#or maybe I’ll write beautiful pieces of literature

[yaadhaimujhkotunekahatha]

Yk, I think I could start using tumblr as a sort of diary. Seems pretty compelling at the moment so I’ll give it a try. Maybe.

[jenscx]

MY DARLING — jang wonyoung x f!reader

you were just living a quaint life in a bookstore, until a stranger barges in on a rainy day, evidently changing your life.

TAGS — very fluffy, princess!wonyoung, slight angst, jealousy (tiny), commoner!yn, flirty wony

WORDCOUNT — 3.9k

the 10th of august, 1820. you sigh at the raindrops splashing against the glass windows, tinted with a slight hue of blue. the bookstore was rarely this quiet but with everything going on in the royal castle, perhaps it was to be expected.

“no customers yet?” you whip your head up, frowning. eunbi, the owner of the bookstore and the one who had raised you, stood at the top of the flight of creaky, wooden stairs. you shake your head, “aren’t the nobles trying to popularise reading? i don’t think it is working too well.”

eunbi laughs. “sure. the literature we sell here isn’t too demanding of their literary skills. and the nobles only flock to poetry, maybe it’s time we expanded our small library.”

your eyes brighten at the thought of an increased variety of books. even though you adored the selection here, it was starting to get quite boring. the constant romance themes evident in every single book was rather… annoying.

“hm, perhaps we should close up for the day, it’s rather late and the rain is heavy. i don’t think anyone else will bear with the storm just for a quick read,” eunbi suggests and you comply immediately, packing up the stacks of papers standing tall at the counter. you were just scribbling on them to rid your boredom.

“i’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she calls out before heading up once more. you sigh again. just as you were about to close the curtains shut, the door slams open and you almost squeal.

a mysterious hooded figure stands before you, heaving up and down as quick breathes escape them.

“uhm, apologies but we are closing for the day,” you say. the figure turns and you roll your eyes. their cloak was dripping rainwater all over the mahogany wood floors that you had just polished that morning!

“terribly sorry for the intrusion,” they (you raise an eyebrow at the feminine voice) mumble, “i needed a place to get away.”

“right, i don’t really care because you are ruining my flooring, so could you take that damn cloak off?”

the person immediately does so, revealing the white fitted bodice that clung to the woman’s skin, almost translucent and you feel a blush creeping up your neck.

“you are… soaked.”

“yes, quite obviously.”

you turn away from her, eyes avoiding her own narrowing gaze as she was quite literally the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.

“i’ll get you a cloth to clean yourself up with,” you mutter while the girl nods and proceeds to walk along the shelves.

if you weren’t so distracted by her apparent beauty, you would be more conscious of how familiar she looked.

moments later, you return with a cloth, and the stranger was peering at one of the many books that lined the shelves.

“fan of jane austen?” you smile when she jumps slightly at your sudden voice, “that is one of her most popular pieces of literature; pride and prejudice from 1813. though we do have earlier pieces such as ann radcliffe’s the romance of the forest, 1791.”

the woman nods, “aren’t you quite acquainted with books? any suggestions?”

“hm, perhaps persuasion by jane austen if you’re a fan, but do read most of her writings, it’s incredible.”

“what about playwrights? anyone that you’ve taken a liking to?” she asks.

you think for a while, “elizabeth inchbald. i thought lovers’ vows was spectacular. shame i couldn’t see it, sometimes i wished i was born earlier.”

“i always thought that it was too controversial and morally ambiguous for people to adore it. thankfully i’ve found someone of my own,” she says, a twinkle in her eye that you can’t help but feel your heartbeat race at. she daps at her neck with the cloth and you evert your eyes.

“a-anyway, what brings you here? you’ve distracted me from closing up.”

she places the book back into its original position and furrows her brows, “do you not recognise who i am?”

you tilt your head and lean on the bookshelves, “no, not particularly. am i meant to?”

“yes, but i’d rather you stay unknowing. if we were to be… friends, could i ask that you never try to find my identity?”

“could i at least know your name? or something to call you?”

“of course, i haven’t introduced myself. you can call me wonyoung.” wonyoung, you think, it’s a pretty name.

she flashes a gleaming smile at you, “could i know yours?”

“y/n,” you reply, “what brings you here?”

wonyoung’s posture slackens and you take the time to admire her luscious black hair that was tied into a bun with small curls and waves. you unconsciously swallow your saliva as wonyoung answers you.

“just running from my responsibilities. quite lucky of me to end up in a quaint bookstore with you, to be frank.”

your eyes trail down from her face to her collarbones, mouth going dry at the sight of her neck. god, you think, clenching your eyes shut.

“you all right? your cheeks are… flushed,” you spot a hint of a teasing smile on her face.

“how old are you?” wonyoung asks suddenly.

“i’m eighteen this year.”

“oh, i’m eighteen as well.”

you grin, “what responsibilities could you have at eighteen? we’re the same age, yet i’m just working at a bookstore.”

wonyoung shakes her head, almost sullen, “you have no clue how hectic it is back there. if here is shallow water, when i go back there, i’ll drown in the tsunami.”

“how poetic.”

“impressive, isn’t it?”

you giggle first and wonyoung’s laughter joins soon after. her laugh is melodic and soothing, a breather. it’s like you’ve just found your oasis.

and maybe she’s found hers.

your night is spent alone. no wonyoung to fill the empty spaces of silence apart from the occasional footsteps outside of the bookstore. you spent all day with her, or rather the rest of the day until she deemed too late to reach home. no matter how hard you try, your mind ends up wandering and you dream of rosy cheeks with a bunny smile.

you awake the next morning with a letter at your doorstep, addressed in neat calligraphy.

dear y/n,

i could not tell you how much i enjoyed yesterday, it was an eye-opening experience. i am definitely the luckiest person ever. i can’t believe how lucky i was to enter your bookstore and meet you. i hope we stay acquainted forever. send your reply to this address, i will wait for it.

sincerely yours,

wonyoung

if it were from anyone else, you would have found it desperate, or creepy. but even after a day of meeting wonyoung, you were enchanted.

hence, you quickly draft up a letter, perhaps she could see how much desperation there was in the messily scrawled handwriting for you to see her again.

it took almost no time for you and her to communicate daily through letters. even though you only met her three weeks ago, it felt like you’ve known her forever. wonyoung was your everything. and maybe you were her everything too. she was the part of your routine you looked most forward to.

eunbi had questioned you about your sudden enthusiasm and happiness. after all, she had been your caregiver since she had taken you in and you were never this dreamy.

wonyoung would sometimes drop by during the evening and you would spend a few hours together before she had to leave. it was the highlight of your week. a few hours would be all you could have, until a letter arrives at your doorstep.

my darling y/n,

how have you been? i found that book you’ve been raving about. i must extend my apologies for reading it beforehand, you were just too excited about it that i had to read it for myself. anyway, would your bed be free tonight? could i spend the night at your bookstore? my parents finally gave me permission to do so. i do hope you’re free, if not i’ll be missing you terribly.

sincerely yours,

wonyoung

you almost crumple up the letter in excitement. wonyoung was finally sleeping over? it was a joyous celebration. you swiftly write back, hoping that the letter would reach her in time. it always did, surprisingly. you weren’t sure if the post was meant to work that fast. you were counting down the seconds for when she would arrive and when the grandfather clock struck six thirty in the evening, a knock resounded on the door.

“wonyoung!” you squeal, rushing into her arms and burying your face into the crook of her neck. physical touch had become common between you and her, initiated by her at first but mostly done by you now. you could not resist feeling the warmth her body gave off.

“good evening, yn,” she breathes out, “i almost tripped on the way here. i was so exhilarated when i received your letter.”

you grin, quickly locking up the doors and closing the curtains. wonyoung lingers around you, a bag of clothes at her feet, you presume it contained her sleepwear.

“darling,” you feel a shiver go down your spine at her voice, “shall we head up?”

you nod and interlock hands with wonyoung, dragging her up the stairs and heading into your bedroom. your bed wasn’t tiny, but with wonyoung’s height, her feet would be dangling off the edge since your mattress was wider and not lengthy.

“you can change here, i’ll just look away,” you say.

“what if i want you to look?”

your cheeks heat up and you cover your eyes, “shut up, you flirt.”

“my sincerest apologies,” wonyoung says slowly, “do you not like it when i flirt with you?” you roll your eyes. she would always ask questions which she knew the answers to. wonyoung just wanted the satisfaction of you saying it out loud.

“i like it,” you mutter, embarrassed.

“you’re adorable,” she laughs and starts to untie the laces on her corset to reveal her shift under. you take this as your cue to turn away.

a few minutes pass and wonyoung finally says, “i’m done. you can turn around now.”

she was adorned in a long light blue night rail with lace linings. you still thought she was the prettiest girl to ever walk the earth.

wonyoung flops onto your bed and you join her.

“blow out the candle, won't you?” wonyoung requests. without the light of the candle, you can only see her face that is illuminated by the moonlight.

you both slip under the sheets, facing each other. your eyes trail along her features and your fingers ache to trace them.

“how was your day? you never answered me in your reply.”

“you were genuinely asking? i thought you asked as a formality,” you chuckle at her affronted expression.

she rolls her eyes, “of course i was genuine! i’m always interested in what you have to say.”

“why are you being so cheeky today? so many flirtatious remarks,” her long arms wrap around your waist and you giggle.

“i’m just naturally like that,” wonyoung smiles, “and you like it, don’t you?”

you nod shyly.

“i do.”

“then i’ll stay this way. be whatever that you like.”

“i like you,” you confess.

wonyoung blinks slowly. your words and sincere tone seeping into her heart as a large grin overtakes her face.

“and i adore you.”

your night, unlike the first, was spent wrapped up in wonyoung’s embrace. warmth covering your body and a smile across your face the entire time you slept. it was the most peaceful night you’ve had. yet, as all things go, it was just the calm before the storm.

something had been bothering you, wonyoung could tell. after that night spent together, you and her were inseparable. but the more time you had together, the more it seemed like you were drifting away in your thoughts.

“darling?” you turn around in her embrace, “are you all right?”

“yes, i’m totally fine. couldn’t be better than being here with you.”

“i feel the same but, are you certain? it just feels like something is bothering you. if anything, could you tell me?” wonyoung asks. your body visibly tenses up and even in the dark, she could still see how your face was contemplating.

“why did you ask me to never search for your identity?”

wonyoung suddenly unwraps her arms from around your waist. you miss her warmth instantly.

“why are you bringing this up now?” she counter asks.

you frown. “just remembered it. i was reminiscing the first time we met.”

“ah.”

“also because eunbi has been asking me about you and i don’t know what to tell her. i realised i don’t know much about you and i want to change that,” you explain.

wonyoung’s breath hitches.

“eunbi? have you mentioned my name to her?”

“no, i wasn’t too sure if i should have… wonyoung, seriously, what’s this whole ordeal with your identity? can’t you just tell me?” you ask.

you decide not to mention the fact that you have actually questioned eunbi about wonyoung. the amount of warning signs about her identity had been increasing daily and you weren’t so certain about how much you could trust wonyoung anymore.

“you’re lying,” wonyoung states.

“what?”

“you know my identity.”

“wonyoung, love—”

she separates herself from you immediately and sits upright. your bubble of tranquillity bursts and the peaceful future you’ve created for the two of you was ruined.

“i told you. i specifically told you not to go looking!” her voice raises, “and you still do? and i know you’re lying to my face! you know that…”

you can’t stand it anymore. “that you’re the princess? of course i do! how could i not remember your face and name plastered everywhere? are you not aware of how influential you are? the media has been going insane at how your birthday ball was going to be the highlight of this century! but this doesn’t mean i love you less!”

“it’s not about that! you betrayed my trust. how could you? it was the first thing i’ve ever told you; don’t go looking for my identity! and i… this isn’t going to work out. i apologise, but i have to leave,” wonyoung hisses and quickly jumps out of your bed. you can only stare in silence as she packs up her clothes and leaves out the door.

you sit there on your cotton sheets, stunned at how the evening’s played out. a sigh escapes your lips and your heart aches at the forlorn expression that wonyoung had.

you couldn’t believe that wonyoung had just left like that. you thought she would at least hear you out and it wasn’t as if you yourself had gone looking for her identity! her name was basically on every single piece of news article, how could you not know? and wonyoung wasn’t a popular name.

perhaps everything will be normal in the morning. wonyoung’s letter would show up at your doorstep, apologising for how she acted and you would still forgive her.

needless to say, you were wrong. there was no letter, and definitely no bouquet of tulips that normally accompanied the letter.

“i saw the princess stomping out, did you two have a fall out?” eunbi asks. you nod, sulking.

“she found out that i knew she was the princess and she wasn’t too enthusiastic about it.”

eunbi thinks for a moment. “aren’t you going to try to chase after her? wouldn’t it be right?”

“why should i? she said we weren’t going to work out.” repeating those words brought a new level of pain.

your caregiver laughs, “that’s exactly what sakura said as well and she ended up grovelling.”

you raise an eyebrow. “who’s sakura?”

“some foreign lady. anyway, are you going to write to her or not? her birthday’s coming up soon.”

“her birthday,” you repeat, “i could just go to her birthday banquet.” eunbi blinks, “i did not mean that but sure.”

you have a newfound sense of confidence. wonyoung couldn’t do anything if you just went to her banquet, right? well, she could just order for the guards to take you out but it was open to commoners. there was a dress code but wonyoung had gifted you a pretty expensive dress recently.

“august 30th, it starts at eleven in the evening,” eunbi informs you, “you do know your way to the castle? i have other plans that night.”

“yes, of course. thank you for the idea!” you smile. as you head off back into your room, thoughts of seeing wonyoung again run through your mind.

the day had finally come. your hair was parted in the middle with your bangs curled that occasionally twitched your eyes. your bust was pushed up ever so slightly by a tight fitting corset. you had a low cut violet gown and white gloves that extended up to your elbows.

the closer you got to the palace, the more your confidence dwindled. what if wonyoung orders for the guards to escort you out? it would be ironic for you to show up at her banquet, where she would have to reveal her identity. you shiver at the thought of wonyoung’s distrustful gaze.

what happened to staying together until death parts you two? wonyoung had been so romantic with her words, maybe it was all faux.

you shake your head. you couldn’t think of that! now, you just had to reassure her that her identity revelation would not change anything. and maybe you could even try to revert to the same relationship status as before. once you enter the ballroom, you’re surrounded by nobles and commoners alike, all dressed to the nines. you scan the room, hoping to see wonyoung.

“goodness,” one of the more fashionably dressed nobles say, “dukes from high society are starting to court her already. i heard that many are offering their whole family wealth for her hand.”

your face falls. of course there would be people wanting to court her. wonyoung was so angelic and there would be no reason for rich dukes to not throw themselves at her.

“good evening, my lady,” you spin around, facing an older woman with a rather disgruntled young man, “could i ask where you are from?” luckily, eunbi had trained you beforehand.

“miyawaki y/n,” you lie through your teeth, “i’m not from around here, just passing through to visit the princess.”

“splendid! i am from the house of lee and this is my son, heeseung,” the woman exclaims, “i thought you were a perfect match for him.”

your eye twitches.

“ah, yes.”

“i’ll leave you two to get acquainted, hopefully by the end of this ball, you will be dancing with each other.”

“my lady will not be dancing with anyone,” your heart leaps. an arm links around yours and you almost instinctively lean into the familiar warmth.

the woman stands rooted to the ground while heeseung quickly scurries off.

“m-my sincerest apologies! i did not know,” she bows. wonyoung waves a hand at her and turns to look at you instead.

before the crowd starts to gather around you, wonyoung turns her head and swiftly drags you by the wrist through the many nobles.

“wony— princess!” you shriek.

she pulls you into an empty room, away from peering eyes and eavesdroppers. her gaze on you is heavy with emotion and you can barely get a chance to identify them before she speaks.

“what on earth compelled you to come here?”

“i just wanted to see you. you ran off rather quickly last night, much like that heeseung boy.”

“y/n, you can’t just show up here looking like that. i… i told you once you found out who i really was, we could never truly be together,” wonyoung sighs.

you frown, “so you weren’t going to try anyway? were you just going to love me when it was convenient? what happened to all those sweet promises you’ve made to me?”

“i can’t keep those promises if the public found out we were together,” wonyoung clasps your hands together.

“so you were just loving me for the hell of it.”

“i sacrificed lots for you.”

“but you still can’t be with me.” you take wonyoung’s silence as her answer. there’s tears welling up in your eyes and wonyoung’s gaze darts to them instantly.

you tear your hands away from hers to wipe your tears falling down your cheeks.

“this has been… eye-opening. since we were never going to work out anyway, i should take my leave. sorry for taking up your time when you should have been spending it celebrating. happy birthday.”

your heart aches. the beats slow down but you feel like it’s been crushed into little bits, which were then thrown into molten lava and rebuilt. then crushed again by wonyoung.

“wait a moment, don’t…”

“i should have know it would have ended up like this. i’m deeply sorry again, your highness,” you say coldly, bowing.

wonyoung’s mouth is open, almost like she wants to say something. but you can’t be with someone who contradicts herself every time.

“darling,” the nickname slips out and you feel sobs wreck your body, “don’t cry, wait, please.”

“my love, please look at me, please don’t walk away, i was a fool. i wasn’t thinking at all,” wonyoung rambles out, “please stay and listen, which is ironic, i realise but i can’t believe i thought i could ever live life without you. i need you. i was just scared of what they would say, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore. i realised that you’re my only light and i will never find someone better than you. it was all my doing, i never meant to hurt you like this. i’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

wonyoung stares at you, affection and longing in her eyes. so that’s what it was.

“i’m not forgiving you just yet. you still hurt my feelings.”

“of course. i’ll grovel for eternity for your forgiveness.”

you sniffle and slap her cheek lightly, not enough to even hurt.

“i hate that you can make me feel like this.”

“like what?” she asks, looking down at you.

“like everything’s okay.”

“is everything not okay?”

a smile overtakes your face, tears still dripping down your cheeks but you feel contrary.

“don’t ever do that again,” you fling your arms over her shoulders and instinctively, her hands go around your waist.

“i adore you, and if i were to ever hurt you intentionally, please just execute me on the spot,” she whispers into your ear, making you giggle.

“executing the princess is illegal, i would be given the death sentence as well.”

“then we would be together in the afterlife at least.”

“you are such a dork.”

“only yours.”

(to my darling y/n,

i hope everything’s all right back at the bookstore. could i drop by sometime later? maybe we could even read belinda by maria edgeworth. i’ve heard it is quite a worthy read. your wedding gown is gorgeous, for your information, i reckon i’ll sob at the alter. as always, do tell me about your day later. i will be counting down the minutes until i can see your beautiful face. i love you.

forever yours,

wonyoung

to my princess,

of course you can drop by. i’m expecting more books to arrive later in the afternoon. unfortunately for you, i’ve already read belinda but i will reread it with you if you want. i hope you’re doing well back at the castle; how’s the wedding preparations going? tell me all about it later. i’ll be counting down the minutes as well. i love you too.

your darling,

y/n)

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Love me or hate me, both are in my favor. (Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader [HS Academic rivals AU])

Babe wake up, new series just dropped! This is not proofread btw

(Y/N)-Your name.

Cursing, Miguel being jealous? (If you squint), i am mexican but my Spanish sucks so apologies I’m advance, Phantom of the Opera spoilers (???? Through I’d throw it out there)

Word count: 3k

Series Masterlist Series playlist

Chapter 1:The world was on fire

—

“Love me or hate me, Both are in my favor. If you love me, I’ll always be in your heart. If you hate me, I’ll always be in your mind.”

The quote was etched into the front of your red hardcover notebook, with gold details covering the edges of the front. The black ink was oddly neat despite how deep you had to indent the words over and over on the cover. Miguel has noticed that you would always write a beautifully tragic quote on the front of all your English notebooks every year.

Last year, the quote was, “Love is blind, and lovers cannot see.”

For sophomore year, “She could have been a poet or she could have been a fool.”

And for freshman year it was, “‘I miss her.’ ‘You’re dead.’ ‘Even in death, I mourn her.’”

The first time Miguel saw it was when you both were in the 7th grade, being paired up to write a report about some random novel that Miguel couldn’t remember the name of. You had pulled out your notebook, that year it was a dark forest green, with the quote being, “But just because I’m not going to wish for it doesn't mean the moth can ignore the flame. It’s in the moth's blood.”

Miguel’s dark maroon eyes rolled to the back of his head, it was almost pretentious he thought, a way to show off how “artsy” you are. He allowed a scoff to escape his plump lips, you simply ignored him as you began to flip through your notes.

You were much more into history, the arts and most of all, Literature, while Miguel was more into science and math. Miguel didn’t understand why you loved it so much, he didn’t think your favorite subjects were nearly as important as his. Who cares what some dead poet wrote a thousand years ago, when he could be the next to make a big scientific discovery? Like time travel or curing cancer. Sure, Miguel still did the work in english and history, and for someone who didn't care for it, he would always do so well, and that drove you up the wall, but Miguel could say the same about you with math and science. Miguel would always tune you out when you would ramble on about some new book you were reading to your friends, or would ignore the way your eyebrow would furrow together and your teeth would bite down on your lips when you’d get to a particularly good spot in your novel, stopping every once and a while to annotate, would scoff at the the way your eyes would stare at piece of art with such fascination and wonder when the class would go to a field trip to an art museum, groan at how’d you always talk about the beauty of old gothic architecture, talking about how the beauty of the buildings was almost tragic.

The key word, would.

As you two grew older, and your competitiveness in your grades became more intense, Miguel couldn’t help but start to wonder what goes through that pretty little head of yours. He wanted to see how the deep corners of your mind worked. What made your brain tick, maybe if he saw the world through your perspective, he would understand you more.

Your manicured hand grabbed your notebook by the bloody red spine, gently gripping it before placing it into your bag, and zipping it up. Slinging it over your shoulder as you turn to talk to your friend who sat next to you, before you both made your way out of the AP English classroom.

You and Miguel had been attending the same classes since you transferred in the 6th grade, both of you attend one of Nueva York’s most prestigious and high-end boarding schools. At first, Miguel didn’t pay you any mind, figured you were just another spoiled brat with daddy’s money, and a trust fund big enough to last you until you find some poor unsuspecting fool to ask for your hand and make you into a trophy wife, like most of the girls who attend the school. But it wasn’t until you had beat his score later that year on the mid-year school wide testing did you get his attention. He could remember it like it was yesterday, he was sitting in class with a near perfect score of 97% written on top of his test answer sheet, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he slid the paper over to his left where Peter Parker had sat.

“I swear man, you’re like, a genius.” Peter grumbled to Miguel as he glanced at his friend’s paper, before at his own which had 78% written at the top. Peter’s hand went up to pat Miguel on the back, but before Miguel could reply, just bearly in earshot, he had heard an unfamiliar voice speak.

“Yeah I got a 99, I wasn’t expecting…” Miguel didn’t catch the rest, but the first part was enough for his whole body to feel hot all over, and make his stomach twist in discomfort. He felt like he was about to go into a state of shock, or rather he was already entering one. He’s never had someone top before, if felt like he was dreaming, well, maybe having a nightmare was a better way to describe it. He couldn’t remember how long he had sat at his desk afterwards, in a weird state of disassociation until Peter had pulled him back to reality. He swore to himself, after that moment he’d never let you top him again.

But that was a hard promise to keep. Because whether he'd like to admit it or not, you were good, always keeping him on his toes. You were almost like a breath of fresh air for him, albeit a painful one, like the first shallow breath after almost drowning. Before you , Miguel was growing content, growing bored, no other student was anywhere close to his GPA, even the second best at the time, he felt simply untouchable, but then you came along, and you changed everything for him.

At first, he saw you more as a pest, an annoying little fly that kept buzzing around no matter how many times he had tried to swat you away. Upon your first time formally meeting with Miguel, you were polite and civil, the kindest smile on your face as you stuck your hand out for him to shake as you introduced yourself to him. Miguel just glanced at your hand with a sour, unamused expression on his face, before his eyes wandered back up to your face and he just let out a noise that was a mix between a grunt and a scoff before turning and walking away, leaving you confused and a little bit hurt from his unfriendly and quite frankly rude actions, you decided to just brush it off, maybe he was having a bad day and wasn’t in a good mood. So a few days later you tried to approached him again in hopes for a better interaction, only for those hopes to get squashed when he basically told you to fuck off, rolling his eyes and ignoring your presence once again as he walked past you, “accidentally” shouldering you in the process. You decided to stop trying to be nice to him after that.

For about the first year since you transferred, you and Miguel simply pretended the other didn’t exist, neither would approach or interact with the other unless absolutely necessary, the only constant reminders of each other's presence was when one would beat the other during tests, report cards, etc. Eventually the plain out ignoring shifted to fleeting glares and glances, eye rolls and snarky remarks muttered under both of your breaths, both of yours already rocky relationship with each other becoming more and more intense and open as you both got older, neither finding the energy to even attempt to tolerate the others presence anymore. So now you and him were stuck in this repetitive circle with each other, but neither of you were doing anything to stop it.

—

“I’ve already told you Gabe, I’m not going to give you my notes from last year. Read the book like everyone else.” Miguel sighed, stuffing his free hand in his pocket, his other hand holding onto his backpack strap, walking to the housing building across the campus of Nueva York’s Preparatory Academy, where he and his younger brother shared a room.

“But Miggy!” Gabriel whined, his lips coming out in a pout, and Miguel’s nose scrunched in annoyance at both the nickname and the high-pitch tone of his brother's whine. “What’s the point of me being brothers with one of the top students at this school if I can’t steal your notes! Besides, I've tried and I just can’t get into it. Who would have thought that Frankenstein would be such a boring book, and don’t get me started on how the paragraphs are set up!”

“And that’s my problem because?” Miguel’s eyebrow quirked up, sending Gabriel an unamused look.

“Look Miguel, you might not get it from my point of view, but it’s very difficult for me, being your brother. From an academic standpoint I mean. The teachers expect me to have the same intelligence as you. I'm not stupid, don’t get me wrong, I’m just not on the same playing field as you. Also, I don’t like reading.” Gabriel shrugged.

“And what makes you think that I do?” Miguel retorted with an eyeroll, opening the glass doors to the housing building for his brother before stepping in himself and shutting the door behind him.

“Well didn't you get an A+ on your report about the book last year?”

“No. I got an A-.” Miguel grumbled, and after a moment, Gabriel’s expression perked up a bit, as if a light bulb had gone off in his head.

“Oh riiight, that one girl got an A+, what was her name again?” Gabriel said in an almost teasing tone, before throwing out various names at Miguel that were similar to yours, obvious bait to see if his brother would bite, and he did.

“It’s (Y/N).” Miguel corrected with a hash glare.

“Oh, right, right.” Gabriel’s lips went up in a slight smirk, his hands going into his pockets to fish out the keys to their shared dorm room. “Maybe I can ask her to help me, I mean she’s a bookworm, right?”

Miguel didn’t answer the question, not completely sure if it was rhetorical or not, choosing to stay silent as they finally stopped in front of their room.

“I could ask for her notes, maybe take her out for some coffee as a thank you.” Miguel’s face scrunched with annoyance at the implication, his brother knew how much you two disliked each other, and a more sound part of his mind was telling himself that his little brother was just pulling at his leg, but that didn’t stop him from the draggers he glared at Gabriel.

“Don’t even think about it. Hasta la mira mal a esa niña, y estás muerto. ¿Entiendes?” Miguel hissed, his voice dropping an octave with the threat. (If you even look at that girl wrong, you’re dead. Got it?”)

Despite his older brother’s threats, Gabriel’s smirk only turned into a wide grin, before he put his hands up as I sigh of surrender, his keys dangling with the motion before he unlocked the door, and walked into the room, Miguel following closing the door behind him.

—

“I don't understand anything about this, (Y/N).” Your friend, Mary Jane, or MJ for short, groaned as you both sat down in one of the school's many libraries, school supplies sprawled on top of the mahogany desk. It was fairly empty, today, but you both took space in one of the empty study rooms to keep from making too much of a disruption from anyone else who might go in, the repeated sound of rapid tapping of MJ’s mechanical pencil hitting the desk as you catch her biting her bottom lip in frustration.

“I know.” You giggled with a small smile, putting your hand on her forearm in an attempt to comfort her. You both have been at it for about 3 hours now, your English teacher had assigned everyone to write a 2,000 word essay about the book being read in class Romeo and Juliet. You’ve already read and watched the play a million times so you knew the back of your hand.

“Like I understand that, they fall and love and die and stuff, but all the jokes and the symbolism and stuff-“

“That’s why I’m here, MJ.” You grinned at your friend, and she just scoffed at you with a friendly smile, a smile you returned, before getting up from your seat with a small stretch. “I’ll be right back, I'm going to go stretch my legs.” You told her, which only got you a hum in response, before you slipped out of the small room. No matter how much time you’ve spent in this specific library, (it’s your favorite one) you’ll never get tired of the earth and wood-like tones that filled your senses whenever you would enter in the building, the four old walls always filled you with such warmth, they were like a second home for you. You let out a deep content exhale as your black Mary Jane heels tapping quietly against the old wooden tiles of the library floor. Mindlessly wandering with no real destination in mind, but making sure you don’t stray too far from the study room, it wasn’t difficult to lose your sense of direction in the make-shift corridors made from old bookshelves. You turn a corner without thinking, a hand goes up , gently brushing the spines of the books as you continue walking. What genre section were you in?

Your steps came to a halt, taking a step closer to the shelf as you grabbed the book your hand was resting on. Your lips came up in a soft small smile as you read the title of the book in your hands.

The phantom of the opera.

Oh how you loved the story, you’ve watched both the movie renditions and the stage version countless times, but you’ve read the novel more than you’ve watched all three combined, but your copy sadly got ruined when you dropped it in a puddle of water while on a walk, and haven’t had the time to get a new copy. Was it bad that if you were in Christine’s shoes, you would have picked Erik over Raoul?

Your fingertips opened the door, flipping the pages until you landed on the page you were looking for.

Hardly breathing, he went up to the dressing-room and, with his ear to the door to catch her reply, prepared to knock. But his hand dropped. He had heard a man's voice in the dressing-room, saying, in a curiously masterful tone:

"Christine, you must love me!"

And Christine's voice, infinitely sad and trembling, as though accompanied by tears, replied:

"How can you talk like that? When I sing only for you!"

Raoul leaned against the panel to ease his pain.

His heart, which had seemed gone-

“Why am I not surprised I’d find you here?” The sudden words interrupted your reading. You didn’t need to lift your eyes to know the source of the voice, the slight accent and the deadpan tone gave it away.

“Hello to you too, O’Hara.” You replied, your eyes not lifting, your hand flipping to the next page despite no longer reading the words on the pages anymore, you weren’t going to give Miguel the satisfaction of knowing he had your attention. The act didn’t last very long though when his finger went up to lift the book up to read the cover, your gaze going up to finally look up at him, a bored expression on your face, a tsk leaving his mouth when he realized what you were reading.

“What?” You question him, wanting to know what that reaction meant, you closed the book and put it back on the shelf.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

His lips come up to a smug smirk.

“That you find that shit romantic.” He stated like he knew it was a fact, and you’d rather die than admit to him that you did, in fact, find it romantic. “Don’t act like you don’t, I can read you like a book. No pun intended.”

Your face came to a scowl, instead of entertaining him with a response, you crossed your arms and slightly leaned against the bookshelf behind you.

“What are you even doing here Miguel? You don’t even like reading.” He didn’t entertain your question with a response either, rather he just shrugged, and took a step closer, his hand going up to rest against the self, his hand was right next to your head.

“Do me a favor?” He asked, but his tone came out more like it was a suggestion rather than a request.

“Why would I do that?” You scoffed.

“Don’t make me beg, muñeca.” His tone dropped an octave. Despite the pet name, his voice was filled with nothing but coldness. (Doll)

“Don’t give me ideas.” You teased. Your lips twitched up slightly.

“If my brother comes to you and asks to take you out, go ahead and say no.” That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting him to say, but you slowly nodded your head regardless, deciding to not ask what his brother said to him that would make him come up to you about that. His hand came back down to his side as he took a step back “Good. How’s the essay coming?”

The sudden topic change you off guard a bit, but you quickly recovered, since it was something you’d both been more used to talking about, your studies.

“I’m almost done, I’ve mostly been just helping MJ with hers.” You explained, as you stood up straight again. “You?”

“Same, if it weren’t for Peter I probably would already be finished with it.”

“Don’t stress about it too much, O’Hara.”

“Oh, why not?”

You smiled.

“Because I'm gonna get a better grade on my paper anyways.”

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @oharasfilipinawife @mxltifxnd0m @loser-alert @homewreckingwreck @dumb-gemini12

[screamingmandrakes]

Friend, can I ask why you’re considering deleting two of your tomarry fics? They’re lovely pieces of literature! From one author to another, I know I can’t tell you what to do with your own work, but you don’t want to be associated with them, orphan them at least as opposed to deleting them. I can well and truly say that I have a number of fics bookmarked that are now orphaned, and I don’t remember who wrote them now, even ones I read regularly. If it’s the association that concerns you somehow, orphaning them will solve it if you give it weeks to months. I downloaded them both, but I hope you’ll reconsider your decision to delete them. They are a beautiful addition to the fandom and you are a fantastic writer!

To answer your question as to why I want to: I think it’s bad. Probably shouldn’t be so vulnerable on the internet but it stems from insecurity and feeling like I lack talent. I honestly didn’t think I had people that actually followed my writing and kept up with it. Which - considering the number of user subs I have, I don’t know why I assumed that. I avoid orphaning my fics because of the lack of control. I can’t hide what I think is badly written fic if it’s orphaned.

Honestly, I didn’t expect people to react so strongly to me mentioning deleting things. It’s very sweet! It’s really nice to know people enjoy what I create, even if I struggle to see it’s worth.

I’ll be leaving the fic up due to the response I got. Thank you so very much for this message 🩷 I do plan on posting more Harrymort soon. I have a Tomarry monster AU I didn’t finish for a fest, so maybe I’ll type the rest of that up soon.

Thank you again 🫶🏻

[holdonletmegetthisout]

For God’s sake start a journal already.

Somewhere along the way I was told I wasn’t great at writing. Maybe by a peer… or maybe it was a conclusion I’d drawn on my own? I distinctly remember sitting in creative writing, struggling to conjure up a story from the one sentence prompt on the screen. I’d stare at the lines on my paper for a few minutes, write down a sentence, find it lack luster, erase it, repeat. The timer would go off and we’d sit around reading our stories aloud. I’d sit in awe listening to the unique plots everyone had written. The teacher would call my name, and I’d go red in the face as I read my story that typically started with: “One day _____”. The class would clap like they did for everyone else, and the teacher would ask if anyone had questions (as if my tired writing could’ve left anyone wondering?? Honestly a sick joke on her end). No one would raise their hand, and we’d move on to the next person. Although now that I think about it, I’m not sure if I ever moved on. It seemed I checked off the box labeled “not a writer” in my head and never looked back.

I’ve always loved to read. Fascinated by beautiful pieces of literature, and the brain that thought to write it down. It was as if they had an endless bank of words waiting around in their mind, effortlessly turning to poetry the second their pen touched paper. That was such a foreign idea to me. I would sit for what felt like hours, trying to scrounge up ideas whenever I was faced with the task of writing. It always felt like such an impossible chore to me. I also have a very strong love for music. It’s gotten me through every point in my life, both good and bad. I can make a playlist for any occasion, any person, any season. I’ll sit for hours listening to my favorite songs, dissecting the lyrics, relating them to my life. Easily finding hidden meanings to the words echoing in my headphones. My favorite songs touch places so deep in my soul that it brings me to tears. All this admiration for words… but no urge to write. It never made sense to me, and I never dug deeper.

One day (hehehhahah) I got a journal. I had seen a video of a girl who had been keeping a journal since she was 13. She was in her mid twenties and had years and years of her life documented. I thought about how amazing it would be to be able to read my 15 year old thoughts. They’d be immature and uneducated, and not all that great I’m sure… but being able to know exactly what I thought, on a random Tuesday in my 15 year old life, that would be amazing. I thought about how my 50 year old self might appreciate my 20 year old thoughts in that same capacity. I started writing as often as I’d let myself. I struggled to write when my handwriting was too messy, when I felt I had nothing to write about; nothing that important to say. Every small insecurity I had subconsciously tacked onto my writing abilities now glaringly obvious in the pages of my journal. Finishing off my entries with “P.S. my handwriting looks horrible today…and I know this was kind of a boring entry! Sorry!” Apologizing to myself?? For my own abilities?? For my own thoughts and ideas?? That’s when it clicked. I didn’t hate writing; I wasn’t bad at writing; I was scared of writing… scared of being judged. Writing in any format showcases your inner thoughts…your original ideas. I didn’t want anyone, myself included apparently, to be able to judge my mind. Is there anything more personal than ones own thoughts? More specifically a journal? Theres no form of writing more intimate than writing in your own journal. I had written for months with so much anxiety and restraint before I realized just how much I was holding myself back. I wrote about love; thinking I had found it, and the harsh reality of finding out I hadn’t. I wrote about friendships, work, good days, and bad ones. All with such apprehension. Holding back from pouring out anything I deemed “too dramatic” or “ too deep”, as if this wasn’t the exact place I should feel safe doing so. It’s sad really. Looking back at the problems I was going through, and realizing how much quicker I would’ve been able to get through them, if I had given myself the grace to write freely. You can heal a lot of pain by writing it down on paper. But not if you leave out all the terrible parts.

I don’t consider myself an incredible writer now by any means. I don’t consider myself a writer at all. But I know now that I actually do like to write. I still struggle to find the right words, and I know for certain my journal is full of grammatical errors. But I’ve decided my thoughts mean more than any mistakes made while I express them. That’s progress for me. My new goal is to find beauty in my own writing. I’m really not asking for much from myself this early on in my writing journey. Something as small as the gratification I feel when using a favorite word (some examples: drat, superfluous, somber, ennui, rats! (Yes, used as an exclamation)) Is enough. It just feels good to let my thoughts be free, I’ve got far too many of them to let them fester inside for too long.

[peppymintdreams]

uh hello peppy I like your work a lot. I wanted to request if my OC could be made out into a fic I saw that in one of your post you mentioned and I was wondering if you could maybe write it (it’s fine if you don’t want to I was just wondering) her name is Lira she’s pale a tad bit introverted graceful I’ll send more to you in your DMs if you okay with that but

the idea I had was

Sir Andrew is philosopher in literature and teaches the youth but an older student one who appears no more than three years younger then him attends his classes. Everything about this student seems so intriguing their flawless skin the delicate voice it reminds him of a swan Sir Andrew logs down his fascination in this student of his and he notices his student has began to disappear more and more frequent, rumors around the village speculate that student is a witch or a cursed being and enchants men to drag them

I hope you can write this maybe thank you

Mint Jesus christ- damn this is long (that’s what she said) damn my child yall need to summarize this shit or send me your whole…essay of the Bible to me via DMs…

Hmmm this is interesting and based on the information you gave me…I can make this work

A Swan's Cry

Andrew Marston x Lira

Sir Andrew, a literature philosopher, becomes captivated by a mysterious student whose ethereal beauty and frequent disappearances fuel rumors of enchantment or a curse.

Sir Andrew was a man of reason, a philosopher well-versed in the works of the greats. As a literature professor, he had always taken comfort in the certainty of his books and the logic of his teachings. But the moment they walked into his classroom a student unlike any other that comfort began to unravel.

The student was quiet, almost ethereal in presence, with skin as pale as the winter moon and a voice so soft it reminded Andrew of a swan’s song both fragile and haunting. Their name? Lira, a name as delicate as the person it belonged to. Lira was no more than three years younger than Andrew himself, and yet there was something ancient in the way they carried themselves. They sat at the back of the class, always attentive, eyes gleaming like the surface of a still lake. But what fascinated Andrew most wasn’t just their beauty, nor their apparent intellect, but the way they seemed to vanish.

At first, it was subtle Lira missing the occasional lecture, leaving before classes ended, slipping away without notice. Andrew might not have cared, had the student not been so mesmerizing, so different from the rest. As the weeks passed, the absences grew more frequent, and rumors began to stir in the village.

“She’s not human,” whispered the baker’s wife one day as Andrew passed by. “Some say she’s a witch.”

“A cursed creature,” said another, eyes wide with superstition. “They say she enchants men, luring them to the lake where she drags them beneath the water.”

Andrew dismissed the gossip as village nonsense, but the more he saw of Lira and the more he didn’t see the more the words wormed their way into his thoughts. He began to write about Lira in his journals, not as a student, but as an enigma. He became obsessed with finding out more about them, piecing together the fragments of who they were. Where did they go during those long absences? Why did they leave so abruptly, as if carried by the wind itself?

Andrew finds himself intrigued by Lira more than any student he has ever had. He takes note of the way she walks, the grace in her movements, how she carries herself with the calm of someone who knows that the world bends to her will. Yet, it is not just her physical presence that draws him in; it is the mystery surrounding her.

He begins to log down his fascination in a private journal, as though trying to understand the enigma she presents.

March 10th, 1X—

"She arrived late again. Her eyes, a strange mix of indifference and sorrow, never seem to meet mine, but I can feel her presence in the room. She does not ask questions, nor does she answer much when spoken to. But when she does speak, her voice is so soft, it feels like it might vanish on the breeze. Today, she was absent for an entire week, and I wonder where she goes. What does she do when she is not in the classroom? The others notice her silence, but they do not understand what I see. She is... different. Like a bird that should not be caged."

One evening, while staying late at the university to finish grading papers, Andrew caught sight of Lira from his study. The student was walking towards the woods that bordered the village, their slender form fading into the fog that clung to the earth like a veil. On impulse, Andrew grabbed his coat and followed.

He kept a safe distance, his heart racing as he trailed Lira deeper into the woods, his logical mind battling with a creeping sense of dread. The further they went, the more the rumors replayed in his head cursed, enchanted, not of this world. It wasn’t long before they reached the lake, the surface of the water smooth and black beneath the moonlight. Andrew watched from behind a tree as Lira stepped to the shore, their hands trembling slightly as they stood at the water’s edge.

And then it happened.

With a graceful, almost unnatural motion, Lira began to shed their clothes. But it wasn’t the sight of their exposed skin that sent a chill down Andrew’s spine, it was the way their body began to change. Slowly, elegantly, as if woven by magic, their arms became wings, their body shrinking and reshaping. Before Andrew’s very eyes, Lira transformed, their human form giving way to that of a swan, the silver shoes that had adorn their feet in their original form, still embellished her feet even in the form of a Swan. A creature so pure and haunting it felt as though the world had fallen silent.

Andrew’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to make sense of what he had just seen. Lira the student he had been so captivated by was not just a person. They were the swan, the very creature from the old legends, a being cursed to live between two forms, one human, one bird. The rumors had been right, but not in the way he’d imagined.

For several moments, Andrew stood frozen, watching as the swan Lira spread its wings and drifted across the lake’s surface, a creature of both beauty and sorrow. His fascination deepened, but so did his dread. What was Lira’s fate? Were they truly cursed? And if so, who had done this to them, and why?

Days passed after that night, but Andrew could no longer look at Lira the same way. In class, they seemed more distant than ever, their eyes heavy with the weight of their secret. Andrew tried to approach them, but every time he got close, Lira would vanish, slipping away like a dream at dawn.

Eventually, the pull was too strong. Andrew sought them out, late at night, returning to the lake where he had first seen the transformation. There, he found Lira, once again standing at the water’s edge, their expression full of sorrow.

“Lira…” Andrew whispered, stepping forward. “I know what you are.”

Lira’s eyes met his, filled with a sadness that pierced his soul. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

“I had to,” Andrew replied, his voice trembling. “Why? Why are you—”

“I am cursed,” Lira interrupted, their voice breaking. “Long ago, I angered someone powerful. Someone who could bend the rules of this world. They turned me into this… this creature, bound to the form of a swan by day, only able to walk in human skin at night.”

“Can it be undone?” Andrew asked, desperate.

Lira shook their head, their tears blending with the mist rising from the lake. “Not without a sacrifice.”

Andrew’s mind raced, torn between his growing feelings for Lira and the impossibility of their situation. “What kind of sacrifice?”

“A life for a life,” Lira whispered. “The one who loves me most must be willing to give up their own life to break the curse.”

Andrew stood silent, his heart heavy. He knew in that moment that he cared for Lira more than he had ever admitted to himself. But could he make that choice? Could he give up everything for the fleeting hope of saving them?

The days following Andrew’s encounter with Lira at the lake felt like a slow descent into an abyss. He couldn’t stop thinking about the curse, the impossible choice Lira was faced with, and the heart-wrenching sadness that lingered in their eyes. But there was no time to dwell on his feelings; the village, it seemed, was beginning to turn against them.

The whispers had started as mere rumors, harmless gossip passed from one person to the next, like the soft flutter of wind through leaves. But as time passed, the whispers grew louder. A chilling wind of suspicion began to stir through the streets of the village, and every passing day seemed to bring new voices to the chorus of doubt.

“She’s a witch,” they said. “A cursed creature.”

“They say she makes men disappear, drags them under the water,” someone would add, their voice quivering with fear. “She’s not human.”

Andrew had heard these rumors. He had seen the fearful looks from townsfolk as they avoided Lira in the streets, the sharp whispers that followed her every step. But it wasn’t until one fateful afternoon that he realized just how deep the hatred had sunk into the hearts of the villagers.

Andrew had been walking to the local market when he saw them. A group of villagers, led by the blacksmith’s son, marched toward the woods. There was fire in their eyes, a righteous fury that made Andrew’s stomach turn.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low, trying to keep his presence unnoticed.

“They’re going after her,” the blacksmith’s son, a burly man named Roderick, said with an eager sneer. “We’ve had enough of her. The witch needs to be dealt with.”

“What do you mean, ‘dealt with’?” Andrew demanded, his voice shaking with disbelief.

Roderick glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “You don’t really believe in that nonsense, do you? She’s not just some strange girl who’s a little different. She’s dangerous. The things she’s done, the way she makes people disappear…” His tone became more sinister. “She needs to be stopped before she harms anyone else.”

Andrew’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to shout, to stop them, to reveal everything he knew about Lira, to defend her from this growing tide of hatred. But the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the knowledge that he was too late. The villagers had already made up their minds. They had already condemned her.

“No,” Andrew said, his voice fierce, but it faltered under the pressure. “You can’t. She’s not what you think.”

“Enough of your nonsense, Andrew,” Roderick barked, shoving him aside. “Stay out of this. It’s for the good of the village.”

As they disappeared into the trees, Andrew felt a cold emptiness settle in his chest. He couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t change their minds. And worse still, he had no idea where Lira had gone. Had she heard them? Did she know what was coming?

That night, as the moon rose high over the lake, Andrew found himself standing at the water’s edge once more. His thoughts were a chaotic whirl of fear, guilt, and desperation. He needed to warn her. He needed to protect her.

But as he stepped into the woods, he heard the sound of voices angry, yelling voices growing louder. He hurried toward the source, his heart pounding in his chest.

He found them at the lake, the villagers gathered around the water’s edge, torches in hand. The blacksmith’s son stood at the front, a cruel smile stretched across his face.

“There she is!” Roderick shouted, pointing toward the water. “The witch!”

Andrew’s stomach churned as he caught sight of Lira, standing at the water’s edge, her face pale and full of sorrow. She had heard them. She knew they were here.

“Lira!” Andrew shouted, rushing forward, but the crowd blocked his path.

“She’s no witch, you fools!” he cried, his voice breaking. “She’s not dangerous. You don’t understand she’s cursed!”

But the villagers were deaf to his words. They had already made their decision. The fear, the superstition, the years of whispered rumors had all led to this. They were convinced that Lira was the source of their misfortune, that she was the one who had caused the disappearances, the strange deaths, the accidents.

Lira stepped back from the water, her eyes meeting Andrew’s. She didn’t seem afraid. No, she was resigned, as though she had been waiting for this moment all along.

“They don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the crowd. “They never will.”

Roderick raised his torch high, his eyes alight with malicious excitement. “Burn her! If she won’t burn, she’ll drown.”

Andrew’s heart stopped. The mob was pushing forward, closing in around her. Lira stood still, her body trembling, her arms outstretched as though she were ready to surrender to whatever fate awaited her.

“No!” Andrew shouted, throwing himself into the crowd, but they shoved him aside with ease, too many hands to fight against.

Lira’s form flickered. Slowly, almost painfully, she began to transform before their eyes. Her limbs shifted, her skin turning pale and fragile as the feathers of her wings began to unfurl. In a single, fluid motion, she became the swan, a beautiful creature of grace and sorrow.

But even as she took flight, the villagers didn’t relent. They threw their torches into the air, aiming to strike her down, their voices rising in a collective frenzy. They believed her to be a monster, a threat to their safety and their way of life.

Andrew collapsed to his knees, his heart breaking. He had failed her. In his attempt to protect her, he had only pushed her further into danger. She had vanished into the night sky, but the hate of the villagers remained, and it was spreading.

The sound of the swan’s cry echoed across the lake, a haunting, mournful wail that seemed to carry all of the pain and sorrow of Lira’s curse. And Andrew, standing alone in the dark, could do nothing but listen.

The night after the villagers had attacked, the air in the town was thick with whispers, as though the very walls of the buildings held secrets that nobody dared speak aloud. The moon hung high in the sky, pale and heavy with the weight of the events that had transpired. Andrew could barely bring himself to leave the safety of his home. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t shake the image of Lira her wings, her cry fading into the night sky.

The whole village had erupted into chaos, their superstition and fear culminating in the most senseless of hunts. Lira was no longer the mysterious, enchanting student he had once admired from afar. She had become something darker in the eyes of the villagers, something dangerous, something that had to be destroyed. The whispers had escalated into the open, and what had once been quiet judgment had now grown into an unrelenting demand for blood.

Andrew could feel it all, every ounce of that pressure, pressing down on him. Lira wasn’t just a mystery anymore; she was a symbol, an embodiment of everything the townspeople feared. And it was all because they couldn’t see her for who she truly was.

But what they hadn’t seen, what no one had known except Andrew, was that Lira wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t some dark magic conjured by ancient forces. She wasn’t evil, or cursed by wicked intentions. No, Lira was a creature of nature delicate and beautiful, but powerful beyond measure. And as he stood at the lake the following evening, staring out across the glassy surface, he realized just how much he had failed her.

The town had chased her away, maybe even driven her into hiding. But she would never be gone from his heart. He would find her. He had to.

Andrew knew the moment he saw her.

She appeared at the water’s edge, a silvery figure gliding across the surface, her feet barely making a ripple. The moonlight caught her feathers, illuminating her in a halo of light. For a moment, Andrew thought he might be seeing things perhaps his mind had begun to play tricks on him in the wake of the chaos. But no, it was her. Lira. Or the swan that had been her all along.

She moved with the grace of someone born to this world, as though the water had always been her home. Every step she took across the lake was fluid, effortless, as if she were walking through air itself. The water didn’t break beneath her; it parted gently as she moved, as though it were welcoming her.

Andrew’s breath caught in his throat as he stepped closer, his feet soft on the wet earth. She was so close now, within arm’s reach, but she didn’t notice him yet. Her eyes were focused ahead, her expression both sad and serene.

"Lira," Andrew whispered, his voice hoarse, trembling with emotion.

Her eyes flickered, her steps slowing until she finally turned to face him. The moment their gazes locked, a deep sorrow passed between them, and for a brief, impossible moment, Andrew thought she might speak. But no words came. Instead, she tilted her head as if weighing him in her mind.

“Lira,” Andrew said again, a soft plea in his voice. "You don't have to hide from them. They don’t understand. You don’t have to do this alone. Please"

But before he could finish, she stepped back, her feet barely brushing the water’s surface. Her wings were so magnificent, so wild flared outward, catching the breeze. They were sharp and pure, like something from a dream. Her delicate, haunting beauty was both ethereal and unreachable. She was a creature of the water, and she was beyond the world Andrew lived in.

“I don’t belong here,” she said, her voice a soft murmur, carried by the wind. The words seemed to come from some place deep within her, like a secret only the water knew. “They’ll never understand. They’ll never accept me. Not for what I am.”

Andrew stepped forward, desperate. “Don’t say that. You’re more than what they think. Lira, please, don’t go.”

But as he took another step, something in her eyes shifted, something that told him she was already slipping away.

“I can’t stay in a place that fears me,” she said, her tone distant, almost resigned. She turned her back to him, her bare feet gliding across the water once more. She didn’t walk on the surface as she had beforeno, she danced, the water flowing in perfect rhythm with her every move. She was part of the world now, part of the night, part of something too beautiful for the village to understand.

“You can’t change them, Andrew,” she continued, her voice growing faint. “You’ve tried. But I’m not meant to stay. I’m meant for something else... somewhere else.”

Andrew felt the bitter sting of realization settle in his chest. He was losing her. In trying to protect her, he had only driven her further away. He had failed, and now he was standing in the remnants of what could have beena love that could never survive in a world so full of hatred.

“No, Lira. Please, don’t go,” he begged, taking a step forward, his voice cracking with raw emotion.

She paused mid-step, her body almost floating above the water as she turned to face him one final time. Her eyes glistened with the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. And in that moment, Andrew saw the truth the truth he had tried so desperately to ignore.

Lira wasn’t just a student to him. She wasn’t just the girl who captivated him with her delicate beauty, her unearthly presence. She was a part of something greater, something untouchable. And no matter how much he wanted to fight for her, no matter how much he loved her, he knew there was no place for them in this world.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and with a flick of her wings, she soared into the night, disappearing into the vastness of the lake, leaving nothing but ripples in her wake.

Andrew stood there, alone at the water’s edge, his chest heavy with the unbearable weight of her absence. The villagers had driven her away, their fear and hatred had forced her to retreat, to become something even more unreachable. He couldn’t protect her. No one could. And now, all he had left was the memory of her swan’s crythe haunting song that would forever echo in his heart, no matter how far she flew….

-Fin

Hey…hey yah you 🫵🏾 do you want more Sakuverse gay shit well hit that follow button or turn on notifications and send a request and you can get all the gay shit you ever want and brand new fics of Sakuverse Reimagined Twist Of Fate and maybe a chance to have your OC in a story

[vacantgodling]

author tag

thank you mj ( @mjjune ) beloved <3

i’ll do these for paramoiiiiii (which is pronounced para-MWAH bc i’m kissing it)

1) What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

oof. paramour has a lot of things going on in it, a lot of which are unintentional but evolved as i began to piece together the characters and the narrative. i don’t think paramour can be boiled down to a singular “main lesson” because i don’t think there’s really a lesson to be HAD. you can definitively read paramour for all of the deep thoughts i have about religion, masculinity, sex, gender presentation, and societal expectations, as well as like the horrors and suffering that greed can bring… or you can just read it as two guys who take the most stupid roundabout way to realize maybe the sex does have feelings. maybe the porn in fact has a little plot.

a lot of the messages woven into paramour have been marinating and maturing in me since 2020 tbh when i really started to allow me to be yknow. MYSELF. and so because i love them they got the projection beam as ya do.

2) What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

paramour is inspired chiefly by steampunk, rococo fashion, and france. lmao. the entire universe that paramour is in (which includes wips like alizath, teardrops, and that one wip that is new and budding but doesn’t have a name yet) is inspired by me bastardizing and colorizing (aka making every mc and all the characters black) europe bc i’m tired of fantasy, mythology, and history and all the things that i enjoy as a person being dictated and delegated to white people. so a lot of it is also “writing the story that i want to see” etc etc.

paramour specifically was also inspired by (but has moved away from QUITE a bit): hamlet, crimson peak, beauty & the beast, gothic literature (that aspect has heavily stayed) and stuff like that. it’s original name was beauty and the crimson hamlet and it was more of a haunted house thing vs what it’s evolved into now lol.

3) What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

hya is honestly trying to achieve being left the fuck alone and he doesn’t succeed LMAO. i’m not really trying to achieve anything with hya particularly (again you can read into all the things that i put into him and the narrative or he can be just some guy and both are correct tbh) — other than extreme wish fulfillment. though it may not seem this way because hya is a raging dick, he’s ideally what type of person i want to be like in Extreme fantasy land. i wish i was joking but i ain’t. and as such, he gets forgiven of a lot of the things that he does by the narrative or gets his own little happy ending and reasonings why he’s like this which i know some or many people will take issue with. him leaving a corpse in the foyer for example—many will describe him as cruel and callous and “problematic” and they’re right! love that for him 💛 i’m not trying to inspire anyone but myself like when i tell you that paramour is a wip written by me and for me i mean it LOOOOOL like idgaf about what anyone thinks of it 💀 (though i am so happy so many people love paramour as much as i do i didn’t think anyone would care about these assholes but many of my dear friends and other followers have proved me wrong and it’s validating tbh lol)

4) How many chapters is your story going to have?

current outline says 27 but i’m thinking it’s gonna lean closer to 30 just because as i write i realize i need to add in a filler chapter or two. so i’ll say it’ll probably end up being 30–at MAX 35 chapters probably.

5) Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

original 💛 and i still don’t particularly know where i want to publish it meaning idk if i want to go for indie which makes more sense or tryyyy to get trad published but. with the content paramour is and the way the publishing industry is i somehow highly doubt i can get it trad pub. so nothing but snippets online (tumblr) for now. maybe if i go indie i’ll make it readable on a website or whatever cuz i’m not really keen on putting it on amazon. but i may just for the reach. idk! i’m just trying to finish it first.

6) When and why did you start writing?

if we’re talking generally speaking i’ve been making stories since i was like 3 years old. paramour in itself however i made juneteenth (6/19) of 2021. i can’t remember WHY i started it so much as i remember just wanting a wip inspired by crimson peak perhaps? and we have gone WAAAAY off from that but yknow. we move lol.

7) Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

honestly just write for you. take all advice with a grain of salt and don’t worry about what others think of your writing/your ideas/whatever. there’s something for everyone and you’ll find your people.

other writeblrs/artists/creators whatever i follow and would recommend (and tag to do this if ya want no pressure) are: @kudzucataclysm @henrike-does-writing-sometimes @kazenokaori @magic-is-something-we-create @void-botanist @outpost51 @isherwoodj & consider this an open tag if you would also like to do this :)

[whatever-lmaoo]

Okay so I had to come out of tags for this one and I apologize for how long it is🥹💖

#“But I’m not good enough for you, Bucky, am I?” We just started and you’re already playing with my heart😭😣

#“kindly fuck off” me personally I would’ve excluded the kindly part🙅🏾‍♀️

#“He hardly looked at you.” Nuh uh if we’re breaking up at least have the balls to look me in the eye🙁

#“Your world didn't fall to pieces. Instead, you floated slowly in the air. Bucky remained on the ground as you drifted away, just out of reach when you tried to touch him. That was when you felt the first crack in the foundation.”

“A slow destruction with the man you love at the root.” MS.NAVY 🙉 you and literature are like soulmates with the way you create such beautiful phrases🥹

#“Are you asking me to choose between you and my family?” Stop it right now😭 it shouldve been us against the world, like who are you in a relationship with???me or your father🙅🏾‍♀️

#“…he said dismissively, jerking his hand away so quickly you almost fell forward.” I can’t lie to you girlie…he’s really pissing me off😭 and I know it’s probably to show the wall he’s built to keep from giving in, but apart of me wants to be like …get out😐

#“Why isn't he fighting for me? For us?” THIS!!!! Like WTF if you’re not going to fight for me then what was the point of getting involved with me🙉

#I can’t take the emotionless attitude 😣😣😣 like be sad or angry or happy even but don’t act like our relationship was a spec of dust that you flick off😞

#“You could take rage or sorrow, but not his indifference.” Omg we are literally the same🤧 I promise I’m writing as I go😂

#“…but the bitterness crept in as more tears fell.” We’re allowed to feel bitter girlie🥹😤

#“You were crashing down, the shards of his words piercing you so deep you weren't sure you'd ever get them out.” Imma have to come up with a system for every time you prove my point about being a literary genius 🥹😍

#“Get out. Get out!…” THE WAY I JUST YELLED YESS, he doesn’t deserve to see us breakdown😤

#“Love is sealed by a kiss, but he broke it with his words.” THE GASP I LET OUT, LIKE OMG YOU ARE TOO GOOD 😍🙉 A NATURAL POET!!💖💗

#I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this but I love your little italicized thoughts, and I feel like they add a glimpse of you in the story if that makes sense 🥹 if someone were to put one of your unreleased fics on a document amongst other stories and we have to guess who wrote it I would totally go “without a doubt that is Ms.Navy’s because her thoughts are one of a kind😌”

#“Maybe in another life, we could have had our happy ending, Bucky.” You’re gonna make me cry and i don’t like crying 😞

#“Maybe you were a phoenix, burnt only to rise from the ashes anew.” You already know why i brought this up😂 although I’ll try to refrain from mentioning all of them so this wont be too long🤧

#“…James plans to take you as a mistress.” I had to read this twice🙉 whatever you do, do not demote yourself to being someone’s mistress🙅🏾‍♀️😤

#This is probably a terrible thought but I hope George has a bounty on his head😍

#“And when you go to Hell, I hope you aren't burned by the flames. I hope you drown in the tears of everyone you ever wronged. And when you ask for their help to save you, they'll watch you sink to the bottom. Your son included.” GIRL BOSS, I AM SO PROUD, THIS COMEBACK IS GOD TIER🙉

#There’s nothing I hate more than a man who hits women 😡 would’ve lost my job as his guard if I were one of them

#“I hope your neck breaks from looking down on me.” I love us, don’t take bullshit from nobody 🙅🏾‍♀️

#“You wished you felt numb as you looked at him. This was the man who once told you he'd burn the world if anything ever happened to you. The fire within him was long snuffed out and he took the warmth with him. You were tired of feeling cold.” I know what I said previously but this just had to be brought to light🙉

#Help he’s still pissing me off😭 I hate when they wait till the last minute. When they tear your heart into pieces and watch you crumble from the inside out, just to come back and say they regret their decision and act like you’re supposed to bounce back up into their arms like some inflatable😤 I know that’s not Bucky but still😭

#“Perhaps you had in his heart, a claim that no one else could see but one you both felt.” Againnnnn, it’s too good my heart can’t take it🥹

#“Why is everyone being so cryptic and not saying what they need to?” LITERALLY, I just want some real answers, like is that too much to ask for😭

#“Bucky was a prisoner in his own life.” Stoppp I literally can’t cuz now I feel bad for ever being mad at him😞

#OMG OMG OMG IS THIS REAL

#“I object,” Bucky spoke.

A small smile appeared on Sophia's face as people around you gasped. “As do I,” she said, handing her bouquet to her maid of honor.

TALK ABOUT A PLOT TWIST🙉 I was not read for that, I feel like I’m suffering from whiplash rn

#STOPPP I LOVE PROTECTIVE STEVE🥺

#This just keeps getting crazier and crazier, Bucky boo I apologize for all the things I said about you😣🥺

#“I should've cut out your tongue for suggesting it.” I think he still should but that’s just my opinion 😗

#“You could've told her something! 'I broke her heart to protect her' bullshit,” At least someone gets it😭 I understand doing what you think is best but I feel like a lot of heartbreak could’ve been avoided if someone had told us even the tiniest bit of information, like a note or something 😭🙉

#“I hope we can become friends, if only to piss him off.” Would be the best of friends

#“Our place sounds like a dream come true.” Eeeeeee😍🥹🥰

#OMGG the ending🥹😭🌸✨💖 I literally can’t this story was so amazing; angsty, heartbreaking, and overwhelming yes but amazing nonetheless🥹 This is definitely one of your best fics (that I’ve read so far) with all of the different elements you touch on and how you layer them all together like a painter to create one big picture in the end🥹 and the writing was beautiful as always 🙂‍↔️🌸✨💗

Forever Hold Your Peace

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Mob!Bucky Barnes x OFC Summary: You're in love with Bucky Barnes, but he's marrying someone else. Word Count: Over 11.1k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, angst, breaking up, cheating of sorts (not between Bucky and reader), arranged marriage, violence, minor character deaths, miscommunication, talk of becoming a mistress, slight twist, George Barnes is the worst, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Lovelies, I'm FINALLY submitting my fic for @sweeterthanthis 's Bittersweet Symphony Writing Challenge. I went back and forth on how I wanted to do this. Struggled. Changed it (right, @sgt-seabass?). Dragged my feet. Here it is. Finally. Thank you to @flordeamatista, @targaryenvampireslayer, and @whisperlullaby who not only beta read this ages back, but gave me insightful feedback, direction, and suggestions to help make it even better than my vision. It is very much appreciated and only helps me continue to grow. I'm proud of this. Also, any and all mistakes are my own.❤️ Dividers by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You never wanted to have an over the top wedding, it wasn't your style. A small ceremony surrounded by close friends and family would be a much simpler, but happy, occasion in your eyes. As long as you married the man you loved, that was what mattered.

But it didn't matter because you love Bucky Barnes.

And he was marrying someone else.

You stared out the window from where you rested in bed and watched as the sun brightened your room. The rays danced around the space and cast a brilliant glow as it tried to wrap you in a warm embrace. It was a false sense of comfort as it did nothing to soothe the eclipse that had taken over your heart.

Of course, it was a beautiful day. You expected nothing less for the wedding of the year. The Barnes family demanded the best life has to offer and even Mother Nature seemed to listen.

But I'm not good enough for you, Bucky, am I?

Your phone had gone off numerous times since you woke up and you grudgingly reached over to check it. You probably should've shut it off. With a bittersweet smile, you read through one of your group chats.

Monica aka Cap: Hey. You doing okay?

Helen aka Doc: Do you want us to stop by?

Brunhilde aka Valkyrie: We can kick Bucky’s ass first. Just give us the word.

A watery laugh bubbled up. Monica, Helen, and Brunnhilde were three of your oldest friends. Brilliant, beautiful, strong women who were ready to defend or help you without a second thought. They were practically family at this point. You knew they’d be bridesmaids in your wedding one day.

But today wasn't that day.

You: I love all of you, but I just need to be alone today. Sorry.

You refused to look at any of the other messages. Talking wouldn't make you feel any better and you weren't looking for sympathy or comfort. The only plans you had today were to cry over romantic comedies and eat a pint of ice cream.

What better way to celebrate than to wallow in your self-pity?

The creak of your bedroom door made you turn your head. You weren't expecting anyone, but it didn't surprise you when Natasha wordlessly walked in. Her younger sister, Yelena, was right behind her with a garment bag in her hand.

They had become your friends thanks to him.

They would've been bridesmaids, too.

“Good. You're awake,” Natasha said, crossing her arms when you didn't acknowledge her. “Are you getting up?”

You imagined sinking into the mattress, but you couldn't hide them. “No, I'm fine right here.”

“Not fine. Get up. Big day ahead,” Yelena urged, mimicking her sister's stance.

You slowly sat up and glared at the two women at the foot of your bed. They were friends, but they were also dangerous. Not many had the guts to stare them down, but you were too upset to care. “I don't have a big day ahead, so what exactly are you doing here?”

“We need to get you ready for the wedding,” Natasha answered.

You huffed and put your head back on the pillow. “I'm not going. I'm sulking alone. So sorry you wasted your time by coming here.”

Yelena tugged on the blanket before you could cover yourself up. “Why not? Could be fun.”

You weren't sure whether to burst out laughing or burst into tears at her joke.

“I RSVP'd that I wouldn't be there,” you pointed out.

“You wrote 'kindly fuck off' instead of checking off yes or no,” Natasha said.

Yelena snorted as her sister raised an eyebrow at her. You tried to avoid anything Bucky related, as difficult as it was. And then you got the invitation. Your reaction wasn't your finest moment, but receiving it was like reopening the wound.

If you went to Bucky's wedding and watched him marry someone else, you'd shatter. Even if you managed to put yourself back together, you wouldn't be the same. How could they ask that of you?

Why couldn't they let you mend your broken heart on your own terms?

“I'm not going, Nat,” you whispered, wishing she would drop it. “It's cruel that I was invited and you're making it worse.”

There was sorrow in her eyes as she regarded you, a look you didn't see often. It shook your resolve. One of the reasons Bucky valued Natasha was because of her ability to get things done. Whether by words or force, she knew how to push to get people to go in her direction.

“You have to. Please, he needs you,” Natasha said carefully.

Your eyes flashed with rage as you swung your legs over the side of your bed to stand. “He needs me? Are you fucking kidding me?”

The redhead held her hands up, but the gesture didn't calm you. “Please, listen.”

“No! He dumped me. Why the hell should I go to his wedding?”

“She makes a good point.”

“Not helping, Yelena,” Natasha grumbled.

“Bucky doesn't need me in his life,” your voice cracked before you swallowed the lump in your throat. “He made that very clear.”

Bucky didn't kiss you when he went into your apartment that day.

Ever since you started dating, he always greeted you with a kiss. The way his lips moved against yours indicated what kind of day he had. Judging by the haunted look in his eyes, you expected him to smother you with a needy, demanding kiss. But he bypassed you completely and sat on the other end of the couch like he was trying to put distance between the two of you.

“What's wrong?” You asked as you moved to sit beside him. His hair was disheveled like he had been pulling at it. He did that when he was really angry or upset. “Bucky?”

He brought a hand up and touched your cheek, your own hand moving instinctively to cover his. When he leaned like he was going to kiss you, he only rested his forehead against yours. His breath tickled your lips, but the shudder that wracked his frame worried you as he pulled away. It felt like a wordless goodbye.

You didn't want to experience that ever again.

“Talk to me, please.”

He clasped his hands together and stared straight ahead. You wouldn't have known he was breathing if you hadn't seen the slight movement in his chest. The silence began to get uncomfortable, which was a first. The quiet moments were usually serene.

“I'm getting married.“

Was it possible for someone to pull the rug out from under you if you weren't standing?

“You're what?” You asked.

“Please, don't make me say it again.“

“I don't understand,“ you said, trying to make sense of the bombshell he dropped.

“My dad. He arranged it.”

You bristled at the mention of his dad. He was the head of one of the most powerful families in the city. Most feared him, but you couldn't stand him. When he realized that while your family had some wealth and power, it wasn't enough for his firstborn son. He told him you were nothing more than a phase. A bed warmer. He didn't even wait until you left the room to voice his disdain.

Bucky didn't bring you around much after that, which you didn't object to. The one meeting was more than enough. He assured you that the wedge between him and his father started long before you entered the picture, especially after the death of his mother. He also promised his dad's opinion wouldn't change a thing about how he felt and that his mom would've adored you.

“I take it he didn't arrange for you to marry me?” You asked, doing your best to crack a smile.

He didn't smile back. He hardly looked at you.

“Sophia Genovese is going to be my wife,” he answered neutrally, but his jaw clenched. “Her engagement fell through, so my dad arranged for me to take her ex-fiance's place.”

Bucky mentioned her in passing. Not only did she come from an extremely powerful family, but she was beautiful, sophisticated, and as close to perfection as anyone could get. His dad had everything to gain from a marriage like that.

Everything he couldn't get with you.

“You can say 'no', right?” You asked hopefully. Stupidly. “You don't have to go through with it.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, pushing himself up as your stomach churned. “Which is why we can't see each other anymore.”

Your world didn't fall to pieces. Instead, you floated slowly in the air. Bucky remained on the ground as you drifted away, just out of reach when you tried to touch him. That was when you felt the first crack in the foundation.

A slow destruction with the man you love at the root.

“No. No. We're not breaking up,” you said.

“We have to,” he said, still not facing you.

It took you a moment to get to your feet with how your head spun. “No, we don't. I-I can talk to your dad? I know he doesn't want you to be with me, but if you don't want to marry her-”

“Talk to my dad?” He cut you off as he turned toward you, a flash of panic in his eyes before a soft laugh crept from his throat. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I'm not. Maybe he can see reason?“ You asked as he shook his head. “Or we could leave.“

“Leave?” He repeated, looking down at your hand as you reached out for him. The panic you saw in his eyes moments ago resurfaced, which he quickly blinked away to replace his expression with a hardened mask. “Are you asking me to choose between you and my family?”

“We can go anywhere we want. I don't care where,” you said. You'd live in a shack as long as it was with him. “And I'm not asking you to choose between me and your dad. If anything, I'm asking you to choose love. It wouldn't be forever if we left. It would be until we can figure it out.”

“There's nothing for us to figure out. The deal is done,” he said dismissively, jerking his hand away so quickly you almost fell forward. He couldn't mean that. “And so are we.”

You wished for a moment that you could go numb to not feel the piercing pain in your heart.

Why isn't he fighting for me? For us?

“Bucky, we love each other,” you whispered as tears sprang to your eyes.

“And we were naive to think we could be together,” he stated, his voice void of any emotion.

You could take rage or sorrow, but not his indifference.

“So, that's it?” You asked as the tears spilled over. “You're giving up on us? You're walking away?”

“It's better this way,” he said, hesitating as he lifted his hand. He quickly dropped it when you began to wipe at your cheeks. “I know you don't think that now, but it is. You'll find someone who can be with you and I'll find a way to make it work with Sophia.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm sure you'll find it really easy to make it work since she's perfect,” you mumbled. You tried to hold it together, but the bitterness crept in as more tears fell. “Don't make it seem like you're getting the raw end of the deal when you're not the one ending up alone.”

Bucky flinched and you savored that he showed some sort of emotion. “I owe it to her to try.”

“Oh, you owe her that? What about the future you promised me? A home? Marriage? A family? Was it all bullshit?!” You snapped, shoving his chest with both hands. You were pushing him more than physically, but you were past the point of caring. “Why are you giving up on us? Why aren't you trying?!”

“Because there's no point! This was never going to work!” He shouted, raising his voice for the first time and making you jump back. He never yelled at you. You never expected him to break your heart either. “You don't belong in my world. You never did and you never will.”

The room spun as you tried to take a breath. It wasn't like you were floating anymore. You were crashing down, the shards of his words piercing you so deep you weren't sure you'd ever get them out.

I was a phase. A bed warmer. I'm not worth fighting for. I never was.

Whatever wounded sound you made had Bucky stepping toward you. “Fuck, I'm sorry.”

“Get out,” you ordered, not recognizing the sound of your own voice as you moved out of his reach. “You said we're done, so we're done.”

His eyes flickered with sadness when he invaded your space. Why did he suddenly want to be close to you? “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that.”

“Yes, you did. And I don't want your bullshit apologies. I want you gone,” you hissed, pushing him again. He didn't budge. “Get out. Get out! Get…” you steadied yourself, using every ounce of power you could manage to push him out of your home and life. “OUT!”

He didn't say a word or put up a fight when the shoves turned to smacks against his chest. Maybe he felt like he deserved your wrath. That broke you a little more. You weren't sure how long it took to shove him toward the door, but it exhausted you by the end of it. You wanted to curl into yourself and cry until there were no tears left.

“I love you, Bucky. I hope you have a nice life.”

His mouth fell open as you shut the door in his face.

As you sank to the floor, you realized he hadn't said he loved you once during the time he was there.

Love is sealed by a kiss, but he broke it with his words.

Maybe he never loved you at all.

“I think we can all agree that Barnes can be an idiot,” Natasha said, moving out of your way as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Is an idiot,” Yelena corrected.

“But whatever he said to hurt you, it was to push you away.”

“Mission accomplished,” you mumbled.

Bucky knew how to hurt people. He also knew you better than anyone, which meant he knew exactly where to put the knife in and twist it. You never expected him to inflict any sort of pain on you though because he swore he wouldn't.

Why do people make promises only to break them? Promises made in love should not be broken.

“Look, he hasn't been the easiest person to be around since he stopped seeing you. Everyone has noticed, even his father. He needs to see you, okay?” Natasha explained, gently nudging you through the door before you could reply. “Quick shower and we'll help you get ready.”

“You don't have to dress me. I'm not a child,” you snapped, slamming the door so you were left alone.

Guilt swirled in your gut as you stripped and went to the shower. You hadn't meant to snap when she was only trying to help. Or was she trying to help James? You didn't know anymore.

The cascading water did little to soothe you as you tried to push your despair aside. You hadn't allowed yourself to properly grieve from your broken heart. Why couldn't you just get over the man who abandoned you? Why did you have to keep loving him?

“Don't fall asleep in there!” Yelena shouted, almost making you slip on the tile as you shut the water off. “And no window escape.”

You thought about it more as you dried off. If Bucky went through with the wedding, it would be the end of the line. And maybe this would be the closure you needed to move on.

Though the love you have for him will never fade.

“Okay,” you said as you walked out of the bathroom in your room. “If you two are really going to make me go, I want to look perfect. Make him see what he's missing.”

“Don't worry. We'll make him look,” Yelena promised, nodding to your bed where the dress was waiting for you.

It wasn't exactly a wedding dress, but it was beautiful. It looked like the dress you wore on your first date with Bucky, only fancier. You didn't want to know where they got it or how they decided to pick that.

In the back of your mind though, you wondered if it was from Bucky.

“Thank you,” Natasha whispered.

“Don't thank me yet,” you said as you sat down at your vanity.

If you squinted, you could pretend they were getting you ready for your wedding day.

Maybe in another life, we could have had our happy ending, Bucky.

Natasha and Yelena should have become personal stylists or makeup artists. You almost suggested they should do it as a side hustle. They managed to transform you while still making you look like you.

Maybe you were a phoenix, burnt only to rise from the ashes anew.

“He'll look,” Yelena promised again as she slipped a ruby necklace around your neck. “Finishing touch.”

You brushed a finger along one of the gems, trying to shake the memory of when you received it. Bucky had given you the necklace at his private birthday dinner. When you reminded him that he was supposed to receive gifts on his birthday and not give them, he said he had the best gift of all with you. He said it again after he made love to you.

The only thing you wore was the necklace.

“I know heaven's a thing. I go there when you touch me, honey.“

“Isn't this a bit much?” You asked.

Natasha met your gaze in the mirror. “We should go,” she said, ignoring your question.

The girls effectively boxed you in as they led you to the limo, a subtle reminder not to run. Even in heels, they'd catch you. They were that good.

Clint wordlessly opened the car door, but gave you a sympathetic nod as he helped you in. Observant and sometimes sarcastic, you almost wish he would've said something. Maybe it was better that he kept quiet.

What comfort would he be able to provide you with?

Once again, Natasha and Yelena were on each side of you as you sat in the middle seat.

“Do you plan on sitting beside me at the wedding, too?” You asked, staring straight ahead once Clint got in and took off.

“Yelena will sit with you. I'm standing,” Natasha answered.

You weren't sure what to make of that. Maybe Sophia decided to have her in the wedding party in some capacity. Or maybe she'd keep watch to make sure there was no trouble on Bucky's special day.

“Guess I'm not allowed to speak when asked if anyone has any objections?”

“You can if you want to cause a scene,” Yelena said, shrugging a bit. You were considering it. “Again. Could be fun.”

“Stop being a bad influence,” Natasha warned when you snorted. “We'll have the car ready for you to go once you're allowed to leave.”

“Allowed? I need permission to leave?” You asked. “And where am I going?”

“Wherever you want,” she replied.

You would likely go home for the time being. Instead of sulking, maybe you could take steps toward leaving the city for good. A new job, a new apartment.

It was up to you to create your own happy ending.

One that you deserved.

“We'll see if I actually make it through the ceremony first,” you said.

Silence stretched on in the vehicle after that. You'd take the quiet over useless small talk, but you found it more difficult to breathe as you got closer to the venue. It was like a vice closed around your throat. Natasha reached over and gave your hand a squeeze when you sniffled. Yelena did the same with your other hand. It was comforting, even if they were the ones forcing you to endure this day.

“Do any of you plan to stop the wedding?” You asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. Was that why they were so adamant that you had to attend? The glimmer of hope within you wanted that to be the case.

You made eye contact with Clint in the rearview mirror before he focused on the road ahead. You didn’t dare glance at the girls, but you felt the weight of the answer before Natasha said, “No.”

As quickly as your hope grew, it disintegrated. It fell into the soil within your soul, ready to grow again when you were naive enough to believe. It was silly to ask in the first place.

“What’s the point of dolling me up then if nothing is going to change?”

“To make him look,” Yelena reminded you. “And maybe you’ll see your future husband today.”

Silence resumed again after that, but it wasn’t long before the car approached a private entrance. You half expected that the wedding would be at a church when you received the invitation, but it was an address you didn’t recognize. Maybe it would be their new home.

You felt slightly ill once the car came to a stop, Yelena helping you out before Clint had a chance to come around and open the door. You saw a massive and beautiful estate in front of you surrounded by a rich landscape. Gazing at the front door where two guards stood, you didn't have to step inside to know that the place was elegant with meticulous attention to detail.

Somewhere you didn't belong.

Forcing a smile on your face as Natasha urged you to move forward, she said something you couldn't make out to the larger of the two guards. His eyes settled on you only for a moment before he let you through and didn't bother to look in your clutch to see if you had a weapon. Like you would use one anyway, but you thought they'd be more careful.

I'm clearly not a threat.

It was quieter than you expected as you stood in the entrance way, a couple of women bustling by with flowers. No way Bucky chose those himself. They were far from his favorite.

“The ceremony is going to take place in the back garden,” Natasha explained. “The fence will have guards in case anyone tries to get in.”

“Or get out,” Yelena added.

“I need to have a quick chat with Steve,” Natasha said. Steve Rogers, Bucky's best friend and heir to the Rogers empire, was every bit as handsome and ruthless as his best friend. “Yelena will take you to your seat shortly. Try not to wander off.”

You scoffed as you gestured in front of you. “Considering I have no clue where I'm going, I'll stay here.”

Natasha smirked before she left, the echo of her heels eventually fading once she was out of sight.

“Stand up straight,” Yelena ordered, pressing against your back. “Show no fear.”

“Why?” You asked before you spotted a large man walk toward you, two men hot on his heels.

George Barnes.

“Well, well. You made it. I wish I could say it was nice to see you,” he said, his gaze lingering on your necklace as you bristled. You covered the jewelry with your hand, worried he might rip it off. You wouldn't allow him to take that away. “At least you had the decency to not wear white. Would've been extremely tacky and useless to try and upstage Sophia.”

You knew he was trying to get under your skin at the mention of his soon-to-be daughter-in-law. “Believe me, Mr. Barnes, the feeling is mutual. Honestly, I’d be happy to live out the rest of my life without us having to cross paths,” you said, giving him a sweet smile when his eye twitched. He likely wasn't used to women insulting him. “But if you want me to leave-”

“Nonsense. I want you to witness a union of power. Something you’ll never have,” he boasted, making a show of smoothing out his expensive jacket. “I also hope you're on some form of birth control since James plans to take you as a mistress. He doesn't need any bastards running around now, does he?”

You gaped at him, trying to figure out if he was kidding. “Just so we're clear, I'm good enough for your son to fuck, but not marry or have his kids?”

“I'm glad we understand each other.”

“I don't understand,” you said, your voice cracking as Yelena took a step closer to your side. “Your son loved me.”

Maybe part of him still does.

“It isn't for you to understand why I do what I do. What you need to understand is your place,” he snarled in a low voice as he crowded your space. You almost stepped back, but he probably wanted you to be afraid and you weren't about to let that show. “All that work I put into my son and you almost unraveled it. Even after leaving you, he's been difficult. Sullen.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that,” you said, elated that he pretty much confirmed that Bucky missed you.

“I'm sure you are. But that'll change. He's going to marry Sophia and make my empire even stronger than before. And I hope you cry yourself to sleep knowing he didn't choose you in the end.”

Rage pulsed through your veins at the audacity of the grinning man in front of you. “Are you done talking? As much as I'm sure you love the sound of your own voice, I'm tired of hearing it,” you said, his smile slowly fading from his face when you didn't break down. “And when you go to Hell, I hope you aren't burned by the flames. I hope you drown in the tears of everyone you ever wronged. And when you ask for their help to save you, they'll watch you sink to the bottom. Your son included.”

Under different circumstances, the shade of red Mr. Barnes turned would’ve been comical. A man who liked to dish it out, but was unable to take someone throwing it back at him. Maybe he had power in name, but he was weak in heart. “You little bitch,” he snarled, raising his hand.

You didn't flinch or look away from his rage-filled eyes as you braced yourself from the impact. Maybe you shouldn't have run your mouth, but you didn't care. Let him hit you. Let him prove himself to be the monster you believed him to be, especially after he insulted you first.

But the blow didn't land. Yelena caught his arm before it could. Neither of the men behind him reached for a weapon nor did they make a move to throw you out. Were they waiting for a signal from their boss?

“No fighting,” she calmly spoke, using her other arm to help you back away. “Your rule today, right, Mr. Barnes?”

“Belova,” he said through his teeth, yanking his arm back. You wondered what kind of trouble she'd get in for helping you. She didn't deserve it. “That rule is-”

“No fighting,” she said again, nodding to you. “I made her look pretty. No messing up her makeup.”

“She looks like a whore,” he said.

“I think she looks pretty,” Yelena said with a shrug before she turned her attention back to you. “Down the left hall. Second to last door on the right. Wait there for me.”

“Thank you, Yelena,” you whispered.

Mr. Barnes grabbed your arm as you tried to walk by. “When my son seeks you out to take you as a mistress, you will say yes. Be that as long as he does what needs to be done. Keep his bed warm and his dick wet, but don't think for a second that you'll be anything more than a whore.”

You calmly shook him off, even as your stomach turned. To speak so callously of you, of Bucky, of what you meant to each other. To suggest that you would be a kept woman. How did a man like Bucky spawn from someone as disgusting as him?

“Mr. Barnes, you may have power and you may think you have control over your son, but you're nothing more than a pathetic excuse of a man who gets off on bullying people you deem beneath you. I hope your neck breaks from looking down on me.”

A shaky breath left your lungs as you quickly walked past the men and went down the left hall as instructed, not looking back to see if anyone went after you. It was careless to run your mouth again, but you just had to get the last word in. What the hell was that man going to do to you once the wedding was over? Maybe he wouldn't do anything at all. Surely he had bigger fish to fry.

The hall seemed to stretch on and you wondered why Yelena sent you down here. Was it a restroom? She obviously knew the estate well enough if she-

Your breath stopped as Bucky walked out of the last room on the left, his gaze landing on you as you froze. It was cliche that your heart skipped a beat, but how could it not? This was the first time you had seen him in person since that fateful day and he looked every bit as handsome as before. Between the black tuxedo tailored to perfection, trimmed beard, and not a single hair out of place, he played the part of the son who would one day rule the city. Except for his cerulean eyes.

They were lined in pain.

“You're here,” he breathed, like he couldn't believe you were in front of him.

You wished you felt numb as you looked at him. This was the man who once told you he'd burn the world if anything ever happened to you. The fire within him was long snuffed out and he took the warmth with him. You were tired of feeling cold.

And you were so tired.

“Not by choice,” you said, proud that your voice stayed steady as he moved toward you.

“You look so breathtaking,” he said, like he was seeing you for the first time. As much as you liked his gaze sweeping over you, it hurt. “You're wearing my necklace.”

“Natasha and Yelena's idea,” you told him, not returning the compliment by telling him how handsome he looked. “Apparently you needed me today, so here I am.”

He lifted his hand as if to touch you before he lowered it. “I do need you.”

Your gut wrenched, your heart and mind raging over whether or not to believe him. “I'm sorry, but I don't exactly see how that's possible. You dumped me. You're getting married. Chapter closed. Move out of my way, James. Please.”

He flinched at the use of his first name, but recovered quickly as he stopped you from moving around him. Your shoulders tensed when he touched your arm, the familiar jolt of electricity running through your veins at the contact. You wanted to resent him for still making you feel something, but how could you when he made you feel alive? Even the crushing weight of the emotions was a reminder that you didn't break.

In many ways, he helped you become stronger.

“You're going to try and sneak out,” he guessed. You didn't disagree. “Don't. You can't leave yet.”

“Yes, I can. I'm not one of your subordinates or soldiers or whatever the hell you call them. And if you won't get out of my way, I'll just go back the way I came. Yelena will find me.”

Before you could protest, he gripped your arm a bit tighter and dragged you into the very room Yelena sent you to. It appeared to be a study, which you wish you could've taken the time to appreciate. You almost screamed for help, but who the hell would come to your rescue?

This was Bucky's world and you were just a pawn in it.

“Let go of me!” You demanded as your clutch fell to the ground, smacking his hand hard enough for him to loosen his hold. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“Sorry for what exactly? Making me come here today or breaking my heart? Or maybe you're apologizing for your dad and his clear disdain for me? It doesn't matter because I don't care.”

“I care. You don't understand,” he said, effectively blocking the door when you tried to get past him. His eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, making you take a step back. “Wait. You saw my dad? What the fuck did he say to you?”

He looks like he's about to commit a murder.

“No, I don't understand. Not your father or this situation. I likely never will,” you said, clenching and unclenching your fists. Nothing could ground you. “He said you planned to take me as a mistress.”

Bucky's jaw clenched. “That's what he told you?”

“Yes, among other things. Is that why you wanted me here today? To make that offer?” You answered, your palm itching. Was that why Natasha and Yelena really forced you to come to this? “You know what? Don't answer that. I'd be too tempted to smack you.”

“I've already beat myself up for the both of us,” he muttered.

“I'll save you the trouble of asking: No, I won't be your mistress. I won't stay here and be your whore. I'm sorry,” you said.

Whether or not he'd grow to care for Sophia or if he was doing this strictly out of orders from George, he would be a married man at the end of the day. Even if there was a chance down the road that he would divorce Sophia, could you condone carrying on an affair with him? Could you contribute to him breaking his vows? Both of you deserved better than that.

He ran a hand through his hair and messed up the style. “I'm asking you to forgive me at your own pace and stay,” he said.

He sounded sincere and on the edge of breaking. You were there with him. “I can forgive you, but you're still marrying someone else, Bucky. And what would we be if I stayed? Friends? We can't be friends.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders when you attempted to step around him again, a wild look in his eyes. You couldn't recall ever seeing him so untamed. “You really think I want this? That I would want anyone besides you?”

Tears filled your eyes by that point, wishing that were true. “Yes! You broke my heart, remember? You said I didn't belong in your world and that you owed it to Sophia to try. Those were your words. So, no, I don't think you want me. At least not all of me.”

“I broke up with you because I had to. I know I was hurtful, but I had to keep you from going after me,” he said, your chest tightening when he pulled you closer. “If you leave now, I know you'll run.”

Would you chase me if I tried to run?

“So what if I do? I'm not yours anymore.”

“You'll always be mine,” he spoke with such reverence that your lower lip quivered. “Just like I'm still yours.”

“Fuck you, James,” you seethed, struggling in his grasp as a tear slid down your cheek. You cried so many tears because of him and you were ready to be finished. “This is cruel and you know it.”

“I know you hate me-”

“That's just it. I don't hate you. I don't think I ever could,” you said, your chest heaving as you tried not to choke on a sob. “But you know what I want? My heart. You took it from me and I want it back, along with my love for you. Every smile, every laugh, every kiss. Give it all back and let me go.”

“I won't do that,” he whispered after a beat. “I love you too much.”

Bucky reached up to cup your cheek and draw you closer, his breath fanning over your lips as you trembled. You wanted so desperately to meet him halfway, but how could you cross that line after vehemently denying that possibility? Would it shatter your heart all over again if you did?

“We can't,” you whispered when his mouth brushed against yours, a small taste of the now forbidden spreading through you like a wildfire. But your mind urged you to lean back even as your heart screamed for you to give in. “Bucky, we can't.”

“Yes, we can. Please,” he gently argued, your heart pounding over the voice in your head as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your head spun when you inhaled, his cologne adding to the dizzying feeling as he moved his mouth to the other side. “We love each other.”

You hesitated once more before you sighed in resignation. You did love Bucky. It may have been wrong at the moment, but he had the key to your heart. And you would allow him to unlock it one last time.

You weren't sure who leaned in first this time, but your mouths met in a familiar dance. He led as he parted your lips with his tongue and you followed with a moan. Eagerly gripping his hair, uncaring that he'd have to fix it later, you melted into him and prayed he'd catch you if you fell.

“Please, Bucky,” you whispered as his mouth left a warm trail of open mouthed kisses along your neck.

You didn't know what you were pleading for as he backed you against a wall. Was it for him to let you go? To fight for you? Or to take you to paradise one last time?

Love me like you're going to lose me.

“I love you so fucking much,” he murmured, your heart pounding as he moved his hand along your chest. His fingertips dragged along the necklace, a shackle of the ownership he had over you. One you'd wear forever if he only asked. “Killed me to be apart from you, doll. Hated every second of it.”

Guilt began to sink in. You just told him you wouldn't be a kept woman, but you allowed him to kiss you. Touch you. Was it because he hadn't gone through with the wedding yet? Was there a chance he'd back out of it?

“You hurt me,” you reminded him, but didn't stop him from gliding his hand down your torso. “You broke my heart.”

“I had to,” he said again. You expected him to say more, but he only hiked your dress up and dragged your underwear down far enough that you could spread your legs. And you didn't need to pour more salt in the open wound by saying again that he hurt you. He knew. “I'm sorry.”

“Then show me how sorry you are,” you demanded, your hands shaky as they reached for his belt. You didn't have much time. “Even if someone walks in-”

“I'm not stopping,” he said, helping you with his pants. You wrapped a hand around his cock the second it sprang free, the familiar hardness only making the ache inside you grow. You needed to feel him. “I don't care if the world's on fire. Won't stop me from being inside you.”

“Just shut up and fuck me.”

He chuckled as he pressed his lips to yours, warmth blooming from your core when his fingers teased your folds. One touch and you melted, your pussy wet and ready for him to make himself at home again. He swallowed down your moan as he explored, like he was memorizing you all over again.

“Bucky,” you whined as he pulled his fingers away.

“I've got you.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders as he wrapped one of your legs around him. You dug your fingers in almost hard enough to bruise him as he lined himself up. Part of you wished you could leave your mark on him. Perhaps you had in his heart, a claim that no one else could see but one you both felt.

Heart and soul.

Your heart pounded as he slowly buried himself deep, relishing in the burn from the stretch. The breath punched out of your lungs as you surrounded him, his cock filling you to your limit. It was far from the first time he had you, but it felt even better than before. More raw, passionate. You wanted him to stay inside you and never leave.

Clenching around him was the wordless order for him to move, almost afraid to open your mouth and speak. You were afraid if you did that he'd slip through your fingers. That this would be just a dream and you'd wake up alone again.

“Fuck, I love you. Wanna make you feel good,” he moaned, his eyes hazy with pleasure and face a mask of euphoria at his movements. It was a beautiful sight. One you wanted to remember for the rest of your life. “Wish I could tear your dress open and get my hands on your gorgeous tits.”

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, pushing your chest forward and wishing for the same. You wanted him to pinch your nipples and soothe the sting with his tongue.

“Always so pretty when you play with them, especially when I fuck you with my tongue,” he went on, canting his hips to thrust deeper. He always made you feel beautiful no matter how he had you. “Tell me you love me.”

You bit your lip, realizing that he begged to hear it. A man as strong as him pleading for your love nearly tore you apart. “I love you, Bucky,” you panted, your chest rising faster as you moved your hips down.

His eyes devoured you, devotion and adoration in his gaze before he brushed his nose against yours. You shared one breath as you moved together, the slow and firm motions making you leak around him. His hand came to the side of your face, tilting your head to kiss you. It made your heart flutter wildly, the slide of his lips and tongue sending shivers down your spine.

It left you dizzy, like you were unable to breathe.

“Missed this sweet cunt,” he grunted, reaching under your dress as he picked up the pace. You didn't have to beg for him to touch you since his thumb found and teased your clit. “Missed how tight you got around me right before I came inside you.”

“Come in me,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I need it.”

“I don't wanna stop,” he groaned as you trembled, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. He was taking you to heaven. “I can't. We can't be done.”

You shut your eyes as you rested your head against his, quiet whines falling from your lips as he kept rubbing your bundle of nerves. You wanted to whisper that it wasn't the end. That was the beginning of a new path after being apart. But that wasn't your destiny. He was meant to rule with another queen.

“Please, Bucky. I'm close,” you said, opening your eyes as heat coiled in your gut. “Come with me. Show me you love me.”

One last time.

Placing a hand on his chest to feel the beat of his heart, you let yourself fall over the precipice. Your blood turned to lava in your veins as you breathed his name like a prayer. He recited a litany of praise in return as you clamped around him, doing your best to soak up every word as your spirit threatened to float away. Twisting your fingers in his hair, you didn't want it to end either.

“Fuck. I love you,” he groaned as he emptied himself inside you, his lips moving along your chin, lips, cheeks, anywhere he could reach.

You clung to him as he pulled out of you, some of his release sliding out with yours as he caught his breath. You couldn't do more than make a small noise as he lowered your leg and bent down to pull your underwear back up. They were ruined now. You were ruined.

“You really are so fucking beautiful,” he said, tucking himself back into his pants as you braced yourself against the wall.

“And you are so fucking-”

“James?” An unfamiliar voice spoke, nearly making you collapse.

Oh, shit.

“Fuck,” he huffed, both of you turning your heads toward the open door.

The post-sex afterglow disappeared as a woman in an elegant bridal gown stepped inside and closed the door, her beautiful face twisted in disgust as she stared at Bucky. Even in anger, Sophia Genovese was a vision. You put a hand to your stomach, willing yourself not to get sick as she turned her gaze toward you, the anger visibly lessening. Choice or not, this was Bucky's fiancé. You were the other woman. Did it matter to her that you loved him? Did she care for him? Maybe George was right about you after all.

You were a whore.

“You really couldn't keep it in your pants until after the ceremony?_ She asked, turning an unimpressed stare back on Bucky. “Honestly, James. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Bucky asked, helping you fix your dress with gentle hands and a soft kiss to your forehead. “You're supposed to be in the east wing.”

“And you're supposed to be ready for the ceremony and not sticking your dick in her,” she said harshly enough to make you wince. “Simple instructions that you should’ve been able to follow. Or can you not comprehend basic orders?”

“Shut up, Sophia,” he snapped, zipping up his pants as she rolled her eyes.

There was no lost love between them, but you still felt terrible as you looked at the woman. “I'm sorry,” you said softly. “I love him, but that’s no excuse.”

“You’re sorry for what? For fucking a man you love? Though I don't know why you love him. He's an idiot,” she scoffed, shooing Bucky out of her way. You stood your ground as she walked close, but she didn't slap you as you expected. She turned her back to you. “Lace up my dress so my tits don’t fall out of this.”

What?

It took a second for you to move, but you carefully laced her bodice. A beautiful gown fit for a queen. “I really am-”

“Save it. I don't want or need your apologies,” she cut you off before she pointed at Bucky. “But you will get your ass to that altar. I don’t care what it takes. Don't you dare ruin this for me, James, or I'll make your life a living hell.”

Bucky opened his mouth as the door opened again to reveal Yelena. She surveyed the scene before she went over and grabbed your arm. “You stink like sex,” she commented. “We must go.”

With misty eyes, you looked at Bucky. “I know nothing I say will stop you from getting married, but is this really it for us? I become your mistress or nothing at all?”

Is this the end?

Sophia shook her head when he didn't answer you. Yelena didn't speak either. “Mistress? You fucking-”

“Don't say another word,” Bucky ordered her.

“We must go. It's almost time,” Yelena said.

Bucky snuck in one last kiss as a tear slid from your eye, the feel of his lips lingering on yours. “I love you. I’ll never stop.”

That wasn't an answer to your question, but you weren't going to get one, were you? “I love you, too,” you said before Yelena dragged you away, needing him to hear that as your heart began to break again.

“I can’t believe you,” Sophia said before the door slammed shut and blocked out the voices.

Is Sophia going to rip him a new one?

You hastily wiped your cheek and had a hard time keeping up with Yelena as she dragged you down the hall. “I didn’t expect to bump into him,” you told her, like it would excuse your actions.

“You’re lucky no one else saw,” she said as Natasha came into sight near a pair of glass doors. The redhead didn't look pleased. “She slept with him.”

“Yelena,” you hissed, though you were sure the redhead already knew by your guilty expression.

“Of course, you did,” Natasha said under her breath. “Get to your seats.”

“Wait! I really don't know if I can do this,” you told them. Not when you could still feel the sweet burn of Bucky inside you. Not when your heart told you he didn't stop loving you. “How can I watch him marry her?”

Natasha exchanged an unreadable look with her sister. “Because when this is all over, he’s going to need you by his side more than ever.”

Why is everyone being so cryptic and not saying what they need to?

“By his side as his whore you mean,” you said. “Isn't that it?”

Is that really my future?

“As the woman who has his heart,” Yelena said, surprising all three of you. “Come. We must sit.”

Yelena led you outside to the gardens where most of the guests were already settled. It was a smaller amount than you expected, the flowers lining the chairs just as bright as the aisle runner. She practically shoved you into your chair on the groom’s side before she took a seat. The low buzz of excitement around you would’ve been contagious had this been any other wedding.

“I can really leave when this is over, right?” You asked. You weren’t sure you could handle a reception, even if Bucky wanted to see you. Maybe you’d see if Monica, Helen, and Brunhilde could meet up after all. “You won't stop me?”

Yelena gave you a curt nod. “If you really wish. Just know he'll find you,” she said, pouting a bit as she stole a glance at you. “Please, don’t hate us.”

“I could never,” you assured her as she nodded again. No matter what happened after this and even though you despised the situation, you could never hate Natasha or Yelena. They didn’t let too many people close and it was a privilege that you were part of that small circle.

It was like you were in a daze when the ceremony began. You blinked tears away as Bucky entered the garden and stood tall at the altar, looking pristine and powerful once again. He spotted you easily as the music began, ignoring Steve as he walked down the aisle with the maid of honor. You didn’t take your eyes away either.

It was as if you were the only two who existed.

Even as Sophia began to walk down the aisle with her father, he didn’t take his eyes off you. Tears surfaced again when you realized he didn’t actually look happy or proud. Not at all.

He looked trapped.

Bucky was a prisoner in his own life.

Your heartbreak forgotten, you were beginning to understand why Natasha and Yelena said he needed you. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t in control of his life. While your parents gave you freedom, his dad shackled him. And you knew you could never walk away from him. Not when he needed someone in his corner.

Someone who loved him unconditionally.

“It’s okay,” you mouthed to him, smiling through your tears. “I love you.”

A sad smile touched Bucky’s lips before Sophia reached the end of the aisle. His attention was now on his bride-to-be. You could only sit and watch as the man you loved began a new path.

Yelena silently handed you a handkerchief as the officiant began. “Dearly beloved…”

Blocking the words out as Bucky and Sophia faced each other, you looked around at everyone else. Steve appeared a bit stiff, like he was anticipating something going wrong. Natasha and Clint weren’t smiling either. They were observing.

“If there is anyone who feels these two should not be wed, please speak now or forever hold your peace.”

This is it.

“I object,” Bucky spoke.

A small smile appeared on Sophia's face as people around you gasped. “As do I,” she said, handing her bouquet to her maid of honor.

You held your breath when George stood up. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!”

Bucky ignored him as he faced everyone. “I'm in love with someone else,” he announced as you held your breath, holding out his hand and beckoning for you to join him. “She's the one I want to spend my life with and beyond.”

“You unworthy-”

Yelena stood up faster than you could blink, pistol in hand. Where did she pull that out from? “You sit and listen,” she ordered, giving you a rare smile. “You go to him.”

Steve, Natasha, and Clint all had guns aimed at Bucky's father as your mind screamed at you to move. Your legs nearly gave out as you ignored the stares and walked down the aisle, but you made it to Bucky and took his hand. Why weren't any of the other men stepping in to stop you? What the hell was happening?

“This is the only person I want to be with. You will know her name and you will respect her,” Bucky announced, your name falling from his lips a heartbeat later.

It sounded so beautiful.

“Little fucking whore-” George began before Steve moved forward and smacked him in the face with his gun.

Hard.

“Don't use that kind of language when you talk about my best friend's girl,” Steve said, backing away slowly as George spit blood in the grass. “Go ahead, Buck.”

“When my dad ordered me to marry Sophia, I objected because I already found the love of my life. He said if I didn't go through with the ceremony, he would have my girl killed in the most dishonorable way. He threatened the same thing if I tried to leave the city with her or if she tried to interfere in the wedding plans. He even threatened to kill her closest friends,” Bucky said, gripping your hand a little tighter. “So I had to break her heart to protect her.”

You exhaled slowly, almost collapsing. Bucky told you he had to hurt you, but you didn't know your life was at stake. Or the lives of your girlfriends. That was why he looked so frightened that day when you suggested talking to his dad. He would've had all of you killed. The only reason he didn't hurt you today was because Yelena stepped in to defend you.

And deep down he likely thought he already won because today was the wedding day.

“I don't think I ever loved you, but I never hated you more,” Bucky spoke, his eyes narrowed in hate as he finally acknowledged his dad. “I almost killed you then and there, but you had your men watching her, and I had to wait until I swayed them to my side.”

“They're my men,” George snapped, snatching a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his mouth.

Bucky smirked when the guards took their guns out and trained them on his father. “Not anymore.”

That was why no one was jumping in to defend George. They worked for Bucky now. They had a new leader. A better one.

“I didn't want to marry James either. I don't care for him. In fact, I can't stand the sight of him. I have someone I love waiting for me,” Sophia added unapologetically as Natasha pointed her gun at her fuming father. The only reason he wasn't rushing toward the altar was because someone else had a gun against the back of his head. “You'd think after the first engagement fell through that you would've learned your lesson, but it doesn't matter now. James and I both had something to gain from each other. So while you thought we were planning our wedding day, we came to an agreement and made our own plans.”

“We share the power of the city without marriage,” Bucky said, nodding to the surrounding men and women. “We stay in our territories, continue our work, and help each other when necessary.”

“Most importantly, we're free to be with a partner of our choosing with no interference,” Sophia said.

Bucky cocked his head at his dad. “Did you really think me keeping my girl as a mistress would satisfy me? Mom probably rolled over in her grave and I should've cut out your tongue for suggesting it.”

It was like another blow to your chest. You assumed Bucky wanted you as a side piece when he didn't say otherwise. He had to keep up the facade. You should've known better.

Heartbreak made you blind.

“So, I'm afraid none of you are here today to witness a marriage between the Barnes and Genovese families,” Sophia shrugged.

“You're here to witness an execution,” Bucky said, giving his dad a bittersweet smile. “Enjoy rotting in Hell while I'm in heaven on earth with my girl.”

It all happened so fast, but it felt like you witnessed it in slow motion as Bucky shielded you with his left arm. Sophia with a gun in her hand fired a bullet between George's eyes. Bucky shot Sophia's dad in the head as well. In the blink of an eye, the leaders of the Barnes and Genovese families failed to take another breath, their blood spraying on nearby patrons. Taken out by the very children they tried to force a marriage on.

Their own flesh and blood.

But blood isn't always thicker than water.

You felt like you were floating underwater when the guards ordered the bloodied guests to get to their feet. This was the world you knew Bucky lived in, but you hadn’t witnessed him kill anyone until now. In a strange way, you felt closer to him because you saw this. You knew exactly what he was capable of.

And just how far he’d go to keep you by his side.

“Let that be a lesson for anyone who tries to hurt the ones we love,” Sophia said, sweeping over the small crowd with a cool gaze. “Get them inside to clean up,” she ordered the guards, who quickly ushered them away.

I might pass out.

“Take it easy,” Natasha said as Clint brought a chair for you to sit on. “I know this is probably a bit of a shock.”

“You think?” Yelena asked as she put her gun away. “Get her a water. Or vodka.”

“We’ll get this cleaned up. Clint’s getting the car,” Steve assured Bucky, nodding over to you. “Go tend to your girl.”

His girl.

Bucky holstered his gun under his jacket and crouched down, cupping your face with a tender touch. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to leave you in the dark, but I had to. I couldn't risk your safety.”

Sophia hit his shoulder. “You could've told her something! 'I broke her heart to protect her' bullshit,” she said, making your eyebrows shoot up. “I knew you were a bit in the dark, but I didn't realize he didn't clue you in at all.”

That must've been why she was surprised that I questioned being a mistress. She knew it would never get that far, but I didn't.

“I couldn’t warn her with the men watching her. They would’ve known and I had to make it convincing,” he said through his teeth.

“Even after they were on our side? You couldn't have given her a clue?” Sophia pressed.

“Her place was bugged,” Natasha said, causing a wave of nausea to hit you. His dad had your home monitored, too? “George would've known the moment Bucky tipped her off. Today was the first day he stopped having anyone listen in and Yelena and I got rid of the bugs while she showered.”

Oh, my God.

“Everyone had to play along, no matter how much it hurt us to do so,” Bucky said before concern filled his eyes. “Doll?”

You threw your arms around him, feeling a bit dramatic when you dissolved into tears. It was so much to take in, but relief flowed through you as he held you. He didn't go through with the ceremony.

He loved you.

Bucky never stopped loving you.

“I've got you,” he whispered, leaning back to search your face.

“I’m fine. Really,” you said after a second, allowing him to wipe your tears away. Everything made sense now, like why the girls were so eager for you to be here today. “But you really couldn’t have slipped a note to Natasha or Yelena to warn me? Even a, 'Hey, doll. Your place is bugged!' sort of thing?” You added, just to make a little light of the tense situation.

Sophia snorted when Bucky's face fell, like that idea hadn’t dawned on him. “Told you that you’re a fucking idiot,” she said, her eyes more sympathetic as she looked at you. “But I get his apprehension. My father had measurements set in place for me as well to go through with today, including trying to incapacitate the man I want to be with.”

“I'm sorry,” you said. Bucky and Sophia had to endure a lot of pain thanks to the men who should've respected their wishes.

“None of this is your fault. And I got a call before I found you two and he's okay. My men are bringing him to me now that it's safe to do so,” she said, smiling to herself. “The ceremony was the only way to take our fathers out. And I won't shed a tear for that sperm donor now that he's gone.”

“Neither will I,” Bucky said, glaring at his dad’s dead body. “And I’ll spend every day making it up to you, doll. If I could've made him suffer more, I would've. A cut for every tear I made you shed.”

“That's a lot of tears. He would've bled out.”

“It's the least he deserved.”

“I need to get out of this gown,” Sophia said, dismissing one of the men who went to check on her. She slipped the engagement ring off her finger and handed it to Bucky. “Until next time, James. And you? I hope we can become friends, if only to piss him off.”

You laughed a little at the absurdity. She just murdered Bucky’s father and watched as he executed her own dad. And she extended a hand to you in friendship. You had to both admire and fear her. Brunhilde would love her. “I’d like that.”

“Take care of her or I’ll hear about it and I’ll make you sorry,” she warned Bucky before she walked away.

‘I told you that you'd see your future husband here,” Yelena said before Natasha nodded to the bodies. “What? They're not going anywhere.”

“Let's let the lovebirds be,” she said, slipping into the big sister role.

“Thank you for dragging me here. And for everything,” you told them before they let you be. You wished they would've told you, but understood why they couldn't. You wouldn't hold that against them. “Are you okay?” You asked Bucky. Whether or not he hated George, that was his father. Between that, lying to protect you and everything else, it was a lot on his shoulders.

“Do I have you?” He replied, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“You have me,” you said without hesitation.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes, I do,” you smiled. “With all my heart and more.”

“Then I’m okay,” he smiled back.

“I'm sorry for how I acted. I’m so sorry,” you said. It was selfish in so many ways to focus on your own pain. “I should've known-”

“No, don't apologize. You had every right to be upset and couldn't have known that everything was a charade. I'm just thankful you're safe,” he said, taking your left hand and slipping the ring onto your finger. “And I know this isn't romantic at all and you deserve a better proposal, but this ring belonged to my mother. Now it belongs on your finger and you belong at my side. I know the world I'm a part of is dangerous, but I will love, cherish, and protect you above all else.”

You softly laughed. There was nothing conventional about the impromptu proposal, but there was love behind it. Wasn't that all that mattered? “You may need to convince me to say 'yes',” you teased, gazing at your finger.

“You're the main reason I had my dad killed. Is that a good enough reason?” He smiled, his eyes a bright shade of blue when you smiled in return.

“That's true,” you nodded. He committed murder so you could be together. That was love. “And I know this world is a dangerous place, but there's no one else I'd rather be with because I love you, too.”

Bucky didn't hold back as he thoroughly kissed you, leaving your head spinning by the time he stopped. “I'm never letting you go.”

“You better not. And lucky for both of us, you don't have to get rid of any new boyfriends of mine. Though you may need to apologize to my girlfriends, too.”

“Good because I know you thought you were single, but I may have had to kill another man for touching you. And I think two deaths is enough for today,” he half-joked, pressing one more kiss to your lips. You wouldn't dream of anyone else putting their hands on you. “I will apologize to the girls, but first we need to make up for the time apart. Maybe start in the car? Show you why you should marry me?”

“That's a start,” you said as he helped you to your feet. “Where is the car taking us?”

“Our place if that's what you want,” he answered.

Our place sounds like a dream come true.

“We can go anywhere as long as I'm yours.”

“Told you that you're mine,” he smirked. “And I'm yours.”

As his lips met yours, you knew you would always belong to each other.

WHEW! Did you lovelies make it? What do we think? Love and thanks for reading! This was a whirlwind! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[tentacledtherapist]

I know the feeling, I love watching the movie over and over. It doesn't get old and there is always something new I notice when it replays. It is also fun to take new people into it because I love watching their expression during the scene with the hatchet in the bedroom. 10/10 nothing more entertaining.

I definitely see the gum melting as a sort of "glue" holding them together, you're right! There is a lot going on in that scene but I love all of it. I'd make my bedroom look like that if I could!

I also enjoy literature you can pick apart. There is something nice about digging your fingers inside it and unweaving it to try and find further meaning. I'm the opposite of "the curtains are blue" type people, I WANT that depth and symbolism. I want to pick it apart because it is FUN!

Maybe I like books like Les Mis because I enjoy people infodumping at me about things they like? 10 pages on the Parisian sewer system is nothing compared to the wikipedia articles some people have read to me. Sort of Tolkienesque type of worldbuilding and story where you have to understand what comes before so you can understand the now. Perhaps that is also why I like the genre of informational historical books. To understand the now we must understand the past. It holds its own sort of mystery too, like social archaeology.

The Ladies' Etiquette book was one of the most fascinating in-so-far as that it was actually far kinder than expected. You would think it would be stiff and cruel and demeaning but one of the first things it teaches is that as long as you are kind and care for others and love people, you will never be rude even if you shirk every other piece of etiquette in the book. I found that to be oddly sweet.

- Creature

P.s.: There is a corner give a book-take a book shelf nearby. Maybe I will find one there I can practice bookbinding on.

i saw the movie for the first time in an entirely empty theater, and the scream i scrumpt when the ax came down in michael's bedroom was hither-to unknown by mankind. it was peak cinema. i'm very glad i saw it on the big screen and it's my favorite scene to rewatch with people who've never seen the movie before. not my favorite scene in the whole movie, but the most entertaining to watch with people

i like the sentiment in that book. it reminds me of that snippet of roald dahl's writing about what real beauty is? granted, he was a pretty shitty person in the end, but he wrote a few paragraphs about how a person who is good on the inside can't ever be ugly, that the goodness inside them shines out of them like,,, sunlight? i think the quote was? i like the sentiment, even if the man who wrote it was pretty damn unpleasant on the inside

(and shel silverstein was the superior children’s book writer/illustrator double threat)

anyway,

i get it. the,,, almost infodumping nature of books that are really verbose. the person who wrote these books cared enough to write it all down, to proofread and fact check, to publish? i like it when there’s things to dig in to, to engage with. i like authors and poets and directors and, hell, even youtube video essayists who have something to say and they don’t care how long it takes to say it because they want to say it. and they’ll give us things to chew on all the while

i think i always need to be learning something, thinking about something, or else i’ll lose it. i genuinely enjoy the work i do, but it’s also not the most mentally engaging a lot of the time, so i like media that forces me to think about it. if that makes sense?

(it also doesn’t help that my coworkers are some of the most monotonous people ever? i enjoy my work, but breakroom conversations are hard when everyone you work with is a carbon copy of emmett from the lego movie. please can we talk about something other than your golf clubs, pleaseeee)

also there’s that… connection to people who came before you. it’s why i started doing all of my crafty hobbies. my mom taught me to crochet, my aunt started sewing clothes with me, my grandmother is why i play piano, etc. i get to keep that knowledge, i have that connection. and then i get to share it with other people and keep that connection going

- Lisa

[kence73]

bunch of bullshit dont bother fucking reading.docx

Heyho,

 I miss you and I love you, and it’s been hard. I have thought about you eight days in a week I cannot forget you. You are the love of my life someone I cannot forget, but I drove you away, and for what? I have been with so many women since you that I’ve reached a point where I cannot even count, I’ve even started to forget some of their names. I’ve been thinking of what to write for a good hour now and nothing comes to my fucking mind now that I’m here at the goddamn keyboard.

I know that you’ll never ever see this, the chances are slim to none, but I have to write this down, I have to. The reason why I had to cut you out of my life at some point is anyones guess at this point, I truly do not fucking know. That was the thing I thought I had to do at that time, and ever since then I have been, I don’t even know I don’t have a clue who I am anymore. I know there are ideals and ideas that are like a pillar for me that I cannot escape, and will always take place in the current personality I have at the time.

It's so bad, I don’t know what to say, I’m just fucking rambling. I thought of so many things to tell you, how I want to express my love towards you, but I cannot.

I am physically unable to do so. I have so many lines and even documents in my head all the time when I’m thinking about what to say, but now that I’m here my mind is like desert, there’s nothing but fucking sand. Everything I write is corny, or does not come out the way I intend it to.

I guess I’ll just write whatever comes to mind.

I love you so so fucking much and I ma simply unable to forget you. You changed the man I was, am and will be. I want to be with you, I want to hold you, I want to wake up next to you, but I cant. You have found somebody else. I hope that you and her are happy together and will always be. I feel like there’s a piece of me missing shaped like a fucking pig, all the time. It aches, it aches so much. I could never express how much I have always loved you and I never will be. Because I’m weak or some reason I have no idea why but I just could not, but I loved you and I do love you now. I always think about you, search for a glimpse of you in every woman I lay my eyes on.

  This is not how I imagined this would go, I thought all the nice and poetic thoughts will come out and I will have this beautiful document that if you will ever see it will bring tears in your eyes and think about how much we loved each other and that maybe we belong together forever. Instead here is this rambling of a baffling fool who cannot even think about a single thing to say to you besides I love you and miss you and so and so bunch of fucking nothing-to-say bullshit that nobody cares about. Yeah, that’s me, I’m a fucking mess, I thought I had become a man now and I could just write down the most beautiful piece of modern literature anyone has ever laid eyes on but instead I’m just an angry child who misses his ex and for some odd reason cannot seem to be able to just fucking move on already.

I hope you are truly happy, that’s all.

[dearly-somber]

Since Redamancy is here, I no longer have an excuse not to read this 🤡, so, here we go!

Shrouded in black, you nearly assumed he was your sleep paralysis demon…

I may have done the nose(?) thing at this line and I’m literally only on the first paragraph (sigh)

Maybe the thing that burned in your lungs was the fact that whatever it was wasn’t much of anything at all.

Okay. I see how it is. This is going to pain, pain, and more pain. Not ready. Let’s keep going.

Have I ever told you how much I love your use of similes and metaphors? No? Well I fucking adore your use of similes and metaphors, Miss Jade. Your writing constantly showcases how strong similes/ metaphors can really add to any piece of literature, and I just…

mwah.

he counted the days since he last saw her oH NO.

You were home, and now his house was haunted. A ghost.

crying. weeping. sobbing. fuck off (affectionate).

It took everything you had not to fall to your knees.

Why THE FUCK are my eyes burning, huh? I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS EMOTIONAL FFS.

“I had a dream about bulgogi last night that was borderline sexual, so keep that in mind.”

I love his characterization here, first off. Second off, THANK HUMOR; RESPITE.

If he was so dead-set on re-breaking his own heart, he’d do it with you in his arms.

i’m going to stare at the ceiling for hours after this, i’m sure. The amount of pure fucking heartache I’m feeling right now is borderline illegal.

… leaving clouds of indigo behind.

I have no idea if this was posted before or after the album dropped, but this is just yes. Just yes. Also the way you write their smut? Fucking. Yes. Goals.

Shivering, slack-jawed, and stupid…

HAVE I MENTIONED HOW MUCH I LOVE ALLITERATION?

“I’ll trade you for it.”

(insert incoherent noises of both happiness and unbearable cry-baby tears here)

I’m always so amazed at your writing, jade, it’s astounding how good you are. If I could I’d scream it at you with my whole heart and chest, but alas, the best I can do is metaphorically cry into your shoulder because ouch? Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Breaks my heart, and knowing this is something so close to your heart makes it even more fucking heart-wrenchingly beautiful, I can’t fathom it.

I really love the way you wrote the smut scene. It’s kind of rough, but still somehow feels like they’re making love and not just fucking to fuck, you know? Like you can sense and see and feel the love underneath it all.

I’m kind of pissed at myself for leaving this for so long, but at the very least I won’t have to wait for the sequel 🥹🫶🏻

As usual, a 10/10, would recommend.

lacuna (knj)

lacuna (n): a blank space, a missing part

In his twenty-eight years, Kim Namjoon had made countless mistakes. Most of them were insignificant and could be shoved easily enough into the back corner of his mind. The worst of them were all tied for first place, keeping him up at night.

Loving you, losing you, and now – picking up the phone. 

Pairing: Ex!Kim Namjoon x Fem!Reader Type: One-Shot (Angst, Smut - 18+ or else.) Word Count: Like, 7K (?!) Content: ex-boyfriend au; exes to something?; literally so much angst; yearning; pov switches; oral sex (f receiving); unprotected sex; p in v penetration; cursing; texts from Yoongi. A/N: For reasons unknown, I decided to break my own heart today! The lyrics you'll see below are from "Sooner" by The Low Blow. There's also a reference to one of my favorite tv shows at the end - did you catch it? (1/9/23) The sequel, Redamancy, is finally here!

Sitting cross-legged on the rug, your weary, unfocused eyes stared somewhere in the vicinity of Min Yoongi. Shrouded all in black, you nearly assumed he was your sleep paralysis demon, hunched over his keyboard with his eyes narrowed in thought – but you hadn’t slept much at all lately. Not with your deadline looming overhead like the sword of Damocles. 

He relayed what was already looping through your brain. “It’s missing something.” 

You scrubbed your hands over your face, too burnt out to care if your foundation stayed where it was supposed to. “I know,” was all you said, though it wasn’t all you were thinking. Listening to this demo – this crushing song about love lost – you knew what was missing. Or rather, who. 

Once again reading your mind, Yoongi spoke with a wary sigh. This time, he said the quiet part out loud. “Listen, I know that on a personal level, this is a terrible idea. But if you really want this track to ache –” 

“I’ll call him.” 

Yoongi turned to look at you over his shoulder. He, like you, hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours; but his surprise still managed to crack through an otherwise impassive expression.

“You sure you want to be the one?” His frown was microscopic, but it was there and it bruised. “I have to hit him up, anyway, so I can handle this for you.” 

You’d never told him – or any of your friends, come to think of it – the details of your whatever it was with Namjoon. You couldn’t call it a breakup; that would necessitate a relationship. You couldn’t comfortably assign that word to this indescribable something.

But maybe that’s precisely why it hurt to breathe when you thought too hard about it. Maybe the thing that burned in your lungs was the fact that whatever it was wasn’t much of anything at all. 

The universally known narrative was that you met Kim Namjoon at a release party two years prior. After years of putting out extended plays, he was dropping his highly anticipated, full-length masterpiece.

That’s what your label called it; that’s what the press called it; but you couldn’t agree. That word wasn’t heavy enough – it didn’t give due credit to the pieces of himself he broke down and buried within those twelve tracks. You felt seen when you heard it. When you saw him, it was game over. 

As the story goes, you went home with him that night. While true, it was the tiniest fragment sitting sharp at the tip of an iceberg. The rest was an ill-equipped ship, sailing in slow-motion through the dark. 

He'd spent the entirety of his celebration focused on you. What you thought; what you wanted for yourself; what made that tipsy, uninhibited giggle come flying out of your chest. And then, holding his hand like it’d been tailor-made for yours, you followed his lead out of there while confused partygoers murmured in your wake. 

He fucked you like he knew you – on a cellular level – and he looked at you like you were all there was. You’d spent the entirety of the following day there, draped over him or nestled underneath him. You were never not touching in some way – in the little interludes of sleep; while cooking a breakfast too big for the two of you alone; on every surface of his apartment. 

He changed your life in those twenty-four hours, but not enough for it to stick. 

You’d spent as much time with him as you could in the year afterward, until your twin ambitions sent you both rocketing in other directions. Your various obligations never allowed you to be in the same place for long; and when they did, it was over too soon. No amount of time would ever feel like enough, but half a day, here and there, felt like a cosmic joke. Like the universe was punishing you for wanting everything, all at once. 

Eventually, you came to a fork in the road. 

His career, though international, was rooted in Korea – home. Yours took you to Los Angeles, to a vastly different time zone, and a schedule that refused to make space. And you tried, but when it came down to choosing – idling together or racing forward alone – your respective dreams were so heavy that they tipped the scales.  

Neither of you could blame the other. After all, you’d both made the same decision. There was some small comfort in knowing that he understood you. That consolation couldn’t keep you warm at night, when you’d instinctively reach out and find half of your bed still empty.

It would’ve been so much easier to live without him if there was some horrible betrayal to pin it all on, but he was as perfect when you lost him as he was when you found him. 

Shaky legs pushed you off the ground. Without meaning to, you groaned as your body returned to its regularly scheduled programming. Yoongi simply muttered, “Same,” as he made additional adjustments in his editing software.

You affectionally touched your knuckles to his shoulder as you passed by, though you quickly realized this gesture wasn’t made to comfort him. 

You shut the door softly behind you and headed up the hallway. Having kicked off and subsequently lost your shoes several hours ago, you padded in socked feet across the hardwood. The pattern – the various evolutions of Eevee – clashed so blatantly with the extravagance around you. Glancing down, you chuckled. At least some parts of you were still recognizable. 

The door to the stairwell creaked as you pushed it open and ducked inside. No longer camped out in the soundproof studio, you could hear the smattering of raindrops as they pummeled the exterior walls of the building. Somewhere between a drum roll and machine gun fire, you couldn’t figure out if the noise emphasized or relieved your anxiety. 

Gently, you lowered yourself down on a step halfway up the flight. As you stared down at your phone, your knee bounced of its own volition. For once, you were thankful for the seventeen-hour time difference. This was the kind of call you needed to make at midnight, but one you didn’t want him receiving at midnight. It felt so much safer in daylight.

At least one of you had eyes on the sun. 

You’d deleted his number from your phone months ago because you thought it might help you let go. It didn’t. And to make matters worse, you still knew it by heart. As you typed it out easily, you wished this realization surprised you. You also wished that you’d catch him at a bad time, so you could simply leave a message. 

You’d never been lucky, though, had you?

Namjoon was half-asleep at a café table when the vibration of his phone against the wrought metal snapped him out of it. In his under-caffeinated daze, he couldn’t determine what that unbearable grinding noise was.

He could, however, see the way the elderly woman nearby was scowling at him. He furrowed his brows and blinked back at her; silently asking what the fuck her problem was. Just as silently, she pointed an angry, wrinkled finger to his tabletop. 

By the time his brain kicked into gear, he was too late. He picked up his now-quiet phone and nearly dropped it in an instant when he saw your name tied to a missed call. He didn’t think twice before returning it – he should have – having figured there was only one way to know if he was truly hallucinating. You picked up immediately in a voice so you that he couldn’t have imagined it. He knew because he'd already tried.

“Hey.” 

People who didn’t know you often mistook the natural rasp of your voice for tiredness, but he did know you. You were beyond exhausted, more so than the last time he’d heard from you. Five months and twenty-one days ago.

This sounded like another all-nighter; like you got so consumed in creating that you couldn’t sleep until you finished. Remembering you like this opened a black hole in his chest – all this fondness with nowhere to go, collapsing in on itself, pulling.

What kind of masochist was he, voluntarily subjecting himself to this conversation? 

“Hey,” He croaked. Even his voice didn't know what to do. 

He heard shuffling on your end. You always pinned your phone between your right ear and shoulder to start; he immediately knew the sound of your hair against the receiver when you switched it to your left side. Vanilla and honey flooded his nose despite the thousands of miles that separated him from the scent of your shampoo. 

There were a thousand questions spinning dizzy in his mind, but he couldn’t untangle them to spit one out. The longer you both remained quiet, the worse it got – and the worse he felt for his silence. Even without seeing you, he knew that your brows were knitting together. He knew that quiet made you feel too exposed. 

Namjoon cleared his throat to speak at the same moment you asked, “How are you?” His words echoed, a half-second from being uttered in unison. 

He prayed to any god that he’d stop feeling so nervous. There was no reason to be, not with you. You were his comfort zone, his safe space and – oh. Past tense.

Presently, you were – what, exactly? Could he call you an “ex” if you’d never had a title? It all felt too juvenile, hearing people whisper about his girlfriend. You were –fuck – You were home, and now his house was haunted.

A ghost. 

“I’ve been good,” he said quickly, planting a hollow smile on his face that wouldn’t have convinced you if you were there. Liar, liar, liar. “Busy. You sound –” 

“Awful?”

“– like you’ve been working all night.” 

He heard a sheepish chuckle and his clumsy, thudding heart went flying off into the void.

“That’s actually why I’m calling,” you admitted in a voice so tiny he nearly missed it, “And I wouldn’t be – I promise – if I could’ve bothered anyone else with this. This one, though… when I hear it in my head, I can’t imagine anyone –” 

“Say less.” 

It slipped out of him automatically. He couldn’t stop it. Now it was dangling there in dead air where he couldn’t reach it and shove it back down his throat. He must have said that to you a thousand times, giving you whatever you needed before you could even finish asking.

This was the first time he’d ever said it without punctuating it with a kiss to your forehead, though. And now, his equilibrium was off, like the staircase had one less step than he was expecting. 

When you finally broke the silence, he could’ve sworn he heard you sniffle, but he quickly kicked that thought back into the cage it escaped from. Your voice didn’t sound sad at all, so you couldn’t have been crying. Why would you be?

“I can have Yoongi send you what we have so far, lyrics too. If you’re interested, just let me know – verse, bridge, whatever you want.” 

“You’re with Yoongi?” 

It came out exactly as he hadn't intended – accusatory. It was no business of his who you spent time with, professionally or otherwise. And it didn’t even surprise him that Yoongi would stick around after the – whatever it was. All your shared friends stayed shared. His confusion was solely that Yoongi never mentioned working with you, let alone flying stateside to do so. 

Why hadn’t Yoongi said something? Did he assume Namjoon wouldn’t be interested in hearing about your project? Because he would - he kept up with all of your releases, even if it hurt. Was he scared that the mere mention of you would exacerbate the tailspin Namjoon was barely surviving?

Or was it something else? 

“Yeah, he got here a few days ago. I offered to send the vocals to him, but he said he wanted In-N-Out,” Your laugh, even under the weight of your sleepiness, still packed a punch. “Might be the longest trip anyone’s ever made for animal-style fries.” 

Namjoon felt like he was going to pass out, but for your sake, he tried to echo your laugh. “Sounds like he’s got his priorities in order, as usual.” 

That uncomfortable silence crawled back in and settled in the space between you. It never used to be like this. His mouth remained open as if his broken brain could think of a single thing to say. There were hours in every second that passed, but he didn’t hang up – and neither did you. 

“So, if I figure something out, I can shoot it back over –” 

You interrupted this time.

“No need,” You chirped. You must’ve sensed that his train of thought now consisted only of question marks because you dove right back in, “I’ll be in Seoul at the end of the month, so we can put all the pieces together then.” 

Please tell me you’re speaking metaphorically. Please say – 

“I’ve gotta hop off now, but it was –” Your voice petered out at the end of your statement, and he didn’t know what to do within the pause.

What pleasantry would you settle on to end this conversation? Was it nice to hear from him, or did you also feel like you’d walked through the emotional equivalent of a car wash?  

It was heavy when you exhaled the amendment, hitting the ground with a thud that could’ve knocked him over.

It was torture, and it drop-kicked him into the abyss at full-speed. No light above, no hope below. A black hole that he kept selfishly refusing to close – all because he answered your call. 

“Thank you, Joonie.” 

Fuck. He was doomed.

You spent a shocking percentage of your life on international flights. It was a privilege – you knew it – to travel to the extent that you did, but it was so lonely.

If you were flying, there were two justifications. The first was the most common – touring. You’d touch down in cities all over the world, stay for a few hours, and then you’d leave again as soon as you could blink.

Your interactions were limited, either one-sided conversations from a stage; or facilitated entirely by a local translator. Never truly connecting, missed phone calls and texts sent too late to get a response. The same stale conversations with the crew that had been stuck with you for months. 

The second was less common, and somehow even lonelier – visiting a home that was no longer yours. 

It always went the same way. You’d touch down at the Incheon International Airport in your home country and feel just as foreign as the tourists bustling around you. You’d gather a suitcase’s worth of belongings and try not to think about the fact that they – and everything else you owned – once lived there, too. You’d hit customs and then, as a reward, snag yourself some boba from the café on your way out the door. 

In all those trips, you’d never once hailed a cab because Namjoon was always waiting. You’d hear him before you saw him with how loud he kept his car’s stereo, but when you did finally lay eyes on him, you’d light up like a sparkler. He’d shower you with affection – publicly, despite his usually private nature – and swap out the luggage in your hands for some thoughtful surprise. Flowers, usually, after painstaking deliberation over the meaning he wanted to convey. 

Now, you stood on the sidewalk with your empty hand in the air. 

Shortly after settling into your cab, you fell asleep. The person who would have gently scolded you for taking this risk wasn’t there to do so. Instead, you woke up stiff and disoriented to the sound of your driver honking his horn. You quickly learned that he wasn’t honking at traffic; he was honking at you with a scowl on his face. 

“Time to go! Wake up – your stop!” 

He was speaking in English, so it took you a few moments to determine whether you were dreaming. Impatient, he honked again.

Did he think you were a tourist? Was he right?

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you threw the door open and hurled yourself out. You ran to the trunk, snatched your suitcase, and tried not to remember that you didn't used to have to do this part yourself.

Yoongi had the foresight to give you a spare keycard before leaving California, so you were able to get into his building quickly – before you were honked at again. Spoken to in English again, like this place had never been home.

You, belonging nowhere and to no one, kept yourself together until the elevator doors gave you some semblance of shelter. 

Alone, alone, alone, you cried so hard that your shoulders shook. The mirrored walls around you showed infinite versions of you, all pitiful like a little girl who’d gotten separated from her parents at an amusement park. It was incredible how you felt smaller in that elevator than you did as a child. And fuck, did that embarrassment make you cry even harder. 

Eventually, those doors would have to re-open, and you’d have to let yourself into Yoongi’s unoccupied penthouse just to wait for his return. You were so sick of walking into empty apartments and hearing nothing but your own footsteps. No warmth, no laughter, just a black hole of your own creation. 

You chose this, you reminded yourself. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? You were so busy chasing broader horizons, you didn't notice that the sun had disappeared. If you’d known – really, truly known – what the fall would be like, would you have taken that leap of faith? No, you think, but you did and there’s no jumping back into the airplane once you’ve dived out of it.

Ding. 

There was a post-it note waiting for you on the inside of Yoongi’s door that you would’ve missed if you hadn’t taken so much time to shut it behind you. His handwriting was shockingly neat for someone who was always in a rush. His note told you that he’d be home in two hours, that there was food for you in the refrigerator, and that you should help yourself to whatever you needed. 

The sinkhole in your stomach wasn’t created by hunger, so you pushed that down to the bottom of your to-do list and dragged your luggage to the guest bedroom down the hall.

Every inch of his place was undeniably Yoongi – monochromatic and edgy, but still so confusingly inviting. His guest room was similar in style, but with more personalized touches than most visitors tended to expect. Framed photos of friends, and the collaborators he was most proud to work with.

Your eyes eventually found one of you, beaming brightly. 

It hurt to look, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. It was taken in a photobooth at Kim Seokjin’s wedding last spring. You were sandwiched on a small bench seat between Yoongi and Namjoon. The former, like you, was captured in the middle of a laugh - smiling at the camera with all teeth, eyes crinkled at the edges but still sparkling. The latter wasn’t looking at the camera at all – just you, like you were all there was. 

Forcing yourself to look away, you returned the frame to its place on the vanity and kept moving. Your primary instinct was to hurl yourself into the plush bed and never leave it. But you felt stale after spending so much time traveling, and you didn’t want to collapse into those beautiful sheets until you’d scrubbed the day off you. 

Shuffling off to the bathroom, you finally remembered to take your phone off ‘airplane mode.’ All at once, the floodgates opened. The onslaught of texts, emails, and voicemails was so overwhelming that your phone froze. When the flurry stopped, you scanned through your various inboxes for anything that might require an immediate response. Finding nothing urgent, you were about to set your phone down when you saw an email from Namjoon, addressing both you and Yoongi. His verse, you realized as you opened it. 

I think I lost you sooner than I wanted to  And I know you can't say the same  But I can't hate you for doing what you've gotta do  Cause I'm just in bed sleeping through the pain  Do you see wasted potential when you look at me?  Of what we could be if it wasn't like this  I know you asked me not to try and change myself  But when I was with you, I felt fixed 

It took everything you had not to drop to your knees.

Namjoon was an incredible liar.

He didn’t utilize the skill often – in fact, he was usually too honest – but when he did, he could get himself out of any unwanted scenario. In the distant past, he’d slip out of obligations made by his label to stay home in bed with you. It worked every single time. Instead of putting on some over-priced suit, wasting his breath swapping empty pleasantries with industry tools; he’d be hooking his arms around your quivering thighs, pinning you to his face as he fucked you with his tongue. 

In the present, he lied again. 

Yoongi asked, “How did it feel to hear from her again?” 

“To be honest,” Namjoon started, knowing full well that nothing he said next would be, “That shit’s behind me, man. I was surprised her number was still in my contacts, you know? She’s been a non-factor for a minute.” 

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “With the number of girls you’ve gone through in the meantime, I imagine it gets hard to keep track.” 

Hook, line, sinker. 

Namjoon offered a smirk and a shrug in response, which Yoongi accepted without further comment. The relief of being believed did nothing to cure the nausea swirling in Namjoon’s stomach, though - not just for the cruelty of his lie, but for the way he’d acted since you left and stayed gone.  

He learned early on that it would take more than fucking someone he didn't know to keep warm, but knowing better didn’t mean he did better. None of them – and there were many – could pull him from the limbo he found himself in without you. There was an emptiness gnawing at his insides that he couldn’t fill, and the more he tried, the more it tore at him.

The only thing he succeeded at was becoming someone he didn’t recognize –someone he didn’t even like. 

Yoongi pulled into his parking garage and turned to Namjoon, staking him through the heart with words alone. “Well, the non-factor is upstairs, so try to remember her name when you see her.” 

Namjoon chuckled, but it didn’t sound anywhere close to convincing. There was a flicker of doubt in Yoongi’s quickly flexed eyebrow, though he kept any questions he may have had to himself. Without a word, they clambered out of the car, and they stayed quiet until they stepped into the elevator. 

“How has she been?” Namjoon asked more quietly than he meant to. Like someone who’s scared of the answer - or worse, being asked why he’s asking. Quickly diverting further inquiry, he provided clarification Yoongi hadn’t sought. “Sounded tired as fuck on the phone.” 

Yoongi glanced at Namjoon before selecting the button marked with his floor number. “You know how she is,” He hummed. 

That one hurt. He knew how you were – past tense.

Except for that one phone call, he hadn’t heard your voice in months. He hadn’t seen you for even longer than that. Your number hadn’t changed, but for all he knew, everything else could have. All he had now was his memory’s pale imitation of you, always in sight but never within reach. A ghost that disappeared into the walls before he could get too close. 

When the elevator door opened, Namjoon was fighting between running forward and running away. Incapable of doing either, it was Yoongi’s light punch on his bicep that prompted his feet to move. Namjoon trudged along after him until Yoongi stopped short with a groan. 

“The fuck?” Namjoon coughed as he collided with Yoongi’s back. “Don’t tell me you’re already winded, dude. I’m not giving your old ass a piggy-back ride.” 

The scowl he received could’ve scorched the Earth.  

“I forgot my fucking phone in the car.” Yoongi tossed his apartment key at Namjoon. It thudded against his unsuspecting chest only to be caught on the rebound. Then, Yoongi pointed at the door. “Go play nice and figure out where we’re getting take-out from. I had a dream about bulgogi last night that was borderline sexual, so keep that in mind.” 

Namjoon’s face scrunched up. “I’ll be trying my best to keep it out, so thanks for that.”  

Yoongi had already turned around, waving a dismissive hand as he stalked off. 

As soon as Namjoon heard the elevator doors close, his phone chirped in his pocket and caught him off guard. He glanced down to find a text from Yoongi – who was, apparently, also a liar. 

Yoongi [18:19 PM]: fyi you always say “to be honest” when you’re about to say some bullshit Yoongi [18:19 PM]: "non-factor" my asssssss

Namjoon grimaced and shoved his phone back into his pocket before walking to Yoongi’s door with his heart in his throat.

Clearly, Yoongi wanted Najmoon to fix things with you. He’d crafted some false narrative to get himself out of there, to give Namjoon the time and space to do it. But there wasn’t a single fucking thing he could say to rebuild the bridge you’d both demolished together.

That is, if you even wanted him to try.

After unlocking the door, he froze. A full minute passed before his hand received his brain’s signal to turn the knob, and even then, his feet felt as if they were encased in concrete. If hearing your voice made him spiral, he was terrified of what the sight of you might do.

More than anything, he was scared to see how you looked at him – and he didn’t know what reaction he wanted. If you lit up the way you used to, it might kill him. If you had no reaction at all, it would definitely kill him. 

He would’ve stalled at that threshold all night if you didn’t appear in the hallway, straight ahead. You froze like a deer in headlights, one hand still on the door you’d exited from. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly in surprise. He didn’t notice the red rims around your eyes right away, but once he did, every cell in his body screamed at him to run to you, to hold you. But he didn’t.

Touching you now only to lose you again tomorrow - well, that was a scab he couldn’t rip off again. There was only scar tissue where his heart used to be.

“Hey,” You smiled so sweetly when you saw him, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Those fucking eyes! He’d give up everything he had to erase the sadness swimming behind them, threatening to spill out. Why were you still so far away? You glanced around him, noting Yoongi’s absence, but didn’t ask where he was. “I was thinking we could get something from that –” 

The longer he stared at you, the more impossible it became to keep his distance. He couldn’t stand on that doorstep with you over there, trying so hard to look like you hadn’t been crying – like you weren’t about to start again. 

Fuck it.

If he was so dead-set on re-breaking his own heart, he’d do it with you in his arms.

“Joonie, is everything oka–” 

No, nothing was. Nothing had been, not for – fuck, are his eyes getting misty? - a long time. Not since you walked out of his apartment for the last time, and he let you. He couldn’t make any of it okay, but with you there now, he didn’t give a fuck about where you were before. 

Your eyes were as big as the moon when he finally reached you, blinking your surprise up at him. Did you really think he had any other option than to hold you? Did you have any idea how you looking at him like this - bare-faced, freshly-showered, vulnerable - demanded his immediate affection?

It felt like coming home, sliding his fingers through your still-damp hair. He could’ve fallen to pieces when the familiar scent of your shampoo – vanilla and honey – crashed over him, but he didn’t. His lips collided with yours, and for the first time in a fucking year, he felt whole.

You clung to him so desperately, you could’ve ripped a hole in his shirt. You couldn't care about that, though, because he kissed you and it was pure starlight. He kissed you hard, nicking your lip between his teeth until you opened your mouth against his. You whimpered into him, drunk on the wet heat of his mouth, melting and falling and spinning and flying. You felt it all fall to the wayside, every second wasted without him, every text you didn’t send, every wrong turn that led you so far away. 

You didn't realize until you finally broke apart that the tears on your cheek weren’t exclusively yours. His gaze locked with yours, and all either of you could do was gasp for air - chests heaving, lips kissed swollen. If not for the arm around your back, pinning you against his chest, you would’ve floated away. But he had you, completely.  

Finally, you felt tethered. 

Your trembling hand settled on the side of his face. Fuck! That face. The warmth of his skin, the heights of his cheek bones, the gentle slope of his nose. How many mornings did you wake up and miss it? How did you ever fall asleep without it nuzzled into the crook of your neck, without the whisper of warm breath on your skin?

You wanted to scream until the hurt left your chest, but you didn’t dare – not with that face so perfectly close to yours.  

He spoke first, “I’m so –” 

Your eyes followed your thumb as it swiped over his bottom lip, unearthing a quiver that burned you up inside. He was paralyzed by your touch. Enraptured. Leaving that clause hanging open in the air.

His eyes were wide with anticipation as he watched you, pupils dilating when you whispered. “Say less.” 

Faster than you could process, he lifted you off the ground as if you weighed nothing at all. Automatically, your legs locked behind his back; your lips re-captured his and his kiss never faltered as he carried you back into the guest room. Quickly and with a shocking display of control, he kicked the door closed without slamming it – or breaking it. 

Like so many times before, he laid you gently onto the mattress as if you were crafted from porcelain. And when he finally pulled away from you, you gazed up at him in awe. This was one of the million reasons you couldn’t seem to let him go – the way his eyes softened when you were breathless underneath him, like you were the only thing in the universe worth looking at.

There were too many things to be said that neither of you could verbalize. You felt them all falling down around you like confetti, loose ends to be tied up later. He didn’t need to say a thing, so long as he kept looking at you like that. 

When his fingers landed at the hem of your shirt, you knew what came next. A dance you’d done a thousand times before, you lifted your arms for him to pull it up and off. Still damp from your shower, the ends of your hair raised goosebumps as they chilled the bare skin of your back.  

He moved slowly and without breaking eye contact as he unbuttoned your jeans. Your zipper followed, then your jeans and underwear in tandem. The denim dragged so deliciously against your thighs as he slipped them down, down, down. As he tugged them off your ankles, you discarded your bra and tossed it aside. You were entirely bare and shivering with anticipation when his gaze found you again.

His shirt soon joined yours on the floor. Kneeling between your legs, his bare chest burned against your own as he kissed you for the third time. So many more were needed to make up for lost time, but you could feel how much of himself he poured into the kisses he’d credited you with so far. The taste of his mouth on yours was indescribably intoxicating after so much time apart. 

With you sufficiently distracted, the hands that cupped your face began to migrate. You felt so small under his touch, reduced to putty in the warm expanse of his palms. His face lowered too, freeing your mouth to moan as he placed open-mouthed kisses down the length of your neck. Involuntarily, you gasped when his fingers pinched at one of your nipples. The curve of his smile impressed upon your throat as he suckled at the sensitive skin he found there, leaving clouds of indigo behind. 

As he marked you, he rolled and tweaked your nipples in turn. Your eyes fluttered shut and you keened while your head crashed back against the pillows, “That mouth – feels s-so fucking good.” Your fingers carded through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp; his silence broke with a shuddered moan. 

“S’all I want, baby,” He hummed as his lips trailed down from your neck and beyond your collarbone. “To make you feel good.”  

You were trembling when he claimed one of your nipples with his mouth. Then he had the audacity to look up at you from under his lashes when he released it with a lewd pop, causing your back to arch against his chest with a gasp. There was a rumble from deep within him when your grip on his hair tightened, and the sound alone made you gush. 

“To taste you,” His tongue left a wet stripe above your navel as he continued his descent, large hands dipping beneath you to squeeze the doughy flesh of your ass. Shit - you would simply never recover from this. “To devour you until you melt in my mouth.” 

Another sharp tug at his hair, another guttural moan breaking free from your chest. How often had you dreamed of this in your time apart? How many times did you try to remember how it felt when that timbre whispered sins against your naked body? Fuck. With those words alone, he had you on the brink. 

You whined when he pulled away from you; but it quickly turned into a gasp when he hooked his arms around your thighs and dragged you with him towards the end of the bed. Now kneeling on the floor, he ducked below your knees until they rested over the tops of his shoulders. 

Face so near to your aching core, he growled, and you felt it. “I missed this pussy –” He placed a wet kiss on your inner thigh, prompting you to clench them reflexively. “I missed the way your thighs squeeze around me while you fuck yourself against my tongue.” 

Shivering, slack-jawed, and stupid, you grabbed fistfuls of the comforter below you. He was so painfully close to your cunt and still so fucking far from you. You knew he could see how badly you craved him - you’d beg for his mouth if you had to. 

Of course, you didn’t have to - you never did. Seconds before your impatience could drive you fully insane, he was on you, tongue flat against your cunt, dragging up against your slit. When the tip of his tongue flicked over your clit, you cried out with a buck of your hips. His grip on you tightened, pinning you flush against him as he teased you. 

“That it’s, baby. Good girl.” 

It’s a miracle either one of you could form words with how relentlessly he licked, nipped, and suckled on your throbbing cunt. All you could do was babble in response to his praise – until the tip of his tongue penetrated your weeping hole, and you screamed. 

A flurry of curse words spilled from your lips; his name sprinkled in between the obscenities. Fuck, you needed more. More, more, more. You extended your arm and reclaimed your grasp on his locks. Once you did, you began to grind yourself against his tongue until your abdominal muscles burned - you hadn’t utilized them to this extent since the last time.

His hand squeezed your thigh, goading you, encouraging you to use him the way you needed to. The pressure of his tongue increased with your pace. You had no control over the sounds you made; the breathless moans escaped you before you could think of trapping them. The coil was tightening, burning red-hot in the pit of your belly. 

So good, so good, so g – 

“Fuck!” 

One by one, your muscles tensed in quick succession until your body shook violently in his grip. Toes curling, back arching, head crashing backwards into the pillows, mewling. When you finally gathered the strength to re-open your bleary eyes, there were spots dotting the edges of your vision – and then there was Namjoon, fuck-drunk between your weakened knees, with a mixture of his saliva and your orgasm shining on his chin. 

Lustful eyes locked squarely on your flushed face; his tongue slid from between his swollen lips to attend to the mess you’d made of him. His panting rivaled yours, but unlike you, he was still capable of speech. “I will never – ever – get tired of watching you come,” he sighed before wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” 

As he climbed back on top of you, he placed a chaste kiss on your sweaty forehead. “So vulnerable –” Then the tip of your nose. “So vocal –” Then, too briefly, your lips. “Perfect.” 

“Joon,” You murmured against his lips. His mouth curved into a smile at the nickname, which you used almost exclusively to win arguments, or to persuade him to do something. It worked every time. 

He nudged your nose with the tip of his as he tried to conceal his laugh. “Baby?” 

The fond look in his eyes was quickly covered by fluttering eyelids as your fingertips whispered down over his chest. They snapped open and bored into you as your fingers slid over the waistband of his joggers, tracing a feather-light trail over the bulge below. You felt his cock twitch autonomously against the warmth of your palm. 

“Shit,” He hissed through gritted teeth as you squeezed him. Eyes drifting shut once again; he rolled his hips to exacerbate the friction. His neck tensed, head thrown back, when you finally dipped under the elastic and took him into your hand. Skin to skin, burning up. The next moan from his fawning mouth was something you hadn’t heard in his voice for months – your name. “I need you. Now.” 

In the few moments he pulled away to remove his pants, a chill crept in and settled where the weight of his body had just been. There it is again, you thought, the feeling of having him and losing him. When this night was over and he was gone from you, would he stay that way? Should you have gone this far, knowing nothing would be different in the daylight? 

You were blinking fast when he reclaimed the space above you. Something flickered in his eye as he assessed the look on your face, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you so gently that you could’ve imagined it – but so completely that your brain could never have fabricated it. Not successfully, anyway. You’d already tried. 

Breaking apart once more, he reached down and stroked himself slowly. His eyes never left yours. You both held your breath as he slid into you, millimeter by millimeter, reminding your body – after all this time – how to take him. All of him, to the hilt, until you could finally exhale. Stretched to accommodate his width, so fucking full, you saw a way out of the nothing that had you trapped like quicksand. It was him, always. Your safe haven.

Neither of you could speak once he began rolling his hips against you. The quiet was electrified by heavy breaths and whimpers. The wet heat of your cunt squelched as your walls enveloped him, just as unwilling to let him go as the rest of you. Over and over, he grinded into you, dragging his length across your most sensitive places; hips swiveling slightly to the side as he pushed and pulled himself through you, the way he knew you liked it. 

Open mouth beside his ear, you keened and sighed, wordlessly informing him that you wouldn’t last much longer. He was perfectly attuned to your subconscious movements, and he responded to each of them without hesitation. He’d never need to be reminded that the fingernails digging into his biceps meant faster, and the upward tilt of your jaw meant deeper. That when your eyebrows rose above your closed lids, you were seconds away from your release. 

He remembered exactly how to fuck you through your orgasm when it came – shallow, staccato thrusts that unraveled you further as you writhed against the sheets. The spot on your neck to nip at like some secret switch, praise dripping hot in your ear like honey. “Such a good girl, squeezing me like this,” He panted, “Taking me so well – so fucking perfect for me, angel.” 

As soon as you crashed down through the atmosphere, his movements threatened to ricochet you right back into space. You keened helplessly with your half-numbed fingers gripping any part of him where they could find purchase. “I c-can't stop -” You mewled, “How am I s-still c-coming?” 

His response didn’t come in the form of words. His lips collided with yours hard enough to clink teeth as he drove himself deeper and deeper and deeper. Sloppy, kiss-bitten lips laying claim; relentless in their mutual need for closeness. Your walls were still fluttering around him – was this your second orgasm or your third? - when he moaned into your mouth. Every part of him tensed above, around, and inside you as the flood of his release filled every crevice of your cunt. 

Breathing ragged, his head fell into the crook of your shoulder. Considerate as ever, he tried so hard to keep his full weight off you, but his exhaustion undermined his efforts. You didn’t mind at all – you’d re-build your home there, staying forever between his body and that borrowed bed if you could. 

But you couldn’t, could you? If you felt empty before, how could you feel whole again after this? His name etched itself into your ribcage, and now your body would never re-acclimate to his absence. Why did you do this to yourself? 

You squeezed your eyes shut tight when you felt tears prickling in their corners.  

Everything you felt for him – over the course of two years – came crashing down over you. You buried your face into his shoulder and tried your best to keep your crying to yourself. You’d never get his scent off your body now. 

He could sense your shaking; it forced his heavy lids open. 

“I don’t know what to do with it,” you sniffled, silently begging yourself to stop. You felt yourself shrinking under his eye. It would only be a matter of time before you disappeared entirely.

His tone dripped with concern, serving only to deepen that infernal ache in the pit of your stomach. “With what?”  

“All the love I have for you. I don’t –” You sobbed, “I don’t know where to put it now.” 

His breath caught in his throat as if you’d punched him straight in the chest. If you listened hard enough, you might’ve heard his heart break. You could certainly feel it in the way he tensed in your arms. When he moved off you, you feared the worst – that your incessant crying overflowed the bathtub, and your admission was the toaster thrown recklessly inside.  

But unlike the last time, he didn’t leave - and neither did you.

The mattress shifted as he claimed the space at your side - where he should have been all this time. Strong arms enveloped you as he turned to face you, and even though he held you, he couldn’t stop you from shattering. For a while, he let you. Squeezed you hard, stroked your hair the way he used to, let you cry out all the poison that filled the spaces in the cavern of your chest.

And when you could finally breathe again, he kissed your forehead. “I’ll trade you for it.” 

(1/8/23): Check out the sequel, Redamancy, here.

[honeyabyss]

Phone calls after Mc returned to the human realm

Lucifer:

this man is stubborn, calling you would be like admitting he's gone soft and his pride does not allow that!

so he refuses to call for the first few weeks, keeping himself busy with work of which he has enough anyway

due to all his student council work, a few other tasks of Diavolo and on top of that the usual shenanigans of his brothers, he quickly becomes very stressed

he's at his breaking point and needs someone to talk to so he can release some of his stress before he takes it out on someone else

so he goes to your old room and starts talking as soon as he enters it, only to stop confused when he doesn't see you in the room, remembering only now you left for the human realm

disappointed he sits down onto the bed and curls the blanket around himself

"Their scent is almost gone...Soon it'll be as if they were never here"

he closes his eyes, sighs softly and makes his decision

"Mc? I hope I didn't wake you. I simply thought a conversation would be nice, it's been a while..."

Lucifer's call is pretty casual, he talks about his day, work and his troublemaker brothers, it almost feels like any other day before just this time it is over phone

he does not want to admit he misses you, a) because he'd seem weak and b) he fears what admitting it will do to him, he might just miss you even more

BUT while saying goodbye he accidentally lets a "I miss you" slip, his breathing stops shortly realizing his mistake, he is about to apologize when you say it back

he smiles softly, genuinely relieved about your shared sentiment and whispers "I'll call you again soon then" before hanging up

from then on he calls you every evening and you better jump right away and pick up at the first ringing, because this man is lonely without you

Mammon:

"Congratulations! You're one of our lucky winners of our monthly Devil-Lottery. We'll have to confirm your bank account number with the one given to us when you agreed to participating in the lottery. Would you be so kind to slowly repeat the number-"

this greedy demon will quite literally try to scam you, only to absolutely panic when you hang up on him

he will instantly call you back, constantly adjusting his glasses, a nervous habit he acquired over the years

"H-hey...Mc...uhm, it's me your favourite demon!"

he is relieved you picked up, as it means you didn't block him right away, he stumbles over his words trying to find an excuse why he just tried to scam you

"Ah you know I only did that to test you, you've passed nobody scams my human! You're my amazing human after all! That's why I love you...u-uh I-i mean...nothing...that was a static you must have misheard..."

when you tell him you knew it was him as you recognized his voice, he'll be outraged, screaming into his D.D.D (and probably later getting punched by Lucifer for being so loud)

"What do you mean you already knew?! You dared to hang up on The Great Mammon?

He gets a bit sulky by your reaction, so how about playing into his obvious lie of testing you to make him feel better again

besides trying to scam you Mammon also called to (not so sneakily) check on your wellbeing

now that you're gone he constantly worries about you and he can't do much to help, but if you were actually in need of help due to whatever, trust me he'd fight Lucifer himself for permission to go to you

he'll call you as often as he can, sometimes with a few days of a break in between, asking you about your life and also letting you in on his upcoming money making schemes...please don't tell Lucifer about them

Mammon has learned his lesson though, he'll never try to scam you again, he couldn't bare it if you were to block or ignore his calls

Leviathan:

phone calls? Why? You two can just talk about the in-game talk function of this new online game you play, but no real world talk while playing that ruins the immersion!

Levi will rarely call you as he just doesn't feel comfortable enough to talk with you about normie stuff for too long

he normally just spam writes you, ding, ding, ding, one message after another coming in without you being able to respond quick enough

so if gets too much and you decide to just call him so you can have an actual chance of responding, Levi just panics and almost drops his D.D.D

"Mc? D-did you accidentally hit the c-call button? N-no? I-i see no I love you too!!....AAAAAAAh I-i meant I l-l-love t-talking to you too...hehehe w-why would a yucky o-otaku like me say something like that"

poor boy is so nervous he'll say something stupid and will stutter a lot the first few times you call him, he is just not used to talking on the phone

he will laugh nervously over everything and sometimes there'll be a phase of awkward silence, but please don't point it out, Levi is already stressed enough as it is

once he gets used to calls, he'll surprisingly suggests to have a phone call while both of you are watching the new episode of an anime, so he'll be able to talk to you as if you're right next to him, which works out mediocre at first, you have to tell him to be a bit quieter a few times but besides that it's quiet nice

"Ooooooowhooooooah!!! Did you see that? That was amazing, I wish I had these superpowers, I'd save you of every danger like a real hero! W-what do you mean I'm already your hero?"

Yes, you saw and heard it, and your neighbours probably heard Levi...

on the rare occasions Levi calls you he'll often asks you for favours like to buy him this exclusively in the human realm sold limited edition game, of course he isn't like his scummy brother Mammon who'll constantly asks for things and he'll also make it up by sending you stuff you can only get on Akuzon

so calls don't happen very often, but neither if you really mind, you'll still be in contact through messages and games

Satan:

Satan will be very proper about calling you, he'll check through messages if you're fine with him calling you, so he can be sure you have time and he doesn't bother you

Satan never jumps into a conversation right away (unless he is angry), he makes sure to show interest in you and hold a bit small talk, asking about your day, how you're doing and so on

you talk about many different things with him mostly about your shared interests, but Satan is willing to listen to you ramble about hobbies he doesn't have as well

one thing you two quickly come to do was have book club sessions over phone

"I wish you were still here Mc. I miss my book discussion partner, nobody here has as interesting opinions and views as you..."

back in Devildom you two would both read a book and afterwards discuss your thoughts, and you found a way too keep doing just that

you both write about books, decide on one to read for the week and would than have a phone call where you just talk for hours about the piece of literature you've read

now that you're back in the human realm, the book choices are even bigger as you can read human books as well, you just have to send a copy to Satan, sometimes Barbatos will be nice and pick a book up and deliver it to Satan, or to you if it's the other way around with a demon book

"Oh? No, you're right. I haven't thought about it like that yet...your thoughts are so fascinating!"

Satan will shower you in praise for every little detail that you noticed yet he missed. he genuinely enjoys your phone calls, and though he wouldn't admit it, sometimes he anticipates your call more than the actual book

even though there now is a bigger distance between you two he still feels as close to you as before, not much has changed for him and he knows he'll be able to see you again soon, he'll just have to be patient

"Next week, same time? I'm looking forward to talking to you again. Take care until then!"

Asmodeus:

"Oh my Lord! You won't believe what just happened!!!"

no greeting or alike, just straight into the discussion

whenever something gossip worthy happens, Asmo is already dialling your number to spill the tea and keep you updated on any Devildom related gossip, even if it won't help you much, it's a nice thought of him keep you in the loop

those are only the spontaneous call though, obviously you can't take these all the time...you still have a life of your own...

you two actually call each other every day at the same time, plus/minus a couple minutes, the water in the tub has to be filled first...yeah Asmo likes to talk you while he is taking his afternoon bath

"Hahh it's so relaxing, warm water caressing my beautiful skin, and the bath bomb today smells so good! I wish you could smell it, or even better I wish we could bathe together!"

*water sloshing noises intensified*

Asmo...no....yes...maybe...just stop, you'll fluster Mc!

"No really! I miss having you here, I'll pamper you all day the next time I'll get to see you. You must already be starved of my beauty, but don't worry my dear, I'm just as starved of seeing your lovely face!"

what to talk about while he is bathing? Anything really if it's about your day, any complains or whatever, just expect a few innuendos of him...that's nothing new though

seriously though Asmo is the guy to talk to about any of your problems, he will listen and try to come up with a solution for you, even if he seems a bit narcissistic sometimes he really cares about you, so use your phone calls as therapy from time to time

"Oh darling, don't worry it'll be okay! I'm here to help...now tell me every detail so I can come up with a plan! I'll always be there for you, no matter what!"

Beelzebub:

"*munch munch* This one is really good! Mc you should try some...oh"

now that you're back in the human realm, Beels snack times are very lonely, he has just gotten so used to your presence, even sharing his food is normal by now

and let's be honest Beels snack time is 24/7 so he misses you a lot

he feels the urge to call you every five minutes and sometimes even forgets to eat while phone is ringing and he is waiting for you to pick up

but you can't constantly talk with him over phone so the calls often end up on your voicemail where Beel tells you about all the different kind of foods he ate that day

when Belphie catches wind of his twin constantly pestering you, he hides Beels D.D.D so he can't call you all the time

when you're actually able to pick up on his call, Beel will be so happy you can quite literally hear his huge grin while he's excitedly talking about his current snack

"Have you ever tried spicy bat-wings? There opened a new restaurant in town and it's really good!! Next time you're here I'll invite you there. Oh but what if it closes before you're back...ah you'll just have to visit soon!"

though Beel is often disappointed when you don't pick up, he would never hold it against you, he knows he calls quite a lot, but he just misses you and tipping a message while he eats is harder than putting his D.D.D on speaker and talking to you

of course he doesn't only talk about food, he also tells you about how his brothers are doing and how his workout was, or what things he has planned to do at the weekend, all in all Beel is just super happy to share everything of his life with you

on rare occasions he'll call you and be untypically quiet, that happens when he had a fight with his twin, it's not often but sometimes it happens and his first instinct is to call you, because he feels like he can tell you everything so he is very comfortable and trusting with you

"I miss you a lot, you know...but I also know that you think about me daily, every time your stomach rumbles you'll be reminded of me and that makes me happy, I also think about you every time I'm hungry! Hm? But I'm always hungry? That's right! You're always on my mind!"

Belphegor:

Listen, his sleeping schedule is very tight, you can't just expect him to call you!

he will call you so rarely and if you call him it might just happen that he is sleeping and has phone on silent...or he's just to lazy to walk to his phone, or he is just not in the mood to talk... he takes any excuse to not be on the phone

Belphie does like talking to you, but he is not the greatest at long conversations so he like messages more

sometimes when he can't seem to fall asleep, he will be the one to call you...in the middle of the night...and you better pick up or he gets annoyed

"What took you so long? I thought you wanted to talk more often and then you leave me hanging for a whole minute? Doesn't matter I would have waited longer with you...."

he is mostly silent through a phone call, his main reason to call you is because he like to listen to you talk, it's calming to him and if he calmer then he might be able to fall asleep again

so don't expect an amazingly deep conversation...

"Mhmmm...hm? Yeah I'm still there. I'm listening keep talking, I love your voice..."

he'll bring up a topic from time to time so you have an inspiration about what to talk about, but most of the times he just lazily hum or making acknowledging noises so you know he is still listening

"Zzz..."

he will to 100% fall asleep while being on the phone with you, that doesn't mean you're boring, but that he trusts you so much that he is comfortable enough to let his guard down

Diavolo:

"Good afternoon! How was the week of my favourite human?...ah don't tell Solomon I said that hahaha"

as the future king of hell, he is a busy man, but he still manages to give you a call once a week, to the same time you two would have normally had your weekly afternoon tea meeting in the castle

with the exchange year over there is not much about your classes to talk about left, but Dia is just as excited about any other topic you decide to talk about, be it the most mundane thing he loves it!

"Oh so you went grocery shopping? That must be fun! Barbatos does it all the time, though I suppose you buy less things...I'd like to see a human market at some point, I wonder if they're very different from ours...oh but I wouldn't really able to tell I suppose, Barbatos and you would need to point out the differences!"

this man can talk without taking a break for hours...you think Asmo is bad? Prepare for Diavolo...

but seriously it never gets boring with him, because he somehow finds good and fun stuff in every activity, I swear give him a vacuum and watch him clean you're whole flat with the enthusiasm of a child getting presents on Christmas

the work of a future king consists of so much paperwork, Dia will have only few events of his week to tell you about, if there is something to talk about there is a high chance it has to do with the brothers

so he'd much rather just sip his tea and listen to you, he'll ask you loads of questions though about anything he doesn't know

sometimes you two forget the time and Barb sadly has to remind you to come to a stop for now

"Mc? Did I wake you? If so I'm terribly sorry...would you be up to talk for a little bit more? I'm not feeling too tired yet"

surprise night time calls from Dia where you'll have to speak silently or Barbatos might reprimand Diavolo for staying up all night and being tired the next day, Dia doesn't regret it ever though, he likes to talk you a lot!

Barbatos:

Barbatos is always busy and his schedule can often suddenly change with a new whim of his master, so he can't exactly have a scheduled call with you

so you might not get to hear of him very often

BUT he made it a habit to call you when he is on duty to do the dishes, the chore is somewhat boring to him with no one to distract him

so he calls you and if you pick up, he'll put you on speaker and talk to you about whatever comes to mind while his hands wash one after another of the expensive porcelain of the royal household

"I've bought this new tea which is said to be really nice, it can even be enjoyed cold apparently. It seems to have to just the right amount of sweetness to not get bitter when drank cold...you can still add sugar for extra sweetness, though I believe you're already sweet enough as it is"

no matter what you decide to talk about Barbatos always has at least some knowledge about it, so it's beneficial for both of you, he can tell you the things he knows and you tell him your stuff

"I hope I'm not bothering you too much? There is quite a lot to do today... so it might take some more time..."

you will never get to know that Barb has actually already finished the dished a few minutes ago, but just isn't ready to say goodbye yet

the rest of the employees will be able handle the castle for a bit longer without him, meanwhile he can take a well deserved tea break and listen to you

he very much enjoys the fact he found a way to have some time with you while theoretically having to be at work, as long as he is able to finish all the tasks of his daily schedule, he doesn't feel too bad about his not so legal break

"I fear I'll have to get back to work now, but I loved talking to you today! I hope you enjoyed it as well. I'll talk to you again soon!"

Solomon:

Though Solomon returned to the human realm with you, you haven't heard much of him, being a wise old man sorcerer must be very time consuming

so calls of Solomon might be rare but that doesn't mean you don't write messages every now and then, when he calls you though it's always about something interesting or important to share, he talks about those things rather verbally, the best option for him would be in person, but that doesn't always work so a phone call is the second best option

"My lovely apprentice, how is your studying going? I've found the tome we were talking about last time you were interested in...it took some research to find which sorcerer had it but I brought it back for you. How about I'll drop by you next week? I can help you with your studying then, the tome is written in an older version of the language it might be easier if we do it together!"

Solomon can simply not sit still, so while you're on the phone, he is always tinkering at something and the background noises are sometimes quite peculiar...

Was that a pig squeaking? Are you sure you should be brewing a potion while being on the phone? Isn't it distracting?

Oh Lord was that an explosion?!

"Hmm? Oh yeah...I`m cooking dinner right now! It was just a small explosion though, you know the ones that are regularly happen in the kitchen. Why? Was my cute student worried about me?~ heheh alright, alright, I'll stop teasing you...for now!"

no matter how chaotic, teasing or busy Solomon is though, if you call him and are in need of help, he'll drop everything and run to you

he knows how hard it can be when studying magic, not to mention that the studies are difficult, the constant hiding of any magic in front of other humans is also very nerve wrecking, sometimes you feel like giving up and going back to your normal life, back to your non-magical very human friends that are blissfully unaware of everything happening around them, but you know you could never forget and act as if nothing happened, you'd also miss your new not so normal friends, so when times get hard Solomon will rush to you and comfort you in person or at least calm you down on phone until he is able to go to you

if that happens he is more likely to call you every two to three days just to check in on you

"Hey how is my strong and beautiful fellow human doing? Feeling better yet? Need a shoulder to lean on? I'm at your flat in 10 minutes..."

Simeon:

Simeon is a daily caller as well, he's gotten so used to seeing you every day that he feels quite restless if he doesn't get to hear your voice at least once a day

he asked you to recommend at what time he should call, he doesn't want to restrict you in your daily life, so you both came to the conclusion after dinner would be perfect, as both of you are free for the rest of the day then

He will often write a bit on his TSL scripts, just some notes and inspirations he comes up while talking to you

"How was your day my little lamb? You haven't overworked yourself right? Tell me if you ever need help!"

though Simeon would definitely have things to complain about with how Michael is working him to the bone, he'd rather not worry you so instead he tells you about how Luke is doing and evasively answers you questions about himself

"Oh me? Ah yes, I'm doing fine, just doing the usual archangel stuff you know...Ah please do not worry Mc, my dear! Nothing dangerous!"

over the time his TSL notes turn into random scribbles, rhymes and poems and every now and then something that looks suspiciously like your name

Sometimes Luke crashes the call and wants to speak with you as well so Simeon tries to put the phone on speaker only to end up ending the call and Luke getting frustrated with Simeon and doing it himself

then again Simeon also just accidentally hangs up on you mid conversation, because his fingers hit the button without him noticing, he'll get so confused when you cut off in the middle of your sentence and thinks something has happened to you, only to be relieved when you call back a few seconds later

Simeon is very interested in your day and how you doing, asking you many questions and encouraging you to keep talking

"Oh no please keep talking! You're not overwhelming me at all, in fact I like listening to your voice, it puts even the most melodic voice of an angel into the shadows...hahaha did I make you embarrassed? I apologize, I didn't mean to, I was only telling you my honest opinion!"

Simeon is quite the flatterer, but he often does not notice it, he simply tries to be nice, so a call with him leaves you flustered and stuttering ever now and then, but he is just as quick to blush at a honest and heartfelt compliment

Luke:

Luke might be an angel, but he is still low ranking and therefore has less assignments, besides studying to become a great angel and doing some minor tasks for Michael, he is relatively free

he often spends his free time in the kitchen constantly trying to improve his baking, now after the exchange year not only to impress Michael and Simeon but also Barbatos, maybe a bit Beel and definitely you!

but as Simeon is still working at these times, he gets somewhat lonely so he'll try calling you to keep him some company

Luke has this habit of speaking the recipes out loud to remember the steps better and be able to able to make them from memory, he got that tip from Barbatos, but he still has his moments where he gets stuck and forgets what to do next, you can notice that when he gets silent and concentrates on trying to remember

"Ah right that was it! I almost forgot about the eggs! Good thing you were here...or well on the phone hehe! You always remember this stuff, you're so amazing!"

when you tell him you simply looked it up in the internet for him, he'll get a bit sulky that he now basically cheated, but with your reassurance that he is already great and can remember so many other steps, he is quickly back to his happy little angel self

"Michael let me help with his conference today I was assistant record keeper today, one day I'll be able to do it alone, bit they're talking so much and so fast...I think I still need a couple centuries until I'm fully ready, but I'm working on improving! You should also try to improve your skills daily! Even a small bit of practice is good! Though I think you're perfect already!"

Luke most definitely learned his flattering from Simeon... he talks about many different things on the phone but repeating topic is Michael...just talking to you makes his day and later he'll tell everything Simeon and he smiles so brightly while he reports to him, please keep talking to him a lot!

[m2kdj-waist-connoisseur]

One thing I love so much about orv is the writing style. SS has such a beautiful writing style that I get absorbed into orv whenever I open my kindle.

Orv doesn't have a single meaning, the scenes we interpret do not have a single interpretation and I love that. Different aspects have different interpretations and I believe that’s really beautiful for a book to have different interpretations and invoke thought.

Sometimes I’ll sit and think about a scene in orv and come up with my own interpretation, how it made me feel then open twitter and see someone with something different and it makes me think more. I read the thread wanting to know why they think like that? What did you see that I didn’t? And seeing different opinions (the good ones, not the hateful ones some assholes drop) make me really happy. Maybe it’s cause my brain can’t rest and refuses to stop at my interpretation but I have to say SS really made a piece of art!

Orv would make literature teachers cry cause it can be interpreted in so many ways (gone with ‘the curtain is blue as a symbol of sadness’).

Another good thing about Orv having such an open to interpretation style is that spoilers don’t pull me off. I haven’t finished it but can talk about it for a more than reasonable length (Apologies to my younger brother as I spent well over an hour explaining why kdj and yjh are life and death companions last week) because I’ve seen so many takes and opinions on twitter.

Hell twitter was the final push that made me pick it up (shoutout toapollo their jd sleeping beauty au led me down the orv rabbit hole). Seeing the ‘spoilers’ on twitter piqued my curiosity and made me search for a way to read orv and here I am on tumblr.

I wanted to know why are jd known as ‘life and death companions’? Why does 49% and 51% trigger people? Why is my tl filled with kdj’s 24 inch waist? (I believe his waist is AT MOST 26 inches) With so many whys, threads explaining shit after I liked ONE AU I picked it up for myself and I can say starting Orv is the best and worst thing I’ve ever done to myself.

I can confidently say orv is indeed the bane of my existence and the object of my desires (head in hands begging for an official English translation so I can buy it ) Orv didn’t pull me out of a reading slump, it put me in multiple but they’re the most pleasant slumps I’ve had cause I don’t want to finish reading it but I also can’t wait to finish it so I’ve decided to stall my suffering and take it at an extremely slow pace.

This feels like a diary rn

I feel like I’ve said a lot without really saying anything but meh so is life ig (damn Shakespeare got nothing on me)

I almost forgot!

The topic of interpretation comes from lsk encouraging kdj’s love for books! Lsk encouraged kdj to reread books when he’s done because there’s always more to it than what you saw in the first read. He could reread a book and focus on someone else’s pov and get an entirely new story from something so simple :) I’m not a fan of rereading books (I’ve tried and just can’t so it’s one of the reasons I stick to ebooks cause I don’t have to worry about getting rid of books I’ll no longer read ( ◠‿◠ ) )

Orv might have been about that one reader’s pov (sobs) but it sure made me think of things from others’ pov! It took being empathetic to another level and made me want to understand these characters and not just understand their love for that rat bastard {affectionate}.

I wanted to understand why these people kept going when it looked like all was lost. They’re living in an apocalypse for goodness sake and they’re still trying to survive??? I’d look for the quickest and least painful way to end it all cause I wouldn’t see a way out and even if I did see one who says I’d struggle to get it?? Do they keep moving just to survive? Why do they struggle when a peaceful death sounds appealing? (if it’s not obvious I’m a weak ass bitch and can’t imagine facing a scenario )

There’s something in them that makes them move even before they met kdj. Maybe it’s the fear of death? Maybe it’s hope? Maybe it’s the desire to live even when it seems impossible? Maybe it’s something I haven’t thought of?? Who knows?? (SS probably but this ain’t about them :) )

JD HAS DIFFERENT INTERPRETATIONS AS WELL

There are people that ship jd and see romantic intentions behind their actions (they’re married your honour) and there are people that have chosen to interpret these actions as outstanding companionship (history will say they were best friends) and that’s fine!

To my knowledge, SS hasn’t confirmed anything but best believe jd is married with biyoo as their daughter and living together with a nice house in the suburbs free from all scenarios and just enjoying domestic married life to me. Jd has caused so much commotion in the fandom that it’s funny. Like damn it’s not my fault I see two married men (life and death companions is a wedding vow???!) and other people see besto friendos ٩( ᐛ )و

*puts rose tinted shades on* all in all I need to hold kdj’s waist and will not know peace until then

Anyway! Let me stop here I need to eat something and if I keep brainstorming I’m gonna cry ϵ( 'Θ' )϶

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Athena

So. I have to deal with the virgin goddesses… By mythos, there really shouldn't ever be children of Artemis, Hestia, or Athena (yes, Athena was a virgin goddess). PJ got past that by making it canon that Annabeth and her siblings were born from cracking open Athena's skull (yes, that's also more or less the canon explanation). They gloss over it real quick but I remember, Rick. I've always remembered and that mental image has haunted me for years...

I can't, in good conscience, ignore the history around Athena's worship (call it an academic restraint) but I REFUSE to do the skull thing. So, since I make the rules here, I'm going with magic adoption. They still get magic powers, they're just more human than demigod. Cool? Cool.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena

Lucifer

The human that popped out of the portal seemed to have enough sense not to attack everyone in the room for a change, but even Lucifer could tell that was more of a strategic choice than for lack of ability...

Their very existence was highly unusual… and quite worrisome. He wasn't even aware Athena could have "children" of her own, but apparently she had been taking in some particularly bright humans to raise and train like her own...

Unbeknownst to him, a surprising amount of human scholars, diplomats, and generals have her to thank for their trade… and that alone should speak to the level of intrigue at play here. 

Was this an accident or Athena's attempt to plant an Olympian spy in the Devildom too…? Either way, he didn't trust them from the get go…

Look, Lucifer isn’t stupid. Athena is a goddess of Wisdom and War and war happens on more than just the battlefield… 

Since they've shown up records have been going missing, official documents keep getting misplaced, and he swears that there's some kind of bug in the student council room...!

It's infuriating watching the MC suck up to Diavolo when he's almost certain that they're running their own agenda behind the scenes! And he can't prove any of it!! They cover their tracks too well!

Lucifer has one of those corkboards covered in newspapers and string in a secret wing of the Castle - 100% dedicated to just tracking the MC's activities…. The longer they're there, the more obsessed he becomes...

He swears between Simeon, Solomon, and MC he feels like a shepherd wondering why the sheep are growling… The Devildom has never been in more danger than it is right now... Send help.

Mammon

To be honest, he kind of thought that they were just going to be Satan 2.0 but that's not really true.

They're more than just a book sponge! Though they do read, like a lot. Let’s just say from one schemer to another… Game recognizes Game.

They come up with plans and ideas soooo fast, it’s insane! Honestly, there are times where he has a new money-making plot and he just brings it to the MC first to run it over. 

Nine times out of ten, not only do they sniff out any problems but they have a solution for him in a matter of minutes! His scheme game has been on point since they’ve shown up!!

They’re also even better tutoring than Satan is, so he’s even managed to get a couple A’s for the first time in his life! Lucifer actually told him he was proud (which he secretly recorded and now uses as a ringtone much to his brother’s regret...)

So yeah, he likes them... buuut that doesn’t keep him from thinking they act a little weird sometimes... 

Mammon: *points to a unused tower close to the RAD building* Over there is the Tower of Sorrow. We use it for storage.

MC: Ah. Interesting… *starts writing in a notebook, muttering* It may need a few minor tweaks but the location is defensible...

Mammon: *stops* Ya say somethin’?

MC: *looks back up* Nope! Say, you’ve been to the Castle a lot haven’t you? Do you know any good ways in?

Mammon: Uhm… Why do ya want to know that…? *starts looking around for Lucifer*

MC: In case of emergencies. I like being prepared. 🙂

Mammon: Look, I don’t know what Lucifer might’a told ya…

MC: I’ll pay you a thousand Grimm for it.

Mammon: Well shit, ya want those maps with or without color?

... Yeeeah, that’s pretty weird… But it’s probably fine. I mean, as long as they keep giving him money, who’s he to complain? 🤷‍♀️

Leviathan

Also thought that they’d be a lot more like Satan but was pleasantly surprised that they were into more than books.

What else did they like exactly? Military strategy!!

It’s been a looong time since he’s been able to talk to someone who’s actually interested in all the battles he’s fought, both in the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, and their curiosity is kind of flattering...! Not a lot of people take his strategic prowess all that seriously anymore...

Plus, they are the BEST partner to have any turn-based strategy game. Hands down. He once got stuck on a level of D-COM for weeks until the MC walked in and mopped the floor with the AI!! They have a serious head for probability and tactics.

The House once made the mistake of letting these two be on the same team during a Hell Game and they absolutely demolished the competition. Mammon didn’t even get a single shot off before half his team was lost to a rigged paint grenade… It took a whole day to clean up… 

However, Levi’s also noticed some odd things about the human… He likes that they’re interested in his past but maybe they’re a little… too interested?

Levi: -and that’s how we defeated the Four Horsemen before they escaped from Purgatory. 

MC: Wow, Levi that’s seriously impressive!! *furiously scribbling on a notebook*

Levi: Well t-thanks… 😅 But, uhm... are you writing that down…?

MC: Hm? Oh no, just doodling. *they lift up the notebook to show a bunch of cute little sketches on the page… and not the magic-based invisible ink all over them…*

Levi: Oh you draw too? Can you do fanart???

MC: Eh, sometimes. But say Levi, can you tell me about your naval ranks again? I’m still really curious… *gets the pen ready again with a smile*

Satan

Oh, it's been a long game of cat-and-mouse between these two… and unfortunately, it’s been pretty addicting too.

He honestly had every intention of tricking the human into making a huge mess do he could bother Lucifer, but at every turn they proved just a hair too clever for him...

He once gave them a cursed book to “lend” to Lucifer, but they saw through it the moment they touched it and lifted the spell before handing it over.

He rigged a podium to spray glitter during one of Lucifer's speeches but the MC disconnected the trigger mic before he even got on stage. It was pretty dang frustrating...

At one point he got so desperate that, just as a test, he tried to trap them in the House's Music Room. Fortunately for them, it only took a few minutes to work out an escape. They even passed by him in the hallway with a wink!

It's confounding! It's infuriating!! 

...and it's so damn sexy... He should be furious but he’s just in awe!!

Add on that they know their art, literature, and multiple different crafts thanks to the tutelage of their adopted mother and that’s it. He’s finished. This boy is in love.

Truthfully though, a part of him is 90% sure that they’re also gathering state secrets… Like, they’re watching Barbs and Diavolo far too close for comfort - but he just can't bring himself to care. 🤷‍♀️

The MC could walk into his room one day and say, "Hey, do you want to help overthrow the monarchy with me?" and he dreads it because deep down he knows that he wouldn’t say no…

Take some notes, kids. Some bad influences get you to drink or do drugs. Others pull you into a centuries long conspiracy to destabilize and topple rival realms from within… But he has fallen for their brain hard. Devil help them all…

Asmodeus 

They’re pretty clever, he’ll give them that, but uh… Are they a little off to anybody else?

Asmo is a charmer by birthright so he has a bit of nose for when someone’s just a liiittttle too nice… Not much of a nose mind you, because he can be thrown off by compliments himself, but enough to think that the MC might be a little too… “kind” for their own good...

First off, who wants to spend that much time with Levi?? They don’t even seem that interested in anime! They just keeping asking him for old war stories…

Then all the sucking up they do to Diavolo and Barbatos? Look, he gets it. Diavolo is a delicious piece of man-hunk and his butler could give him a lesson or two in sweet-talk (and he has), but they seem to be just a little too… nosy.

Of course, Asmo’s suspicions disappear pretty quickly after they start to spoil him with spa nights and beauty secrets they picked up from “casual research” into the subject.

And you know, get a little Demonus in Asmo and start massaging his back? Oh, sweetie he’ll sing like a bird!! … with gossip. Singing with gossip.

Asmo: So I’ve heard that Lucifer has been spending more time at RAD than usual… His whole club is talking about it, they think he’s meeting with some witch!

MC: Hm, is that so? *works on a knot near his shoulder blades* What do you think?

Asmo: Ooh~! Right there, MC! *purrs and lays his head on his arms* Well come on, this is Lucifer we’re talking about! I’m sure he’s just working.

Asmo: Hmm... though come to think of it, I think I heard him asking Barbatos for the spare keys to the Tower of Sorrow…

MC: Oh really? Huh. *works out the knot and gets up* I just remembered that I left some papers with Satan... I’ll be right back.

Asmo: You’re going already??

MC: *waves him off quickly* I’ll be right back, Asmo. *hurries out the door to do totally on-the-up-and-up things… surely*

Beelzebub 

Honestly he doesn't like this one… But not for the reasons you'd expect.

He agrees with everyone else that they seem a little shady, but Solomon and Simeon are too so it's not like that's anything new... 🤷‍♀️

No, no. He dislikes them because they're the person who FINALLY figured out how to keep him from eating all the food in the kitchen!!

Turns out that the trick was to put a teleportation charm on the fridge door that would send all the food away if it’s opened after a certain time of night… 

And where does it go? The Purgatory Hall fridge. And where does the Purgatory Hall food go…? The HoL fridge…

It doesn’t sound so bad until you remember that it means half of their fridge is now Solomon’s leftovers…. 🤢

After they put the same kind of spell on the pantry, it was all over… He couldn't get midnight snacks from the House anymore… Everything was contaminated by Solomon…

The MC is a nice enough person, he doesn’t have a lot of complaints about them, but he wants them to leave. Now. This is inexcusable… He’s so hungry… and he doesn’t want to die by “goulash” or whatever Solomon calls his latest culinary catastrophe… He’s still too young for death… 😓

Belphegor 

In a way, he absolutely could not have asked for a better person to help him get out of that attic.

… In another way, he got one of the worst possible people to try and kill... Like. They saw through his scheme sooo fast…

How was he supposed to know that the human had training in body language and sniffing out lies???

Getting the door open was a piece of cake for them. They knew enough magic to undo the seals and just rummaged around Lucifer's stuff long enough to find the key to the door. He could not have found a more competent individual for a break out, really.

It’s just… well he didn’t expect to go from locked in a room like a prisoner to tied up in enchanted rope, still like a prisoner but now mobile. 😑 

They even used his own hug ruse against him! They caught his wrists when they got close and tied him up before he could shake them off...

Admittedly, it wasn't exactly the best look for them either - what with walking Belphegor downstairs to the others like a one-man-prison-caravan but they're as silver-tongued as they are sly so they talked their way out of it beautifully… 

And like hell was he going to trust them after that!! And not even Beel liked them so something had to be up...

Well, you want a detective? Look no farther than Belphie (no seriously, it’s in the canon). He can put things together pretty fast when he puts his mind to it and watching the MC for a while gave him enough proof to work off of...

He always knew that, humans were bad news and the MC just proved it to him all over again. They are bad news, bad bad news and they’re going to-!

Overthrow… Diavolo…? Is that what he is getting from them…? Huh…

Wait a second, MC. You might just have him interested… 😏

[fluorynn]

*squeals high pitched* How I adore this series endlessly 🥹🥹🥹 First things first, the dividers are LOVELY !!! I’ve yet to reblog the previous chapters because of how slightly long my rant is of the chapters !!!! But, I’ll let myself release this one rather quickly !

Neteyam and you had a complicated history to say the least. Your love for him has grown with you. From a child's softly sewed heart, patchwork pieces of moonlight and magic and sweet things.

Chasing each other across shin-deep streams and unmeasured mindgames. Innocence unrestrained by a child's imagination.

You were a wild child. Unafraid of unruly sensations that snap and scratch at the scarred skin stretched on your bones. You were taller than Neteyam until you were 11, despite him being older. You remember him looking up at you with all the wonder in the world

And then you grew older, shamefully throwing yourself into his arms.

Within the depths of your bliss, you found a sanctuary with him. Newfound effervescence, two souls choking on their words to describe each other’s beauty. You remember chasing eachother through the forest after sundown, catching the colors caught in the sky, hues of red and orange bargaining for dominance as the sky stretched into indefinite lengths.

…

Liquid glass visions and sweet tasting sunlight, bright orange arrows greedily repel the monochrome traces that perturbed from the daylight hours,

He swore to you.

He looked you in your eyes and he swore to you.

He would protect you. No matter what.

Thoughts of you were sanctified.

He told you he would take you anywhere you desired.

The disparity in it all was hollow promises.

The preciseness and literature used in your writing — it will never, and I mean NEVER, fail to create imagery.

Okay !!

The argument with Spider — I can comprehend both sides of Spider and the reader . Of course, though, it was Spider’s choice of words that sent this argument high rocketing — and it’s understandable why the reader just left before he could finish what he was going to say — I’d done the same thing as well.😭😭

Jake — the way you embody him is just perfection. There is never a moment in this series where I do NOT see him saying or doing the things he does. From him taking care of the reader, asking her if she’s alright, making a practical joke, or this ! :

"Are you okay, YIn? Really, be honest with me, kiddo."

His voice was softer this time, laced with concern and honesty.

You sighed.

"I had an argument with Spider."

Jake sighed, as if he were relieved.

"Thank god."

You sat up, confused to say the least.

"Why is that a good thing?"

"Well I'm just happy it's that and someone's not messing with you. wouldn't want to have to throw punches."

You rolled your eyes.

Please. You know I'd fold anyone anyday."

Jake gave you a hearty smile, running a hand down your back.

"Damn straight. My money's on you."

You chuckled weakly, feeling the tiredness wash over you.

Jake rose to his feet, looking at you one more time before leaving.

"Get some sleep, sweetheart. And eat your damn food.'

It’s just so …. JAKE😭😭 you adding the ‘sweetheart’ and the half hearted ‘and eat your damn food’ is something I strongly hear him saying XD

Moving on to Neteyam’s POV !!

‘Have you ever woken up feeling like you could pull the moon out of the sky with your bare hands and gift it to the most beautiful person you had ever seen??? Have you ever woken up feeling like even the smallest of shifts in the wind sang someone’s name?? Have you ever woken up feeling like one singular soul could somehow hold my existence in her palm with such ease?? Have you ever woken up feeling like the air is a bit lighter? Like the sky is a bit brighter?

Maybe it’s just me. But ever since last night..Ever since iv’e earned her trust back, I’ve felt as if I could brivet around the forest like a brainless fool, just basking in the absurdity of this amorevolous haze.

Did I mention she hugged me-??? Just wrapped her arms around me mid of my sentence. Eywa, if she was an ocean I'd drown in her.

Well…

In conclusion, baby boy is thoroughly, deep, purely, and dumbfounded-ly in the depths of love🤧 as if it hasn’t been obvious in previous chapters 😆😆 and I tremendously ADORE how you capture it. How after that moment of the hug shared ( engaged by reader, which makes it even more meaningful to Neteyam ) everything is just vibrant and prominent to him. He’s content, he’s happy, he’s relieved, he’s hopeful — he’s in love.

ALSO — I’VE PERHAPS MENTIONED THIS BEFORE BUT, EVERY INTERACTING MOMENT HE HAS WITH TUKTIREY NEVER FAILS TO AUTOMATICALLY PUT A SMILE ON MY FACE — one of the many reasons I live for this story. ( the power you carry, @sunofpandora 🤧🥹)

When Neytiri asks him if he slept alright — and the dreaminess and happiness is evident just …. everywhere on him 😭 AND JAKE CHECKING IF NETEYAM’s STROKING OUT AJAHSKDKDKDKS😭

I love LOVE LOVE how you put in a bit of Neytiri and Jake’s affection and love 🥹🥹

‘ Since when was watching my mother and father flirt so heartwarming? ’

SINCE ALWAYSJSIKEJEHSJSSJSH.😖

…

“Kiri, how did you sleep?”

Kiri yawns, rebraiding one of the braids that fell on the side of her messily layered hair to frame her face'

"Well, Y/n wasn't here so there was no one I could rant to at midnight about the hypocrisy in our culture surrounding our misanthropic beliefs as a clan and the refusal to collate and unwillingness to adapt."

She takes another sipt out of her waterskin, speaking as if she was explaining how to count to 3.

My mother smiles, clearly pretending to understand her.

"So...you slept well?"

Kiri sighs defeatedly, tying off the braid with the small band in her hand.

"Yes mother, I slept like a baby.

If this wasn’t me with my own mother😭😭😭😭😭 I share Neteyam’s reaction with this exchange between Neytiri and Kiri 😭😭😭😭

Tuk and Lo’ak not far behind him. Tuk was doubled over, trying to support a limp-limbed Lo’ak with her smaller body, he’s mimicking my earlier joke with Tuk,

Noises of annoyance and in need of aid leave her as she struggles under Lo’ak’s weight.

“Lo’ak! You’re too heavy! Neteyam is funny when he does it!” She whines, attempting to push him off of her’

Lo’ak clutches his chest, as if he’s having a heart attack. “Oh eywa! I see the light!” He raises both arms up towards the sky, as if some divine presence was going to scoop him up into it’s arms and take him away.

“Take me, great mother!”

Tuk lets out a scream as Lo’ak tumbles atop her.

“That’s enough, you two. Lo’ak, get offa’ your sister.”

(^^ I just love the addition of Jake’s accent — )

Oh how I love the dynamic differences between Lo’ak and Tuk and Neteyam and Tuk.😭😭 Lo’ak and his playful dramatic tactics — it’s just heartwarming!!

Neteyam and Lo’ak interaction :

“Good morning baby bro.”

I swing my arm around him, ruffling at his braids. He stills his motion of munching into his slice of fruit, glancing up at me with a confused, cautious stare. As if my odd demeanor was an active minefield.

“Uhm. Hi..”

He side-eyed me curiously. Like my happiness was disgustingly contagious.

[ Lo’ak portraying Neteyam’s infamous side eye as to why his big brother’s all chirp and interactive this early in the morning. 😆😭]

I shrug, snatching a slice of fruit from his little leaf he had arranged his stack of food on. The moment my teeth sink in, I'm slapped with the taste of sugared honey mixed with sunshine and sweet nectars. The flavor is resplendent. An unexpected soft groan leaves me as the juices trickle down my lips, I wipe them with my forearm. Why did everything today taste so much sweeter than usual?

Lo'ak stares at me as if he's abhorred with my behavior.

"Dude…what the hell.”

My ears flick upwards as turn to face the rest of the family, who's now looking at me like l'm the epitome of bizarreness.

My father snickers, helping Tuk peel her small fruit.

"Neteyam, should we give you and your fruit a moment alone."

Lo'ak shivers, clearly uncomfortable. "Bro. could you not moan into your food in front of my breakfast."

Mother hisses at both of them, passing a cut open fruit to Kiri, who as usual seems unbothered with our family’s shenanigans.

“Both of you, leave him be. He is happy.”

I can always count on mama.

Lo’ak shoots me a look.

“Why?”

I shrug.

“Why not? We have food, a family, a roof over our heads, we’re safe and happy, a strong clan and a lovely home.”

The woman I would die for no longer hates my guts. Hey, life is pretty good.

My mother smiles at me.

“See? You are not ill. One who takes time to appreciate all the great mother has given us is not sick.”

I adore Neytiri so much 🥹🥹😭😭

I turn to Loak as soon as I hear him speak.

"That doesn't include me, right?"

He points at himself, a cocky smirk forming on his lips.

My dad glared at him.

"That means especially you. Ever since you could walk I had to pull you away from the poor girl kicking and screaming. And I am NOT about to do it again now that you're this big. It's a bad look for me."

( BAHAHAHAHJSJDKDKDJD — oh how I see this strongly occuring 🤣🤣 )

"That just shows we're not supposed to be away from one another. It's a sign from eywa. And you know I don't play with the big lady upstairs."

Loak presses his lips on two fingers before reaching his hands up as if he's kissing the sky.

My dad gives him a final warning look before he surrenders.

MOVING ON TO THE LOVELY MO’AT 😁😁😁

Mo°at returned from her morning meetings with the clans healers, a long sigh dragged from her lips as she muttered complaints to herself, sitting down Slowly.

You loved how she could make you laugh without effort.

"Something wrong?"

She waved off your concern, starting to gather some of the loose bowls strung around and stacking them in her arms.

«you know Menari??" She glances up at you, her tail flicking behind her.

You nod, a smile creeping up your face.

She sighed with irritation.

Overmixed the herbs I tasked her with preparing because she was making eyes at Kalun."

Ah yes, clan gossip. Who better to deliver such scandals than Tsahik herself?

You rolled your eyes, giggling at her exaggeration.

…

*Nothing. Loak you're going to have children and a mate because I demand great-grandchildren."

A bust of a laugh leaves you, and you shove Lo'ak, who now stares at Mo°at in disbelief.

"And who are you to demand that i have kids?"

"The tsahik of this clan."

You smirk triumphantly, smacking the back of Lo'aks head, earning a hiss from him.

"You're screwed, bro.

Loak leans back, sighing dramatically.

It's so hard being sexy...I guess everyone wants me."

It was your turn to gag, clutching your hand lightly around your throat to sell the idea.

"Not everyone."

Mo'at sighs, as if recalling a memory that could only be one of her fondest.

"You know who everyone wanted? Your grandfather, now that's a story-«

You and Loak both groaned in sync.

And yes. I see the visual, the perfect painter picture — I applaud, and praise your way of thinking 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

( LO’AK’S STORY TO READER ABOUT HIM HELPING TUK AND HER COMMENTARY HAD ME ROLLING ON THE GROUND WITH LAUGHTER 😭😭😭😭 I love your attentiveness to detail — how you wrote it was reader who shaved Lo’ak’s head🤣😭🤣😭 )

"About what!?"

"About you!"

You were quiet for a moment.

"Because I should care when you start to love, or like or feel for someone! Because you're like a sister to me. Because you're the one I can come to when I fuck up with my dad or feel like l'm screwing everything up. You're the one I can come to when the others are giving me a bunch of shit about being Neteyam's perfect little brother, or whatever.

And yes, it's so fucking weird to see my brother staring at you like you're the most important thing on this entire planet. But you know what? It makes you happy. Am I gonna give you and Neteyam shit about it? Of course I am! It's fucking disgusting. But you know what? It makes you both happy. So I can't do a damn thing, and I don't want to.

Am I gonna wanna kick his ass when he screws up?

Of course I am. Am I gonna sit next to you and listen to you cry and scream and do all that angry relationship stuff that people do? Abso-fucking-lutely I am.

But you're both still disgusting and full of love diseases."

And now it all made sense. Lo'ak was your person.

Half your heart in the form of a living soul.

To feel someone in such truth it aches.

And it wasn't romance. It wasn't sex or lust. It was a different kind of love.

The kind that meant that you could share a hammock with him and fight every urge not to kick him off when he starts to snore. The kind that meant you were the only one who trusted to braid his hair because neytiri wasn't gentle enough and Jake was out of the question. The kind that meant that you had his back, and he had yours.

You were his and he was yours. Sentiments are sensitive and romance is rigged but this went beyond fairytale endings. Because you knew he would always stand next to you, tangled at the roots.

And when the world seemed to be made out of nothing but unkept promises and sterling stained heartbreak, rusting off to a sickly shade of green that once shimmered gold, you found him.

And he was stupid and you loved him and his stupid stupidity that often led him to do stupid things, and of course you would always do them right along with him because he always said he didn't want to die looking dumber than you.

Oh my fucking gosh I just — your skill to encapsulate reader’s bonds with each Sully member( including Spider!)— this one, by far, is my ultimate ultimate favorite. every single moment written with the others are my favorite — yet this one is so…vehement, immaculate, and pure. people are just inexplicably bonded — like reader and Lo’ak. If there’s more than one soulmate, Lo’ak is definitely one of them, and you’ve done such precious job with this portrait , Sol.

You never cease to make one feel every single syllable within everything you create. Especially when it is something one’s come close to or has exactly experienced ( at least, that’s what I feel and see!)

There's a rawness in your words, a beautiful combination of simplicity and poetry that i can vividly feel - it has me wanting to reread it again and again just by how understandable and amazing your writing is :) Everyone, another amazing chapter by the lovely Sol 🌅 <33

 V I R A G O                   

Chapter 4

Neteyam x fem!omaticaya!reader

Nice Going, Romeo

𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼/𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼/𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼/

»»———–➤»»———–➤»»———–

Chapter four synopsis: After years of tension, Y/n and Neteyam have finally made up and have agreed to re-establish their friendship. Because of the chaotic events of the last few days, Y/n hits her breaking point due to all the stress and has an argument with Spider. Meanwhile, Neteyam basks in his lovesick haze.  »»———–➤»»———–➤»»———–➤»»———–➤»»

WARNINGS:

Mentions of a stroke??? (its a joke)/Lo’ak and Y/n being platonic soulmates/ mentions of cutting hair/ mentions of anxiety and grief/ I think that’s it??

Author’s Note

My beautiful readers! Goodness, it's been a  minute hasn't it?? I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter. D0 you like my new dividers?? I thought the arrows were on theme hehe. Also, they really help space out the details, warnings and synopsis area a lot more so everything up here isn’t so chunky. Comments and reposts are much appreciated as usual.  

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

The room is dimly lit, no thanks to the shitty lamp that emanated a sickly shade of yellow on the small bedside table next to Spider’s bunk. 

High camp was silent. The rest of the clan had retired to their homes for sleep. The atmosphere tonight is cinematically melancholy. Thick shadowy mist, like the kind that falls just before a thunderstorm. 

Spider has been sleeping for the last few hours. Water and food kept close by on a tray on the floor. 

So much has happened since the accident. Your intervention with Neteyam, your new appointed position as a teacher, the weight of it all still heavy on your chest.

Neteyam and you had a complicated history to say the least. Your love for him has grown with you. From a child's softly sewed heart, patchwork pieces of moonlight and magic and sweet things. Chasing each other across shin-deep streams and unmeasured mindgames. Innocence unrestrained by a child’s imagination. 

You were a wild child. Unafraid of unruly sensations that snap and scratch at the scarred skin stretched on your bones. You were taller than Neteyam until you were 11, despite him being older. You remember him looking up at you with all the wonder in the world

And then you grew older, shamefully throwing yourself into his arms. 

Within the depths of your bliss, you found a sanctuary with him. Newfound effervescence, two souls choking on their words to describe eachothers beauty. You remember chasing eachother through the forest after sundown, catching the colors caught in the sky,  hues of red and orange bargaining for dominance as the sky stretched into indefinite lengths. 

Liquid glass visions and sweet tasting sunlight, bright orange arrows greedily repel the monochrome traces that perturbed from the daylight hours, 

He swore to you. 

He looked you in your eyes and he swore to you.

He would protect you. No matter what. 

Thoughts of you were sanctified.

He told you he would take you anywhere you desired. 

The disparity in it all was hollow promises.

 You sit up, your ears catching the sound of the blanket that draped across Spider’s body slipping off to the floor.

“You’re awake.”

You wasted no time. You stood up from your sitting spot in the corner to kneel next to the cot he laid on.

He sat up with a groan, his eyes lazily blinking to adjust to the light.

“Hey.”

He whispered, patting your leg.

You cracked a smile, buty it faded when your gaze drifted to his bandages.

“Does it hurt?” You whispered. 

He shakes his head.

“Nah. I think Norm and Max gave me something for pain.”

You nodded, slowly. Shifting to rest on your knees.

He allocated steps of silence for you to rest your words. But for some reason, you couldn’t find them.

It confined itself in your throat. The feverent sting of tears and bronze and venom gathered in dark corners of your heart.

“What?”

You whispered, waiting for him to explain why he was staring so intently.

“I don’t know. You’re quiet. You're shaking. And you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I almost did. Because of your stupid ass.”

He let a rough breath out, glowering in annoyance.

“Y/n. Everything was fine. I fell. You’ve never fallen?”

“Because I had my ass half-hanging out of a broken aircraft? No, actually.”

Your voice textured itself with all the harshness that rewired into carcass of throned fear. The heaviness in your chest is still embedded, sacred and silent but not senseless. 

His gaze tremors in a pattern between you and the floor.

You leaned back, a choked breath leaving your lips.

“Spider, tonight I thought was the last time I’d ever see you breathing.”

He shook his head, trying to reassure you.

“I’m fine. Look at me-

It’s just a few bruises.”

“That’s not the point, dumbass! It could have been worse.”

Spider had nothing to say to that. He reveled in the silence that thickened the air.

“I’m not a little kid anymore. I don’t need you to come to my rescue.”

Those words wound you even more when in his eyes you see he’s debating whether he regrets them or not.

Spider was older than you. And you were always told stories of how your mother saw a child alone in a great big world regardless of whether he was a human or not. It broke her heart.

Growing up, you always threw yourself into fights for Spider.

Refusing to play games with other children that called him names. Learning at the ripe age of 8 how to make sure he had a spare pack whenever he left the shack, and how to hook it up to his mask, thanks to Max and Norm.

You and Lo’ak running through the forest to collect new fruits to use as dye to paint his skin, hoping the  azure streaks and stripes would stain his skin.

It was funny, really. How he was protective of you despite you being the one that was taller, stronger, faster.

You knew spider was grateful for your parents. He loved them like his own. Mourned them so heavily when they left this world and moved on to the next. But you also knew it wasn’t easy.

It wasn’t easy being a human in a clan that was still healing. It wasn’t easy being the son of Miles Quaritch. 

When the world around him seemed like a sword, you became a shield.

A habit you had picked up since childhood. You pride yourself on never mistaking any part of his for weakness.

But how could you not feel solicitous?

When you and your world felt too big, and he looked too small, when even the air denied him to breathe freely?

The ache in your chest is almost firstful, palpable in immediacy of the realization that he had become the sword in this moment.

Your tone clawed and mangled with the pain that was morphing into anger.

“If you don’t want me to rescue you, don’t almost kill yourself.”

You hissed, your mind snatching the sense of guilt from his earlier remark.

He scoffs.

“Oh of course. As usual, you’re the hero and I’m just the human you’re in charge of keeping on a leash.”

“I wouldn’t have to keep you on a fucking leash if you used your brain once in a while.

And what the fuck does that mean?”

Spider sits up a little more, glaring at you.

“You’ve always been perfect. Put a bow and arrow in your hand and the clan thinks you’re some deity from the heavens sent to protect everything that breathes.”

That was unnecessary. And really fucking immature.

“Don’t glorify me. And don’t ever hold my dedication to protect my people against me.”

“No one asked you too! It was all the sudden you were training with Jake. Next thing you know your Lucy the fucking Lutientent or some shit. Would it kill you for once; to not be the hero? Would it kill you to-“

Before he could finish, you snatched the picture on the bulletin board next to some photos Norm and Max had hung up in the shack where spider slept. 

It was a picture of a spider had taped up on the wall when he was a child.

A picture of your mother holding him on her hip, smiling for max behind a camera as he insisted on taking a picture of them. 

The picture hurt you to look at. How young your mother looked. Your mother had always been beautiful. But something about the her glow, evident of her early years of motherhood and healing after the war.

You shoved it into his chest, watching his eyes widen as he scrambled to hold it.

“Would it kill me? It won’t kill me, but this war killed her. So my apologies if I refuse to let it kill you, or anyone else I care about.”

Spider was stunned. He stared at you, his eyes shadowed with regret.

You stood to your feet, mocking his glare from a few seconds ago.

“I know you didn’t ask for this. But guess what? I didn’t either.”

“Y-“

You didn’t even want to hear him speak, much less listen to him berate you about apologizing for a mess you were only trying to fix.

You turned for the door, ducking under the top frame, minding that it was not made for Na’vi to enter and go as they please.

You felt like the floor was being torn open with each step as the feeling of cool wooden metal tiles turned into the grassy patches outside the shack.

You jumped down the steps, grounding yourself both mentally and physically  on the familiar air of the high camp, the night’s scent thick with high emotions and heartache.

The meds Norm and Max gave Spider must have some kind of mind altering drug side effects because he knew better than to raise his tone with you.

You and spider never fought.

Well, that wasn’t true. But when you did, it never got to a point of either of you leaving without resolving it.

You ran your hands through your braids, tugging lightly at the ends.

You wished the night would just swallow you hole, you paced around in a circle, cursing under your breath.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fucking-

Fuck!”

You rasped, reaching for the natural stone wall that encaved high camp. Steadying yourself with deep breaths.

You finally manage to soothe yourself just enough to imagine that entire encounter went much smoother.

Eywa, how you yearned for nothingness at this moment. 

You loved Spider, but sometimes he opens his mouth and suddenly you're one step closer to considering alcoholism.

“Y/n?”

You spin around on your heel, hand instinctively resting on your knife handle, prepared to defend yourself, your stance stiffened, your tail curling protectively around your leg.

“Easy kiddo. It’s just me.”

Jake arands with a hand resting on his waist as he peers down at you. 

You let out a breath you weren’t sure how long you were holding.

“What is it with your family and sneaking up on me!?”

You whisper-yelled, trying not to wake the whole clan.

Jake rubs the back of his neck, his tail swaying awkwardly.

The night air takes a tenor of star-strung sounds that harmonize with the of the imbricating symphonies of pandora’s nocturnal life. 

Jake gestured back to the shack.

“Are you all done there?”

“How long were you standing there?”

You couldn’t help but sound slightly accusatory. You hoped he wasn’t eavesdropping on you and Spider. 

You don’t really want Jake pushing himself where he didn’t belong.

He shrugs.

“About 30 seconds.”

You let out a sigh, running a hand down your neck, the motion an attempted anodyne to calm your nerves.

“What are you even doing here? It’s late?”

You query, tilting your head.

He paused before answering.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay, Y/n. You had one hell of a day.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms.

Were you the happiest with Jake right now?

No. Not really.

Why? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he has been planning on setting you up to train either Makeyo or Neteyam for weeks without informing you. You thought he valued you as a warrior. For your skill. For your courage. For your vigor and vigilance. To be tossed into a position without as much as a warning? Has he lost respect for you? Maybe Spider was right. You were a sword. Forged from fire and bloodshed and grief.

Eywa had to be fucking with you. Why is that when one argument with a sully ends, another one comes from around the corner.

“I’m fine Jake. Neve better.”

Jake sighs, running a hand down his face.

“Y/n, sweetheart, I know I should have told you sooner. I know. But this was my best option.”

“Not even a warning?? Not even a heads up?? the fact that you had already decided I was going to become someone’s teacher before deciding who I was going to teach! You just kept running in between Makeyo or Neteyam.”

Jake looked down for a moment, he had no excuse for why he did it, allowing the regret to inchoate into him.

Your voice was a whisper now. Hoarse and exhausted, contrast to your usual pragmatic approach to speaking with Jake.

He was your superior. The Olo’eyktan of your clan. A leader.

“Do you think I’m not strong enough anymore?”

 Jake shook his head, placing a hand on your shoulder, leaning down slightly.

“Y/n. Listen to me. You are one of the strongest warriors this clan has ever seen. You fight with honor. But you can’t keep throwing yourself into fire over and over again. And if you have to, you’re not doing it alone. If I can get someone with half your skill to support you while you’re in the sky, I’m gonna do it.”

You glared. “So you’re going to assign your son to hover behind me while I fight?”

“Short answer? Yes.”

You let out a huff, feeling yourself getting worked up again.

“I don’t need Neteyam to chaperone me.”

Jake threw his arms up, followed by an over exaggerated sigh.

“It’s less about you being ‘chaperoned’ and more about keeping you alive, Y/n!”

In response? You had nothing to say. All you knew is that you were tired. So, so tired.

Tired of arguing. Tired of the cold glares you had distributed throughout the day. 

Jake sighed, wrapping an arm around you supportively. 

“Sweetheart you look dead on your feet. You need some rest.”

You were silent as Jake walked you across highcamp to Mo’ats tent. 

He pulled back the flap, the smells of grinded herbs and salves, the fresh smell of the wood wafting through the air.

You ducked inside, plopping yourself on the ground.

“Jesus Christ, when’s the last time you slept?”

He crouched down, pressing his palm to your cheek, making you look up at him, 

“I don’t need sleep”, 

you mumbled hissing at him weakly. You collapsed onto the pile of woven blankets that rested in the corner.

He closed the flap behind him, moving some of Mo’at’s supplies out of the way so you could sprawl out.

“You can rest here for tonight. Take some time for yourself. Meditate or something.”

You raised a brow, your ears flicking upwards.

“Meditate?”

“I don’t know, kid. Just do something to calm yourself down.”

Jake walked over to you, tossing a blanket over you and handing you a parcel, wrapped carefully by leaves.

“What’s this?” You murmur, staring down at it.

“Dinner. Don’t think I didn’t notice you skipping tonight’s meal.”

You frowned, not even remembering you were so rushed to meet Spider after your chat with Neteyam, that you completely forgot to eat.

“Well shit…Thank you.”

You held it up, nodding towards him.

He stood up, waving you off.

“Just make sure you eat all of it. You’re not an old lady, and i’m too young to force-feed you like you are one.”

You cracked a smile. You really were grateful for Jake.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

He sat on his knees next to you, adjusting the blanket to drape over your shoulders, patting your back a few times for good measure.

“Are you okay, Y/n? Really, be honest with me, kiddo.”

His voice was softer thai time, laced with concern and honesty. 

You sighed.

“I had an argument with Spider.”

Jake sighed, as if he were relieved.

“Thank god..”

You sat up, confused tp say the least.

“Why is that a good thing?”

“Well I'm just happy it’s that and someone’s not messing with you. I wouldn’t want to have to throw punches.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Please. You know I’d fold anyone anyday.”

Jake gave you a hearty smile, running a hand down your back.

“Damn straight. My money’s on you.”

You chuckled weakly, feeling the tiredness wash over you.

Jake rose to his feet, looking at you one more time before leaving.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart. And eat your damn food.”

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺ ‏𖦹  ₊⋆⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ 

The next morning…Neteyam’s POV

Have you ever woken up feeling like you could pull the moon out of the sky with your bare hands and gift it to the most beautiful person you had ever seen??? Have you ever woken up feeling like even the smallest of shifts in the wind sang someone’s name?? Have you ever woken up feeling like one singular soul could somehow hold my existence in her palm with such ease?? Have you ever woken up feeling like the air is a bit lighter? Like the sky is a bit brighter?

Maybe it’s just me. But ever since last night..Ever since iv’e earned her trust back, I’ve felt as if I could brivet around the forest like a brainless fool, just basking in the absurdity of this amorevolous haze.

Did I mention she hugged me-??? Just wrapped her arms around me mid of my sentence. Eywa, if she was an ocean I'd drown in her. 

When I woke up this morning, I blinked slowly, allowing the early morning sunrays that filtered through the small open spaces in the woven material to leak it’s light onto me. I stretched my arms above my head, feeling its warmth encompass me.

There was a stupid smile on my face that I wasn’t aware of.

I stare up at the ceiling for a moment. Letting my thoughts drift to the farther corners of my mind. All my burdens and worries slowly follow suit.

“Psst! Teyam! Are you awake??”

I roll over to my side, sitting up a bit, and as I angle myself to rest on my elbows, i’m faced with big golden eyes that could only belong to Tuk.

“Hi Tuk.”

I yawn, trying to clear the hoarseness out of my voice. 

She blinks at me, her tail flicking behind her. The echo of her laughter embodied the lightheaded ecstasy that already embedded its energy into my brain this morning. She yanks the blanket that was covering my legs off of me, tugging at my arm.

“Come on! Mama said it’s time to eat!”

I groan dramatically, humoring her.

“Tuktirey, I don’t think my legs are working-

Oh no, there I go. Gravity’s increasing on me.”

She squeals as I lean forward, letting half my upper body weight hang on her as she holds my limp figure up with her much smaller arms.

“Neteyam! You’re too heavy!”

She whines playfully, attempting poorly tp push me upright again.

I let up after a moment, watching as she squeals with laughter before running to Kiri’s hammock, quickly yanking her blanket away before scurrying to jump on top of a snoring Lo’ak.

I chuckle to myself, folding up my own blanket and leaving it in my now empty hammock as I duck under the divider flap in the tent to distinguish areas with a barrier of sorts. I guess when you’ve had as many kids as my parents have, its better to try and break down a large marui into different quarters.

“Ma’itan, did you sleep alright?” I look  downward to see my mother glancing in between me and the fruit she was cutting up, the juices leaving slight stains on the tips of her fingers.

I sigh, the breath leaving my lips in an accidental dreamily manner. As if i’m caught in a mirage, my steps almost stumble over each other, it’s intractable. As if the light of the morning has transferred into the weight in my movements.

I sit down next to her on my knees. “I'm a great mother, perfect, even.”

She smiles at me, but there's confusion in her gaze.

I don’t think my stupid smile has faded because of the way my father pauses from sneaking his fingers into the bowl of pitcher plant nectar to stare at me. 

We lock gazes and I wave at him, as if it's been days since I've seen him.

“Father, good morning.” I raise two fingers to my forehead, dipping them downwards to form the ‘I see you’ sign. He hesitates to return the gesture, sharing confused glances with my mother.

“Uhm, Good morning. Are you feeling alright, bud?”

My mother and him exchange glances, and with a subtle gesture with a nod of her head, he understands she wants him to check on me. He places a hand on my shoulder, crouching down next to me, switching places with my mother per her silent request.

I shake my head, not being able to suppress the laugh that leaves my chest.

“I’m fine. Really, I feel– amazing. Like…really, really good-”

I paused for a moment as my dad pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.

“You don’t have a fever..do you know where we are right now? Could you tell me our exact location?”

“Ma’jake. He is not ill.”

“Baby, I gotta make sure he’s not stroking out-”

“Oh Jake enough. He is fine.”

My mother swats him away as she sits next to me, taking his place. She hands me a few fruits.

“Ma’itan, will you cut these up for me?”

“Of course mother.” I unsheathe my knife to start my task. I feel sleepless nights and dreams of kissing until I can’t breathe come spilling out of me in wavelengths of sunrays and gold-plaited glimpses. A woven thread that tugs on my heart weaves throughout ragged plains of regret, now lost and forgotten to what I feel now.

My father attempts to sneak more nectar, dipping his finger into the bowl just for my mother to spin around to catch him.

“Eywa help me, Jake how many times have i told you to save some for the children?”

“Not my fault this stuff is so sweet, baby, I could drink this stuff.”

My father throws his hands up in a mock surrender, fighting back a smile.

She throws her head back, a groan leaving her.

“You are infuriating. I cannot turn my back for 2 seconds.”

She stands to her feet to wash off her knife, only for my father to sneak up behind her, snaking his hands around her waist.

“Awh, don’t worry honey, It’s not as sweet as you.” He presses kisses to her cheek, tugging at her tail lightly, a soft gasp leaves my mother’s lips followed my soft laughter,

“Jake- stop, you are sticky.”

Since when was watching my mother and father flirt so heartwarming? 

“Gross. I didn’t know we were having PDA for breakfast.”

The familiar grumble causes me to turn to its source. Kiri trudges through the tent flap, her hair messy and her strides slow and exhausted. She rubs her eyes, clutching a waterskin in her other hand. It was a herbal tea that grandmother made for her frequent headaches. She carried it almost everywhere, especially in the morning.

She practically collapses into a cross-crossed position across from me, staring unamused as my parents pull apart from each other, my dad slowly maneuvering my mothers knife out of her grip.

“I’ll go wash this for ya, hon.” He whispers, giving her one last kiss before he slips out behind Kiri and ducks under the divider, letting the curtain fall behind him as you can hear him faintly telling Lo’ak and Tuk to stop wrestling around and get to breakfast.

My mother clears her throat, trying to suppress her own stupid smile now, victim of my father’s charm.

“Kiri, how did you sleep?”

 Kiri yawns, rebraiding one of the braids that fell on the side of her messily layered hair to frame her face.’

“Well, Y/n wasn’t here so there was no one I could rant to at midnight about the hypocrisy in our culture surrounding our misanthropic beliefs as a clan and the refusal to collate and unwillingness to adapt.”

She takes another sipt out of her waterskin, speaking as if she was explaining how to count to 3.

My mother smiles, clearly pretending to understand her.

“So….you slept well?”

Kiri sighs defeatedly, tying off the braid with the small band in her hand.

“Yes mother, I slept like a baby.”

I find myself snickering at the exchange, I look up to see my father return, Tuk and Lo’ak not far behind him. Tuk was doubled over, trying to support a limp-limbed Lo’ak with her smaller body, he’s mimicking my earlier joke with Tuk,

Noises of annoyance and in need of aid leave her as she struggles under Lo’ak’s weight.

“Lo’ak! You’re too heavy! Neteyam is funny when he does it!” She whines, attempting to push him off of her’

Lo’ak clutches his chest, as if he’s having a heart attack. “Oh eywa! I see the light!” He raises both arms up towards the sky, as if some divine presence was going to scoop him up into it’s arms and take him away.

“Take me, great mother!”

Tuk lets out a scream as Lo’ak tumbles atop her.

“That’s enough, you two. Lo’ak, get offa’ your sister.”

My dad tugs on Lo’ak’s tail, and he hisses in pain.

“Ow! Dad-”

“Sit.”

 My dad gives him a final glare and he sighs, cracking his knuckles before taking a seat next to me. Tuk scrambles next to my dad, nuzzling into his side, sticking her tongue out at lo’ak in a victorious manner.

Lo’ak points his two fingers to his own eyes before pointing them back at Tuk, and a clear ‘this isn’t over’ message is received.

Maybe it’s just my weird sense of peace I've felt all morning, but I attempt to park up a conversation with Lo’ak.

“Good morning baby bro.”

I swing my arm around him, ruffling at his braids. He stills his motion of munching into his slice of fruit, glancing up at me with a confused, cautious stare. As if my odd demeanor was an active minefield.

“Uhm. Hi..”

He side-eyed me curiously. Like my happiness was disgustingly contagious. 

His tail thumped against the floor. His eyebrow raised curiously at my stupid smile.

“What’s got you so bright and cheery?”

He glances over at Kiri, hoping for some kind of backup, only to see her silently praying to eywa before eating her food.

“Nothing. I just woke up feeling good.”

I shrug, snatching a slice of fruit from his little leaf he had arranged his stack of food on. The moment my teeth sink in, I'm slapped with the taste of sugared honey mixed with sunshine and sweet nectars. The flavor is resplendent. An unexpected soft groan leaves me as the juices trickle down my lips, I wipe them with my forearm. Why did everything today taste so much sweeter than usual?

Lo’ak stares at me as if he’s abhorred with my behavior.

“Dude..what the hell.”

My ears flick upwards as I turn to face the rest of the family, who’s now looking at me like I’m the epitome of bizarreness.  

My father snickers, helping Tuk peel her small fruit.

“Neteyam, should we give you and your fruit a moment alone.”

Lo’ak shivers, clearly uncomfortable. “Bro. could you not moan into your food in front of my breakfast.”

I shake my head, some of my braids falling over my shoulders. “Sorry, baby brother.” I laugh, but i’m not really sure why. I feel my face flush as i lean back into my spot.

“Dad, I think Neteyam is stroking out.”

Lo’ak snaps his fingers, trying to gather my father’s attention as he points to me.

My father shakes his head. “I already checked. It’s not a stroke.”

Mother hisses at both of them, passing a cut open fruit to Kiri, who as usual seems unbothered with our family’s shenanigans. 

“Both of you, leave him be. He is happy.”

I can always count on mama. 

Lo’ak shoots me a look.

“Why?”

I shrug.

“Why not? We have food, a family, a roof over our heads, we’re safe and happy, a strong clan and a lovely home.”

The woman I would die for no longer hates my guts. Hey, life is pretty good.

My mother smiles at me.

“See? You are not ill. One who takes time to appreciate all the great mother has given us is not sick.”

Lo’ak doesn’t seem convinced. He takes a big bite of his fruit, slowly eyeing me up and down.

My father clears his throat, sitting up a bit straighter. 

“While I have you kids here, I need you all to try and give y/n a little bit of space today.”

Kiri finally seems to engage in the current conversation now that Y/n is mentioned.

Tuk looks up, as well as my mother, Lo’ak and I.

“Is she okay? Is she sick?”

Tuk pouts, tugging on my fathers arm.

“Does she need anything? Is she hurt?”

It comes out before I can stop myself, trying not to sound too nervous.

Lo’ak groans

“Please don’t tell me she’s dead. That would really suck.”

My dad shakes his head gently reaching for Tuk’s smaller hand.

“No, guys. She’s okay. It’s just that she’s been through a ton these last few days. The poor thing’s burnt out. She needs some rest.”

Silent relief waves over me. I turn to Lo’ak as soon as I hear him speak.

“That doesn’t include me, right?”

He points at himself, a cocky smirk forming on his lips.

My dad glared at him.

“That means especially you. Ever since you could walk I had to pull you away from the poor girl kicking and screaming. And I am NOT about to do it again now that you’re this big. It’s a bad look for me.”

“That just shows we’re not supposed to be away from one another. It’s a sign from eywa. And you know I don’t play with the big lady upstairs.”

Lo’ak presses his lips on two fingers before reaching his hands up as if he’s kissing the sky.

My dad gives him a final warning look before he surrenders.

“Alright, fine. But if you get struck by lightning later it’s not my issue.

I’m gonna go on a walk.”

Lo’ak shoved his food into a small pouch before slinging it over his shoulder.

My mother frowns.

“With half of your breakfast in a pouch? You might as well just finish eating.”

Lo’ak waves her off. “Don’t worry, ma. I got a ton to do today.

I’ll just eat on the go.”

 mother gives him the leave to go, albeit reluctantly.

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

Y/n’s pov:

You woke up feeling so much better than yesterday. You and Spider haven’t spoken, but you can live with that for right now.

The only person you’ve spoken to since you’ve woken up is Mo’at. She was in nice company. And you certainly didn’t mind conversations with her.

It was a revitalizing contrast from the rush and endless chaos of of the last few days events, when the world didn’t feel to big, the air didn’t feel weighted, it was days like this you treasured.Today your hands weren’t victim to the relentless grip of your bow, your fingers free from the touch of the end of your arrows, your arms no longer aching from holding your shooting stance. No, today was a day you could drown in the acquiescence of having to do absolutely nothing.

Well, except maybe help Mo’at every now and then, but you hardly considered that physically draining.

You sat in her healing hut, grinding up some herbs as you cozied yourself up in the corner. You hummed one of your mother’s songs, the sound of the stone scratching against the bowl providing an odd backbeat.

Mo’at returned from her morning meetings with the clans healers, a long sigh dragged from her lips as she muttered complaints to herself, sitting down slowly.

You loved how she could make you laugh without effort.

“Something wrong?”

She waved off your concern, starting to gather some of the loose bowls strung around and stacking them in her arms.

“You know Menari??” She glances up at you, her tail flicking behind her.

You nod, a smile creeping up your face.

She sighed with irritation.

“Overmixed the herbs I tasked her with preparing because she was making eyes at Kalun.”

Ah yes, clan gossip. Who better to deliver such scandals than Tsahik herself?

You rolled your eyes, giggling at her exaggeration.

“They’re young, and in love. What else can you ask for?”

“I can ask for her to stop looking up at that scrawny man and do her job.”

You cackled, passing her the freshly grinding paste.

‘

“Awh, now that's not kind.”

She scoffed.

“You know what's not kind? I've seen sticks with more build than him and he still flaunts himself like he’s the prettiest peacock.”

You shrugged, moving on to preparing the next bowl

“At least he has confidence?”

Mo’at waves you off again. 

“When I was your age, I was shut away in my family’s tent speaking with the spirit’s, asking them to guide Eytukan to court me.”

“Oh here we go-”

“I prayed every night, child. I performed rituals and burned sacred plants.”

“Ma’tsahik, you’ve told me this story quite a few–”

She raised her hand, signaling for you to be quiet.

“Hush woman, I am not done.”

You sighed, strapping in for more of her spiritual seance stories.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good, now where was I?”

“Hm…I think you were at the sacred plants.”

A voice that didn’t belong to you or Mo’at spoke, causing you both to pause.

You turned around, spotting Lo’ak standing at the entrance of the tent, a pouch in his hands and a soft smirk on his face.

He strides his way inside without invitation, plopping himself down next to you and sprawling out his legs as he leaned on you.

You groaned, noyt appreciating being used as a seat.

“Lo’ak, what are you doing here?”

He blinked up at you, like him just throwing himself onto you was the most casual thing he could possibly do.

Which, to be fair, he did so often, it probably was by now.

“Did you really think I would leave you here to endure Grandma’s stories alone?? Of course not. So I brought you food,”

He tosses you the pouch.

“And the gift of my presence.”

Mo’at crosses her arms, staring at him with an unamused manner.

“I could have sworn your father informed me this morning to let Y/n rest, and not be dragged into anymore excursions for today.”

Lo’ak shrugged, munching on a fruit from the pouch that he handed you a half of.

“Y/n doesn’t mind me, besides, you know we don’t stay separated for very long.”

It was true. Ever since you were children, you and lo’ak had practically been a package deal.

Sleeping at each other's homes, not wanting to do anything unless you both could do it together, braiding each other's hair, and swapping and sharing bracelets, necklaces, armbands on the daily.

When Lo’ak was a toddler, he’d have a meltdown every time he had to go home after a day of playing with you.

And to be honest? He was right. You didn’t mind Lo’ak hanging with you today.

He wasn’t stressful when he didn’t want to be. You felt like you could talk to him about almost everything, secrets were rare between you and lo’ak, unless you both were keeping them from other people.

If you were the moon, he was the stars. Scattered across the abyss of the night sky, assuring that the darkness wouldn't be drowned in, dwelling with you in the comfort of nocturnal notions while still providing you the subtle comforts of luminescence.

And whether you both liked to admit it or not, you needed each other.

He was there for you when you mourned your mother and father. He was there for you with a blanket and a hug and some stupid joke to calm you when you woke up in the middle of the night hyperventilating. 

And you were there for him.

You were there when he almost died during his first attempt at iknimiya, calling him stiupid and hugging him until you couldn't breathe because a part of you swore you were about to loose your twin flame. 

And he was here now. Well, he was slouched over you with his legs spread and his arms floundered out. But..he was here.

You nudged hi9m to sit up straight, taking the fruit he offered you.

He spoke between mouth-fulls of munches.

“So, what's up with Kalun? I saw him lugging around a big basket of flowers.”

Lo’ak points with his thumb behind him, gesturing to the bustling clan outside going about with their daily tasks behind the closed tent flap.

Mo’at throws her arms up in exaggeration.

“Eywa, why does he insist on distracting that poor girl from her duties!?”

You weren’t a huge romantic, but you did find it sweet how he found time to bring Menari flowers.

“I think it’s sweet.” You hummed, continuing to grind up the herbs in the bowl.

Lo’ak gagged dramatically.

“Gross. I’m never going to mate with anyone.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Uh huh. Sure you’re not.”

He raised a brow, a challenging expression streaked his face.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Mo’at cuts you both off.

“Nothing. Lo’ak you’re going to have children and a mate because I demand great-grandchildren.”

A bust of a laugh leaves you, and you shove Lo’ak, who now stares at Mo’at in disbelief.

“And who are you to demand that i have kids?”

“The tsahik of this clan.”

You smirk triumphantly, smacking the back of Lo’aks head, earning a hiss from him.

“You’re screwed, bro.”

Lo’ak leans back, sighing dramatically.

“It’s so hard being sexy…I guess everyone wants me.”

It was your turn to gag, clutching your hand lightly around your throat to sell the idea.

“Not everyone.”

Mo’at sighs, as if recalling a memory that could only be one of her fondest.

“You know who everyone wanted? Your grandfather, now that’s a story-“

You and Lo’ak both groaned in sync.

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

You and Lo’ak had hung out almost all day inside mo’ats tent. And it was probably the most fun you’ve had in a while. 

Conversations with Lo’ak were always interesting to say the least. But if one thing was for sure, it was that there was no one you could possibly think of that you spoke to the way you spoke to Lo’ak. The two of you confided in one another. That meant now that Mo’at had left for the afternoon, there was nothing stopping you both from listening to each other's ramblings.

You told him a few minutes ago about the argument you had with Spider.

He was disappointed, and hated when you both were fighting, but he agreed that you both just needed some space.

So, he did what he did best.

Cher you up.

He was currently retelling a story that took place while you were away on a hunting trip with Neytiri a few weeks back, causing your absence during the event. Lo’ak clears his throat, continuing.

“So anyways, as she’s tying together her next row of knots, I notice that she forgot to do the loopy thing under the second layer of the armband, right?’

Lo’ak explains, making hand motions to try and create some sort of visual of the weaving motion Tuk was practicing.

You nodded, taking a sip of the tea Mo’at had made you, the smooth wood pressed against the inner of your lips for a moment.

“Uh huh.”

“So, I, being the good brother I am, decide stupidly to help the kid out.”

“Right. I mean, who wouldn't?”

“Exactly! So I tell her, ‘Tuk, that row is crooked’, and she has the AUDACITY to respond with ‘crooked like your haircut?’”

Your laughter vibrates down your body, and apparently it’s contagious because Lo’ak can’t help but cackle as well.

“Don’t fucking laugh you asshole. You’re the one who gave me this half shaved side shit, fuck you.”

He manages the last few words through his heavy breaths in between bouts of laughter.

“For the last time!”

You shriek, shoving him playfully.

“You don’t give an 12 year old a knife and expect them to perfectly cut someone’s hair!”

It seems like almost yesterday you and Lo’ak were hiding in a cave you found in the forest, not far from the clearing your clan resided in before high camp came into play.

You remember it perfectly, your mothers sharpest hunting knife she kept in a basket next to the entrance of your family’s marui along with various other weapons your parents kept out of reach from you and spider. He was sat infront of you on his knees, the backs of this thighs touching his shins while you kept yourself elevated behind him to provide you some sort of extra inches of height to better see Lo’aks head, as if that was going to make you know what the hell you were doing.

It didn’t. You remember him telling you to stop hesitating and just do it. He had been asking you for weeks to help him cut his hair since Jake wasn’t aloud to braid much less cut his children’s hair out of lack of confidence, and how Neteyam thought It was an insecurity thing and only responded with “You look great! There’s no need to cut it, baby bro.”

Neytiri didn’t like the idea of her 12 year old son wearing a style most adult warriors garb themselves with,and kiri just laughed when he asked her. 

You were his best option. You remember you and Lo’ak jumping up and down and squealing with excitement at the sight of a few of his braids falling to the ground, forming a circle around the two of you, and how that excitement slowly faded into fear when you both realized those few braids seemed much chunkier than at first glance. You fondly recall running back into the village with a giant leaf over Lo’ak’s head, making a bee-line straight for your family’s tent because going home to tell jake and neytiri was equivalent to walking into a thantors den after rubbing yourself in fragrant spices ready to be cooked and devoured. 

You could never forget your mothers face as she tried to comfort a frantic lo’ak, using her own tools to smoothe down the shaved plain.

To cut a long story short, that’s how Lo’ak got his side shaved. But it appeared Tuk had taken after your habit of never letting him live it down.

You both were out of breath from laughing once you both finished recalling the memory. It’s the terrible experiences that made you two stronger together.

 Lo’ak sighed, leaning back.

“Tuk’s spending too much time with you. You’re a shitty influence.”

You swatted at the back of his head, snickering softly.

A few beats of comfortable silence falls between you both, enjoying  just the feeling of moments like these.

“So, I’m not sure if I told you, but Neteyam was acting weird this morning.”

Your ears flick upwards at the mention of Neteteyam.

You carefully calculate your next words, attempting to make your curiosity seem as causal as a commodity, inconsequential and free of attribution relating to the feelings exchanged the night before. 

“Oh…was he okay?”

Real discreet, Y/n. Nice work.

Lo’ak paused to look up at you, his gaze cynically, clumsily trying to catch your heavily concealed sense of concern

“He was fine…I guess. I still think he was having a stroke.”

You rolled your eyes.

“He wasn’t having a stroke.”

“You weren’t there Y/n. The man acted like he Ingested 80 tons of helium and practically pranced around the marui. He was moaning into his fruit, and sighing every 2 seconds like he was in a dream or something.”

You scrunched up your nose at the visual of anyone being aroused by a fruit. 

“I’m sure he wasn’t ‘moaning’ into his fruit.”

You waved off the idea, Lo’ak scoffed.

“Uh huh. And the smiling-

Holy shit Y/n. This man would. Not. Stop. Smiling. It was insane.”

Come on, was he serious? Neteyam was fine…there’s no way this could be related to your conversation last night..right?

You gasped dramatically, widening your eyes as if you had the most sagacious epiphany, feigning stupidity for sarcasm. 

“Maybe he was..I don’t know..happy? Is that even possible for neteyam?”

Lo’ak was not amused.

“I’m telling you, something’s up with him.”

You sighed, shaking your head.

“Why would you think that? He’s probably just happy about something personal, maybe he set a goal for himself. Maybe he’s training differently or maybe he finally has that angled dive he’s always wanted to do on his ikran. The move your mom does with her bow? He’s always wanted to do that-“

Lo’ak looks at you like you’ve grown 6 extra tails. Maybe it was because you were rambling about Neteyam too personally. Nah. Maybe you really did grow 6 tails. 

Check just in case.

You cleared your throat, fidgeting with your bracelets. Acting like you weren’t just talking about something  Neteyam told you in private 3 years ago while you too were on a ‘date’ no one knew about. Because you were.

“..or something like that.”

Eywa must have been personally trying to provide you some amorality at that moment when Lo’ak shrugs you off.

“I don’t know. But I feel like if it was really something huge, he would have told his family about it. Right? Like, he doesn’t just keep that stuff from us…”

Point taken.

You placed a hand on his back.

“Look, Lo’ak, I’m sure Neteyam is fine. We all have..weird days, we can’t always be perfect.”

Lo’ak sighed, leaning back, letting his eyes flutter closed.

“You’re right. I mean, at least it’s not about you or some other girl.”

It slowly stings a little bit more each time it plays over and over in your head.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Lo’ak opened one eye.

“What?”

“You said ‘at least it’s not about you’. What does that mean, Lo’ak?”

Lo’ak, (somewhat stupidly, I must admit,) seemed surprised with your offended tone.

“I mean, at least it’s not about you. You know? Like you two aren’t dancing around eachother again.”

“What do you mean, ‘dancing around’ eachother?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple.

“Look, you don’t have to get upset-“

“I’ll decide whether or not I’ll get upset when you explain what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak gulped, silently regretting ever opening his mouth.

“You and him are just…weird?-

No, weird is not the right word.”

You agreed, coldly.

“Clearly.”

He groaned.

“Stop putting me in a bad corner here, Y/n, you know what I mean.”

He was right. You didn’t have to be so harsh with him. You knew Lo’ak had a tough time articulating himself. And you getting angry probably wasn’t going to make that any better.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just..you’re so confusing when it comes to what I used to have with your brother.”

You and Lo’ak are both a bit uncomfortable when you say it aloud. It wasn’t very often you confessed to being romantic with Neteyam in the past, even if it was just to yourself. It was hard to face.

“Y/n we don’t have to talk about this, really.”

“No, i think we do.

You don’t like it when Neteyam used to bring me flowers, or take me out to go ride ikrans, or spend time with me, but you were there for me when he started to distance himself from me. All of this shit about ‘oh you can’t court my brother’ but when it finally falls, like any normal person who speaks like that would want it to, all the sudden you’re in the heartbreak hot seat with me. What is going on, Lo?”

Lo’ak was quiet for a Minute. And it’s actually kinda funny how he conducted himself in a similar manner to Jake when things like this happened.

“Because I care.”

“About what!?”

“About you!”

You were quiet for a moment.

“Because I should care when you start to love, or like or feel for someone! Because you’re like a sister to me. Because you’re the one I can come to when I fuck up with my dad or feel like I’m screwing everything up. You’re the one I can come to when the others are giving me a bunch of shit about being Neteyam’s perfect little brother, or whatever.

And yes, it’s so fucking weird to see my brother staring at you like you’re the most important thing on this entire planet. But you know what? It makes you happy. Am I gonna give you and Neteyam shit about it? Of course I am! It’s fucking disgusting. But you know what? It makes you both happy. So I can’t do a damn thing, and I don’t want to.

Am I gonna wanna kick his ass when he screws up? Of course I am. Am I gonna sit next to you and listen to you cry and scream and do all that angry relationship stuff that people do? Abso-fucking-lutely I am.

But you’re both still disgusting and full of love diseases.”

And now it all made sense. Lo’ak was your person. Half your heart in the form of a living soul.

To feel someone in such truth it aches.

And it wasn’t romance. It wasn’t sex or lust. It was a different kind of love.

The kind that meant that you could share a hammock with him and fight every urge not to kick him off when he starts to snore. The kind that meant you were the only one who trusted to braid his hair because neytiri wasn’t gentle enough and Jake was out of the question. The kind that meant that you had his back, and he had yours. 

You were his and he was yours. Sentiments are sensitive and romance is rigged but this went beyond fairytale endings.  Because you knew he would always stand next to you, tangled at the roots. And when the world seemed to be made out of nothing but unkept promises and sterling stained heartbreak, rusting off to a sickly shade of green that once shimmered gold, you found him.

And he was stupid and you loved him and his stupid stupidity that often led him to do stupid things, and of course you would always do them right along with him because he always said he didn’t want to die looking dumber than you. 

And if he asked you to loose your fucking mind with him you’d agree in a heartbeat with an extra pouch of food because he was always hungry. 

You smiled, the intangibility of this beautiful mess of a thing that only you two could create echoed through the air pulsing undercurrent that inhabited the stars that now turned a thousand shades of blue.

“Oh Lo’ak.”

You whispered, the endnotes query themselves upon pity.

“I know you care. But I can protect myself.

I thought that you’d know that better than anyone.”

He nodded, fidgeting with the bracelet that matched you’re own

“You’re right. I know. I’m just not ready to be..I dunno. It’s sounds stupid as shit but, alone?? That’s weird, right?”

“No, of course not. You’re not alone. You’ll always have me. But you don’t have to take every shot for me. That’s a job for my mouth and my fists.”

You smiled, mocking the boxing stance Jake had taught you and punching the air.

Lo’ak looked nauseous. “Y/n. Can we stop talking about your relationships and jobs you do with your hands and your mouth?”

You snickered shoving him.

“You’re so stupid.”

“I get it from you.”

A comfortable silence settled as he leaned his head on you’re shoulder. But there was something drumming at the back of your mind. An unfinished note that would

complete the song.

You sighed.

“Lo’ak, you know how we don’t keep secrets?”

He nodded, not bothering to lift his head.

“Yuh huh.”

“Well..I uh.”

You took a breath, gathering your words and placing them in the right order.

“I talked with Neteyam last night. And I hugged him-

I don’t know why I hugged him. There’s nothing going on but we’re all good now with what happened all those years ago. The past is in the past and I just thought you would know.”

Lo’ak was quiet for a moment.

“Aight.”

‘Aight’? That’s all you get?

“Really? That’s it?”

“Well, it’s disgusting, but as long as you two aren’t canoodling-“

“Trust me. I’m his teacher now. There will be no canoodling. I swear it.”

Lo’ak shrugged, his expression neutral. 

“Then my final verdict is in place. No getting pregnant and nothing below the waist.”

You snorted.

“You’re the boss.”

Another beat of silence settled.

Then, you got an idea.

“You wanna go race ikrans?”

A hint of mischief in your voice, he sighed.

“I’m off flight privileges for 2 more days for that stunt I pulled at the raid.”

You frowned, but it didn’t last long.

“You wanna go on a ride on Kailo? I’ll let you take shotgun.”

“Fuck yeah.”

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

Memes from this chapter

And some Lo’ak and y/n memes bc they’re besties

Authors note:

*in Backstreet Boys voice* ohmahgod we’re back againnn. 

First things first, I owe you all a huge apology. This chapter is way overdue, since I decided to re-write it halfway through like an idiot. But I’m fairly happy with how this turned out, which is rare for me. I’ve been a surf trip for the last few weeks and this summer I’m going on a lot more so that’s been kinda tough to find time to write on a laptop coming home from the beach all sandy and wet. 

But we’re back and the next few chapters will be written in close proximity to this time wise. I’m leaving the country on July 27 so I’m gonna try to get at least one more long chapter out before then. 

This is getting kinda long. But guys I have so much fun writing from Neteyam’s pov. The first time I wrote for neteyam was like 2 chapters ago and I was so so nervous about posting it bc I thought it sounded so cringe but you guys loved it so much, I’ve decided from now on there’s gonna be a neteyam pov in every chapter.

For these of you who know, Lo’ak is my son, my baby, my child, my pride and joy so obviously writing for him is also super fun. 

Okay this is getting so much longer than I planned. But I’ll see you lovelies next time!!

-Solana

Taglist 🪐🌑🪻 

@mntx666

@isnt-itstrange @thebestrouge

@bay7let

@fairuzwhat

@jackiehollanderr

@6423btw

@satesatesate2009

@OstargirlO

@heavenlysstuff

@dayyzlol

@iheartamajiki

@fluorynn

@bakugouswaif

@eljaynosine-triphosphate

(I just realized how long this taglist is getting guys…it’s actually getting me all teary eyed. Tysm for the support!)

[coffeebanana]

Fanfiction vs English Class

It’s funny the way that society looks down on fanfiction, although I DO think that’s steadily changing. But if you think about it, fanfiction does exactly what our high school English teachers were trying to get us to do. The difference is...it’s catered to what people want to see. To the things than millennials and gen Z have come to expect from fiction. Don’t worry, I’ll elaborate. English class had us deconstruct stories. To look for symbolism, to decipher metaphors, to deconstruct plots and pick out the climax of a story. And to be honest, I always felt like I struggled with that. Funny thing for a kid who walked around with her nose in a book all the time. To be fair, I almost always got an A, but it never came as easily as my other grades. Because a part of me...the writer part I suppose...just never understood the obsession. Why did it matter what a stupid shell symbolized if I just found the book about all the boys running around killing each other to be anticlimactic (you’re perfectly entitled to like Lord of the Flies, I just...didn’t...)? Didn’t my teachers understand that sometimes a red dress is just red dress? Because maybe the writer liked that colour? How could they know for sure what the author meant? (They couldn’t.) Why did I lose marks because I disagreed with my teacher about what the climax of the story was? Is literature not supposed to be subjective? But what does fanfiction do? For the most part, at least the way I see it, instead of taking apart the plot and the literary devices associated with a story, fanfiction analyzes the CHARACTERS in a body of fiction. And that’s exactly what we’ve come to expect from media in our day and age. The fact that TV shows have become so much more popular as a form of media is in part due to their treatment of characters. Remember all those book to movie adaptations that left you disappointed? Consider any book series that has been turned into a movie and then later into a TV series. Didn’t the show have more time to explore these things? Didn’t the show consider options the book hadn’t, and present us characters depicted in new and interesting lights? (I’d also like to point out that in some sense, movies and TV shows based on books ARE fanfiction, although, those have always been a socially acceptable form.)

Maybe I’m biased, because I’ve always been character driven, but I think that what our generations want to see most of all is complex, realistic, often morally grey characters. People we can relate to. My grade 12 literature teacher used to say that the “hero” of the story evolved with the generations. In the time of  Beowulf, people lived harsh lives and they needed their hero to be strong. So he was. The romantic hero, compatible timewise with the Renaissance period, was all about new ideas and introspection and challenging norms. And, as far as I’m concerned, our hero, who we look up to, is FLAWED. They struggle. They make mistakes. They LEARN from them. They keep going when things are hard, and sometimes things are too hard, and they break down, and that’s ok. That’s LIFE. It’s real, it’s raw. It’s imperfect.

That’s not to say that symbolism and all the rest of it doesn’t have its place, because it absolutely does, but I will argue that characters are more important. They’re what make us fall in love with fiction. They’re what help us understand ourselves and the world around us a little better. 

Fanfiction takes characters and makes us figure out their essence. We take pieces of them, different adaptations of them, and throw them into different scenarios to explore what they might do. And in order to do that, we have to understand the characters and their world. We’re doing exactly what we were always supposed to be doing in English class, but we’re doing it with characters. We’re doing it for ourselves. We’re doing it without having anyone tell us we’re wrong, because...we’re not. We never were.

Fanfiction taught me that the beauty of writing is NOT analyzing a piece and having everyone come to the same conclusion. It’s that 10 different people will read the same thing 10 different ways, and still get something out of it. And THAT is beautiful. THAT’s why I love writing and sharing my work: the connection I feel when I see a comment on one of my fics and I know that somebody FELT something. That what I wrote gave something to someone that they didn’t have before.

So to anybody who puts fanfiction down? Screw you. You don’t get it.

Anyways, I’ve been mulling over these feelings for a while, and I just wanted to get them all out in one place.