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mvltisstuff · 1 year ago

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going, going, gone - c.f

summary: y/n’s the only person who can get conrad, and he realizes that maybe he’s been falling for the wrong conklin.

conrad fisher x conklin!reader

gif from @conradfiisher

a/n: this will likely have a part two, so it probably won’t end here!! no promises as to when pt 2 is out but it will be there eventually ;)) this is literally me wishing i could slap some sense into belly

part two

“hey,” y/n greets, stepping into the beach house and finding conrad unpacking.

“hi,” he smiles lightly. the past few months have been nearly impossible. trying to crack conrad open is like trying to break into a safe. it took y/n forever to be able to understand conrad, and now that she finally did, there was an undeniable spark. she could sense the tension in his mind, knowing that something had set him off. he looked like he just wanted to break down, but he didn’t want to. if he did, he doesn’t know how to put himself back together.

“you ok?” she asks, cautiously. he’s almost like a wild animal, get too close and he runs away. especially since susannah died, he hasn’t been able to find a connection like the one he had with his mother.

“fine,” he mumbles, folding a few blankets onto the couch and placing some pillows beside it.

“conrad, don’t play this game with me again,” y/n sighs, stepping closer to him. he pauses in his movements to look up at her, slapping one last piece of decor on the mantle. “can we at least talk about the exam?”

“i, um,” he stutters, unable to find the right words that have disappeared in his mind. it’s like he completely pushed out the exam, all the other events had forcefully taken the excitement from it. “i feel really good about it, but it’s just an exam.”

y/n can tell in his slumped stance that something is truly disturbing him. he looks broken, and whoever did it certainly failed to put the pieces back together. it appears that they didn’t even try. “talk to me, conrad. please?”

he stops, breaking eye contact. he can’t look at her while he tells her because she can’t see his face when he says it. he doesn’t want y/n to see him crack under the pressure again.

“jeremiah and belly were making out on my car when i came out of testing. i walked out and there they were.”

“what?” y/n spits out, thinking about everything belly had told her before. “i thought she said she moved on-“

“yeah, i did, too,” his voice breaks, still avoiding any looks to y/n. if y/n sees him falling apart over belly, y/n would probably say something. the last thing conrad wants is for belly to know the affect this had on him.

“conrad, you know you can talk to me, right?” she steps closer, wanting to reach out her hand to him but knowing he probably doesn’t want it. he wants belly’s. “anything you say to me won’t get back to her.”

he slightly turns, finally letting his eyes wander up y/n’s body until they meet hers. he’s always found a trust in y/n. she’s been there since they were little kids, but it’s always felt different. there was an innocence to her, she felt like home and he could always run back to her if he needed her. he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he ruined that.

“i’m just so tired, y/n. it’s just one step forward and two steps back. i thought we could finally be over this, but they both just stabbed me in the back. on my car, during my test, in my hoodie. my mom always said belly was destined for me, but it just feels like jere took that.”

y/n can feel the hurt as well as see it on conrad’s face. she’s able to read him so well now that he’s not afraid to open up. she feels like they’ve gotten through a door, a point where they can share secrets and find a safety net in the other. “belly doesn’t deserve you, conrad. she’s not as mature as you, and you can thrive without her, i swear.”

“i’ll be ok, i just need a break from all this shit,” he groans, allowing y/n to finally walk up to him and hold his hand. “i don’t know if we can go back to the way things were after this.”

“i know i can’t change what happened, but i need you to understand that you’re not alone. at this point, you come first to me.” he nods, and y/n can see the sunrise in his face a bit more, but his mind is still covered with darkness. “if you need anything, please call me or come see me, ok?”

“deal,” he cracks a little grin, making y/n smile a bit in return.

“take care of yourself, connie,” she says before opening the front door. she starts the long drive home knowing what’s waiting for her there.

she plants her stuff down on the counter, letting her body relax after the hours behind the wheel. she starts to clean up some of the mess that she left on the counter when she hears squeaky footsteps come down the stairs.

“hey, you’re back already?” belly says, lurking into the kitchen to lean against the frame. y/n doesn’t say anything, she just looks at her and continues to organize everything. “what’s wrong, why do you look like that?”

“honestly, belly, i’m just trying to figure out what to say to you.”

“what do you mean?” belly asks, trying to think about why her older sister could have a reason to be mad at her.

“i stopped at cousins on the way home,” y/n informs her, belly knowing exactly where she left conrad.

“y/n, you can’t be pissed off because of what he told you-“

“no, belly, i have every right to be pissed. i’m pissed for conrad. you left him in the dust and you have no shame about it.”

“it just happened, jeremiah and i. i never wanted to hurt conrad, but im in love!”

“yeah, you were also in love last week with conrad. and the week before with jeremiah. you need to move on from them, bell,” y/n sighs, allowing belly some time to build another response.

“who are you to even say that?”

“because i’ve been there for both of them! i was there for jeremiah when you wanted conrad. i’m there for conrad because you are playing with their hearts like they’re toys. i can tell your hearts not fully in it with jeremiah, but i’m not gonna let you destroy those boys even more.”

“how am i destroying them?”

“belly, wipe that innocence off your face. you’ve managed to rip apart the fisher brothers because you cannot pick which one you like more.”

“but-“

“no, belly! listen to me,” y/n cuts her off before she can try and make anything better. “you couldn’t even contain yourself at susannah’s funeral because you were too worried about conrad. i know we are all grieving, but you are acting like you’re more worried about which brother likes you more. it’s exhausting having to clean up the mess you make over and over again. you’re slowly ruining this bond for me, for steven, for mom! you know i love you more than words, but if you keep playing with their feelings, belly, this family is going to be destroyed.”

“y/n, susannah told me-“

“use susannah as an excuse one more fucking time, belly.” the room goes deadly silent, y/n sick of the excuses and victimized mentality of belly. when steven comes stepping quietly into the room, he ganders softly into the chaotic mess that has formed between his sisters. she swipes her keys back off the table, grabbing an extra bag out of the closet. “i’ll be back.”

“where are you going?” belly says, eyes full of tears from her fear of confrontation. her voice was shaky, and y/n could still feel a sting of guilt in her chest. she hated to build a bigger wall between everyone, but belly had to hear it.

“i’m going to look after conrad, because you failed to do it,” y/n ends their conversation, slamming the front door behind her and moving to the car. she left the house with a terrible tone, but someone else needed her more. belly had jeremiah, taylor, steven, laurel, anyone she wanted. conrad had y/n, and that became enough for him.

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jeremiah-fisher · 1 month ago

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this august

—a the summer i turned pretty fic about first love, defining moments, and jeremiah fisher ♡

「chapter two: when i saw you」

breathe in, breathe deep, you know that’s all you need

i can’t describe your eyes but they’re as blue as the sea

your heart, it beats in perfect time with me

. . .

THEN - september 7, back at finch

Off in a corner of the Financial Aid Office, someone is having a sneezing fit. The sound is so thunderous that I wonder if ragweed allergies are to blame, especially when the noise starts and stops intermittently.

I have my cheek in my left hand with my elbow resting anxiously on top of my knee as I pretend to consume the boring contents of the school newspaper. They use so many vibrant colours, it feels like a rainbow shat on it. Then there are the repetitive stories about the boys varsity football team winning another trophy over the weekend. How many times will I need to read the names Yael Lawson and Jeremiah Fisher before I pluck my own eyes out?

After a while, I push the newspaper away and reach for my phone. I have a bunch of email responses from the jobs I applied to on campus, a couple of Instagram notifications asking me to visit the damned app since I stopped scrolling a week ago, and two texts: one from Aunt Greenie promising to return my call and one from my new roommate, Isabel, letting me know that she may have someone coming over to our dorm today to help her unpack the rest of her things.

Yesterday, I walked into my dormitory for the very first time. Griffin Hall is the oldest dormitory on campus, complete with ancient amenities – like the vending machine on the first floor which still sells Lifesavers Soda in three different flavours – and tacky rugs, which don’t seem to have been washed nor cared for since the 90s. There are two elevators which can take you up to the six floors above, but one of them is somehow always out of order. At least, according to the RA, Amber. I was in the dorm furthest from the elevator, too, which meant that I had to lug my suitcase and backpack down the corridor while many of the new girls and their parents watched in curiosity.

The door to the room was just as ancient as the rest of the building and the knob was wobbly. There was a small dry-erase board hanging in the middle, which seemed to be something my neighbours' doors were equipped with, too. I had written my name on it quickly before heading inside.

I was the first one there, so I took the bed to the left. The shelves were dusty, the walls still had tape left behind by the previous tenants, and the bed made a cranky, somewhat eerie sound each time you got up. But when I placed my water bottle down on my desk for the very first time, I was bubbling with excitement.

It had taken a lot of hard work to even get to be in a dorm. I was already behind most of the other freshmen girls since I worked my butt off during my gap year to afford this place. The happiness of my own dorm at school could easily override any qualms I had about how I would survive it.

A few hours after I had arrived, I was reading a comic book on my bed when someone knocked on the door. I rushed to get up and open it. There was only one person it could be and I was excited to make her acquaintance. I had read so many books about girls becoming best friends with their first year roommates and secretly hoped it would happen to me, too.

Isabel was the first person I saw. She was tall, taller than me by at least an inch, fair-skinned and with long, dark brown hair which was pulled into a high ponytail. Her eyes were kind and soft around the edges, and she had a stuffed polar bear in her arms. There were two adults with her, too, whom I assumed were her parents.

“Hi,” she had said, greeting me immediately. I was a little taken aback by how cheerful she sounded. Was she just as ecstatic as I was? I really hoped so. “I’m Isabel. You’re Rebecca?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, moving away from the door so they could all enter. They shuffled in one after the other, taking in the room as they went. Their eyes went all over the place, the same as mine did, from wall to wall and desk and desk. “I moved in a few hours ago.”

Isabel took off her shoes by the front door, setting them next to mine, before surveying the room again. Her eyes were wide with childlike wonder and I decided right then and there that I liked her.

“Sorry,” I sputtered as her gaze fell on the left side of the room where my things had accumulated. “I figured I could just…”

Isabel smiled at me while her parents put two medium-sized boxes down next to her closet. “That’s okay. I don’t care which side I get. I’m just happy to finally be here.” Behind her, her father seemed to frown at that.

He was a lanky but broad-shouldered man with a small, well-kept beard. He wore a striped dress shirt under a brown suit jacket and pristine shoes, like they had been cleaned especially for this occasion. He had an air of sophistication about him that read as judgemental but willing to hear you out.

Her mother was different. She had short, straight black hair which was tied back with an elastic, a simple gold chain around her neck, and the most impatient look I had ever seen anyone wear. It was similar to the expression corporate workers donned on their morning coffee runs, antsy about getting their latte in time. I could feel myself starting to sweat just by the polite smile she threw my way.

“Belly,” she said, addressing her daughter while her head jerked towards the door. “If there’s anything else you need, just text me. Your Dad and I will be downstairs in the cafeteria.”

Those were her parting words and then they were gone. Isabel started unpacking just as soon as she put her polar bear down, right on top of her bed. She brought out pink bed sheets with tiny roses on them, a fluffy pillow to match, and a comforter that looked like something out of an IKEA catalogue.

We chatted the whole time she hung up clothes in her closet. She didn’t have that many, mostly t-shirts and jeans, and two different Finch sweatshirts – one in blue and one in burgundy. In no time at all, though, her desk became riddled with hair ties, a pair of Dr. Dre Beats, several packs of Smarties and Twizzlers, and a fancy, white tumbler.

I found out that she’s from a decently-sized town in Pennsylvania and the coolest thing about her neighbourhood was that they had block parties every summer. She attended her first one last year because every year before then, she had spent her summers at a beach house in Cape Cod. I didn’t ask why she suddenly stopped going to said beach house and she never told me. There were certain things you couldn’t ask a person upon meeting them for the very first time and I felt like that was one of them.

We talked about our favourite colours, our favourite books, our celebrity crushes, what major we’re in, and how we want roommate life to go. Neither of us had ever shared a room before. I didn’t have siblings and she only had an older brother, Steven, who went to Princeton.

We agreed that we would not invite strangers into our dorm, we would lock up before leaving each time, we would throw out our garbage regularly, we would not leave old socks lying around, we would not blast music while the other was studying or sleeping, and we would not have boys over without letting the other know first.

I almost told her that she didn’t need to worry about that last one. That I wasn’t planning on dating anyone while at college. There was too much at stake and boys were a lot of work. Unless you were sure you were going to marry the guy, why waste all that time?

But that was when Isabel started telling me about her boyfriend. They had only been together about a year. She had grown up with him, at the beach house she mentioned earlier, and they had been best friends before they started seeing each other. He was a sophomore at Finch and held the wide receiver position on the school’s football team.

The last thing she told me was that he would be around the dorm sometimes, maybe before or after classes, and if there was ever any time that I didn’t want him there, I could just tell her and there would be no hard feelings. I really liked that about Isabel – that she cared and thought about how others might feel.

I text her back first.

isabel: might have someone over today to help me unpack, just to let you know :)

me: sure, no problem

Then it’s Aunt Greenie’s text which stares back at me.

I hate it. Despise everything about it. Aunt Greenie types in all formality, as if she is perpetually speaking to a crowd of professors.

Aunt Greenie: Be advised that I will return your call later today, Rebecca. If you do not hear from me by 9 pm tonight, please leave me a message.

me: sure thing

By the time I’m finished looking through the five rejection emails I received from various positions on campus, my name still has not been called by the receptionist. With a sigh, I pocket my phone and head to the front desk. The lady on the phone, whom I spoke with forty-five minutes ago, gives me a raised brow in greeting.

“Hi, I’m just checking to see if Ms. Rodriguez is available for my appointment yet.”

The lady glances at a paper calendar hanging in front of her then says to me, “Irene is due at a meeting in ten minutes. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

The corners of my eyes crinkle as stress pulls at my veins. “But I’ve been waiting here for almost an hour. I booked this meeting yesterday and was told that I could see her today.”

“I understand,” the lady says, almost exasperatedly, as if this conversation is one that she has had to have multiple times before. I glance at her name tag: Tatiana. “Unfortunately, the appointment before yours ran later than expected and Irene apologizes for that. She will see you tomorrow. Are you available at 8:30?”

“A.M.?”

Tatiana gives me a quizzical look. “Our office closes at 4 P.M.”

“Right.” I pull out my phone again to move my appointment to tomorrow. “I have a class at 8:30. Is there any way she can see me at 3?”

“Let’s put you down for 2:30, so we’re not cutting it too close.” I don’t interject to tell her that my History of War lecture ends at 2:50. I don’t think she would care much anyways. Her fingers tap away on her keyboard and then she’s smiling up at me. “You’re all set.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, not really meaning it. What was the point of booking appointments if the person you took time out to see couldn’t – or perhaps, wouldn’t – see you?

With three hours to spare until my next class, I decide to head back to Griffin Hall for chocolate oatmeal cookies from a box and the next episode of the new true crime podcast I stumbled upon a few nights ago. It was easily the only thing keeping me going amongst the whirlwind of changes in my life, which seemed to be coming at me all at once.

Amber is posted at the reception desk with Nora and Joan when I walk in. The air conditioning is down again. I feel it before I know it. Everyone on the floor is dressed in cropped shirts or bikini tops reminiscent of mid-July. I see one of the girls from my floor and smile at her as she buys herself a can of Sprite from the vending machine.

“Hey, Rebecca!” Amber calls out, waving me over. “Come here for a second.”

I walk over to her and the others with defeated strength. The RAs in our dormitory love to talk. With everyone, about everything. I’m much too tired for that today even though on most occasions, I’m as much of a chatterbox as everyone else. “Hey.”

Amber gives me a smile. “The AC’s down, but don’t crack a window open when you get to your room. We have spare fans in the storage closet. You can sign it out from reception.” Joan holds the sign out sheet to me, but I decline it with a wave of my hand.

“I’ll swing by later. I just want to take a nap right now.” And I mean it. I don’t realize I do mean it until the words have left my mouth. Suddenly, gone is my desire for cookies and podcasts. All I want to do now is go lay in my cranky bed and cry my feelings out.

“Suit yourself. We’re here until midnight.”

The walk to my dorm is a long one. I can’t stop thinking about today… or yesterday… or the day before that.

Aunt Greenie promised me. She promised. The last thing my mother left behind for me was a small fund only to be accessed upon my successful admission into a post-secondary school.

As far as her will went, Mom never had any stipulations about where I had to study or what I had to learn. She just wanted me to go to college and get a degree. She had one from Michigan State and worked in administration at a food packaging company.

Before everything went wrong, Dad was a painter. He would paint people’s houses – inside or out – and made good money off referrals. Mom didn’t want that for me, though. She wanted me to have a career – real, honest to goodness work that made me glad to be a part of something bigger than myself.

I like to think that Finch will get me there.

It was not my top choice school. I wanted to go to Michigan State, like Mom. But my grades had slipped in senior year and we couldn’t possibly afford tuition on his meager 55k a year salary. So I dumped the idea of going to university right out of high school. Instead, I got a job at a hot dog stand, then a cafe, then I walked dogs and babysat five year olds, and eventually, I started selling t-shirts outside of concert venues for a fraction of the price the vendors inside were. It was a decent gig, if for a few legal hiccups, until Dad went missing.

By the time I got him back, Aunt Greenie suggested I give up on my dream of attending a high-ranked university and submit an application to Finch, where her step-son had gone to school years ago.

At my doorstep, I’m tempted to walk back down to the first floor and sign out a fan. It’s scorching up here. Every nerve ending slumps into retirement as I wonder if I can physically fight the weather for doing this to me today of all days.

I hold my backpack against my body as I dig my key out to unlock the door. But when I push it in, I find the knob already loose. A frightening chill runs down my spine, despite the heat I was enveloped in only seconds ago.

During Frosh Week, Amber and the other RAs had given us a presentation on the importance of staying alert as a resident of Griffin Hall. We were the only other all-girls dormitory on campus. There could be instances in which some creep may take advantage of that fact. They had emphasized locking our doors at night, not leaving the building without letting someone know where we were headed, and walking in groups, if possible. By the end of the presentation, we were all given a safety kit, too, which included: a whistle, pepper spray, a tactical pen, a mini flashlight, and an information brochure on everything from Suicide Prevention to numbers for local emergency services.

Drat! My safety kit is inside, sitting unopened in my desk drawer. So much for being prepared in case of an emergency.

With an irritated huff at my lack of preparation, I turn the knob as quietly as it will go and take a cautious step inside. The lights are off but the curtains are open, casting a bit of luminance over the tiny room. I surveyed it for an intruder.

On Isabel’s side of the room, her bed sits untouched. Her bedding is neat, tidy, and well-made from her early start to the day. I think I remember her saying she had volleyball try-outs. The same cannot be said for my bed, which is messy with half of my blanket dragging on the floor and a person tangled inside of it.

The person is tall. So tall that his feet hang a little over the edge of my twin bed. His face is stuffed in my pillow, arms tucked underneath, and he is shirtless. The naked curve of his shoulder is enough to give that away. Dread rises in my chest as I walk closer to him, wondering if he is a dangerous creep or just a weirdly intoxicated dude on a Monday morning who stumbled into my dorm room by mistake.

When I’m near enough to take in the parts of him that were indiscernible from the door, I notice his curly, dirty blond hair and a silver cross necklace around his neck. He’s tanned, like he spent all summer lying under the sun somewhere down south. His brows are thick, his eyelashes long enough to breed envy in any girl, and he has freckles on his cheeks. They almost look like little stars scattered across the galaxy of his skin.

The heat which had risen in my chest earlier dissipates until a flush of new emotion – a much more amorous one – bubbles up. Inwardly, I curse at myself then crouch down next to him, taking in his squished up face, the tiny spot of drool under his lips, and the fact that he is snoring. Not too loud to be annoying, but loud enough to assume that he must have fallen asleep here a while ago. He looks tired, like he was up all night. There is a familiarity to him that I can’t quite put my finger on.

With my heart beating loudly in my ears, I reach back in my pocket for my phone. The motion mixed with my terribly shaky hands causes me to stumble and fall back on my butt. The sudden crash wakes him up and I look away immediately, embarrassment flooding my veins even though he’s a stranger in my bed.

“Oh, shit,” the boy says, scrambling up. I lift myself up off the floor and take a step away from the bed. He looks at me with wide eyes while I blush from the top of my head down to the ends of my toes. “Who are–”

“You’re in my bed,” I grind out, throwing the words into the air as if they were scalding my tongue. “Why are you in my bed?”

The boy’s eyes widen a fraction and he stares down at where he is. He looks around for a second before realization dawns on him. Then he looks at me again. His crystal blue eyes are full of apology. “Oh, man. My bad. I thought this was Belly’s.”

Belly’s?

“Who’s…?” I take a pause. “Are you talking about Isabel?”

“Yeah,” he nods, his wavy curls flying everywhere. His hair is so long, longer than any guy’s I’ve met at school. I wonder if he likes it that way or if he’s due for a haircut soon. “I guess it’s Isabel now.”

Without saying anything else, he swings both legs off the edge of my bed and stands to his feet. As he does so, I stumble back again. I really think I’ll fall and hurt myself this time when he winds his arm around my waist, holding me up. He doesn’t even realize that his doing so lands me flat against his very open chest.

Upon impact, I accidentally inhale his cologne and it’s so good that I almost forget where I am for a second. But then I quickly realize what I’m doing and how close we are and how I don’t know this boy at all. Although he seems to know my roommate. I push myself away from him and stand to my full height. He looks down at me with a lazy smirk, like he is used to having girls lose themselves around him and he likes it.

My next question arrives in a sputter. “Why are you shirtless?”

“It’s really hot.”

“That’s because the AC’s out.”

He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, glancing around the room. He seems to notice Isabel’s bed behind me because then he asks: “What’s your name?”

“What?”

He licks his lips. I watch the moisture coat his pink lips, and then stupidly, I find myself tilting towards him as a result. What the hell is wrong with me? “Your name.”

“Uh, it’s Rebecca… or Bec.”

His brows slide up. So far up that they almost get lost in his bushfuls of hair. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment and just stares at me, so again I go, “What?”

He shrugs, almost nonchalant even though a second ago, he looked almost spooked. “Nothing. It’s just that… that was my mom’s name.”

“Was?”

“Yeah. She died last year.”

This guts me. I know a thing or two about dead mothers.

“Oh. I’m really sorry.”

“That’s alright,” he grins. Then he shakes his hair out. He must really be in need of that haircut. “Wasn’t your fault. Unless you have the ability to give people breast cancer.”

“No, I…”

The boy chuckles and the sound rumbles from deep inside his chest. He tilts his shoulder towards me and leans his head down so our eyes meet. “I’m kidding, Bec.” I catch his eyes and find myself looking into an ocean’s abyss. “I’m Jeremiah. Belly’s boyfriend.”

In retrospect, his admission is one I should have seen coming.

Here is this beautiful boy in my dorm room and I don’t know him. It only makes sense that my roommate does. And a beautiful boy like him… of course he isn’t just a friend. It would be a travesty if he was. But a part of me still wishes that’s exactly what he was.

I find myself taking a step back from him. He keeps his eyes on me, though the spot between his brows tightens a bit. I have confused him. I suppose it’s best. If he knew what kind of thoughts I was having about him, he might run away screaming.

“R-Right. Um, I’ve seen you in a picture. Isabel showed me.” That’s why he looked familiar to me before. The day Isabel moved into our dorm, we stayed up talking for hours after we both set up our sides of the room. She had mentioned in passing that she had a boyfriend. She had even shown me a picture but it wasn’t just the two of them. It was a group photo of her with three other boys on the beach, one of them being her older brother. They had all grown up together.

Jeremiah’s eyes spin with colour. He looks so happy all of a sudden. “Belly showed you a picture of me?”

“Yeah. A while ago. Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I slept in your bed. I came here kinda hungover and just fell flat on my face.” He looks at me a little shyly. “Hey, don’t tell Belly I slept in your bed.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want her to get the wrong idea, you know?”

“And what would the wrong idea be?”

He shrugs. “I guess I just don’t want her to think I’d fall into any girl’s bed just like that.”

I don’t know what to say to him so I don’t say anything at all. He must take my silence as acceptance because then he easily walks around me and sits down on Isabel’s perfectly made bed and picks up a stuffed polar bear off the floor. He sets it down on his thighs and grins.

“This is Junior Mint,” he explains. He uses one of the bear’s hands to wave at me. “Belly got him when she was a kid.”

I take a seat on the edge of my own bed. It’s soft and the sheets are all messy from when he slept on them but for some reason, I don’t mind that at all. “Did you get it for her?”

The question seems to sadden Jeremiah and I think he might change the subject, but then he doesn’t and he tells me, albeit quietly and more to the bear than me, “No. My brother did.”

“Are you guys close?”

He looks up again. “Me and my brother?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

“Uh… kinda. He’s at Stanford.”

“He must be smart.”

“Yeah, he is.” Jeremiah goes to put the the polar bear back on Belly’s bed. He sort of throws it, and it lands in the corner by her pillows. His eyes round on me once more. “What are you studying?”

“Forensics and psych. Double major.”

Jeremiah’s lips curve into a full circle as he releases a hoot. “That’s crazy! A double major?”

I can’t help myself–I chuckle. “It’s not hard. It’s just more classes.”

“I can barely handle the ones I have now. Especially the 8 AM ones. Those suck ass.”

“Can’t you take night classes?”

“The ones I need aren’t offered at night.” He pouts. “And I need the nights to do other stuff anyways. My frat brothers are always having people over.”

“Ah…” I nod, smiling to myself as I fold my arms over my chest. “So you’re one of those.”

“What? ‘One of those?’ What does that mean?”

“It means you’re probably one of those frat bros who’s all about the partying and the booze and the number of girls he can bed.”

Jeremiah’s mouth falls open and he appears genuinely offended and struck solid by my statements. I’ve been told plenty of times that I leave people speechless–and not in a good way. “We’re not all like that. Sure, we party, but we’re cool about it and we’re careful with the booze. And I wouldn’t cheat on Belly.”

“I…” This time around, I’m the one at a loss for words. “I’m not trying to insinuate that you would, it’s just that… frat guys have a reputation. I’m just saying it like I’ve heard it.”

Much to my surprise, Jeremiah seems not too upset by my admission this time around. He gets up and hands me his phone. I see the screen lit up with his Contacts app. “Put your number in there. I’ll invite you to one of our parties and you’ll see that we’re alright.”

Slowly, I take his phone and start to type my number in along with my name – Rebecca, because I’m not sure how I feel about my sharing a name with his dead mother. Then, I give his phone back, which he easily pockets. “I don’t really party all that much.”

“Finch parties are different, especially at my frat.” He smiles again and I find myself liking it. Liking the fact that he’s such a smiler and he’s smiling at me. I’m the worst person in the world, lusting after my roommate’s boyfriend. The truth of that fills my knees with hefty tension. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your bed.”

“I didn’t let you. You just did.”

He reaches behind him and grabs something off my bed which had managed to get tangled up in my blanket, too. When he faces me again, I realize it’s the shirt he must have slipped off before he fell asleep. He puts it on with ease, his curly head poking through last.

“Still, though,” he continues. “Thanks for being cool about it and not… telling Belly either? I’ll be careful to fall asleep on her bed next time. Scout’s Honour.” He raises his right arm, his hand in the air, and covers the nail of his pinky with his thumb while his other fingers stand straight up.

The salute gets an honest laugh out of me and some of the nervousness I was feeling earlier vanishes. He grins then tells me he has to go, something about needing to use the restroom and going to see where Isabel is. After he leaves, I realize he must have been whom my roommate had been referring to in her text. The person who was going to help her unpack. Worried that that might still be in the cards, I grab my backpack and head back out. Maybe today is the day I check out the science library.

#the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher x oc #conrad fisher #belly conklin #steven conklin #jenny han #tsitp #fanfic #this august #taylor jewel #tsitp fanfic #tsitp fic #tsitp x reader #tsitp jeremiah

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ilysource · 2 years ago

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CRUEL SUMMER:

❛ she looks just like a dream, the prettiest girl i've ever seen ❜

. . . jj maybank && shelly acosta

credits: [ jj maybank, style, psd ]

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mapleymood · 7 months ago

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crooked love (in a straight line down)

@mapleymood, @thelonelybrilliance

Part 1: Summer

“It is to be broken. It is to be torn open. It is not to be reached and come to rest in ever. I turn against you, I break from you, I turn to you. We hurt, and are hurt, and have each other for healing. It is healing. It is never whole.”

― Wendell Berry, The Collected Poems, 1957-1982

Broken promises, distant memories... Taylor Jewel and Jeremiah Fisher should have nothing in common but mutual resentment. Why do they share a growing understanding instead?

#the one where emma and i are cowriting the crack-shippy sequel to our beloved teen melodrama #treated entirely sincerely because these characters deserve no less #my fic #our fic #tsitp #taylor jewel #jeremiah fisher #various others #fic: tsitp

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hardlyinteresting · 26 days ago

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Nobody's son. Nobody's daughter.

Jake Seresin x Reader

Returning home to Texas for any time has always meant visiting his aunt and uncle. As a kid, their large estate outside of Houston had been an exciting opportunity to sample the finer side of life. Rubbing elbows with businessmen and their rich wives. Still, he feels he's little more than a toy soldier at these events. Perhaps he's found someone who knows exactly how it feels to masquerade.

Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey Wondering Why by The Red Clay Strays Cowboy Like Me by Taylor Swift Moodboard for this fic

Warnings: If you know me in real life do not read this, The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, fake dating-ish, rich people, smut (oral m+f receiving), (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please) Word Count: 6.5K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

Champagne bubbles sparkle as another perfunctory conversation fizzles into more ostensible laughter. Jake stands idle, nodding and responding with an easygoing politeness when required, while scanning the room for his uncle. He's always had little patience for people feigning interest in the lives of others, or masquerading in curated caricatures of intriguing lives. His eyes have never cared to be distracted by the glitter of diamonds, or the flash of gold wristwatches. Taking another sip of his drink he finds himself rather bored in this room of pretenders.

Returning home to Texas for any time has always meant visiting his aunt and uncle. As a kid, their large estate outside of Houston had been an exciting opportunity to sample the finer side of life. Horses were kept for hobby riding rather than ranching; lush green land without a cow in sight; and a backyard swimming pool. As he got older his presence was requested at their swanky cocktail parties. He was rubbing elbows with businessmen and their rich wives. His military career has become a talking point for his relatives and he feels the eyes of the room on him wherever he floats through the grand house. “Your uncle is proud of you,” his mother always insists her brother means the best, “your grandfather was a pilot too, you know. It's in your blood”. Still, he feels he's little more than a toy soldier at these events.

Setting his empty glass down on a tray Jake is determined to find his uncle and make an excuse to leave early. As somewhat expected his uncle Robert is chatting with his business partner, Mr Bell. From what Jake can remember from previous encounters, he's a nice enough man, but he can only hope he's not dragged into more small talk before he manages to escape. It’s the Bells who are hosting tonight’s cocktail party, and Jake accepts that an early excusal might not be possible.

Beside the two older gentlemen stands a young woman. She's gorgeous standing by the glow of the fireplace. He finds his feet moving him in their direction before he has a moment to consider what he might say when he gets there. Immediately, she reminds him of some kind of goddess. It's silly, childish even. But still, he can't help it. Curves highlighted and hidden in the same artful drapes of deep cherry silk of her dress. Her eyes shimmer like focused jewels as she follows the conversation happening next to her. Her shoulders relaxed in an easy elegant posture. He entertains the idea of a world where a man like him might paint her likeness on his aircraft. Comforted by her calm demeanour, and perpetual in awe of her stunning features.

“Jake,” his uncle waves him over, “you remember my friend George Bell”.

“Mister Bell,” Jake greets with a handshake, “it's nice to see you again. Thank you for inviting me tonight, sir”.His posture is perfect as the older man nods and claps him on the shoulder. “I believe you were just about twelve the last time you were here. You’ll have to join me in the library later for a drink”. He has no interest in staying any longer than he has to, but a glass of whiskey from a bottle worth a month of his salary, and a round of pool may serve to soften the obligation of his presence. “Yes, sir,” he accepts, and then his attention shifts entirely to her.

He’s seen this young woman in photographs and painted portraits throughout the house, though he’s certain now the images do her no justice. He’s bold to assume her identity, and it will surely bite him in the ass if he’s wrong, but he feels certain she must be Mr. Bell’s daughter, and he greets her accordingly, “Miss Bell”.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” she smiles, “it's a pleasure to meet you”. He shouldn't be so pleased that she knows who he is, but he finds himself pushing out his chest with pride. “The pleasure is all mine,” he assures her. Her smile grows, a fantastically playful glint in her eyes that tells him she's excited to be speaking to someone she considers to be a peer. “Then it's an honour,” she insists, “if half the stories I've been told are true, you're very accomplished, Lieutenant”.

In most scenarios like this, Jake has gotten good at walking the line between exaggeration and faux modesty, any attempt to shift the conversation away from himself, yet today she allows her to tease him. “Call me Jake, please”.

“Only if you insist”.

“I do,” he says, urging some level of familiarity to grow between them as they're both dragged into another round of bromidic small talk.

He endures the conversation about the weather, and fields questions about what the temperatures are in California at this time of year. He gracefully sidesteps conversations about his job, and his politics, artfully avoiding escalating discussions as easily as he had mastered lag pursuit maneuvers in his first year of flight school. With each opportunity to make her laugh he manages to succeed, only fueling his desire to do it again.

It's too soon that she's called away to speak with a group of women across the room. He kicks himself for not engaging her in more direct conversation, and wonders if the stolen glances, and the subtle wink he'd shot her way were enough to convey his interest. It's stupid, like a middle school crush, and he knows he couldn't have just asked her out in front of her father and his uncle. He’d hate to look untoward in their company. But, the missed opportunity burns nonetheless.

An entirely unexpected fortuity is all but handed to him on a silver platter when he's asked to join Mr. Bell for a game of pool in the library. The older man pours him a generous glass of scotch before speaking.

“I have a favour to ask you, Jake”.

“I'm happy to help if can, sir,” Jake responds easily, though he can't help but find himself growing nervous by the prospect and any potential implications. He briefly envisions himself, ending up as muscle for hire, taking out an unsavoury business associate, his dreams of becoming an admiral slashed as he ends up on the wrong side of the wrong people.

His anxieties are quickly replaced by absolute surprise at the words Mr. Bell speaks next,

“I'd like for you to escort my daughter to the theatre this weekend,” there's an unexpected vulnerability as he continues, “My wife and I will be out of town, and since her engagement was called off she worries that people will talk-- you know how it is”.

In all honesty, Jake cannot say he does know how it is, but he can imagine. His aunt had been talking about some young woman of some kind of societal importance who had been jilted weeks before her wedding. He hadn't been paying attention at the time, far more interested in the apple pie he was eating and the football game on TV. From what he can recall rumours were running wild, but no one had the full story. He understands now that Bell's daughter must be the woman his aunt was talking about. Without knowing her, he had felt sorry for her. But pity is now replaced by deference. He finds himself more in awe of how she managed to walk the rooms this evening with her head held high, knowing what people must be whispering about her behind her back. He understands that a pastime and patronage she clearly enjoys has been jeopardized by the possibility of having to attend alone, but he worries that his presence, and lack of regard for certain expectations and niceties may hinder more than it helps.

“I've never been to the theatre before, sir. I'm not sure I would be the best escort”.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Bell stops him, “you're a good man. Dress well. Pick her up. Watch the play. Drive her home”. There's no room for argument or debate, and the truth is that despite the odd, and somewhat unfortunate circumstances Jake finds a selfish little part of himself chuffed by the opportunity to take the dreamy girl out for a night.

“Come around six o’clock you can park your truck here, and ask Steven in the Garage for the keys to the Benz. I'm going to assume you can drive manual”. Jake easily accepts the new instructions, raising his glass in the sign of a toast before the two of them begin their billiards game as if no conversation had passed between them.

Saturday comes around in what feels like the blink of an eye. Jake makes sure his slacks, blazer, and button-up are pressed and his shoes are polished ready for the night out. After some debate on what to wear, his choice is ultimately decided by the lack of options hanging in the closet of the guest bedroom at his aunt and uncle's house. He'd learned years ago not to visit without at least two sets of slacks and jackets, but had never considered that he might have an occasion to truly worry over the outfit he's putting on. He's eager to make a good impression, but worries he'll look like he's trying too hard; keenly aware that this evening he's not just representing himself. He will also be purporting to assume responsibility for the social reputation of a woman who has already been unfairly judged and derided.

He showers and combs his hair before slipping into charcoal grey pants and jacket. He fastens the cuffs of his white shirt with onyx cufflinks borrowed from his uncle. He's conservative with the application of his aftershave, conscious of the fact he's attending a society function, not a nightclub happy hour. He's certain either way that her opinion of him could not be swayed by a whiff of Tom Ford cologne.

At the Bell residence, Jake retrieves the keys to the Mercedes. A stunning mid-century model painted in oxblood red, so perfectly polished he can see his reflection staring back at him. Keys in hand he rings the doorbell and waits patiently. Through the door, the faintest tip tap of high heels echoes in the grand foyer. The sound is followed shortly after by a small clatter and a hardly muffled “shit!” Jake grins ear to ear, barely containing a laugh when the door swings open.

“Lieutenant,” she greets.

“Jake,” he insists.

“Jake,” she corrects herself.

“Shall we?”

She nods, shutting the door behind her, a small clutch purse in one hand. He offers his arm to her. If she notices him flexing she doesn't say anything, but his cheeks flush as he reminds himself he's not flirting with some tag chaser at The Hard Deck. Cheap come-ons are worth anything here. She won't end the night in his bed. This isn't even a date, it's a favour to her father.

She ignores the gentlemanly offer of his arm, and all but skips down the stone steps towards the driveway leaving him to stare dumbfounded.

“Let's go!” She calls to him, walking backwards to the waiting car.

She's dressed in a dress made of black velvet today. It flares out at her waist and ends at a conservative length. But her back is exposed and he tries to stop his eyes from tracing the plunging neckline. With stockings and her towering heels, she manages to make bourgeois sexy.

“You look lovely. That's a nice dress” he tells her when he catches up.

“Thank you,” she smiles, “it has pockets!” Her free hand immediately finds the hidden pouch to demonstrate. His smile graces his face, and his earlier anxieties about expectations and decorum quiet themselves as he watches her open the car door for herself quickly making herself comfortable.

There's a casual air to her demeanour he hadn't expected. Their communication at the cocktail party earlier in the week had led him to believe that she was not as prim as the circumstances expected her to be. Her teasing tone and her eyes searching the room for more stimulating conversation told him she had been holding back, and putting up appearances. He had no reason to believe that tonight would be any different.

A few minutes down the road she leans forward to turn on the radio, the local country station playing at a low volume.

“Your dad must like me,” he attempts to joke.

“I like you,” she says, her eyes looking out the passenger side window.

“Well sure, what's not to like,” he smirks, “but your dad leant me a nineteen fifties Benz”

“I leant you a nineteen sixties Benz,” her correction leaves him with his brows furrowed.

“This is your car?”

She doesn't turn her attention to him but responds, “Birthday gift”.

He feels it, the achy routine gratitude. The compunction that comes from being forced to save face and feign grace; saying thank you for something you never asked for. There's a hollowness that accompanies the realization that this chunk of your life is not your own, and worse, wondering if you could do any better even if it were. Incidentally, he's familiar with a similar gut-churning shame. The weight of undeserved praise and misplaced guilt have often pulled at his ribs. He loses sleep each time they pin a medal on his chest; when the ends don't seem to justify the means, and he can't tip the scales enough in his favour to win a restful sleep at night. It's never enough.

“It's a fantastic car,” he tells her honestly, “you have excellent taste”.

“Thank you”.

He hears his fears and scruples in her quiet sigh before the words escape her. He knows the echo of apology in a simple thank you as well as he knows his name. Silence settles between them again.

At the theatre, she stays seated in the car until he comes around and opens the door to offer his hand. With fluid, graceful movements she steps out of the vehicle and he passes the keys to a waiting valet. Jake matches her walking pace noting the way she slows as she makes her way closer to the entrance of the theatre. Her back straightens and she makes a concentrated effort to paint a smile. Gone is the easygoing woman he picked up; replaced by an edited version. He has no choice but to respect the way she's managed the transition with such poise. Her hand rests in the crook of his arm their footsteps falling in time. “What are we seeing this evening?” He asks her with genuine interest.

“Much Ado About Nothing,” she tells him in a measured tone though he notices the sparkle in her eye, “it's a comedy”.

“One of my favourite Shakespeare plays”.

She smiles broadly, “And here I was thinking you were just an accomplished pilot”.

He shrugs, “I accidentally joined the drama club in high school”. He's blessed with a surprisingly unrestrained burst of laughter. He laughs too.

Massive wooden doors with ornate stained glass panels open into a grand foyer of floor-to-ceiling marble. Columns carved with care and precision line the walk to the grand staircase. Overhead a mural is painted on the smooth plaster. Pastel depictions of cherubs and florals surround the massive crystal chandeliers that light the hall. He feels out of place, the shoulders of his jacket suddenly feel too tight, and he wonders if anyone can tell he should have had it tailored. He breathes deeply determined to stop any ounce of his discomfort from showing as her hold on his bicep grows tighter the further into the crowd they move.

As a pilot, he has to be good at evaluating scenarios and making decisions. He doesn't overthink it, he just does what feels right. He straightens his arm dropping her hand from the crook of his elbow and intertwines their fingers. If she's shocked by the adjustment she doesn't let it show. “Trust me?” He whispers. She nods her breath leaving her in laboured puffs, each one easier than the last as they glide through the room and towards the private box the Bells have reserved for generations.

“Are you alright?” He dares to ask when they're on their own in the quiet of the balcony.

She nods, releasing his hand in favour of taking her seat. “Yes, I apologize,” she tells him, “I saw my fiancés family-- it startled me more than I anticipated”.

He shrugs, “Nothing to apologize for. The only thing worse than running into your ex is running into your Ex’s mom”.

A sliver of joy peaks through, the slightest spark of good humour returning to her eyes. No tears gather, but he can see the genuine sorrow fighting to make its way to the surface. He's happy to help her combat it. “What did he do anyway?”

She scoffs, “As if you haven't heard to rumours”.

“I've heard the rumours but I'd rather know the truth”.

He watches as she studies him, seemingly determined to root out any dishonesty. He lets her weigh his worthiness and steels himself to the reality that while he may be far more well-intentioned than most people she knows, he's not a very good man. He's sure she knows that. He knows her eyes see straight through him.

Her eyes avoid his as she speaks misplaced shame wraps around her like a shroud, “I found out from members of my mother's church group that he had called off the engagement. I was apparently one of the last people to know”. The statement lands heavy but she continues anyway, “I never truly got any explanation besides a list of my faults”.

“He's an idiot,” Jake is quick to interject. He's certain she has her flaws, who doesn't? But the idea that a clever, witty, honest, thoughtful, and beautiful woman such as herself could fail to measure up to some arbitrary, antiquated or otherwise acceptable standards baffles him.

“Worst of all, I don't think I'm lacking in any capacity. I think, maybe, I was just too much for him. Too excitable. Too interested in the politics of business to keep my mouth shut--too outspoken to be his wife in any case”.

What hurts more he wonders; going through hell to pull yourself up to snuff, or cutting away pieces of yourself to fit a mold. “Then maybe he wasn't meant to be your husband,” the advice comes easy and he prays he sounds like he's offering comfort.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, her hand reaching for his with a shaken reach. He's more than happy to provide the support.

The room shifts when the lights dim. The crowd goes silent, and for a moment before the stage curtain raises Jake can swear he hears his heartbeat. There's an intimacy that demands to be felt, and it grows between them. Her hand resting just above his knee, his arm stretched across the back of her chair. It's casual and as comfortable as possible despite the layers of clothing he's afraid he's sweating through. He watches her more than he watches the play, turning away with a flinch each time she looks his way. Her laughter is infectious, and he leans in closer to hear it over the guffawing of the audience below.

As the show continues, any cohesive thought running through his mind is halted as she begins to draw soft circles on his thigh with her thumb. The pattern is uneven and irregular enough that he manages to write the action off as mindless fidgeting. He doesn't dare to allow himself to believe that it could be an unceremoniously daring attempt at flirtation. In the short time he's known her, he has learned to consider her to be a person of deliberate and careful action. He doesn’t think she would trifle or toy with any kind of advance; insouciant or serious.

The lights come up again, soft music filling the theatre as intermission begins. She's no longer touching him. Their private bubble seems to burst as the chatter of other patrons fills the space. The affinity they had built in the dark hangs suspended, waiting just beyond their reaches. Neither of them mentions it.

“Should we go get a drink?” He extends the invitation half hoping it doesn't sound like he's making a pass at her, half praying that it does. He hedges his bets on her answer; prepared to sit in silence for the 30-minute break if that's what she wants. He's shocked when she says, “I thought you'd never ask”.

Jewelry sparkles beneath the light of equally bejeweled chandeliers, and gilded sconces. The toes of polished shoes make Jake think he's never shined a show in his life. Years of keeping his uniforms in pristine condition don't compare to the easygoing luxury of brand-new Italian patent leather. An order of two scotches on ice (the lady’s choice) runs him the same as a round of drinks at The Hard Deck would. The scotch doesn't taste any better here than it does when Penny pours it back in San Diego, but he holds his tongue for the sake of appearances. It's odd, he'll admit, standing in a crowd not identified by his rank or achievements, and yet being judged for nothing more than a projected image of inherited class. Like an ant beneath a microscope; so small, and insignificant, but under such scrutiny from the giants around him. His confidence waivers and for the second time this evening he believes he was correct when he told Mr. Bell that he may not be up to the task of escort.

She smells like vanilla, honey, and now whiskey as she leans into his side. Her hand slipping into his own again calls him to attention as her countenance shifts; cool and calculated. He lifts his chin, and scans the room, his empty glass abandoned at the bar.

“Miss Bell!” An older woman calls as she approaches, her hands outstretched in an overly saccharine greeting.

“Hello, Mrs Calhoun,” she manages through partially gritted teeth accepting the uncomfortable hug the woman forces upon her.

“I wasn't expecting you tonight,” Mrs Calhoun says, no attention spared for Jake, her focus clearly set on weeding out some kind of scandalous revelations, or calaminious scuttle to pass along to her waiting group of equally interested gossips. Growing up in Texas, Jake was well aware of how quickly news moved traveled down the clothesline-- dirty laundry aired for the whole community to chatter about. But the idle talk his mama and the neighbours shared feels so innocent compared to the chronicles passed amongst the Houston elites at cocktail parties, and theatre intermissions it seems.

“you've been so antisocial since the wedding was called off, i do hope you've been taking care of yourself”.

“I've been busy,” she responds quickly to Mrs Calhoun’s jab, hesitating before adding, “your son seemed quite embarrassed by the whole affair, I thought it best to allow him some time to process”.

Jake is clever enough to see the battle fought beneath the niceties, and silently cheers her unwillingness to allow Mrs Calhoun to embarrass or belittle her. “What a sweet girl, such a shame the two of you couldn't make things work. You probably still could, you're both young enough. If he saw you in a dress like this I'm sure he'd change his mind,” Mrs Calhoun coos, “such a flattering silhouette; very slimmin--”.

“Mrs Calhoun, have you met Lieutenant Seresin, my escort for this evening?” Jake steps easily into his role of soldier and defender, a curt yet polite nod conveys his ‘hello’. “Pleasure,” he lies.

“A lieutenant? How interesting!” The woman says, her expression souring as she suddenly makes excuses to leave.

She's across the room in a flash joining a flock of tittering ladies who are not subtle at all as they cast their gaze towards him and a lovely girl who is now hiding her face against his chest. Her giggles are muffled but he's glad to hear she hasn't been too shaken by the encounter.

“They're all looking at us,” Jake thinks it's best to tell her. There's nothing worse than being blindsided. He expects her to take at least a half step away from him; to straighten herself back into the straight backed paper doll their audience came to see. Instead she moves closer looking up at him with wide eyes and long lashes, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

“Maybe we should give them something to look at…” she suggests, and his stomach drops, certain he's not hearing her correctly.

“What do you have in mind, honey?”

She answers with a kiss, and he’s happy to be the one to kiss her, but he’ll be damned if he doesn't a proper job of it. How ungentlemanly would he be to not be thorough in his work? What a disservice it would be to her if he did not take the opportunity to deepen the embrace, his find purchase on her hip, and in the back of her hair. By the starry-eyed look on her face when he pulls away he’s convinced he’s met the mark of the task; the shocked expressions from the Calhouns confirm his suspicions of her ex lacking any kind of rectitude or skill.

The kiss wasn't long enough or anywhere near steamy enough to be considered anything close to vulgar. He knows the two of them will be the subject of several buzz lines in the community tomorrow, but he hopes it won't be anything implying promiscuity or untoward behaviour. Her cheek is warm beneath the pad of his tomb, and he's sure his cheeks are flushed. He tries not to become too giddy at the prospect of being promoted from escort to boyfriend for the evening. He's not naive enough to think this is anything more than one of those fake dating scenarios from the made-for-TV Christmas films his Mama has always enjoyed. It's a calculated and clever choice, and he's happy to oblige; to be a pawn in something bigger than any of his own wants or desires. He's used to it. He's made a career out of it. Lieutenant Seresin reporting for duty.

A three-bell tone notifies everyone that it’s time to return to their seats. As the lights slowly dim once more her hand returns to the place it had taken on his thigh earlier in the night, any remaining tension in her shoulders released as she busies herself with tracing invisible shapes once again. In the darkness of the room, Jake’s face blushes as he tries not to shift too suddenly in his seat, her hand moving an inch or two higher up his leg. Long-manicured fingers move at a teasing pace until they find his belt buckle. He has no choice but to stop her, even though he’d prefer not to. His lips brush the shell of her ear as he captures her wrist in his hand, “Behave,” he whispers, managing to keep his warning somewhere between stern and playful. A soft gasp escapes her, her eyes glinting in the low light with a mischievous glee. Good God, he’d be hard-pressed to deny her anything looking at him like that. He releases her wrist, and she resumes her mission.

He feels guilty; as if he’s corrupted her somehow, and he knows that feeling alone is a disservice to her. In the extraordinarily short time he’s known her he’s learned that she is headstrong and determined in the most brilliant ways. While she’s spent her life slipping in and out of different roles to ease the minds of those she’s been forced to associate with, she has done it all by choice. As exhausted as she must be, it’s a game she’s learned to play, and she’ll never allow herself to lose. He urges himself to consider that his role in her life may just be that of a buffer, a simple stand-in to offset the weight of the outside world. His penchant for cocksure, self-assured, over conference aside, he’s not dumb enough to truly think that he could be her freedom, but he’ll allow himself to sleep tonight with the belief that he could be happy being a conduit for it.

She’s indescribably pretty looking up at him. Her skirt billows around her where she kneels between his thighs, her hair slightly tousled, and her lips glossy. He’s met his fair share of beautiful women. He’s lost count of the partners he brought home for a night. Most of their names he’s now forgotten, and he feels dreadfully sorry to them all because he knows this image before him now will be burned into his mind for a lifetime. He won’t forget Miss Bell, nor her elegance. He won’t ever fail to recall her smile, or he erudite quips. His breath stutters, and he thanks the Lord for the players on the stage making the audience laugh as he struggles to hold back a softened moan.

The rest of the evening’s performance passes in a blur and they’re outside waiting for the valet to bring the car around before he knows it. She reapplies her lipstick with the help of a small compact mirror, and he swears his knees go weak at the sight. He tips the valet well for the speed with which he returns, and she gives a kind “thank you. Have a good night,” to the man as she ducks to slip into the passenger seat.

“You should come inside,” she says as they pull through the gate outside her home. “I should?”

“Mhm,” she hums. “And why is that?” he asks hoping he’s not pressing his luck. “Because I like you, Jake,” she says simply. He doesn’t need more convincing.

Her bedroom is as warm, plush, and luxurious as he could have anticipated. Their clothes strewn across the floor leave a conspicuous trail from the door to her bed. The dress he'd been admiring her in all night must've cost a pretty penny but it's tossed aside with his pants and shirt that she'd made quick work of.

He lets her have her fun perched, straddling his lap as hands and lips explore exposed bodies. He's careful about leaving his mark knowing his presence in this house tonight must be that of a ghost. Neither of them say it, but they both know this is a secret they'll keep forever. Jake pinches her hip when she nips particularly hard at his collarbone.

“Careful. That's property of the United States Navy, honey”.

His warning doesn't dissuade her and she's convinced to leave another bite in the same place. He rolls them over, settling his weight between thighs. He leaves kiss stain bruises along her torso, taking his time to lap, suck, and soothe with the goal of hearing her sighs.

He lowers himself to his belly kissing from her ankle to her knee as he pushes one of her legs then the other over his shoulders. “You don't have to--”.

“I want to,” he insists with a playful nip at her hip, but she still looks hesitant. “I won't if you don't want me to,” he assures her, beginning to pull away.

“ I do!” She says quickly, “it's just my ex never--”

“He's an idiot,” he replies easily before diving in for a taste. He means it too. He has abandoned reason and found heaven. He's collapsed like a man starved before her. Only an absolute fool would balk at the opportunity to please a woman, especially one who looks so pretty with her head tilted back, her fingers tangled in his hair; a plea for more. How could he deny her?

It's a year later when he's invited back to the theatre. His girlfriend’s had held proudly in his own as they both sidestep the conversations they do not wish to be a part of. “Miss Bell,” people still call out to her, and she obliges them with polite small talk, correcting them as they ask about her Lieutenant, she's proud of him and his recent promotion, ensuring that they are all aware of the correct honorific, but insisting they just call him Jake. It's who he'd prefer to be in her company; a truer version of himself. The Calhouns make themselves scarce, avoiding himself and Miss Bell like the plague, and neither of them has any complaints about that.

Mindless catching up, and society-bound exchanges are far less painful with a companion. They take turns filling people in on their lives out in California, slipping inside jokes between the lines unbeknownst to the people around them. Little secrets just to keep the other entertained, the reward of a smile enough to pull them through the crowds. Neither of them relaxes completely until they've made it to the Bell’s private box. His hand moves to rest on her thigh by instinct at this point, he palm warm on her exposed skin. He loves her in this dress, emerald green, with an elegant slit up the skirt. She leans over to kiss him and he’s more than happy to indulge her.

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun hangman

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lily-fics-11 · 10 months ago

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The Girl Next Door: Chapter 2 (Hazel Callahan, Bottoms)

Fic master post here (feel free to comment to be added to taglist)

The Girl Next Door

You hadn't been close with your neighbor Hazel for years. But you find her beat up in the locker room after fight club and all of that changes.

Chapter 2

Car rides with Hazel have you falling for her harder than ever.

CW: mentions of blood and injury, mentions of violence, cursing, Taylor Swift references (I know not everyone is a fan so if people don't like it, I won't add anymore) *not beta read

You and Hazel walk to your car in silence. You get in the car and pass her the aux. “You still listen to Taylor Swift?” She asks shyly.

“Of course I do!” You tell her with the biggest smile. She remembers your favorite singer. Does she remember all the times you would sing those songs together?

“What do you think about the new albums? And the re-recordings?” Hazel sounds excited to talk about Taylor Swift too, she remembers.

“The 10 Minute Version of All Too Well has literally changed my life.”

“Should I put it on?”

“Absolutely!”

Before you know it you are on your way home, scream singing the 10 Minute Version of All Too Well, with Hazel. Since the song came out you’ve been listening to it over and over and thinking about her. There were so many lyrics that reminded you of your relationship with her.

Her sweet disposition, and your wide eyed gaze. Being able to picture it after all these days. You might be okay but you’re not fine at all. How you got lost in translation. You had lost the one real thing you had ever known. It was rare, you were there, you remember it all to well.

But singing these lyrics with her, it was healing all those old wounds in a way you didn’t know was possible. You were stealing glances to see the smile on her face. Sometimes she would catch your gaze. As the words “ever lovely jewel” play she’s looking right at you.

Usually you were happy to live so close to the school. It was convenient. But with Hazel beside you it just wasn’t enough time. It’s hard to keep the smile on your face as you pull into your driveway, knowing that your time together is about to end.

As soon as you are parked Hazel throws open the door, like she’s trying to run away.

“Wait!” You yell at her, wondering why she’s so anxious the get out of your car. You do have to admit that this was a little overwhelming for you and it probably was for her too. She was the one that left you. She probably never wanted to be in this situation.

She’s halfway out the door when she acknowledges you. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at you.

You nervously clear your throat.

“I just wanted to see if 8:00 was good for tomorrow morning…”

“Yeah. Yes. See you then.” Is all she has to say before she’s out and walking away from your car.

You were hurt for a moment but you started to watch her walk away and you realized that her wearing your sweatshirt meant that she was wearing your last name across her back. You just started giggling and then you punched your fist in the air and said “yes” when you thought about the smell of your perfume being stuck on her, even if it was only for a little while. You were never religious but you point up at the sky and say thank you.

That night you spent about an hour curating the perfect outfit and set your alarm for an extra hour early so you would have time to perfect your makeup.

When your alarm goes off the next morning you are immediately up and getting ready for the day, which is as stark contrast to your usual slamming of the snooze button.

You usually just filled in your eyebrows and put on mascara for school but today you were going to be the first person Hazel saw and you wanted to stay on her mind all day.

You start with your face. A little bronzer to warm up your face and a little blush to liven you up. Some highlighter on your cheekbones and the tip of your nose to catch light, and Hazel's attention. You also add a bit of highlighter to the inner corner of your eyes to draw her eyes right where you wanted it. You add a subtle wing to further accentuate your eyes and then do your usual mascara and brow routine. You finish off with your lips. You over-line them with a darker brown and fill them in with a nude lipstick to make them look as full as they can. You add a layer of lip gloss on top to make them look as inviting as possible. Not that you expect anything to come of this, but you can dream, right?

Your light wash ripped jeans are high waisted and perfectly hug the shape of your body. Your shirt is the perfect amount of low cut to highlight your assets and short enough to expose a tasteful amount of midriff. You put on your trusty pair of converse for good luck.

You are in your car a few minutes early feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. You sip on your coffee as you wait for Hazel.

The clock hits 8:00, no Hazel. Not a problem though. You told her a few minutes early because you know she has a tendency to run late. That girl is nothing if not easily distracted.

Hazel emerges from her house at 8:05 looking a little disheveled. She’s got hair sticking up out of place and she’s wearing… holy shit she is wearing your sweatshirt again!

Hazel plops down into your car. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. I was just thinking about… things, and lost track of time.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You tell her, and you can’t help yourself from pointing out “I see that you’re still wearing my sweatshirt.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilating, and a bright red flush appears on her face.

“I, um, fell asleep in it last night. And I didn’t have time to find another sweatshirt after getting dressed,” she tries excuse but you don’t need any justification. It takes everything in you not to giggle and kick your feet. Your sweatshirt. On Hazel all night. The smell of your perfume on her and now on her pillows and sheets.

You just nod, “makes sense.”

“I didn’t even have time to make coffee,” she shakes her head in disappointment.

You are not really sure what caffeine would do to someone like Hazel but you still offer “you can have some of mine.” You didn’t think it was possible, but she is blushing even more.

“No, it’s totally fine. It’s my fault I don’t have any coffee. I’m the one that got distracted. You shouldn’t have to give up any of your coffee because I’m a mess.”

“I don’t usually finish it before it gets cold. So feel free to go for it.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“We used to share everything, right?” You remind her.

“We used to share everything.” She echos.

She mumbles something under her breath that you can’t quite make out. But to your surprise she picks up the coffee and takes a sip.

You bite down a smile when you see a bit of your lipstick on her mouth, it must have gotten left behind from when you were drinking it.

“What?” She questions, seeing your failed attempt at holding back a smile.

“You’ve got a little something…” you motion to your mouth.

She looks confused and opens the visor to look in the mirror. You expect her to be upset that your lipstick got on her but she just giggles. “Believe me, this color looks very good on you, but I think it looks even better on me.”

You can’t help but giggle too.

To your surprise she doesn’t bother to wipe the lipstick off, she just leaves it there. Leaving behind the indirect connection of your lips for anyone to see. Not your ideal way to leave your lipstick on her lips but you can’t complain either.

Your sweatshirt. Your lipstick. You feel like you are going to pass out.

You clear your throat, “we should probably get going…” Hazel nods in agreement.

You turn on the car and put it in reverse.

“Can I have the aux?” She asks.

“Go for it.” You pull out of the driveway.

“I made us a playlist.” Your jaw drops and you accidentally slam on the breaks.

You look at Hazel and Hazel looks at you in a panic. “I’m so sorry!” You tell her.

“It’s ok, it’s fine, it’s all good,” she tries to assure you but she is clearly fearing for her life. How stupid could you be? Hazel will never get in your car again after this!

You just stare at her for a minute trying to gauge where she’s at. She clears her throat. “You should probably drive now…” she suggests.

You just nod and start to drive, focusing on the road, afraid to make eye contact.

“So, the playlist,” she says very hesitantly, “it’s all the Taylor Swift songs we haven’t gotten to listen to together.”

Your mouth drops open and you are speechless.

Her eyes widen, and she quickly tries remedy the situation “if you don’t want to listen to it we don’t have to!”

“No! That’s not it. I’m just surprised. That’s all.” You mumble, just clear enough for her to understand what you are saying.

“I always used to make us playlists,” it’s her turn to remind you. The memory is a little bittersweet, tainted by the years of separation. Music starts playing over the speaker.

If there is one thing people should know about Hazel it’s that she’s a talker. She can talk about anything and everything for hours on end. But in the best way possible. She always puts a smile on the face of whoever she is talking to. It’s quite endearing.

Hazel goes off on a tangent about fight club. After telling you the story of how she ended up in the state you found her in yesterday she pauses for a moment.

“You could always come with me today, to fight club. We meet everyday after school.” She shyly offers.

“Hazel I don’t know if you remember the blood all over you yesterday, but I do. And you have a black eye.” You are thinking it but neglect to mention how the black eye and smear of your lipstick are making you feel a certain type of way.

“Yes there are, side effects, but it’s worth it to learn how to defend yourself. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” That last part comes out as more of a mumble that may not have been intended for you to hear.

You start to take the offer into consideration. How far are you willing to go to spend more time with Hazel? You don’t want to seem desperate, doing something you clearly don’t want to do just for her. So you ask “Isabel and Brittany are in the club, right?” They are two of your very close friends.

“Yeah, and a bunch of other girls. I promise that everyone is really nice. Everyone except PJ. No one is trying to hurt you. Everyone except PJ. But if you are worried about who you are going to have to fight, you can just pair up with me until you get comfortable. You know I would never do anything to hurt you.” A lump forms in your throat and you focus on the road, afraid that if you look at her you will burst into tears. If asked at the age of 13 you would have said that Hazel would never in a million years do anything to hurt you. You absolutely believe she would never physically harm you. But she didn’t just break your heart, she ripped it out of your chest and stomped on it. If anything you would have preferred for her to have punched you square in the face. That pain would have only been temporary. A million thoughts are swimming through your mind but you snap back into reality once you realize that you just parked your car.

You thought the pain of losing Hazel was the worst thing you would ever feel. But now that you are thinking about it, missing out on the opportunity to get Hazel back would be astronomically worse. You remind yourself that you wouldn’t be getting Hazel in the way that you truly want her. But it was better than not having her at all. You turn towards her and she is looking at you expectantly.

You let out a deep breath you don’t know you were holding in when you tell her: “fuck it, I’m in.” Her face lights up.

“It’s going to be great,” she assures you, “I promise.” She holds out her pinky and you feel butterflies in your stomach. You hook your pinky around hers and you both kiss your thumbs. The way you always used to.

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persephoneprice · 21 days ago

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24 days of mentors // day 15

juno phipps.

You cry but you don’t tell anyone that you might not be the golden one

playlist.

imgonnagetyouback - taylor swift

all american bitch - olivia rodrigo

caves - noah kahan

fav fics.

welcome to the family jewels by ihavenocluewhattodo

headcanons.

during the interview, she lied about bobbin and the sewing needle because he didn’t want anyone to know his ‘real strengths’. he wouldn’t even tell juno.

is close friends with hilarius heavensbee due to family ties.

her family has to have a lot of skeletons in their closet. i just haven’t figured out what they are yet…

#juno phipps #24 days of mentors #now that i’ve been forced to think more about her….hm

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senditcolton · 28 days ago

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can this be a real thing? can it?

a/n: here is my submission for @wyattjohnston and @comphy-and-cozy 's Eras Tour Challenge. I was given "Snow on the Beach" and Jeremy Swayman. And I went out there with this song, transforming it into another royalty au. Did I shove multiple Taylor Swift lyric references in here? Yes. Does it connect to the Prince Andrei universe? Yes. Did I write this whole thing while live-streaming the last show of the Eras Tour? Yes. Hence why I'm posting in literally in the middle of the night, my time. I had hoped to get it out sooner but I ended up sobbing during surprise songs and needed to take a minute. But anyway, I love this fic and creating it made me appreciate this song a lot more than I did.

summary: Princess Patrycja Berezovsky is a pawn in the game of thrones. She is seen as the eligible princess of Roslindale, destined to be married off to the highest bidder. Nothing more. The only person that sees behind the mask is her sworn protector Jeremy. song inspo: "Snow on the Beach" (feat. Lana Del Rey) word count: 4.9k warnings: royalty au! knight x princess, forbidden romance, unresolved angst, the general medieval attitudes towards women, attempted suicide, and tragedy with a capital T (i'm sorry).

The moonlight casts a silver glow over Princess Patrycja Berezovsky’s room, overpowering the small golden light emanating from the dying embers in her hearth. It cascades over the new gown hanging on her wardrobe, dancing over the jewels resting on her vanity. Everything glitters and shines in the light, flawless and beautiful and perfect. Just like she was.

But in the silence of the early winter night, the princess’ eyes remain open, sleep evading her even now. In this moment, Patrycja felt like she might shatter into a million pieces. Like she was the embodiment of the crystal swan – the emblem of her country of Roslindale – perched on her nightstand. False and fragile. All because of what tomorrow would bring.

Tomorrow was the reason for the brand-new gown on her wardrobe. The reason for the royal tiara on her vanity. Tomorrow, she would be boarding a boat and sailing down the coast to be married to the crown prince of Carolyna. A marriage that Patrycja had no say in.

She knew this moment was coming. She had known it from the moment she turned fifteen. That was the first year that the scrolls had started arriving from all across the land, when she was fitted for a new dress every month, when she was paraded into the throne room and forced to meet the suitors that came to offer their hand in marriage.

Back then, it had been exciting. She had been giddy, her mind swimming with the songs that she heard played in court and the stories passes down from folk tales; stories of beautiful maidens meeting handsome princes, of knights rescuing damsels, of lovers whose romance brought about magic and overcame every obstacle.

But she had quickly learned that life was not like the songs.

She couldn’t pinpoint a precise time when that realization hit her, if there ever was an exact moment. It felt more like a slow build, a chain reaction of events leading her to that conclusion.

The first time she met one of the suitors in her father’s throne room who happened to be thrice her age.

The times her father refused to talk to her about her choice of suitors, instead looking towards the councilmen around him as if she weren’t even in the same room, as if she didn’t have an opinion in these negotiations.

Every time she was asked what she felt about one particular suitor or another, her concerns of age or cruelty or just general dislike were brushed off as vanity, glossed over because that prince or lord had a kingdom that yielded good crops or commanded a strong army.

Marriage was a political arrangement. And it was arrangement in which she hastily learned she had no say.

It had been three years since the first scroll arrived, her marriage to whatever eligible man her father and his council chose delayed. Mainly because of their focus on the war against Her father and his council held off for three years, their focus more on the war against Vizcaya. But when the opposing countries army had secured their claim to the lands surrounding the Stanley River Valley in the west, the council’s focus shifted from winning the war to recovering their losses. And the easiest recovery for the kingdom of Roslindale was by securing the engagement of Patrycja to the crown prince of Carolyna. A man that Patrycja had met only once before – two years ago.

The entire situation – her entire life – had turned from a fairytale into one giant tragedy. Her path had been planned out since she took her first breath. Her fate was sealed, the prophecy was written. Now, the weight of her future was locked onto her like a ball and chain, dragging her down. Something that she could not fight no matter how hard she tried. It felt ironic: here she was, princess of a great country whose name carried great power but she herself, had none.

There was nothing she could do.

That was the thought that had been twirling in her head, the image of her dancing in a strange ballroom, trapped in the arms of a man who did not care for her. A man who could bed a hundred other woman without penalty. A man who she would essentially be sold to for what? His country’s naval power?

There was no escape. She had no power to stop it, to change anything.

There was nothing she could do.

Patrycja can feel the panic rise in her chest, her ribcage rising and falling at a rapid pace. In a haste, she throws off her bedcovers, her body lifting from the plush mattress. The moonglow is still flooding into her chambers, casting a ghostly silver light over everything. She rises from her bed, her bare feet hitting the cold stone floors as she walks towards the glass doors, pushing them open and walking onto the balcony overlooking the ocean.

The early winter chill hits her skin, causing goosebumps to rise, helping to slow her panicked breathing, if only slightly. Her blue eyes stay fixed on the horizon, watching as the waves crash onto the shore, the beat of the ocean slower than the beat of her heart. The cold air stings her lungs with every inhale and she can feel the scream perched just below jaw, begging to be released. But she doesn’t let it fall.

It was a skill that she had perfected long ago. Hide every ugly, raw, uncouth emotion behind her polished façade. Never let them see you crack. Accept your fate with a demure smile and a graceful curtsy. It was what was expected. It had been expected of her from the moment she was born. It would be expected of her till the moment she died.

There was nothing she could do.

She felt fake. Part of her wondered if she was even a real human anymore or if she had been transformed into the crystalline swans embroidered onto tapestries, engraved onto the palace doors, embossed into the castle walls. That she had turned from a person with emotions and needs into something monetary – something beautiful and valuable and disposable.

Patrycja knew she hadn’t faded entirely because she could feel the pure want build inside of her body. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted… to have a say in how her life was plotted. But there was nothing she could do.

The crash of the ocean waves draws her back to the present moment, her eyes refocusing down the cliffside the castle was perched on to the dark blue almost black ocean, the darkness broken only by the white foam on the waves. And the sight of that sea, so far below her, pulls a story from England into the forefront of her mind. A story that whispers through her thoughts in a voice of a young maiden so much like her. A maiden who, driven to despair over the lack of control and agency in her life, chose to meet the waters and drown.

Patrycja Berezovsky had no power in this life. Except one.

She had the power to say when it ended.

The clarity settles into her bones, as cold as the air around her, freezing any panic that once existed in her veins, replacing it instead with a chilling acceptance.

Patrycja spins away from the stone railing of her balcony, crossing her bedchamber to the door. The heavy oak gives way with the push of her hand and she pokes her head out of the small crack, eyes glancing around the silent hallway. It is abandoned, the moon the only light and the sheer luck of being able to slip out of her bedchamber unnoticed seems like a sign from the universe urging her on. She doesn’t hesitate to leave, not even grabbing a cloak or candle or slippers.

She knows that her current fortune would not last to the seashore. The night patrol would be walking the halls, guard would be posted outside every exit. But Patrycja knew the secrets that the palaces stone wall held, secrets that most guards were not privy to.

You see, there were tunnels that wound their way through the bowels of the castle and led directly to the cliffside overlooking the ocean. Her uncle Brajan had showed her these passages when she was a child, excited to share his hidden playground with his niece. Patrycja wondered if he saw something of himself in her. He had always been the black sheep, willful and wild and never tied down. She shared a similar desire. Maybe that was why he showed her a way to escape.

However, she knows that her current plan, one to not only escape the castle but escape the trappings of her life was not the form of freedom he had in mind. She sends a silent thank you to him anyway, hoping that when the news reached him, he would understand. Pressing on a painted panel a few paces down the hall, the entrance whooshes open, reveal a staircase to Patrycja.

The tunnels are cold but comforting, a labyrinth that she knew like the back of her hand. Her body naturally moves her around turns and corners, the steeled resolve never wavering in her veins.

The chilled ocean breeze is the first thing she can feel, even before the world appears to her, the exit a small silver box promising her a getaway. The cacophony of waves is louder down here than from her chamber’s balcony, only increasing in sound as she walks closer.

Finally, her bare feet hit the delicate grass of the cliffside, the wind ruffling her pale blonde hair. The edge of the outlook is within sight. Patrycja moves forward, her eyes fixed on the line where the earth ends and the sky begins until she is near enough to the edge to see the ocean waves crashing beneath her. She watches the water break against the rocks below, the waves beckoning to her with their steady ebb and flow, the foam retreating back into the darkness, seemingly begging her to follow their path. The wind picks up the edge of her long nightdress, the hem fluttering in the breeze, her long flowing sleeves cascading behind her.

She is sure she looks like a character from a song, ready to meet her fate. She is sure that her life will be reduced to a tragedy. What kind? Of that she isn’t sure. People will either whisper about the princess who went mad and killed herself or she will be an archetype in a folk tale, a tragic heroine that took control of her life in the only way she could.

There was no way of knowing what she would become once she was gone. There was only the going.

A small slip of the rocks beneath her lurches her body, the surprise pausing her forward momentum briefly. She takes a small breath, steadying herself again, before taking another step forward. She could do this. There was nothing stopping her but her own fear and hesitancy.

That is, until she feels the tight grip of a hand on her shoulder.

The mere touch stops her in her tracks. She was supposed to be alone. This was supposed to be her escape. Her entire body stays frozen in place, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure. She just keeps her gaze focused on the beach below, the waves still kissing the sharp rocks. Then, a voice sounds out, rising above the crash of the sea.

“Princess?”

Patrycja recognizes its tone and timbre. Her own surprise accompanied by the press of the hand on her shoulder forces her to turn around. And her blue eyes land on the concerned brown ones of Ser Jeremy – her knight, her sworn protector.

The moonlight glints off his armor, the black metal looking even darker in the night, the only color on his body coming from the gold of the cloak clasped around his shoulders. Patrycja watches as his gaze dances across her face, glancing down at her thin nightdress, her bare feet.

“What are doing out here?” he asks, the concern lacing his question. The query demands an answer, an explanation – one that Patrycja is hesitant to give. So, she stands frozen, her eyes still distant and stare blank as Jeremy continues to look at her.

His hand falls from her shoulder, tracing down her arm to loop around her wrist. The hold around the joint is delicate, as is the pull of it on her arm. Jeremy’s gentle urging makes her walk a few steps forward, at least until they are away from the edge of cliff. Patrycja watches as he reaches behind him, tugging the golden material of his cloak. Above the ambient noise of the ocean, she can hear the clasps holding the material click, the fabric releasing. He twirls the material around her, quickly and efficiently wrapping it around her frame, the soft cotton descending upon her own shoulders. Jeremy pulls the fabric tight around her, willing the winter chill away.

Jeremy’s voice sounds again as his hands move against her arms in an attempt to both warm her and shake her out of the fugue state she was in. He repeats his prior question, the syllables still laced with confusion and the silent request for any response lingered in the air.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Patrycja finally speaks, her voice quiet and humorless. She watches his eyes look over her before flicking to the where the earth gave way to the sea and then back to her. She can see the realization settle in his dark irises and she can feel a strange ache in her heart at the sadness that seems to spark in his eyes along with that understanding.

“Why?”

His question is a genuine one, she knows this. But his ignorance at the position she was in, the choices made without her consent, choice that drove her to choose this path, ignites a righteous anger in her. That fire flows through her veins and all that bottled rage and anguish that she had been holding back for years finally bursts forth.

“Why? Why?! God, Jeremy, why do you think!?” Patrycja says, her voice rising with every sentence.

She throws his hands off her with a sharp shake of her body, the anger forcing her to move, even if it is only to pace side to side in front of him. Part of her knew that she couldn’t go further even if she wanted to, not with Jeremy’s eyes following her every step.

“I am about to be married off to someone I met two years ago, a marriage that I have no say in in a life that I have no say in! I have no control, no power. I might be a princess but I am not awarded the agency that every man around me is given freely. I am an item: a brood mare, a diamond to auctioned off to the highest bidder. Percious cargo to be shipped off to another country. Forced to be tied a man that I do not know and do not love. At the worst, he could be cruel – at best, indifferent. Regardless, I will belong to him for the rest of my life. And there is nothing I can do to stop it except walk off that precipice, let the rocks meet me and the waves take me.”

Her final declaration is emphasized with a point of her finger towards the cliffside. Jeremy’s eyes follow her gesture and Patrycja sees the dark brown irises harden in a rocky determination before returning to her, locking with her hysteric gaze.

“I can’t let you do that,” he says, his voice steady in its resolve.

“Yes, you can,” Patrycja replies, stalking towards him, the finger that had been pointing to ocean now pressed against his breastplate. “You are sworn to me. So if I demand you to return to the castle and let me die, you have to obey.”

“I cannot obey you in this, Princess. You are right, I am sworn to you. I took an oath to guard your secrets, to defend your name and honor, to give my blood for yours and protect with all my strength and – ”

“Then protect me!” Patrycja screams. Her hand reaches for the hilt of the sword hanging at his side, her hand stopped by Jeremy’s own calloused palm wrapping around her wrist. She can feel the tears that are tracking down her cheeks, her blue eyes gazing up at him as her voice breaks.

“Please. Jeremy, please. Save me from a fate that I do not want, from a life that I cannot control.”

“I can’t let you die!” Jeremy exclaims, pulling her body to his, his hands turning to grip her waist as he meets her pleading gaze. The close proximity forces Patrycja to keep his steady gaze. She had never noticed how the moonlight turned them from their normal dark umber to a brighter chestnut color.

“I can’t let you die. Even if it is by your own hand,” he declares, quieter this time, one of his hands reaching up to brush away her windswept hair from her cheek. “Not if I can stop it.”

This was dangerous. The thought passes through Patrycja’s mind before she can help it and she quietly scoffs at its absurdity. Of course this was dangerous. It would be that way even if her and Jeremy were twenty paces apart from each other. The two of them shouldn’t be out of the castle, alone together, at this time of night. But standing here in her thin nightgown, her sworn protectors’ cloak around her shoulders, his hands on her body, their frames close enough that Patrycja can feel his breath fanning across her cheeks, the warmth a sharp contrast to the chill around them… it was compromising.

Very compromising, in fact.

The realization seeps into her bones faster than the realization that she could jump from the cliffside if she wanted to. Here was another way to escape that wouldn’t cost her life. There were few weapons in a princesses’ arsenal but one was their virtue. And if that was sullied, she would be shunned, most likely disowned. She would be free.

So, without hesitation, she lifts her body up to press her lips against Jeremy’s.

It was an impulsive decision, not even entirely thought out. She didn’t know if anyone had already discovered them standing on the cliffside together, if there even was a witness to this indiscretion. It was reckless and rash. But all thought: her original plan to throw herself into the ocean, her reasoning behind the kiss, her anger, her anguish, her desperation, her hysteria… it all disappeared with the touch of Jeremy’s lips.

And in its place… a peace.

The feeling of his lips against hers was indescribable. The sensation was… magical. It felt similar to the emotions that used to fill her body when heard tales and songs of true love, an emotion that she had hoped to experience for real when she kissed her own prince charming; warm, beautiful, and all encompassing.

And it certainly didn’t hurt that Jeremy was kissing her back. The hand that had been on her waist had tightened around her, pulling her impossibly closer to his body, the cold metal of his armor pressing against her front. His other hand had fallen from behind her ear where he had so tenderly tucked her hair to cup her jaw, guiding her deeper into the kiss. The way his fingers rest on her skin is delicate, touching her with a reverence that she had never felt so personally, holding her like she was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. Which, considering the position he had found her in only moments ago, might have been true.

The sensation of Jeremy’s kiss is gone as swiftly as it came. He pulls away from her, his head ducking down. In regret? In embarrassment? In disgust – at her or himself? She didn’t know.

The two stand there frozen and it only then that Patrycja notices the snow falling from the sky. The white flakes land on Jeremy’s dark hair and armor, covering him with a natural silver glitter that sparkles in the moonlight. He looks even more like a hero in the songs – the melancholy knight, honor bound to his king… to his princess.

“Why did you do that?”

His question is slightly muffled by the tilt of his head and the gentle snowfall but Patrycja can hear the sharpness of his words, a small undercurrent of anger painting the syllables. She stands frozen, unsure on what to say in response, much like when he asked her a question earlier that night. But unlike before, the reason she does not answer is not because she was caught in a catatonic state. It because she wasn’t sure of the answer now.

“Was that your newest escape plan?” Jeremy continues, his dark eyes finally reconnecting to hers. “Kiss me and be shunned? It is clever – your father would most likely disinherit you, send you away to a convent or some other institute where you would never be seen again. But I would be killed for besmirching the Princess’ honor.”

The guilt crashes Patrycja with the strength of the ocean waves beating on the cliffside. She should’ve realized that her choice would affect Jeremy. Even before the kiss and the feeling that it brought forward, she had always cared about him. He was kind and noble and brave. He had always kept his oath, preformed his duty as her sworn protector. Tonight was no different. He stopped her attempt to end her life and how had she repaid him? By trying to implicate him in an action that would not only undo the honor that he had worked so hard to achieve but would force him to meet the hangman’s noose.

“So did you?” he asks, his voice pulling Patrycja back, her blue eyes meeting his hardened gaze. “Did you kiss me in the hopes that someone was watching and would report back to your father?”

The shame thrumming through her body forces her to respond.

“I did. At least, that was the plan. But now…”

Patrycja’s voice trails off and she can see Jeremy’s eyes soften in understanding. He must’ve felt it too, that force, that magic between them; rarer than a comet or the aurora borealis. It had enveloped both of them, covered them like the snow now covering the beach… unlikely, strange, but beautiful.

“Why did you kiss me back?” Patrycja questions, her head tilting ever so slightly in confusion. “Even if it would mean death for you?”

The change of expression on Jeremy’s face is almost imperceptible, just a small lift of one corner of his mouth in a subtle smirk.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he responds, an echo of the first words she spoke to him that night. “I’m sworn to you. I am willing to die for you. In every way.”

Oh. Oh.

It had always been Jeremy. He had always been there, by her side and not just because duty demanded it. It was because he felt something towards her – something more than just the devotion of a knight to his princess. It couldn’t be real. This was impossible… as impossible as the snow falling around them. Jeremy… loved her? At least, he cared about her – deeply.

Patrycja watches Jeremy’s head drop, the smile disappearing from his face.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have said anything. Not now, at least.”

She knew what Jeremy meant with those words. There was never a time or place for him to confess his feelings towards her. Their positions simply didn’t allow it. But his confession coming out now, mere moments after she was planning to end her life, the night before she was to be married off… it was jarring to say the least. But a small part of Patrycja doesn’t care.

“Would you ever have told me how you felt?”

“It is not my place to ask for the affection of a princess,” Jeremy replies, the smile returning to his face but this time it was laden with sadness.

The reasoning behind his melancholy seems to hit Patrycja slowly. Of course he wouldn’t have told her. Even if he had confessed to her before tonight, they would’ve never been able to explore their feelings, safely. It would be forbidden, dangerous. One misstep could spell the end for them both.

These emotions existed in a space that they could not survive in. This could never exist. All they could only have this moment – in the peace and calm of snowfall on the cliffside, the moon as their only witness.

“I’m glad you told me,” Patrycja whispers, her gentle confession drawing Jeremy’s attention back to her. “At least I know that there is someone out there who sees me as more than just my title and my inheritance. It’s a comforting thought.”

Jeremy only offers her a subtle bow of his head, the action of a knight proud to serve his princess. Nothing more. Patrycja can see the rise of his chest is response to his deep inhale, his head lifting, shoulders straightening and she heartachingly watches as his own mask – one of a duty-bound knight – falls back into place.

“We should get you back inside, Princess.”

The words aren’t meant to be cruel but Patrycja can feel the cut of them in her heart, the pain of which shocks her back fully to the present. She registers the numbness in her fingers and toes, feels the dampness of her now snow-ladened hair, and a shiver wracks through her body. And finally, the wave of exhaustion sweeps over her, brought on by the lack of sleep and every choice, plan, secret that had been revealed.

There is no arguing from her, no fight. Instead, she just nods her head and walks back towards the castle. She can feel the familiar comforting presence of Jeremy trailing closely behind her, an energy that meant so much now, after the revelations of tonight. Patrycja walks back through the hidden tunnels, turning the opposite directions that she had mere hours ago until she was climbing the staircase that would lead to the secret entrance a few paces down from the door of her bedchamber.

Before they walk out into the hall, Jeremy steps in front her, his head poking through the crack in the wall, checking to see if anyone was lingering the corridors. It was only when he confirmed the coast was clear did he step forward, allowing Patrycja to walk into the hallway before he clicked the panel back into place. He escorts her to her chambers, standing a few paces behind her as her hands grasp the iron doorhandle. But before she can pull open the carved oak, Jeremy’s hands once again stop her.

In a move that was laden with every ounce yearning, every impossible desire, his hands gently grasp the edges of his golden still thrown over her shoulders. The fabric falls from her, exposing her skin to silver moonlight. Patrycja can only let in a shuddering breath, brought on by the intimacy that was a whisper of what she now knew they could’ve shared… if only they were different people.

“Good night, Princess,” Jeremy says, his whisper echoing down the hallway and Patrycja desperately holds onto warmth that his devotion provided her, if only for a moment, before she steps back into her gilded cage.

She walks into her bedchamber, ready to lay her head down on her pillow and let herself fall into what she hopes is a deep and dreamless slumber. But as she is about to pull the door close behind her, a tremor of fear runs through her. She turns, her gaze now landing on Jeremy’s back, his golden cloak once again secured to his shoulders.

“Jeremy,” she says, her voice calling his attention back to her. She swears she can feel her heart skip a beat when his gentle brown eyes fall on her. “You aren’t going to tell anyone anything? About tonight?”

She can see the understanding cross over his expression, knowing that she meant her sneaking out, the hidden tunnels, how she had been on the cliffside, ready to jump into the waves, their kiss, everything. A soft smile tugs at his lips before he speaks.

“I swear to ward the Princess. With all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

His words were verbatim to the vow that he took in the throne room, kneeling in front of both her and her father while the rest of the court looked down on them. That day where he became more than a knight from the Rosalind ranks, when he turned into her sworn protector. It was his promise to her.

“That was the oath I took,” Jeremy says, his voice filled with the sincerity that Patrycja had only dreamed of receiving. “My first and only duty is to you.”

taglist: @laurenairay @fallinallincurls @svexhenthusiast

#nicole writes #eras tour fic challenge #jeremy swayman fic #jeremy swayman imagine #jeremy swayman fluff #boston bruins fic #boston bruins imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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girlkisser13 · 6 months ago

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the summer i turned pretty masterlist

cam cameron

conrad fisher

isabel "belly" conklin

jeremiah fisher

steven conklin

taylor jewel

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mvltisstuff · 1 year ago

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could you please write ANYTHING for steven! no one writes for him and i love your writing!

would love a friends to lovers story but im working with crumbs so anything will do

you are in love - s.c

summary: request

steven conklin x reader

a/n: he looks so cute in this gif i’m crying 🩷 i hope you enjoy this, one of my fav tropes :))

the years had passed by so fast, each one leaving lost confessions in the dust. y/n would always regret it, but then new years came around and she promised herself she would say something. then year one passed, and year two.

she didn’t say anything to steven. she only gave small hints and signs, but he never really saw any of them. little did y/n know was that he was doing the same, sending her little messages with his mind and he broke every time she didn’t notice. it was pure oblivion, neither of them seeing the pure love they had for each other.

they lived as friends for too long. the runs on the beach, the bakery trips, the boardwalk dates were still friendly engagements. it was the complete opposite of what they wanted.

y/n had no idea how steven was missing it, even being valedictorian. he was the first to stand up at her sport games, or any of her activities that she did good at. he’d always have the most loving beam on his face when she showed him a good grade she got on a test. and she was the first one on her feet at his graduation.

she helped him practice his speech all the time, over the phone and even some long weekends in person. y/n was always there for steven, through the good times and the bad. when he achieved his goal, or when he lost susannah. she held him while he cried, listened to every agonizing word that left his mouth. he has no clue how to thank her for any of that, as she was the only consistent support system in his life, the constant source of love that he could never be derived of.

she drove hours to his school, sitting right in the audience with his family as he walked up to the podium. each word of his speech left with such grace, being delivered with his class in a mature way. the moment the last word in the paper left his mouth, she was on her feet, clapping her hands together and getting his attention first. his eyes wandered to her, the most alluring smile illuminating the room he was in. he was surrounded by classmates and their families, but suddenly, he and y/n became the only people there. he stepped down, accepting his diploma and making his way out after the graduation ceremony.

y/n pushed through the crowd of people in their blue gowns and caps, trying to find the only one who mattered to her. as she twisted and turned around the people, seeing no one that was remotely close to steven. he noticed her from far away, pulling away from an embrace with his mother and sister, seeing y/n trying to shuffle through the crowds.

his feet started moving toward her before he could even think straight. he just saw her gorgeous face, the one he just wants to love out of the silence. she finally landed her eyes on him, seeing the diploma being handed off to laurel. she started stepping quicker toward him, but it still felt like slow motion.

her heels clicked on the ground outside, trying to contain the wide smile she had on her lips. she was preparing to be there for steven after his graduation, but only as a friend. she so badly wanted more, but she pushed through their friendship with what seemed like ease.

when they finally reached, he pulled her into his arms, lifting her legs off the ground and her knees bent. y/n wrapped her arms around him, softly squealing in his ear about how proud she was, and that his speech was perfect. she started to blabber on about how amazing he is, moments away from spilling her whole heart out on the floor.

he giggles at her words flying out of her mouth at an insane speed, placing his hands on her shoulder and stealing her from her own mind.

“steven, you don’t even understand how good that was!” she rants in the most adorable way. “i don’t know how else to say how proud of you i am!”

“y/n, listen,” he grins, lifting her chin up to look at him, who stands tall over her.

“i’m sorry! i just needed you to know how amazing you are.”

he can only manage to smile back, tilting his head a bit at her. “can i talk now?” he asks, jokingly, as she quiets down to let him talk.

“i just wanted to say, that i’m leaving the stupid steven in high school,” he begins, leaving y/n’s brows and nose to scrunch up.

“huh?”

he places his two fingers back on the tip of her chin, lifting it closer to his face and planting his lips on hers. it felt so natural, as if they could’ve been doing it for years. y/n simply let it happen, the moment she’d been praying for finally happening.

his soft, warm lips touched against her own, the faint taste of mint gum on lips and the strength of his cologne. a weight was lifted off stevens shoulders as he deepened the kiss, the same load being swiped off y/n’s.

when they finally fell back down to earth, y/n smiled against stevens lips, the sweet grin only making him further infatuated with her.

“you’re the only one i want, y/n,” he says. “i can’t hide it anymore.”

“don’t ever hide it again,” y/n replies, reaching up on her toes to peck his lips again. the firework had finally been ignited, and burst beautifully in the brightest colors in the sky.

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thelonelybrilliance · 3 days ago

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thelonelybrilliance/TolkienGirl: My Year in Fanfic

In addition to posting a nice even number of unique fics for AO3 scrolling purposes (60), I also launched some ambitious projects, finally wrote a few one-shots for my favorite small fandoms, and completed some megafics. The Silmarillion Gold Rush AU (cc: @abadpoetwithdreams and @wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey) is steadily progressing. @mapleymood and I are bringing The Summer I Turned Pretty into the realm of literature 😉. And my endless analysis of Friday Night Lights with @itspileofgoodthings has produced yet more fictional musings.

Without further ado:

COMPLETED MULTI-CHAPS:

Pharmakós - An epic, entirely original saga that took several years to complete (started in 2021). In our Gold Rush retelling of The Silmarillion, the Finwean cousins (Maedhros, Fingon, Finrod) lead a diplomatic delegation to Doriath, only to encounter unexpected friends and foes under Elu Thingol's roof

The Figurehead - My take on Stranger Things Season 5, with Steve/Nancy as the heart and soul. Picks up right where Season 4 left off (started in 2022)

with unbroken rhythm - Estrela waits in Mithrim. But Mithrim itself is not unchanging, and unlikely news has a way of finding its mark (Gold Rush AU)

here is my hand, my heart, my throat, my wrist - Maedhros, finding his voice (Gold Rush AU)

WIP MULTI-CHAPS:

crooked love (in a straight line down) - Broken promises, distant memories... Taylor Jewel and Jeremiah Fisher should have nothing in common but mutual resentment. Why do they share a growing understanding instead? (The Summer I Turned Pretty crack-treated-seriously sequel, with @mapleymood)

nativity scenes - An ongoing look at the first memories around each Finwean grandchild's birth (with @abadpoetwithdreams and @wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey, Gold Rush AU)

To the Young Who Want to Die - Sequel to Pharmakós; a not-entirely-triumphant return to Mithrim (Gold Rush AU)

Penetralium - A different sequel to Pharmakós; Melkor Bauglir moves house, licks his wounds, and regroups (Gold Rush AU)

ONE-SHOTS (by fandom):

The Silmarillion

Gold Rush AU 2024 Installments

Red Rising

born to raise the sons of earth - She’s proven Eo right. And it wasn’t because of me. It wasn’t because of love. It was because it was the right thing to do, and because mighty Kavax was more a father to her than her own ever was. (Mustang, pre-series & Morning Star)

Lights that do mislead the Morn - If she didn’t love him, why learn him? (Mustang/Cassius, Morning Star)

Swan Song - It’s only now, loitering at the threshold of the med-bay, that Mustang can admit she’s been avoiding this moment. She’s afraid of her brother. She’s afraid of losing Darrow—and the future she’s trying to safeguard for them both. For Pax, her deepest thoughts whisper, half-haunted that even the voices in her head can be heard by listening ears intent on betrayal. She’s afraid of the war turning inward, ally against ally. She shouldn’t be afraid of the man in the bed. (Mustang/Cassius, Morning Star)

looking for an easier world - How I miss them—the friends whose lives have marched on without me. (Cassius, Dark Age)

worth no less than a brother - Today, instead of Aurae’s ministrations and musical voice, I have a bloodydamn Bellona with coffee-breath aiming hits at every part of my body that hasn’t already sustained major trauma. (Darrow & Cassius, Light Bringer)

Wasteland - He is not a man on a journey. He is not a man who can afford to fail. (Diomedes, Dark Age)

Imperative - “I wonder how he shall bear death,” Roque muses. He selects a grape to pluck. How he can eat them after Fitchner—“Even after everything, I wonder that.” (Cassius & Roque, Morning Star)

we can still hear the sound of the surf (though we shall land no more) - Kalindora told me to trust this man, who holds a wicked, serrated blade over my chest and purses his lips as if deep in thought. (Lysander & Atlas (& Cassius), Light Bringer)

A Deep-Sworn Vow - “You think I’m a man?” “I think you’re a pissant little boy possessed by a demon.” (Victra/Sevro, Morning Star)

forgetting is a kind of mercy - Even with her heart carefully armored by layers of fierce temper and her tongue as sharp as one of her blades, it is her turn to be compassionate, because it is my mother who is dead. (Pax & Electra, Dark Age)

the dead do not suffer the living to pass - Three lives, three passages. (Julian, Pax, Cassius, Red Rising)

Friday Night Lights

Clear Eyes - Season 2 Codas (ongoing - 11/15 completed)

in what distant deeps or skies - Smash and Tim go on an adventure (s1)

I lie to myself all the time (but I never believe me) - Like a bruise, is hope. You have to come around to its existence, its tenderness. (Tim, Jackie, Bo, s1)

you know it might be worth it for once - Come into my life, she was saying, like he’d never left it. (Tim/Tyra, s5)

The Queen's Thief

had chosen thus to fling his soul - “This will be the last journey, I promise,” she murmured, after a moment. “Another mark beside my name,” he said lightly. (Gen & Helen, pre-Queen of Attolia)

we insist on love (when all we want is mercy) - Every power that Eugenides knew—and some, maybe, that he didn’t—had brought him here, alone at the foot of a secret stairwell, waiting for a queen who wasn’t his. (Gen/Irene, Queen of Attolia)

a swing in prime - The truth of his loneliness was the only thing he could never tell her. Honesty stopped short when checked by love. (Gen/Irene, King of Attolia)

neutral islands - Helen did not know whether she ought to take note of her own enjoyment of Sophos’ company… yet enjoy it she did. (Helen/Sophos, A Conspiracy of Kings)

a kind of contentment - Eugenides, Kamet, and promises kept. (Gen & Kamet, flashback connected to Thick as Thieves)

A Shop for Killers

Dragonfly - Amidst all her learning—their learning—about how to be people who shared a roof and pretended not to share a history, Jian was the only witness to the slow development of her uncle’s real self. (Jeong Jinman & Jeong Jian)

Gethsemane - One does not walk into hell and expect a favorable outcome. (Jeong Jinman & Jeong Jian)

Pride and Prejudice

just as they used to be then - “I have commissioned a Mr. Plimer to come and take your portraits while you are at home,” Mr. Darcy said, seeming satisfied with the explanation he had received. “He is an accomplished miniaturist, and I believe the small table in my room will be amply improved by the addition of your three faces, if you will oblige me.” It was a compliment that could not but bear a sting. (Darcy & Wickham, pre-canon)

Mara, Daughter of the Nile

behold thou my heart (which grieveth for thee) - Sheftu had plucked hope like a flower, even while he should have heeded its thorn. (Mara/Sheftu, missing scene post-canon)

The Witch of Blackbird Pond

like rain carrying the memory of lightning - Confound the girl, but she’s in every sky and storm, in every wave and calm. (Kit/Nat, Nat POV missing scene)

White Collar

Patchwork Man - Back in the world, new anklet and old digs—it doesn’t have to be perfect to be too good to be true. Because that’s the heart of the matter, isn’t it? When you slip the noose, the world doesn’t become a kinder place, and it certainly doesn’t stop turning. (Neal & Peter, s2)

Once Upon a Time

parallels - It’s a bad day to be Emma Swan, sure. But it’s also a bad day to be an overly self-assured, literally underhanded pirate. (Captain Swan, s2)

The Office/Friday Night Lights

the drop-dead dream (the chosen one) - In which Michael Scott does not mourn his stepdad (unless he does), and has his life changed at a Dillon Panthers game (unless he doesn't).

#my fanfic #my fic #2024 writing #2024 recap #my writing #a productive year #shout out to my friends and co-authors

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gojoswhitebabydolllashes · 4 months ago

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"Everybody wants somebody"

A song mingi x reader fic

Based on keshi's new song "bodies"

Songs could also vary to "skinny love" by birdy. "Exile" by Taylor swift and Bon iver. And also "the story never ends" by lauv

----

Overview: Mingi used to be your everything. Meeting at his debut performance, you were enamoured by him. Enchanted at first sight. And soon you found yourself 3 months into dating the man who stole your heart. But as time went on, mingi's fame became too much for you to handle and your relationship fell apart right infront of your eyes.

Warnings: mingi is a bit of an ass but he doesn't mean it. Rockstar themes. Idol!mingi. non idol reader. Rich!mingi. Kinda sugardaddy!mingi. Angst. Upsetting themes. Heavy themes of suicide and drug use by reader. Drinking. San and wooyoung are readers' comfort. Yunho can't pick sides. Seonghwa is adorable. Partial fluff. Band leader mingi! Mingis is a bit of a criminal. Mingis is a bit toxic but only a lil.

----

Mingi was everything you dreamed of. His personality, his laugh, his smile, and every part of him were intoxicating to be in the presence of.

The way he acted to you had you feeling like the Queen of the world. Being with mingi was all about expensive dates. helicopter rides, and private jets everywhere. Luxurious hotels and penthouses full of lush interiors and champagnes worth thousands of dollars. He would shower you in lavish jewels like emeralds and sapphires. special edition Cartier bracelets he Somehow got a hold of first. Rings of 24k gold encrusted with diamonds worth more than your house and earrings that could put a chandelier to shame.

Despite mingis rockstar attitude and tough exterior. He wasn't scary to you. A big softie at heart to you and you only. People often were confused at how he could upkeep your princess looks. A rockstar with alcohol dripping from his mouth every day so that his baby could wear the pearl earrings she wanted last week.

Mingi would do absolutely anything for you. But he wouldn't acknowledge that your relationship was falling apart at the seams. After one of Ateez's concerts in LA, you stood backstage, staring at yourself in the mirror, considering if runny eye-liner and smudged lipstick after every show was how you wanted to spend your life.

San knocked gently at your door, and you quickly turned your head away from him.

"You can't hide from me"

San came and sat on the red leather couch, his knees entering your sight as you stared at the black carpeted floor. Your head was racing a million miles an hour with the haze of a vodka + raspberry gin combination and the smell of cigarettes flowing into the room from outside.

"I can't do it anymore, San. This life is killing me, I can't take another die-hard fan on the internet telling me to kill myself because I get to fuck mingi and she doesnt"

The both of you lightly laughed, but San knew how serious the situation was. Threats and hate online were a normal thing you got. People messaging you and telling you that you're "just with mingi for his money" or that you were a "homie hopper" and are actually the groups sex slave.

Hundreds of fans harassed you in real life and otherwise. You felt that no matter what you did, you couldn't get them to like you. Luckily, there was a bigger portion of the fan base that defended you and gave you praise online, defending off the haters for you.

For that, you were grateful, but you couldn't take it anymore. Having to keep up with it was like trying to run on sand.

"It's a tough life" San started "everyone accepts that in this industry"

He cleared his throat. "But you don't have to"

You looked up at him with a messy face and glossy eyes. Your bun was in a tragic state and you had lost one of your dior earrings during the concert which you felt guilty about, you knew mingi had waited months to buy them for you.

You didn't feel like a million bucks anymore.

And while you tried to excuse the fans' behaviour toward you, tonight you had truly reached your limit.

"I can't just leave. What am I if I'm not the rockstar's girlfriend San?" Your hands were flopping around as you tried to make your point.

Gesturing toward photos of you and mingi at his vanity and the table beside you and on the wall. Photos that held memories worth billions. Ones that have and will last eternally. He had one lone photo of your tugged into his vanity mirror frame of you in a wedding dress the day you messed around and bought one for the fun of it.

In the photo, you're laughing and holding a dainty rose in your hand as your body tilts to the side. Moments before disaster. You smiled to yourself before turning back to San.

"There's always a person behind the rockstar. That doesn't have to be you. Everyone in the group knows how much you and mingi love each other, but you're not his shadow love, he knows that, everyone knows that"

San leant his arms on the arm of the couch and put his head in his hand as he looked at you. You picked at the diamonds of your fishnets before you heard the door open to reveal wooyoung.

As he walked to the couch, the smell of strong deodorant came into the room, and you coughed slightly. "I know you don't like the smell of cigarettes"

Wooyoung smiled at you. You were grateful for his gesture, but the strong smell of roses was somehow worse than tobacco.

"Where's mings?" You asked him as he sat at his vanity rubbing off his thick eye-liner.

"He's headed to the shops to pick some food up for everyone. Should be back soon. " Woo shrugged and threw away the ruined tissue.

Mingi, unlike most, didn't care for driving while intoxicated or high. Luckily, you knew he had taken a private ride as it had popped up on your phone that the bands car was arriving at the takeaway.

You rubbed your eye and put your phone on the table. You wanted to undo your tight denim shorts so badly as they crushed your stomach. Hopefully, when mingi returned, he would do it for you.

But you know what the answer will be, so you smile and lay back in your chair waiting for him to return as the rest of the band and their partners huddled into the room.

You weren't close with the girls. Keira, san's girlfriend, was a short dark skinned girl with tattoos and long black braids who had once tried to bring you to one of her and the girls smoking sessions but she was quickly told the fact that you didn't like smoking without mingi, which she immediately understood and politely apologised.

Milani had short red hair with black tips and a bunch of piercings. She was with hongjoong. Milani was quite shy and rarely spoke to you but often waved and gave small smiles. You got the feeling she was afraid of you and your demeanour, which you could only hope joong had told her wasn't personal, but you weren't gonna pry.

And then there was Ashley and Beth, two blondes who had it out for you. Despite the band's warnings that you weren't to be played with, they still tugged your strings like needle to thread. They never did it in front of mingi, afraid that he might tear them apart with his bare hands, but they did do it when the band wasn't around which made you laugh knowing just how pathetic their efforts were.

"Mingi just texted. He's running late because of traffic" Jongho announced.

You sighed and put your head in your hands. Seonghwa stood up and walked to you.

"Let me take you home" he smiled softly.

You didn't want to decline his offer, knowing that he was still sober for now, but later, he would be drunk with everyone else and then you'd have no way home but the bands car and you hated using it.

"Cmon I'll let mingi know okay?"

You nodded and grabbed your phone and purse, waving everyone goodbye before leaving with the hyung. You felt safe with seonghwa as he was the most responsible out of the lot. Of course he still did coke and drank a shit ton, but sober he was like a father to the group, which you were grateful for.

You couldn't deny you felt stood up by mingi. He had promised you that he'd come backstage with you after the show and let you show him your new dresses he ordered you. But he didnt show, and despite the fact that he was on his way here now, you were absolutely exhausted and truly did just want to go home.

On your way into the car park, you watched the bands black Mercedes pull in. Immediately, a confused looking mingi hopped out of the car, his hands curved at his shoulders.

"What's going on?" He asked before he leant down to kiss you softly.

You missed his touch and taste. The feeling of his leather jacket and tailored suit pants rubbing against your exposed skin made your head fuzzy. He smelt divine, and you wanted nothing more than to just push him onto your bed and have him to yourself.

"She wasn't feeling the best so I offered to take her home" seonghwa spoke.

Mingi blinked and looked at you with sympathy. "Are you alright, babygirl?"

You nodded and smiled sweetly at him. Mingi sweeped his fiery orange hair out of his face and turnt to seonghwa.

"Here," he handed the hyung the bag of takeaway containers. "I'll take her home. You go with the others"

Seonghwa politely nodded and accepted mingi's actions. "You want me to cancel the surprise?"

Mingi waved his words away. "No, just have them send it to the pent." he opened the door of his own car, a black vintage corvette.

"Will do. Drive safely, mings. " seonghwa waved the two of you off and walked back inside the building.

As you sat in the soft beige leather seat of his corvette, mingi knew something wasn't right with you. The way your body felt tense under his touch and your eyes drifting off to all different things around you.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" Mingi looked at you briefly before turning back to the road.

He gripped the steering wheel as he drove with one hand, the other arm leaning on his window, of which was slightly down to let in a cool breeze.

"I just drank something nasty I think"

You yawned and rubbed your neck, sore from constantly jumping up and down to the songs.

"I'll run you a nice bath when we got home okay?" His voice soft and sweet as he reached for hand, switching to his steering wheel arm.

"That sounds really nice, mings."

----

At home, you were greeted by your lush penthouse. Ceilings of dark blue and tiles of black. The smell of sweet vanilla cherry candles wafting through the air made you feel warm and fuzzy inside as you sat down to the couch to take your tight heeled boots off.

Mingi came to you with two freshly poured glasses of orange juice. You tilted your head at the rockstar. "You're staying?"

Mingi nodded as he unlaced his heavy boots. "Yeah," he grunted as he took his shoes off. "I don't feel up to drinking tonight"

You wanted to gasp as a joke, but mingi had been struggling with his drinking for a while. He's been trying to cut back for you because he knows how much you hate the smell, and while you appreciated it deeply, you hated taking away that joy of being with his friends from him.

"Mings you don't have to stay here with me. You just bought all that food for the group, " you tried smiling at him but guilt was sucking at you.

"Ah," he put his index finger to the air, stopping you. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be that here with my-"

Mingis loving speech was interrupted by a phone call in his pant pocket. He reached for it and immediately on his face you knew it was one of the boys.

"I'll be back in a sec" he kissed your cheek and walked away. All you heard was a "Hey san" before his voice faded down the hall.

You were left alone with your thoughts, and the fresh juice mingi poured for you, and as the lights of the crystalline chandelier smashed, the clear view of the quiet TV channel became blurry and your ears rung out with voices and humming, you suddenly felt like this would be the last time you would see mingi tonight.

You stood up, shook off your thoughts, and walked down the hall toward yours and mingis bedroom where the conversation on call became more prominent.

"I'm not gonna do that San, I will not accept that fucking answer!" Mingi slammed the bedside table making you jump. "Either you tell them that I'm not doing it or I'm going to tear that pricks head off"

Mingi angrily ended the call just as you approached inside the room, softly pushing the door open to see him in full. Mingi turnt his attention to you and his face immediately softened.

"Did you hear all of that?" He asked as he put his phone by the bed.

You shook your head. "No. I just came from the lounge room, I was gonna make some food but I came to check on you first"

Mingi scoffed and sat on the large bed, sliding his slender tattooed hand through his bright hair.

"You're too sweet, babydoll. I don't deserve you," mingi smiled at you before moving two fingers at you, gesturing for you to come to him.

Like a moth to a flame, you immediately walked to him and straddled his lap. Mingi's large, ringed hands found your waist, snaking up your back. The rockstar let out a throaty sigh of pleasure as you rocked your hips against his bulge.

You whined and tucked your head into his nape as his strong arms held you close to him. Mingi's fingers fiddled with the strings on your Chanel corset top as he smirked up at you with his gleaming, mischievous black eyes. His delicate pink lips parted so slightly.

"You want me?" His voice was soft and taunting.

Mingis' hands held your waist, causing his sleeves to slide down his arms, revealing his rich black tattoos. The pieces were intricate and fine, detailed to precise specifications. His hand tattoos were your favourite. Roses all on the larger area on the top of his hand while thorned vines snaked up his fingers.

On his ring finger was your initial of your first name in a small delicate font.

"Mingi?" You spoke softly.

"Yeah, baby?, what's up?" He drew soft circles on your palm with his thumb.

You looked into his lustre dusted eyes, dark and smooth, like a captivating void. Something lingered behind them, something innocent and harsh. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you couldn't tell him anything. Your breath was tangling your words in your throat.

"Do you like me?"

You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth.

"Baby, I love you so much. More than anything on this earth." mingi smiled and let a breathy chuckle out, assuming you were joking.

"I know you love me. But do you like me?"

Your eyes pleaded for an answer of any kind. You just wanted a few words or one or maybe two or however many words mingi could let out. You wanted to hear anything fall from his pink lips of despair.

"You're asking if I still like you? After 5 years of being together?" Mingi let go of your waist. "Well of course I do baby"

You shifted off of his lap. The silvery midnight light caught your body, creating a silhouette of ethereal glow. Mingis eyes drifted through your body, staring at your curves. You could tell he was looking past the bigger picture.

"Do you? I think maybe we've been on a date or two in the past 6 months. I mean, I don't even get to stand in the crowd of your concerts!"

You threw your hands up. Your voice was breathy. Mingi stood up, immediately mousing you in stature. "You know why that is baby, it's for yo-"

"For my own safety, I know," you nodded. "That's not the point I'm trying to make mingi"

He wished he could understand what he knew you were trying to say. Because he did love you to the absolute ends of the earth. Mingi would do everything and anything for you. He buys you jewels and clothes. Dresses and hair clips worth hundreds, shoes, and accessories worth thousands. He took you on dates that put billionaires to shame, to clubs and bars full of VIPs and high rollers. Brought you to parties and galas that held people who owned more money than your entire street combined.

But he didn't like you. He gave you the world, but he didn't like you. And while one would say you were stupid and foolish for saying that, but even a fool, deaf and blind, could agree.

"Where is this coming from, baby? Aren't you happy with me?"

You had hoped that mingi would've agreed that he wasn't treating you right so that he wasn't staring at you with his honey sweet eyes. You felt sobbing, breaking down and crying, like falling apart at your loose seams.

"I'm happy mingi. But I want our lives to move forward. I want to have a normal life with you. I can't keep doing this every time, i can't handle the drinking, and the drugs every night"

Tears were brimming your eyes sharply, and as much as it hurt mingi's heart, he didn't know what to do.

"I can't keep trying to kill myself because of your fans. I won't live like this mingi. I won't"

"Please baby, don't do this, I swear I will stop drinking, and I will stop doing drugs, I can change this I can!" Mingi pleaded with you.

You wanted to believe him.

"It's not just you, mings, its the band and their girlfriends and the life you live I just can't do it anymore"

As you said it, the realisation hit you like a bus. If you left, you might never see the band again. You might never get the chance to hug wooyoung again or play Mario kart with yunho, or see hongjoong's little sister graduate.

And you wouldn't marry song mingi.

"I want to believe you, mings, I do, but lately, I just don't believe anything you say. It's hard to when you keep changing dates and times and standing me up"

"I admit I have been doing that a lot, but I can't help my schedule. I have a lot to do and plan. I don't have a say in that"

You knew he was telling the truth. Mingi was in charge of the band themselves, but he wasn't in charge of the scheduling, unfortunately for his behalf. But time was fading quicker and quicker each day. Every night, you felt the sand of the hourglass dripping in grains of torture. Gripping onto you like a pathetic God was faith.

"I will leave the band!" Mingis eyes were hazed over and glossy.

His small plump lips fell into a frown, his nose and cheeks tinted in light pink hues.

"I will leave the band, and I will never speak to any of them again!" Mingi had damn near fell to his knees before you.

You scoffed. "Is that what you think I want for you?! Mingi, you love those boys more than that stuffed rabbit your own mother bought you! I will not let you leave them behind!"

You pointed sharply at the floor as if making your point. Mingis face became contorted into something you felt in the future would be all too familiar. In this moment, you couldn't imagine a future with him anymore. You wouldn't let yourself get to that point of even trying to find it.

"Please," Mingi's hands found your arms.

Slender ringed fingers slid up your arms in a dizzying motion. Slow and tortuous were his actions. Mingis smell invaded your nose, the intoxicating scent of tobacco and candied apples made your knees weak. You felt like jelly in his presence.

"Mingi-" you looked up at him.

How unfortunate it was that he was so beautiful. So pristine and picturesque like a museum of fine art on legs.

"I'm leaving tonight with or without your permission"

You pushed his arms off and went out to the kitchen, terrified of the footsteps approaching rapidly behind you. "You can't just leave! What about us? And our life together? What about all that I've given you? Aren't you grateful for this?"

He meant the penthouse. And the jewels and thousands maybe millions of dollars worth of items and clothing he's bought you. And the dates in helicopters and the VIP tickets into galas. And the beach house he gave you for your 25th and the number of times he's bought decorations for the penthouse that you wanted.

He didn't mean the love. He didn't mean him holding you against walls and fucking you into oblivion. He didn't mean the baths he's given you and the showers you've had together. Or the movies you've watched in bed while eating ice cream or the books you tell him about or the way that late at night he reads his lyrics to you.

You are always the first to hear them.

"What am I if I'm not your man?"

You suddenly felt deja vu.

"I'm so unbelievably grateful for the gifts you give me and the dates and all the things we've done together. But I can't take not having you anymore. Your barely around most days and when you come home after weeks or even months, work still beckons you. I can't have this anymore!"

"We were supposed to get married and spend our lives together! In case you forgot, you were the one who made me want that, " Mingi cried.

Ouch. That stung more than it should have. But you knew that was true. Mingi never wanted to be married or have domesticity before you. Before you he was happy with fucking 3 different girls every night and having flings he couldn't care less about. He was fine with getting drunk and passing out in a bush by the side of the road. He would sign girls boobs and lick whiskey out of their mouths to get them wet. And, of course, he would sneak bucks into their bras with a wink.

But this was before you. And since then, mingi wouldn't even touch another girl if She was his last chance to survive.

"I can change. I can. I know, okay? I know you don't believe me. I know I've been an idiot and a fool and that I've been sloppy with you and lazy in my actions, but I can change that. I will change it all for you in a heartbeat. Your absolutely everything to me"

It hurt you in every possible way that you wanted to just leave. But it hurt you more that feelings of wanting to stay was bubbling inside you. It hurt more that you wanted to get on your knees and hug him and tell him you were sorry for acting like this and that you won't ever be like this again and that you can live happily ever after now.

And it hurt, just a bit, that you knew mingi would forget it all in a blink.

"If" his voice broke "if your going to leave, if this might ever be the last time I'm going to see you in this lifetime"

He reached into his back pocket and gave you a wrinkled piece of paper.

"What is this?" You asked him.

"I won't tell you. I want you to experience it on your own" he rubbed his tears from his eyes.

"I'd hoped it would be easier than this", you whispered.

You sniffled as mingi pulled you into an embrace. "As much as I would kill to have you stay, I can't force you" he spoke into your jacket.

"A part of me hopes you'll grab my leg and tie me to the couch so that I can't" you lightly joked.

Mingi chuckled into your coat. You stood there for five minutes. "You should go", He mumbled.

"I should"

You could have broken down sobbing right then and there as mingi pulled off you. "Please" his lip trembled "please just go. It feels less painful if I ask you to leave",

You nodded and painfully, slowly, trembling, you walked to the door. This was it. This is it? Is this truly how you were going down? Would you really never see mingi again? Not wooyoung or San or yunho? Not any of them? You would never be picked up by seonghwa again or have jongho invite you to movie nights or have yeosang bring you cakes from the bakery he lived near.

You wouldn't have any of it.

"Goodbye, mingi. I hope in the next life we I can kiss you Goodnight"

"Goodbye to you too___, I hope you get everything you want in life"

---

Ngl I hope this broke some hearts🙏🥰🥰

#mingi.#song mingi #ATEEZ #rockstar!ateez #rockstar!mingi #ateez #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #ateez fic #angst #wooyoung #san #choi san #jongho #yunho #seonghwa #yeosang

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mer-acle · 2 months ago

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I made a playlist with songs that reminded me of your Zeus and Athena

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7IGVcHtLI3kirsWV0HB3Ju?si=T-djgtDbRHGRa9a0otrRag

Don't know if you like character playlists but I wanted to share with you since your fic is the reason for my recent obsession with Athena and Zeus relationship

Jdhfjcbhfbfhhfudj

Thank youuuu

I'll link it again bc ask links are pain

I love character playlists :) I did like a big one for one of my older fanfics where every chapter had a song and stuff

Some thoughts after the cut

Tolerate it - Literal chills. Ahhh the bridge too. Why is it perfect hgxixbdjh

The Prophecy - You know it's gonna be good when 'lightning' is in the first line. Gold.

Castles crumbling - Honest Question, what pov do you imagine this with? Bc honestly both kinda work and I'm obsessed

Better man - Gods I could put half the lyrics here they are perfect. "Staring in the mirror, Saying to myself, you know you had to do it" hits so hard after God Games

Nothing New - "Girl go out and have your fun, then they hunt and slay the ones who actually do it" scuse me?? Who gave you or Taylor the right?

The Family Jewels - @starlitvick and you agree on that one hehe

Family Line - I saw this one and was like the playlist is gonna be good. Btw I hc that Athena refers to her eyes glowing at night and comparing it to Zeus's when he's angry and his eyes are white with lightning, hence having "her father's eyes"

Jigsaw - I kid you not @evermorecatra and me talked about Zeus disapproving of Athena's clothes and passions in general like what two days ago? Gdhxbxjxb

Regular People - *sings* generational traauuumaa

Top of my school - guess being the favorite isn't so great, is it? Sobbing actually

Thank you again, I had so much fun listening 😊😊

#epic the musical #epic athena #epic zeus #epic the wisdom saga #character playlist #epic fanfic #god games

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imeanitplsmorenamifics · 8 months ago

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OMG BLESS YOU FOR YOUR WORK HERE 😭💘💘 I'm starving for more Nami fics as well and I'm so glad I found you. Plus your writing is delightful omg. <3

I just have to drop by and make a request of my own now 🥺 could I please please have some Nami hurt/comfort? I feel like she needs it so much. I was thinking of something along the lines of right after the ending of season 1, Nami has had feelings for the reader for quite some time now but was too scared to act on it, especially because she was afraid of what Arlong might do if he found out she cares about someone. And now that she's finally free of Arlong, Nami realizes that she doesn't know what to do, because she never had something real like that, someone she cares about and actually wants to do things right with. Nami thinks the reader wouldn't reciprocate her feelings, so she's basically in this state of admiring and longing from a distance, until maybe something happens and they are alone together, and the reader is being all soft and gentle with Nami (insert Nami being touch starved here because I jus know she is), and Nami gets like, all emotional 🥺 and the reader is worried and asks what's wrong, if she did something wrong; and Nami finally admits that "I'm sorry I don't know how to do this, but I like you so much"; and then just Nami getting all the hugs, kisses, love, and reassurance that she so deserves. ❤️

I'm sorry that was a little big 😭 you can change anything you want, I'd just love some angst/hurt/comfort with her. Thank you so much already. <3

Hi! And thank you so much! I was tired of the lack of Nami fics and couldn't stand it anymore. I needed content and I was going to make it myself if I had to 😭. Don't worry about it being long, it actually gives me a lot more to go on when writing so I don't mind it! I would be more than happy to write this for you so I hope you like it! This felt like more of a headcanon request to me so I wrote this has a headcanon post. If you want an imagine/oneshot instead, message me and I'll rewrite it! Also, this has some minor spoilers for the Alabasta arc so if you don't want to be spoiled for it if you're not far then I would advise that you don't read this. Flower Asks Hozier Asks Taylor Swift Asks Masterlist Rules Taglist Request Characters: Nami, Fem!Reader, Arlong (mentioned), Strawhats (mentioned), Vivi (mentioned), Dr. Kureha (mentioned), Chopper (mentioned) Pairing: Nami x Fem!Reader TW: Trauma, fears of one-sided feelings, angst. That's all I can think of but tell me if there's more!

The Art of Pining

.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.

The last thing Nami needed was to fall in love. Her life was too stressful and too dangerous to have any kind of relationship. Being forced to work with Arlong to buy back her village would do that to a person. But, somehow, some way, she ended up falling in love with you.

She tried to deny it. She really did. But it was impossible for her to deny being in love with someone as amazing and beautiful as you. You had somehow captured her heart in a way no one ever had, despite not even knowing each other for that long.

Guilt was mostly what she felt when she realized there was no pushing those feelings down. She felt guilty for unintentionally putting you in a risky situation. She felt guilty for not being able to deny herself of something she really wanted to keep you safe. Still, either way, there was no way she could be with you. Not with Arlong still around. Especially not while she was working with him.

There was a part of her that was worried about what you would think when you found out she was only going to betray you and the others when the time came. She only joined up with the crew to have her hands on the map of the Grand Line. If she got some money and jewels along the way, it was a bonus. There was still a tremendous amount of remorse she felt. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt you. But that was what was needed to keep you safe.

So, she revealed herself to be working with Arlong during Luffy’s fight with him at the Baratie. She couldn’t bring herself to look at you. She could already feel the look of betrayal and hurt on your face without even facing you. A pang was sent through her heart at just the thought of seeing that expression so she avoided looking at it altogether. Still, as she was walking back to Arlong’s ship, she managed to catch the smallest glimpse of you. The look you were giving her was one that would be seared into her mind for as long as she lived.

Quickly, she covered up the feelings she had let slip through onto her face. She didn’t need Arlong to be suspicious of her. That would only put you in danger if he found out about her feelings toward you.

She honestly didn’t expect to see you again after that. She thought that you and the others would walk the other way, licking their wounds, hating her for doing what she did to them. She was more than shocked when she showed up at Coco Village just to see you and the others there. Nothing could stop the panic that she felt upon seeing you there. This was too close to Arlong. You were too close to him. This would get you hurt.

So she did what she had to do. She said whatever she could to make you guys angry or sad enough to leave her alone. She put as much false hatred into her words as she could to get the point across… But you all just wouldn’t leave.

After Arlong worked with the Marines to take the gold she had been stashing, she thought that was the end. But as she lay broken on the ground, knife in her hand, wound on her shoulder where Arlong’s symbol was etched, she was met with you and Luffy. Both of you staring at her with no judgment, understanding was in your eyes. While Luffy was the first to take off to fight Arlong, you stayed behind to tend to her. You treated her wound as gently as you could and gave her all the care that she had been lacking. What a horrible time to feel as she did toward you.

To her shock, Arlong managed to be defeated by Luffy. For the first time in a long time, Nami was free from him. She could do whatever she wanted, go wherever she wanted, and speak with whoever she wanted without fear of having to leave them behind.

You’d think that with this opportunity, she would go for it with you. She would try to see where things landed and tell you how she felt. None of the sort happened. Something inside her still stopped her. The threat was no longer there so why did she hesitate?

It was fear. She was scared that you resented her for betraying the crew like she did. She was afraid that if she told you how she felt, you would laugh in her face and reject her. Nami had never felt love and care since Bellemere died. All she had been met with was manipulation and abuse. What if she put herself out there only to get hurt in the end?

Time passed and she still couldn’t bring herself to tell you how she felt. Eventually, the crew met a princess named Vivi whose country was falling apart. The crew agreed to help her. Everything started out rocky but seemed to get even worse when Nami got sick. Everyone was worried for her, but you seemed especially worried.

Nami was in and out of consciousness the whole time. But every time she would regain consciousness, you would be there, taking care of her. It was almost like she never left her side. Then, when she woke up in Dr. Kureha’s castle, she found you asleep at her bedside. That’s when she found out that you had, in fact, never left her side.

You took care of her while she was unconscious. The others had to beg you to get something to eat, to shower, or to at least sleep in your own bed. When they had to take Nami up the mountains of the Drum Island, you were one of the first ones to volunteer to come along. When they said you couldn’t come, you snuck your way with them, joining them and not listening to them when they said to go back. They got too tired of fighting with you and it was already too late at that point so they relented.

It warmed her heart to hear everything that you did for her. It made her wonder if you did actually feel something toward her. She could’ve been connecting dots that weren’t actually there, but a small part of her hoped that it was true.

So when you woke up, she took the chance. Dr. Kureha could sense that it was an intimate moment so she left you alone and had Chopper tend to the other two so you could be alone. You were thrilled to see her awake and fine, you practically tackled her in the biggest hug.

When Nami finally managed to get a word in (you fretted over her for the first few minutes, it was hard to get a word in), she spilled her feelings. She told you she didn’t know how to say it but she loved you and she has been in love with you for as long as she’s known you. No matter how much she tried to tell herself she didn’t, she couldn’t deny it.

It was silent once she was finished. She was worried that she did make up everything. That was until you leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips. When you pulled away, you locked eyes with her and said one thing, “I was waiting for the day you would say that.”

.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.

Taglist: @3v37773, @marvellousdaisy

#one piece #opla x reader #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece x reader #opla #opla nami x reader #one piece headcanons #nami x reader #opla nami #cat burglar nami #one piece nami #x reader #one piece oneshots

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