#something about the word 'features' is so good here

[vrystalius]

Not saying “I love you“ back to the Squid game men.

How will they react if you don‘t say it back? In what scenario would they not say it back to you?

Pairing: The Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x gn!reader

Summary: Them not saying “I love you“, their reaction to you not saying “I love you“

Genre: fluff, a lil bit of angst sprinkled on top

(Pre-Squid game)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It barely ever happens, really. He adores everything about you, from your face, voice, body and the ground you walk on; that man is ready to worship you like a devoted follower would to the most merciful goddess. Therefor he would always be aware of how to make your day a little better, even if it‘s just a small “I love you” or a gentle kiss here and there.

The first thing you hear from him in the morning is a groggy voice mumbling a small “Good morning love...” into your ear while warm kisses were trailed down your back.

While standing in the kitchen and searching the fridge for any signs of a tasty breakfast, a small “I love you, I‘ll be back later!“ would echo slightly through the apartment as the front door closed.

Once, he did forget to say his usual I love you on the way out. He thought about how he possibly could forget? You‘re probably overthinking everything now and think what you might‘ve done wrong or do to offend him. You didn‘t, though! He was just too caught up in perfecting his appearance because his damn hair refused to obey and submit to his meticulous styling.

The poor man was almost scared to come home. As some sort of peace offering, he bought some of your favorite take-out food alongside some dessert, flowers and a new bracelet he thought you might like. Anything to try and make you know that he does really love you.

“Apologies, it completely slipped my mind. It will never happen again my sunshine. I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

His face may be neutral and his expressions calculated but his features soften up immensely when you show even an ounce of affection. His smirk shifts into a dreamy smile, the crinkles around his mouth shifting and becoming bigger, his eyes twinkling just a little. He just can’t suppress when you even look at him.

Your kisses and words energise him, gift him life, so whenever you don’t give him that little boost of dopamine, he gets visibly more tense in a way.

The silence that followed after his usual “I love you my darling, I���ll be back later!” was almost eerie to him. He stuck his head back into the kitchen to check if you even heard him. You glanced back at him for a moment and gave your husband a dismissive head nod. So you did hear him?

Silently, he left the apartment and went on with his usual day during that time of the year. For some reason, today he is especially looking forward to slap his elders for loosing a damn children’s game. His face remained neutral and had his usual smirk on his face, but deep inside, he’s offended, confused, worried, stressed; all the negative emotions someone can feel after their spouse doesn’t reincorporate ones affection.

Do you want a divorce? Because hell no, he’d never let you go no matter how hard you

But once he got a little text message on his phone that read a simple: “Need cuddles in bed later pls. Got some snacks too. Love you.”, all of his worries washed away in an instant. You probably were still too sleepy to answer this morning.

A smile spread over his face as he thought about slipping into your arms tonight. Isn’t it ridiculous how he melt like putty in your hands?

“You forgot something this morning and it did worry me a lot. But it doesn’t matter, it’s silly anyway.”

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s actually quite rare to hear Thanos say “I love you” word for word. He still feels awkward committing himself to the relationship you have and those three magic words feel so heavy on his tongue, so he’ll rephrase them to suit his level of comfort. “Love ya”, “Thanos loves you” and “Me too” are his ways to dodge the action to reincorporate those sweets words you shower him with.

Thanos only really says “I love you” if you two are alone, sober and you holding him in your arms. To be cradled by someone he admires, cares and loves so much makes him want to cry for some reason, but he suppresses those emotions and instead buries his face in your shoulder as your hand soothingly runs up and down his back.

Those are the times you hear a small “I love you…” being mumbled against your warm skin.

So quiet it’s almost unnoticeable, yet it was there. You know Su-bong needs time to get used to everything, so you’ll settle with a small audio message-rap in reply to your usual “I love you” text message.

“Back to the kitty ‘cause she kinda pretty, I can’t stop looking at her ti- ti- ti-face.. Anyways, thinking of you babygirl. Iloveyatoo.” (You barely caught him saying this the way how quietly he mumbled it into the mic)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

It’s fine. It’s cool. You don’t have to reassure him every day that you love him, it’s totally fine. You still love him like you did the day before.

It causes a deep panic inside of Thanos when you don’t give him his usual “I love you” text in the morning after he had woken up. He kept checking his phone like a madman, while he was brushing his teeth, peeking his arm and head out of the shower in the middle of shampooing, staring at his text messages while microwaving himself an convenience store meal. Nothing.

Not wanting to reach out first and appear clingy, he decided to write you like he is not having a full blown eternal panic attack. A small voice message here, a picture of his food there, a selfie from the bottom to show off his double chin, anything really.

You replied like normal but still, his eyes searched for the three key words. I. Love. You.

Thanos doesn’t want to admit to himself or to anyone for that matter that your calls, texts, hell, you coming over is like the most addictive drug to him. And he had his share of all kinds of colourful drugs.

His foot was nervously tapping the ground while his finger kept ringing your poor doorbell until you were forced to answer. He gave you a close look up and down, his lips formed into a pout of sorts.

“You okay? You didn’t text me you love me this morning. It’s totally cool and all but like… do you want to break up with me or something?”

Nam-gyu // Player 124

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Similar to Thanos, at first, Nam-gyu barely ever told you how much he loved you, liked you even. He just assumed you already knew and his actions were enough. A small side hug there and ruffling your hair here had to be enough for the rest of the week anyway.

He is guarded, afraid of commitment and to be frank in belief that you’re using him for the longest of time. Maybe you’re just “dating” him to get access to high-end drugs, all kinds of clubs or whatever else reason there is there to date him but for love.

You had to say those three magic words first for him to get comfortable with the thought that you are actually just want to date and love him. It came to him in the middle of a night shift at a random club he was supposed to promote. A moment of enlightenment.

Nam-gyu hid in a bathroom stall with his phone and ignored whatever the couple was doing next door, writing you a whole paragraph about what he was thinking, feeling, before deleting everything again because he thought he’d come off as some kind of pussy if he’d sent that.

His first time telling you how much he loved you was at your place. A casual evening watching some random movie you picked out while being arms deep in a bag of chips and dressed like a homeless person, Nam-gyu was staring up at you as if you were the most beautiful person in the universe even during this ungraceful moment of yours, admiring you in silence until finally…

“I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Did he fuck up again? Do or say something wrong? Don’t you love him anymore? Was there someone else?? His thoughts go ballistic as he stared at the screen of his phone with a deadpan-expression, trying to shake the crippling fear and nervousness off while looking nonchalant.

Nam-gyu’s finger kept hovering over the call button to check on you in case something happened because there could be a whole other person talking to him by how there were no affirmations at all.

He doesn’t want to appear clingy or too attached to you as that may scare you off or even disgust you, so Nam-gyu’s casually mention that one time you didn’t say “I love you” while fidgeting with his ring, trying to appear indifferent about it while intensely watching your facial expression shift to try and detect if you’re lying about your reasoning or not.

Your boyfriend is afraid to not be good enough, too much, too little. Your little affirmations give him reassurance, every day a little more until he’s full convinced that you do really, really love him.

“Hey, uhhh. Did you forget anything today?… No? You sure? Mkay.”

Dae-ho // Player 388

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Never happens. Either he is dead and not able to reply to you or already said it multiple times throughout the day. Dae-ho has separation anxiety and gets nervous when he doesn’t have you in line of his sight or not around him in general, that’s why he always tells you how much he loves you whenever he can.

Off to the bathroom? I love you. Bringing the trash out? I love you. Getting dressed? You’re gorgeous and I love you. You could be simply existing and Dae-ho would bury his face in your neck and mumble a soft I love you into your warm skin, his lips planting a soft kiss here and there.

Dae-ho is just a little scared about saying his usual affirmation in front of his family, mostly his father. He’s a very affectionate and physical man but he still wants to look like the tough-marine-son his dad wants to see.

His sisters know better though, they see how their brother’s eyes twinkle in delight when you help his mom out in the kitchen with the dinner.

He does make it up to you after coming home though. Your boyfriend will stuff the leftovers his mom gave him into the microwave and usher to you made yourself comfortable on the couch while he makes some preparations to completely pamper you for the rest of the evening.

Sometimes Dae-ho’ll even try to flirt a little but he’s still a little awkward in that department.

“Hey, do you want some snacks with that? A drink? O-Or am I enough of a snack…?”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Every time Dae-ho tells you that he loves you, you always reply with equal enthusiasm. How could you not? That golden retriever of a man gets that almost childish smile of his whenever you kiss his cheek or just tell him that he looks handsome today.

Once, you tested how he’d react when you don’t give him his hourly dose of dopamine by deflecting or ignoring his touches.

As his arms securely snaked around your waist and gently pulled you against his torso, you paid him no mind and continued to stir the ramen in the food container. He watched the noodles move in circles and gave your waist a gentle poke, trying to pull your attention to him. Dae-ho’s eyes slowly dimmed and the edges of his smile turned downwards.

The silence made him seriously nervous. You could feel his rapidly increasing heartbeat drum against your back.

“Hey… is everything okay? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry. Can you talk to me?…”

Gi-hun // Player 456 (post s1)

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Gi-hun always reassures you of his love, even during arguments. He wants you to know that he cherishes and loves you for the rest of his life and that you are his everything. Whenever he doesn’t say I love you, something must’ve happened.

He has been missing for a whole week and you had no idea where your boyfriend went. Gi-hun didn’t leave a note, a voice mail, no nothing!

And after he returned and suddenly began giving you expensive gifts, the same boyfriend that used to ask you for money to get himself an convenience store dinner, now began buying you new headphones, bracelet and whatever else you even eyed.

It was nice, sure, but you were more worried about his mental state. He was paranoid and quiet, kept checking his whole body for some kind of tracker and barely ever spoke what was on his mind. Gi-hun began having panic attacks and you were barely able to leave his side because of how terrified he was to leave you alone.

He barely touched you, gave you kisses or affection. He changed after whatever happened during that week he went missing.

While running your fingers through his hair, trying to make him fall asleep after being awake for two days straight, he sleepily stared up at you through his dyed-red hair. His voice was quiet, broken almost.

“I’m sorry. Please… know that I love you. I love you so much.. Don’t leave me, please… please...”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

Your boyfriend called out to you but you didn’t quite hear what he said, so you replied with an “yeah!” and just hoped that that’s an appropriate response to whatever he tried to tell or ask you. It wasn’t.

Gi-hun stood there for a couple of moments, waiting on your reply to yelling “I love you!” across the whole apartment. When nothing came, he didn’t call out to you again. You were probably busy with something or don’t want him with your right now, he gets that.

Later though, thoughts of self-doubt began to cook up inside his mind. As he bit all his nails to shreds he overthought about how you had enough of him now. Maybe you are falling out of love now after how the death games fucked up his mind and body. You’re surely fed up with his paranoia and secretive behaviour, how much he has been obsession over finding a weird salesman. Surely.

The metallic taste that spread inside his mouth after biting the skin surrounding his nails began to open and bleed finally pulled Gi-hun out of his self-destructive thoughts that continued to circle like a toy train. Picking up his throwaway phone and choosing the one contact he saved on every single burner phone he had as “Reason to smile ❤️” and pressing the call button.

“Gi-hun? What’s wrong?” Your voice forced a small smile to form on his face. He hesitated

“Hey. Just wanted to ask if I should bring some take out home tonight. That’s all.”

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s purely just to tease you. When bored, In-ho will make you his greatest entertainment.

He likes making you annoyed and flustered, so he’ll intentionally ignore you just to make you react and pout at him adorably while he was trying so hard to keep his stone cold face and not break into a shit-eating grin and maybe even pull on your cheek to make you whine even more.

In-ho adores your whole being and cherishes all of your affections, so he’ll let himself get showered in them any tome he can.

Expect you to he cuddled up on his lap while he was leaning back in the leather chair, mumbling a complaint about how you covered his whole face in kisses but managed to miss the bridge of his nose. He will not allow you to move off his lap until you covered his whole face in kisses again as compensation for that mistake of yours.

So, In-ho’ll intentionally not give you affection so you pay even more attention to him. He is like a cat in that way weirdly enough.

Once you finally break his facade, the flood gates will open and you will be showered, bathed, drowned in his affection, physical and verbal.

“Fine. I’ll say it just because you’ve been so good to me today. I love you, my dearest, lovely darling.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

In-ho has a dedicated frequency on his walkie-talkie for you, so he can call in and ask you to come to his office for a kiss that cannot wait, to inform you that he is in the bedroom and retiring for the day or just to tell you that he loves you randomly throughout the day.

Of course, you’d always reply back with your own gadget, but to pay back his infinite teasing he has done to you, you decided to ignore him the way he sometimes does to you. Payback.

Your husband called into your frequency. “Dove, are you free right now? Come to my office, I miss you.” and so your game begins. You simply ignored his request and continued getting comfortable in your bed and all the sheets surrounding you, grinning to yourself as you awaited the next time In-ho calls in again, for which you don’t have to wait long for.

“Darling, I am waiting. Do you want me to send someone to pick you up?” Your grin widened as you heard how impatient he was slowly getting with the lack of your response. “I can see you in the bedroom.” That one caught you off guard. Did he install cameras in your shared bedroom??

Almost on cue, your bedroom door opened, revealing the masked Frontman. His shoulders were tense and you could feel his intense state through the mask. You stared back, not expecting how quickly your husband would cave in and visit you himself. Innocently, you batted your lashes at him.

In-ho slipped his mask off and carelessly tossed it on the nightstand. “Why are you ignoring me? Are you upset or just moody?” Unimpressed, you silently glared at him. He gave you an equally uninterested look and leaned down to your face to give you a small peck on your cheek. “Not enough. More.”

A chuckle escaped his lips as his lips cracked into a smile.

“Demanding, aren’t we? Fine. As you wish.”

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading <3

Watch me announce that I’m going to post In-ho’s yandere profile and proceed to get hit with the most ungodly group-assignment in Chemistry. Anyways, take this as an apology! Had to write a little fluff for them since the only thing I’m finding is smut 🙏😭 I’m not complaining but this fluff prompt came to me like a truck during a class of mine. It was originally inspired by this post and I made a similar one before for the Demon Slayer hashira. Check it out if you’re interested!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | it was never meant to be (1/2) continued...

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, franco colapinto ୨ৎ : synopsis : your ex f1 boyfriend regrets letting you go so easily.

୨ৎ : genre : reconcilation, heartbreak, angst, sad themes, moving-on ୨ৎ : tws : moving onto someone else, unforgiveness ୨ৎ : word count : 2301

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

୨ৎ find part one here ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was requested, and since you guys asked, you shall recieve! (buy me a ko-fi? ☕️)

ʚ・max verstappen

“this is insane,” ryan said, leaning closer to you so you could hear him over the noise. “i’ve only ever seen this on tv. it’s way more intense in person.”

you chuckled, slipping your hand into his. “i told you it’s a whole different world. i wanted you to see it for yourself.”

ryan squeezed your hand, his grin widening. “i’m glad you brought me. it’s incredible.”

from across the paddock, max verstappen’s gaze landed on you. he had spotted you the moment you walked in, his eyes immediately drawn to the man at your side. max recognized the jacket ryan wore—it wasn’t from any team, just a simple, casual hoodie. no team colors. no logos. it told max everything he needed to know: ryan wasn’t part of this world.

it should have made max feel better. it didn’t.

he tried to focus on the strategy meeting happening behind him, but his attention kept straying to you. the way you leaned into ryan as you explained something about the cars. the way he laughed at whatever joke you told. the way you seemed completely at ease with him.

max clenched his jaw, a dull ache settling in his chest. he hated the way his mind worked—how he was already comparing himself to ryan, someone he didn’t even know. he hated how effortless it looked between the two of you.

“you okay?” christian’s voice cut through his thoughts, startling him. max turned to see his team principal watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“yeah, fine,” max muttered, forcing his attention back to the conversation. but his eyes betrayed him, flickering back to you and ryan every chance they got.

after the race, the paddock was a mixture of celebration and chaos. charles had finished on the podium, and you made your way to the ferrari hospitality area to congratulate him. ryan followed closely behind, still taking in the sights and sounds of the post-race festivities.

“charles!” you called, throwing your arms around him as he stepped off the stage. he laughed, hugging you back.

“merci, y/n,” charles said, his smile genuine. “i didn’t know you’d be here today. it’s good to see you.”

you stepped aside, introducing ryan to charles. “this is ryan, my boyfriend. he’s never been to a race before, so i thought i’d show him what it’s all about.”

charles shook ryan’s hand, offering him a warm smile. “bienvenue. i hope she hasn’t scared you off with all her f1 knowledge.”

ryan laughed. “not yet. she’s been amazing—explaining everything and showing me around. i can see why she loves it so much.”

max watched the interaction from a distance, his stomach twisting. he didn’t need to be close to hear what was being said. he could see it all—the way ryan looked at you, the way you looked back at him.

and then you laughed, that familiar sound that once belonged to max. it hit him like a punch to the gut.

he didn’t realize charles had spotted him until the monegasque walked over, leaving you and ryan to chat. “you’re staring,” charles said bluntly, his voice low.

max tore his gaze away, fixing his eyes on the ground. “i’m not.”

charles didn’t buy it, his sharp eyes narrowing. “she’s happy, max. let her be.”

“i know,” max snapped, his tone harsher than he intended. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “i know.”

charles nodded, satisfied that his point had been made. “then act like it.”

max stayed where he was as charles walked away, his words lingering. you were happy. that should have been enough for max. but as he watched ryan wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, he couldn’t stop the jealousy from burning in his chest.

he’d had his chance. he let it slip through his fingers. and now, someone else got to be the reason for your smile.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

lewis sat on the edge of his couch, the phone in his hand feeling heavier than it should. his thumb hovered over your instagram profile, the notification mocking him—y/n added a new photo. he shouldn’t look. he knew that much. but curiosity—or maybe guilt—won out.

the picture hit him harder than any crash ever could. there you were, smiling brighter than he remembered, standing next to a man he didn’t know. his arm was wrapped around your waist, and the caption was simple: finally showing him my world. his first race weekend.

lewis’s chest tightened. he let the phone fall into his lap, staring blankly at the screen. the man in the photo wasn’t part of this world—no polished media training, no rehearsed charm. just a regular guy. a guy who got to see you laugh like that. a guy who now stood in the spot lewis had willingly given up.

roscoe stirred from his bed in the corner of the room, padding over to his side. the dog let out a soft huff, his head tilting as if to ask, what’s wrong?

lewis sighed, reaching down to rub behind roscoe’s ears. “i messed up, mate,” he said, his voice low and rough. “i thought i was doing the right thing. i thought…” his voice trailed off as the weight of his choices settled on his shoulders.

he had convinced himself it was for the best when he let you go. told himself that the pr relationship would be easier, cleaner, better for his image. but it was all a lie—a shiny, hollow lie. and while he had fallen into the illusion, you had slipped through his fingers.

roscoe rested his head on lewis’s knee, his big eyes filled with understanding. lewis let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, i know. i gave up something real for something fake. and look at me now.”

his mind wandered back to the night it all fell apart. the look on your face when he had admitted he couldn’t keep his promises. the way your voice had cracked when you’d asked if any of it had been real. he told himself it was for the best, but now, seeing you happy—truly happy with someone else—it hit him just how much he had lost.

he stared at the photo again, his hand resting on roscoe’s back as the dog gave a soft sigh. “you know,” he murmured, “i thought i’d feel relief seeing her move on. but all i feel is regret.”

roscoe looked up at him, his eyes almost accusing. lewis let out a long breath, leaning back against the couch as the phone screen dimmed. the laughter in your eyes in that photo wasn’t for him anymore. it was for someone else.

and he had no one to blame but himself.

ʚ・george russell

the roar of engines filled the paddock, but george’s mind was elsewhere. he had spotted you from across the garage, standing alone near the mclaren hospitality. you were dressed casually, a faint smile gracing your lips as you watched the bustle around you. for a moment, he let himself imagine that smile was for him.

he had been drowning in regret ever since the day he ended things, convincing himself it was for the best, for his career. but every time he saw her—the woman he’d left you for—it felt empty. fake. nothing like what he had with you.

before he could stop himself, his legs carried him toward you, his heart pounding louder than the engines in the background.

“y/n,” he called softly, catching your attention.

you turned, your expression faltering when you saw him. “george,” you greeted, your tone guarded.

“can we talk?” he asked, his voice laced with something raw—something you hadn’t heard in a long time.

you hesitated but eventually nodded, following him to a quieter corner near the back of the garage. the air between you was thick, heavy with unspoken words and old wounds.

“i just…” he began, running a hand through his hair. “i wanted to say i’m sorry. for everything. for how i handled it. for breaking your trust.”

you crossed your arms, looking at him with a mixture of hurt and skepticism. “why now, george? what’s changed?”

he hesitated, his blue eyes meeting yours with an honesty that made your chest ache. “i made the biggest mistake of my life,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i was doing what was right for my career, but… i wasn’t thinking about what was right for me. and now, i see that i let go of the one person who actually cared about me—not the driver, not the brand, just me.”

you let his words sink in, the raw emotion in his voice undeniable. but the scars he’d left were still fresh, still tender.

“i don’t know what you expect me to say,” you replied, your tone steady but distant. “you hurt me, george. you chose someone else—someone who wasn’t even real—over me. and now, after all this time, you want to apologize?”

he nodded, swallowing hard. “i know i don’t deserve another chance. i know i have no right to ask for anything from you. but i needed to tell you how sorry i am. i miss you, y/n. every single day.”

you sighed, your resolve wavering for a moment before you shook your head. “i’m not ready, george. you don’t just get to walk back into my life and expect everything to be okay. if you want to fix this—if you even can—it’s going to take a lot more than an apology.”

he nodded again, his shoulders slumping. “i’ll do whatever it takes,” he said softly. “i just want you to know that i’ll never stop trying.”

you looked at him for a long moment, the sincerity in his eyes tugging at something deep inside you. but you weren’t ready to let him in—not yet.

without another word, you turned and walked back toward the paddock, leaving george standing alone. for the first time in months, though, he felt a glimmer of hope. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind him that you were worth fighting for—and this time, he wouldn’t let you go without a fight.

ʚ・franco colapinto

the café was small and cozy, tucked away on a quiet street corner, and you were grateful for the escape from the cold breeze outside. the familiar scent of coffee and pastries filled the air as you approached the counter, glancing at the menu. it was supposed to be a peaceful afternoon, one where you didn’t have to think about the past.

but fate had other plans.

“y/n?”

the voice was hesitant, familiar, and unmistakable. your stomach twisted as you turned to see franco standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he looked different—tired, older, like he’d been carrying the weight of regret for far too long.

your expression hardened instinctively, the wounds he’d left still tender. “franco,” you said curtly, your tone clipped.

“i… i didn’t think i’d see you here,” he said, his voice soft, almost cautious.

“neither did i,” you replied, turning back toward the counter, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

but he didn’t. instead, he stepped closer, his presence lingering like a shadow. “please, can we talk?”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “i don’t think there’s much left to say, franco.”

“maybe not for you,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly, “but i’ve been waiting for a chance to apologize. to explain.”

you hesitated, the raw emotion in his voice stopping you in your tracks. slowly, you turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “you want to explain?” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. “go ahead, franco. explain why you broke my heart and threw away everything we had.”

he winced at your words, his shoulders sagging as he ran a hand through his hair. “i was an idiot,” he said simply. “i thought i was doing what was best for me—what would make me happy. but i was wrong. i was selfish, and i hurt you, and i’ve regretted it every single day since.”

you stared at him, your anger warring with the part of you that still remembered the good times, the laughter, the connection you once shared.

“i don’t know if i can forgive you,” you said honestly, your voice quieter now.

“i don’t expect you to,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that took you by surprise. “but i want to try. i miss you, y/n. not just as someone i loved, but as my best friend. i miss us.”

your heart ached at his words, the honesty in them cutting through the layers of resentment you’d built up. “you hurt me, franco,” you said softly. “it’s not something i can just forget.”

“i know,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “but i’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. even if it’s just as friends. i just… i can’t go on knowing i didn’t at least try to fix this.”

you sighed, the weight of his words settling over you. part of you wanted to walk away, to protect yourself from the possibility of getting hurt again. but another part—the part that still cared, no matter how much you tried to deny it—wanted to give him a chance.

“friends,” you said finally, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. “that’s all we are right now, franco. if you want anything more, you’ll have to prove it to me.”

his face lit up with a faint, hopeful smile, and he nodded. “i will. i promise.”

you gave him a small, tentative smile in return. it wasn’t a clean slate, but it was a start. and maybe—just maybe—you could rebuild something worth holding onto.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[lotuswish]

what loving you feels like to them [pt. 2 - savanclaw]

featured character(s): leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl.

summary: ever wondered what it feels like for each twisted wonderland boy to fall in love with you? this series uncovers their feelings, influenced by their personalities, experiences, and desires. follow me to catch the next part!

cw: none.

a/n: what loving you feels like to them might occasionally use the same words—like “grounding,” “growth,” or “freedom”—but those words mean something a little different for each of them. it might sound familiar, but it’s still their own! :)

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leona kingscolar

loving you feels like a storm to leona kingscholar—wild, consuming, and impossible to ignore. it’s not soft or gentle; it’s raw and powerful, shaking the foundation of the walls he’s spent his life building. leona has always been a man who distances himself, resigned to the shadows cast by others’ expectations and his own bitterness. yet, loving you feels like being dragged into the sunlight, where he can’t hide from how deeply and fiercely he cares.

for someone as proud and guarded as leona, love feels like vulnerability, and vulnerability feels like weakness—something he’s spent years despising. but with you, it’s different. it’s infuriating at first, how you manage to slip past his defenses, see through his sharp words and careless demeanor to the soul beneath. it frustrates him because you make him care when he’s tried so hard not to, when he’s convinced himself it’s better to want nothing than to risk losing it all. yet, at the same time, it’s impossible for him to resist you. your presence becomes the one thing he craves, a rare oasis that cuts through the arid emptiness of his cynicism, bringing a sense of life he didn’t realize he was missing.

loving you feels like a battle he didn’t ask for but can’t walk away from. it’s the quiet war between his instinct to keep you at arm’s length and the overwhelming desire to hold you close, to make you his in every sense of the word. it awakens something in him he thought long buried—a longing not just to be wanted but to be truly seen, understood, and loved for who he is, flaws and all. you don’t expect him to change or prove himself, and that unconditional acceptance both humbles and enrages him, because it feels too good to be true.

loving you also feels like a challenge, one that pushes him to be better, even when he resents the effort. you inspire him to fight—not for power or recognition, but for you, for the life he dreams of building by your side, even if he doesn’t admit it out loud. it’s a quiet kind of ambition, one he keeps close to his chest, but it drives him more than he thought possible.

for leona, loving you feels like discovering something he never believed could exist—a place where he isn’t judged for his flaws or dismissed for what he’s not, but truly valued and deeply cherished for who he is. it’s a kind of peace he’s never known, a calm he never thought he’d deserve. it’s not perfect, but it’s real, and to him, that makes it irreplaceable. he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

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ruggie bucchi

loving you feels like both a risk and a reward to ruggie bucchi, like daring to believe in something that feels almost too good to be true. for someone who’s spent his life scraping by, fighting for every scrap and opportunity, love is something he never thought he’d have time for. yet, here you are, proving that love isn’t a luxury he has to earn—it’s something you offer freely, and that alone feels like the biggest miracle to him.

to ruggie, loving you feels like warmth in a cold, unforgiving world. it’s the kind of comfort he never thought he’d get to experience, like the feeling of a hot meal after a long day or the rare quiet moments where he doesn’t have to worry about tomorrow. it’s unfamiliar and almost disorienting to feel safe with someone, to trust that you won’t turn your back on him when things get hard. at first, he finds himself holding back, keeping his guard up because he’s used to people taking advantage of him. but with you, the walls come down, bit by bit, as you show him that your love isn’t conditional.

loving you also feels like motivation, like the fire that keeps him going even when the odds are stacked against him. ruggie has always been a survivor, driven by the need to make a better life for himself, but with you in his corner, his dreams feel a little closer, a little more achievable. you believe in him, even when he struggles to believe in himself, and that belief makes him want to work even harder—not just for himself, but for you too. he wants to give you the world, even if it means pushing himself to his limits to make it happen.

at the same time, loving you feels grounding. you remind him of the things that truly matter, of the joy that can be found in the little things—shared laughter, quiet moments, and the simple fact that you’re there. with you, he doesn’t feel like he has to put on a show or prove his worth. you accept him for who he is, and that kind of unconditional love feels like the rarest treasure he’s ever come across.

for ruggie, loving you feels like a gamble that paid off in ways he never imagined. it’s not always easy—he’s used to relying on himself and struggles to fully open up—but the reward of having you in his life is worth every moment of uncertainty. you make him feel like he’s found something worth fighting for, someone worth sharing the best parts of himself with. loving you feels like coming home after years of wandering, and it’s a feeling he’ll hold onto with everything he’s got.

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jack howl

loving you feels like growth to jack howl—steady, natural, and deeply rooted, like a tree that grows stronger with time. for someone as disciplined and driven as jack, love doesn’t come easily or suddenly. it’s not a whirlwind or a grand revelation; it’s something that builds slowly, shaped by trust, respect, and countless little moments. it surprises him, how deeply it takes root in his heart, but once it’s there, it’s unwavering.

to jack, loving you feels like a quiet kind of strength. he’s always been proud of his independence, his ability to handle anything life throws his way, but with you, he learns that letting someone in doesn’t make him weaker. instead, it makes him stronger, giving him someone to lean on when he needs it, someone to protect and fight for. you don’t expect him to be perfect or unshakable all the time, and that acceptance is something he treasures more than he can say.

loving you feels grounding, like a steady presence in his life that keeps him balanced. jack values honesty and loyalty above all else, and with you, he feels secure in a way he’s never felt before. you’re not just someone he cares for; you’re his partner, his mate, someone who stands by his side no matter what. he doesn’t have to hide who he is with you—you see him, flaws and all, and you love him anyway. that kind of trust is rare, and it’s something he holds onto fiercely.

but loving you also feels like a challenge, one that pushes him to be better. jack’s always been hard on himself, striving to improve and never settling for less than his best. with you, he finds new reasons to grow, not just for his own sake but for yours too. you inspire him to step outside his comfort zone, to take risks he might otherwise avoid. whether it’s learning to be more open about his feelings or letting himself be vulnerable, you make him want to reach higher, to be someone worthy of the love you give so freely.

for jack, loving you feels natural, like something that was meant to be. it’s not flashy or dramatic—it’s steady, enduring, and unshakable, just like him. you’re his anchor, his motivation, his reason to keep moving forward. loving you feels like the pull of the earth beneath his feet—natural, stabilizing, and something he relies on without question.

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congrats, you made it to the end! if you enjoyed reading this, likes, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated! :)

[theballadofharkness]

A promise made in the dark

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Summary: When Rio comes to visit her ex Agatha she is shocked to find the witch has moved on with you… and she will not give up her witch without a fight. What she doesn’t know is that this would be a fight she’d lose.

Word count: 2.5K

A/N: I made our beloved Rio the villain in this fic I’m sorryyyyy!

Warnings: mention of Nicky and child loss

The farmers market buzzed with life. Stalls overflowed with fresh produce, jars of honey, handmade soaps, and bouquets of wildflowers. The summer sun bathed the scene in a golden glow, warming the cobblestones underfoot.

You were in your element, your sundress swaying as you flitted from stall to stall, your eyes sparkling with excitement. Every corner seemed to hold something new—a bundle of vibrant carrots, an array of fragrant herbs, or a basket of glistening strawberries.

“Oh, Agatha, look at these!” you exclaimed, holding up a small jar of blackberry preserves. “Wouldn’t this be perfect with that bread we got last week?”

Agatha stood a few steps behind you, her wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over her sharp features. Her loose plaits framed her face, giving her an almost disarmingly soft appearance that belied the ever-present air of command she exuded.

“Yes, babygirl,” she drawled, her bright blue eyes glinting as she reached into her bag and handed a crisp bill to the vendor. “Whatever you want. You know I can’t say no to that smile.”

You blushed, hugging the jar to your chest as she stepped closer, sliding an arm possessively around your waist. She pulled you against her side, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

“You’re going to spoil me,” you teased, though your grin betrayed how much you enjoyed her attention.

“Kitten,” she purred, tilting your chin up with two fingers so you met her gaze. “I’d buy out the entire market if it made you happy. Now, what’s next?”

You giggled and tugged her toward a stall piled high with fresh herbs, chattering excitedly about making pesto for dinner. Agatha watched you with an indulgent smirk, her arm never leaving your waist, her touch a constant reassurance of her presence.

But someone else was watching, too.

From the shadows of a nearby alley, Rio Vidal stood cloaked in her usual aura of quiet menace. Her piercing eyes burned with jealousy as she took in the scene—the way Agatha’s hand lingered on your waist, the way she leaned down to whisper something that made you laugh.

Rio’s jaw clenched. Fifty years, she thought bitterly. Fifty years since Agatha had walked away, claiming she was done with the chaos of their on-again, off-again relationship. And now, here she was—hers, soft and smiling, everything Rio had never been able to give her.

Agatha, ever attuned to danger, stiffened slightly. She turned her head, her eyes scanning the crowd. She caught sight of Rio, and her expression hardened, her grip on you tightening.

“Something wrong?” you asked, looking up at her with concern.

“No, darling,” she said, her voice calm but steely. She kissed the top of your head and smiled. “I’ve got you. Always.”

But as the two of you moved on, Agatha’s eyes flickered back to Rio, her smile sharpening into a warning.

This wasn’t over.

~

The cozy aroma of spices and herbs filled the air as you stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with practiced ease. Agatha leaned against the counter, watching you with an unreadable expression. She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering on your cheek.

“Be my good girl and finish up dinner, will you?” she murmured, her voice low and silky. “I’ll pop out and grab a nice bottle of red for us. I want tonight to be perfect.”

You looked up, a little startled by the sudden shift. “You don’t have to—”

She silenced you with a quick kiss, her lips lingering just enough to leave you dazed. “I insist, kitten. Besides, it’ll give you time to surprise me with something delicious.”

Your cheeks flushed at the praise, and you nodded, returning to your task. “Alright, but don’t take too long.”

Agatha chuckled, her eyes softening as she stroked your cheek one last time. “Never.”

Agatha left the house with her usual flare before making a right turn away from the store towards her true intended location. The cemetery was eerily quiet, the setting sun casting long shadows across the weathered headstones. Agatha strode between them with purpose, her wide-brimmed hat pulled low and her purple magic simmering just beneath the surface. She stopped in an open clearing, the air growing colder with each passing second.

“I know you’re here,” she called, her voice sharp and commanding. “You always did love to make an entrance.”

A figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in a long black coat that seemed to swallow the fading light. Rio Vidal. Her dark eyes sparkled with something dangerous, her smirk both charming and cruel.

“Hello, my love,” Rio purred, stepping closer. “I’ve missed you.”

Agatha didn’t flinch, her expression hardening. “Why are you here, Rio? I told you to stay away.”

Rio’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of anger. “Stay away? You don’t get to cast me aside like some forgotten trinket, Agatha. We had centuries together. There’s no way she could compare—never mind compete—with what we have.”

Agatha’s jaw tightened, her violet eyes sparking. “What we had was chaos,” she spat. “Pain. Destruction. I don’t want that anymore, Rio. What I have now is real. It’s important. And I won’t let you ruin it.”

Rio laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “Real? Important? Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Agatha. The famous witch killer, tamed by some sweet little green witch? How quaint.”

“Don’t you dare,” Agatha warned, her voice low and deadly.

But Rio stepped closer, her expression twisting into something cruel. “Oh, I’ll have to meet her. See what she’s about. After all, we’re not like the rest of humanity, are we? They’re nothing but things we play with. I’d have to see the new toy for myself.”

Agatha’s magic flared, her violet tendrils crackling in the air around her. “Stay away from her, Rio,” she growled, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. “If you so much as look in her direction-”

Rio smirked, clearly reveling in Agatha’s rage. “Relax, my love,” she said mockingly, stepping back into the shadows. “I’m just curious. But for now, I’ll leave you to your... domestic bliss.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Agatha standing alone in the clearing, her magic simmering angrily around her. After a moment, she exhaled sharply, forcing herself to calm down. She couldn’t let Rio ruin what she had with you. Turning on her heel, she headed back toward the house quickly. The house was quiet when Agatha stepped inside, but the stillness didn’t soothe her. It felt wrong, heavy, as if the air itself had shifted. Her magic stirred uneasily within her, an itch of unease crawling up her spine.

“Sweetheart?” she called out, her voice steady but clipped.

“In here,” your soft voice replied from the living room, but there was something off—something hesitant.

Agatha’s heart sank as she rounded the corner. Her eyes immediately locked on the figure lounging in her chair, a smug smirk playing on her lips. Rio.

“Hello, darling,” Rio drawled, her posture as relaxed as a cat in the sun. “You’re late.”

But it wasn’t Rio that made Agatha’s stomach twist—it was you, perched nervously on the edge of the sofa, your hands fidgeting in your lap, your wide eyes flicking between the two witches.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Agatha snarled, her voice low and venomous. She stepped forward, her magic crackling to life around her fingers “what did you do to her?”

Rio only chuckled, unfazed. “Nothing yet. Why? Do you think I should?” She leaned forward, her dark eyes glittering with amusement, as if testing just how far she could push.

Agatha didn’t hesitate. She lunged at Rio, her magic surging as she grabbed her. The purple energy flared, but Rio barely flinched,shoving Agatha back.

“Careful, love,” Rio warned, standing now. “I didn’t come here to fight. I came to... meet the new addition to your life.” She turned her gaze toward you, a predatory smile curling on her lips.

Agatha recovered instantly, scrambling to your side. She dropped to her knees in front of you, her hands cradling your face as she searched your eyes desperately.

“Are you okay, babygirl?” she asked, her voice soft but trembling with urgency. “Did she touch you? Did she hurt you?”

You shook your head quickly, your hands covering hers. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. “She just... showed up. I didn’t know what to do.”

Agatha exhaled shakily, her forehead resting against yours for a moment as her fingers tightened on your cheeks. “You’re safe. I’ve got you,” she murmured, grounding herself in your presence.

“How touching,” Rio’s voice cut through the moment, dripping with mockery. “The mighty Agatha Harkness, reduced to this. If I’d known all it took to make you weak was a soft little witch, I would’ve tried it centuries ago.”

Agatha stood slowly, placing herself between you and Rio, her eyes burning with fury. “Get. Out.”

Rio chuckled, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I just wonder if she’ll last, Agatha. You’ve never been very good at holding on to the things you love.”

Agatha’s magic sparked violently, but Rio was already strolling into the kitchen “Dinners burning”.

Agatha turned back to you, pulling you into her arms and holding you tightly, as if she’d never let go. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Aggie what’s happening?” You whimpered, wrapping your arms round her to ground yourself in the moment, breathing her in.

The room felt too small, the tension crackling in the air like an impending storm. Agatha stalked after her, face drawn with fury. Rio lounged casually against the stove, exuding the kind of smug confidence that set Agatha’s teeth on edge.

“I don’t understand how you think this—” Rio gestured toward you with a dismissive wave of her hand, “—could ever measure up to what we had, Agatha.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched, her voice cold. “What we had, Rio, was destruction. You and I were toxic, and all we did was burn everything we touched. I’m done with that.”

“Oh, don’t delude yourself.” Rio laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that sliced through the room. “We weren’t just fire; we were unstoppable. Feared. You belonged to something greater with me. And now you’re playing house with—what? A little green witch who can’t possibly understand you?”

“Don’t you dare talk about her like that,” Agatha growled, her hands balling into fists.

Rio smirked, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Why? Because she’s special? Because you think she’ll last?” She leaned forward, her tone turning mocking. “You and I were legends, Agatha. You can try to bury that, but we both know the truth: no one else could ever come close to what we had.”

Agatha stepped closer, her violet magic simmering just beneath the surface. “What we had,” she said through gritted teeth, “was a disaster,” Agatha shot back, her voice rising. “You pushed me to the brink of destruction more times than I can count. You don’t get to stand here and act like that was love.”

Rio’s eyes darkened, the playful glint in them vanishing. “Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t thrive on it,” she hissed, stepping closer. “We were equals, Agatha. Power like ours doesn’t come along often, and you know it. We were unstoppable.”

Agatha stood her ground, her jaw tight. “We were poison,” she said, her voice trembling with fury. “You fed on my darkest instincts, and I let you because I thought that was all I deserved. But not anymore.”

Rio sneered. “And now what? You’ve found redemption? In her? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Yes, I have,” Agatha snapped, her voice firm and resolute. “She makes me better, Rio. She reminds me that there’s more to life than power and pain. What I have now is real. It’s love. It’s stable. And it’s more than you or I ever thought we deserved.” She glanced at you briefly, nervously stood in the doorway in your sundress, her expression softening. “She’s more.”

Rio’s smile faltered, but she pressed on, her voice cutting like a blade. “Is that what you tell yourself? That you’re some changed woman now?” She paused, her smirk returning. “But does she even know about Nicky?”

The words hung in the air like a curse. Agatha froze, her breath catching.

“Don’t,” she warned, her voice trembling with fury.

Rio’s smirk widened, her gaze fixed on Agatha like a predator closing in. “Oh, but why not? If what you have is so real, shouldn’t she know everything about you?”

“Stop it,” Agatha snapped, her magic flaring around her in jagged violet tendrils. “You have no right—no right—to talk about my baby!”

The room shook with the force of her rage, and you stood abruptly, your heart pounding. Before the magic could spiral out of control, you ran to Agatha, wrapping your arms around her tightly.

“Agatha, stop,” you whispered, your voice calm but firm. “I’m here. I’m right here. It’s okay.”

She froze, her magic flickering like a candle in the wind as she clung to you, her breathing ragged. You gently turned her toward you, cupping her face with both hands as you met her tear-bright eyes.

You turned to Rio then, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. “Of course I know about Nicky,” you said softly, but your words carried a quiet strength that filled the room.

Rio’s smirk faltered, and she narrowed her eyes at you, studying you intently.

“I plant purple flowers for him every year,” you continued, your voice unwavering. “I say goodnight to him every night before bed. And I made a promise—a promise to him—that I would take care of his mother until the time comes for them to be together again.”

Rio’s expression cracked, her confident veneer slipping to reveal a flicker of pain. She stared at you, speechless, as if the weight of your words had knocked the air out of her.

Agatha stared at you too, her breath hitching as your words settled over her.

Rio broke the silence first, her voice quieter now, tinged with disbelief. “You... you made a promise to him?”

“I did,” you said simply, holding Agatha closer. “And I’ll keep it. Forever.”

Rio’s shoulders sagged slightly, her usual composure nowhere to be found. She looked at Agatha, then back at you, something almost like sorrow flashing across her face. Without another word, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind her.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of Agatha’s shaky exhale.

She turned to you fully, her hands trembling as they cupped your face. “How” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “How do you know, and... and love me anyway?”

You smiled softly, leaning into her touch. “I love all of you, Agatha. And I always will.”

Her lips trembled, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “You’re everything to me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’re my one and only, baby girl. Forever.”

You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as she buried her face in your shoulder. “Forever,” you echoed, stroking her hair gently.

Masterlist

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I No UD AU I SFW I Aged Up Characters I Fluff

I have no idea how many words this is, I banged it out right here in the Tumblr app. I was possessed by a demon, I think. Anyway! Behold! Baker!Eddie and Smitten!Steve for your viewing pleasure...

***

"Sir? Your drink."

Steve, startled back into the moment, blinks at the barista as she holds out his latte. He takes it from her, apologizes, and starts to walk away but...

"Sorry again, but, uh, is that Eddie Munson by any chance?"

She turns to look through the pass through window into the bakery. "Yeah. Why? You need him for something?"

"No!" He winces. "Sorry. No. I just haven't seen him in years. We went to high school together. I had no idea he worked here."

She smiles like she's placating him, 'fascinating' that smile says. "He's the owner, actually. His brownies are world famous."

"No shit? That's awesome. Good for him."

He doesn't get a response to that, so he leaves her alone to finish making other people's coffees.

What a weird coincidence, Steve moving to this neighborhood and finding...well, not an old friend exactly, but a fellow Hawkins High survivor.

***

Two days later, Steve is still thinking about Eddie. His goofy hairnet, the flour dusted up his arms, the adorable apron, decorated with skulls, of course. His smile. With the dimples and everything.

"Ugh."

He's gonna go back. Probably make a complete ass of himself.

"Ugh!"

Maybe he'll go just for another look. Eddie won't even notice he's there.

***

He doesn't get a chance to sneak in and out, Eddie himself greets Steve as soon as the bell goes off above the door.

"Steve Harrington is the mystery alumni?! Can't believe you saw my ugly mug and decided to come back. Wait..." He raises a suspicious eyebrow. "Are you stalking me?"

Steve sputters in horror, feeling caught out, but Eddie just laughs at him, throwing his head back, sending his already loose bun jiggling. Steve breaks into a nervous sweat.

"I'm just fucking with you, man. Come here, let me get a look at you."

Jesus Christ, why is this more nerve wracking than buying pot off the guy behind the school?

Because now you're aware of the reason why he flustered you in the first place, dumb ass.

He steps up to the display counter anyway, trying to be unobtrusive to the people in line. "Hey, Eddie. How are you?"

His smile could lure people into the fucking ocean. "Livin' the dream. You? What brings you to Chi Town?"

"Oh, I just moved in a couple doors down, actually. This neighborhood is great. Super friendly, great shopping, cool bakeries." He motions around them.

Eddie gives him an 'Aw shucks' wave. "You're just saying that because Lilly's salted caramel latte is to die for. You haven't even tried the other wares."

He glances down at the glass case. Normally he doesn't do sweets for breakfast but Eddie's 'wares' do look pretty good. "I hear your brownies are world famous."

His eyes light up, despite how cool about it he's trying to be. "I mean, we were featured on a British travel show... No biggie."

"That's really cool, man. Congratulations."

He casually wipes at the counter with a tea towel, the epitome of nonchalant. "Thanks. You wanna try one?"

"Sure." He glances at the selection but there are so many and they all look good. "Recommend anything in particular?"

Eddie bounces on his toes for a second before whirling around and rushing off to the back. His hair is pinned up in that bun but Steve remembers how it used to trail behind him when he moved, as though working with Looney Toons physics.

When he reappears, he's got a wax paper bundle clutched between two hands. "Voila! Salty Turtle Dog."

"Salty Turtle Dog?" Steve confirms, moving to take the thing from Eddie's presenting hands.

At the last second he pulls back. "You're not allergic to nuts, are you?"

There's a joke there but he's not ready to make it. "Not so far, no."

"Cool." He allows Steve to finally take it from him.

The unwrapped package is still steaming warm. It's been a really long time since he's had a fresh out of the oven brownie. He pinches a bite off with his fingers and pops it into his mouth.

"Oh my god," he groans, head rolled back in pleasure. It's like crispy, gooey, salty, caramel heaven. "What the fuck did you put in this?"

"Blood of a virgin. And walnuts."

"I'll take the whole pan." He shoves another bite into his mouth before he looks up to see Eddie watching him, a pleasant smile upon his face and a bit of color on his cheeks. Embarrassment rolls through him as he realizes he's been moaning like a cat in heat for the last half minute. He rushes to save some sort of face. "It's good. Really good."

"Thanks." He calls out to the new girl making coffee orders, getting Steve another latte. "The secret ingredient is actually the flakey salt on top."

He looks down and sure enough, flakey salt on top. "Neat."

"You working nearby? I'm not usually in during the lunch rush but you could always stop by. We do sandwiches for the lunch menu."

"Nah, I'm Uptown. About fifteen stops." Unfortunately, he thinks, desperately wanting another excuse to stop by. He'd already checked, they close at 3pm. He doesn't get off till 5.

Eddie nods, wiping at the counter again, though it's not dirty. "Doing what?" He looks Steve up and down, noting the button up shirt and khaki pants.

Steve cannot tell Eddie Munson he does data entry, he'll never want to talk to him again. "Uh, boring office shit. Tell me about this," he waves around the bakery, "how did you get into it? Baking."

That makes him laugh. "By accident. You remember my...side gig?"

"Of course." The first time he had to buy directly from Eddie, after he and Tommy parted ways, Steve nearly chickened out, he was so scared of Eddie.

Turns out fear wasn't exactly the thing churning in his gut.

"Well, I got curious one night, thought I might try my hand at edibles. Sounded like a safer option to be transporting around school, ya know? I started small, chocolate chip cookies, but eventually I started branching out, brownies, cake, whatever. And they were a huge hit. My friends actually loved it so much we made the classic mistake of eating too many in one sitting. I'm talkin' like a whole pan in an hour-"

Steve winces in sympathy.

"Yeah. Long story short, I met the devil that night and he pointed out to me that I could, in fact, make baked goods without the weed. Ya know, brownies for eating purposes."

Steve giggles against his will. "Helpful."

"Right? And now here I am, ten years later, averaging four hours of sleep a day, but really, truly livin' the dream."

"That's really cool." Steve has always been attracted to people who have passion. Probably because he hasn't been passionate about anything in his entire life. "You should really try to work on your sleep schedule though. I learned that the hard way during school."

"I'd love to but it's impossible. I'm too much of a night owl to sleep at night and I have to be here at 4am, so I'm usually crashing out after work and sleeping till 2 or 3pm."

"Aww, that sucks. If we lived together, we'd never go to bed at the same time."

It occurs almost immediately that that's an insane thing to say to a virtual stranger. Eddie is frozen solid behind the counter, eyes taking up forty percent of his face, silent as the grave.

Steve turns tail and marches right out of the shop.

***

He swears an oath to never return to Eddie's shop, on pain of death, but then he remembers he left half his brownie sitting on the counter and left his latte too. Without paying! The embarrassment is overshadowed by the guilt, so much so that when Saturday morning rolls around he finds himself standing outside on the sidewalk, waiting until he gets confirmation that Eddie is there to go in.

He is, passing back and forth across the kitchen window behind the counter, bobbing his head wildly to some unheard music.

Steve desperately wants to get to know this version of Eddie, so similar but so different to his high school self. Maybe he'll forgive Steve for being such a weirdo and they can be friends. Eddie doesn't seem the type to hold a social faux pas against a guy. He once made a giant dick out of paper mache in Advanced Art. They made him destroy it before Steve got a look but he heard all about it. Five feet tall, they said. Veiny, they said.

He shakes the thought away and steels his spine. Now or never.

The bell dings above his head. He waits. Nothing dire happens. Eddie doesn't leap out from the kitchen, pointing a finger and screaming 'Creep!' Not that Steve thought he would... But you never knew.

"Hello. What can I get for you?" The barista greets, pleasant but by rote.

"Umm. Salted caramel latte? Medium. And, uh, whatever brownie Eddie recommends."

She gives him a look, confused, before something clicks. "Ohhh." She then turns and shouts, "Eddie, your guy is here!"

Steve goes to correct that horrific statement but the loud clattering of a metal bowl hitting the floor cuts him off. Eddie swears, loudly, before his head pops around the pass through.

"I didn't say that," he frantically tells Steve, "she said that. Not me. Dana! Don't say shit like that."

"What? I thought you said-"

"If you finish that sentence, his order comes out of your paycheck."

She scowls. "Whatever." Her scowl doesn't lessen when she turns back to him. "Was that all?"

Steve glances up at Eddie in the window. "Brownie?" He asks, articulately.

"Get him a Valencia." He turns back to the kitchen, only to pop up again a second later, sans hairnet, and ask, "You got five minutes?"

Steve will hang out all day if Eddie asks, but he can't say that. "Sure. I'll be over there." He points towards the window seats.

"Cool. Be right back."

Steve pays and takes his latte and his not fresh out of the oven brownie and moves to the aforementioned table. It's after the morning rush so there are only a few other people scattered around. The closest person is a student doing homework, and thankfully has headphones on. He's pretty sure whatever conversation Eddie wants to have is going to be embarrassing.

His hours old Valencia brownie is still to die for, tangy this time but soft as hell. If Eddie lets him come back he's gonna get as big as a house.

He's halfway through his breakfast when Eddie flops down across from him. He's lost the apron this time too, looking sexy as hell in just a regular black t-shirt and jeans. Still every inch a rockstar even if he's not shredding a guitar. And he's got a little smudge of batter across one cheek... God...

"Hi. Thanks for sticking around."

"No problem. I'm off today."

"Right. Saturday."

"Right."

They stare at each other, painfully awkward, until they both make it worse by trying to speak at the same time.

"I'm sorry about-"

"What did you mean-"

"Oh, sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. You go."

"No, you, seriously."

Steve slaps both hands over his face and whisper shouts until he feels like he's not gonna run out the door again.

"You know what?" Eddie quips. "It's not important right now. How's the brownie?"

He's so sweet. God dammit.

"Really good. Is it orange? Is that what the crunchy bits are?"

"Yeah, candied orange. How's the latte?"

He hesitates a second too long and Eddie cracks a laugh.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You can't fire someone for being straight but I swear they can't work a milk steamer for shit. I can't prove it yet but I know it's true."

Holy shit, the implications of that... There were rumors about Eddie in school, of course, but you had to take everything said about him with a grain of salt. Just because he's implying that he's queer doesn't mean he's single or that he's open to dating Steve in particular. He decides to focus on the other implication.

"So Lilly is queer? Is she single? I've got a lesbian I desperately need to get laid."

Eddie snorts. "Oh yeah? Wait a minute. Buckley? Holy shit, you still talk to her?"

"Talk to her? I just left her on the couch eating an entire sleeve of my Oreos." He sips his mediocre latte and grunts in annoyance. "If she doesn't get over Penelope soon I'm gonna stage an intervention."

"Oh no..." Eddie makes a face.

"What?

"Penelope Williams? Works at the stationary shop on Ashford?"

What the hell? "Yeah? How did you know?"

"Lilly is on her second date with her tonight." He winces even harder, as if it's somehow all his fault.

Steve just laughs. "Why does every lesbian in a five hundred mile radius know each other?"

"Witchcraft, probably. Ouija boards?"

He pops the last of his brownie into his mouth and nods. It's as valid a reason as anything else. He decides to keep the news of Penelope moving on already to himself. Rob just stopped sobbing into his neck three days ago, and he's been waiting on her to feel better before he tells her about Eddie.

"You think if I had Rob come over and put the moves on Dana, she'd make a better latte?"

Eddie cackles. "Couldn't hurt to try."

They smile at each other. It doesn't feel weird, it feels nice, like they can do this, be friendly. Or it would've been if Eddie didn't open his mouth and blurt out, "Did you mean what you said the other day?"

Steve throws his head back and groans. When he looks back, Eddie is waiting patiently for a response. "I'm sorry, okay? Sometimes my brain to mouth filter is busted."

"No, it's cool." He waves Steve's explanation like it's nothing. "I meant, like, was that meant to sound like...what it sounded like?"

Steve cocks his head. He's not sure how else what he said could be interpreted. Like, did Eddie think he was obsessed with sharing a bedtime with Robin too?

He catches Steve's confusion, leans in and whispers, "I just didn't think that was...an option for you..."

"Ohhh," he drawls. Right. "Yeah. Uh," he looks around to make sure no one is listening in, "I'm open to all kinds of...options."

He watches as Eddie processes this, does a frankly upsetting amount of lip licking, and then looks up from between his lashes. "And the thing your brain didn't filter was me being one of those options?"

Fuck. It was embarrassing right up until this exact moment, Eddie looking at him like that. He feels his throat constrict as he tries to swallow.

"Is that okay?" He whispers.

They're leaning really fucking close together - Eddie smells like cinnamon and Camels - so whispering to stay inconspicuous is stupid at this point. Neither of them seem to care.

"Steve Harrington," Eddie draws his name out long and meaningful, as though that's answer enough. Steve supposes it is, coupled with the look he's sharing.

"Five minutes ago."

"What time do you get off?" Eddie practically twinkles at him. Steve groans. "Oh my god, what time do you get off work?"

"Oh." Steve chugs the dregs of his adequate latte. "You wanna get out of here?"

"Not to your place if Robin is still on the couch."

Steve blushes from top to bottom. God dammit, he used to be slutty, why is this so hard? "Right. Your place?"

"All clear." He flashes Steve a grin, full and tempting. Like Steve isn't a sure thing.

They scramble out of their seats and head for the door. At the last second, Steve stops.

"Wait, I almost forgot." He grabs his wallet and starts fishing out a ten. "I forgot to pay last time."

"Keep your money."

He looks up. "What?"

"I wasn't gonna charge for that stuff anyway."

"Okay... But...Why?"

He shuffles in place, all sheepish for some reason. "I kinda over-charged you for the weed. Every time you paid. For years."

Steve is so gone on him already, he just finds that charming.

***

Later that night, while Eddie is asleep, Steve slips the ten under his pillow.

It'll become a back and forth in-joke they share for years.

saw this on instagram (yes, instagram) and i can’t stop thinking about steve recognising eddie at a bakery and immediately falling in love with the guy he kinda had a thing for in high school but never allowed himself to think about too much. like, he’s always had eddie in the back of his mind since finishing school but suddenly seeing him has him all heart eyes and also kind of surprised with what eddie ended up doing with his life. idk, you can think about the statistics, i’m not a writer (please someone write something and tag me 🙏) but THIS will be in my head all day at work

[kaiyunsim]

study buddy —

pairing : student!jake x student!reader

summary : a solo study session turns into admiring from a far… and maybe more.

warnings : fluff, crack maybe, featuring riki as a partner for a project, jungwon as a roommate

a/n : FIRST FIC BACK !! also i got this idea after seeing a very pretty person across from me.

— wc : 1.7k — not proof read —

the library hums with a quiet that’s almost sacred. soft footsteps echo against the polished floors, books whisper as they’re flipped through, and the occasional muffled cough breaks the stillness. you sit at one of the wooden tables near the tall windows, sunlight streaming in and pooling on the pages of your textbook. the world outside is alive, but in here, time feels like it’s slowed, reduced to the rhythm of studying and the faint click of keyboards.

it’s during one of your periodic glances up, a fleeting escape from the density of your notes, that you notice him. he’s sitting a few tables away, angled slightly toward his friend, who you vaguely recognize as a regular in the library. they’re bent over a laptop, heads close together as they whisper and scribble in a notebook. the boy, the one with the soft, dark brown hair and a laugh that’s quieter than the rustle of paper, catches your attention.

he’s… striking, in that effortless kind of way. the kind of good-looking that makes you do a double take but also makes you feel like you shouldn’t stare for too long. his features are sharp but gentle, his smile easy but not careless. his sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms that rest against the table, and there’s a focus in his expression that makes you think he’s probably the type to finish a group project before anyone else even starts.

you shake your head, refocusing on your notes. there’s a test looming, and the last thing you need is to get distracted by someone you’ll likely never see again. but despite yourself, your eyes drift back to him every so often. it’s not intentional, it’s just… he’s there, and he’s hard not to notice.

it’s during one of these glances that he catches you. your breath hitches as his eyes meet yours, warm and curious. your immediate reaction is to look away, cheeks burning as you pretend to be engrossed in the equation you’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes. you don’t see the small smile that tugs at his lips or the way he nudges his friend, motioning subtly in your direction.

minutes pass, but your focus is shattered. the interaction plays on a loop in your head, and you silently berate yourself for being so obvious. when you finally muster the courage to peek at him again, he’s laughing at something his friend said, the sound so soft you can barely hear it. your chest tightens inexplicably.

as the hours slip by, the two of them begin to pack up. you watch out of the corner of your eye, feeling a pang of disappointment. it’s silly, really, to feel sad about someone leaving when you don’t even know their name. still, the thought of not seeing him again… of this moment fading into the anonymity of library strangers, makes your chest ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

his friend slings a bag over their shoulder, and he follows suit, standing and stretching. you force yourself to look down, pretending to read, though the words blur together. they’re walking away now, their footsteps retreating, and you tell yourself to focus, to let it go.

but then, something slides across the edge of your table. a folded piece of paper, placed there with deliberate care. your eyes snap up, and he’s there, just for a moment, meeting your gaze with a shy but unmistakable smile. “see you around,” he says softly, before turning to join his friend.

you unfold the paper with shaky hands, heart thudding in your chest. scrawled in neat handwriting is a phone number and a simple message: “if you ever want to study together.” underneath, a small doodle of a smiley face.

the rest of your study session passes in a haze. the numbers and formulas on the pages mean little compared to the number on that slip of paper. you’re torn between texting him immediately and overthinking every possible way the interaction could go. by the time you pack up and leave the library, the paper feels like it’s burning a hole in your pocket.

it takes you a day to work up the courage. sitting on your bed, the message typed out and your thumb hovering over the send button, you take a deep breath. then, before you can second-guess yourself, you hit send.

hey, it’s me. from the library. thanks for your note :)

the response is almost immediate.

hey! wasn’t sure if you’d text. glad you did.

and just like that, the conversation begins. it’s easy, surprisingly so. he introduces himself as jake, and you learn that his friend’s name is ni-ki. they’d been working on a project for their engineering class, which jake jokingly admits is mostly ni-ki’s brainchild. you tell him about your test, how you’d been in the library for hours trying to make sense of concepts that seemed to dissolve as soon as you looked away from them.

what subject? he asks.

physics, you reply, adding quickly, a stupid elective i got stuck with.

there’s a pause before his response comes through.

physics isn’t stupid! i love physics.

his enthusiasm catches you off guard. really? you type back.

yeah! it’s one of my favorite subjects. if you ever need help, i’d be happy to explain things.

you hesitate, then reply, actually, that would be amazing. i feel like i’m drowning in concepts that make no sense.

then let’s meet up! he suggests. i promise it’ll feel less overwhelming when you’re not going through it alone.

you hesitate for a moment before replying.

i’d like that.

true to his word, jake invites you to study a few days later. you meet at a different table in the library, this one tucked away in a quieter corner. he’s already there when you arrive, a coffee cup in hand and a soft smile on his face. “hey,” he says, standing as if to greet you properly. “glad you made it.”

“thanks for inviting me,” you say, setting your bag down. “and for being willing to help me with physics. honestly, it’s been such a headache.”

he laughs, shaking his head. “it’s not as bad as it seems, i promise. once you get the hang of it, it’s actually kind of fun.”

the study session turns into two, then three, and soon it becomes a regular occurrence. you start to notice little things about jake—the way he taps his pencil against his notebook when he’s thinking, how his eyes light up when he talks about something he’s passionate about, the way his laughter feels like a warm hug on a cold day. he’s patient, explaining things as many times as you need without a hint of frustration. sometimes, ni-ki joins in, teasing jake about how much effort he’s putting into helping you, but it’s all in good fun.

one evening, jake suggests meeting at his dorm instead of the library. “it’ll be quieter,” he promises, “and we’ll have more space to spread out.”

you find yourself seated on the floor of his shared dorm room, textbooks and notebooks scattered around you. the space is cozy, with a lived-in feel that somehow puts you at ease. jake’s desk is neatly organized, and there’s a faint scent of coffee lingering in the air.

“let me know if jungwon comes in and bothers you,” jake jokes as he sits cross-legged beside you. “he’s harmless but likes to make fun of me.”

“i think i can handle it,” you reply, smiling.

the study session starts like any other, with jake patiently walking you through concepts you’d struggled with. his explanations are clear and enthusiastic, and for the first time, you start to feel like physics might not be entirely impossible.

but as the evening wears on, the weight of the day catches up to you. your eyelids grow heavy, and your notes start to blur together. jake notices almost immediately.

“you okay?” he asks, tilting his head to study you. “you look tired.”

“i’m fine,” you say quickly, though your voice lacks conviction. “just a little sleepy.”

“we can take a break, you know,” he offers gently. “you don’t have to push yourself so hard.”

“i’m good,” you insist, though your head starts to nod even as he continues explaining the next problem.

he’s mid-sentence when it happens. your chin dips to your chest, and before you can catch yourself, you’ve drifted off completely. jake pauses, blinking in surprise before a soft smile spreads across his face.

carefully, he shifts to grab a spare blanket from his bed, draping it over your shoulders. he adjusts the notebook that’s still clutched in your hand, setting it aside so you’re more comfortable. for a moment, he just watches you, his expression fond.

“you’re hopeless,” he murmurs with a chuckle, though there’s no malice in his tone.

it’s then that the door opens, and jungwon steps inside. he stops short at the sight of you sleeping, wrapped in the blanket, with jake sitting nearby like a watchful guardian.

“oh,” jungwon says, his lips curling into a teasing grin. “well, isn’t this cute.”

jake flushes, shooting him a look. “shut up.”

jungwon doesn’t seem fazed. “no, seriously. you two look good together.” he gestures vaguely at the scene before heading toward his side of the room. “just saying.”

jake shakes his head, his cheeks warm, but he doesn’t deny it. instead, he glances back at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “maybe,” he mutters under his breath, so quiet that no one but himself can hear.

when you wake up a little while later, disoriented and sheepish, jake greets you with a reassuring smile. “feel better?” he asks, his tone light.

“yeah,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “sorry about that. i didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“don’t worry about it,” he says, waving it off. “you probably needed the rest.”

jungwon snickers from across the room, but jake ignores him. as you gather your things to leave, jake walks you to the door, his usual smile in place. “same time tomorrow?” he asks, and you nod, grateful for his patience… and maybe something more.

as you walk down the hallway, you can’t help but smile to yourself, the warmth of the evening lingering like a gentle glow. maybe physics wasn’t so bad after all.

[ma1dita]

not your goddess

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words: 8k holy shit this is the longest fic for this series so far summary: (established relationship (uhhhh, well…)) The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. Change in perspective is always good, but it makes you and Luke see your futures quite differently—you wonder if you’ll be together in it at all. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: mmmyeah this is a songfic - goddess by laufey. references to waiting for godot by samuel beckett if you squint

—

[ it always goes like this, could've predicted it || i'm so naïve to think you loved me for me, kissed as I ran off stage || you're too old to play this game, guess you're still growing up at thirty nineteen]

Once you open yourself up to someone and bare your soul to them in honesty, they get a choice whether they want to be with you or not. It’s as simple and as convoluted as that. Normal humans are complex as it is—but to be a demigod must mean to endure all of that and then some. Luke has been especially hard to reach lately, and trying to understand him feels like grappling wisps of smoke. You let him build his whole life around you without either of you realizing and suddenly the walls feel like they’re closing in. Though maybe he always knew that—Luke Castellan is always intentional, and always full of surprises. 

“We should run away from here.”

His voice breaks through the crunching of dead leaves underfoot on your trek to the stables. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking, even harder to decipher when your eyes meet in the dim light hanging above the Dutch doors that you walk through. 

The two of you move as if partners in an orchestrated dance, the steps routine and not needing instruction; you fill up the water troughs and he steps around you to grab the bag of feed while his other hand grazes your waist, beckoning you to the next task. Most days are like this now, plotted out perfectly from sunrise to sunset. 

To be content means that most of it is predictable, and some might call it boring, but it comes with the inner satisfaction that what the both of you share is only yours. 

It’s peaceful.

Neither of you has ever really had that—and in your own way, both of you want to hold onto it for as long as you have it. Like how comets are always predictable; the knowing doesn’t make them any less beautiful.

“Let’s go now then,” you chuckle lightly, not looking at him as you shut off the hose. Bowie, your pegasus, brays in thanks as he dunks his muzzle into the trough, splashing water at your ankles. The water is frigid, a chill crawling up your spine and when you look up, Luke’s already staring at you solemnly, almost blending in with the shadows that drape over the barn. He stands there leaning against the wooden fence with his sharp, stone-faced features carved out by moonlight.

“Baby?” 

Eyebrows furrowing, you take a step towards him and he’s eerily still, holding a hand out for you. His fingers don’t shake once you intertwine them with your own and he’s so sure of himself that his resolve is like a suit of armor. What a funny thought—him needing protection from you of all people, the girl he lays bare with most nights and who knows him at his most vulnerable. 

“What do you think? Do I look like I’m joking?”

Luke’s words creak like metal hinges—coming off abrasive at the sight of your resistant expression. Truthfully, he hates it when you look at him like this—like there’s something wrong about him that you’re convinced you can fix. You don’t do it on purpose, but he’d like to think that you don’t think of him as one of your little DIY projects. This is different, calculated—his plans for the both of you will map out the rest of your future.

“Are…are you planning to leave?”

Though you hate to make the comparison, he’s a lot like his father: a one-track mind with only him knowing what’s coming next. Luke just expects everyone else to keep up, and you’re left feeling like someone’s pulled the rug out from under you as he holds onto your wrists firmly in the dim light. He’s nervous, even if he doesn’t show it. You can still tell by the way his voice cracks, a melancholy sound like he’s pleading for you to understand a hidden meaning you must’ve missed in the past few months of bliss.

 “We are,” he corrects, before his voice begins to falter, “I mean we can. We…we should,” he says tentatively, and your arms jerk forward with the motion as you stumble into his grasp, “Think of it, babe. We could get out of here and do something great. Make a life for ourselves.”

You squint.

He’s not even asking, and that makes it worse, you think—it’s like he’s already got one foot out the door. You’re not sure if he even considered you possibly saying no.

Are you?

Entertaining frivolous conversations that your boyfriend has with you before bed is one thing—but acting on them? The truth is that you’ve never afforded yourself a future outside of the reality that you have now. You never thought you’d have this after everything—running across the country to find your father and make this family in nowhere New York. It wasn’t a possibility that your 14-year-old self would’ve ever dreamed of. 

But then it happened, and you count your lucky stars that it led you to Luke. This is your home; you built it from the ground up with him the day you both stepped into your roles and washed your hands of stupid pranks. And maybe what you’ve always dreamt of is something you already have now.

Is that a crime? To like your reality better because it’s tangible—not everyone needs to be the main character in a sweeping saga. You do have a life, and you’d like to say it’s pretty alright, all things considered.

“Luke,” you swallow, face scrunching up in the way it does when he knows you’re about to say no, “I mean what about our responsibilities? What about…”

It was cute back when you were fourteen, but he now finds that he hates the way your nose scrunches up when you disagree with something, and it always makes him feel stupid for even asking in the first place. Luke steps away, dropping your hands as he sighs gruffly, “That’s a shit excuse, you know that, babe.” Dust kicks up from under his feet and you think he looks like a child about to throw a tantrum. The pegasi whinny softly behind you, and if they could talk it would probably be something like, Oh shit. Like a flip of a switch, he’s erratic, something pent up inside of him is now uncontrolled.

“I mean what do you want me to say, Luke? You want us to leave? Just disappear and leave Annie and Grover… and my brothers? What then? We don’t have money or degrees, or anywhere to go to—”

“We could make do—I mean we’ve both done it before Trouble, and now we can be together without all this. We don’t need camp. Or the gods’ blessings, I mean what did they ever do for us?” 

He’s tired, you think—because the Luke standing in front of you right now isn’t anything like the one you know. Your Luke loves your campers as much as you do; he’s the type that gives piggyback rides and teaches the little ones how to swim in Canoe Lake. He prays at every mealtime—twice as long because you don’t see the point in it, and likes to fall asleep against your chest in the twinkly lights of cabin 12.

The Luke you know would never want to run away from the home you’ve both created for yourselves. Not without a proper plan. Luke always says that he loves making plans just as much as he loves you, which must mean a lot.

You already have what you want, for now. That’s the contingency of it—for now. You just don’t see it getting better than this; finding camp meant finding yourself, and that’s what your mother always wanted for you. Having a real shot of being a family, even if your dad drives you nuts, and the twins like to fill the bathtub with root beer, and Annie constantly demanding she prove that she knows the first 500 digits of pi comes with the path you chose. 

Family—it’s what you were promised.

“We’re not ready, Luke. I mean… the real world out there is a lot worse than getting a C in archery or avoiding bathroom duty. We’ve still got some growing up to do—what’s the rush?”

He’s testy now—jaw swinging the crick in his neck and he does this when he’s about to say something mean, like the words have to fight their way out of his mouth, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Luke watches you look cluelessly at him like nothing he’s saying is making sense and it’s so frustrating that it makes his head hurt. What happened to you—his free-spirited girl who would follow wherever he leads? You don’t know how crucial this all is—Luke needs to know…

He needs to know if you’ll still follow him wherever he goes, even if it’s away from everything you have here.

But maybe you both imagined growing old together quite differently then.

“You’re making it sound like I’m in over my head about this when I know you don’t like it here. Listen to what I’m trying to tell you,” he bristles, hand leaning over the wooden beam above your head, “This place is getting old. We’re getting old. I want everything with you. Can’t you see that?” It feels like he’s caging you in, and he makes it sound so simple that it makes you laugh.

“Of course I do. All I’m saying is we should think this through more. I mean…We’re demigods. I’m not saying we can’t handle it and I’m not saying no, but—”, you barely finish the sentence before Luke interrupts you again. 

The difficulty with Luke is that when he wants something, he wants it with his entire being. And he never goes down without a fight—even when its with you.

“But you’re not saying yes. Then what are you saying? That you wouldn’t be happy with me?”

Rolling your eyes, you swing yourself out from under his arm and start taking off your apron because clearly, work is not on the agenda tonight. You fling it onto the hook before spinning around to look at him.

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I am happy with you. Here. Where it’s safe. Where we have beds to sleep in and food to eat and the only real reason I have to look over my shoulder is to see if my dad’s bribing your siblings to sneak him alcohol,” you say half-jokingly, and it so badly misses the mark as you see his brows furrow deeper into his forehead. 

“Give me a break,” he seethes, your name rolling out of his lips like acid and he has more to say but doesn’t know if he should. But he’s already started something and you’re just waiting for him to finish it. He has a habit of doing this, rolling the words around in his mouth for dramatic effect. 

This is gonna hurt.

“Oh just spit it out, Luke. Don’t whine like a baby.”

“Your dad? He’s a fucking joke. Can’t stand him half the time and I don’t know how you do,” he starts, pacing around you like a boxer in a ring. You stand still as a statue, eyes lit and tracking him in the dark as he continues, “You know I’m right. He’s just keeping you busy because now that he has you, he wants to control you. And you don’t even get a pat on the back.”

“You do not wanna go there, I can promise you that.”

“Well, I am. Because I’m tired of watching you waste your potential. You used to be so…exciting,” His arms swing around him like feathered wings and Luke shakes his head, turning away from you to look at the moon, “I need you to care about our future too, okay? Cut the shit and be a real fucking person for once and not whatever this little puppet show you put on for your dad is because it drives me crazy sometimes. All the time. I’m losing it, Trouble. Can’t you tell?”

It feels like a blow to the chest and you take a deep breath to placate your feelings in case they’re tampering with his—and you find that the anger is all his own. Your words shoot out like a lit cannon in rebuttal, “This drives you crazy? I didn’t know it was so hard on you, Luke. Poor you, picking up after me when you literally offer to help,” you scoff, stomping over to get him to look at you since he’s so intent on having this conversation, “Do you think you get granted immortality for checking off campers on your attendance log?” He can’t have thought it would be that easy, can’t have imagined you wouldn’t get defensive when things don’t go your way. Because it’s been like that for a while now, and Luke’s been falling off pace with life here. He’s not the all-star golden boy he used to be. Deep down, you know that too; he only likes it here because you do. They say with anything the first year is the hardest—and although he wouldn’t change a thing with your relationship, this took work. Loving you was supposed to be his reward, and it’s as if he doesn’t know you anymore. 

He’s not sure he knows himself that well anymore either.

“Of course not! That’s exactly what I’m saying—all of this won’t help us, so why are we exhausting ourselves instead of focusing on what’s important?” He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the curls to anchor himself to this argument. And now you just want to strike back, to be damned with the consequences. Real love is a mirror, and although it's your first big fight…sometimes it hurts to be seen better than how you see yourself, and it hurts less to inflict it upon someone else instead of admitting that it hurts you.

“Oh so I’m exhausting to be with, is that it?”

He rips his apron off and tosses it at you, “Yes. Is that what you want me to say? You want a bad guy, you’ll get one. I don’t know what to—” His anger has always brewed like a storm—quiet and rumbling under the surface until he’s ready to strike. It comes down all at once and you’re covered in it with no way out but through. You bat the fabric to the ground angrily.

“You wanna repeat that?”

He laughs, a mocking, snarling sound, “You know what, it makes sense now—you’re just like your father. It all tracks!”

Your jaw tightens, pushing through by giving him another chance, testing him. Daring him.

“You wanna say that again?”

The wind picks up at his feet as he spins around you so fast it almost gives you whiplash, “Don’t give me that bullshit.” He’s tired and angry, but you’ve never seen this other side of him before—this ferocity that was unleashed at the idea of you wanting something he might not. Maybe you both are too similar then, too stubborn to give in until someone breaks.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Castellan. I’m warning you. Just because your dad hates you doesn’t mean that mine does.”

He laughs. 

Luke laughs like you’ve just told him you’ve put Chiron in another dress and that pigs can fly but then he looks at you… He looks at you with his chestnut brown eyes and they’re just empty, boring deep into your soul.

“What happened to you?”

It’s a weird feeling, to know someone so well that you can see the other side of them they can’t see for themselves. You haven’t got a single clue.

“I grew up. You were there, Luke. You helped me do it. I wanted to be just like you—the role model, the one that people like, and what, now that I'm not just some crazy idea in your head you’re bored?” 

Your voice cracks and so does a piece of Luke’s heart. You’re too tenderhearted, too good for him, and everything about you sends shockwaves through his being. This is what he told Kronos—even if you had it in you to force the gods to kneel and listen, would you be able to make the jump? Luke blinks, tuning back into your words.

“I mean you’re not even asking. It seems like you’ve made your decision for us. What does that mean to you? Us?”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, clearing his throat. His apology feels heavier than it should, and you can’t figure out why. He won’t let you find out if he even means it. 

“No, you’re not. You don’t even know what you’re sorry for, and now as soon as we’re happy, you get bored. You wanna talk about fathers, you’re just like yours too. Happy?” 

The words come out almost explosive, a shot in the dark and you didn’t think you’d say it, but you did. Thoughtless, without care, until it sinks into him like a sharp blade. Luke’s face hardens and you’re not sure how long he’s been standing so far away.

“Are we?”

It’s almost lights out and you’re still here arguing with Luke, so today was not as predictable as you thought it would be. Unease grips you by the scrap of your neck like a merciless kitten, holding on for dear life. This isn’t a feeling you should associate with the love of your life.

“What did you say?”

“Like you said, we’re demigods,” he says whispering your name, “what do we do now that we’re happy? That usually means something worse is coming up ahead.” Luke scoffs, half in disbelief at his own realization, the other half in defeat, “We’re meant for more than just being happy—that…this isn’t enough. We’re meant for glory, not shoveling pegasi shit and taking care of children instead of planning for a future with our own. This shouldn’t be the end of us.”

Your lip quivers, tongue in cheek and you need to touch something, hold someone, to remind yourself that this is happening. But you don’t reach out to him because if you get too close he’ll see the tears in your eyes. Grabbing the dandy brush, you trudge over to Bowie and rake it through his hair, mumbling, “I’m happy. I’ve got you,” you swallow, turning to Luke, “I love you.”

He’s already in the doorway, swinging the bottom panel closed with his hip as he looks over his shoulder, frowning.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

Bowie brays next to you and it sounds like someone blowing a raspberry when they’re tired of a situation—maybe you are going crazy and they do understand—but one thing you do know is that you can’t understand Luke right now. 

The truth is that love is a bunch of horseshit, really.

[ oh, were you surprised by me when you took me home? || When the glamour wore off, reduced to skin and bone || i can't even tell who you want to know || i'm a goddess on stage, human when we're alone]

Your knees hit the dirt again, falling forward onto your hands as you dry heave. In the blink of an eye, you feel Maimer resting against the apex of your neck.

“Yield.”

Clarisse La Rue has barely broken a sweat during this spar, and yet here you are at her feet feeling like today’s breakfast will make a reappearance on the arena floor. The younger girl rolls her eyes as she pulls you up by the leather strap of your chest plate, sighing at the unnatural pallor of your skin as she flops onto a bench with your dead weight following suit as your knees buckle.

“You know, I knew you said you were bad at this, but are you even trying?” she scoffs, throwing a water bottle at you that you fumble in your hands. Winning never feels as good when the other person isn’t putting up a fight. You gulp down the icy refreshment, shutting your eyes for a moment to escape the blinding sun as you mutter, “Never been a fighter unless necessary, Risse. That’s all you.”

“Alright, enough of this.”

Your eyes wrench open as you lean back on your forearms to look at the daughter of Ares. At thirteen, she’s a force of nature on her own and unlike anyone else at camp, Clarisse would never mince her words for the sake of others’ feelings. You needed someone to tell it to you straight.

“You know everyone can tell when you and Luke fight, right? I mean it rarely happens but when it does it always feels like the world is out of balance until you both fix it.”

You groan, throwing your arm over your face and unintentionally hiding from her. That couldn’t be true—the world does not revolve around whether or not a daughter of Dionysus and a son of Hermes had their shit together.

But Camp Half-Blood does.

“You’re lying, La Rue. It’s really not that deep.”

And then she looks at you like you’re stupid, which might be her customary expression for anyone else but to you—well, she at least respects you. For now, unless you keep whining like a badly written love interest.

“Gods, woman. You were so much cooler back then, what the hell happened to you?”

“Clarisse, it isn’t that easy—-” you grumble, putting your face in your hands as you stare at the dirt. Of course, you know that everyone knows, secrets run through Camp Half-Blood like running water. It slips through your fingers easily, soaking through the ground until everyone’s stuck in the mud. Your boots sink slightly into the softening earth and Clarisse realizes you’re crying before you do. 

Why the fuck are you crying? 

It was a stupid argument and it probably doesn’t mean anything but for once, you don’t know what to do. It feels stupid that your body decided to cry before your brain could come to the conclusion. This all feels so stupid.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry, weirdo,” she mumbles, unsure of what to do with a crying head counselor. Her calloused hands rub small circles into your back, and she can’t help but think you need more girlfriends your age. Scooting closer to you, she says, “What I meant was that you were way cooler when you didn’t give a shit about what people think about you, much less Luke Castellan. You’re starting to sound like you’re from 10, and I swear Sil is the only tolerable person from that cabin. Stop crying, please…”

You sniff, “Ugh… This is so dumb. Just lost myself for a second.” The statement rings true, and it bothers you more than you thought it would. There is so much more to you than playing the part of the agreeable girlfriend, the caretaker, the perfect daughter, that if you stared at yourself in the mirror you might not recognize who’s staring back. So many parts to play, and so little of you left.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is,” Clarisse sighs, “and I’m no good at this feelings shit, but I think you need to remember that you’re allowed to be someone without him…without all of this. And you owe it to yourself to find out who that is.” You look up at her with watery eyes, tucking hair behind your ear as if it’ll help you absorb her words better. 

You can’t believe you’re getting sound advice from a thirteen-year-old, much less a child of Ares on matters of love. 

“It’s nice to be needed,” you mumble, “my greatest honor, I think. But it might also be my downfall.” 

Clarisse smiles crookedly like she’s watching you through a fresh set of eyes. There’ll be no words of this conversation once you leave the arena—the both of you have a friendship unlike most girls here at camp. Never touchy-feely, typical girl talk, but always what you need to hear. 

“How terrifyingly human of you. Yuck.”

“I can’t go on like this,” you groan, slumping further into your folded-over position and she sighs, going to take a sip from her water bottle before squeezing your shoulder.

“That’s what you think.”

[ you took a star to bed, woke up with me instеad || you must have felt so damn decеived when you made up a version of me that you thought you loved || but I am not your Aphrodite ]

When you were fifteen years old and he was just a month shy of it, you had somehow convinced Luke Castellan to run away from camp with you. 

This was back then. Just for a day—just for the tiniest taste of freedom. 

Luke had been at camp for almost a year, and Rye Playland sounded so much cooler than food service with the nymphs—which is one of the few things he would agree with you on. The both of you had kitchen duty for two weeks after getting caught attacking each other during Capture the Flag despite being on the same team, and it ended up with you ripping the fabric off the stick and chucking it into the middle of Canoe Lake. He’s lucky you didn’t lunge for his head, but the game was forfeit, and cabin 6 didn’t talk to you two for weeks because you threw the game. Including Annie, which was a surprising feat in itself.

After that day, you swore to never do anything Luke made himself in charge of and Chiron swore you two would never be on the same team again. You could remember D’s voice that day and how it boomed through the Big House, reminiscent of his father—a crackle of fury and impalpable seriousness that had Luke shaking slack-jawed in the chairs facing the mahogany desk. He’d never been told off by a parent before, much less an Olympian.

Taking it in stride even as the god threatened to turn you both into dolphins, you mimed the conversation when your father’s back turned, copying the odd quirk in D’s brow and conjuring a mouthful of grapes for teeth. You grinned at the son of Hermes like an idiot, a singular ripe sphere shooting out to make an audible thwack against D’s red Hawaiian shirt that made Luke laugh the loudest, ugliest guffaw you’ve ever heard him let out. He choked on his spit when the god jerked his head back to face the both of you like a comic-book villain.

Honestly, he might’ve peed himself a little. Just a tiny bit.

And the god of insanity himself was at his wits’ end—which is rare for him, very few things can get him to that point. Even less so with people. Pathetic, puny, little people he can drive to madness and violent death. 

But not his baby girl—you know every last nerve to step on, a lot like your mother sure, but still all him in every way it mattered. He loved it, even when he was mad at you like this. He just wasn’t good at showing it, and you knew that to some extent. Plus, you can’t take a man in a Hawaiian shirt seriously, much less a god.

So you and your self-proclaimed archnemesis (frenemy, Luke insists) find yourselves running down Farm Road before first light, leaving nothing but a trail of dust behind you as you rush to catch the LIRR at a stop two towns over.

It was a small amusement park filled with different money-grabbing oddities, tooth-rotting confections, and rickety, squeaking rides that the conductors could fold into suitcases at the end of the day.

Sketchy, but so much fun. You made Luke go on all the kiddie rides with you and screamed your head off like a lunatic; he apologized to the parents of a toddler and said you had too much sugar—but that was a lie, this was all you in your natural state. Berry chapstick, wind-tousled hair, and a smile brighter than a spotlight. And your laughter, oh, your laughter shook the walls of the funhouse even after you crashed into the fifth mirror being too busy poking fun at the wonder in Luke’s eyes because it was the first time he’s genuinely done something for fun and not out of necessity. It was nice, and so were you, for once.

It was the first time you’d let your guard down for him, he thinks back—watching you toss a ball so badly off target from milk bottles set across the booth. You twisted in his grasp (he doesn’t remember getting so close, Luke still swears he was trying to help you aim) pouting at him with those pretty plum eyes and he sighed so deeply you smelled the cotton candy on his breath. For a moment you wondered if he tasted like it too—and then the worker asked if you’ll be trying again and you went, “Hmm? Maybe he’d be better at it!”

Luke rigged the shot with the snap of his finger, all the milk bottles falling to the ground with a crash and he swore on his life he’d sell out every single one of these stupid games if it gets you to bite your lip at him like that again.

There isn’t a single hint of regret that passed that entire day—you were already in trouble, so you both figured that you might as well enjoy it. By late afternoon, your legs felt like jelly and it felt less like you dragging him around the fairgrounds and more like holding onto him for support (because there’d be no other reason you’d want to hold his hand, your stomach just felt funny…that’s all!) Luke was wolfing down a funnel cake, the powdered sugar dust getting all over his shirt and he looked up to see you staring at him with a shit-eating grin.

Hand pointed in the air, Luke simply shakes his head.

“Fuck no.”

But you always had a way of convincing him to do things (Luke is a sucker susceptible to double dog dares) and the both of you are surprised he let you because sooner rather than later, you’re sat knee to knee in a tiny, screeching Ferris wheel cart that inched 100 feet into the sky. The white paint was peeling at his fingertips and the air was warm—Luke tried to focus on that instead of the fact that he was in a metal death chamber in the sky.

“Never imagined a son of Hermes would be scared of heights,” you grinned, nudging him with your foot. You’ve folded into yourself, hugging your knees as you looked at him and he thought that he might be having a heart attack at the ripe age of fourteen and three-quarters. But the pink and purple rays of the waning sun framed you so nicely that he wished he brought a camera—he had the silly photobooth strips from earlier tucked into his pocket, but you looking like that; Luke had etched it into his memory for safekeeping. Not only was he able to breathe a bit easier, but if there was a memory he could materialize from today—it’d be you grinning maniacally through the bars of the cart, pointing at the city in the distance. 

“We’ve finally found something you’re not good at, golden boy,” you grinned, tilting your head to the side and inspecting him like he was a sad hamster in a glass ball.

“M’not scared of heights, I'm just scared of falling,” he reasoned, looking at the rusted floor. You were making your boots dance along to the beat of the fair music, tapping along to the cyclical rhythm. He was more scared of the lack of control he had at this moment—any of the other crazy rides, Luke had stood at the tiny gate next to the conductor holding the plush avocado he won for you, watching and hearing you scream for joy as the machines flung you into the air. The ones he did go on were relatively tamer, and by the third kiddie coaster, he realized that you probably whooped for joy just to make him feel better.

You kissed him on the cheek that day, so close to his mouth (but not close enough) when the Ferris wheel ultimately screeched to a stop. A necessary distraction, you said—but you weren’t sure for who. He tasted sugar-sweet and smelled like the late summer sun. You had never kissed a boy before, unsure if you’d even know how, or if Luke would even want to if you did.

The thought passed when you realized his fingers were clenched and white-tipped onto the guardrails and you…you’re terrible, so you started rocking back and forth, giggling until he yelled at you to stop, pulling you into his lap. 

The conductor thought you two were doing something way less innocent, and you both got kicked out of Rye Playland afterward—but you got your money’s worth.

Well, you both snuck in and Luke definitely pickpocketed someone’s mom.

All in all, it was a great day.

You fell asleep on his shoulder on the way back home, the Long Island Railroad car chilly with the AC. Watching you drool, he thought he might even like traveling again if it’s for fun like this, might even hate his dad less too. Luke threw his whole dinner into the hearth that night with a bright smile on his face even after Mr. D yelled at the both of you in front of everyone at the dining pavilion. After all, the only factor in his life that’s changed in the past year, an addition, if you must— was you.

[ you took me for a fool, you stole my youth, you wanted this so much || you watched me rise then killed my light || and now you know I'm not your fucking goddess ||  oh, i'm no goddess when i'm alone ]

Work is work.

That’s what you’ve both been telling yourselves throughout an already rough week gone even worse, but trying to avoid your significant other is an especially difficult task when you work together. 

It’s the simple truth—you can’t ignore someone you have to talk to primarily because of these two factors: 1. Capture the Flag teams need to be sorted by Thursday mornings to be ready to play on Friday afternoons, and 2. it is weird for campers to see you two not interacting with each other.

Well, it’s Friday now, and you and Luke haven’t talked since that argument in the barn. 

Kind of, but the times you have didn’t count—the past few days have been both of you talking around other people; not directly to each other. Last night at dinner, Chris stared at you like one does when their parents are thinking of getting a divorce, eyes flickering between you two and his cheeseburger. Luke was sitting next to you on the bench blankly picking the tomatoes off his sandwich and you were staring glumly at your slice of pizza.

“Is there something going on between you two?”

He was one of the few brave enough to be blunt about it. You and Luke were all-consuming, like a black hole. It’s hard for others not to notice the gravitational pull, but when it’s bad…. everyone and everything gets sucked in, whether they like it or not. 

“Lee was excited to hear that your cabin is teaming up with them tomorrow. It’ll be quite interesting, all of you with 7 and 9,” you said, wiping grease off the slice with a napkin. Luke’s head jerked in your direction at your words, “Dude what—Chris! I thought I signed off on working with 6? We don’t work with Apollo for a reason,” he hissed, leaning over the table towards his brother. Chris scratched the back of his neck, knowing Luke was right. Cabin 7 isn’t that good in all matters that involve stealth—the last time they worked with them, Austin was scatting under his breath and it got them ambushed by the red team. Opening his mouth to speak, you quickly interjected, “Well it’s about time to change it up—keeps things exciting, don’t you think, Chris?”

Luke sighed, redirecting his brother’s focus to him, “What do you think, man? I just think when it comes to battle strategies we should stick to what works.” Chris swallowed, raising his hand in the air; he was grappling at the edge of a cliff just trying to hold on to either of you—he looked around to see if there was a way out of this. Next to him, Ethan averted his eyes and played with his carrot sticks.

“Funny how that works for battle strategies and not other things,” you hummed around a mouthful of pizza, “Don’t you think, Chris? I just think that you never want to be predictable in these things. It makes everything boring. Or so I’ve heard,” you munched thoughtfully, daring the son of Hermes to break eye contact with you as Luke scoffed, tossing his napkin onto his plate before standing up. He walked off without a second glance, throwing everything into the hearth—plastic tray included, and stormed off toward the cabins. The rest of the table minded their business, shoveling food into their mouths. Chris choked on a french fry.

And you smirked, satisfied at the small win. 

But now, almost a day later tramping through the sodden dirt of the North Woods in heavy body armor, you remind yourself that it is so very hard to prove a point to Luke Castellan. He finds you halfway through the game as you hold onto the red flag post, standing tall at the vantage point and looking like a stone grotesque protecting the area you’re surveying. By the time you notice, a blur of cobalt whizzes towards you—knocking out the three Ares kids standing guard around the perimeter. You gasp, raising a hand sending vines hurtling toward the air until you see him hanging upside down by the ankles, wrapped in green leaves and purple bunches of grapes. Luke’s headwear falls to the earth with a clang.

“I’m not here for the flag!”

You rush over, dropping the pole and sighing, “Luke…you scared me! I thought you were with Beck today.” The blood rushes to his head as he looks at you all out of focus. Seeing you the other way around gives him a new perspective on things—the epiphany almost makes him ache, but that might also be the pressure pooling in his forehead. You brush your thumb against his cheek before letting him down slowly, and all he does is look at you.

“We need to talk.”

“Like, actually this time?” you mumble, hugging yourself as you watch the vines unravel from his limbs and sink back into the ground. You’ve always been a good actress and Luke was the best liar around—this shared penchant for fabricating the truth used to make you one and the same.

It is more obvious now that actors and liars are wholly different; actors live in an imaginary world given to them, while liars strive to create it for themselves. There’s that saying—don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Luke finds that he’s starting to hate all of it.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “we can’t keep ignoring this, Trouble.” It takes a special kind of sadness to feel lonely even when you’re with someone. You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your spirit sink into the ground below you, almost resigning yourself to what will happen next. All the petty backtalk, the times you’ve crawled into bed with him already pretending to be asleep— it all comes down to this. There’s this French word that Annie had taught you a few days ago when you spent extra time snuggled up in her bunk, partially to catch up with your favorite girl and partially… to waste more time before going home to him. 

Énouement—-The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future and seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

“Luke…” you start, watching him sheath Backbiter with a casual flick of his hand, “Would you go back if you could? Before…” Barely able to string your words together, he notices your lip quivering, “Did you like me more back then?”

“Baby…” he sighs, going to wrap his arms around you and you hold onto him in return at arm's length.

“I’m really trying…” you choke out, pressing your lips to hold in the onslaught of things you want to say. To understand? To apologize? The words die out on your tongue.

“I know. You’re always trying, Trouble. That might just be the saddest part.��

Wind whirls through your hair, pushing you against him for shelter as you gather your thoughts. In the silence of the woods, you wonder how many moments you’ve spent drawn to him like this for comfort. Luke’s always there for you, whether you like it or not. For better or worse—you wonder if there won’t be a lot of chances to hold and be held, and you can’t seem to let go.

“I didn’t change, okay? I’m still me. People don’t change, just like the gods don’t. I just don’t see us away from this,” you swallow, tracing a finger over his bicep to distract your burning eyes, “we can’t escape who we are Luke. Me and you. Isn’t that enough for now?”

He lets out a sigh and you know his answer; his shoulders sink low enough that your hold on him loosens ever so slightly. At this rate, you think it’d be easier if he’d just pull the trigger—maybe it would hurt less than this.

“I’ll change the gods’ minds and make them agree. They’ll know us, babe. The glory—”

Everything around you blurs as you hone in on your anger. This whole forest could go up in flames and you wouldn’t give a damn,”Oh FUCK glory! Just love me and that’s enough! Why can’t that be enough? Why can’t you stop running from me for once, Luke!” Your plea comes out like a wail and you push him away, feeling disgusted by what’s come of this conversation. You were never a beggar—the only thing left to do was kneel in the dirt and beg him not to break up with you. Before you can think of the irrational thought any further he shakes his head, almost growling, “How do you still not get it? It’s because I love you is why I can’t.”

“Listen, I love you too, babe. I just…don’t know if I like you right now.”

That’s not fair. He’s sacrificing the entire trajectory of his life and you can’t figure out if you like him? You don’t know the lengths he would go to, can’t fathom the obstacles he would conquer just to make sure that you and him have it all. And you’re not even trying to see it his way—to even imagine that he could make it possible.

Things couldn’t stay the same forever, that you could both agree on.

“You’re all talk, you know that, Trouble? You’re just mad that I want this life more than you. And you know I’d actually do what I need to do to get it. Would you?” he nudges you roughly, “Talk to me! This is your time to get it all out of your system. Say that I wouldn’t do anything for you. You know I would.” Fat tears are rolling down your cheeks; he hates watching you cry. It’s the whole reason he signed away his soul—he wants the world you live in to be a place where gods bow down to you and dry your tears, not cause them. Luke would topple Olympus in an instant if it meant you wouldn’t look at him like he’s a lost cause.

“That’s not fair, you haven’t even answered a single question I’ve asked you. It’s like you’re not even listening to me, Lu—”

“Not fair?”

Groaning, you turn away from him. The flag post you dropped earlier is long gone now—the game is still on and the world keeps spinning whether you like it or not. But you’re disinterested in all that now.

“Do you even hear yourself? To you, I’m still the girl on the Ferris wheel,” you sniff, wiping your nose with your sleeve. His hands squeeze your shoulders, begging, pleading for you to understand, “Is that a bad thing? You tell me you haven’t changed—I’m protecting her because you won’t. I’m getting her the hell out of here because I know she deserves more than this. Look around you,” he whispers your name against your neck, “We could forget all of this.” 

But that’s just not who you are. Your shoulders tremble as you hold them up under the pressure. Sure you could see what he’s saying—there isn’t a single future you can imagine without Luke in it. The house, the kids…but more than that you just want to belong somewhere. And Camp Half-Blood is where you belong. With him. 

“I don’t want everything, Luke. I just want you. And if you don’t want this, I need you to tell me now. Because I’m tired,” you warble, digging your nails into your palms, “ and I’m sick of this game. I feel like neither of us are winning.” You take a step back to look at him—sunlight filtering through his hair, eyes wistful and contemplative.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

And there it is. He’s already made his decision, whether he admits it or not. A horn blares overhead, followed by the sounds of cheering. You don’t know who won, and you don’t really give a shit if we’re being real right now. 

“Does it even matter?”

There’s a frozen look on your face like you’ve been struck by lightning, half between a crooked smile and subtle surprise. It’s a knowing look, Luke thinks, what he can see of you through half-lidded lashes and grief. He thinks years from now, if he even makes it that far, it’ll all come back to this moment in the North Woods, and you, the girl he was in love with at nineteen.

“It’s not even worth it now I guess,” he whispers. It makes you laugh—even your laughter sounds sad now. 

It seems that even breaking up with you is an inconvenience.

You sniff, wiping your face and looking around. Everyone’s gone already and Chiron will be looking for you two soon, “Then it’s not worth it. Because you say so… and we’ve got work to do.” Your watch beeps. 

Dinner service starts soon, but before you both head over to the pavilion, you and Luke are expected to set up the bonfire. He nods, loosening the straps of his chestplate, just something to do with his hands, “I know.”

“I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to leave this all behind yet. I’m still needed here.” Until your coming of age ceremony. Until your heart calls you elsewhere and your family can stand on their feet. 

Until then.

Somewhere, you hear Annabeth calling out to you, the melody of both of your names traveling through the trees. You and Luke turn your heads in that direction, before looking at each other once more. He licks his lips, “I know that. We should get back to it, then.” There’s no use doing this all alone, he thinks. And there’s a part of you that thinks there is no use for you when you’re alone.

“We should.”

Neither of you move. 

The winter solstice is tomorrow and there is much work left for the both of you to do.

—

I don’t understand how he grows colder from the same love that warms me. I didn’t know we loved differently—him partly, less and less, and I entirely. - JNH / @shatteredjuvenileday

[mayonayys]

Cold Reunion

Tags: Caleb/FMC, Nondescript MC, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence Rating: T+ Words: 1,763 Summary: He was dead. So who was he to stand before her now and question her? He had left her all alone and the grief had nearly killed her. But here he was. And she was angry.

A reimagining of Empathetic Interrogation.

AO3 Link

Her stomach turned as she tried to process what was happening. The man before her was him, there was no question about that now. But his voice was too harsh, his actions were cruel.

He was different, but here he was, right in front of her.

He leaned in close, running the lie detector down her throat and pressing it into her chest.

Her heart felt heavy, bottom lip quivering as her mind tried to make sense of what was happening.

She shifted, pulling at the arm restraints, but stilled when he inched even closer. She could feel his breath fan across her face. Her stomach turned, her senses on high alert.

"I'll ask again." He tilted his head as he pressed the lie detector in harder, causing her to flinch away. "Did you come to Skyhaven for the Aether Core?"

Her mouth twisted into a frown as he glared down at her, the caring and kind man she once knew was nowhere to be found. She started to retort, ask him a question in turn, say anything to help her figure out what was going on.

"Answer me," he sneered out, his eyes holding a venom she never thought was possible in that lilac gaze.

This couldn't have been her Caleb—not anymore.

"Remember," he said slow and low, "the camera is watching. You must tell the truth."

It was almost like he was warning her—he was never that good of an actor though, was he? She didn't feel any warmth from him, she was just prey caught oh so perfectly in his clutches. She winced as the lie detector pressed into her chest and the arm restraints bit into her wrists.

She gritted her teeth and let out a shaky breath.

She would just have to be as good of an actor as he was, then.

"I'm telling the truth." She said slowly, calmly. "I'm not related to anything involving an Aether Core."

Something flickered across his features, but her blood was boiling too much for her to be able to read his expression properly.

"This is your last chance." He adjusted his grip on the lie detector, letting out a deep breath that brushed over her face and had her pulling at her restraints again, wanting nothing more than to push him off of her and rid herself of this false image of him.

"I don't know anything." She reiterated through gritted teeth. She could feel her pulse raising as the device began to beep, soon to reveal her fate.

But his grip shifted on it again, a subtle click meeting her ears as the buzzing stopped and the screen went blank.

He pulled back, just a little, his expression unreadable.

She couldn't help the shaky breath that left her and she swallowed to ease the drying ache in her throat.

He looked her up and down one more time before standing to his full height, towering over her.

"You passed." He finally said and just as she blinked in confusion he seemed to slowly morph before her.

He was still the Farspace Fleet's Colonel, but there was a familiar softness around his eyes now.

She flinched as the lights came on and she instinctively raised her arms, expecting the resistance of the arm restraints, but they clicked open just in time to allow her to shield her eyes from the too bright lights.

She blinked, letting out a small noise of confusion as she moved her arms, looking at him through the gap.

He was smirking.

She felt a new wave of emotion course through her and her jaw tensed as she balled her hands into tight fists.

"You…" Her voice came out strained, anger, confusion, and hurt bubbling up to the surface.

He didn't seem put off by her tone, instead he leaned down, and in a too familiar gesture, his hand went to rest on her head, his thumb brushing at her bangs.

"Surprised? Sure it's been a while, but you already forgot about me?" He chuckled.

She swatted his hand away from her.

"You, Caleb, you're dead!" She lost her cool, voice louder than she would have liked, but her rage bubbled up too quickly for her to control.

The look on his face shifted, the amusement in his smirk deepening.

"If that were true, how could I be standing right here?" He leaned forward again, hands going to take the collar from around her neck.

She pushed his hands away from her again, standing quickly.

Her face heated with rage and his smirk faltered for a nearly imperceptible moment, the hard gaze he wore before threatening to slip back onto his face.

He reached for the collar again and caught her arm when she went to push him away. His gloved hand was cold on her sore wrist, his long fingers applying just enough pressure to make her flinch and try to jerk away.

"Just let me get this, okay?" His tone was soft, he was trying to soothe her now.

After all that, it didn't work. He was no longer her childhood protector, he was a man who evaded death and left her alone to grieve him for far too long. He was cold—cruel even, if she were to go by the force he'd already used against her.

The collar snapped off and he tossed it on the table behind him.

His hand was still around her wrist, but his grip loosened. When she didn't pull away his hand left her wrist, inching down to clasp her hand in his.

"Did I scare you?" He asked and it would have been reassuring if she wasn't still trapped in an interrogation room.

"You…" She shook her head, feeling her face heat as all her feelings came to a head. "You left me!" She blurted out and she could feel tears of anger and grief pricking at her eyes.

He didn't say anything as she glared up at him, but he shifted their clasped hands, his fingers threading through hers.

He tugged her gently forward and she stumbled, reaching out her other hand to brace against his chest. She scoffed as she looked up at him, shaking her head. She didn't pull her hand from his grasp, instead she squeezed her fingers, hoping that her small grip in his large hand could at least cause him a moment of discomfort, but he didn't even flinch.

He pursed his lips, eyes searching her face as she glared up at him with as much venom as she could muster.

"I didn't leave you," he finally said, voice soft. He looked truthful, but how could she believe him after the display he'd put on?

"You did." She hissed out, taking a step back.

He tugged at her arm again, not letting her get far.

She snarled at the action, rage still at the forefront. She pulled at his grasp and when he was unmoving, she raised her other hand, quickly striking out.

The sound of her hand across his face rang out in the silent interrogation room, but he didn't make a noise as his head turned to the side. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to darken, twinkling with a barely contained rage.

Her fingers stung, even with her glove to buffer the impact of her hand on his cheek. She took a step back, only stopped from going farther by his grip on her hand.

He wasn't looking at her yet and she watched him with a quiet fear rising, taking place of the anger she'd felt before.

His lips parted, tongue just barely flicking out to wet them, but she caught the sight hint of a red liquid tinting his tongue and staining the few teeth she got a peek at.

He finally turned back to her, gaze hard, and her breath left her.

He tugged her forward again and she struggled against his grip, letting out small pleas for him to let her go to no avail.

Her other hand landed on his chest again, fingers gripping at and wrinkling his uniform coat.

She did her best to glare up at him, despite the way she sucked in shaky breaths.

His face was stony and she flinched back when he leaned forward. She could feel his heart beat under her palm, calm and steady, while her own was erratic, pounding loudly in her ears.

His breath fanned out across her face again and she turned away from him, wincing at the faint smell of iron on his breath.

His free hand reached up, gloved fingers ghosting over her jaw before he gripped her chin, turning her head and making him face her. She cringed away from his hard gaze, but as he leaned in closer, his expression seemed to soften.

She couldn't help the small whimper that left her mouth as she felt his lips nearly brush across her cheek.

"I didn't leave you," he finally said, voice soft and reassuring. His thumb gently brushed her jaw, the hand gripping hers loosening and going to rest on the small of her back.

She almost broke, but took in a shaky breath, turning her face ever so slightly, meeting his softened eyes.

"I won't ever leave you, I promise." He said, pressing his forehead to hers.

She blinked and her unshed tears finally fell, stinging her hot face. Her lips trembled as she held her breath, closing her eyes as she leaned into him, his now tender touch overwhelming her.

He pulled her closer, their bodies pressed flush to one another and her sob finally broke. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her tear streaked face into his chest.

"I thought you were dead, Caleb." She managed to get out, voice muffled by her tears and the fabric of his jacket.

He held her tight to him and she could feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. He moved, hand stroking her hair, and he pressed his lips to her temple, the sound of his soft breathing soothing to her senses.

"No matter what," his voice was gentle in her ear and his fingers caressed up her spine. She felt herself clinging to him further, sucking in a breath, breathing him in. "I'll always be by your side." He pressed another soft kiss to her temple, holding her tight until her sobs died down.

She was angry, her heart heavy with grief, but he was her Caleb and he was here, in her arms, once again.

[trombonechurchill]

Watching the Credits - Chapter One

BuckTommy, Chapter One - 3,771 words, Rated T

Tommy waits for him to continue, ask for a selfie or an autograph but it never comes. The guy just keeps smiling. Tommy should say something. Anything. He's staring. "I'm Tommy," he blurts out, words foreign on his tongue and Tommy feels a kick at the feel of them in his mouth. He can't remember the last time he actually got to introduce himself to someone. The last time he was able to walk in anywhere without someone already knowing and assuming things about him. Tommy feels giddy and he knows he's probably got the strangest smile on his face, but if he's making the other guy uncomfortable he doesn't show it. "O-Okay. I'm Evan." --- Tommy's a famous action star, Buck is a pop culture black hole and has no idea. What could go wrong?

An Excerpt from Tommy Kinard's Comeback Interview with Taylor Kelly:

TAYLOR KELLY: So, Tommy, this is your first big feature after a year long break, how's it feel to be back on the horse, so to speak.

TOMMY KINARD: It was good to take a break, I really needed the chance to rest and recharge, you know? But I'm glad to be back and to be working on a new project with Bobby [Nash].

KELLY: So there's no concerns about taking such a long break from working? Not worried about being rusty or out of the loop?

KINARD: I mean, I imagine there's always a fear of that but sometimes you have to make decisions based on what's best for yourself, not just your career.

KELLY: So you do have some concerns then?

KINARD: I didn't say that-

KELLY: And what about your now ended relationship with Abby Clark? Was your break part of what was best for that?

KINARD: I'd rather not talk about my personal life right now-

KELLY: So you have no comments regarding Clark's new relationship or the timely announcement of your coming out and subsequent break from the industry?

KINARD: I think we're done here.

Read the rest on AO3

[yourlocalangeldoll]

*ੈ i had this this fucked thought about the recruiter/salesman and it wouldn’t leave my mind.. so here i am writing it

cw: fucking in a pool of bed near a murdered dead body lmfao, impregnating/babytrapping threats,

You’d be lying if you said that the ‘creepy’ saleman who’s been following you around wasn’t cute. He was, truly, however you weren’t one to hook up with random men, especially not when they were so adamant at getting you to play a silly game of ddakji. But something about his sly grin, subtle flirting and the way he seemed to always know where you always were managed to get your panties into a wet mess, even if it was big, bold, red flags.

But, again, you’d never go for some random guy you see and speak to a couple times. Especially not when there was a perfectly hot guy in your class who was interested in you.

What you didn’t know however, was that it wasn’t mere coincidences that the salesman managed to always find where you were, so he of course knew and watched your date with your fellow classmate. What you also didn’t know was that you already belonged to that same salesman.

Hence, your current position. Laying in a pool of blood while you stared at your dead, stabbed to death, failed date while one hand held up your hips. Cock ramming into you and against your cervix at an almost painful pace and consistency. The salesman free hand messily gripping a fistful of your hair as his hips continuously met with your ass that bounced with each thrust.

Your cheek was soaked in the puddle of blood and you could even taste the bit of blood that managed to make it’s way into your agape mouth, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Not when an absolutely beautiful man was fucking into you from behind.

“look so fucking pretty covered in blood, princess.” He teased tauntingly, sadistic smile on his face. His bloody hand that fisted your hair getting the soft strands sticky with blood. Moans begrudgingly spilled out of your lips as you lazily attempted to move away from him, mostly to be able to keep some of your own ego and for the added thrill.

Moans spilled from your lips as you curled your fingers into your palms, blood piling up between the cracks and crevices of your fingers and skin. He was fucking you so good it had you seeing stars, for such a fucking psychopath he sure knew how to fuck a girl.

“Don’t be shy, tell me how much you like it.” He taunted, tugging at your hair rougher and up before letting go and letting your head fall to the floor, blood jumping up as your head landed with a thump. The slight pang in your head was the least of your concerns as you let out a strangled moan at the harsh slap he places to your cheek. “Say it.” He demands in a firmer tone, his hand finding the back of your neck tightly.

“Yes! i love it i love it,” You rambled, toes curling and you groaning as his pace picked up and he pulled your hips both higher and closer to him.

“Knew you were a slut, getting so wet from some man you know nothing about fucking you in front of the dead body of your own date that the same man you know nothing about killed.” He continued to degrade, smirk gracing his features. So focused on your own pleasure that you weren’t even focusing on his words, just rambling continuous agreements. “Too bad you didn’t go to the games, you would’ve loved it.”

“But i prefer it this way, now you fucking belong to me. I’ll make you so dumb that you can’t even think of leaving. Yeah? Like that? Might even get you pregnant too.”

[paperclip-skz]

Crashing Waves

fem*Reader x Jeongin

*WARNING*

WC: 1.2

Contains: mentions of unproteced sex, this is mostly a fluff story so.....

****

As the opening credits of the next movie in your Harry Potter marathon danced across the screen, you nestled deeper into your cozy blanket, the warmth wrapping around you like a comforting hug. The familiar music filled the room, creating a perfect atmosphere for a night in. Just as you began to lose yourself in the magical world, a soft, almost hesitant knock echoed through your apartment, pulling you back to reality.

You glanced around at the takeout spread before you, the enticing aroma wafting from the containers, and sighed. It was unlikely to be food; you knew your delivery should be safely in your possession. Outside, flurries of snow swirled gently, blanketing the city in a soft white layer, ensuring that your friends and coworkers would be snug at home rather than out and about. Your neighbors were on vacation for the winter, leaving you puzzled about who could be waiting at your door.

“Who could it be?” you murmured to yourself, a mix of curiosity and apprehension stirring within you. You pressed the pause button on the remote, unwilling to miss a single moment of the enchanting world of wizards and magic, and padded quietly toward the door. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you slowly turned the doorknob, glancing through the crack you had created.

Peering out, you found a lone figure standing in the dim light of the hallway, their massive hood casting a shadow over their face. Instinctively, you stepped back slightly, your heart racing at the sight of the stranger.

“I- I’m scared,” he said, his voice barely breaking through the stillness of the air. The tremor in his tone lodged a sense of unease in your stomach. 

“Hello?” you managed to say, trying to gauge who this person might be. He hesitantly lifted his head, revealing familiar features that sent a jolt of recognition coursing through you. “Jeongin?” you exclaimed, surprised to see him here at this hour.

“I- I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified,” he confessed in a rushed breath, vulnerability shining in his wide eyes. The weight of his words hung in the air like cigarette smoke in a cramped space, leaving you utterly stunned, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling like the snow outside.

“What?” one word. Thats all you’ve managed to come up with as a reply. 

“Y-yea,” he’s shivering, no doubt from the cold outside. He might be standing in the hallway to your apartment, but it looks like he just climbed a mountain of snow a minute ago. You’re hyperventilating as you step out of the doorway to let him in. 

No words are exchanged as he crosses the threshold into the warmth of your apartment, but the depth of his glossy eyes is a silent plea for you to speak, to fill the heavy silence with something meaningful. “Y/N—”

“I’m not good at expressing things,” you rush to cut him off, your heart racing. His eyes widen a mixture of surprise and concern, urging you to continue. “That’s why I’ve never really been in a relationship for long. I struggle to put my feelings into words, and while I’m somewhat better at showing them through actions, the truth is, I’ve never truly understood what that kind of love feels like.” His expression visibly falters, the hope in his gaze dimming slightly.

Taking a tentative step closer, you reach for his hand, a lifeline in this tense moment. “I love my family. I love my friends.” You pause, gathering your thoughts as you gently lock your eyes onto his, searching for understanding. “But the love I feel for you is something entirely different; it’s deeper—like a gravity that pulls me in.”

His head snaps up, an ember of hope igniting in his eyes as he processes your words, piecing together the emotions you’re struggling to articulate. “Say the words, please,” he pleads softly, knocking his forehead against yours, breathing mingling in an intimate dance. “Say the words, and I promise to show you just how deeply I love you for the rest of our lives.”

You bite your lip, your mind flooding with memories of every laughter shared, every tear shed, every celebration and hidden moment that has woven your lives together. All of it leads you to this point, and your heart swells with the weight of truth. “I love you,” you finally whisper, and everything around you fades away when your lips touch his.

His kiss is fierce yet tender, a collision of warmth and longing. Teeth clash softly; tongues intertwine in a rhythm that feels both exhilarating and familiar, as if you’ve been doing this for lifetimes. In that kiss, he tastes like home on a cold autumn night—a comforting embrace that wraps around your soul. The world slips away, leaving only the two of you, as his arms encircle your waist, pulling you into a tight embrace that feels like the safest place you’ve ever known. You find solace in his strength, blissfully lost in the warmth of his love, knowing you are exactly where you belong.

******

The entire world constricted of his touch, his lips on your skin tracing every inch like solving a puzzle in his mind. Your back arched into his hands, and your fingers dragged against his scalp, relishing in the smoothness of his hair. 

You hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. “Don’t stop,” you whispered against his lips.” He pulled back a furrow, caressing his brow. 

He hesitated for a moment, his head resting against your chest as he kissed the spot where your heart raced wildly against your ribs. “If we keep going, I won’t be able to stop at all.” 

His words sent a chill through you, a sinking feeling settling in your chest. The idea of him locking away all his emotions, desires, and thoughts out of fear was almost unbearable. Overwhelmed by a wave of emotion, you gently cupped his jaw, guiding his gaze to meet yours. With a tenderness you’d never felt before, you kissed him softly, pouring every ounce of sincerity into that moment. You wanted him to understand that this wasn’t just a fleeting spark of passion but something deeply real and profound. “Give me everything,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with earnest hope.

At that moment, his eyes glistened with a mix of vulnerability and wonder, reflecting a light you had never seen before. And when he smiled, that adorable dimpled grin broke through the tension, shining like the dawn after a long night, illuminating the space between you with an almost blinding warmth.

Within the next few minutes, you rush to remove clothes and garments until Jeongin is on top of you once again, kissing your forehead. “Hold onto me,” he whispers, and you comply, grasping his shoulders like they are your lifeline. 

As the night rolled on, you both moved together like waves gliding across the sand, unending, undisturbed. And when you went over the edge, Jeongin was right alongside you - crashing with you. 

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ the sparks of sunrise; 

           omar marmoush ────── 

what happens when a certain receptionist finds herself drawn to the charm of the club’s newest signing?

⭑  wordcount : three thousand one hundred fifty-seven.

⭑  notes : i was supposed to put this up when he was announced but was sick out of my mind so whoops– enjoy it on his debut day instead ;)

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Morning light filters softly through tall windows, illuminating the polished floors. Outside, the city stirs, slowly waking. Inside, the gentle hum of morning routines unfolds—the shuffle of feet, hushed voices. It’s a rhythm you know well, yet today feels different. 

A stillness hangs in the air, anticipation crackling as you prepare to meet Omar Marmoush, the club's newest signing. The buzz around him has been impossible to ignore—young, incredibly talented, a player with potential that could light up the field. But it’s not just his skill that’s caught everyone’s attention; it’s his reputation for being something of an enigma. Quiet, reserved, almost unreachable. The kind of guy who keeps to himself, preferring to let his play do the talking.

When the glass doors slide open, Omar steps through with a grace that seems almost calculated. The moment he enters, the air shifts. His presence is commanding despite his almost shy demeanor. There’s something about him—something that makes you pause for just a beat, like the sudden change of a breeze on a warm day. It’s not just his height or the way the light catches his sharp features; it’s the quiet confidence that emanates from him, like an unspoken promise of something more. 

His eyes, dark and observant, scan the room before landing on you, and when they do, there's a quiet intensity there, almost as if he's studying you in return.

"Good morning," you greet, offering him a warm, easy smile as you glance up from your desk. Your voice is light, the corners of your lips lifting automatically. "You’re early. Didn’t expect anyone for a while."

Omar’s gaze meets yours, his eyes steady, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips quirk into a small, confident smile. “I prefer to be early,” he says, his voice calm and smooth, like the slow roll of waves lapping against the shore. “Can’t afford to waste time, right?”

The words are confident, but there’s a faint, almost undetectable edge of uncertainty in his eyes. You’ve seen it before, in other athletes, in other people who carry the weight of expectation on their shoulders. 

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the way he seems to carry himself. “Agreed.” you reply, leaning back slightly in your chair, your eyes narrowing playfully. “Not many players are here though. I think the only one you’ll find around is the coach.”

His eyes flicker toward the hallway, his gaze momentarily distant, as if imagining the journey ahead. “I’m fine with that,” he says, readjusting his gym bag while stepping away. “I just need to get out on the pitch again.” 

You smile, amused. "Okay, but just so you know, the hall can be a bit of a maze. You’ll want to go straight, past the gym, and then left. It’s easy to get lost your first time."

Omar waves you off with a casual flick of his wrist, his grin still intact, but you notice something in the way his shoulders tense, the slightest hesitation in his movements. “I’ll manage.” he replies, a little too confidently, as if he’s trying to convince both you and himself.

There’s something about the way he says it, though—the way his jaw tightens just a little, the way his hands curl at his sides—that tells you he’s not entirely sure of himself. It’s the instinct of someone who’s used to standing alone, used to figuring things out in his own way. It’s also the instinct of someone who’s afraid of being seen as anything less than perfect.

“Alright,” you say with a knowing smile, unable to resist teasing him just a little. “But if you do get lost, I’ll be right here to help. Can’t promise I won’t make fun of you for it, though.”

Omar chuckles, a quiet self-awareness that lingers beneath the surface. “I won’t need that.” he says, his voice light and teasing, but you see the way his cheeks flush a little, the color creeping up his neck like a telltale sign. He’s not fooling you. 

You watch him carefully, noticing the way his posture straightens, his steps purposeful, yet unsure. And then, instead of turning right, where you’d directed him, he veers left, heading confidently down the middle of the hall towards the trophy room. 

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself. 

"Hold on!" you call out, your voice light and teasing. "Didn’t you hear me? You’re supposed to head right. The locker room is the other way.” You push away from the desk and stand up, the heels of your shoes clicking on the floor as you make your way toward him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. 

Omar freezes mid-step, his body jerking just slightly, and then he turns slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. His cheeks flush, and the awkwardness is palpable, but in that instant, he’s more human than anything else. 

“Oh, I misunderstood.” he admits, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “My bad.”

"Don’t worry," you say softly, the teasing lilt in your voice making it clear you’re not holding it against him. “It happens to the best of us. The walls here can be tricky.”

He chuckles, a quieter, more genuine sound now, and you notice how the tension seems to melt away from his shoulders. “Guess I was too caught up in my mind” he says with a half-shrug, the easy arrogance of earlier replaced with something more sincere.

“Yeah, that happens,” you reply, matching his pace. "But you’re going to want to pay attention to the signs, especially if you’re trying to avoid making a fool of yourself in front of the team. Good luck!”

Omar laughs and for the first time, you sense a little vulnerability behind that seemingly impenetrable exterior. "I’m sure they’ll forgive me. First day and all."

“First impressions are everything,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your shoulder as you walk. Your eyes meet, and for a heartbeat, there’s a spark there—a connection that neither of you acknowledges out loud, but it lingers between you, quiet and unspoken. “But lucky for you, I’ll make sure it’s a good one.”

As you approach the locker room, Omar’s steps slow, and he looks over at you with a smile. "Thanks. I guess I wasn’t as prepared as I thought.” he admits, his voice quieter now, the weight of his earlier bravado replaced by a touch of humility.

You give him slight shrug. "It’s no problem. The first day’s always the hardest. Besides, it's good to have someone show you around—no matter how much you think you’ve got it under control."

He looks at you one last time, and the expression on his face is a mixture of gratitude and something else, something more fleeting and harder to pinpoint. "I owe you one, I guess."

“No worries,” you reply, stepping aside to let him pass. “But you better keep that ego in check—next time, I won’t be here to bail you out.”

As the door swings closed behind him, you smile to yourself, the quiet satisfaction settling in your chest. He’ll fit right in here—he just doesn’t know it yet.

Guess first impressions do matter.

-       

Outside, the world was still drowsy, waiting for the sun to summon it into action. But inside the building, it had already begun. The soft rustle of movement—slightly muffled footsteps down the hall or the faint hum of the HVAC system sputtering to life.

You sat behind the reception desk, bathed in the amber glow of the early morning sunlight. The air was cool, with just enough crispness to make you feel awake but not rushed. The soft buzz of your computer, the shuffle of papers between your fingers—everything felt familiar, grounding. As if this quiet moment could stretch on forever, and you could lose yourself in it without fear. 

The door opened, a soft sigh of movement that cut through the stillness taking you from your thoughts. And there he was. Omar Marmoush. Just as he had been for the last few mornings—before anyone else, sometimes even before the coach. The space bent to his presence, the stillness rippling around him as if acknowledging that this was his moment, his time.

He donned his City kit, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders, and the way it fit him—neat and purposeful—wasn’t just athletic, it was almost sculptural. His dark eyes caught yours instantly, as if your presence had always been part of the plan. 

"Good morning, Mr. Marmoush," you said, the words slipping out almost automatically. Your voice chirped the greeting that had become familiar over the last few days. 

"Good morning," He replied, his voice carrying the same smooth confidence as always. He lingered at the counter, his eyes studying you for a beat longer than usual, as if he were contemplating something.

You tilted your head, a small smile playing at your lips, the sparkle in your eyes sharp and knowing. "You’re up early like usual," you remarked, the words slightly mocking him. "Not many players are awake at this hour."

"I like the quiet," Omar said, his voice lowering, a touch of something more honest there. "Helps me focus. No distractions before the chaos begins."

You allowed yourself a soft smile, the corner of your mouth lifting in quiet acknowledgment. "I thought you liked the spotlight," you teased, your voice light, playful. "Doesn’t the chaos suit you?"

His smile returned, but it was more guarded now, a shield back in place. "I do," he said with a shrug, a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes. "But sometimes, it’s good to step away from all that. Makes the work feel... more real, you know?"

You leaned back in your chair, the soft creak of the leather adding a sound to the stillness around you. "I get it," you said, your voice a touch softer now. "Still, not sure many people would show up before their boss just for a little peace and quiet."

His gaze held yours a moment longer, that familiar intensity flickering again, and you couldn’t help but feel the subtle challenge in it. "Some of us like to be ahead of the game," he said, his voice carrying the weight of something unspoken, something that suggested this wasn’t just about arriving early—it was about owning the moment.

You laughed. "Ahead of the game, huh? You sure you’re not just trying to make your teammates look bad?"

The challenge in his eyes deepened, and he leaned a little closer to the counter, the air between you suddenly feeling charged. "Someone’s got to set the standard," he said mischievously, yet the presence of sinceirty lingered in his words.

You shook your head, amusement dancing in your eyes. "Careful, Mr. Marmoush," you teased, your voice light but the words carrying more weight now. "If you keep showing up this early, soon you’ll be the one unlocking the building instead of me."

His lips quirked upward into a half-smirk, and he paused for a moment, letting the playful tension build between you. Then, his voice dropped just slightly, almost a whisper. "You know," he began, his gaze steady, locking with yours, "if you keep calling me that I’m going to start thinking I’m older than I am."

The warmth in your eyes sparked with a glint of mischief. "Well, I wasn’t sure how formal we should be," you said honestly. "You keep showing up so early, I wasn’t sure if you were going for the 'boss' vibe."

A rich chuckle escaped his lips, deep and amused, as if the idea of it pleased him more than it should. "A boss vibe, huh?" he repeated, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter as if the idea were something to be considered. "I don’t need a title to make an impression.” 

You chuckled as you shook your head in response.

"But, fine. If you want to keep calling me ‘Mr. Marmoush,’ I guess I can’t stop you." Then, his gaze held yours, intense and unyielding. "But I’m not going to stop asking you to drop the formalities," he added, a subtle challenge hidden beneath the smoothness of his words. "Plus, you can’t keep calling me that forever, eventually you will have to refer to me as 'Omar'."

Your heart skipped a beat, the air between you both charged with something more than just playful banter. "We’ll see, Mr. Marmoush," your tone playful.

-

The morning air outside had a crisp bite, carrying the first whispers of autumn through the open window. Soft beams filtered through the tall windows, stretching lazily across the floor and illuminating the dust particles that seemed to float like tiny stars suspended in time. It was a moment frozen in peace, a stillness that only the early mornings seemed to hold.

You were wrapped in the hum of the building, the rhythmic ticking of the clock like a heartbeat in the silence. The steady click of the pen in your hand created a symphony of concentration until the door opened. A gust of cool air slipped in, catching the edges of the papers on your desk. The familiar scent of his cologne—earthy with a hint of citrus, like rain on stone—suddenly filled the room, grounding you in the moment.

Omar stood in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the glow of dawn. He wore a hoodie, the dark fabric a stark contrast against the warmth of the room. His eyes found yours almost instantly, and in that gaze, there was a quiet intensity, something that made the room feel smaller, more intimate.

"Early as usual, Mr. Marmoush," you said, your voice light but warm, a playful edge to your words. You couldn’t help but notice the way the corners of his mouth tugged upward in that half-smile that always made your heart race just a little faster.

"Of course, Good morning." Omar replied, his voice raspy due to the timing of the hour. 

You couldn’t help but watch as he moved, the way his fingers slid into the pockets of his hoodie, his thumb tapping absently against the fabric. His eyes never left yours, and it made your pulse quicken, a little unexpected warmth formed in your stomach. For a split second, everything around you faded—the ticking clock, the soft creak of the building settling, the hums of your laptop—and all that remained was him.

Omar leaned casually against the counter in front of you, his arms folded across his chest. His gaze lingered, sharp and steady, and yet there was a playful glint in his eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

You tore your eyes away from him, focusing instead on the day’s schedule. Your fingers moved across the papers, steady and deliberate, though you were aware of every movement in the room. His presence filled the space like a slow-burning fire.

"Alright," you began, your speech was monotone despite the fluttering in your chest. "Mr. Guardiola wants the players to check their recovery schedules before heading to the locker room. He has something special planned for later in training, but health comes first."

Omar nodded, his gaze flicking briefly to the clipboard on the counter, the edges of the paper catching the light in a way that made the whole moment feel sharper, more defined. He seemed to be listening intently, but there was a glimmer in his eyes—something knowing, something that made you feel like he saw right through you.

"Got it," he said finally, his voice low. But then, as if he couldn’t resist, his lips curved into that maddening smirk. "Thanks, Qamari."

You froze, the word hanging in the air between you like a spark. Your fingers stilled mid-motion, and suddenly, it felt as though the room had grown smaller, quieter, like time itself was holding its breath.

"Qamari?" you echoed, your voice soft, hesitant. The way it sounded on your tongue felt foreign but… intimate, like something you shouldn’t want but did anyway.

He leaned a little closer, his grin never wavering. "It’s the nickname I decided to give you," he said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "It fits, doesn’t it?"

You felt the heat creeping up your neck, blooming across your cheeks. "Oh really?" you asked, raising a skeptical brow. 

Omar’s expression softened, his teasing smile giving way to something quieter, something almost tender. "Yeah," he said simply. "It means ‘moon’ in Arabic. It’s common in Egypt, you know. A compliment for women with beauty so striking."

His words settled in the air between you like a gentle breeze, and you could feel them taking root in your chest, in your thoughts. The phrase lingered, and you found yourself feeling an odd sense of peace in it, as though the nickname fit in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why don’t we just stick to the name on my badge?" you managed, trying to inject some playfulness into your tone to cover up the fact that your heart was practically racing out of your chest.

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin theatrically, his expression exaggerated as though he were deep in thought. "Nope. I’ll call you what I want since you refuse to call me Omar."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "But—"

"Nah," he interrupted smoothly, shaking his head with a teasing lilt in his voice. "Fair’s fair, right? You stick with 'Mr. Marmoush,' so I get to choose a name for you."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossing in mock defiance, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to suppress. "That’s not how this works," you said, a faint chuckle betraying your stern expression.

He shrugged, the movement easy and unbothered. "I think it is," he said, his grin softening just enough to make it even more maddening, like he knew exactly how to press all the right buttons without ever trying.

Then, with a casualness that was almost infuriating, he reached for the schedule you’d so neatly laid out, his fingers brushing the paper followed by his shoes scuffing against the floor. 

"See you later, Qamari," he said, his voice orotund, the nickname sliding off his tongue with maddening ease. He started toward the lockers, his brows furrowed as he glanced down at his schedule.

"You can’t keep calling me that forever!" you called after him, your voice rising above the hum of the building, echoing down the corridor as if it were chasing him.

He paused for a brief moment, just enough to glance back over his shoulder. The grin he wore widened into something brighter, effortlessly charming and completely infuriating all at once. Then came the laugh—rich and full of mischief, the kind that made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

Damn him.

You stared after him, your cheeks still flushed and your pulse betraying you. You already knew you’d lost this round. And worse—you weren’t entirely sure if you minded.

© gul4bjamoons 

[donttxtathebeach]

Beyond the Cameras

smau & irl

masterlist

|previous| next|

word count : 1.4k

warning: none

Don't forget to reblog and let me know what you guys think.

behind the scenes:

one of the first times Y/n and Drew go out after their actors on actors interview. Are they just friends? Is there something more between them? who knows.....

@ellefanning replied to drewstarkey story

ellefanning that little brat changes her outfit

drewstarkey indeed she did, she said she felt underdressed.

ellefanning sounds like her; she is never one to be underdressed. Good luck; but just a heads up: she really isn’t looking for “anything quite serious” at this time, even though she encourages the flirtation and attention.

drewstarkey don’t worry, it’s just two people wanting to get to know one another more.

❤️ by ellefanning

The evening air was cool, crisp with a hint of autumn, but inside the cozy restaurant, a warm amber glow bathed everything in soft light. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it had that perfect low-key elegance—a place where you could get lost in conversation without distractions. The hum of quiet chatter and the clinking of silverware was a peaceful contrast to the bustling world outside.

Y/n had been running on autopilot for weeks now, between back-to-back press junkets and a whirlwind of promotions. But tonight, there was nothing on her mind except the dinner she’d promised Drew a week prior. Though they had hung out a few times before, this felt different and more intimate. She wasn’t sure what it was—maybe it was the chemistry that had been undeniable during their Actors on Actors interview, or maybe it was just the rarity of a real connection, but there was a certain anticipation in the air tonight that she couldn’t shake.

Drew had been so gracious enough to pick her up; she had said she needed to use the restroom the moment they stepped inside. Leaving him alone, waiting for their table. When she returned, he was sitting at a booth hidden in the corner, courtesy of the owner, as a way to respect the sincerity and privacy of the intimate moments shared between them, the dim lighting casting a soft shadow across his sharp features. The moment their eyes met, it was like the noise of the world faded away. He stood as soon as she stepped forward, flashing that genuine grin that had first caught her attention during their interview.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice warm and inviting. “Nice of you to finally join me." He said while taking a sip of whiskey.

She smiled as she slid into the booth opposite him, a mix of nervous excitement and comfort settling in her chest. “I had to make sure I looked presentable,” she teased, adjusting the strap of her black top. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Drew replied with a small laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as if amused by her comment. But there was something more behind his smile—a quiet understanding, an acknowledgment of the unspoken tension that lingered between them after their interview.

As they exchanged pleasantries, the waiter came over, a clipboard in hand, ready to take their orders. Drew glanced at her and raised his eyebrows in playful surprise.

“Are you here just to keep me company, or do you actually want to eat something?” he teased.

y/n rolled her eyes, leaning back in the booth. “I can’t live on compliments alone,” she laughed, though there was a flicker of something deeper behind her eyes. She hadn’t been out for a dinner like this in a long time—not just with someone she admired, but someone who actually seemed to see her for more than the characters she portrayed.

She ordered the steak, medium-rare, and truffle fries, following Drew’s lead. Once the waiter left, the conversation flowed effortlessly between them, much like it had during their Actors on Actors session. But now it was different—more personal, more genuine.

“You know, I thought it was going to be weird after we did the interview,” she said, leaning in slightly, her fingers brushing against the wine glass in front of her. “I don’t know... It’s strange being so open in front of the cameras, especially when it’s about stuff you don’t usually talk about. But with you, it felt easy.”

Drew’s gaze softened, his voice lowering as if he were letting the moment sink in. “Yeah, I felt that too. I think it’s because we both know what it’s like—what this life can do to you. It’s easy to get lost in the roles we play, you know? But talking to you felt like... like we were just two people having a real conversation. No masks, no facades.”

There it was again—the honesty that seemed to have defined their connection from the very beginning. Y/n nodded, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass as she absorbed his words. She had spent years perfecting her public persona, molding herself into the woman the industry wanted her to be. But with Drew, there was none of that pressure.

“It’s funny,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You think you’re doing a good job hiding parts of yourself, putting up walls, but people still see through it. Or maybe it’s that we don’t need to hide as much as we think we do.” She paused, a slight frown crossing her features as she thought about the career she’d built—the roles, the characters, the layers she’d wrapped herself in.

Drew’s expression softened as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “I think we all have walls. It’s just about who you let break them down.” His words were simple, but they carried so much weight. They hit y/n in a place she didn’t realize she needed to be hit.

“Yeah,” she replied, her smile gentle but a little sad. “I’ve had a lot of walls up in my career, a lot of barriers I’ve put between myself and... well, the world. The public. The people who are just... interested in the roles I play, but not the person I am. ”

The topic lingered, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—just raw. Drew’s empathy filled the space, making it feel like they could talk about anything, no judgment.

“You’re a hell of an actress, sweetheart," Drew said softly, as if this was the thing that needed to be said. “I know we joked about it earlier, but you really do bring something to your roles that's... different. There’s depth. There’s humanity. And you make it look effortless. But I know it’s not. It’s more than that.”

Y/n laughed quietly, the tension in her shoulders releasing just a little. “Thanks, Drew. I don’t always feel that way, but... I guess that’s the nature of the business, right? People only see what they want to see. Sometimes I wonder if they even know who I really am.” She took a deep breath. “It’s been hard, especially with roles like Pearl in X and Maxxxine—there’s so much more to her than the surface stuff, but the world just wants to latch on to the more provocative aspects. The sexualization. They forget that there’s a person beneath that—a story being told—a human being with layers. It’s exhausting.”

Drew reached across the table, his hand hovering for a moment before it gently rested on hers. It was a small gesture, but the weight of it wasn’t lost on her. His fingers were warm against her skin, a small comfort in the midst of a very chaotic career.

“I get that,” he said quietly. “I’ve been there too. The way people look at you, expect things from you that you’re not always ready to give. It’s like you’re a character to them, not a person. And when you’re constantly pushed into these boxes, it’s hard to break free.”

Her eyes met his, and for the first time in a long time, she felt seen—really seen. Not for the roles she played or the characters she embodied, but for who she was at her core. She squeezed his hand, her smile softer now, more genuine.

The waiter returned with their food, and for a moment, they simply sat back, savoring the comfort of a shared meal. As they dug into their perspective meals, their conversation shifted to lighter topics—childhood memories, favorite travel destinations, what their dream projects would be. But there was still that underlying current, the feeling that they had unlocked something real between them.

As the evening drew to a close, Drew stood and helped her slip on her coat, his fingers brushing against her arm in a gesture that felt almost protective. The night had been everything y/n hadn’t expected—a chance to unwind, to be herself, to feel connected in a way that went beyond the surface.

“Thank you for tonight,” Drew said, his voice low but full of sincerity. “I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than just the few weeks we have had leading up to the interview."

Y/n smiled, her heart unexpectedly full. “I’m glad we did this, Drew. I needed this more than I realized.”

The night ended with a quiet promise, unspoken but understood—this wasn’t just the end of dinner. It was the start of something more. Whatever it was, it felt right.

And as they stepped out into the cool night air, side by side, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was just the beginning of a deeper connection. Whatever came next, she was ready for it.

Yn's favorite folder Drew's favorites folder

abbie's corner

Im trying out a new layout, so bear with me!

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Who's watching?

A follow-up to Batting for a draw, the Swordheart AU that I swore I wasn't going to write more of, in which Simon is living a psychological horror story while Charles and Edwin are in the background, basking in the glow of their newfound friendship. You can read the first few scenes below or read the whole thing here on AO3.

Rating: T

Word count: 5k

Relationships: Edwin & Simon; pre-Payneland

Warnings: internalized homophobia; ableist language

Summary: Simon knows there’s something off about Edwin Payne lately. He’s been acting odd ever since that night Simon and his friends tried to play a harmless prank and got their arses beat by a cricket bat-wielding madman. Now, Simon just has to prove it.

***

There’s something off about Edwin Payne lately.

Simon has known it since that night he and the lads were going to play a prank on Payne. It was just going to be a laugh; Payne’s problem is that he can't take a bloody joke, always walking around like he’s better than everyone. Like he's better than Simon. But then some crazy twat with a cricket bat attacked Simon and the lads. Broke Simon's fucking nose, too. He had to tell the school nurse that he fell out of bed, which he knows she didn’t believe. Neither did his parents when she called them.

He didn’t get a good look at the madman who attacked him. Whoever he was, he moved fast, so fast that Simon couldn’t make out his features in the dimly lit corridor. He was tall and Simon thinks he might have been wearing an earring. Simon wanted to report it, but he couldn't. Cheesy’s on his last strike; if he gets in trouble one more time, he’s going to get expelled. And Simon’s Mum says she’ll cut off his allowance if she gets one more call from the school and he thinks she might actually mean it this time. So whoever the crazy fuck is, they just got away with nearly killing Simon and the lads.

In the days that follow the attack, he keeps a close eye on Payne and yeah, he’s definitely acting weird. He keeps doing things like humming to himself while waiting in line in the dining hall and staring into the distance and smiling in class. He has dimples. Simon’s gone to school with him for years and had no idea he had dimples, because he’s usually a miserable, prickly little prat.

He’s hardly ever at his usual table in the library anymore. Simon checks every afternoon after class, but Payne’s hardly ever there. He’s had the same favorite table, in the back corner of the second floor, since their first year at St. Hilarion’s. Usually, when he’s not in class or at meals, that’s where he is, reading or doing schoolwork alone. But now, he always seems to be back in his room. He’s barely at meals either, bolting his food down before heading back to his room. Simon has even seen him sneak out a plate of food a few times. It’s fucking weird.

And worst of all, Payne doesn’t even seem to notice Simon anymore. When Simon and the lads give him a hard time in class when his answers are too long-winded, he barely seems to hear them. He doesn’t get flustered and snappish anymore, just continues to say his piece, unbothered. One day, Simon tries to corner him outside of Latin class and Payne brushes right by him without looking at him, like Simon’s not even there.

Simon doesn’t know what’s wrong with the prat, but he’s going to find out.

***

Simon can’t help but walk by Payne’s room all the time; it’s only two doors down from the room he shares with Cheeseman. Most of the lads on the hall keep their doors cracked so anyone can stop by for a chat, but Payne’s door is always closed because he’s an antisocial twat. A week after the madman with the cricket bat broke his nose, Simon’s walking past Payne’s room when he hears something he’s never heard from inside before: someone laughing.

He stops in his tracks, because he’s never heard Payne laugh before, or even really smile. He didn’t know the prat had a sense of humor.

From behind the closed door, Payne says something too low for Simon to hear. Another voice replies, laughing, and Simon realizes there’s someone else in there. But who else would be in Payne’s room? His only friend is that weird girl from St. Hilda’s and that wasn’t a girl’s voice. And he doesn’t have a roommate; he has a single as an “accommodation” as if being a stuck-up prick is something that needs accommodating.

They’re not allowed off-campus visitors in the dorms except on weekends and even then, their doors have to stay open. Payne’s always been a perfect rule-follower: his uniform neatly pressed, always back in his room well before lights’ out, never getting up to anything more exciting than reading alone in the library. So what’s he doing, sneaking someone into his room now?

Stepping closer, Simon presses his ear to the door and listens. It sounds like Payne’s reading a book out loud, probably one of the stupid detective stories he’s always lugging around. “Do you believe in ghosts, Max?” he hears Payne say, adopting a nasally voice, and his visitor laughs again, a snorting little giggle that’s definitely not Payne. Simon pictures Payne stretched out on his bed, book in his lap, maybe while another boy lies next to him, hanging onto his every word. 

The thought makes something hot and sick churn in Simon’s stomach. It’s bad enough for Payne to be… the way he is. Worse for him to fucking flaunt it about.

Simon has half a mind to bang on the door, but then he hears Barrow call, “Oi, Mouldy, what are you doing? You coming?”

Feeling like he’s been caught with his pants down, Simon whirls around to see Barrow and Cheeseman standing at the end of the hall. Right, football practice. He was going back to his room to grab his cleats when he got distracted by whatever’s going on in Payne’s room.  “Yeah, I’m coming,” he mutters and goes to join the lads.

***

Simon wakes in the middle of his night with his head pounding, his mouth tasting like arse, and the fierce need to take a piss. Cheesy came back from a weekend visiting his parents with a bottle of bourbon and they had the lads over to finish it off. Simon regrets it now; he feels like he’s been run over by a bus. His pounding head isn’t helped by Cheesy’s snores, which are even louder than usual. With a groan, Simon staggers out of bed and to the door.

The long walk down the hall to the loo takes him past Payne’s room, which is as dark and silent as the rest of the hall. When Simon stumbles into the bathroom, he’s surprised to find it filled with steam. One of the showers is running and whoever’s in there is singing in a language Simon doesn’t understand, the tune slow and a little mournful. That’s odd, Simon’s fuzzy brain registers. The only international student on their hall is Michel, and Simon speaks enough French to know that’s not what the song is.

The singing quiets as the door closes behind Simon, but he’s concentrating too hard on not face-planting onto the cold tile floor to pay too much mind to whoever’s in the shower. He does his business, then heads back to his room, cursing Cheesy, his parents, and that stupid fucking bourbon. As he passes Payne’s room, the door opens and Payne steps out into the hallway, blinking in surprise when he sees Simon.

Simon doesn’t feel like talking to Edwin bloody Payne right now, especially when his hair is all fluffy from sleep and he’s not pristine and buttoned-up like normal. He grunts at Payne in greeting and continues to his room, cursing Cheesy, his parents, and that stupid fucking bourbon. Practice tomorrow is going to be fucking miserable and Coach is going to catch on if Simon catches another “stomach bug.”

It’s only when he’s back in his bed that he registers: it’s 1 AM, well past lights’ out. Who the fuck is taking a shower at this time of night?

Simon rockets out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face, and throws open his door just in time to see Payne returning to his room. For some reason, he’s carrying a cricket bat, even though Simon is sure he didn’t have one a minute ago. Payne doesn’t even glance at Simon as he slips into his room, the door closing firmly behind him. When Simon hurries down the hall to the loo, he finds it dark and quiet.

***

You can read the rest here on AO3!

[rhyrhy]

Her bounty

Cw: angst!, death, grief, western Abby, she ties you up AHH

Chapter one: no more runnin’ (part 1/2)

Anderson is the best damn bounty hunter around, and you just so happen to have a pretty penny on your head. Get ready; she wasn’t too far behind you.

M.list

Before her hunting days

Grip tightened around the rough handle of the golf club, her knuckles white. Abigail hung over him, menacingly. Scowl etched onto her features months of tracking this man, the man who’d ripped her father away from her.

The auburn-haired woman sobbing at his side-Joel, she’d called him. She begged for his mercy.

Mercy? When had the world shown her heart any? her loss, her father, the pain that fueled her all the way here.

she raised the weapon high. But then, it hit her.

The pain and fear that stormed in the young woman’s eyes, was more familiar than she liked.

This wasn’t justice. It was vengeance.

Clank.

The metal handle bounced on the floor before laying flat to her feet. The golf club hit the ground. against the years of anger she had built her life around, Abby in this moment chose to break the cycle of devastation.

Mercy, She spared them. knowing it wouldn’t bring her father back.

It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she knew it was what her father would have wanted.

This, was no way to live.

Now

The year is 1908, and Abigail Anderson has now set out on a new path. She’s now the best damn bounty hunter around, living an honest yet, still dangerous life. tracking down criminals and delivering them to something she wishes the younger her would’ve gotten, justice. the bloodthirsty revenge that once swallowed her whole, had settled. Her father’s memory pushes her to stay the course, do some kind of good.

And then there’s you.

Your name is scrawled across a bounty poster, “KILLER” stamped in bold red letters beneath it. Unfortunately, That word makes Abby’s blood boil. She’s seen—lived what it means. the irreversible hurt it causes. Folks like you always got it the worst.

And you’d been escaping hunters left and right, huh? You were a challenge.

She loved those.

While on the run to settle in northernwesten Wyoming, yes, You’d managed to outrun or wear down other hunters in the past. Little did you know you were a sitting duck.

The abandoned hallowed out cabin you've holed up in provides hardly proper shelter but that is the least of your worries. You’d been trying to get some shut eye when— hooves?

From outside your make-shift shelter you hear the pater of hooves against the earth, above the whipping wind a gun clicks.

Oh.

"Woman! Get out here, now!" a harsh and raspy tone shouts.

Oh.

Abby had found you, showtime.

You had gotten wind that she might be after you, never in a million years did you think she’d actually be here. Kicking down the door of your temporary shelter.

In an unprepared panic you quickly moved behind a wooden half-wall waiting for her to get through. A half loaded gun in hand, hiding. You were usually much more prepared but she’d been watching you so silently you’d almost forgotten about her. You took a deep breath and prepared yourself to escape, looking around the cabin for possible routes.

A half opened window, a back door, and the front door.

The back door was too far, she’d grab you up before you got two feet. The front door was buckling under her heavy kicks with her heel. Probably not going to work.

The window wasn’t far, it was a small jump but you could work with that. Only thing is, you’d have to slide it up a few more inches to get out without stutter.

The old cabin door is reduced to splinters as Abby kicks down the door, her gun in hand. She scans the room, looking for her bounty, you. The cabin isn't very big. Yet, it takes her a cautious minute to scan over the room. Not much, but obviously lived in.

The slight was nothing but terrifying, 

Her heavy boots, hat tilted so you couldn’t see but definitely felt that sharp gaze, gun drawn. She circled the flooring, light steps echoing through the open, rundown space.

You felt your heart stop when her eyes settled on your figure. A huffed, mocking laugh at your hiding spot.

Abby’s eyes narrow at the way you gripped the gun tighter at the eye contact. She takes a daring step forward, keeping her gun trained in the direction of your face. before she spoke in a low tone that sent a shiver through your body.

"Don't you do anything stupid," she warns, her voice firm. Her voice was soft, but her words were absolutely commanding. 

“Aw, Anderson, c'mon now,” you said in a practiced sweet tone. Now that she’s seen you, it was time to pull out all the stops.

"Don't you try that with me," she snaps sharply, her gun still aimed at you. "You're comin' with me, whether you like it or not." 

Abby rolls her eyes at your half-assed pleading. 

 "Put the gun down, and put your hands up slowly." “Now.” She stalks forward, her boots echoing against the floorboard.

Oh shit, is all that’s replaying in your mind as she comes into full view? You’d only seen grainy or drawn images of this ruthless hunter. Now here she was, jaw clenched and barking orders at you. You stayed glued to your spot, initial panic starting to turn into survival mode. You knew it was testy, but you didn’t follow her orders. You had your reasons and weren’t going to rot in a cell for it. 

"Do. Not. Test me," she hisses. "Either you do what I say now, or I'll have to force you.“ Her face twists in anger as you refuse to drop your gun. She takes another heavy step closer, her gun unwavering.

You two exchanged more colorful words as you stood your ground. This was new for Abby; she was used to refusal but downright defiance when you had a gun poked between your eyebrows. That meant you were either very brave or very, very stupid. It sent an excited thrill through her fingertips to see how this played out. You’d done the unthinkable and had the audacity to not give the family you’d hurt justice? 

Oh, she was going to have fun with you. 

Especially now that she watched as you slowly shuffled towards the half-opened window behind you both. She’d warn you that things would get ugly if you kept pushing your luck, but you couldn’t and wouldn’t be turned in.

Her eyes narrow into slits as she watches you fumble with the window behind you. She knows you're trying to escape, and she's not about to let you get away.

"Don't even think about it," she warns, taking another menacing step towards you. "I will shoot you; don't doubt that for a damn second."

Once one foot was out the window, she gritted her teeth. How had you so slowly gotten halfway out the damn window. Why were you still testing her mercy.

And why did this push and pull, continue to excite her…Before she knew it, you’d hit the ground running.

“Shit!” She swore and quickly turned on her heels to follow you.

You ran.

that’s all you could do. Hell, that woman was six feet tall and jacked; you’d probably knock you flat on your ass if she had gotten any closer. You’d evaded hunters before, but you’d never been more intimidated by them than by her.

The image of the scowl on her face while she demanded things from you was terrifying.

The way her eyes scanned over your body, it was like she was imagining what she’d do to you as soon as you were tied up and begging to be let go.

But that wasn’t you. You weren’t evil, not a monster.

You were just a woman who’d been hurt by the world.Years ago when you were just a girl. A robbery gone wrong started that pain of losing your father and descent into this “outlaw” life. Show your surviving in the wilderness while being constantly pursued, making you feel like a cornered animal.

The man who held the weapon's face stayed burned into your mind, and as you grew from a girl to a woman, it only made your fist clench tighter.

You sat there holding his hand as he dropped to the cold floor of the bank. Frozen in place, little you was terrified and now lost the hand that held yours. Or checked for any monsters under the bed. Now glossy-eyed and a pool of red underneath.

So years later, when you found that man outside unguarded. You didn’t hesitate to pound your fist into his face.

He fought, screamed, and scratched, but it was no use. He was a dead man walking in your eyes.

That man wasn’t going anywhere but hell anyway; you sending him there didn’t make no difference. You knew what you did; you made a choice, and you’d been living in that choice ever since.

That is what fueled you to bob and weave through these large trees. Heartbeat faster than you ever heard it, you were running’.

Well, at least you were running. Suddenly the world was tilting, and the ground was coming closer to your face.

Thud

You smacked straight into the foliage. The dry leaves and dirt tickling the side of your cheek as your vision began to black.

There she was, above you, lasso in hand. The other end around your ankles. She had you tied up like a runaway cow. The combination of the wind being knocked out of you and shock sent you into a small slumber.

Now you only hoped when you woke up it wasn’t in a cell.

————————————-

All ima say is, it gets real crazy in the next one

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Part 15: Jeannie

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

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Chapter summary: Past. Jean's POV Present. Jean is over them all.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religious trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

EXTRA WARNING: Male manipulator incel Logan

2k words

His mind was somewhere else.

“Scott, baby.” Jean tried to get him to come back to her. Lingerie, hair done up, waiting for Scott on her knees in the bedroom… and it worked. At least for a little bit.

But even as she ground herself over his growing bulge, she could tell he was somewhere else in his head. His cock stiffened and softened at the same time as he’d begin looking over her shoulder or his mouth stopped moving and she’d have to call him back to reality. 

It was her fault. No, Jean, not her fault. Jean had to remind herself that just because Logan and Scott were playing out their latest pissing match with you instead of her this time, it wasn’t your fault. You were just a girl that needed help. Logan and you seemed happy, whatever the state of your relationship was… but she couldn’t help missing that attention Logan gave. Logan was a single focus man, and when that focus was on you, it was all consuming.

 Before you entered the picture, even then Scott could be distant. That wasn’t his fault either, she tried to remind herself. He had OCD and worries left him spiraling. It wouldn’t be so bad if he just let her help him. She just wanted to help him. Instead, he internalized it, isolated himself and disappeared sometimes, leaving Jean worried and only knowing he hasn’t hurt himself from their telepathic connection.

She tries, she really tried to be empathetic to him and to you.

But when her husband can’t even get hard because his thoughts are with someone else, it’s kind of hard to not be angry.

Still, Jean was nothing if not able to tamper down that dark side, the anger that she felt simmering just below the surface. Usually, she could channel it into something good, something productive… but Jean didn’t want to be good.

She sighed, signalling her giving up with a drop of her head that encased Scott in red. “Get some rest, Scott. I think you need sleep.” He doesn’t sleep much these days, nor eat. His already slim figure is looking underweight with his cheekbones gaunt and the darkness peaking out under her visor. He’s not himself, and she doesn’t know what to do.

He reaches over to cup her face. “Sorry baby…” And he does look apologetic, despite the exhaustion in his voice. He carried to much on his shoulders, but it’s not like she hasn’t tried to lighten the load. “You look really fucking hot, I just…” Scott didn’t like talking about his mental issues, which was a major chunk of the problem. Until he lets her in, there’d always be a gap between them. A gap she used to fill with Logan, but now is just a hollow point inside her; an emptiness threatening to swollow her whole and break them apart. She loved Scott, but loving him meant always feeling a little alone, even on the good days. 

“Rest.” Jean smiled softly. “I’ll stay here with you.” A lie, but if Scott caught on, she didn’t say. When he was asleep, she snuck out to find Logan.

*

How did she sink so low she was begging to get fucked? She just wanted someone to love her, to pay attention, she felt like she was drowning and needed to not feel so alone. Why wouldn’t Logan give it to her? Why couldn’t Scott? What had changed that she was no longer worthy of being loved?

Logan was good at that, at making her feel loved and desired when he wanted to. When he didn’t want to, he could pull it away just as quickly. It was embarrassing; humiliating even though the only person who knew was him. No one else could tell how subtly he wormed his way into her head, they all thought she had the control. She did, for a while anyway. Being chased, being hunted and stalked like prey was enticing especially on days Scott wouldn’t even look at her.

However once Logan knew the power he had, once her built her up himself he had control over her self esteem. And he knew how to wield that. She was a fool to offer it up to him again willingly, but here she was.

“He doesn’t pay attention to me.” The embarrassing admittance that she wasn’t enough for her own husband, but she laid herself bare to Logan in a way she couldn’t with Scott, not with his barriers.

“And you think I will?”

“You always did before.” She didn’t care if he was dangerous, a little unhinged. She just needed to feel.

“That was before her.”

Before her. Before his little child bride.

 Logically, she knew better than to be mad at a 24 year old for catching Logan’s eye. She couldn’t even blame Logan; she liked you. You were kind, that's what everyone said about you (either before or after calling you weird, generally), but you were also a very capable teacher, taking on several grades, sometimes at once, and giving your all. You’d made an impact on many students, and you were incredibly smart; your brain had been wasted on the abusive prick you’d killed. 

Jean knew she should be better than this, more evolved, beyond the mean girl nature of how she was acting but she was so desperate to fill that gap caving inside her she let the cruelty slide out more when he finally fucked her.

“Does your baby doll do it like this?”

A mistake, she knew. His fist tightened around her neck, and her nervous system kicked in. Logan was a dangerous man to play around with. Still, he wouldn’t hurt her. Not really, right? Just fuck with her mind again and again until she lost all sense of herself.

“No, but my baby doll can give me what you can’t.”

She had to laugh at that, the idea of Logan wanting to settle down. “What, you want to settle down, have a family, live a normal life?” 

“So what if I do, Jeannie?”

A blink. A breath. She knew what she was offering was a risk, but she wasn’t thinking clearly. Whatever it took to be loved. She disappointed her parents at an early age, never hearing from them again. She always felt she scared Charles, her darkness too great. Erik disapproved of her hiding that darkness. She wasn’t enough to fix Scott, to make him let her in, to truly be one.

She could be enough for Logan. If a family is what he wanted.

 “I can be that.”

“Oh yeah, you’re gonna abandon everything here? The students? Charles?”

She shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a family Logan.”

For a moment, his grip grew deathly tight but he threw her to the ground before she could comprehend what he had been about to do.

They went back and forth, Jean feeling vulnerable and like Logan was prying down her defenses until it slipped out. Until she admitted he had gotten her pregnant.

Her choice had been easy. With telepathy, she knew early, very early, and she knew she couldn’t have a kid with Logan. She didn’t want a baby with Logan, or a baby at all.

Logan, at that point, would have been a bad dad, and she didn’t think he would have wanted to be one anyway. 

It would have broken Scott, broken him even worse when the affair got outed. Broken him enough that he might not have survived that blow.

But here she was, telling Logan he could knock her up, just for him to feel like er loved her again.

After

“She seems happy.” Jean commented, nodding to where Wade and you were giggling at the table. She was glad you had more friends now, not just Remy. It seems Remy never told Logan he was the one who outed their affair to Scott, otherwise Jean doubted Logan would hang around him as much as they do, even if his girl is his friend.

He beamed, looking at you. “Yeah, she’s do’n real well. Much better, I think.”

Swallowing some of her pride and jealous, Jean tried to do better, to be better. “It’s nice to see you happy too, Logan” She was sincere, but Logan seemed to try and brush it off. “I mean it. I’ve never seen you so pussy whipped.” It was meant as a joke, but the way Logan whipped his head back to her made Jean startle. She’d been more nervous around him lately; after the incident in the closet anyway. 

“The fuck you mean?” He was angry, and she didn’t know why. It was always like this with Logan; the mood swings she couldn’t predict, the sudden withdrawal of affection that left her clamoring. They were having a nice chat, now he was mad. 

She tried to remain firm and calm, not wanting to rile him up more. It was a nice party, she didn’t want to ruin it. “I just mean- Logan it’s a good thing. I mean you’ll do anything for her. She’d do anything for you, by the way.”

“She better. She’s my fucking wife.”

“Logan.”

“You know why I chose her, Jeannie? Because she don’t fuck’n sass off like you. Knows her place. Knows when to keep her mouth shut.”

“Or her mouth open, I assume.”

Logan looked like he wanted to slap her, his knuckles whitening where he gripped the counter.

Still, he tried to goed her on. “Yeah, because she’s a good girl, likes to please me. You wouldn’t know anything about that.” Jean opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. “Maybe you just need God too and you wouldn’t have to cry for the attention your husband won’t give you.”

He was trying to get under her skin, so she tried to let it roll off. “Using her trauma to keep her submissive isn’t the flex you think it is, Logan. Now I know why you chose her. Lot easier to get a girl to stay with you when you knock her up if she won’t have an abortion.”

You were playing with fire here.

“Shut up.”

Jean glared at him, taken aback by his sudden change, but growing tired of his childish behavior. She leaned in, whispering to keep nice for the party and for you. “You tell me to shut up again and will tell your little dolly that you fucked me while you were ‘taking it slow’ with her.”

Logan glared right back. “Yeah, and risk Scott finding out?”

“I am done wasting my time on either of you. Get fucked, Logan.”

Resisting the urge to throw her drink in his face, Jean walked off as she heard Wade squeal and wrap you into a big hug. Logan would be too busy handling that to follow her.

She was going to fucking be free of him. One way or another. 

He could tell Wade and Kurt whatever he wanted. He could tell them she was cruel, indecisive, played with him; all of it was true to some extent.

But that was the game he laid out for her. He set up the chess board and got mad when she took his queen. He taught her the rules and when backed into check, he broke them. And when she got checkmate, he ran away and cried crazy ex to his friends.

Wade wasn’t a fan of Jean, she knew that. That’s fine, he was too crass and loud for her taste.

Kurt was too nice to treat her with anything but kindness, but he didn’t go out of his way to talk to her like before. People had chosen their sides, and that was fine. But it was sick the way that Logan created a standard in their relationship of playing mind games, only to move the goalpost when she had the upper hand.

She was done with his incel ass. She was done with trying to get Scott to care about her above anyone else. She was done trying to prove herself constantly to get nothing back. 

Jean was done.

Thank you so much for reading! i had a breakthrough on my writers block for the end FINALLY!!!! Ah, the magic of boiling pasta at the OG <3

anyway I also had an idea for a married logan x reader series dealing with cheating but lemme finish this and IIBH first XD

SO JEAN!!!!! what do we think?

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia a @new-genesis100 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2 @bugsinmyeyez @groundclueless @cosmolight @nonamevenus