#she wouldn’t miss them as much and they wouldn’t miss her

[yandere-writer-momo]

Thinking about a yandere werewolf, but not just any werewolf… a bounty hunter. And he has it bad for his you. Cowboy Werewolf!

Yandere Shorts: Like I Love You

Yandere werewolf x fem reader

TW: obsession, delusional themes, abo dynamic, horror, gore (mentioned), death of characters, neglectful husband, betrayal, cheating husband, forced relationship, mention of baby trapping, and behavior that should not be romanticized

Rolfe was currently on a hunt… his target is a sickly preacher’s, one that should be easy enough. Her own husband had paid him quite the pretty penny to off her. Poor little lamb didn’t stand a chance in the wilderness of this world. Not when she had enemies close to her side such as an unfaithful husband and a conniving best friend. He almost felt sorry for his prey

He arrived a day later, his clawed fingers dragged through a lock of her hair as he inhaled her scent. She smelled… delicious. And she was so vulnerable too with her nape out that just begged for his teeth to be driven into…

Rolfe shook his head before he went back into a trance when she subconsciously leaned into his touch. His hand moved up and grazed her temple that felt as if it were ablaze. Poor woman had a fever…

“Darling? Did you finally come to me?” Her voice was a bit delirious with sickness as she kissed his hands. Each kiss made him feel as if he was her beloved. It took everything in him not to loudly whine like a dog. “I missed you so much James. I’m sorry I got sick again.”

Rolfe didn’t say a word before he continued to drag his rough palms through her hair. His heart hammered in his chest and his wolf clawed inside his brain to be released. It seemed this woman before him… was his fated mate.”

Rolfe bent down and buried his nose into the crook of her neck to deeply inhaled. Oh yes… this lassy was his for the takin.

Rolfe began to slowly nurse her back to health rather than off her. An action that made his employer question him. Why on earth would a monster nurse such a nuisance back to health? She was always near death’s door. What use was such a delicate woman in the Wild West?

“When are you going to off (your name)? She’s an easy target.”

“I have honor as a bounty hunter. It must be a hunt.” Rolfe snarled at (your name)’s husband, James, the man who dared to keep her sick due to his lack of care. Had that scrawny man have no pride as a man? The pastor made him sick.

“She’s easy to pick off right now. I’d really like this to be over and done with so I can marry Helen. This is why I hired a monster-“ Rolfe picked James up from the ground by his throat as James gasped for air.

“You are a foolish, greedy man. Are you sure you are truly a man of god?” Rolfe growled, showing his fangs. His dark, muscular form largely towered over James’s lithe frame. “You’re a pathetic man.”

Rolfe soon went back to the care of (your name). The werewolf rubbed his cheeks all over her bed and her body to scent her… he needed to get rid of James’s scent. Rolfe wouldn’t let another have her and hurt her again… he’d spirit her away.

Rolfe wondered how many pups she’d want. If they’d be pretty like her but strong like him… if she’d pepper him with nips and kisses everyday. If she’d beg him for his knot on the next full moon as he properly mated her?

“Darling?” (Your name) reached for his face and Rolfe was quick to put his face in them. A needy whine escaped his throat while he nuzzled her. She was his precious mate…

He snarled when he saw Helen enter. The woman scoffed at him in disgust.

“Ugh. James and I are tired of waiting. You have been here over a month! We want you gone beast. We’ll do it ourselves.”

“So you’re cancelling the contract?” He hummed while he continued to tenderly kiss (your name)‘a palms. “Are you sure? Did you read the fine print?”

“Yes. We don’t need your kind here, true love will prevail-“ Helen didn’t even have time to scream before a giant black wolf hybrid had dug it’s fangs into her throat and ripped it apart like wrapping paper. Blood splattered all over the floor and walls as Helen could only helplessly choke on her own blood.

“Yes… true love will prevail.” He muttered with a a satisfied hum. “My mate will be so happy.”

Meanwhile, James fled into the forest for dear life. That beast had gotten Helen! The two of them couldn’t believe the werewolf would turn on him.

James loudly leapt when he heard something large chase him through the underbrush on all fours. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel his sweat pool down his back in puddles. He needed to get to the church! A demon such as the bounty hunter couldn’t possibly enter there-

But James was knocked to the ground as an agonized shriek fell from his lips. The werewolf began to shake and mangle his leg like the bloodthirsty beast it was…

“Let me go! Let me go! I didn’t do anything-“

Rolfe chuckled darkly. The black werewolf dropped his legs and glanced his beastly head at James. “Oh but she never did anything either… all she did was foolishly love you.”

“W-what do you mean? Are you talking about-“ James’s words were muffled by the paw like hand that covered his mouth. Rolfe shushed him.

“Shhh. You may have failed to pay me and cancel my contract but I had gotten something far more valuable from this transaction. Something most werewolves dream to find in their lifetimes… a fated mate!” Rolfe sighed dreamily. “You may have failed as a protector and provider, but I surely won’t! You have given me something more valuable than any coin could offer… yet you were neglectful to her. Such a shame really.”

“I… I’ll do anything! Just take her and let me live.”

“Ah but I can’t do that. Not when she still calls for you at night. No… you have to be eliminated. Destroyed, really. You can no longer exist on the same planet as her! You are in the way of my love!”

Loud screams of terror ringed out throughout the crisp night air and then it was silence.

Rolfe returned hours later scrubbed clean of blood while he crawled into the bed with his darling mate. He sighed in contentment when she cuddled him. Yes… it may take time to train her properly, but he was sure he could do it. He could make her love him. Just like he loved her.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Saving Grace || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: When Rafe Cameron’s infamous temper threatens to derail the entire office, his wife is called in as the only person who can bring him back to earth.

Warnings: none!

Word count: 2,051

MASTERLIST

Rafe Cameron could be described in many ways: arrogant, sharp-tongued, perpetually stone-faced, and infamously hot-headed. His temper was a ticking time bomb, always moments away from detonation. It didn’t take much to set him off—a missed detail, an oversight, or even the wrong tone of voice—and once his mood soured, it had a ripple effect on everyone within his orbit.

If Rafe was in a foul mood, the entire office braced itself for the storm, knowing they’d bear the brunt of his frustration. Productivity stalled, morale plummeted, and an oppressive tension hung heavy in the air. No one dared to ask if he was okay or offer to fix the issue—it was simply understood that his temper had to run its course.

But there was one person who had mastered the art of disarming the bomb: his assistant, Rachael. If anyone in the office had something to say about Rachael, it was that she knew Rafe Cameron far too well. She had an uncanny ability to read his moods and an arsenal of strategies for defusing them. Most importantly, she understood the one surefire way to calm Rafe down: his wife.

The woman who he worshipped the ground she walked on, mother to his children, and the only person Rafe Cameron seemed to hold above all else. No matter how irritable or unapproachable he became, the mere mention of her name was enough to shift the atmosphere. So when Rachael watched one of her coworkers stumble out of Rafe’s office, barely holding back tears, she knew it was time to intervene.

Her sharp eyes scanned the room, noting the nervous glances exchanged between staff members who were all too aware of the storm brewing behind Rafe’s closed door. Without missing a beat, Rachael grabbed her phone, dialling a number she had memorised long ago. As the call connected, her tone softened—a stark contrast to the sharp efficiency she displayed in the office.

“Hi, Mrs. Cameron,” she began, her voice carrying a mixture of urgency and familiarity. “I hate to bother you, but it’s one of those days. If you’re free, I think a quick word with Rafe might do the trick.” She paused, listening intently before smiling to herself. Rachael didn’t need to explain much; Mrs. Cameron always seemed to know exactly how to handle her husband.

And while the office might dread Rafe’s infamous outbursts, Rachael found comfort in knowing there was someone who could bring the man back down to earth. She let out a small sigh of relief when she heard your calm, reassuring voice on the other end of the line. “I’ll be right there,” you said, your tone steady but with a hint of warmth that was reserved for conversations about your husband.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your car keys, slipping on a pair of heels as you prepared to leave. It wasn’t the first time you’d been called in to play peacemaker, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Rafe’s temper was legendary, but you knew how to navigate it better than anyone else. You’d seen him at his worst, the raw edges of his frustration and anger, but you also knew the softer side of him—the part that melted when you walked into a room, the man who looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

As you slid into the driver’s seat, your thoughts briefly flickered to your children, safely at home with the nanny. You didn’t want to leave them, but you also understood that Rafe needed you. He might not admit it outright, especially not in front of his staff, but the subtle ways he sought you out after a rough day spoke volumes.

~

As you walked toward your husband’s office, the energy in the space shifted noticeably. Heads turned, relief washing over faces that had been tense just moments before. Hushed whispers followed in your wake, employees murmuring their gratitude for the one person who could tame the storm that was Rafe Cameron. Even without uttering a word, your presence commanded respect—graceful yet undeniably authoritative.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Mrs. Cameron,” Rachael said as she stood from her desk, her tone filled with a mixture of hope and exhaustion. “He’s in his office, and he’s miserable in there.” You glanced through the glass wall into Rafe’s office. Rachael hadn’t exaggerated—his frustration was palpable. The furrow of his brow, the tight set of his jaw, and the restless movements of his hands screamed of a man on the verge of losing his patience entirely.

You offered Rachael a small, reassuring smile before making your way to the door, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. You didn’t bother knocking—Rafe hated formalities when it came to you. The heavy sigh he let out at the sound of the door opening was immediate. His eyes remained locked on the papers scattered across his desk, his tone sharp and cold.

“I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.” A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stepped inside. “Does that include me?” you asked, your voice sweet and smooth, cutting through the tension. Rafe’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. Instantly, his rigid posture softened, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift.

The frustration etched into his features melted away, replaced by a look that could only be described as unguarded affection. Just your presence had the power to undo him. Without a word, Rafe reached behind his desk and flicked a switch, causing the glass walls of his office to turn frosted, granting the two of you privacy. His voice softened, tinged with genuine curiosity and concern.

“What are you doing here, baby?" You walked around his desk, your movements fluid and deliberate, and Rafe turned in his chair to face you fully. Standing in front of him, you saw the shift in his expression—the hard edges of his day crumbling as he looked up at you. And there it was, the look that never failed to steal your breath.

No matter how difficult or frustrating his day had been, Rafe always looked at you like you were his entire world, as though you hung the moon and stars just for him. In his eyes, there was nothing but pure, unfiltered love—a stark contrast to the icy exterior he showed everyone else. You leaned down, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

His shoulders visibly relaxed at the familiar touch, the tension from his day dissolving. “You’re scaring your employees,” you teased softly, your words accompanied by a light chuckle as you straightened up. Rafe let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair and rolling his eyes. “They’re ridiculous,” he muttered, his tone laced with both irritation and amusement.

“They’re terrified,” you corrected, folding your arms and raising a brow at him. “I saw one of them practically in tears.” Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not my fault they can’t handle a little pressure.” You gave him a knowing look, stepping closer and resting your hands on the armrests of his chair, effectively boxing him in. “Rafe, you can be a little… intense,” you said gently, your eyes locking with his. “And by ‘a little,’ I mean a lot.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “You don’t seem scared of me,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, almost teasing tone. “That’s because I know the real you,” you replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “The one who spoils me, reads bedtime stories to the kids, and eats all the burnt pancakes I make without complaining.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “You know I love those burnt pancakes,” he murmured, tugging you closer until you were practically sitting on his lap. “Hmm,” you hummed playfully, trailing your fingers along the lapel of his blazer. “Maybe I should remind your staff that under all that brooding, you’re just a big softie.”

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, though his smirk betrayed the emptiness of his threat. You laughed softly, pressing another kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Then maybe try to be a little nicer? For me?” He sighed, feigning reluctance, but the way his hands tightened on your waist betrayed his surrender. “Fine,” he said, his tone mockingly begrudging. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” you said with a satisfied smile, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Now, why don’t you take a break? Let me help you relax before you scare anyone else.” Rafe’s smirk softened into a genuine smile, the love in his eyes shining brighter than ever. “You really are my saving grace,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

[muniimyg]

♡ 01: baby, i'm a dog

series m.list // taglist

note: welcome to part 1 !!! this fic is def a diff vibe ,, kinda chill and jus sad LOL … tbh if i hate it i’ll jus edit it as a one shot cos #yolo #idc but also…. i fear this jk is a vibe

//

the cabin's front door slams shut behind jungkook.

his laughter spills into the cold air as he jogs to his car, tossing the keys to taehyung mid-stride. 

the hoseok and nam joon had roped him into a last-minute supply run—apparently, they underestimated just how much beer and snacks a group this size could burn through in one night. the crunch of snow under his boots and the slap of wind against his face brought a sharp clarity, a brief reprieve from the weight he'd felt the entire drive up here. 

he works nonstop all year… he only gets a few days of vacation. yet, this is how he spends his precious leisure days.

a part of him is still trying to figure out why he even came.

"think fast, shithead!" taehyung called, tossing the keys back. 

jungkook catches them effortlessly, smirking as he spins them around his finger.

as he opens his mouth to make a comeback, the sound of tires crunching over ice makes his chest go tight. instantly, he recognizes that it’s yoongi’s girlfriend’s car—but something about the way it’s driven pulls him further into himself.

jungkook is a car guy. 

he’s the car guy and knowing cars means knowing the people behind the wheel.

the way they park, the way they brake, even the rhythm of their turns.

and this car?

it parks too carefully, too smoothly.

it’s muscle memory that makes him stand straighter, his heart stumbling over itself. because he knows exactly whose hands are gripping the wheel before he even sees your face.

taking a few steps back, he watches as the suv rolls into the driveway, something heavy settling in his chest.

the sound of the car door opening snaps him out of his daze.

and it all suddenly feels like a fever dream. 

with the snow falling slowly and the way his heart skips a beat—you step out and completely stop his world.

you’re bundled in a cream puffer jacket and your cheeks flushed from the cold…

and you smile at him.

like, really smile at him. 

and jungkook thinks to himself; 

fuck.

you’re still so pretty. 

so fucking pretty. 

then, his mind blanks. 

he doesn’t know how to move, doesn’t even know how to breathe. all he can do is stare.

“jungkook!”

before he can even respond, you’re walking toward him, arms open.

he freezes when you hug him.

it’s not long—just enough to share a little warmth—but it’s enough to knock the air clean out of his lungs.

three years.

it’s been three years since he’s seen you, and now you’re here, wrapping him in a moment that feels too easy for all the time that’s passed.

is... is this easy for you?

because he can't breathe right now.

“i convinced her to come last minute,” yoongi’s girlfriend, mei, says. she’s practically bouncing with excitement. “the weather grounded her flight, and i told her it’d be way better to spend a few days with us than to sit around waiting.”

you pull back from jungkook and smile up at him like it’s nothing.

like he hasn’t been caught in the shockwave of your presence.

like you aren't the love of his life.

“figured it’d be fun,” you say lightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. you glance around and squeal at the sight of your old friendgroup. “plus, i missed you guys.”

the others swarm in, laughing and throwing their arms around you, saying how long it’s been. jungkook hangs back, struggling to keep up with the reality in front of him. this wasn’t how he thought this trip was going to go.

as jin and yoongi haul your bags toward the cabin, you turn back to jungkook. your shoulder bumps against his as you tilt your head.

“is it okay that i’m here?”

he blinks at you.

“why wouldn’t it be?”

your shrug and look around. “nam joon’s your friend. this is his family cabin… i’m just your—“

“it’s fine,” he interrupts you.

silence.

then, you break it with a question and your signature soft tone.

“did i surprise you?”

jungkook nods stiffly, words caught in his throat.

"good."

... is all you say before you’re gone, following the others into the cabin, leaving him standing in the cold.

it takes a second, but his feet move on their own, trailing after you without a second thought. like a dog, he thinks, tail wagging behind its owner.

his hands clench into fists at his sides as he walks, the cold biting at his skin through his jacket.

you're here.

you're actually here.

they have invited you over and over again to friendgroup trips and you've only attended a handful of times. take note that those specific times were the ones where jungkook had rsvp'd no.

so this...

this?

this is completely beyond him.

you... in the flesh feels like some cruel cosmic joke to him. the kind of joke where the punchline cuts deep and leaves a scar.

three years.

three fucking years of trying not to think about you, of convincing himself he’d moved on.

three years of pretending he didn’t still see you in every corner of his life. he told himself he'd be ready for this moment if it ever came—that he'd have the right words, the right attitude, anything but the mess of disbelief and guilt twisting in his chest right now.

but here you are, running into his arms like none of it matters. like the years apart haven’t clawed at him the way they clearly didn’t claw at you.

he knows he shouldn’t be surprised.

you always were good at carrying things with grace, even when he was busy breaking them—breaking you.

a part of him feels bitter. he wishes you had a mean bone in your body. perhaps, he'd feel better... but you don't and all he's can think about is how good you smell.

“what the fuck," jungkook mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face as he steps into the cabin.

the warmth inside doesn’t reach him.

not really.

his heart is still somewhere out there in the cold, stuck in that driveway where you looked at him like nothing’s changed.

like he’s still someone worth smiling at.

as you get settled, jungkook and taehyung excuse themselves again and leave for their little grocery run.

when they come back, an hour later—the plastic grocery bags cutting into his fingers as he kicks the snow off his boots.

laughter drifts from the kitchen, light and easy, mingling with the clatter of pots and pans. the scent of something savory hangs in the air, and for a moment, he lets it lull him, the warmth easing the tension in his shoulders.

“finally,” yoongi groans, swooping in to grab some bags from jungkook. “we thought you guys got lost or something.”

“tae couldn’t decide between doritos and cheetos,” jungkook mutters, rolling his eyes as he shrugs off his coat. “turns out we needed both.”

“damn right we did,” taehyung calls from behind him, slamming the door shut with his foot.

jungkook lets their banter fade into the background, his eyes instinctively drawn toward the kitchen. 

you’re there. 

standing near the counter, sleeves rolled up as you stir something in a pot. your hair’s pulled back, a few loose strands framing your face. you’re laughing at something yoongi’s girlfriend says, your hands moving gracefully as you gesture, completely at ease.

the view of you is so clear, yet so vivid in his memory.

it makes his heart ache.

it’s like you’ve always been here, laughing, stirring pots, and looking so effortlessly beautiful it makes his chest ache.

like he’s coming home to you again. 

“earth to jungkook?” jimin snaps his fingers in front of his face, smirking when jungkook blinks, caught. “you good?”

“yeah.” the word comes out too sharp, and he clears his throat, shrugging past jimin. “just gonna change.”

he doesn’t wait for a response and heads upstairs. the weight in his chest grows heavier with every step, a knot tightening in his stomach. when he reaches his room and pushes the door open, he freezes.

his bags aren’t where he left them.

instead, a collection of white baggage are stacked neatly in the corner. irritation flares, but it’s quickly doused by confusion—and a sinking realization.

“jungkook?” your voice calls softly from behind him, and he turns to see you at the top of the stairs, slightly out of breath.

you’re holding onto the banister, your other hand fiddling with the hem of your sweater. the soft fabric brushes your fingers as you glance at him, your expression tentative.

“the girls—um—mei, bria, and the others—they thought it’d be better if we moved your stuff,” you say, stepping closer. your voice is calm, and measured, but there’s a nervous energy in the way your eyes dart toward his. “i told them it wasn’t necessary, but they figured it’d be easier if... well, you know.”

jungkook leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“so you’re gonna take my room?”

“it was our room for three years.”

“it’s been three years.”

“that’s true,” you hesitate, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “they put your stuff in jimin’s room. but i was just coming up to say, i can totally switch and room with joon’s girlfriend and make joon and jimin room together. i mean, it’d be a good chance to bond—”

“take the room.” his voice cuts through your rambling, low and firm.

your eyes widen slightly. 

“are you sure? i really don’t mind—”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging. “the only other option would be to share it with me… so…”

you pause, a laugh bubbling out before you can stop it. 

“that’d be crazy, right?”

something flickers across his face, too quick for you to catch. then, he straightens, his expression calm but his words heavy. 

“would it be though?”

the question hangs in the air, your laughter fading as his gaze lingers on you. his tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s something beneath it—something you can’t quite name.

you look away, brushing your hand over the doorframe as if needing something to ground you. 

“thanks, jungkook,” you say softly, the words carrying a warmth that feels too intimate. “i appreciate it.”

but before you turn, your hand reaches out, ruffling his hair in that way you used to when you thought he was being ridiculous. 

his breath catches, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink as your fingertips graze his scalp.

then you’re gone, your footsteps fading as you head back downstairs.

jungkook exhales, his head tipping back against the doorframe as he stares at the ceiling. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, the weight in his chest now impossibly heavier.

by the time jungkook come down the stairs, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the space he follows behind you, catching the way the group immediately perks up. all eyes turning toward you both, and jin yells out, "look who finally decided to join the party!"

taehyung grins, his voice too cheerful for someone who clearly has something up his sleeve. 

“you two are late to the conversation, so you’re being voluntold to go back to town and grab some oil. we forgot to buy oil.”

jungkook freezes mid-step, his brows furrowing. 

“the fuck? i just got back. are you serious?”

you turn and see jungkook’s frustration bubbling up already as he turns to bicker with the guys, his voice rising in playful annoyance. “hyung, you couldn't just... check the damn list? are you fucking serious? i don’t want to go back—”

taehyung laughs, “we were too busy enjoying ourselves. you had fun with me! remember? we got both—”

“fuck that,” jungkook huffs. “i’m not going back—”

“you have to—”

“no, i don’t.”

“jungkook, you’re the youngest too—”

“why does that fucking matter?”

the group chuckles, but jungkook’s not laughing.

you watch jungkook’s face twist with irritation, the way his jaw tightens with every word that’s said. he’s always been like this—quick to snap when he feels cornered. it’s like he can’t stand being told what to do. 

he can’t. 

god, he really hates being pushed around.

you’ve always known that about him. yet, a part of you feels bad for him. 

“no. fuck that.” his voice is sharp, a little louder than it needs to be. “i’m not going back—”

the others try to reason with him even more, but his deflection is clear. 

it’s always the same with him, especially when he feels like he's being challenged. you can’t help but shake your head a little, a sigh almost escaping your lips as you glance at the group, waiting for the inevitable back-and-forth.

he’s the youngest, of course. always the youngest. always expected to just follow along, to do things because it’s “his turn” or whatever bullshit they’re using this time. 

you feel your own resolve settle, the urge to take control bubbling up before you can stop it. without even thinking, you walk over to taehyung, reach over, and grab the the car keys from his hand. 

you do it quickly, not even glancing at anyone else, just deciding in that moment that you’ve had enough of the back-and-forth.

“oil. anything else?” you ask, your tone light, almost too casual, as if this is no big deal.

you hear the group chuckle, but you're not listening to them. 

you’re watching jungkook now, his surprise registering only for a second before the annoyance flickers back into his eyes. 

he doesn’t have a choice now.

he hates this.

jungkook rolls his eyes, but it's too late—he knows it’s happening now. he snatches the keys back from your hand with a heavy sigh. he doesn’t look at you, but the slight dip in his shoulders gives him away. 

he’s still annoyed, but it doesn’t matter.

not if it’s about you. 

suddenly, he’s putting his boots on and slams the door. then, the sound of his car engine starting fills the silence. everyone turns to you in disbelief. 

“huh," you tilt your head. "i guess he's driving.”

the car ride is silent, the engine purring smoothly beneath you.

jungkook’s car is new (to you, at least) and he drives like he’s trying to put as much distance between himself and the group as possible.

his knuckles are tight around the wheel, and every so often, his eyes flicker to you, then back to the road. you can feel the tension building up again, but neither of you says anything.

the store comes up quick, and you both slip inside. jungkook grabs the oil without a word, and as you stand by the aisle, you notice the carton of oat milk in his hand—your favourite brand too. 

you blink. 

“they didn’t ask for oat milk.”

he doesn’t look at you as he sets the carton into the basket, but there’s a quiet, almost hesitant shift in his posture.

“yeah. i know.”

you want to say something, anything, but you swallow the words. 

it’s just oat milk. 

back in the car, you both buckle up in silence, and jungkook starts the engine with a soft grumble. the snow outside is heavier now, falling in thick, swirling sheets, the road barely visible.

the car stalls.

jungkook curses under his breath, his hands working over the wheel like he’s already analyzing what’s wrong. you watch him, knowing he’s not going to admit it, but it’s obvious.

“looks like we’re stuck for a bit,” he mutters. “better wait for the snow to calm down.”

you lean back in your seat, the quiet pressing in. there’s nowhere to go but forward now, and it’s strange, this calm in the middle of nowhere with him beside you, neither of you saying much.

the snow pounds against the windshield. jungkook shifts in his seat, tapping his fingers against the wheel as he watches the storm.

as jungkook stares at the snow pounds against the windshield, you stare at him.

you wait for him to say something. 

anything. 

but jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes.

his gaze is fixed on the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel. you can feel the distance between you two—the years, the hurt, the things that never got said. the things you did say… 

“so,” you start, your voice soft, the words almost hesitant. “how are you?”

jungkook scoffs.

“don’t.”

“don’t what?” you ask. “it’s been a while. i only really see what you’re up to via social media. you opened your own shop, right? i’m so proud of you. i know how long you’ve wanted to do that.”

jungkook nods. 

“yeah…” his response is immediate, but detached. “yeah, i mean… it was a lot easier when i got the right clientelle. so yeah, still doing that. luxury car mechanic bullshit. it’s... all right. not much to update you about.” his tone is nonchalant, almost like he doesn’t care, but you know it’s a front. it’s always been easier for him to hide behind that mask of indifference. 

“i’m sure there’s something—”

“i fix up cars people can’t even pronounce the names of. not a lot of excitement there. just... polishing up things people break, and making money for it.”

“okay,” you nod, your fingers tracing the edge of your seat. “jungkook, it’s me. don’t underplay this with me.”

he shrugs. 

for the first time in three years; you feel it again.

you feel this… sense of anger? annoyance?

hurt. 

jungkook is well known in the city. 

he's the go-to mechanic for luxury cars—bentleys, ferraris, lambos—if you've got money and a car that needs fixing, you go to him… and while we’re here; let’s brag about it. 

jungkook is not just any mechanic; he's the top of the game. he’s the most trusted in the industry, and somehow, he's built a reputation that makes even the richest clients feel like they’re getting something special.

most of them don't know it, but jungkook is lucky—unbelievably lucky. 

he didn’t come from money, didn’t grow up with connections or a silver spoon in his mouth. hell, he's still the kind of guy who wears sweat pants and a hoodie to work… but he's got an uncanny knack for fixing cars, his hands working like magic around every engine and every screw. it's a skill that came naturally to him, no effort needed—he was born with it. 

and that, somehow, has carried him through life.

the thing is, jungkook knows he's a loser. 

a lovable one, sure, but a loser nonetheless. 

he might be great with cars, but he's not the type to flaunt his success. his garage is both chaotic and high-end, a mix of organized chaos and state-of-the-art equipment, the kind of place that looks like it’s one bad day away from falling apart, but in reality, it's the most trusted name in the city.

he's rough around the edges, but that's part of his charm. he's got the grit to keep going when things get tough, but he stumbles through life in a way that makes everyone around him laugh—except when it comes to cars.

then, he's all business.

the fact that he's self-made, that he’s built everything from the ground up, doesn’t even fully sink in for him. he never asks for anything. the success just... happened, like it was meant to.

in the same sense, he’s a scumbag.

he’s gotten into trouble before, and he’s made his share of mistakes. but somehow, with the luck he’s got, he always lands on his feet. and that’s why, despite being a mess in every other part of his life, jungkook is the guy you call when your sports car breaks down in the middle of nowhere.

in fact, he’s the guy to be with in the middle of a snowy road. 

yet, with all these thoughts… you figure not to push it any further.

the silence stretches again, but this time it’s not quite as awkward. it’s still heavy, though—thick with the things that were never said. and you can feel it, the weight of all that unsaid stuff, but something else creeps in too. a quiet yearning, a reminder of the closeness you once had.

“how’s work for you?”

you clear your throat and chirp up.

“it’s good. great, actually. dior signed me to be their permanent event planner. i got to work with ysl and chanel last year so that was cool… lots of travelling… i don’t know. it’s been… fun. i think i’ve done a lot since...” 

“that’s good,” jungkook breathes. “i’m happy for you.” 

“really?”

“really.”

you let out a relieved breath.

“you know, i always refer my clients to your shop. truth be told, i found out about your shop through them before you even posted on social media.”

he flicks a glance at you, but it’s fleeting. 

“why?” he scoffs, but there’s no real anger behind it, just frustration. “you shouldn’t have…”

you wince slightly, but it’s not a judgment. you get it. you always have. the way he pushes people away, like he’s afraid of being too close to anyone, like caring might break him.

“we were in it together,” you reply, your voice quiet but warm. “life. our careers… everything. just because it didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean i was going to leave it as it was. i couldn’t help it. i thought of you whenever my clients complained about their cars. i thought of you whenever your favourite model drove past me. i thought of you, jungkook. how could i not? we spent three years together… so, don’t do that please. don’t act like the past three years haven’t been good to you… because as much as i could, i tried to send you some good. there was good.”

“okay,” he huffs out a breath, his shoulders tense. he’s quiet for a beat too long, and just when you think he might shut down, he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. “i appreciate it. all of it.”

“you’re welcome,” you smile. 

then, you turn and watch the snow falling heavier now, the world outside becoming more and more a blur. 

“you know,” you say, your voice almost teasing, trying to ease the weight of the moment, “your mom calls me on my birthday every year.”

his eyes flick to you again, almost imperceptibly, but it’s there. a flash of something in his eyes. a crack in the cool mask he’s built up. 

“sorry,” he apologizes. “i… shit, ___. you know, you’re her favourite.”

“don’t be,” you smile, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “she’s my favourite too.”

then, he’s quiet again, but this time, there’s a softening to his expression, the edge of defensiveness slipping away. 

you let the silence settle again, the two of you wrapped in the quiet of the car and the storm outside. but this time, it feels different. not easy, not perfect. but it feels like maybe—just maybe—this is the first real conversation you’ve had in years.

and that’s enough for now.

the cabin feels smaller when you get back, and the weight of jungkook’s presence only makes it tighter. the group’s immediately apologizing, teasing him about the oil run, their words sharp but light. 

“we totally forgot, man,” taehyung says, looking guilty. “guess you guys are our personal delivery service.”

jungkook doesn’t respond, his face already scrunching into an exaggerated grimace as he heads straight to the kitchen to help. you’re unsure if it’s from irritation or just sheer exhaustion.

maybe both, you think as you follow him. 

but the moment passes quickly, and you’re both swept back into the warmth of the group’s energy.

it’s dinner time soon after, and the room is buzzing. the conversation is loud, comfortable, with everyone laughing and sharing stories. jungkook and you sit across from each other, the space between you both thick and quiet. your presence seems to be the only thing that pulls him from his usual nonchalance—every time you speak, even the smallest comment, he cracks a smile, almost like he can’t help it.

yoongi catches it first, raising an eyebrow at jungkook. 

“what’s up with you, kid? you only smile when ___ talks. what? the rest of us aren’t funny enough for you?” his voice is teasing but his gaze lingers, as if looking for something more.

jungkook rolls his eyes, brushing it off with a half-hearted scoff. 

mei, sitting next to yoongi, shakes her head. she nudges you and you laugh it off. then, you lift your face and meet jungkook’s eyes. he offers you a short-lived smile. 

you take it. 

the jokes keep coming, but the way jungkook’s eyes flick to you each time you speak doesn’t go unnoticed. 

it’s subtle, the way his lips curve just a little, how his eyes soften just a fraction whenever you make a joke or offer your thoughts. but it’s enough. the others catch it, too, exchanging glances behind their drinks, a quiet realization settling between them.

after dinner, everyone migrates to the living room, pulling chairs and sofas closer to the fire. taehyung sets up the drinks, jin and hobi are already messing with the fire, adding logs with unnecessary dramatic flair, and namjoon is flipping through a deck of cards.

“we should play charades,” jimin suggests, his voice light as he pours more wine into his glass.

“charades? yeah, we could use some entertainment,” jin agrees, his gaze drifting between the group. “but i’m not going easy on you guys.”

you end up on the same team as jungkook.

when it’s your turn to act out a word, you both fall into an easy rhythm. your gestures are sharp and exaggerated, and jungkook picks up on your cues instantly, his movements smooth and fluid. there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you, the way your eyes meet for half a second before you both act out the next part of the clue. 

honestly, it’s like no time has passed since you last did this, and everyone else watches with mild surprise, the chemistry between you two almost palpable.

nam joon and taehyung share an amused glance, their eyes widening slightly, while jin snorts quietly. 

“okay, okay, we get it. you two are too good at this,” jimin says, shaking his head with a laugh.

“they’re like a team built for charades,” namjoon mutters, and yoongi, always perceptive, smirks.

“it’s like they can read each other’s minds,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you both. “almost makes me uncomfortable.”

you can feel the weight of their glances, the way they subtly watch every interaction, waiting for something to shift. and when the game finally wraps up, everyone is drunk, laughter louder and voices more relaxed.

conversation moves from silly jokes to more serious topics, the kind that happens when the alcohol hits just right. somehow, everyone feels like they’re safe enough to let their guard down.

hoseok mentions work—how it’s been a mess lately, how nothing seems to be going right, and the conversation shifts into the stress of adulthood, of managing expectations and responsibilities.

“sometimes it feels like i’m drowning in it,” hoseok admits, rubbing his temples. “i mean, we’re doing okay, but god, it’s like every time i take a breath, there’s another problem.”

“sounds about right,” taehyung agrees, sipping his drink. “adulting sucks.”

the conversation flows around you, but then someone cracks a joke, and you reply with your usual snark. jungkook chuckles, and it’s a real, honest laugh, something that sounds familiar, something that feels like the version of him you used to know.

bria, who’s been quiet for most of the night, turns her gaze to jungkook, her eyes flicking between him and you with a raised brow. it’s obvious she’s drunk, so jungkook mentally prepares for the worst. 

“jungkook?”

“what do you want?” he sighs. “you’re drunk so choose your words carefully, bria. last time we talked while you were drunk like this, i made you cry for an hour.”

bria rolls her eyes at jungkook. 

“guess it’s my turn then,” she inhales deeply. “my turn to make you cry.”

jungkook gulps, but he tries his best to mask his fear. 

he knows exactly who she’s gonna target. 

“yah, do you think you’re slick or something?” bria asks. “why do you always laugh at ___'s jokes but no one else’s? you look at her and practically salivate. are you a dog? do you like her or something?” 

the group goes quiet. 

it’s then everyone realizes that it’s bria’s first cabin trip. even yoongi, who’s usually too aloof for moments like this, pauses, his gaze sharp as it flicks between you and jungkook. there’s a tension, thick enough to make your chest tighten, and you feel the eyes of the group on you.

it’s like the breath has been knocked out of the room. bria’s words hang between you and jungkook, heavy and unwelcome.

for a second, no one says anything.

you can feel the heat in your cheeks, the way everything seems to slow down. 

your mind races. 

“we’re exes.”

bria’s voice cuts through the silence again, softer this time. “oh, shit… fuck, right. yeah. i remember now… i guess it never clicked because i’ve only known you for a few months…”

“yeah,” jimin pulls bria close. he gestures towards the direction of their room. she shakes her head, refusing his obvious cue. “babe, let’s get you to bed—”

“no, wait… just w-wait. you and ___? but you two... are literally perfect for each other. what happened?” bria blurts, her tone genuine and almost searching.

you catch the way jungkook’s body tenses up.

from across the group, you chase for his eyes. they meet for the first time all night and you swear—there’s a flicker of something there. 

something soft and promising. 

something almost like love, but a lot like loss. 

as quickly as you see it, it fades away. so, you offer him a soft smile. then, shake your head slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. it’s a signal.

don’t answer.

but he doesn’t look away.

and then, as if the silence is unbearable, jungkook speaks, his voice low but steady, almost like it’s been waiting to come out for too long.

“i fucked up,” jungkook admits. “i fucked up like everyone said i would.”

[hhughes]

vi picking luke and jack up from the airport

the second jack and luke step into the airport’s pick up area jack sees a flurry of brown curls running their way, before crashing into his little brother’s chest.

jack smiles at the sight of their reunion for a second before glancing away letting them have their moment when violet starts pressing kisses all over luke’s face.

“god I missed you like crazy” luke mumbles against her lips, pulling her closer by her hips.

“you didn’t cut your hair!” she says excitedly, running her hands through the strands and luke bends his neck at weird angle so she can reach better, a strong contrast to how he usually strains his neck to keep his hair as far out reach from people as he can.

“I promised you I wouldn’t. but it’s getting too long now so you gotta cut it for me” he replies, hand slipping into the back pocket of her jeans

“what am I chopped liver?” jack whines when after a few minutes violet still hasn’t even glanced at him. or at anything other than luke’s face

“hi jacky. sorry,” she says sheepishly, coming over to hug him.

“did you drive your car?” jack asks as he presses a brief kiss to violet’s cheek, watching as she settles back next to luke’s side

“no, I took Luke’s. it’s bigger and I figured we’d need the space for your bags and everything,” violet explains and luke looks down at her with a big smile on his lips

“you took my car?” he asks with a hint of pride in his voice. he knows violet has a bit of anxiety when driving, especially this time of the year. and he knows she especially doesn’t like driving bigger cars so he couldn’t help but press a big kiss on her temple as she nods. that’s my girl.

“do you need help? I can carry something. . . ” violet offers, holding her hand out, palm facing up

“yeah, you can carry this,” luke says, slapping his hand into hers and intertwining their fingers, a cheesy smile on his face as she giggles softly

jack fake gags at them, doing a full body shudder before picking up his bags and making his way towards the exit. “I forgot how gross you guys are together. don’t you get tired of being like this” jack asks

“never” luke mumbles, kissing his girlfriend’s head as the three of them walk to the car.

jack fake gags another five times before they even make it to the car, but deep down he notices how relaxed luke’s shoulders are, the content expression on his little brother’s face one that jack hasn’t seen in a bit. and as much jack wants to give them shit for it, he’s eternally grateful someone makes his little brother this happy.

[brandyllyn]

Frostbite

Max Phillips x f!reader

Summary: By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man. Words: 1.9k

For the #pedrostoriesgift24 Holiday Gift Exchange. @almostfoxglove asked for:

* max gets reader/character for their office's secret santa (or vice versa) * office christmas party

And y'all know I can't resist Max.

My Masterlist <- So much more Max stuff here y'all. I've missed him.

Rated: Teen Warnings: This is romantic and sweet and I make no apologies for that. Max being Max, however.

If you had to listen to George Michael complain one more time about what happened last Christmas, you were going to cause a scene.

Looking around the room, you took some small solace that no one else seemed to be having a good time either. Derek had taken up a post near the exit, obviously waiting until just enough time had passed that he could make a break for it. Malika was on her third hard cider - if she wasn’t careful she’d be the Monday morning gossip.

And the very next day, you gave it away…

You slip your phone from your pocket as surreptitiously as possible, checking the clock. Not even 6:30, there was still the speech from the CEO, the sales award, and of course the office secret Santa to get through before you could make your escape. They always saved secret Santa for last - everyone marching one by one to open their gift from the table in the center of the room. Showing everyone the mug they had been given.

It was always a mug.

The table looked extra sad this year - filled almost entirely with bags, half of which didn’t even have a festive spray of tissue. It was the laziest possible wrapping job. Nothing more clearly said ‘I put no thought into this’ than a dollar store bag, taped shut.

You had wrapped your gift. An oblong box with a festive red bow. Inside was a designer tie - one you had been lucky to find at a local thrift store. You had no idea if your giftee would like it, he ran so hot and cold you never could tell if he even liked you. Or anybody for that matter.

“Hey there sweet cheeks, looking for me?”

Speak of the devil.

“Never.”

He sidles up next to you, all long limbs and expensive cologne. His suit is perfect; crisp navy blue with a sparkly snowflake tie. As usual he stands too close, forcing you to shift slightly sideways to avoid brushing against him.

“You tease,” he pouts with a puffed out lower lip. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

Max Phillips, rising star of the sales department. Arrogant, conceited asshole and inveterate flirt. He was handsome too, which was honestly just annoying. If someone was going to be that obnoxious, they should at least look like half a roasted ham.

“I have it on good authority you don’t have one,” you point out.

He pats his chest for a moment, giving you a wounded look. “Stacey tell you that? Don’t be jealous, baby.”

“Miranda.”

He has the decency to hesitate, eyes darting across the room before back to you. “Well, someone had to be my shoulder to cry on.” You snort at that and he grins, shifting closer again and almost backing you to the wall. “And don’t worry about them, that’s business.”

You were pretty sure whatever that was you had walked in on in the copy room hadn’t been ‘business’ but you don’t point it out. Miranda hadn’t been the same, something viscerally off about her, ever since.

“You,” he leaned into you and you felt a cubicle wall at your back, “you would be nothing but pleasure wouldn’t you?”

“We are at work.”

“Most couples meet at work.”

“We’re not a couple.”

“We’re not a couple, yet.” He takes a deep breath and frowned. “You don’t take good care of yourself.”

“Excuse you?”

It came out close to a shriek, several heads turning your direction. Max gave them a dazzlingly wide smile and as one they smiled back. Even Richard, the grumpiest at the best of times, blushed. He blushed.

“You’re not eating right.”

By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes scanning the room while he talked out of the corner of his mouth. “Dave is doing his speech,” you try to point out but Max gives you his attention long enough to roll his eyes.

“Don’t change the subject, babydoll.”

“What subject?”

Max takes the proverbial shovel you offer. “You’re gaunt. You’re not getting the right vitamins.”

“From the man who has an ‘allergy’ to sunlight.”

The grin he gives you is wolfish. “That’s documented. I have a doctor’s note.” You can’t help the small smile and of course he notices. “There now, was that so hard? I’m being charming all over the place here.”

“Why?”

The word is a hiss of air and he blinks at you, confused. “What do you mean, why?”

“You’ve fucked half the office.” You try very hard to keep your tone too low for anyone else to hear. “Am I keeping you from bingo or something?”

Another one of those deep breaths and he leans in to you, so close you think he might actually nuzzle you. “I like you.”

You snort, turning away.

“I do.” He scans the room again before he turns, blocking your view with his wide shoulders. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“I said no.”

There’s silence for several heartbeats before he admits, “You intrigue me.”

“You’re a liar.”

“All the time,” he concedes. “But not right now. There’s something for my people, a knowing of sorts…”

He trails off and you can’t help but ask, “Your people? Wasps?”

“Something like that.”

“Max Phillips!” The call of his name comes from out of the blue.

“Gotta run, sugar tits, duty calls.”

Of course he’s won the sales award. He shakes the CEO’s hand while accepting the plaque, turning and smiling - not pausing for even a moment when he realizes no one is going to take his photo. It doesn’t stop him from playing mayor of the cubicle farm, waving at a few people before stepping to the side. You notice him looking at you and studiously avoid meeting his eyes.

The secret Santa starts and you take a quick tally of how many people participated this year. Even if half the people make a fuss about it, you should be able to leave in fifteen minutes - twenty tops.

Since Max won the award he gets to go first, picking up the box you had carefully wrapped and tearing into it with the gusto of a toddler. He fingers the silk and you swear his eyes dart to where you’re standing. 

There is no way he could know you’d bought it for him. No way.

“Looks like we may have a tie for best present.”

People laugh at his terrible joke and he steps to the side, letting the next person fetch their mug. You try to be surreptitious as you gauge his reaction. Does he like it? Does he think it’s tacky? With one hand he pulls off the one he’s wearing and loops the length of red silk around his collar, deftly tying a full Windsor.

It looks good on him.

Dammit.

Your name is called and you shake yourself out of your stupor, avoiding looking to the side. The present is in a bright orange bag - not even a holiday color - and stapled closed. You reach in and pull out the small bottle.

“Iron supplements.”

There’s a small scattering of applause and you stare at the offending object for so long the new HR lady has to gently move you aside. 

Iron supplements.

Your secret Santa got you fucking iron supplements.

“You don’t look happy.”

The tie you so carefully picked out mocks you. You put thought into his present - and your Santa did what? Clean out their medicine cabinet? You wouldn’t be surprised if the bottle was already open.

No, you were not happy. You were fuming.

“You look pale.”

“Shut up.”

“And you’ve been having headaches lately.”

“How would you know?”

“I told you, you intrigue me.”

Something clicks and you finally look up at him, bottle clenched in your fist. “This was you?”

“You’re anemic.”

He sounds so absurdly reasonable you barely resist the urge to kick him. “You are not my doctor.”

“Do you have a doctor?”

You don’t, not that he needs to know that.

“If you did they might tell you your iron count is dangerously low. You should get checked for an autoimmune disease.”

“I do not have an autoimmune disease.” Derek shoots you a surprised look and you give him a wide smile before jerking Max’s arm and pulling him into a supply closet. “This is not appropriate. On like a hundred levels.”

“Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Tell me.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.” You shove a finger into his chest. “You may get other people to leap to your bidding but I’m not one of them.”

“I know,” he grins, “it’s fantastic.”

“Fantastic?” you repeat.

“Fantastic.” He’s faster that you expect, grabbing your wrist and flattening your palm to his chest. “Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

He sounds genuinely concerned and you deflate, giving in. “I don’t have the money for fresh food. I’m living off ramen at the moment, okay? I’ll probably develop scurvy soon.”

“We pay you a decent amount - not what you’re worth, of course - but market value.”

You don’t bother asking how he knows that. “My ex took a loan out in my name. I’ve been paying it off.”

“Why isn’t he paying it off?”

“Because he’s an asshole and I can’t make him do anything.”

“Want me to kill him for you?”

It’s said so casually you almost think he means it. “It’s fine. It’s only another year. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re going to get rickets.”

“Isn’t that what Tiny Tim had?”

He nods. “Yes, and you’ll be begging for a Christmas bonus just like he did, too.”

“I think that was his dad.”

“Which one did Kermit play?”

You scoff, trying to pull your hand away from him. “Have you only ever seen the Muppet version of a Christmas Carol?”

He doesn’t let you go. “It’s the only one worth seeing.”

“Max,” you say softly. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, for worrying about me. Even if this-” you hold up the supplements with your other hand “-is by far the worst gift I have ever gotten.”

He gifts you with that wide, easy smile of his. “Let me buy you dinner, to make up for it.”

“Sure you don’t already have a date?”

“I’d cancel any plans for you.” If you didn’t know better you’d say he was serious.

“Big words, don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

“I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

He’s standing close, so close your chest brushes his when you take a breath. “Max…”

Tingles shoot to your fingertips as his lips capture yours. A rush of heat floods through you and you can’t help but moan when he sinks his fingers into the back of your neck. The sound he makes is close to a growl, his mouth opening and his tongue is suddenly there, licking at the seam of your lips.

Would it be wrong to climb him like a tree in the supply closet?

He apparently has the same idea, lifting you from underneath your ass with an ease that takes your breath away. Your back is pressed to the wire shelves and his hips settle between your thighs as though he’s always belonged there. Your neck arches into the palm of his hand and he nuzzles beneath your ear.

“Take your damn iron pills.”

“What?”

“Your iron,” his teeth scrape along your jaw, “and maybe a multi-vitamin too.”

You were going to slap him. Just soon as your head stopped spinning from his kiss.

For updates on stories please follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

Tagging in @almostfoxglove once more. Hope you liked your Max.

[hazzashouse]

Hii, I hope you are doing great !

I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if you could write something about y/n not being famous and she is not accepted and treated badly by Harry’s celebrity group of friends which will put to test her relationship with Harry.

Thank you so much, and happy holidays !! 💕

A/N: This was such a fun request to write! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed putting it together. It’s a mix of angst, fluff, and a lot of emotion. Thank you for trusting me with this idea, and I hope it resonates with you!

Triggers: Emotional manipulation, unkind behavior, insecurity

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female!Reader (Y/N)

Word Count: 2,167

You knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Being with Harry meant stepping into a world so far removed from your own that at times, it felt like you’d fallen through the looking glass. It wasn’t that you doubted your love for him or his love for you—it was undeniable, unshakable. But you weren’t naïve. You knew his fame came with its challenges, and the hardest one wasn’t the paparazzi or the scrutiny from strangers on the internet. It was his friends.

They weren’t all bad, of course. There were a few who made an effort to get to know you, to see you for who you were beyond the label of “Harry’s girlfriend.” But most of them… most of them didn’t.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The party was at one of Harry’s favorite spots in Los Angeles, a sleek, exclusive venue where everyone seemed to glitter with a level of confidence and beauty you couldn’t help but envy. You’d been nervous from the start, clinging to Harry’s hand as he introduced you to people whose names you struggled to remember.

“Just stick with me, love,” he’d said earlier that evening, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’ll be fine.”

And for a while, it was. Harry stayed close, his arm around your waist as he guided you through the room. But then he was whisked away by someone wanting to discuss music, and you were left standing near the bar, nursing a drink and feeling utterly out of place.

That’s when the whispers started.

At first, you tried to ignore them, telling yourself you were imagining things. But the pointed glances, the half-smirks, and the subtle head tilts in your direction were impossible to miss.

“Does she even know who she’s talking to?”

“She’s cute, but… I don’t get it. Harry could do so much better.”

“She looks so uncomfortable. It’s kind of painful to watch.”

The words stung, each one landing like a small, sharp jab. You kept your head high, determined not to let it show. But when one of Harry’s friends—a model you’d met once before—approached you with a patronizing smile, your resolve began to crack.

“So,” she said, swirling her cocktail as she looked you up and down, “how’s it going, Y/N? Adjusting to all… this?”

“It’s fine,” you replied, forcing a polite smile.

“Must be overwhelming,” she continued, her tone dripping with faux concern. “I mean, it’s not really your world, is it?”

You clenched your jaw, searching for a way out of the conversation. But before you could respond, she leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Don’t take it personally,” she said, her smile sharp. “It’s just… we’ve all known Harry for years. We’ve seen him with people who… well, let’s just say they were a better fit.”

Her words hit you like a slap, and you felt your chest tighten with a mix of hurt and anger. You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much she’d gotten under your skin, so you excused yourself, heading for the nearest exit.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as you stepped outside, leaning against the railing and taking deep breaths. You tried to shake off her words, to remind yourself that they didn’t matter. But they did.

“Y/N?”

You turned to see Harry standing in the doorway, his brows furrowed in concern. He crossed the distance between you in a few quick strides, his hand coming to rest gently on your arm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft but urgent. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You hesitated, unsure how to put your feelings into words. “Nothing,” you said eventually, though the shakiness in your voice betrayed you. “I just… needed some air.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could see the gears turning in his head. “Y/N,” he said, his tone firmer now. “Tell me the truth. What happened?”

For a moment, you considered brushing it off, pretending everything was fine. But then the hurt bubbled up to the surface, and before you could stop yourself, the words came spilling out.

“I don’t belong here, Harry,” you said, your voice breaking. “I’ve tried, but your friends… they don’t want me here. They think I’m not good enough for you.”

Harry’s expression shifted from concern to something darker—anger, though not directed at you. His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as if trying to rein in his emotions.

“Who said that?” he asked finally, his voice low and controlled.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly, not wanting to cause a scene. “It’s not just one person. It’s the way they look at me, the things they say when they think I’m not listening. They don’t think I’m… enough.”

Harry’s hand moved to cup your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. And if they can’t see that, then that’s their problem, not yours.”

You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch. “But what if they’re right?” you whispered. “What if I’m just… not the kind of person who fits into your world?”

Harry shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Y/N, my world is wherever you are. None of this”—he gestured toward the party inside—“means anything without you. And if anyone thinks they can make you feel unwelcome or unworthy, they’ll have to answer to me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the weight on your chest easing slightly. “You can’t fight all your friends for me, Harry.”

He smiled then, his expression softening. “I won’t have to. Because once I’m done having a word with them, they’ll know better than to treat you like this again.”

Before you could respond, Harry pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. You felt the tension begin to melt away as you rested your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady and reassuring.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair. “And nothing—no one—is going to change that.”

—————

True to his word, Harry didn’t let the matter drop. When the two of you returned to the party, he made a point of staying by your side, his presence a clear signal to anyone who dared to question your place in his life.

Later, you found yourself sitting on the couch in his dressing room as he paced back and forth, recounting the conversations he’d had with a few of his more tactless friends.

“They’re idiots,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I told them that if they can’t respect you, they can’t call themselves my friends.”

You watched him, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. “Harry,” you said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Yes, I did,” he said, sitting down beside you and pulling you into his lap. “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you know that.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He kissed you then, slow and sweet, as if to remind you of everything you shared. And in that moment, you knew that no amount of judgment or criticism could ever come between you.

Because what you had with Harry was real. And nothing else mattered.

[starmapz]

silent night - s. geto

❦ suguru geto x sorcerer reader

part four of the six degrees of separation anthology of oneshots, however can be read separately.

❝ christmas morning should bring with it joyous laughter and well wishes- but this particular morning is nothing but silent. when your fiancé's calls go to voicemail and you fear the worst, an unexpected guest shows up with news that could only come straight from a nightmare. ❞

❦ warnings ; no pronouns used. angst. hurt/no comfort. pet names (angel, sweetheart, darling). anxiety. panic attacks. mental illness. major character death.

❦ words ; 4.2k.

masterlist || sdos masterlist

previous (nicotine)

The sounds of Michael Bublé’s Holly Jolly Christmas fill the air, holiday joy spurring you to open your eyes.

Christmas Day.

You can only imagine how excited the girls are right now, having been told they can’t leave their rooms until you come to get them. Suguru had also insisted on Christmas music as your alarm to ‘get you in the spirit’.

As if you weren’t already in the spirit for your first Christmas engaged to him.

His fiancé. It has such a nice ring to it that the thought alone makes you smile.

Reaching over, you shut off the familiar bells and yuletide blessings of Michael Bublé’s sultry voice, opting for the silence of the snowy morning. After all, you would be hearing the girls’ excited shrieks and joyous laughter as soon as you made your way to the tree.

Flipping to Suguru’s side, it’s as though something sharp punctures your chest.

His side of the bed is empty. Cold. This wouldn’t be unusual were it not Christmas.

With a knot in your brow, you slip your feet into your slippers at the side of your bed, throwing on a housecoat and tucking your phone in the pocket, and pad over to the girls’ rooms. The chilly air of the house that Suguru prefers so that he can cuddle you at night feels more frigid than usual as a chill runs up your spine at the sight of Nanako’s cracked door.

“Nana?” You call her name gently as you peer through the door. Like every other year, she should be awake, practically bursting at the seams with excitement to see what you and her father had gotten her, but the room is silent save for the ticking of a clock.

You purse your lips, your feet carrying you much quicker to Mimiko’s room. Although quieter, she’s usually equally as eager to get to the tree, but her room is even more deathly silent than Nanako’s.

With concern pooling in your stomach at the lack of noise in the house, you jog to the living room in search of your family. The room is still, the tree untouched as the lights sparkle red like an omen. Your heart drops into your stomach at the sight of every gift wrapped to perfection, not a single one out of place.

The girls were so excited to open them.

Pulling your phone from the pocket of your housecoat, you dial Suguru’s number. It rings five times before going to voicemail.

Hi, angel. Chances are this is you, since I don’t give my number out to anyone. Sorry I missed your call, I promise I’ll return it once I have a moment. I love you.

“Hi, Sugu. I don’t know where you and the girls are, but- um-” your voice breaks, fear gripping your words. “It’s Christmas. I hope everything is alright. I’m sure you’ll be back soon but just… let me know where you all are, okay? I love you.”

You hit the ‘end call’ button, staring down at the screen for a moment.

Maybe you should make yourself some tea while you wait. He’ll get back to you soon. Suguru’s always been good with that.

The tea does little to soothe your nerves. If anything, it sits uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach as you stare blankly at your phone screen. Your heart flutters with hope as it lights up, only to see a Merry Christmas notification from Duolingo.

That damn owl.

Picking up your phone once more, you open your texts with Nanako, your fingers flying across the keyboard.

10:02 AM You || Hey sweetheart, can you text me to let me know you, Mimi, and your dad are safe?

10:02 AM Nana || Message not sent. Tap to try again.

Your heart sinks, dread clutching your heart.

Over the years, Suguru’s put in a real effort to ensure you’re comfortable and happy. He bought a house away from the cult to keep you and his business separate, he never speaks of work even when he invites you along with his friends.

He made an effort to find you a therapist, and even attended couples’ therapy with you. He’s overly conscious of the fact that making the decision to defect from Jujutsu Tech with him is one that affected you deeply. It’s not something he ever took lightly, aiming to give you the best life.

Anything and everything for you. Whatever he could physically make happen, it would come to be. Every wish of yours at his command.

It was always at the back of your mind, the things he had done. The things you felt remorse over. The guilt and pain of failing Haibara and Nanami. The self-doubt of your decision to join Suguru all those years ago, abandoning your vow to keep humanity safe and leaving behind your friends at Jujutsu Tech. But after so many years of therapy, you’ve healed and have been able to live a fairly normal life.

You tend to a beautiful garden during the summer, opting for indoor plants during the winter. You learned to dry and make your own tea leaves, and run a small online business from the comfort of your home. It’s nothing that could pay bills, but it allows you a sense of independence while Suguru provides. You cook for your family and keep the house clean and every single night without fail, Suguru returns and envelops you in his arms, enjoying a warm dinner with his family.

This is the first time in a long time that doubt rears its ugly head in your mind, bringing back with it a familiar sensation of drowning. That feeling that something is wrong and you’re losing control.

In a flurry of unease, you pick up your phone and dial Suguru again. It rings a few times, but his voice repeats that same phrase.

Hi, angel. Chances are this is you, since I don’t give my number out to anyone. Sorry I missed your call, I promise I’ll return it once I have a moment. I love you.

“Sugu, please call me back. I’m worried about you. You never miss Christmas. I love you, baby.”

The end call button somehow feels more daunting than it ever has, as though pressing it tells the tale of an end that you aren’t ready for. You rhythmically tap your nails along the screen in thought, dialing Suguru’s number again. Five more rings, one more voicemail.

“Suguru, please call me. Nanako’s texts aren’t delivering. I’m worried about you all. I can’t find anyone. I love you.”

You chew on your lower lip, leaning over the table on your elbows as you shut your eyes. You shouldn't be worried, they’re all strong sorcerers. They can take care of themselves. Suguru will keep his girls safe, you included. He always does.

You can hardly move in the hour that follows, calling Suguru every so often and trying Nanako, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. Mimiko’s phone is still in her room, there’s no use calling it. It makes you think that maybe this is all a misunderstanding. She wouldn’t simply forget her phone.

It’s the following hour that leaves you stranded, alone on an island of terror in the deep sea of your anxious worries.

It’s around noon when Suguru’s phone stops ringing before going straight to voicemail.

Hi, angel. Chances are this is you, since I don’t give my number out to anyone. Sorry I missed your call, I promise I’ll return it once I have a moment. I love you.

Your voice is no longer even, you have to strain to feign even a semblance of control over your emotions, but you would be lying to say you aren’t a wreck. Your heart pounds each time you hear the phrase.

Hi, angel. Chances are this is you, since I don’t give my number out to anyone. Sorry I missed your call, I promise I’ll return it once I have a moment. I love you.

“Sugu, come home. Pl- please come home. I need you. I love you.” The encroaching tears are evident in your voice, choking you with each word.

You don’t know what to do, at a complete loss and alone, so painfully alone.

What are you supposed to do, call one of your non-sorcerer friends to tell them that your fiancé who barely tolerates them on a good night has gone missing? The reality is, a search party won’t help in this case. A search party can’t help you search for your criminal partner.

The loneliness had gotten easier to handle over the years, but between the doubt, fear, and concern already creeping into your heart, there’s little you can do to fend it off now. You continue to chew on your lip, gripping your phone tightly under white knuckles.

The following hour sees your tears fall. Suguru doesn’t go this long without answering. Nanako never puts her phone down.

You have to resign yourself to the knowledge that something has happened and you’re helpless in tracking them down. You haven’t used your cursed energy in so long you can hardly call yourself a sorcerer, but if ever there was a time to use it, now is the time.

Your pacing comes to a halt. When had you even started pacing? You’re not sure.

Someone with strong cursed energy is approaching your home. Suguru.

You run to the door, tears of relief falling as you practically tear the door from its hinges at the relief of seeing-

Satoru.

His expression is solemn, his hands buried deep within his pockets.

“Merry Christmas, sweets.” His voice sounds different. Deeper, forlorn. He’s traded in his dark shades for white bandages, equally snowy locks pushed out of his face. He’s filled out over the last ten years, his shoulders much broader and his chest much more pronounced. He still wears the Jujutsu Tech uniform, though it must be as a teacher now.

“Merry Christmas.” Your voice is meek, it sounds almost foreign to you. “You look good, Satoru,” you force a smile, though it’s hardly convincing given your distressed expression.

“Likewise,” he returns your smile.

“I don’t mean this in a bad way,” you begin, wiping your tears at the realization that you likely look like a mess. The most you’ve done today is make tea using your hand-dried leaves. It didn’t sit so well in your stomach though, and the remainder of the tea is still in a mug on your counter. “But, why are you here?”

Satoru shouldn’t know where you are. You suppose he does have those stupid Six Eyes, whatever that even means, and he could realistically have found you years ago if he so pleased, but he never did. For all the care that Suguru still held for Satoru, it was exactly that care that drove him to push his friend away, for their ideals and values stood too far apart. They weren’t as blurred as yours had become.

“Suguru mentioned I would find you here.”

“You spoke with him?” You perk up, your heart skipping a beat at the mere mention of his name. “Is he okay? My daughters, did you see them?”

Satoru’s tongue swipes over his lips before he presses them into a thin line. Your throat tightens, suffocating you.

“Can I come in?”

You purse your lips, slowly opening the door for Satoru, who has to duck to enter the house. He takes in your home, well organized and clean, with a cozy looking tree lit at the back. The overcast sun pours in through windows near the tree, illuminating the awaiting presents.

He makes his way inside, confidently making himself at home in typical Satoru fashion. He finds the first comfortable looking chair and plops himself down with spread legs. He hasn’t changed one bit. You follow after him, standing at the edge of the living space.

“You’ve got a nice home,” he comments, punctuating the phrase with your name. 

“Thanks.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, fear shaking your vocals as you push out the question you’re dreading. “Where’s Suguru?”

Satoru doesn’t move. You can’t read his expression under the bandages. You think you prefer the sunglasses to the makeshift blindfold, even if they made him look like an asshole.

“Have you turned on the TV at all today? Checked the news?”

Your heart drops to your stomach. A pit could open up and swallow you whole and it would be a kinder fate than whatever easy way Satoru is trying to let you down. You appreciate the way he’s gentle on your frail heart, but you wish he wouldn’t beat around the bush.

Maybe the fact that you’re aware he’s letting you down easy should be your first clue that something is wrong.

“No, I haven’t.”

He sighs deeply. This is the most serious you’ve seen him since Suguru defected. “Sit down.” It’s not a request, nor a demand, but you oblige anyway. You fear if you don’t, you’ll collapse as your legs begin to quiver under the gravity of your emotions.

Satoru turns to face you finally, pulling a strand of the bandage and allowing it to unravel so that you can see his eyes. They seem to glow even in the well-lit living area. He blinks a few times, before he seems to find his voice.

“Has he spoken to you at all about what the cult has been doing?”

You shake your head, your voice caught in your throat.

“I see.” He straightens, facing you as though he’s giving you a debrief. It almost brings you back to your high school days. “Last night, Suguru released two thousand cursed spirits in Kyoto and Shinjuku. I won’t cover the casualties given your relationship, but I need to stress that this wasn’t an act of self defense.” He pauses, searching your expression. He sounds like Yaga when he speaks like this, it makes you feel sick.

The formality of his tone drives you crazy as you take in what he’s saying, yet his words don’t feel like they’re processing. It’s as though you’re watching this conversation from outside your own body, experiencing Satoru’s presence from afar.

When you don’t reply, he continues. “He attacked the school. He attempted to kill my student.”

Contrary to his prior explanation, this one registers. “A kid? He tried to kill a…?” You trail off, trying to comprehend how your fiancé could possibly act on something like that. He has two daughters himself, how could he attack a child sorcerer? That was his original breaking point, that was what had affected him so deeply he had finally broken.

That was the reason you had two adopted daughters at such a young age.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” You shake your head, tears freely falling although you’re numb to the warmth of the salty liquid falling down your face.

Satoru frowns, clasping his hands together. “He went down a path that there was no coming back from.” He’s beating around the bush still, searching for ways to help you understand your loss without directly saying it, to help you come to terms with your grief. He himself is still grappling with his own, but Satoru had ten years to heal where you didn’t.

He couldn’t deny his only friend’s final request, to seek you out. It didn’t take much. A house in the countryside, far from the cult’s quarters, it only made sense for you. Satoru was never really sure why you followed Suguru. He knows your love for him runs deep, but he also knows you have a kind heart. It didn’t shock him to hear that you had never been involved in the cult’s businesses, nor had you ever laid a hand on anyone with intent to cause harm.

You had always been the kindest of them all. Troubled, perhaps, but kind, always.

He watches as you absentmindedly fiddle with a ring on your finger. An engagement ring. Shit. He never realized. He supposes that the distant, uncomprehending look in your eyes makes all the more sense knowing that you were soon to be married.

Your silence speaks volumes, tears still trailing down your cheeks, your eyes reddened and puffy. Satoru understands your pain, even if his pain culminates in a different form. Still, the distant look in your eyes pains him.

“Still with me?” He asks, leaning forward.

“I don’t get it.” You shake your head adamantly, sniffling. “He wouldn’t attack a child sorcerer.”

Satoru nods slowly. Denial. You’re in denial, that’s understandable.

“Okkotsu, first year student. He accidentally cursed his first love and she became a special grade apparition. Suguru wanted to absorb her.”

You shake your head, brow furrowing. “He wouldn’t.” Your breathing is growing ragged and Satoru can’t bear to see you suffer this way.

Getting to his feet, he approaches slowly, taking a seat on the couch beside you. He offers a hand, thankful you take it, although your tight grip on him sends a jolt up his body. “Damn, sweets. Quite the grip,” he chuckles, a barebones attempt at comforting humor.

His joke goes over about as poorly as you would expect as reality begins to set in. You pull away from his grip, bringing your hands up to your face as you gasp into your shaky palms.

He’s gone. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. There won’t be a honeymoon in three months. There won’t be a wedding to celebrate. There won’t be a Christmas shared in the warmth of his arms.

Every last hope, dream, and tradition, shattered for a vision that you never once believed in. There wasn’t a world where Suguru succeeded, and there’s a small part of you that thought he was aware of that. A part of you that thought he only surrounded himself with people who believed in this vision simply because they shared his values and ideals.

Suguru Geto wasn’t an innocent man, but you didn’t think he was a foolish one either. You didn’t think he was one to sacrifice everything he had built for a vision that he couldn’t possibly achieve.

Strangled gasps part your lips as grief claws its way up your throat. You have to swallow down bile as you struggle to get air. Everything crashes in on you at once, pulling you underwater into a sea of what were once well-controlled and understood emotions.

If the world pities you, it shows no sign of it, letting you choke as your world splits down the middle.

Suguru was your lifevest, he kept you above water even as the tides grew and shifted. He would be there to watch over you as the ocean grew and the shore lessened. Even at your worst, he shone as a beacon to guide you back to land, to him.

Satoru pulls you into him, rubbing your back with gentle coos and shushes, but he isn’t what you need. He isn’t who you need. He doesn’t provide the calm escape from the storm that Suguru did. His warmth doesn’t feel the same. His arms enveloping you are foreign. It’s as though he’s little more than another cloud leaving your mind foggy and uncertain, lost in chaos.

Sobs repeatedly wrack your body and Satoru fears he’s losing you to grief. There was once a time that you two were close, and while he’s sure he can’t provide for you what Suguru did, he hopes as he tightens his grip around your frame that you feel that he still cares.

He never resented you for leaving with Suguru. Even as you were sentenced to death and he was told to hunt his closest friends, he never once attempted it.

The higher-ups knew. They knew he could find you. They never pushed. They feared Gojo for what he could do. What he would do if he did manage to find you both.

“I- I can’t-” you stammer out choked words, clinging to him suddenly as though your desperate gasps for air aren’t enough. They aren’t enough. You’re pale, clinging to him for purchase as you fail to catch your breath.

Everything seems to close in, your vision blurring as black closes in on all signs.

Satoru recognizes the signs that you’re losing consciousness. So choked by your own grief that your body fails you, allowing your anxiety to tear a hole through your chest as though your heartbreak wasn’t enough.

He fears there’s nothing he can do, simply holding you as your mind fails to make sense of the situation you find yourself in. He’s not sure how long he holds you before you come back to the present. He doesn’t move an inch, opting simply to be there for you. Even if no one was there for him as he wrapped his own head around Suguru’s crimes, he wouldn’t let the same be said for you.

You’ve suffered enough.

Your breathing accelerates rapidly as you blink and take in your surroundings, every limb sore to the point where you’re growing numb. Satoru may have a penchant for endless talking, but he remains silent as you come to, processing the world. All he offers is the occasional squeeze of reassurance or a quietly whispered ‘I’m here’.

Something under the tree catches your eye, a gift you don’t recognize, but Satoru doesn’t dare let you go in this state.

“Can you breathe, sweets?”

You swallow hard with a shaky inhale. “It hurts, but I can.”

“Good.”

“Wh- where are the girls?”

Satoru leans back to get a look at your face. “I don’t know. I didn’t see much of Suguru’s followers beyond Miguel.”

You cling to the hope that maybe they’re okay, but the dread in the pit of your stomach tells another story. You can’t reach Nana and Mimi left her phone here. It all has to be for a reason. This is premeditated and there was a calculated decision made not to contact you. Not to fill you in.

They’re gone, too.

Your eyes remain fixed on the new gift beneath the tree. Leaning your full body weight against Satoru, he still refuses to let go, following you to the ground by the tree as you drag him off the couch.

Placed atop the largest wrapped gift is a tiny box with a folded note attached. You don’t recognize it and it’s too nicely wrapped to be from the girls.

With a sharp intake of breath to try to regulate your emotions as you tug the note from the box, unraveling it.

Angel,

Merry Christmas. If you’re reading this, I suppose I have some explaining to do.

Suguru’s penmanship is impeccable, and tears stream down your face at the realization of exactly what you’re reading. Satoru’s grip tightens around you as he reads over your shoulder, feeling every muscle in your body tense.

I think there was always a part of you that thought more of me than what I truly am. For that, I am deeply sorry. I’m beyond grateful that you accepted my proposal. You would have looked absolutely stunning standing at the end of the aisle.

But someone like you deserves more than what I can provide. It’s destroyed me, all these years, to know that you allowed me to break your spirit simply out of love. I don’t think any words could help me fix the error of my ways, but it’s one of my greatest regrets.

If you’re reading this, then the cult’s plans went sideways. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for Christmas day. You can add that to the long list of promises that have now been broken. I made many vows when I got down on one knee, but I suppose it was presumptuous of me to speak so highly of my ability to provide for you when I imagine you’re falling apart again.

Promise me something, my love. I want you to pick yourself up, and start fresh. Seek out Satoru, he’ll help you find a place to begin again.

I don’t expect it will be easy, but I know you can keep your head above water. Keep staying strong for me. You’re a diamond in the rough and no one will ever compare to the way you shine so brightly. Keep your chin up and keep going, my love.

I am so deeply sorry. I only ever wanted what was best for you.

I love you always.

Your Sugu ♡

You gasp between choked sobs, running your hand over the note. The ink is smeared in his final apology, a circular marking on the page’s corner as though he’d shared your tears when he wrote the note.

Setting it aside, your hand hesitates over the box. Satoru squeezes you gently, a reassurance that at least you aren’t alone. He might not be Suguru, but the reminder that you aren’t alone does provide some sort of comfort, regardless of it not being what you truly need right now.

Pulling the box into your hand, you chew at your lip until iron stings on your tongue, the taste bitter and miserable.

Holding your breath, you finally find the courage to tear the wrapping paper from the tiny gift. A small red velvet box sits in your hands.

One final gift from Suguru, one so cruel it could only have come from him.

Sitting within the box are two beautiful matching silver bands clearly crafted custom to suit your unique styles.

Wedding rings.

All over again, everything seems to crash in on you.

masterlist || sdos masterlist

previous (nicotine)

❦ a/n ; i'm so sorry :') this has been in my mind for a bit and i figured what better time to complete this series than christmas? but! i promise i have some christmas fluff coming soon too <3

❦ taglist ; @ghost-buddies @depressedemosantaclaus @s3vtrue @troyesivanfrl

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight and cafekitsune.

[hibiscusol]

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ sailor song, one. ་༘🌊࿐

masterlist ｡𖦹°‧ welcome page ｡𖦹°‧ series masterlist

── ‧₊ ᵎᵎ pairing: jj maybank x reader

── ‧₊ ᵎᵎ sypnosis: after your best friend sarah and his new pogue boyfriend get lost at sea, you find comfort in the only person who understands you. and weirdly, that person is a pogue, the jj maybank.

── ‧₊ ᵎᵎ warnings: language and mentions of alcohol

── ‧₊ ᵎᵎ author's note: yeah, this is my way of coping. i miss the man. anyways lmk if u like it or if u have any ideas for the next chapters!

────🫐────

“Oh, shit, my bad,” The blond boy whispers after colliding with you, all your books dropping to the ground. You look up and see him, the tall blond pogue rarely present at school. You nod and walk past him, not paying much attention. It wouldn’t be a good thing to be seen with him and his friends, especially after Sarah and the Routledge guy’s death.

Everybody’s going through it. The Camerons have been grieving in their… own ways. Rafe, the eldest child of the Camerons has not been seen in days. Someone said they’d seen him smoking weed in his dealer’s backyard. Guess his sister’s death made him hit rock bottom.

And as for her new pogue boyfriend, John B, no one cares. No one knew him other than his few friends, one of them being the old kook Kiara Carrera. Well, they’re like a weird cult always up to some shit. They’ve chosen their place.

The missing posters have been up for a while. No one really believes it, they couldn’t have survived a storm like that. You’ve been trying to handle it. In your room for days, thinking about the empty spaces your best friend Sarah would fill. Thinking about how she’d gotten distant the past few days. Not telling you where she was going, not telling you about the new guy. You blamed yourself for it. Maybe if you’d tried to talk to her more a few days before she died, she wouldn’t have gone with him.

When the thoughts get too loud during English class, you excuse yourself and leave. You walk through the hallways and outside the school, sitting on a nearby bench. No one said a word to you. No one said you were allowed to grief too. Like you weren’t her best friend. Were you?

You take a deep breath and look around, making sure no one saw you leave school grounds. That’s when you see him again. The blond boy.

He walks out of school as well, looking around and spotting you. He scoffs, and as much as he tries to find a way to avoid you, you’re sitting on the only bench that’s out here. He slowly walks over. “Can I sit-?” He says and you nod. “Yeah. Go ahead.” You say and look away, pulling your legs into your stomach, hugging your calves.

He sits down as far away on the bench from you as possible, taking a deep breath. A few minutes of silence go by. “I heard you were her friend.” He says, breaking the silence.

“What?” You whisper, surprised he would actually talk to you. “I said I heard you were Sarah’s best friend.” He repeats, looking at you this time. He looks… decent.

“Yeah. I was.” you say, looking away from him. “That was before your friends showed up, though.” You say and roll your eyes. He nods, his lips pressing together. 

“We didn’t do shit. She wanted to join us, so she did.” He says defensively. “Well, she got dragged into all the criminal stuff that you do. She didn’t know what type of people you were.” I say, sitting straight. I have the time today.

“John B did not kill Peterkin.” He says frowning. “Sure, he didn’t.” You say and he frowns again. “I’m being serious. He did not.”

“You think I’m just gonna believe you because you said so? What even was your name again?” I say and roll my eyes. Yes, exactly the way I imagined a pogue to be. “No, but I’m saying that you’re judging without getting to know us.” He pauses for a second, almost like he’s pondering if he should say or not. “I’m JJ. JJ Maybank.” 

Oh, JJ Maybank. With the dad. He works for your father. Or maybe worked. Poor guy was definitely an addict.

“I know your dad.” You blurt out, and the way his face falls tells you you hit a sore spot. You look away. “He… he worked for my dad.” You elaborate, looking down at your shoes. 

A few moments pass by and when you turn to look at him again, he’s off the bench, walking away. You frown, watching him walk away. Weird. Why’d he just walk away like that? 

You sigh and look ahead into the trees in front you. The back of the school where the students have done everything. A few minutes later, a voice startles you again. “Hey, sorry, I was…” 

You jump, letting out a low gasp as you sit up straighter. “What the fuck, Maybank? I thought you left and then you…” You say before he stretches his hand out, a necklace in his palm. Your eyes widen as you notice what it is. The S necklace. With Sarah’s initial on it.

“We found this at the chateau. The chateau is… um, our place, kind of. She’d left it there.” He says as you shakily take it from him.

“We didn’t force her into anything…” “Shut up, Maybank.” You say as you put the necklace around your neck. “Just… I don’t wanna hear it.”

He nods, taking a deep breath as he takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just being nice, Kook.” Oh, now he’s getting sassy. You roll your eyes, unwrapping your arms from around your legs and letting your feet touch the ground as you stand up. “Yeah, well, you could’ve been nice by saving her before she was dead.” I roll my eyes as I grab my backpack, throwing it over my shoulder. You’re mad at everyone and everything. You’re mad at Sarah for leaving you here, and you’re mad at being neglected. She was your best friend. And the moment she left, suddenly she was everyone else’s. 

“Wait.” JJ’s voice cuts through your thoughts and your feel your heart ache. The few soft streams of light have found their way from in between trees and leaves onto his blond hair and blue eyes and you take a deep breath, mentally shaking yourself. Stop.

“We both lost our best friends. If there’s anyone who knows what you’re going through, it’s me. Yeah, I don’t like you and you don’t like me. But… be decent.” He nods, as if he wants you to agree. Your hands tighten on the straps on your backpack and you nod after a second. “I… Yeah. Sure. I… I’m Y/N.”

“Yeah, okay.” He nods, running a hand through his hair. “I know who you are.” You tear your gaze away from him and take deep breaths until you get inside. The moment you get inside the school bathroom, tears are rolling down your face and you let out quiet sobs, turning to the bathroom and kicking a bathroom door open, walking in and locking door. Her necklace around your neck feels like it’s choking you, and you press your palms against your temples, tears running down your cheeks and neck.

How long is it gonna feel like this?

────🫐────

[sanjisleggy]

the warlord’s wife (mihawk x reader)

req: Oh if you want to you should do a Mihawk x reader (fem or gn) that's hurt comfort where the reader is like the exact opposite of him. Like she is usually so happy and sweet and kind. And something happens and maybe she starts to worry that she is too much for Mihawk because he is just someone who is quiet and to himself all the time and she thinks she is constantly bothering him

a/n: ahhh my first attempt at writing for Mihawk! a much shorter fic compared to my others but i hope you guys like it nonetheless :3c i’d love to write longer fics for him if anyone has any ideas yippee

contents: rude people (lol), insecure!fem!reader, simp!Mihawk, a tiny bit of angst, some hurt/comfort, fluff :3c

wc. 1k

wanna be on my taglist?

—

i. 

standing outside the large ornate doors, you feel your face burn with embarrassment as you contemplate simply going to the docks to wait out by the hitsugibune until the gala ends. as tempting as escaping from the horrific social situation sounds right now, your pride refuses to let you bow your head in defeat.

”i don’t know how else to convince you,” you try to appeal to the two marines standing guard outside the venue entrance once more, “if you could just ask him to verify my identity—”

”i’m sorry, miss,” the larger man of the two cuts you off with a less than apologetic look. “there’s just no reason why we should do as you say. if we listened to every man or woman demanding to go in, we’d lose our heads.”

your indignance and frustration quickly bubbles into pure anger and for a brief moment you lament having left your katana back at the castle. you bite your tongue, unable to think of any other way to convince the marine officers that you are, indeed, a guest who’d been invited to the gala because you’re literally one of the Warlords’ wives.

“besides,” the other officer chips in unprompted, “no offence but you don’t seem like the type of woman someone like Dracule Mihawk would marry.” his partner fails to hold back a scoff but quickly attempts to return his expression back into one of neutral professionalism.

clenching your fists by your sides, you try your very hardest to keep your eyes from tearing up for the second time tonight. normally such a comment wouldn’t phase you—years of being Mihawk’s partner has done wonders for thickening your skin—right now, though, you can’t help but feel a familiar sharp stinging sensation pierce through your chest.

of all the snarky comments you marine dogs decide to make, why this one?

ii.

it had only been an hour into the gala and already you regretted begging your husband, just weeks prior, to consider attending with you as his guest. the event was a grand one held by the marines every year to “show their appreciation” towards their allies, which included the Seven Warlords; and every year the invite would show up at your doorstep only to be promptly thrown out by your introverted husband.

”can we please go? i miss going for social events like these.” you’d pleaded that night in bed, hugging his arm tightly as you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck—a move he liked to call ‘playing dirty. “just this once to see what it’s like, then i’ll never ask again.”

both you and Mihawk knew it was a lie but the swordsman was nothing if not a simp for you so he begrudgingly agreed.

”care to elaborate why?” you challenge, taking the two marines aback if their surprised expressions are anything to go by. clearly not used to ‘civilians’ talking back to them, they take a moment to gather their thoughts—and at least have enough decency to look embarrassed at being called out.

”w-well—”

“your wife is such a chatterbox! it’s a wonder you’ve tolerated her for as long as you have!”

”your husband is whom? forgive me, i find that hard to believe.”

”i thought he was some kind of recluse?”

”maybe it was an arranged marriage. how scandalous.”

”i pity the poor man. all my husband does is talk and it drives me insane some days.”

”darling?” a deep familiar voice calls out from behind you, accompanied by the sound of heeled shoes clicking against stone. before you can turn around, you feel his warm hand rest itself on your shoulder, the comforting heat of his body engulfing you from behind. “i’ve been looking for you.”

the blood drains from both the marine officers’ faces, their eyes widening in shock as it dawns on them what a mistake they’ve just made. as though pleading for mercy, the eyes of the larger man flickers in your direction, almost screaming: “please, i’m too young to die.”

”were these men giving you trouble?” Mihawk probes gently, using his other hand to tilt your head in his direction. the moment his eyes meet your own and widen ever so slightly, you know there’s no point lying. as much as you’ve been able to hold back your tears of frustration well enough to fool the average man, your husband is anything but average.

mouths still agape, the marine officers can do nothing but watch as the notorious swordsman proceeds to cup your face with his right hand in a manner so tender they can’t help but suspect he’s an imposter. unbothered by the unbelieving stares sent his way, Mihawk brushes his thumb under your eye as though to confirm his suspicion.

”they were but it’s okay now,” you finally reply, placing your hand over his to hold it in place as you relish in the comforting warmth of his palm.

”what did you do to my wife?” he disregards your subtle plea for peacemaking. he knows you well enough to infer that you simply don’t want him to make a scene for the sake of maintaining his public image. 

Mihawk’s aware of how much you actually enjoy silently watching him defend your pride and honour; and he also knows from experience how happily you’ll reward him with your honeyed words and sweet touches later tonight, when it’s just the two of you alone together. it concerns him, slightly, if he were to be honest, how easily you have him wrapped around your finger—but that’s something to think about another day. 

the marines stutter and stammer but nothing coherent leaves their lips, all linguistic ability fading into nothing under the angered gaze of the Warlord.

”be thankful my beloved is as kind as she is,” the swordsman warns, all the while maintaining his hardened glare. “know that had she not vouched for you two, i’d have no problem killing you right where you stand.”

—

taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots

[na0koz]

what about jinx and reader who’s a ballerina, she has to dance with guys on a regular for shows 👀

chefs kiss nonnie. u guys are geniuses.

toxic!jinx masterlist

she comes to watch every single one of your shows obviously, she wouldn’t miss it for the world. she’s so proud of you and how far you’ve come with your ballet career.

there is just one small thing.

the shows more often than not make her pretty angry, specifically when you are partnered up with a guy.

you’re a beautiful dancer, and jinx loves to watch you until some ugly stupid idiot worthless guy who probably doesn’t even know how to treat a woman comes onto the stage and starts to dance with you.

she’s shifting in her seat, picking at her nails and biting her lip while watching this fool lift you up and spin you around, apparently you have to and it’s part of the dance. yeah, whatever. she does not like it.

a couple of the guys from your ballet school seem to be much more confident than the others. while the audience applause and cheer after the show, they’ll kiss your hand or even your cheek. your smile is unwavering, but jinx knows you don’t like it. you complain about it the second you get to her after you’re released by your teacher.

so she tries her best to encourage them to stop doing it.

she’ll come to your final rehearsals, being basically the only one in the audience (you did have to beg your teacher to let her come and watch) of the huge theatre, and cheer for you. she clambered onto the stage a couple of times to hug you but she got scolded badly by you and the staff.

she’ll kiss you very obviously just when she sees your male dance partner coming up to discuss something with you. with your lipstick smudged over both of your faces, you’re too focused on wiping it off of jinx’s lips while she does the same to you, to notice the dejected look on your partner’s face. jinx notices, though, and is pleased that such a simple action could steer him away.

on the day of the show, she’ll help you with your makeup. powdering your cheeks gently and telling you how beautiful you look. she’s actually quite good with makeup and she does it on you a lot, she finds it quite relaxing.

her final act of making sure that guy stays away from you is loudly saying something like “hopefully no one messes it up after the show!” when she’s finished the final touches. it’s kind of obvious she’s referencing something from the tone of her voice, but you’re too nervous for your show to ask what she’s talking about.

jinx makes her way to her seat, the one she sits it every time that you reserve for her. it’s the best seat in the house. perfect, unobstructed view of the stage.

once the show is over, and you’re presented with a bouquet of flowers by your ballet teacher, the audience begins their applause. unfortunately your male dance partner takes your hand, to which jinx furrows her brows at, but he doesn’t kiss you at all, which is a win.

she can put up with a small hand hold for now. just as long as she gets to watch her precious baby dance.

[lucyluvschriss]

「Kiwi | Chris sturniolo」

Summary: your friend invites you to a masquerade party at an exclusive club in L.A , where you find the boy that has for so long been tempting you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

~Pt.1~

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You were never a big party person, but your friends insisted this would be the biggest party of the year, and you couldn’t miss it.

“Come on! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I finally got us invited to the club. Pleeease!”

Your best friend Ava drags out her words and dramatically whines, trying to convince you to attend.

“I don’t know, Ava” you sigh, contemplating her request. “You’ll be with Matt the whole night anyway.” Matt was Ava’s boyfriend. You liked him and appreciated how well he treated her. His brother Nick was a nice guy as well, but who truly caught your attention was Chris. Though you had never met him, he always seemed to have something interesting about him.

“Well, it’ll be a nice opportunity to meet new people!” You doubt for a second, my tempation undeniable in your mind. But maybe she was right.

“Fine! You win, i’ll go.” You chuckle giving into your friends alluring invitation.

She squealed enthusiastically. “We better get you ready then”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

A few hours later…

You walk through the door, the smell of smoke and liquor filling the air as you feel eyes on you, assessing your appearance.

You are wearing a black dress with an open back that accentuates your figure perfectly, your curled hair draped over it. A masquerade mask conceals your identity.

♪ In a black dress, she’s such and actress ♪

You make your way to the bar, ordering your favorite drink.

If I want to make it through the night, I need a treat, you think to yourself, taking the first sip. A strange aura beside you catches your attention. Turning your head, you find a dark silhouette, his gaze already fixed on you.

♪ She sits beside me like a silhouette ♪

You can’t make out much of his face. The faint glow of the cigarette he’s smoking offers only a glimpse of his eyes—blue.

♪ She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes ♪

Though loud music surrounds you, it feels as if the world has quieted. Nothing else seems to matter but the enigma before you. A few moments pass before you decide to break the aching silence.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”

You chuckle, taking another sip of your drink, your gaze never leaving his.

♪ Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect ♪

“What? Can’t handle it, sweetheart?”

The voice teases, familiar yet unsettling. He takes another drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around you like a shroud.

You roll your eyes in annoyance and mutter under your breath as you finally look away, earning a soft scoff from the strange man. He grabs your face, forcing you to look at him once more.

“I’m Chris. What’s your name?”

The sudden realization of who you’re talking to makes a blush creep onto your face. A small smirk appears before you reply,

“It wouldn’t be as fun if I told you, would it?”

He’s amused by your response, chuckling at your playful comment. “A woman of mystery—I like that…”

♪ Shes driving me crazy, but Im into it ♪

You watch as his eyes trail down your body, lingering for a moment on your chest before returning to your face. He pulls a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Want one?” he offers, a smirk playing on his lips.

Without answering, you take one and place it between your lips, holding his gaze intensely. He pulls out a lighter and sets it alight, leaning in to ignite your cigarette.

You take a long drag, the burning sensation filling your lungs. Your eyelids flutter shut for a brief moment, and when you open them, you realize just how close the two of you are—only inches apart.

“What brings you here, sweetheart?” he asks curiously, watching as your lips part seductively from the cigarette.

“I came here with a friend, but truly, I’m just looking for some fun,” you reply with a sly grin.

His eyes light up with intrigue. “Oh, yeah? What kind of fun?” he asks, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You take another drag before answering, “Y’know, the usual stuff.”

Your vague response doesn’t satisfy his curiosity. He leans in closer, his tone insistent.

“What do you mean by ‘the usual stuff’?”

Instead of giving a verbal explanation you tilt your head up to give him a desperate kiss, he forcefully grabs your lower jaw, his cold rings laying on your back sending shivers on your warm skin.

Instead of giving a verbal explanation you tilt your head up to give him a desperate kiss, he forcefully grabs your lower jaw, his cold rings laying on your back sending shivers on your warm skin.

♪ And now shes all over me its like i paid for it ♪

He kisses you like a starved man, like nothing matters except your mouth on his own. Chris’ hands entangle in your hair, pulling on it slowly, earning a whimper from your lips

His face separates from your own in reaction of your actions,a smirk forming of Chris’ face.

♪ Its like i paid for it, im gonna pay for this ♪

To be continued…

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Taglist: @chrissturnioloslvt @ladyy-whistle-d0wn @nickgurl4life @watercolorskyy @y3sterdaysproblem (reply if you want to be tagged in part 2!!)

Ps: i know this is sooo short but its my first fic so idek what to do if u have any tips or suggestions i would be soso glad to hear xxx

[xmads-omensx]

Word Count: 1,251

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: talks of loneliness, depression, not feeling good enough

Summary: Y/N didn't enjoy her birthday but can't figure out why. Noah helps her as she deals with the pain she feels.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

My birthday was rapidly approaching and I hadn’t given it much thought.

I never really did.

Usually, I would go out for dinner with my best friends, but that was no longer an option since our friendship had ended.

Sure, I was glad they were out of my life since they had caused me so much pain, but it still hurt.

I tried to push it out of my mind as the months drew on. It worked.

Noah wasn’t a huge birthday guy, so the conversation never came up which I was grateful for.

I had completely forgotten about the matter of my birthday until it was only a week away and I still didn’t have any plans.

Noah had bought me theatre tickets for a showing of Six at two pm on my birthday, but had only told me so that I could plan around it.

Obviously, I was excited for that, but there was still something missing.

In the past, it was my two best friends who organised where we went for dinner so that it was still a surprise, but that wouldn’t be the case this year.

My heart hurt as I thought about it, but I pushed it away once again.

I didn’t need that pain.

I didn’t need their bullshit.

Not anymore

I was noticeably happier without them.

Granted, it had taken me some time to get there, but I got there.

Noah was by my side every step of the way and I couldn’t be more grateful.

My birthday rolled around in what felt like minutes and before I knew it, Noah was zipping up the back of my dress as we got ready to leave for the theatre.

It was nice spending time with him like this.

It felt domestic.

Noah would deny it, but he loved the show.

I could see him lip syncing along to the words that he knew as he watched the talented women on the stage perform the brilliant soundtrack.

“Best birthday gift ever.” I said to him as we walked back to his car after the show ended.

“You deserve it, my love.” He replied, kissing the top of my head affectionately before opening the passenger side door for me.

The drive home was quiet.

A nice quiet.

The kind that feels easy.

It stayed that way for the rest of the day until Jesse returned home and started singing Christmas songs, which was not at all out of character for the strange man.

It made me smile.

Noah ordered pizza for our dinner, which we ate as we re-watched Attack on Titan for what felt like the hundredth time, but I would never complain about that.

Falling back into our routine, we snuck up to bed when Jolly and Jesse joined us on the sofa.

Noah undressed into his boxers, and I changed into one of his shirts, leaving on my cotton panties.

We both climbed into bed, with Noah instinctively pulling me into his chest.

“Goodnight.” He whispered with a kiss to the top of my head.

“Goodnight, pumpkin.” I whispered back.

Noah tilted his head down to place a kiss on my lips before drifting off to sleep.

I soon found out that I would not receive the same luxury.

My birthday felt incomplete.

Sure, the day wasn’t over yet, but something felt… missing. Like that feeling you get when you feel like you’ve forgotten something.

It felt like I was stood in a dark room without a torch. Not pitch black, but too dark to see everything.

It was a strange feeling.

Deciding that my quest for sleep was futile, I retreated back to the kitchen and made myself some chamomile tea. That usually helped me sleep.

I grabbed the book that I had been reading off of the coffee table and snuggled down to read. Surely that would make my eyes tired enough to fall asleep.

The narrative was comforting, but not helpful in my mission for sleep.

If anything, it was making my problem worse.

I just felt… alone.

Footsteps in the hallway pulled me out of my trance as I looked up and saw Noah standing there rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“What’re you doing up?” He grumbled.

“Couldn’t sleep.” I replied with a whisper.

“Selfish. You know I can’t sleep when you’re gone.” Noah mumbled, crawling on top of me and snuggling into my neck, making me laugh.

“I’m sorry bub.” I replied.

“Seriously though, what’s up?” He asked.

Noah always knew when something was wrong.

“I’m not sure.” I replied.

He gave me a confused look, so I explained how I was feeling.

“Maybe it’s because it’s your first birthday without Lily and Jay?” He suggested.

Then it all fell into place.

That was exactly it.

The two of them had always celebrated my birthday with me.

They had since we were five years old.

Noah reached up to brush a tear off of my cheek that I hadn’t realised had fallen.

“Baby, it’s okay, you’ve been functioning perfectly without them for a while now. You can get through this.” He said comfortingly, but it didn’t help.

I pushed him off of me and sat up.

“I just feel so lonely.” I whispered.

“You’re not lonely.” He said. “You have me, Jesse, Jolly, Folio and the rest of the guys. They’re your friends, they’ll always be there for you. And you know damn well you’ve always got me.”

“But they’re not my friends!” I exclaimed, suddenly angry at Noah. “They are your friends, Noah, not mine!”

Silence encased the living room.

“Baby, I’m sorry for yelling.” I said after a moment.

“Don’t be sorry.” Noah said, walking towards me. “Never be sorry.”

He pulled me into a tight hug.

Tears began to spill down my face.

“It’s just so lonely without them.” I sobbed into his warm, bare chest.

Noah didn’t say anything, just rocked me back and forth as I cried.

My heart yearned for an easier time when my birthday was something filled with friends. But today it had just felt empty.

“Let’s head back to bed.” Noah whispered after a few minutes.

I nodded.

He gently placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me up to our shared bedroom and closed the door behind us.

I immediately gravitated to the bed in the middle of the room and curled up beneath the covers that smelled like Noah before he pulled me into his chest.

“I know you miss them, but it will get easier.” Noah began. “I promise you that you will feel less lonely as you readjust to life without them. It will get easier baby.”

I didn’t know how to reply, so I just looked up at him.

He smiled softly at me before placing a loving kiss on my lips and pulling me back into his chest.

“Sleep well, my love, and dream of me.” He whispered.

“Ew.” I replied.

“Did you just fucking say ew?” He asked, shocked.

I giggled.

“Oh that’s funny is it?” He said tauntingly.

I nodded my head.

“Oh I see how it is. You want war? I’ll fucking give you war idiot.” He said, before tickling my sides, making me cry out with laughter.

“There’s that laugh.” Noah sighed, pulling me back into his chest.

“I love you.” I whispered, kissing his bare chest.

“I love you more.” Noah whispered, kissing the top of my head.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel as lonely anymore.

[urhouseisnthauntedurjustlonely]

Grace Chasity’s Body Language

I just want to appreciate and explain why Grace Chasity’s body language during ‘The Police Station’ is amazing, because it’s such a small detail that could easily be missed.

When Grace is lying to Detective Shapiro about not going to the Old Waylon Place, she tells Detective Shapiro, “Why would anyone want to go into that old, spooky house? I never would.”

Do you see how she is nodding her head, “Yes,” when she says that she would never go to the Old Waylon Place?

Someone nodding their head, “Yes,” when they deny something, or shaking their head, “No,” when they confirm something, is a huge sign that they are lying.

With how emphasized Grace’s head nod is, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a direction Angela was given, or if she just knew it herself. Usually, liars make more subtle movements, but when on stage, you have to make your body movements more dramatic, or else people can’t see them. This is (supposed to be) drilled into actors.

Big ass sigh. I love acting so much. Like, this is such a tiny little detail, but it lets you know how even the smallest things are thought about. Appreciate Starkid.

I hope you learned something, and that you can all become better liars with this information. <3

[massivedrickhead]

merry christmas, merry christmas (but i think i’ll miss this one this year)

Words: 1907

Summary: Chloe isn’t going home for Christmas, and her aim is to make it to the 25th without the Bellas finding out.

Notes: Merry Pitchmas @psychoteacher90, I’m your secret santa! So, confession time - I misread the initial message and thought you’d said you like a little angst sprinkled in with your fluff, but after I re-read it last night I realised it said you could tolerate it… I hope you like this anyway, and next year I’m definitely going to read the message more than once 🙈

Read on AO3

@merry-pitchmas

-

“Hey, when are you going home for Christmas?”

The question caught Chloe off guard. Not because she wasn’t expecting it, she just wasn’t expecting it so early into December. 

She thought she’d have more time to come up with an answer. A lie that wouldn’t result in further questions. 

But she didn’t get that time. Beca asked her on the first weekend of December while eating toast with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. 

“Oh, I dunno yet,” Chloe replied, trying to sound casual. “Why?”

Beca shrugged. “Just wondering.” 

Chloe thought about maybe telling her the truth. The Bellas’ house was quiet for once, with the rest of the girls either still in bed, or out, or home for the weekend. 

Now would be as good a time as any. 

She opened her mouth to speak but shut it just as quickly. 

No, not now. 

Besides, she didn’t usually go home until a few days before Christmas Eve. Anything could happen between now and then. 

-

Beca asked again a few weeks later, a scowl on her face as she squinted at her phone.

“Do you know when you’re leaving for Christmas yet?” She asked. “I’m trying to organise the Bella’s Christmas party, and no one is free on the same night. Since when were a capella nerds so popular?”

Chloe couldn’t help but smile and roll her eyes as she pulled Beca’s phone out of her hand. 

“You’ll give yourself a headache,” she said, looking down at their shared calendar. Chloe had completely forgotten all about their Christmas party, which was especially surprising since she was the one who had organised it for the past few years.

It was true, there was no night that was free. Each square ticking down to December 25th contained a coloured dot representing at least one of the Bellas and their plan for that day.

Chloe noticed her own baby blue dot was the only one absent. There were no Christmas market trips, or festive nights out with classmates, or neighbourhood carolling. 

She hadn’t been feeling particularly Christmassy this year.

“I guess we just skip it this year,” Chloe said, handing Beca back her phone.

Beca raised her eyebrows. “Skip it?”

Chloe shrugged. “I don’t see any other option, everyone is busy.”

Beca shook her head and looked back at her phone. “You love the Christmas party. I’ll figure it out. Even if we have it at 2 pm on a Tuesday.”

“I wouldn’t stress about it,” Chloe said, standing up from the sofa and grabbing their dishes from the coffee table. “It isn’t important.”

“You didn’t answer my question by the way,” Beca asked, looking up from her phone as Chloe stood. “When are you going to your parents?”

I’m not. 

“I don’t know yet.”

-

Their Christmas party never happened, but Chloe didn’t notice. Or, at least, she pretended not to.

She had been trying to spend the majority of her December trying to pretend that the holiday didn’t exist.

When the Bellas had decorated the tree, Chloe had been hiding in the library.

When they made gingerbread houses, she went to the gym.

When they got drunk on Amy’s mulled wine, she’d been studying in her room, ignoring Beca’s repeated attempts to get her to join them.

For the amount of time Chloe had spent trying to avoid Christmas, Beca had spent double trying to get her involved.

Chloe couldn’t blame her, she knew she wasn’t herself, but she still couldn’t bring herself to tell Beca the truth. 

It would start a much bigger conversation that Chloe wasn’t ready for. One she’d never intended on having in the first place.

She kept it buried and tried to avoid Beca as much as she could for the next couple of days.

-

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride to the airport?” Beca asked on the 23rd. 

“I’m sure,” Chloe said. “You were supposed to leave for your Dad’s like 20 minutes ago, you’ll be late.”

Beca looked at her watch but still dithered. “You’ll text me when you land?”

“Yes,” Chloe said. “Get out of here already.”

“Jeez, Merry Christmas to you too,” Beca said, giving Chloe a hug. 

“Merry Christmas,” Chloe replied, trying not to hold on too tightly. 

She needed Beca to leave, because if she didn’t she might cry.

“See you next year, I guess,” Beca said, ending their hug and grabbing her keys from the counter. 

“Drive safe,” Chloe said.

Beca raised a hand in farewell before closing their door behind her. 

Chloe’s tears fell quickly after.

She picked up her suitcase and carried it back to her room before dumping out the contents on her floor. 

Her plan had worked. 

She would make it through Christmas without anyone finding out she’d spent it alone. Without anyone finding out why she’d spent it alone. 

-

Later that night there was a knock at the door which Chloe assumed was the pizza she’d ordered. 

She had assumed wrong.

Beca was standing on their doorstep, hands shoved into her pockets because she’d forgotten her gloves.

Chloe could only stare back, mouth slightly agape. She swallowed. She could still get out of this. 

“Forget your keys or something?”

“You aren’t going to Florida.” It wasn’t a question, and Chloe couldn’t argue. She was standing there in her pyjamas after all. Her hair up in a towel, face scrubbed of makeup. It was hours after her supposed flight was supposed to have taken off.

“What are you doing here?” Chloe asked, her shoulders dropping. 

“I could ask you the same question.”

Chloe sighed and stood aside so Beca could come in. “Fine,” she said. “I’m not going to Florida. Your turn to answer.”

Beca tilted her head as if confused. “I came here for you,” she said. “You aren’t spending Christmas on your own.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

“Beca-”

“Look, you’ve been distant and sad since Thanksgiving, and I’m guessing it has something to do with you not going home for Christmas,” Beca said. “And you don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to - and I’m assuming you don’t otherwise you’d have said something before now - but just because you aren’t going home, doesn’t mean you have to spend Christmas alone.”

Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by another knock on the door, and this time it was the pizza guy.

“I’m fine,” Chloe said, returning from the door with her pizza. “I have pizza, and trashy movies, and wine. I’ve spent plenty of days by myself before, and this one won’t be any different. It’s just a day, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t think you believe that,” Beca said. “But, whatever, if you don’t want to spend it with me that’s fine.” Beca pulled out her phone. “But you also have an invite from Jessica to spend it with her family, as well as Ashley, Flo, Legacy, Cynthia Rose, Amy, and Stacie also told me to tell you you could crash her and Aubrey’s Christmas plans. Also Lily offered too, but she also mentioned something about needing a sacrificial lamb, so maybe don’t go to her place.”

Chloe laughed and shook her head, tears burning her eyes.

“Even if you can’t go back to Florida, you can still spend Christmas with your family. Maybe not the one you were born into, but a one that loves you.”

“I don’t want to impose-”

“Chloe I had barely finished typing out my message to them, and all the Bellas were falling over themselves to invite you to their homes. You’re not an imposition.”

“And you?”

“I said I had first dibs,” Beca said. “Plus, this way I’ll get to give you your present. I pulled your name in Secret Santa this year.”

“I didn’t do Secret Santa,” Chloe responded, confused.

“Fine, I pulled Legacy but I have a gift for you anyway.” Beca took hold of Chloe’s hands. “Come on,” she said. “Sheila bought a turkey that’s way too big, my dad needs someone to talk about books with, and I… I want to spend Christmas with you.”

Chloe pulled her teeth across her bottom lip before she eventually nodded her head. 

They ate the pizza while Chloe changed and packed, and then they piled into the car for the short drive to Beca’s dad’s house.

“How did you know that I wasn’t going home?”

“Your flight didn’t exist,” Beca replied. “And I just had a feeling that there was something you weren’t telling me. You haven’t been yourself.”

“I know,” Chloe said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so… Well, you know. I just didn’t want to get into it.”

“You still don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’m here to listen if you do.”

Chloe didn’t respond right away. She rested her head against the passenger window and watched the flurry of snow begin to fall. 

“I had a fight with my parents at Thanksgiving,” Chloe said.

Beca turned down the music, but didn’t interrupt.

“Things have been tense with them for a while,” Chloe said. “It all sort of boiled over. They overheard me on the phone to Aubrey… Heard me talk about stuff they didn’t know about me and… Yeah. A lot of yelling later and I was, I mean disowned sounds so serious but I guess… I guess that’s what it was.” 

Chloe tried to swallow the lump in her throat but it wouldn’t budge. 

She recognised where they were, and knew they’d be entering Beca’s neighbourhood soon. She wanted to pull herself together before then.

“Jesus,” Beca said, her voice just above a whisper. “I mean unless you were confessing to multiple murders on the phone to Aubrey, I don’t-”

“I was telling her about someone I like. About… About a girl I like.”

“Oh,” Beca said, glancing across the car. “They didn’t know?”

“No,” Chloe said. 

“I’m really sorry, Chloe. You… You don’t deserve that. And they don’t deserve you.”

Chloe sniffed. “I know.” They pulled into Beca’s drive but neither made a move to get out of the car. Chloe could see the glow of Christmas lights through the window, and she felt a pang of homesickness mixed with a rush of gratitude for Beca. “Thank you for coming back for me.”

“I always will,” Beca said. “I hope you know how loved you are, Chloe.”

They sat in silence for a little while longer before Beca spoke again. “So, there’s a girl you like, huh? Anyone I know?”

Chloe laughed. “You know, considering you were able to figure out I lied about going to Florida, you can be a little oblivious sometimes.”

“It’s that obvious? It can’t be Stacie or Aubrey, or Jessica or Ashley. Is it Emily? Or Cynth-”

Beca’s voice died in her throat as Chloe pressed their lips together.

“Oh.”

“I get it if you don-”

It was Chloe’s turn to be cut off as Beca pulled her back into a kiss. 

They didn’t break apart until they heard the front door of the house being pulled open. 

Light from the hall spilled out into the driveway.

Beca’s Dad sighed. “Sheila, I owe you 20 bucks!” He shouted before shutting the door again.

Chloe giggled, and Beca felt it in her chest.

“I guess we should go inside,” Chloe said.

“I guess we should. Merry Christmas, Chloe.”

“Merry Christmas, Beca.”

They kissed again.

[charminglilly]

A Second Chance at Christmas

Vi Arcane x fem!reader

Summary: a first Christmas spend with Vi (and her siblings)

a/n: TYSM for all the support on my other post!! I was suppose nervous and didn’t think anyone would like it but I’m so glad you guys did! Here is a rlly quick fic abt Christmas with Vi, I low key didn’t know what to write and might make a pt 2. Let me know! Not proofread…😛

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Now playing: Christmas lights by Coldplay

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Growing up, vi never celebrated any of the holidays other than a quick “merry Christmas” or “happy holidays!” But beyond that, the holidays never meant something to her since she grew up in a poorer area with people who couldn’t afford to celebrate much. That was until she met you.

When she met you, you introduced her to all your family’s traditions even outside of the holidays. Vi began to value them more and more, soon adding her own twists to them and sharing them with her sister.

The holidays were nearing and Vi couldn’t be more excited. You had invited her to go back home with you for the holidays and spend it together with your family. Vi squealed and thanked you, imedeatly asking if she could invite her sister and Isha. You happily agreed claiming “the more the merrier.” From that moment on, Vi knew that this year, she would get a real chance at celebrating the holidays.

On the car ride back to your home town, Jinx and Isha were sat in the back playing random games and bobbing along to the music peacefully flowing from the speakers. You and Vi had been switching between driving and being the passenger. Vi insisted on driving all the way until about halfway when her vision started to get blurry from looking at the snow covered roads and bright neon colored road signs. Currently, Vi was cozied up in the passenger seat with a blanket draped over her. She obviously had her hand intertwined with yours, claiming that it was ��emotional support” for driving. Not like you minded anyways.

Soon enough, and after Jinx kept asking how much longer repeatedly, you pulled into a large driveway hitting bumps that jolted the two in the back awake. Once the car came to a full stop Jinx jumped out of the car and stretched, letting out a long sigh of relief.

“Finally, my gosh I thought we would driving forever.” The exclaimed as Isha climbed out of the car, copying Jinx’s actions. You and Vi only chuckled, stepping out of the car and rounding to the back to get the bags out of the trunk. Before you guys finished unloading, the door creaked open and a shouting sound rippled through the air,

“YOU GUYS MADE IT!! Oh my gosh I am so happy!!” Your mom exclaimed running across the porch, down the steps, and across the lawn. She quickly ran up to you and gave you a big hug, squeezing you so tightly that the air in your lungs felt stuck.

Chuckling you hugged your mom back exchanging little “I missed you!” While Vi unpacked the car with the little help of Jinx who was more focused on admiring the house. You wouldn’t call yourself rich, but you had a nice two story house that fit you and each of your whole family comfortably.

Your mom helped everyone bring their bags up the porch and inside the house.

“____, show the guests around the house and their rooms. I’ll get some snacks ready.” Your mom said, making her way to the kitchen. Nodding, you told everyone to follow you up the stairs.

The inside of the house wasn’t anything to special to you, but to the three guests trailing close behind you, it was like nothing they have ever seen before. The hallways were full of pictures from your childhood and different achievements, the carpets on the floor were actually clean and smelled like lavender. Isha couldn’t stop pointing at things, tugging on Jinx’s arm while they both looked in awe adding comments. Vi kept nudging them in the arm, hoping to tell them to shut up and be respectful without you hearing.

“This room is my brother’s, he’ll be arriving tomorrow. He’s not interesting anyways” you said as you passed by a door that was open halfway. One by one, the three peaked their heads in to get a sneak peek before following you again.

“This here is the bathroom and this…. This one is mine” you said, pushing open your bedroom door and stepping in. They all walked in and immediately started to inspect each crevice and item in your room.

“Holy shit this is your room?!” Vi called out, far gone from the respect she was trying to hold just a few moments ago. You chuckled and nodded, glancing around your own room as if it was your first time seeing it. There were posters and Polaroids scattered across the wall from, some clutter on the shelf’s and your dresser. It had been a while since you last decorated it, the most recent being high school.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s nothing special-“

“Nothing special!!! This is so cute!” Jinx exclaimed, cutting you off. Fair lights were hung lazily across the wall behind your bed. Speaking of your bed, you spent a good about of money on it, making sure it looked as comfy as possible.

“Alright, enough of my room. Let me show you the guest bedroom” you walked out of your room and down the hall to the guest bedroom. Inside held two twin beds, one for Isha and the other for Jinx. They both instantly ran to pick their beds, plopping down on the fluffy white comforter.

“Vi you can stay in my room or here if you want.” You say turning to face your pink-haired girlfriend. She gives you a knowing smile, the one where her eyes wrinkle and her pearly whites shine.

“Babe, I think you know the answer to that” you chuckle at her words, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek.

“I’ll bring your bags up, just get comfy and make yourself at home.” You say before turning to leave the room.

—————-

After a few hours everyone is finally settled in and cozied on the couch. Each with a warm mug of steaming hot chocolate filling the air with a nostalgic feel. Large blankets are thrown across everyone lazily, you and Vi curled up under one in the corner of the couch. Which you and your brother fought over since apparently it is the “best spot.” A old Christmas movie was playing softly from the tv, but it was long forgotten as everyone would much rather chat amongst each other about the year.

Throughout all of Vi’s years on the earth, and all the holidays she spent at work or alone with her sister and a sad excuse of a Christmas tree, she never could have pictured spending it like this, surrounded by people she loves and who loves her back. Sudden laughter interrupted her thoughts as she snapped back into reality. She quickly looked over at you, smiling when she saw how happy you were. You looked over at her and your face softened, a welcoming smile lighting up your face.

“You good babe?” You asked leaning closer to her. It was that moment where she realized her eyes were watering. You lifted a hand to softly caress her face.

“I’m better than good, promise.” She says smiling. You only reply by smiling back and pulling her in for a soft kiss. You can taste not only the hot chocolate oh her lips but also the hope for a new beginning, a chance to start a fresh new life with you full of happy memories.

“Ewww guys not in front of Isha!” Jinx calls out from the other side of the couch, reaching for Isha and covering her eyes. You and Vi pull away before bursting out in laughter, everyone else following. She leans her head in the crook of your neck and you wrap your arms around her

You can tell that this will be one of many Christmases spent together.

———————-

[aqua-the-smiter]

Ferrus is feeling a bit cranky over Candlemass, so Sanguinius takes it upon himself to cheer his brother up.

Just some wholesome Christmas writing Divider by @squishyowl

“Hurry Ferrus, hurry!” Sanguinius called cheerfully to his brother,  laughing as he dragged him by the wrist through the streets of Macragge.

“Four bloody hells where are we hurrying?” He snapped testily half running and half sliding. “Why are we hurrying, we’re ghosts, why are we running at all?”

“Sorry! Still haven’t figured out the whole ‘manifest in the Materium thing’ yet. But we are not missing this! Especially not you. C’mon, you have got three feet over me. Use those long legs of yours and move!” He replied, his wings flaring as he leapt to avoid a knot of Ultramarine neophytes.

Technically with them both being dead obstacles weren’t a problem, a fact the duo proved later by blowing through an intersection and phasing through the vehicles as if they weren’t there at all, briefly leaving the occupants with either a very warm feeling or a very grouchy one.

Although even in his fugue state Ferrus had to admit that winter on Macragge was something to behold. The sky was overcast and mottled with clouds. Huge, fluffy snowflakes whirled through the air on the icy wind, blanketing the city of Macragge Civitas in a pure shroud of white (except on the roads where salt and slush turned it a dirty gray). She looked regal, in her pale veil. Elegant. As the evening had crept in the streetlamps flickered to life, bathing everything in a festive golden-amber glow. The citizens were all bundled up warmly in coats and cold weather gear, walking and laughing together or celebrating in the streets and squares with family and friends. Even a few of the Ultramarines themselves were out enjoying themselves, battle brothers rubbing shoulders with everyone from senators to starport workers. It was here he found himself being ferried along by his much more enthusiastic sibling, who ran with the grace of a deer to get to…somewhere. He hadn’t elaborated beyond ‘we’re going to cheer you up’. 

He ran with much less grace but no less speed. Not really a deer. A draft horse maybe, one of those big ancient Terran breeds with hooves the size of dinner plates. 

A candle glowed in nearly every window (no matter how many windows that building had). It was Candlemass, you see. Humanity had never lost its love for celebrating the end of the year, bringing festivities and good cheer to the darkest, coldest months. Saturnalia, Christmas, Yule, and now in the 42nd millenia, Candlemass.  It was, by and large, a joyous time, but Ferrus Manus was feeling far from festive.

For you see, while Candlemass is a time of celebration, it is also a time of remembrance. Honoring those lost in the last year and beyond, remembering the good times and the sacrifices made for loved ones. The Imperial Guard, the Astartes, the Sororitas. A few candles were even lit for the men of the Custodes and the women of the Sisters of Silence. Even Primarchs were remembered this time of year.

Or, most of them, anyway.

Ferrus never wanted to be worshipped like a god. As Roboute and now Lion did, he found the whole idea unpleasant. But while he didn’t want worship, he did want to be remembered, and therein lay the problem. He usually never was. His idiot gene sons were decrying him left and right. Of all his loyalist brothers, he had the least amount of shrines, icons, windows, etc.  Most of them were on Medusa, his homeworld anyway, which hardly counted. The ones that weren’t were all included in a group of shrines. It stung, and he was man enough to admit it. Being forgotten about when he had died in the manner he did. A few hymns and a little thanks wouldn’t be too disagreeable. 

He felt a fresh surge of hatred for Fulgrim, making the fiery halo above his head flare white with hot rage. 

At least his men and women in the Legion of the Damned remembered him. Contrary to popular myth, the legion didn’t just have space marine. Guard, Custodians, Sisters of Battle. If you were a soldier of the Imperium in any capacity, you came to him. He cared for them, truly, and he could see that reciprocated in admiration. And it was nice to have them around to keep him company on the other side. He enjoyed the stories he got from the guardsmen, the technical chatter with the Skitarii, even the theological debates with some of the more fanatic branches of Imperial military strength. 

But still. Some kudos from the land of the living would be appreciated.

Sanguinius of course had no such problems. He was beloved by all in the Imperium great and small. He even had his own holiday, Sanguinala. Even on Candlemass though, the good folk of the Imperium took time to light a candle for the Angel. He always loved this time of year, unlike his dour black armored counterpart. Thus, when he’d noticed Ferrus’s equally dark mood, he had taken it upon himself to lift his spirits in the name of Candlemass cheer. And he seemingly had the perfect way to do it.

The two were pounding up the stairs of the Fortress of Hera now. Through doors, through the corridors and courtyards to a grand cathedral near the center of the Fortress Monastery. 

“Here we are!” Sanguinius said with a broad grin. “Let’s go.”

Before Ferrus could get a word in he was dragged through the ornate double doors.

Inside was lit with thousands upon thousands of candles. It was beautiful, ornate but tastefully so. The light inside was a mix of warm amber from the flame and blue from the stained glass windows. Between all the Ultramarine iconography were the chapter banners of the loyalist legions. Astartes and baseliners alike sat in pews, and the music of a pipe organ soaked into the atmosphere. 

“I thought Roboute hated the Imperial Cult.” Ferrus said.

Sanguinius nodded. “Oh he does. But this is not a Father-bothering service in the least.” He replied, finally letting go of Ferrus’s wrist. The two stood in the aisle, watching as said service unfolded. “Watch.”

Ferrus looked around, noticing that the candles were all being put out. As the music faded, the sanctuary went dark. The only light coming from augmetic eyes and the duos’ halos which nobody could see anyway. 

“What’s going on? Come on Sanguinius, why did you drag me all the way here?”

“Shh.” He pointed. “Shoosh. Just watch.”

As he said it a light flared to life at the sanctuary. Roboute stood there, not resplendent in his armor but dressed in a simple white toga and a blue cloak, the Emperor’s sword belted at his hip.. Ferrus had to bite back a gasp of shock.

He looked so tired and haggard. His hair was longer and thinner. His eyes were sunken and had dark circles under them. His face was lined. But for all that he seemed to be in a good mood, and it was clear why. Next to him, also holding a candle lighter was none other than the Lion, dressed in a forest green doublet and a black sable cloak. His shield was slung over his back. He looked older too, his hair much paled in color and longer, his beard fuller. 

“As we bid this year farewell in its final few weeks and prepare to greet the new one, whatever trials and triumphs it may bring, I would like to take one last moment of your time this evening to remember those that are no longer with us. Ceremony such as this ensures those we have lost are always honored and never forgotten, even if their names have been lost.”

He walked to the side of the sanctuary and lit several candles as he spoke. “For the Imperial Guard, the brave men and women of the Navy and the Aeronautica. We are all grateful for your continued bravery and courage in the face of horrors. You are the strongest of us all.”

There was a round of applause then. Several members of the congregation stood, and were seated again when it died down.

Next Lion walked to the other side and copied Roboute’s actions. “For the Adeptus Astartes. My sons and my brother’s sons. All our nephews without their gene-sires to guide their blades and guns. We thank you for your unwavering spirits and loyalty in the face of hellish odds. I am proud to call you my kin.”

More ovations, and this time the space marines in the crowd stood up. Ultramarines, Dark Angels, and a few scattered successors of each. But the middle was still dark. Roboute moved inward a bit, and then Ferrus saw it.

Shrines. There were shrines. One for each of the loyalists. A beautiful crafted statue of each rested on a small altar, surrounded by candles, although the features were obscured in the dark. Roboute began lighting them once again. These were colored either a dark forest green or an antique gold. The Primarch himself had taken his seat, leaving Guilliman alone up front.

“For my brother Lion. You are a pompous, stuck up, trigger happy, smug bastard, and I missed you more than I can say. I am glad to have you back. You wear your age gracefully, which is more than I can say for your armor.” 

The Lion laughed aloud at that, grinning, and after a moment the Dark Angels decided it was ok to find it funny as well. Guilliman moved on to the next altar. The candles were white and red.

“For my brother Jaghatai. Your speed and skill are sorely missed, as is your dry wit. Dustier than the deserts of Tallarn, and as sharp as any power sword. May your battles in the Warp be victorious and your return home as swift as the hawks and horses of Chogoris.”

And the next. The candles here were storm gray and yellow. 

“For my brother Leman. As loyal a brother and faithful a friend as anyone could ask for. I miss your ferocity, your brooding, and your joviality alike. You were one of my Dauntless Few, and I feel your absence sorely and sharply. You who so masterfully pretended to be a beast to disguise the razor blade of a mind underneath the wolf’s pelt. One day I pray we may drink and share stories again, and that I may hear of your great victories and tall tales. Come home soon, and come home safe.”

The next candles were yellow and black. “For my brother Rogal. Stalwart, unbending, unbreakable. You couldn’t understand a joke if it wrote an after-action report to explain itself to you, and you were as blunt as an old knife. But you were my good brother. You were my friend, a man of my Dauntless Few, and we are lesser without you. May you rest peacefully, and know that the Imperial Palace still stands. Know that nobody has forgotten your immoveable soul or your determination. Rest knowing you did your duty to the utmost and that we are all grateful.”

He paused as he reached the next shrine. These candles were crimson and gold. When he spoke again there was a barely perceptible quiver in his voice.

“For my brother Sanguinius. Everyone knew you as the Great Angel. Refined, graceful, powerful. One of my Dauntless Few. I knew you as that and as a mischievous jerk more often than not. You are missed and beloved by all. I miss your kindness and good counsel. May you also rest in peace, and know that you are regarded as a hero, and rightfully so.

There was more laughter at that. Guilliman wiped his eyes and moved onto the next one. The candles were gold and emerald green here instead of forest.

“For my brother Vulkan. You were a much needed voice of kindness among my brothers. You who always remembered baseline humanity and encouraged us to do the same. Your hands made us all many wonders in your forge, and your sons carry that flame with them. May you return safely and swiftly to them and to us, and rekindle your forgefire once more.”

“A kind gesture, if nothing else.” Ferrus said dismissively.

Sanguinius raised an eyebrow. “What, are you jealous? Do you really think Roboute would forget you?”

“Everybody else has forgotten me except you.” His tone was bitter now. “Maybe because I died so ingloriously. Why wouldn’t he?”

“I know you’re jaded, and trust me I understand. But just keep watching.”

The shrine in the middle was still unlit.

Black and white candles flared to life. “For my brother Corvus. A liberator. May that spirit live on, because there are so many worlds that need liberation. May you return home and take up your mantle of freedom-fighter once more, because so many worlds need freedom. And may you have good luck in your hunt. When you come home, I hope your bring Lorgar’s head as a trophy. Throne knows it couldn’t happen to someone more deserving.”

A few hoots and shouts of agreement. 

Finally, Roboute made his way to the last shrine. He lit the candles here slowly, taking his time for each. They were a dark, inky black and a metallic, shimmering silver that glittered beautifully under the candlelight.

And it was then that Ferrus noticed that the middle shrine had the most candles out of all of them.

“And finally. Last but far from the least. To my brother Ferrus Manus, Lord of the Iron Tenth. You were one of the greatest among us. Not because of your metal hands but in spite of them. The greatest of my Dauntless Few. We remember your death not because it was dishonorable or tragic but because you were courageous and defiant to your dying breath. Your soul burned bright and beautiful and it does so even now as you shepherd the Imperium's loyal soldiers. We remember your skill in the forge and the might you granted the rest of us. We remember your strength and power in combat, your iron will and steel tenacity. We are lesser without you, my brother Ferrus. Know that I have not forgotten you. We have not forgotten you, and we never will. Not as long as I still draw breath. I remember you often liked to say that nobody knew you, and I believe that to be true. Nobody really did know you, and I regret not remedying that when I had the chance. Of all of us, I should have known you. May you find peace, and know that as with all my brothers, I love you.”

Ferrus felt a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down no matter how hard he tried and his eyes prickled. He noticed a few wet trails on Guilliman's face as well, shining in the firelight before he scrubbed his face with an arm.

The rest of the service passed in a blur for him. Many of the baseliners and Astartes went up to light a candle themselves. Many more tiny lights flared to life by his shrine. But eventually the room emptied, and the four brothers were alone with each other.

Roboute turned to the two of them at the end of the aisle with a small smile. “Are the two of you planning on saying hello, or just lurking?”

The two finally faded fully into the Materium.

"You could see us the whole time?" Ferrus asked, incredulous.

"Not really see you per say." Lion said, coming to stand with Roboute. He'd been helping his brother extinguish the remaining candles. "But we felt the two of you there. I figured you didn't want to cause a scene. It…it's good to see you again. Both of you."

"Yes, it is." Roboute echoed. "Unexpected but it's wonderful to see the both of you."

Ferrus opened his mouth but found himself choked up. Sanguinius stepped forward, wrapping his arms and wings around his brothers wordlessly.

When they pulled apart, Lion had misty eyes, Roboute was openly weeping again and Sanguinius was beaming at them both like the sun. He grabbed Ferrus and yanked him forward.

“I came for this grump.” He explained. “He was in such a bad mood because he thought everyone had forgotten about him. Maybe he’s not as well loved as he deserves, but you two wouldn’t forget. I knew you wouldn’t. Your speech was lovely by the way. You always had an ability to talk perfectly. Not too simple, not too eloquent, always genuine.”

It was more than that. It had taken all of Ferrus’s considerable willpower not to cry like a child. He was touched. And a little ashamed of his earlier dismissiveness. Maybe not many still cared, but the ones who mattered did. His family remembered him.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Ferrus huffed, but before he could continue Roboute had wrapped him in a rib-crushing hug. He stiffened, but after a moment returned it.

“Throne but it’s good to see you again, Ferrus.” And damn him if it didn’t sound genuine. 

He blinked hard, trying to contain his own tears to no avail. “It’s good to see you as well, Roboute. I’m glad Fulgrim couldn’t take you down too. The bastard.”

“He nearly did. I got lucky.”

When they pulled apart Lion surprised all three of them by wrapping Ferrus in an equally strong embrace.

“You idiot. You bloody idiot. You really thought we’d forget about you? Give us some credit, Manus. Maybe we could have done a better job of showing it but your absence was sorely felt. I wish I had noticed something. Gotten the Laer Blade away from Fulgrim, I don’t know. I’m sorry Ferrus.”

“Don’t-” he swallowed. “There’s nothing you could have done, in the end. I made my own choices, foolish as they were.”

“He made worse ones.” El’Jonson said fiercely. “You are deeply missed.”

“More than you realize, you big lump.” Sanguinius smacked his shoulder with a wing. “See? What did I tell you? Cheer up, it’s Candlemass.” 

“I wonder if your xenos…friend could help…?”

Roboute shook his head. “With the state he’s in? I don’t know. I was a different case.”

“I appreciate the thought, but it could be much worse. And someone needs to look after the Legion of the Damned. Aeonid Thiel says hello, by the way.”

“I-well. It’s good to hear from him too.”  He paused. “I must ask, how are the two of you here? This isn’t something you can do regularly, is it?”

Sanginius shook his head. “I wish. I would have come far more often, but it’s really only doable, even for powerful ghosts like us, during certain times. Or when the energy is right and the veil is thin.”

“Trust me, if we could do this regularly my idiot gene sons would have already gotten an earful they wouldn’t soon forget.”

“How much time do you have left?” Lion asked. 

“More than enough.” Sanguinius flashed another one of his brilliant smiles. “That's the thing about ceremonies like this. Remembrance. It helps to thin the veil, draw power. All that raw emotion. It’ll linger for a while. We can stay and talk.”

“I like the sound of that. We have much to catch up on, don’t we?”

Lion nodded. “ We do. And I’m sure you’ve got a bottle of Macraggian red you can dig up from somewhere.”

“And there’s his real motivation.”

“Hardly. It’s tradition to have long talks over alcohol, you know that.”

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that. What about you, Ferrus?”

He shrugged. “I have nothing pressing at the moment. I’m sure my men and women can go a night without me around.” 

And he smiled in spite of himself. It was nice to be remembered.