open-mindedness? Maybe you could never write these things convincingly, but some people are more talented than you (don’t take this too personally; no matter how good we are, there are always people more talented than us). It’s okay to not like things and to avoid them based on your comfort level/interest/etc etc, but just because you’re not looking doesn’t mean that such amazing jaw-dropping works that make you believe in the unbelievable aren’t out there.

💖

#Harrymort #tomarry #discourse #I hate that I’m using that tag

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averageallogene · 2 years ago

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Resubmitting because my WiFi weirded out when I was posting.

Jean convinces Diluc to dump you for her, because you are, in her own words, 'Not noble enough'.

With nothing holding you back in Mondstadt, you return to Inazuma to take up your Clan duties.

Less than a year later, you receive Diluc and Jean's wedding invite and you attend with Ayato as your plus-one.

At the reception, Eula instantly recognizes your Clan crest on your obi belt.

Jean proceeds to mock you as she makes her rounds to greet her wedding guest and Eula defends you, stating that your Clan is the overseer of the Tri-Commission *and* the First Clan of Inazuma, out-ranked only by the Raidan Shogun and Yae Miko. And you are its Clan Head.

Diluc ♡⊹˚ Not Enough (SFW)

fem. reader (3rd person) ; angst. cw for jealousy, heartbreak. Implied Ayato x reader.

4k words.

notes. Alright I am back with a bag of piping hot telenovela drama! I had a lot of fun writing this, even if I fear my Jean and my Diluc turned out a little ooc? Oh and Ayato is a petty menace. Well, suffice to say I took some liberty with this one- I hope we can just slide past through it and I’ll get better at their portrayals eventually <3. Enjoy!✧˖°

The tranquility of Mondstadt, accompanied by the welcomed breezes it brought daily, was enough for anyone to fall in love with the country. The land of the Anemo Archon was blessed with peace, as well as a beauty to behold as its people were one of the most welcoming [F/N] had ever come across. It had been enough to compel her to stay a little longer when she’d begun traveling around Teyvat, with it bringing something more that urged her to remain there.

Diluc Ragnvindr, an otherwise very well known bachelor of Mondstadt, had certainly caught her eye. The feeling seemed to have been mutual, for [F/N]’s appearance and Inazuman style of clothing definitely stood out amongst the usual crowd. It had begun friendly enough, the winery tycoon seeking information regarding the Inazuman palette when it came to alcoholic beverages. Of course, as a businessman Diluc had plans of expanding to other nations, with or without vision hunt decrees meddling in the middle. During that time, [F/N] had remained in Mondstadt, visibly stressed with the fate of her country. Thankfully, she had a friendly shoulder to rely on on the same wealthy bachelor. It turned out Diluc wasn’t all appearances, his very being burning with a gentleness that was enough to swoon the young woman off her feet.

[F/N] was far from her family during said time, and exchanging letters was difficult. She’d never been exactly too open when it came to them, yet no one wished to pry. With the borders closed, she had next to no possibility of returning without possibly being detained, regardless of status. War reeked with personal vendettas after all, and to someone of high status as herself, many would indeed covet to take what was hers amidst the chaos. Unbeknownst to her, it had been these early signs of trouble that had helped her in convincing her father of letting her seek out the world whilst she could, sending his only daughter off to the land of the free before she too were to be caged down by duties and unfortunate circumstances.

Homesickness was terrible, but thankfully she had Diluc to aid her. Together they’d spend time together, whether that was in Angel’s Share as the bustling tavern closed its doors for the night, or whenever he offered her to have a tranquil walk through the Dawn Winery. His estate had quickly become one of her favorites, the scenery and the sound of the rustling leaves bringing an inner peace strong enough to temporarily wash away her worries. With the more time they spent together, they found more in common that they had, including dreams, plans for the future, even hobbies. It wouldn’t be difficult to find the pair reading by the fireplace, or even discussing various topics while enjoying a game of chess, hence many murmurs of Diluc’s sweetheart beginning to circle throughout Mondstadt.

Still, he was a traditional man when it came to such affairs. Diluc was one to take things slowly, yet it was more than noticeable the way he held her hand gently, the way he’d open doors whenever they arrived somewhere, the way his hand would linger on her lower back as they walked through the streets. It wasn’t as though they were official yet, but to [F/N], it was more than apparent she was being courted. And truth be told, her heart couldn’t leap any higher. Sadly, her expectations would come crashing to the ground, coincidentally just as the climax of the vision hunt decree took place miles away in Inazuma.

Diluc had grown hesitant, a little distant even. He was a man to remain firm in his beliefs, yet with the right approach and from the right people, even the most determined man could falter. He’d told [F/N] of stories of his childhood, of happier times when his father was around, of times he and Kaeya got along well. Of times he had friends over at the winery, when his mind would only be preoccupied with fantasies he’d construct with his friends at the height of their innocence. [F/N] had listened to him happily, content with the idea of him having a good childhood, of having good friends. Good friends such as Jean Gunnhildr. [F/N] had noticed the way her glance would sparkle at him, yet they were only friends he’d reassured her, and it would’ve definitely seemed as such before it no longer did. The young lady wasn’t ignorant; the way Jean eyed Diluc paralleled the way she did as well, yet she had confidence in the chance she had with him until he’d taken the first step backwards.

He’d been calm, gentle with her upon shooting her down. His heart was murky, he had too many responsibilities. He had a lot to take care of between his tavern and his winery, as well as other responsibilities she wasn’t aware of. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to commit, and he was most sorry for leading her on. [F/N]’s heart broke with the way she was shot down, yet she gracefully smiled still, thanking him for his honesty. Even though she was the one being rejected, the woman placed a friendly hand on his arm, ensuring there were no harsh feelings, as well as wishing him the very best. Wishing that he soon find himself, reassuring that she would always support him. The urge to cry was strong, more so with the way his often gentle gaze shifted away from her. Yet, [F/N] persevered, pushing back any theories her mind crafted as the man she’d grown to love was swept away from her fingers.

A gut feeling whispered to her that Jean had been the instigator, yet with no concrete proof, [F/N] was left out in the rain as Mondstadt grew less and less picturesque. The winery didn’t feel welcoming anymore, the once bustling streets of the main city were now noisy instead of charming. The mere sight of the crest of the knights of Favonius irked her, for it reminded her of the woman she knew was the reason Diluc had grown distant. In all her years of education back in Inazuma, [F/N] had grown to know when a rival struck through the shadows. She’d grown to realize the subtle signs, yet she’d held on faith for her beloved’s friend. It had proved futile, and now, bitterness replaced the fondness she’d held for the city of freedom.

[F/N] held a letter that had finally reached her from her home country, bags being packed by the few escorts that had arrived to retrieve her. She’d arranged for them to only move at night, lest she wished to have unwanted attention on her as well as the Inazuman samurai her bedridden father had sent for her. Her duties ripped her out of her wishes to remain in Mondstadt, reality beckoning her back as her dreams were left behind with a broken heart, swept by the breeze.

Ironically enough, Kaeya, of all people, had been the only one to notice her that night. There was the faint scent of wine on him, yet he was still sober enough to have a coherent speech. He’d waited for her by the city walls, a small expression of regret as he inquired if she really had to go. The relationship between the brothers was brittle to say the least, yet Kaeya would’ve been a fool to deny how Diluc seemed happy with her. How he liked seeing his brother happy. The Cavalry Captain voiced his wish for her to stay, explaining how he enjoyed her company, how Mondstadt did. It stung [F/N], yet with a sad smile, she told him she couldn’t stay even if she wished to. And without explaining further as to why she had to leave, Kaeya suddenly let out with a bitter chuckle.

“Is it because Jean sees you as not noble enough? I can assure you [F/N], no one here really cares for such superficial reasoning.”

It had struck a chord in her, for her suspicions were confirmed. All of this heartbreak had stemmed because [F/N], no matter how hard she tried, would never be one of them, the children of the wind. She was from the land of lightning, and apparently to some, appreciating and learning of their history wasn’t as good enough as being directly related to it. Her hands grasped her coat tightly, and with a curt response of how it was due to other things, she’d thanked Kaeya for everything before leaving the city in the middle of the darkness.

The voyage back to Inazuma had been long, but even more so bittersweet. She’d just arrived in time to say a final goodbye to her father, too sick to even get up from his bed as he held her hand one last time. He could see the heartbreak in her eyes, yet he was too weak to inquire on who was the monster to hurt his beloved daughter. All he could say was that the future of their clan lay now on her hands, the pressure nearly suffocating her. Amidst the conflict with the vision hunt decree, her eldest brother, who’d sided with the rebellion in secret, had been murdered, his drink poisoned. And even as justice had been served, life needed to move on, leaving the seat of Clan Head now to her.

Days in Inazuma were vinegary. Her homecoming had been filled with heartache, having lost her brother, and soon after her father as well. Days, weeks, months, they all passed in a blur, [F/N] focusing on the heavy task of overseeing the tri-commissions as she donned her clan’s crest with pride.

Not noble enough, it kept repeating inside her head every day, every time she put her obi on. The young woman hated to admit it, but the pettiness of it all had become her drive, fueling her as she surpassed her father in more aspects than one. In a short amount of time, she’d proved herself as a worthy ruler of her clan, an iron fist masked with elegance and grace as her name grew more and more respected by all the other clans.

Despite her secluded life filled with responsibility, as well as her still distrusting heart, [F/N] allowed very few people in. She could count her friendly acquaintances with solely one hand, but amongst them were the Kamisato siblings. Businesses aside, they were able to lay down their crests for an afternoon every once in a while, enjoying each other’s company over finely brewed tea as they watched the sunset together, recounting stories to one another as time flew by during such leisure moments.

It had been during one such rare occasion, that [F/N] found herself enjoying tea with Kamisato Ayato, his sister busy with her own set of duties whilst the Commissioner took a much needed break. His trained eye could see how she was tense, eyes lowered as they remained narrowed with a bitterness he’d known all too well. Gently, he’d inquired if all was well, and with a quick glance, [F/N] debated if she should burden the already busy head of the Yashiro Commission with her petty bickering.

“You should know by now that I’m not one to ask things out of courtesy, [F/N].” Ayato had calmly stated, an enigmatic smile dancing on his lips as she took a sip of her tea. “I’m genuinely inquiring about your well-being, for I do in fact care. So please, if something is troubling you, do not hesitate to say.”

And with a heavy sigh, the woman placed her cup down, before finally coming clean. From her large sleeve she revealed to him a sealed letter, one with a wax stamp of nothing more than the Ragnvindr clan displayed on it.

“It seems one of my acquaintances back in Mondstadt is about to get married, and has decided to invite me to his wedding.” Ayato hid his grin of amusement with the way she spat the word acquaintance with such distaste. It was enough for him to have an inkling of what could’ve transpired during her stay in the land of the Anemo Archon. “I suppose it’s his way of voicing his wish of letting bygones be bygones, but I cannot help but taste the sweet irony of it all.”

“Oh? Has he, perchance, hurt you deeply?” He’d inquired, watching as she lowly nodded her head.

“I was under the assumption he’d been courting me,” [F/N] revealed to her friend, remembering the way her heart clenched upon first reading its contents. The fact he was marrying after such little time apart, and to Jean no less, still filled her broken heart with such indescribable bitterness. “But then… Nevermind. I was needed to return, regardless. One way or another, it would’ve ended in tragedy.”

“My deepest condolences.” Ayato spoke softly, his hand gently resting atop hers before holding it cordially. “Do you intend on skipping the wedding? Just know there is no shame in doing what’s best for you.”

“I’ve thought about it.” She sighed, holding his hand back with a thankful squeeze. “Yet, I can’t bring myself to shut him off entirely either. He was, after all, someone who had helped me a lot during my stay in Mondstadt.”

“Ah yes, the heart is a most complex little thing…” Ayato breathed out, a faint smile on his face as he offered her an understanding glance. “When is it taking place?”

“In about three months.” [F/N] had nearly sulked, still glaring at the letter as if her sheer glance could burn the whole thing. Ayato had simply nodded, before insisting she take a little longer to reflect on what would be best for her.

In truth, Ayato decided to free up his schedule for three months into the future. Not only could he be a little petty when it came to his own allies, he truly did care for the well-being of his friend. In all honesty, perhaps it was best he didn’t know the full details of how she’d been shot down, lest he make an even bigger, yet still elegant, ruckus. In the end, he’d offered his company were she to decide on going to the celebration, and against all odds, [F/N] had accepted. With Ayato by her side, the young woman felt a sudden surge of confidence. Perhaps it was the idea of her being accompanied by a kind, and well accomplished man, that had her feeling that way.

And with her confirmation letter being sent with the intent on bringing a plus one, time was the only thing between [F/N] and her return to Mondstadt. Diluc was surprised she’d accepted, but he couldn’t deny he was happy. In all honesty, he truly wished for them to start over, for her friendship was deeply valued to the man. Jean on the other hand, was a little flabbergasted she’d accepted. To her, it had solely been a courtesy to send an invite, yet she’d be lying if she hadn’t predicted her decline of attending their wedding. Despite the slight disappointment, the Lionfang Knight was already stressed as it was; perhaps it would be best to just ignore it, and prepare for their big day as best as she could.

The day for their voyage had arrived, and true to his word, Ayato accompanied her on their ship. Everything had been prepared, their duties being fulfilled by others for the duration of their trip. It was a much needed breath of fresh air, a small vacation he’d joked, smiling with eloquence even when he wasn’t one to enjoy large group gatherings. He’d insisted that he and [F/N] both dress in their finest clothing, for they were representing their Clans on foreign lands, and by extension, representing Her Excellency as well. Their crests displayed proudly on their clothing, made of the finest silks and brightest tones, arms linking together as [F/N] held her fan to her lips as they finally disembarked at the docks.

Ayato had surely made a statement with the entire entourage he’d organized for the two of them, it almost seemed as though he indeed knew of what had been the reason given for their breakup. Then again, [F/N] thought, perhaps he did know. Ayato was a man of many means after all, who was to say he hadn’t read her bitterness like an open book? The way [F/N] looked at him smiling in that knowing way of his didn’t help her case, either… Well, it was too late to go back, anyway.

The way they’d arrived on Mondstadt had certainly caused an uproar, citizens watching in curiosity as the samurai escorted them to the hotel where they would stay until the day of the festivities. Most of the Knights of Favonius were busy as per usual, away from their arrival save for the guards stationed at the city gates who had warmly welcomed them upon confirming their identities and the purpose of their visit. Gossip was quick to follow, yet Ayato paid no mind, calmly chatting away with [F/N] as they were led to their rooms.

News of wealthy guests from the east reached the couple’s ears, yet neither Diluc nor Jean paid much mind. After all, Diluc had many wealthy acquaintances, most of them stemming from his businesses within the wine industry. All he cared for was to ensure all their confirmed guests had indeed arrived, including [F/N]. And upon being told she had in fact, he only nodded his head, not inquiring any further. Him and his bride were much too busy making the final preparations after all, and unbeknownst to him, Kaeya only watched in the background, an amused grin on his face as he patiently waited for the big show.

The bells rang with vigor on the big day, [F/N] jolting inside her room as she wasn’t exactly used to the way their Church would announce anything so loudly. Ayato had already finished preparing, smiling her way before offering his help in adjusting her obi.

“You look positively beautiful.” He’d stated in a matter-of-fact tone, watching as she smiled at him with an honest, thankful gleam. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” She had sighed, nodding her head as she inwardly psyched herself up to go forth with the day. And without much issue, the pair left their hotel and made haste for the sight of the ceremony.

Amidst the sea of guests, their presence had gone mostly unnoticed. It was best as such, [F/N] gazing ahead as she watched the man who she’d once thought would be the one marry another woman. Her heart still clenched slightly at the reality, yet Ayato’s presence helped her in grounding herself as she took a deeper breath. Her arm remained around his, admiring how beautiful they looked, how happy they gazed at one another. Even if Jean forever held a deep stain in her eyes, she couldn’t deny how radiant and gorgeous she looked in her wedding gown. The warm glow of the church veiled around them in a romantic manner, the union finally being tied as the main ceremony came to a close. For the first time in a while, [F/N] found herself smiling at the sight of Diluc with another. Perhaps, she thought, she would eventually get through this. Even if it still hurt, even if she still thought back on how she hadn’t been enough.

Customs between Mondstadt’s weddings and Inazuma’s weddings differed, yet she and Ayato found themselves easily following along as everyone moved on to the reception. It was during this time that the guests began conversing more freely with one another, finally having a look around as they noted who had come to support the happy couple, who had come with whom. It was during this time that [F/N] could feel eyes on her, glances of surprise to herself and her partner being shared as she commented on how the food was delightful with Ayato.

“Is that… [F/N]?” Eula had commented with Kaeya, who had nodded his head with an amused grin on his face. Despite the elaborate way she dressed when in comparison with the way she did when she had stayed in Mondstadt, nothing could escape her eye as a noble herself. “She looks radiant. And the man beside her…”

[F/N]’s voice could be heard not far, Ayato relishing in the way his comment had brought a laugh out of her. He patted himself on his back for having gotten the willpower to deal with such a packed event, for the way his friend seemed more relaxed had been more than worth it in his eyes. They kept on chatting together, a select few female acquaintances of [F/N]’s joining them as they soon found more company to converse with.

“[F/N]! It’s been so long… How have you been?”

“You look amazing, [F/N]! I heard you’ve returned to Inazuma suddenly, is everything alright?”

“Who’s your friend there, [F/N]?” Followed with a knowing wink, causing the woman to blush before denying their accusations any further.

Despite everything, the attention directed to a corner of their reception definitely wasn’t unnoticed by the happy couple, more so by the bride as her violet eyes gazed around. Jean found herself surprised upon landing her eyes on [F/N]’s face, recognizing her rather quickly despite the intricate ornaments she wore on her hair and the delicate makeup. She looked stunning, she thought, before stopping herself and clearing her throat.

Her wandering gaze hadn’t gone unnoticed by Diluc, whose eyes followed before landing on [F/N] as well. It took him a moment to register who it was, and when it did, his shifting expression caused a stir of emotions deep within his bride.

“[F/N]?...” He’d muttered, Jean squeezing his hand lightly to return his attention to her.

“Come Diluc, we have to thank everyone for coming.” She’d hastily led him to the table where the rest of the Knights dined, all raising glasses of champagne and wine as the couple approached them.

“Ah, Diluc, Jean! The ceremony was wonderful,” Lisa had smiled their way, a giggle following. “I nearly teared up at the vows. Goodness, weddings always make me so emotional.”

“The food is also delectable.” Kaeya grinned, his glass rising slightly above the others as he gave his brother a nod. “Congratulations to the both of you.”

“Congratulations! May your years be blessed with happiness and good fortune!” Amber smiled brightly.

“Yes, congratulations.” Eula complemented, smiling softly as Diluc held Jean close.

“Thank you everyone for coming. It is an honor to share such an important day with you all.” Diluc said with the utmost sincerity, smiling softly as Jean rested her hand on his chest.

“It’s a great pleasure.” Eula’s gaze narrowed as she could sense an unnecessary comment bubbling within Kaeya’s chest. The way he grinned spelled trouble, and just as she predicted so, the man swirled his glass of wine before he continued. “Of course, we wouldn’t miss your wedding for nothing! But perhaps it’s to those who’ve come from the furthest you should extend your greatest gratitudes.”

“Of course, we intend on thanking everyone as we go around every table.” Jean huffed with a small smile, still not following where he was headed. She rested a hand on her hip as she raised an eyebrow softly, Diluc too eyeing his brother as if expecting more.

“Oh, that’s great! I was beginning to think you were rounding around [F/N]’s table on purpose. But then again, you must still be thinking about how to properly thank her, no?”

“Kaeya!” Amber sighed, shaking her head as the mood slightly shifted around the table. The man simply shrugged, sipping on his wine before sighing with content over the wonderful undertones, as he explained.

“Ah, Diluc! Congratulations, you lucky bastard!” Varka’s voice roared across the reception hall, hands plopping down on his shoulders as he laughed loudly. Diluc could only remain awkward as he quietly thanked him, the Grand Master practically whisking him away as he further congratulated him and gave him lessons on how to ensure his wife’s happiness.

“Honestly, I was surprised to know she’d be coming.” Jean watched her husband not stray too far, finally letting out a small sigh and folding her arms across her chest. “I’m still not quite sure how we’re going to address this, as her presence seems… Rather ill-intended.”

“Oh?” Kaeya’s gaze turned to her from the corner of his eyes, finding her choice of words amusing as he let her ramble on.

“Diluc had voiced his wish of inviting her, and thinking it was just a formality I decided to agree with it. But for her to actually accept and show up seems bitter.” It was clear the stress was racing to her head, the table listening awkwardly as she rambled on. “While I understand it still must hurt given the circumstances, we would’ve hoped she would’ve let bygones be bygones. I simply find her actions to lack in-”

“Nobility?” Eula scoffed quietly, eyebrow raising quietly before watching Jean hesitate if she agreed with her or not. It was her turn to cross her arms, speaking directly to her. “I find it quite the opposite. I think that accepting and coming by to show her support shows just how noble she is. After all, for the head of her clan to not show up would’ve been scandalous. Do you know what kind of rumors that would start up, Jean?”

“Wait- Did you just say head of her clan?” Amber repeated, her eyes widening as Eula nodded her head.

“Yes. Haven’t you all realized? Look, notice [F/N]’s obi.” The group found themselves rather indiscreetly gazing towards [F/N]’s table, the crest displayed with pride as she enjoyed Ayato’s company. “It’s the crest of the first clan of Inazuma, otherwise known as the overseer of the Tri-Commissions of the nation. Basically, it’s the oldest still standing clan of the nation, only surpassed by the Archon herself and their Guji.”

The table slowly digested the information, Eula proving yet again just how well educated she was not only to what concerned Mondstadt, but aristocracy of other nations as well. Her legs remained crossed as she finished explaining herself, leg bouncing lightly as she battled with herself to remain cordial despite not having quite liked her friend’s statement. Even if Jean was overly stressed, or their situation with [F/N] hadn’t been ideal, it had most definitely been an unnecessary comment.

“Besides, the man next to her is none other than the head of the Yashiro Commission. Their Commission has many duties, including overseeing ceremonies and rituals that do include weddings. So, her choice of companion can most definitely be seen as yet another layer to her virtuous acceptance of your invitation.”

Kaeya found himself grinning unabashedly at the way Jean glanced away, clearly embarrassed with the outcome of the situation. She still held her arms crossed around her chest in a defensive manner, the Cavalry Captain thinking it would just be best if she left to avoid any further hits to her pride. For the first time in a while, he found himself agreeing fully with Eula, letting her take the reins of the situation as Jean’s ego was put in place. Sure, Kaeya liked Jean. Yet still, he couldn’t deny he thought [F/N] would’ve been a better match for Diluc. Call him petty, but he was enjoying the situation.

“Sorry about that,” Diluc sighed as he returned to their side, his hand resting on Jean’s waist as he gazed around the table. “Erhm, everything alright? You all look, how should I put it…”

“Nothing to worry about.” His brother grinned, waving his hand dismissively as everyone began eating their food. “You go and thank everyone for coming by, yeah? Enjoy yourselves, after all it’s your wedding day!”

Despite the confusion with his sudden upbeat tone, Diluc simply nodded, leading his bride to continue on going through table to table. Needless to say, now that it was he who took the lead, they soon found themselves at [F/N]’s table, the man surprised to see her so intricately dressed and in the presence of someone of such stature.

Nonetheless, and despite the sudden lump of awkwardness that lodged itself in his throat, Diluc took his time to properly thank them for coming, [F/N] simply gazing at them and replying it was their pleasure. Ayato was the one to take charge in their response, smiling cordially as he basked in the way his bride seemed to avert her gaze from them. If looks could diminish someone’s presence, Jean would’ve been long gone, reduced to atoms. And Ayato would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it, holding [F/N]’s hand with such delicacy as if they were more than friends.

And as they left, he carefully leaned over her ear, watching as she met him halfway to hear what he had to say.

“Well, that was amusing. Perhaps next year we should invite them to our wedding. A fun retaliation, no?”

“W-What?”

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