#the whole better to have loved and lost than to never have lived at all thing

[mylittleponyauprompts]

An AU where Cadence can see the red threads that connect soul mates. However red threads are always subject to change due to how someones life has changed for them and around them. Sometimes someone can just not have a red thread. She always saw her Aunt Celestia without one, but recently a red thread has been spawning into existence for her. Cadence couldn't be happier, and has been trying to follow the red thread to it's end to find Celestia's soul mate.

[longagoitwastuesday]

ngl it sort of pisses me off the way adults regard Gojo in Jujutsu Kaisen at times. Which could be a very interesting and poignant point in a good way if well written, but as it is it becomes mainly just frustrating and sad in a negative way.

Nanami saying Gojo never cared about anything or anyone other than himself crashes interestingly with Kusakabe saying the whole situation was just all his fault because he refused to kill Itadori. The students are very aware of those aspects of Gojo's personality, but overall they seem to regard him with way more kindness and fondness even when at their rudest, not truly coinciding with either Nanami's or Kusakabe's views.

[plumsdoll]

Enchanted

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky finally found his missing piece and it was you. He knew from the first moment he saw you.

Word counts: 2.8k

Warning: FLUFF. Cursing. Congressman Barnes era. Mentioned and described about anxiety. Bucky mourned Steve. Reader have long hair. Reader didn't have any specific age but look like in 20s or 30s. The story took place before Thunderbolts*. No beta read.

Notes: Hi~! this is my first Bucky Barnes fanfiction ever!! I've been hiding for sometime until I had a courage to write my own Bucky Barnes fanfiction! and English is not my first language so if you find any mistake I hope you don't mind. I hope everyone enjoy my work and if you do, it would be more than thankful to know your thoughts! Please enjoy!

P.S. Anxiety is very serious. I—myself—am dealing with it and I want more people to be aware of it and be aware of people who is dealing with it. And 333 rule is really helpful for anyone who's encountering anxiety. Thank you so much!

Nightmares were gone.

He was finally free. No more fighting. No more carrying guilt like a shadow that followed him everywhere. No more reminiscing of distressing bygone days. Eventually, Bucky could choose to live the life he always wanted. But…why did he still feel empty inside? A missing piece lingered in his heart, one he couldn't quite name.

This missing piece was considerable. It kept Bucky in an uneasy episode. It was difficult enough to be a man out of time in the modern world. He was drained to keep up with current political predicament as a congressman. And not to mention cutting-edge technology which was really helpful but confusing. It was different. Everything was different without Steve. Maybe the void, the missing space was Steve, the space that was impossible to fill.

Every day was the same. He woke up at 6 a.m., or earlier if he couldn't sleep, and went for a walk to clear his mind before going to work. He still didn't fully understand the modern protocols of Congress. It was significantly changed after the war—as it should. Sometimes he called Sam to keep in touch. It helped—talking with Sam—but still, it couldn't fill the emptiness inside him.

It had been bothering him a whole lot lately. He never felt like that before. He couldn't work, couldn't keep focused. His mind wandered around like a puppy that lost its owner. What was happening to him? He was always able to suppress the feeling but not this time. He felt like it was near, but what is it?

Bucky shook his head before keeping focused on his bowtie—the damn bowtie. One of the disadvantages of being a congressman were social events. He couldn't avoid it under any circumstances now that he merely had the position for six months.

It was ironic. He used to love social events, he was the one who dragged Steve to the fair but look at him now, whining about how he hated it. Maybe he had to admit that he was too old for this.

Bucky exhaled before checking himself in the mirror for one last time, stared at his figure and thought about how far he had come. Evidence of viability was written all over his face. He couldn't deny it but it was what made him who he is today. Maybe he was finally ready—like he always told himself—but he never was. It scared him every time he thought about it. The thought of how he was never going to fit in. Even though everything was better, however, the hungry eyes were fixed on him. It was a mind game in the sealed room. He had to prove himself that he was worthy. Of what— he didn't know. It was just that he felt like he had to prove himself that he was no longer the person who was once the most feared individual on the planet. Bucky told himself one last time—He's not him. He's James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky was being dragged from one conversation to another. He met countless people that he didn't even have time to remember. Throughout the entire encounter, he avoided any eye contact that followed him everywhere like he was a sculpture in the museum for people to extract the gist. He was forcing laughter and faking smiles. People seemed to be amazed that he was genuinely a normal person and learned of what he thought, he could hear them thinking; He's not what we have read in the museum!

The fifth champagne didn't help in this situation. He was looking around to find an excuse for a moment before someone asked him about his time as the Winter Soldier. The question caught him off guard and left him momentarily speechless. He wasn't prepared for the question and the fact that it had done something to him. The storm of feelings crawled back expeditiously and ultimately it caught on his throat. Bucky started to feel overwhelmed amongst people who shot questions perpetually at him. Everything around him seemed blurry and he couldn't keep focused. His heart was beating faster, he was grasping for some air but the air suddenly was heavy to breathe in. His grip faltered and the champagne flute in his hand dropped to the floor. The champagne splashed on the marble, some droplets caught on the margin of dresses and tailored pants, then someone made a joke;

“Oh, it seems like congressman Barnes is already sloshed.” And they laughed. Bucky shot a look at the person who said it but she didn't seem to notice.

“Excuse me, I need a moment.” Bucky declared before broke his way out of the group of people who circled around him. He found a place where there were not many people around. He grabbed the marble pillar to help him stand straight. His legs went limp, it felt like if he loses his grip he would outright fall to the ground. Bucky was trying to breathe slowly before turning his face to focus on his vicinity.

“Ok. 333 rule, come on.” Bucky said before looking around the room.

“Three things I can see…the red cocktail dress…ummm congressman Gary? Man, where the hell have you been all night. That's definitely a pre-tied bowtie. God, I hate pre-tied…and…” Bucky shifted his eyes from congressman Gary to the person who he was talking to. It was you.

“The white satin dress on the most beautiful woman I've…ever seen.” Everything around him stopped all at once. His eyes fixed on you and only you. He captured every possible detail that he could see. Your perfectly curled hair rested on your exposed shoulders. Your sweet eyes. Lovely nose. Irresistible lips. He was wonderstruck by your beauty across the room. Everything went black and white but you shone golden radiant through the room and gave them light. You were an oasis in the desert. The rainbow after the storm. The first snow of winter. The missing piece in his heart. Bucky knew at that moment that he couldn't lose you. You were the one who he was missing dearly even though you never met.

Bucky saw you excused yourself from congressman Gary. His consciousness was back and then he was starting to follow his heart. His legs, instantly, had the strength to walk again. He followed you to the bar and sat at the adequate distance. He ordered something strong to encourage himself. There was only you and him at the bar. It was quite awkward even though he thought you didn't even notice him. You didn't say anything and he was too anxious to speak. There was no conversation going on between you for a short while, somehow Bucky didn't feel uneasy in this situation. He felt relaxed and easier to breathe now that he had your company.

“It’s intense, isn't it? This endless abyss” You broke the silence. He wasn't fully looking at your direction because he wasn't sure if you were talking to him or not.

“I'm talking to you, congressman Barnes.” You giggled when he startled before facing you. He swore your voice was so sweet like a bird chirping in the crisp morning.

“Oh, umm, yes. Yes, it is.” He cleared his voice after and changed his focus to the glass in front of him. He didn't know what to say. He cursed to himself; You can't lose her, James Buchanan Barnes. Fucking do something! Say something!

“You—”

“You—”

You looked at each other for a second or two before his eyes went wide and you laughed simultaneously. He looked at you, threw your head back and laughed at him. He felt embarrassed but in a good way. How long has it been since he courted someone? He felt petrified at the idea of it. His body went numb and he didn't want to move too fast. It was a strange feeling when he thought that you were at most in your 20s or 30s but now he's an old man who was 110 years old merely last month. It wasn't like in the 1940s anymore and it suddenly scared him.

“You, first.” Your voice broke through his thoughts.

“Oh, no. There's nothing—”

“Oh, come on. If you want to court me. Here's your chance. Is that what you called it in your days? Court?” You laughed again and then his face turned red. He tried to hide it by sipping the whiskey in his hand but it was still obviously in the exposed light at the bar.

“It’s not and I wasn't trying to court you.” He tried to hide his smile but he hated to admit that those times when he was out on the mission was easier than trying to not swoon at your presence. His hand was meddling with the rocks glass, fingers playing with the beads around it. Your eyes followed his fingers, it sent heat through your body.

“Who are you, by the way. I never saw you anywhere.” Bucky shot a question to keep the conversation going but it was also his genuine question too. He never saw you at any other social events that he went to. Nothing could escape his eagle-eye and surely not even a pretty little thing like you. You would be the first in the room that caught his attention.

“Maybe I was there but you never saw me.”

“That's impossible.”

“Oh, of course. I forgot that you were a spy.” You lifted your hand up and did the O shape around your eye. Bucky chuckled and licked his lips. He knew at that moment that you were going to be the death of him. Gosh, it must have been too long since he's falling head over heels for someone. It's a strange feeling that he willingly submitted to.

“No. I mean—I don't think if I ever saw you, I'm going to let you out of my sight that easily.” Suddenly, the world stopped again. You exchanged eye contact across the adequate space. It felt too far, he needed to get closer to hold you. The piano caught his ears and the idea came into his mind. He needed to make a move and it had to be a move that he was familiar with.

“Dance with me.” He extended his hand to you. You laughed because you thought it was a joke but then you looked at him and there was nothing playful written on his face. You looked at the group of people standing, no one was dancing along the music. You looked at him again.

Fuck it.

The moment you took his hand was something new entirely. The feeling was overwhelming but in a good way. There was something that you didn't know how to describe. It was like lightning—a magnet that pulled you closer. He led you in the center of the room. Everyone was looking. You could see their bewildered eyes staring. Your heart was beating fast. It was a ludicrous idea and you liked it but now you weren't entirely sure.

“Hey, look at me.” Bucky grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. You looked up at him and met his piercing blue eyes. His vibranium arm guided your hands to rest on his shoulders. The coldness of the material sent shivers through you. He rested the arm on your waist and started to move.

“Don't be scared. Just follow me.” Bucky started to sway and lead you to smooth movement. You were restricted at first but then started to relax and follow his steps. You never shifted your eyes from his. You were embarrassed at the idea but didn't regret it at all.

“Are they still looking?” You asked with a trembling voice. Suddenly, you wanted to disappear into the ground.

“Yes. They're always looking.” You swallowed nervously.

“You know what? I haven't danced since 1943…Feels like.” Bucky said with that playful glint in his smile and you burst out laughing and buried your face in his chest. At this close you could hear his heart pounding fast like he just went on a marathon. His cologne kicked your nose, it was earthy and fresh. It helped you feel relaxed.

“This is a bad idea.” You said while shutting your eyes and breathing in his scent.

“I know.”

“But I like it.”

“Me too.” Bucky said and kissed the top of your head. You were surprised at his move but you didn't complain. You wanted to keep this moment forever. You wanted to keep him forever.

You didn't know how long the time passed. The next move that brought you back to reality was when Bucky touched your wrists. You opened your eyes and realized that everyone was now dancing. You were amazed at your surroundings. You looked at Bucky and he was already looking. A spark of delight drew all over your face.

“They're looking at you.” You said with the awed in your voice.

“No. They're looking at you.” Bucky said and looked into your eyes. His eyes always looked like it was telling you something, something that wasn't a word or a number but a feeling. He wanted to preserve this moment forever.

“It's almost time. Can I bring you somewhere?” You nodded and then he guided you to the garden outside the estate where there's nobody there. The moon was full. The sky was clear. Everything was quiet. It looked like a dream. You looked at him while he was already looking. He didn't seem to shift his eyes off you. Just like he said.

“Are you going to kill me here?” You told a joke and smiled. If you are going to die tonight, it might be worth it.

“Maybe.” Bucky smiled. It felt like he was bewitched by you—heart and soul. Merely a minute, you could catch his heart and play with it. He was more than willing to give you everything. If you want him to kill, he would kill for you. If you want him to die, he would die for you. If you want a star he would find a way and give it to you. Because all of this wasn't hard at all compared to all this time he was waiting for you.

“What do you want to show me?” You asked.

“You have to lie down first.” Bucky guided you on the fresh green grass. It was poking on your sensitive skin but after a minute, you got used to it.

“I have these strange feelings.” Bucky said while lying on his side and looked at your face.

“What feelings?”

“I think you bewitched me.”

“What?” You laughed out loud like no one would hear. In fact, there was no one there to hear you anyway.

“I never felt this way before. It had been so long since I fell in love. It was a feeling that seemed unfamiliar to me until I saw you tonight.” There was no evidence of playfulness on his face. Everything was genuine. Under the moonlight he was still undoubtedly attractive. It scared you for a moment; the thought of losing him.

“You may think this is crazy but I would kill for you. I would die for you, if you say so.” You caressed his face with your hand and looked straight into his eyes.

“Live for me. Never let me go.” Tears welled up in his eyes and dropped on the grass, filling the earth with his blissful tears. You were getting closer and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. He pulled you in for a more passionate and longing kiss. You were yearning for each other like it had been so long since you met but it was odd when you realized this is the first time.

You startled when the sound of an explosion echoe in the sky. Bursts of color lit up in the night. You looked straight and saw fireworks cracked and popped above. The flickering lights filled the inky sky and danced around the full moon. It was magical.

“You like it?” Bucky asked but there was no answer. You just pulled him in for another kiss. Surely, you won't let him go. He bewitched your heart and soul. It might have taken him more than decades to finally find you but ultimately he did. And he was grateful that it happened at the right time—when he was ready for you. Ready to live for you and love you wholeheartedly. Maybe the myth was true, the one that said you were meant to find your other half and fortunately, now the missing piece had been filled.

[freedelusionshere]

Hmm, yes. Food for thought.

That’s what Jess told Richie, right? People that are better than you, and she wasn’t talking about skill, either?

Chef Terry’s retirement speech, and now I realize that her Rolex was probably not something she bought for herself but was probably a retirement gift from her backers?

Richie tells Carmy when he says he wants to retire, “Good luck, Admiral, we’ll send you your watch”, as a callback to this (Richie is still bitter about Terry leaving).

But Carmy and Mikey’s conversation in Groundhog sounds a lot like what Chef Terry says about why she loved working in restaurants, for similar reasons. Seeing the same people and them bringing in their kids and, and then them growing up and getting to watch that?

Carmy even mirrors some of Chef Terry’s behaviors this season? Like when he gives Syd the spoon while she’s cooking beef, and he stops being competitive with her and realizes what he’s been really doing with her this whole time when he should’ve tried to be her friend and get to really know her instead.

And Luca and Jess worked with Terry. So did Carmy and Richie.

And Carmy even admits to Syd that she is making this place feel alive again (he means himself, like he does most of what he’s saying like the “throwing themselves in front of a train “for her comment is also about himself).

Carmy just doesn’t like fine dining anymore.

His mom’s story about Tonnato keeps sticking with me. She had this really horrible moment where she felt lost and alone (because she was fighting with the Berzatto dad) and a complete stranger served her a simple meal and made things feel okay again.

Strictly from Carmy’s POV, is he feeling guilty about leading them down the same path he went on to feel better about himself and now he wants that to change but doesn’t know how or where he fits?

He is trying to remove himself from being an ongoing bad influence but also making moves to try to allow Syd to have the freedom to not have to work that way and do what she always wanted to do?

Her smoking and other things (the vomiting and the panic attacks) indicative of her becoming like him which is what he doesn’t want at all?

Marcus, in that under the table scene saying he fears losing his creativity is heartbreaking to me, when he’s just getting started. And won his first award which was from Food & Wine, like Carmy (Richie also referenced this)?

The way Carmy looked at Syd in that scene like it was going to be Syd getting the award for that scallop dish of his that she “fixed” by subtracting his subtraction even better than he did hers?

Richie having panic attacks in the alley and bringing in people from Ever to “fix” it.

Because Carmy should feel bad, right?

I do think he will step away to get some perspective but also he said he’s trying to fix things and there is evidence that he’s doing that it’s just not showing the how yet.

Terry said to him in Forever she retired so she could live life and it sounds like despite all the good influence she had, she missed out on friends and celebrations outside of her work.

I think he took that to heart. But he also set everyone else at The Bear down the path of doing what he did to get to Empire.

I’m so curious to see where this all goes.

And I’m never going to stop thinking about what Syd told him in S1 in the alley about how she wanted this place to be different than all the other places they had both worked at.

That’s kind of the ultimate endgame for me.

If he just leaves them all there, stuck, like he was, and doesn’t make good on that, what is the real point? Just a tale of woe and a warning fable and not about love and second/third/fourth chances?

I feel like he’s on chance #4 right now, and he said one of those chances was a “swing and a miss”.

A lesson from 2x04 Honeydew across the seasons

Luca: I think at a certain stage it becomes less about skill and its more about being open.

Marcus: Open?

Luca: Yeah. To the world,

to yourself,

to other people.

You know, most of the incredible things that I've eaten haven't been because the skill level is exceptionally high or there's loads of mad fancy techniques. Its because its been really inspired, you know.

You can spend all the time in the world in here, but if you don't spend enough time out there...you know?

Marcus: Right.

Luca: It helps to have good people around you, too.

Meta on inspiration:

I just wanna feed my kid: inspiration, creativity and dreams on The Bear

Exorcism

Inspiration

Blood ties and lineage

[mareestoermers]

i think we are all forgetting something when we talk about how toxic patrick, tashi, and art are — or when we decide one is “worse” than the other. they all have moments of seeing right through it, seeing each other’s toxic behavior for what it is, and STILL want and need each other in this possessive, envious, visceral way.

1. in the way beginning, tashi is clearly flirting more with art than patrick, and patrick is visibly annoyed. art sees right through it and even challenges him like “okay, let’s leave”, and has this little smirk on his face because he knows patrick won’t give up on tashi.

2. tashi immediately sees the visible tension and love between art and patrick, and literally orchestrates their first kiss. she sees right through their repression, and even calls herself a “home-wrecker” but still entangles herself with them, especially patrick because he’s clearly the better tennis player at that point and that is tash’s ONLY true love. tennis. that’s what she desires most in him, and patrick knows that. he even calls her out on it in the dorm room scene. but they have this mirroring fire in each other that neither of them can give up, not until patrick breaks the balance and bails — tashi’s injury is literally a metaphor for the balance shattering between all three of them when patrick leaves her.

3. before this, patrick sees right through art trying to break them up, and even admires that quality — maybe even feels smug and flattered because art is jealous and feels left out from both tashi and patrick. patrick has known this all along, we saw it in the “tick-serve” scene, where he even swears to tashi he won’t tell anyone but he still tells art, who is desperate to feel a part of them and patrick wants that, too — even keeps that close intimacy with art that we see in the churro scene (swoon swoon swoon).

4. haven’t you noticed that arts desire to be great is only ever tied up in patrick and tashi? how he needs to beat patrick to win tashis affection, how he needs to win in tennis so that tashi can live through him, how he lives up to his potential in the ending only because tashi and patrick push him to it, in their little fucked up ways? he knows this — he even admits that he’s playing for tashi, that he knows she’s living through him. he even admits he’s playing a fucked up little game with patrick when they’re in the sauna. yet he still does it. again, he knows what’s happening, sees right through them — still does it, still loves them.

5. when tashi calls patrick to come pick her up he knows it’s not just to tell him to throw the match — and despite how she battles him about it, they still have sex in the car, because he already knows. he’s so fully aware of her and her game and he’s so willing to be caught up in it, the same as art.

just some examples of how they all have moments of clarity and agency and yet they still choose to be entangled in one another because they’re all fucked up in their own, individual ways, and they’re all living through each other for their own specific needs. arts is to be seen as worthy, as great, but only through their gaze. tashis is to have the career that was stolen from her. patricks is truly to be in love and in lust with both of them, because we even see that from the beginning that tashis love alone will never satiate him; it has to be arts love, too. that scene in the sauna when he thinks he’s lost it from art is the most sad and fucked up we ever even see patrick. on top of tashi asking him to throw the game — he’s so defensive of arts feelings.

in short this is an actual love triangle (and i would go as far as to see it as a polyship). you can’t erase one without the whole thing unraveling, and you can’t say one character was the “worst” without picking apart the motivations and pointing to the fact that their bad behavior was never a secret or left unchecked.

even at the end, patrick signals to art that he slept with tashi — art knows and they still have that intimate completion at the end, all three of them. art living up to his potential and embracing patrick fully (id argue this could even be a metaphor for embracing his bisexuality), patrick having both tashi and arts affection again, and tashi playing a phenomenal tennis match through her little white boys — in such a visceral, emotional way that she cries out like she did in the beginning and the last frame is her smiling.

in a fucked up way, they all get what they wanted out of each other.

[luviestarz]

ᴋɪᴍ ᴍɪɴɢʏᴜ ꜰɪᴄ ʀᴇᴄꜱ !✮

✮ hot or cold? - @jjuniehao (when looking for something on his phone, you find an email you didn’t expect…)

✮ SHAVE — kim mingyu x reader - @yikesmary (with your boyfriend’s comeback approaching, mingyu asks you to help with shaving.)

✮ TEXT ME - @blue-jisungs (just very whipped mingyu :'))

✮ give it back! | Kim mingyu - @haoboutyou (fluff, fwb!mingyu suggestive, swearing)

✮ ; protective!bf mingyu. (tw: violence) - @m1ngyuism

✮ REPETITION / RARE LOVE - @nnight-dances (it's simple enough: you and mingyu are perfect for each other. you've told him as much but after years of him avoiding the topic, you leave him alone. but when your long-time infatuation with jeonghan gets rejected, you have nothing to distract you from your desire to be with mingyu. all it takes is you making out with the wrong person and a can of beer for mingyu to come to his senses. OR: maybe you don't hate repetition as much as you claim to.)

✮ stuff to talk about | kmg - @kkaetnipjeon (angst. fluff. drunk confessions. mutual pining. idiots to lovers. minors do not interact or i will set off a decades-long revenge plot against you and enlist minghao's help to do it)

✮ lipstick remover | kim mingyu | mdni 18+ - @wonwootattoo

✮ the very first night - @fxstpace (the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.)

✮ perv!mingyu ⟡ kmg - @suhsweet (when your roommate mingyu is a filthy, dirty pervert obsessed with you)

✮ 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 | k.mg - @gyubakeries (angst-fluff scenario of mingyu getting jealousy and also a bit insecure with another guy talking with the reader)

✮ second servings - @diamonddaze01 (And what better way to show you how…grateful I am than to kneel in front of you?)

✮ - 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 - @sunniques (mingyu will do anything to make sure no man takes his place in his stepsister’s life.)

✮ — debauched | ft. stepbro! mingyu - @monamipencil

✮ lost in the west | kmg - @starlightkyeom (where your best friend pretends to be your boyfriend for the holidays so you can avoid more nagging from your mother. except your whole family thought you were already dating)

✮ no more wine for you - @seungcheorry

✮ what do i call you? 🕹️ k.mg [m] - @haologram (your best friend is a man of many facets - a creative architecture student, a skilled football player, a wonderful friend and a sought-after lover. not that he'd ever truly glance anyone's way, especially not when his heart has always been set on you.)

✮ better late than never — kmg - @seungkw1 (smut, best friends to lovers, non-idol au)

✮ BIRTHDAY BOY - @odxrilove (It’s Mingyu’s birthday party, and Hoshi lets something out under the influence of alcohol. Apparently, you have two gifts prepared for him– completely throwing out the one-gift tradition your friend group strictly follows. However, Hoshi’s a liar — and a bad one at that — but it’s already too late. Even though Mingyu knows he’s supposed to be excited about all the gifts he’s receiving tonight, he’s (not so surprisingly) only interested in everything you’re giving him.)

✮ good behavior .ᐟ.ᐟ - @ddeonghwa-s (you're riding kim mingyu and find him absolutely beautiful and perfect. and so it's so easy for good boy to slip from your lips. little do you know that's all he needs to take full control so he can truly show you how much of a good boy he really is.)

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 2 𝓱ands , 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza keep your hands on me.

─── 𝓢ophia never considered herself the jealous type—until you got a haircut. overnight, it was like the whole world had started seeing you differently, comments about how fine you looked haunting her everywhere. no wonder she'd bossed you to have your hands on her at all times.

❝𝓷eed a little less talk, 𝓪nd a lot more touch.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. sophia laforteza x katseye seventh member!yn ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff, established relationship wc. 4417 a/n. good god i need to stop yapping ab details in fics i keep dragging them on on the other hand, this is my compensation for lowk neglecting u guys nd not bringing food to rhe tsble but i fear its school thats got me on a leash nd unless smn takes one for the team nd burns my school down thisll be happening more nd more often CS EXAMS ND ASSESSMENTS R COMING UP NF IMA BAWL CS WTFFFF EVERYTHING IS TOO FAST IM SO LOST FUCKKKKKKK may or may not have taken too long to get to the part where its actually inspired by 2 hands mbmb the use of 2 hands's lyrics was lowk cringy😟 NAWT PROOFREAD AT ALL🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️ enjoy homos❤️

❝𝓲 just want your two hands on me at all times, baby. 𝓲f you let go, better put 'em right back, fast.❞

JEALOUSY WAS NEVER SOPHIA’S THING—at least, that’s what she always told herself. she knew you—her girlfriend, loved her. knew with every fibre of her being that you would never do anything deliberate to hurt her, never purposely stoke the ugly fire that smoldered deep in her chest. 

so why was it that, right now, the green-eyed monster clawed its way up her throat, curled around her ribcage, and blurred her vision like a stain she couldn't scrub away?

you’d gotten a haircut a few days ago—something sharper, something that framed your face so effortlessly it was almost unfair. it was the kind of change that ensured the girl crush label stuck to you permanently, as if it hadn’t already. and somehow, impossibly, it made you look even better—dare sophia say hotter—than before.

and safe to say, sophia wasn’t the only one who noticed. unfortunately.

the moment you turned to management and asked if you’d need a wig to hide your fresh cut from the eyekons before going live—like the other members had to in the newest tiktoks they were dishing out—their response was quick, casual—no need, you were free to show it off. gain more attention and eyes on the group before the comeback.

and that was all you needed to hear.

without a second thought, you propped your phone up on the table in your shared room with manon and daniela, fingers adjusting the angle with practiced ease, lips curling into a giddy smile. 

anticipation thrummed in your chest, an excited buzz settling beneath your skin as you ran a hand through your freshly cut hair, contemplating whether to hide it beneath a cap before settling to just tugging on the strings of your hoodie, tucking your hair out of sight from the camera.

the viewer count came rushing in the second you’d tapped ‘start live’, and your curious eyes peered at the camera, squinting to see what they’d been commenting about before shaking your head, a small chuckle of amusement spilling past your lips. 

user56 bro u look like an egg tf user1 humpty dumpty who?? user9 i think she pulls it off idk bout yall user0 ion care she can still get it even tho she looks like an idiot user2 i like them a little weird user89 GIRL TURN IT AWFFF

“i look like an egg like this? oh wow, that’s interesting. thank you.” you deadpanned, amusement flickering in your eyes as you read the comment aloud. a soft laugh slipped past your lips, shaking your head before tilting it slightly, as if assessing your reflection on the screen.

you kept the playful banter going for a few more minutes, responding to teasing messages with quick-witted remarks, occasionally tugging at the edge of your hood in mock offense. finally, you sighed, dramatic and drawn out, before giving in with a knowing hum. 

your fingers found the drawstring of your hoodie, twirling it lazily around one fingertip before tugging it loose. slowly, almost teasingly, you pushed the hood back, revealing the slightly poofy and mussed strands of your fresh haircut, the soft layers settling into place after being trapped beneath the fabric.

the moment your hair was freed, your hands instinctively shot up, smoothing over the mess, fingertips gently carding through the strands in an attempt to tame them. a small mirthful chuckle escaped you, a mix of amusement and mild exasperation at the way the hood had left your hair slightly disheveled. 

but even then, you still looked effortlessly good. and judging by the flood of excited comments rolling in, and eyekons definitely agreed.

"we vibing with it, chat?" you murmured, tilting your head slightly as your fingers absentmindedly combed through your hair, trying to smooth down the strands that had been ruffled by your hoodie. 

your lips pressed into a thin line, dissatisfaction creeping in as you examined your reflection on the screen, the messiness making your fresh cut look a little less put-together than you had intended.

"shouldn’t have actually hidden it away from you guys," you admitted with a soft sigh, shaking your head. "or it wouldn’t have been this messy."

your hands worked quickly, gently pushing some strands into place, but after a moment of struggling, you huffed in mild frustration. deciding to leave it as it was, you leaned forward, reaching for your glasses resting on the table. with practiced ease, you slid them on, blinking a few times as your vision sharpened.

"my bad, guys," you said, lips twitching into a sheepish smile as you settled back into place. "couldn’t be assed to put on my contacts."

user90 raw raw ah ah ah or wtv it was lady gaga said user56 okay guys fess up who tf took my pants user4 iSWEAR my pants were just on user77 and the crowd is… undressing themselves⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ user78 omg girl dont play w me like that i might js make u mine user43 and FUCK whoever’s dating u bruh u look too good ima nut get OUTTTTTT user68 thank GOD my phone’s waterproof‼️‼️‼️ user70 TIL THE NEIGHBOURS LEARN HER NAME😭😭😭😭 user45 FLASH US

the chat exploded with reactions—some gushing over how good you looked, others teasing about your laziness, and more than a few keyboard smashes from people who were clearly losing their minds over the combination of the new haircut and glasses. 

you chuckled at the chaos, pushing your frames up the bridge of your nose before relaxing into the moment, letting the eyekons take it all in.

sophia who was watching just downstairs, however, wasn’t all that amused with the comments that flooded your live.

it was a jumpscare, truly. the moment sophia groggily unlocked her phone and opened tiktok, still blinking sleep from her eyes, she was met—ambushed, really—by an edit of your live from last night. the screen instantly flooded with clips of you, your freshly-cut hair falling effortlessly into place, set to the smooth, sultry beat of redbone by childish gambino.

typical, she thought dryly at the sound choice, but that didn’t stop the way her breath hitched slightly.

the light from her phone bathed her face in a bright glow, illuminating every tiny movement of her fingers as she instinctively scrolled down, her thumb hovering over the comment section before she could even think twice about it. she already knew what to expect, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

and sure enough, the comments were just as bad—if not worse—than the ones from last night. thirsting, keyboard smashes, people losing their goddamn minds over you. all of it blurred together in an overwhelming stream of admiration, and sophia could feel a familiar, unwelcome heat creeping up her neck.

because, god, of course everyone had to notice how good you looked. and of course, they wouldn’t shut up about it.

it didn’t help that the next few swipes on her for you page led to even more edits—clip after clip of your live from last night, set to sultry, slow-burning tracks that only seemed to emphasize just how good you looked. 

the way your freshly cut hair fell into place, the way your glasses slid down the bridge of your nose before you pushed them up absentmindedly, the way you’d smirked slightly at the camera without even meaning to—it was all there, replaying in high definition, edited to perfection, and worst of all, everywhere. god.

sophia groaned, flopping onto her back as she mindlessly scrolled, but she wasn’t about to just watch and let it slide. no, she was documenting this. saving receipts.

in less than an hour, she had added over fifty different edits of you into a private folder under your name, her fingers moving almost on autopilot. every new clip she found—save. another slow zoom-in on your face—save. a dramatic transition to the beat drop—definitely save.

by the time she was done, she was sure she had absolutely flooded the eyekons’ notifications, her name popping up repeatedly as she went on her little jealousy-infused saving spree.

but she didn’t care. not even a little.

because in her mind, this wasn’t just a collection—it was a statement. a quiet, possessive claim, a subtle way of reminding the eyekons exactly who you belonged to. every save, every tap of her screen, was her way of saying: watch all you want, but just know—she’s mine. and wait—no, no, no. jealousy is bad. an ugly feeling she shouldn’t be feeling. 

but the moment you’d walked into her shared room with yoonchae all mussed from sleep and seeking her out first thing in the morning, sliding into bed next to her, body molding onto hers and—to hell with it.

she’d decided to go live the next day out of pure boredom and cause chaos (unbidden flirting).

clad in an oversized black hoodie—one she had definitely swiped from your closet without asking—sophia lounged comfortably in front of the camera, the fabric swallowing her frame in a way that made it clear it was never hers to begin with. 

the sleeves fell just past her wrists, slightly bunched at her hands as she lazily adjusted the hem. paired with it was a black baseball cap, probably one of the few articles of clothing she actually owned, its curved brim casting a subtle shadow over her sharp features.

her free hand drifted to the waistband of the grey sweatpants she was wearing—another piece that was, without a doubt, stolen from your closet. with a quick tug, she adjusted the way they rested on her hips, ensuring they fit just right before letting her hand drop.

user44 GOOD GODDDDD user88 that hoodie looks rlyyyy familiar ms laforteza user51 SOPHIA LIVE OH GOD BLESS😭😭😭😭😭😭 user50 can u be my girlfriend for three seconds user41 BROOOOO I NEED U SO BAD SHUT UPPPP user32 how have u been sophia???

her lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as she glanced at the screen, watching the comments flood in—messages filled with excitement, teasing remarks about her outfit, and, of course, plenty of people calling her out for very obviously wearing your clothes again. she simply raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as she leaned in slightly, skimming through the chaotic flood of words.

but she didn’t deny it. not once.

it wasn’t until halfway through the live that the shift in the comment section became impossible to ignore. at first, it had been the usual chaos—people gushing over her, teasing her about the hoodie, and thirsting over every little movement she made. but then, as if on cue, the flood of questions about you started rolling in.

user55 hey queen so whats the deal w y/n?? is she single perchance😌😌😌 user63 is y/n there w u??? user80 is y/n single?? asking for a friend nd research purposes🌚🌚 user66 blink twice if y/n is in the room

mixed in with those were the more audacious ones—the teasing, flirty messages that made sophia’s jaw clench ever so slightly.

user90 how does one marry y/n?? help a girl out pls user82 can i marry y/n??

“no, you can’t marry y/n.” she’d replied, her fingers, which had been lazily toying with the hem of her hoodie, stilled. she blinked at the screen once. twice.

narrowing her eyes, she hooked her fingers under her chin, tilting her head slightly as she peered at the comment section with squinted, unmistakably disapproving eyes. her lips pressed into a firm line, and for a moment, she just stared, letting the weight of her silence settle over the chat.

and if the eyekons watching had any sense at all, they’d know exactly what that look meant.

“what’s that about me?”

sophia’s eyes snapped up from the screen of the live the moment she caught movement from the doorway, her sharp, narrowed gaze instantly softening at the sight of you.

there you stood, bathed in the dim glow of the room, your expression puzzled as you tilted your head slightly, brows knitting together in mild confusion. dressed in baggy clothes—an oversized hoodie that hung loosely over your frame and sweatpants that pooled slightly at your ankles—you looked effortlessly comfortable, the kind of effortlessness that made sophia’s chest tighten just a little. 

your prescription glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, a clear sign that it was far too late in the night for you to bother with contacts. in one hand, you loosely gripped a bottle of water, your other hand absentmindedly brushing at your sleeve as your bare feet padded quietly against the floor, carrying you toward her without hesitation.

completely unaware.

unaware of the absolute chaos happening in her live chat. unaware of the thirsting, the borderline feral comments flooding in, the way the eyekons were already losing their minds over the mere mention of your name. and most of all, unaware of the way sophia was staring at you—conflicted.

because in that moment, she wasn’t sure what she wanted more—to selfishly keep you out of the frame, away from their prying eyes, or to let them see you, let them understand exactly why she looked at you the way she did.

but before she could make a decision, you made it for her.

with an easy step forward, you popped into the frame, completely oblivious to the digital uproar you had just caused, a sweet, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you greeted the screen. 

"hi, eyekons," you murmured, voice thick with sleep, raspy in a way that sent an immediate shiver down sophia’s spine. "how’re we doin’ tonight? good?"

your words were slow, unhurried, tinged with the warmth of drowsiness as you blinked at the screen, adjusting your glasses with a lazy push of your knuckle against the frame. your lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as you nodded, as if genuinely pleased by the flood of chaotic responses rolling in.

user77 girl i cant do ts rn im ovulating bad user66 standing ovulation or wtv the saying is user62 heyyyy so lunch by billie eilish?? user79 MY DREAM RIDE😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻 user39 WHATT HEJVUKFMFK WHAT THEUCKVLVMK user50 CLEAN UP ON AISLE MY PANTS😭😭😭😭😭😭 user99 cldnt even edge to ts i exploded IMMEDIATELY😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 user34 the crowd would applaud but their hands are busy😭😭😭 user14 i swear my pants were JUST on

"i’m glad," you hummed, voice dipping even lower, softer—dangerous.

sophia didn’t stand a chance.

the moment the sound of your voice filled the room, she could feel the heat crawling up her neck, warm and betraying. without thinking, she subtly turned her face away from the camera, pretending to adjust her hoodie as she desperately tried to will away the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

but of course, you noticed.

your gaze flickered toward her, amusement dancing in your sleep-heavy eyes, and a quiet chuckle slipped past your lips—gentle, teasing.

"what’s with you?" you asked, voice lilting, but sophia refused to look at you, choosing instead to stare pointedly at her phone as if it could somehow save her from this situation.

it absolutely could not.

“nothing,” she tried to fib through her teeth. her face was half-hidden from the camera, but you knew her well enough to picture the exact shade of pink dusting her cheeks, the way she’d press her lips together in a tight line to keep from giving herself away. “don’t worry about it.”

a slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips, though you chose not to push any further—for now. instead, you shook your head in amusement, eyes twinkling as you took in the rare sight of sophia, who was normally so composed, absolutely crumbling before your eyes.

"someone’s suddenly a little camera shy," you mused, voice dipping into something teasing, playful.

sophia let out a quiet huff, still turned away, fingers absentmindedly tugging at the hem of the hoodie she’d stolen from you, as if focusing on that would somehow help her regain her composure.

and for a few minutes, she did just that—taking slow, measured breaths, schooling her features back into something neutral, forcing the heat in her cheeks to die down. when she finally popped back into frame, her expression was much steadier, though the faintest traces of pink still lingered on her skin.

thankfully, the purple lighting she’d chosen for the live worked in her favour, casting a soft glow that helped mask the last remnants of her flustered state. she busied herself with scrolling through the chat, acting as though nothing had happened, her posture relaxed, exuding an air of practiced nonchalance.

or, at least, she tried to.

because just as she started to settle back into her usual rhythm, her brows twitched—barely, but enough—as her ears picked up on something that immediately set her back on edge.

"oh, baby, you’re too sweet," you purred, your voice dripping with playful flirtation as you read a particularly bold comment from an eyekon. "but if you keep talking to me like that, i might just have to take you out on a date."

user51 MY TURN user23 A TEAR ROLLED DOWN MY LEG user89 OHMGYGOD IVOLUNTER ASTRIBYTE user62 RAWRAWRARAWRARWRAW user94 THISMADE BOTH OF MY LIPS SMILE user42 raw i meant AWWWWWW user82 this so made my hole weak I MEANT MY WHOLE WEEK user42 i am not cinderella but ik it fits user51 born to cowgirl, forced to fangirl💔💔💔💔💔 user41 i have nothing appropriate to say HER VOICE UGHHHHH user17 i finally got the water bed everyone wanted in 2016 user88 good now OIL UP user33 YOU GUYS ARE ABSOLUTE ANIMALS IN HERE WTF ENOUGH GUYS ENOUGH YOU HORNDOGS user21 all ten fingers.

sophia froze.

her grip on her the drawstring of your hoodie tightened slightly, her jaw ticking as she forced her gaze to remain on the screen, pretending to be invested in the chat. 

but anyone who knew her—especially you—could see the barely concealed flicker of irritation in her expression, the slight way her nostrils flared, the way her fingers twitched as if she were this close to reaching out and physically covering your mouth to put an end to whatever nonsense you were spewing.

she knew you were just playing around. she knew it.

but that didn’t stop the possessive heat from curling low in her stomach, nor did it stop the subtle shift in her posture—back straightening, shoulders rolling back, as if preparing to stake her claim without saying a word.

user1 guys im kinda scared of sophia user79 SHES LOOMING HELPPP user52 guard dog who user93 damn sophia my b for even looking at yn user84 im gna sleep now okay?? dont choke me in my sleep pls user77 I WAS JS PLAYING W YN PLS DONT KILL ME user91 holy shit i js got shivers down my spine

sophia hadn’t meant to react so quickly, so instinctively, but the second another flirtatious comment slipped past your lips, she couldn’t hold back anymore. before she even registered what she was doing, her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your arm in a vice grip—possessive, unwavering.

your amusement only grew at the sudden contact, lips parting slightly as you turned away from the chat, gaze landing on sophia. her expression was downright murderous, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with a sharp intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

without a word, she yanked your arm toward her, grip tightening as if to silently remind you who you belonged to. both of her hands locked around your forearm now, as if afraid you’d slip away if she loosened her hold even slightly.

and then—thud.

in her urgency, her knee jerked forward, slamming against the table. the impact sent her phone tumbling forward, landing screen-down with a soft clack, the camera immediately blacking out. the live was still running, but now all the eyekons could hear was the sharp rustle of movement, the sound of fabric shifting, a muffled noise—

because in the very next second, sophia had tugged you forward, pulling you straight between her thighs with a force that left you momentarily stunned. and before you could even process what was happening, her hands were on you—one threading into your hair, fingers tangling at the base of your skull, the other firmly cupping the back of your neck, anchoring you in place.

and then she kissed you.

no hesitation, no teasing buildup—just pure, unfiltered need.

it was all-consuming, the way she melted against you, the way her lips moved with a desperation that sent your mind reeling. 

she kissed you like you were her oxygen, like she had been starving for you this entire time—which she has been to be fair, and now that she had you, she refused to let you go. her fingers tightened in your hair, tugging slightly, as if to draw you in even closer—though there was hardly any space left between you.

but just as you were getting lost in the heat of it—just as you felt yourself melting into her touch—she suddenly pulled away, her hands shifting to your shoulders.

and then, without warning, she pushed you back.

you barely had a second to react before your back hit the couch once again, a soft groan escaping you as sophia moved fast, swinging a leg over your waist and straddling you with ease, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of your hips.

you blinked up at her, breathless, dazed, lips still tingling from the kiss. but she didn’t give you a moment to recover. the rest of the world faded, the chat, the live, the teasing—nothing else mattered except this. except her. just like how she’d intended. and she leaned back in for more.

user77 HELLO??? WHAT IS GOING ON user51 GET ME OUT OF THE BASWMENY user11 BTCHCICHFUHFIE WTAFFDTFYE WHAT IS GOIUNG ON HELLO user78 I HEARD THAT user12 smn pick me up im scared user82 bon appetite to sophia ig user94 AT LWAST END THE LIVE????? user73 am i interrupting sumn user93 freak ON user44 media training went out the window im crying theyre not even tryna hide it HELPPP user25 probably making out in my cellular phone i pay for every month??? diabolical work i feel targeted.

sophia had no idea how she’d ended up here—pressed into the middle of a drunken, swaying crowd, the bass thrumming so hard it rattled her ribs, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the kind of recklessness that came with too many shots and too little self-control.

this was not what you had promised.

"it'll be chill," you’d said, smiling so sweetly at her earlier, brushing your fingers through her hair as you reassured her that it was just a casual going-away party for your friend—nothing too wild. 

but now? some random guy had the audacity to press up against her, subtly—or not so subtly—trying to grind against her like she wouldn’t notice. like she’d let him.

with an irritated grunt, she shoved him off, barely sparing him a glare before weaving through the crowd, jaw clenched. she barely knew your friend, didn’t care to, really. she wouldn’t even be out of bed right now if it were up to her, more than happy to be curled up under the covers with you, watching mamma mia back to back before switching to your personal favorites—until the two of you inevitably dozed off.

but no.

you just had to have plans. just had to drag her to some bullshit party for a friend jetting off to europe to “find the woman of her life.”

sophia cursed under her breath, her usually calm composure cracking as frustration simmered beneath her skin. her hands itched—aching to grab ahold of you, to pull you against her and make sure every single person here knew you weren’t up for grabs.

the flashing, colorful lights of the room made everything simultaneously too bright and too dim, disorienting her as she searched. the pulse of the music did nothing to drown out the growing sense of urgency clawing up her spine.

she should’ve never let you out of her sight—oh, there you are.

sophia could feel it creeping in—the sharp, insidious burn of jealousy sinking its claws into her chest, wrapping tight around her ribs like a vice for the second time that week.

surrounded by a cluster of women, all too eager to lean in, to bat their lashes, to laugh a little too loudly at something you’d said—something that, knowing you, probably wasn’t even that funny. yet there they were, hanging onto every word, eyes lingering a little too long, bodies angled a little too close.

her jaw clenched.

her vision blurred at the edges, tinted green with something she refused to name, but it propelled her forward before she could think twice, her feet carrying her straight to you, drawn in like gravity itself had shifted. 

she slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, a mask of indifference settling over her features like second nature—calm, cool, unreadable. but beneath the surface? she was nothing but raw chaos.

without a word, her fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt, tugging you back, away from them, to her. her hands moved instinctively, slipping over yours, guiding them down, redirecting—staking claim.

she flattened your palms against her waist, holding them there, her body pressing into yours like she needed you closer. always.

“want your two hands on me at all times, baby.” sophia's voice was a low murmur, silk-smooth and deliberate as she tilted her head back, lips just barely grazing your cheek before trailing toward your ear, a slow, teasing whisper meant for you—but performed for the lingering eyes around you.

“and if you let go, better put ‘em right back fast.” her grip on your hands tightened, guiding them to press firmer against her waist, as if daring you to even think about moving them away. her fingers curled around yours, possessive, a silent command to stay put. her heart pounded, a steady rhythm against your skin. 

"want your two hands on me.” like my life needs saving, she’d have dared utter if she wasn’t too lost in the way your breath hitched, fingers twitching against hers.

and maybe it did.

she leaned in closer, lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear, her breath warm and slow, sending shivers down your spine. “let ‘em all know.”

her hand ghosted back, fingers featherlight as they traced along your jaw before tilting your chin up just enough to meet her gaze, dark and unreadable.

“can you do it like that?”

masterlist.

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

[scuderiahoney]

(Not So) Invisible String

Oscar Piastri x Reader, soulmate!au

masterlist

the one where some people can see the red string of fate and follow it to their soulmates. from this prompt list. 2k words

warnings: vague mentions of death (non main character)

Oscar’s never been in a rush to follow his fate, no matter how much everyone else seems to worry about it. He’s known about soulmates since he was in kindergarten, has been able to see his red string since he was a little older than that. He has a vivid memory of standing on the edge of the ocean and staring off into the great blue expanse, staring at the way the string seemed to stretch on for miles and miles until it hit the horizon. So. His soulmate wasn’t in Australia, which means. Well. He’s not sure what it means.

Some people never find their soulmates, even though they can see the string. Some distances are far too great, some lives too short. He doesn’t want that to happen to him, either, but really, he’s not in a rush. It’s the sort of thing he figures will happen if it’s meant to happen. One day he’ll look up and instead of the string disappearing into the great unknown, it’ll be tied to a person, around their pinky, just like his is, and he’ll know.

He’s not in a rush, but he’s already planning what he’ll say to them. When the time comes.

…..

You can’t see your string, which means you’re left a bit in the dark about the whole thing. You can sometimes feel the tug of the phantom string on your pinky, like someone’s testing the strength of it, checking to see if there really is someone on the other end. You always tug back and hope they feel it. You wonder if they’re close, or far away, if they’re desperately chasing after the line or waiting for you to come to them.

You feel jealous, sometimes, listening to your friends talk about following their strings to bars and restaurants and libraries, finding their perfect match at the end. Or your other friends, looking up to find someone moving their pinky and feeling the resulting tug and just knowing. Then you think of your friend Eli, who could see his string, and the way he sobbed when it was cut, the end falling to the ground at his feet, meaning he’d never get the chance to meet his soulmate. Gone too soon, his parents had said. He’d never even know who they were.

You think that maybe it’s better not knowing.

…..

When Oscar’s 15, he moves to England to chase his dreams. When he’s 15 and a half, he stands on the beach and feels his chest grow tight. He’s done this before, been to the beach and stared out a billion times at the endless blue and thought about his soulmate, about where they might possibly be. But here, staring out over the water towards Ireland, and North America far, far beyond it, the string isn’t pulled out over the water. It’s behind him, facing inland. As if whoever has the other end is behind him somewhere. He has the strangest feeling. He’s closer than he’s ever been, probably. Or, he supposes, maybe farther away. But it’s different.

He almost panics, for some reason, but he feels a gentle tug on the string and takes a deep breath. His person is out there somewhere. He’ll find them eventually.

He’s heard of people who give up. Who grow tired of searching. They spend ages and tons of money following the string wherever it points, and when they think it’s a lost cause, they slip the knot off their pinky and let the link go. It’s why he’s not keen on rushing. He’s not going to drive himself mad over this. He wants to find his soulmate, sure, but he wants to have his brain intact when he gets there. So he can, like, love them, he guesses.

He wonders if it’s a love at first sight thing. If your body just sort of knows, or if it’s more of an indicator, if you still have to build the relationship to the point of calling it love. His parents say it’s different for everyone. Which is a great answer. He thinks he’ll find out when he finds them, and it’ll all work out. Probably.

…..

Sometimes you hear funny stories about soulmates who have found each other, and the way it happens. Like one of them not noticing the string getting shorter until they’re standing in a grocery store, feeling it grow hot around their pinky, looking up to see it glowing. Or the people you’d heard about who’d been chasing each other around the world for years- one of them traveling for work, the other trying desperately to track them down, until the first got sick and had to stay stationary for a few weeks and they were able to catch up.

You hear of soulmates who met in Vegas and got married the same day, of soulmates who never got married because they’re the platonic type, of soulmates who find each other and then find they have another string, a third person who belongs with them. It’s strange, that in all the years it’s been happening, so little is known.

You often wonder what your soulmate will be like. If you’ll have common interests, if you'll like the same things. Or maybe you’ll be opposites, but just different enough to compliment each other.

You sit at your desk in your college apartment, studying, drumming your pinky on the textbook absentmindedly. When you feel the sharp tug on the string, you laugh. You wonder if your soulmate is in the same time zone- it’s nearly 2am, they’re likely telling you to go to bed. Or maybe they’re a few hours ahead of you and wondering why you’re up so early.

It’s strange, to think that someone you’ve never met wonders about you, worries about you. Stranger to think of meeting someone for the first time and knowing you’re meant to spend the rest of your lives together. Strange in a nice way. Like the universe has laid it all out for you.

…..

Oscar starts traveling when he gets into F3 and F2, and he’s happy to realize that the string always sort of circles back to the general area of Europe. It makes his life a little easier. It still stretches off into the distance, but he can work with this. He won’t have to go off to Alaska or something, though he’d do it if he had to.

He has dreams, sometimes, that he thinks are someone else’s. People have mentioned that to him before, that sometimes, if you’re both sleeping at the same time and the connection is strong enough, you’ll catch a glimpse into the other person’s head. It’s sort of comforting- a hand brushing through bouquets of flowers, a cup of coffee he’d have never ordered for himself, a mess of papers on a desk in a dorm he’ll never study in. He thinks about getting to do those things with his soulmate, and his chest grows warm.

He tugs on the string, just to let them know he’s there. They tug back, a pattern of two short pulls. He’s standing in the paddock before a race, and he can’t fight the smile, or the blush on his cheeks. They’re out there, somewhere.

…..

You graduate college and manage to land a job in your chosen field, which is a big relief. It’s an entry level one, but it pays well enough, and you’ll get to travel for work which is sort of the dream. You’ve noticed that while you’ve been stationary for years, the tugs on your invisible string have been coming from different directions. Sometimes the east, sometimes the west, sometimes somewhere in between. They must move around a lot. Maybe you’ll have a better chance of meeting them if you do the same.

…..

It’s the weekend of Oscar’s second ever race as an F1 driver that he notices it. He’s in the post race media area, listening to questions and his competitors droning on and on about their cars. He itches his pinky, looks up, and nearly chokes on air.

Normally, the string sort of just stretches off in one direction, disappears into the distance, when your soulmate is far away enough. But the red string that’s tied to him is now twisted around a mic stand, out an open door, and down a hallway.

That starts to happen when you’re close to your soulmate, within a couple miles. And his pinky isn’t itchy, it’s warm- the string is starting to glow. He bounces on the balls of his feet, answers questions quickly, tries to make a quicker escape, but by the time he’s fulfilled all his duties, the line is straightening back out, pulling farther and farther away, stretching into nothingness again. His heart sinks. His soulmate had been here, so close, and now they’re gone. From the rapid change in distance, he’d guess they’re on a plane or a train. Moving too fast for him to catch up.

For the first time, Oscar wonders if maybe he should’ve been in more of a hurry about this. If he’s just missed his one chance.

Then he gets up the morning he has to leave for Miami and finds the string pulling him in a different direction than normal, towards the US, and he starts to get his hopes up again.

…..

You’re standing in the paddock in Miami, rubbing your pinky absentmindedly. It feels warm. It’s an odd feeling, like a little line of sunshine wrapped around your skin. You mention it to a coworker named Ben, who says that’s how he felt when his soulmate got close. You feel your heart start to race.

“But it happened 10 times before he actually found me,” he says. “He’s got horrible eyesight, and even the glowing string was difficult to follow. He got completely lost in New York while I wandered around aimlessly.”

You laugh and try not to get your hopes up. But through the day, it gets warmer and warmer, nearly uncomfortably so. And then you look down and gasp.

There’s a glowing string wrapped around your pinky. It’s pulling off into the distance. Ben gives you a wide eyed look.

“You can see it,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say, awestruck.

Before you can get your feet to move, before you can even try to follow it, there’s a commotion down the paddock. It’s McLaren’s rookie driver, Oscar Piastri, stumbling his way through the crowds. He has golden string looped around his arms and hands. You start to laugh as he spools it up as he moves along. He must look crazy to anyone who can’t see it, but they also probably know what’s happening.

“Sorry, sorry, ‘scuse me,” he says, as he stumbles your way.

He gets closer and closer, and then he seems to realize he’s almost reached the end, because he looks up, eyes wide. Everyone is watching him. You’re watching him. There’s a hush over the crowd. No matter how many times you see soulmates meet, it never gets old.

“Hi,” he says, sheepishly, tugging on the string. You tug back, and he grins. He takes a couple steps forwards. “I, uh. I think we’re soulmates.”

You laugh. He grins wider. “You think so?” You say, taking a step in his direction.

He blushes, nods. “Um. I’m Oscar,” he says.

You laugh. “Yeah, I know.” Then you tell him your name, watch the sound of it wash over him, watch him form the syllables with his lips. How strange it is, to meet someone and know you’ll be saying their name for the rest of your life.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says.

You nod. “Is it weird of me to say it feels like I already know you?”

He shakes his head, gaze going soft. He reaches out and hooks his pinky against yours. The string glows so bright you think everyone must be able to see it, and then it disappears. It leaves behind two tiny line tattoos on your finger and his, complete with a little bow.

“Nah, it’s not weird,” he says. “I think that’s kind of the point.”

When you lean up to kiss him, it feels like coming home. You think he might just be right.

a/n: hi I wrote this in like an hour tops and have barely proofread it pls let me know if you find typos. and what you thought in general. just saw the prompt and had to write it. as always, thanks for reading!!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5 @c-losur3 @casperlikej @the-navistar-carol @everyonesluvah @jsjcue @si1ver06 @nicole01-23 @ggaslyp1 (if your blog is crossed out I was unable to tag!)

[hyunebunx]

˖˙ ᰋ ── i didn't hear what you said, i just want to kiss you

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: this is for all of my perfectionist students lmao. kind of self indulgent and super inspired by hyunjin's latest live. enjoy!! <3<3<3

For years now, your boyfriend has been your favorite study partner. Always patient, kind, and considerate of your needs, helping you tackle every difficult subject with a smile on his face. Bringing you snacks, urging you to take breaks whenever he sensed you needed it but most importantly, never pressuring you in any way. Despite your stellar marks, he always says:

“Don’t stress too much about it. Grades aren’t everything.”

And you believe him, you really do, yet the overachiever part of your soul is always louder, and never lets you rest, yelling in your ear until you comply and spend your whole day cooped up inside, studying.

You need to get the highest grade possible, otherwise you’ll shrivel up and die.

Hyunjin keeps you grounded, that’s why there’s no better person alive than your boyfriend. An angel in disguise who has somehow fallen from grace, lost his wings, and is now trapped on earth, forced to mingle with mere mortals like you.

And mingle he does. But unfortunately for him that’s not enough – he also has to teach you statistics.

“See? The difference between descriptive statistics and inferential statistics is quite simple. It’s easier to tell them apart now, right?”

“I guess…” You yawn, setting your glittery pen aside before stretching your arms above your head. “I need a break.”

Hyunjin cocks a brow, amused. “We just started.”

“Half an hour ago!” You point towards the clock on the far wall, hidden behind endless amounts of bookshelves.

“Exactly, we barely managed to scratch the surface.” He pouts, running a hand over his buzzed head in slight exasperation.

You have to resist the urge of squishing his cheeks together, not wanting to make a scene in public. Cuteness aggression was a real thing you fought with every day. “I’m not going to lie, my love. I stopped listening to whatever you were explaining 15 minutes ago.”

“What?”

You nod. “I didn’t hear anything you said.” Then, you scoot closer, gluing yourself to his side as your voice drops several octaves. “I just want to kiss you.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, swiftly looking around to ensure the nearby tables are still vacant. Then, he tongues his cheek in the most attractive way you’ve witnessed, a smirk hanging off the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head.

“After you finish this chapter.” He eventually breathes out, allowing one of his hands to rest on your upper thigh and squeeze in encouragement.

Your head falls back with a groan, frustrated. “Come on, Hyun!” the way you drag out his name has him chuckling lowly, eyes sparkling. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Suffer?” He laughs, poking your forehead. “You’ll only suffer if you fail this test.”

“I won’t fail.” You huff, jerking back. His hand then slips off your thigh and the lack of warmth has you scrawling right back, wounding your arms around his neck to bring him even closer, hoping he’ll cave.

Hyunjin’s eyes fall to your lips, and you know it’s a matter of time before the spell you got him under works its magic. “Of course, you won’t. I won’t allow it.”

Your bright smile snaps his attention back to your eyes, which he seems to get lost exploring, absorbed by the beautiful color. Without missing a beat, you lean forward to connect your lips, eager to taste the cherry chapstick you applied on him when he complained about his lips being dry.

You guess even angels can get dehydrated.

Making out at the library on a Thursday night was never on your bingo card, but with Hyunjin as your partner in crime, you wouldn’t mind doing anything. He makes you feel safe in any situation, but especially when you have to get out of your comfort zone, tackle life head-on when putting things on hold is no longer an option.

You manage to peck his lips, once, twice, and then three times before he brings you closer, big hands sliding down from your waist to your hips and squeezing, needing to feel your flesh between his fingers.

His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and as your mouth opens to allow him access to every part of you, a low moan escapes you both simultaneously. Alcohol was overrated – you’ve only ever gotten drunk on each other.

“We don’t even share a major.” He gasps as he pulls away, and your lips find his jaw.

“I know.” Another kiss graces the beautiful mole under his eye.

With the way you’re kissing him, your lips trailing down his throat, Hyunjin has trouble speaking. “I-I’ve never taken this class before.”

“I know.” You nod, pecking the base of his neck.

A shiver runs down his spine, and his hold on you tightens, almost like he’s ready to lift and place you on his lap, deeming you too far away. “So why do I keep helping you like I’m some dean’s list student?”

“Because you love me.” You finally stop to look into his eyes, heart fluttering at the way his chest is already weaving up and down after a few minutes of innocent kisses. Your touch has always had that effect on him, so you were never confused about his feelings towards you. Hyunjin wore his heart on his sleeve, body reacting faster than his brain could process, never failing to show you how near and dear you are to him. How much he adored every one of your endearing quirks, loving you unconditionally like it was a duty he never wanted to be free of. “As much as I love you.”

With a cocky smirk he barely manages to muster, he replies while tucking some hair behind your ear. “I think I love you a little more than you love me, actually.”

“That’s impossible, Hyun.”

And you were certain of it. Nothing could be bigger than the love you held for this angel.

[rehamyasirr]

Help our life 🧬🙏🏻

I speak to you with the voice of humanity If you have a safe house that contains you, remember that I have a family inside a tent

Start of a new campaign

Here I am again. A whole year has passed of complete devastation in my area, leaving nothing but souls alive .Trying to survive has become really boring. We wish for a better death than the misery and hardship that happened to us over the course of this year, the severe loss of our friends. The biggest thing I lost is my brother , whom I love. I never imagined that I would live without him one day. It is enough that I lost my job, as I am a good nurse, but at the present time there is no work except that I am an unpaid volunteer I wished. Departure after him, but life continues indefinitely. For my mother’s sake, they contributed and she sponsored, as she needs treatment due to high and low calcium. She suffers greatly and is in pain. Bone pain is excruciating. My fundraising campaign was created in order for me and my family to live in peace and continue my studies abroad towards safety Please, all that remains is for you to stand by my side during this difficult time that I am going through. If everyone donates $10, I will achieve my goal of protecting my family. I don’t want to die I want a normal and beautiful life .

Verify by : 90-ghost

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ the devil he became

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ₊✩ˎˊ˗ remmick x reader

synopsis : Long ago, Remmick was just a man. A man in love. 

cw : smut, angst, loss of virginity, infertility, death/murder, blood and blood drinking, gore, mentions of christianisation, manipulation, slight dark!remmick, use of Celtics rituals and folk, chubby reader. - no spoilers. words : 10,3k

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  masterlist⋆ moodboard⋆ ao3

Nothing had ever felt this good.

Every one of his senses buzzed with renewed energy. His body, usually sore and sluggish after days spent working the fields and tending to the animals—now felt more alive than ever. He could feel the earth pulsing beneath his feet, the wind teasing his damp hair, and hear even the faint rustle of a hare being chased deep within the woods.

But it had come at a price.

A price he had never asked to pay.

The taste of iron coated his tongue, and the scent—thick, metallic, undeniable—overwhelmed him.

When he looked down, his eyes met a sea of bodies. Dozens of them. Christians, the same ones who had taken his father’s land, driven his people into exile, and forced their god upon them. Now, they were the ones about to meet their maker.

Remmick had been desperate. Desperate for a way to reclaim what had been stolen.

He would not be like his father. A coward, fleeing in the dead of night, dragging his wife and child kilometers from the only home they had ever known, clinging to the illusion of a better future. There was no better future.

There was only this. Them taking. And him taking back.

𝟏𝟏𝟔𝟗

Ever since you lost everything to the Christians, every piece of land had been stolen from you. You were cast out, called barbaric, heathen, savage. You heard it all. And so, like any oppressed people, you regrouped. You found others who had been cast out and built a small community of your own. A whole group of people who once had it all, now left at the mercy of their persecutors.

Some accepted the changes, abandoning your Gods to embrace the foreign one. They were baptized, clinging to their fortunes, their lands, their lives. But your parents had been among the defiant, the ones who refused to bend the knee.

As a result, your father was killed, along with your brothers. The oppressors feigned mercy, allowing you, your mother, and your sisters to live—on the condition that you abandon everything you knew. So you ran. Far from them.

Deep into the lands of ghosts and goblins, a place the foreigners dared not set foot in. Not yet, anyway.

That was where you met him—lost among many others. An angel who had lost his wings. He was a little older than you, alone, with pain etched deep in his eyes. Women tried to speak to him, to care for him as a mother would. He was still too young to be on his own. But he refused all help, no food, no water, no warm clothes to prepare for the coming winter.

He was fading, slowly, as if waiting for death to take him.

After a few days, feeling an unexplainable connection to the boy, you finally decided to approach him. You brought a small bowl of broth your mother had been warming by the fire. Something within you was drawn to him—pulled, almost. His only companion was a worn banjo, lying pitifully by his side.

He had barely moved since he’d miraculously appeared in the settlement days ago. Sometimes he vanished, slipping away when no one was watching, only to return to the same spot—resting against the trunk of a tree. Not far from the settlement, yet somehow always out of reach.

Meekly, you approached him, making no sound. You didn’t say a word. You simply placed the bowl beside him and, with all the courage left in your eight-year-old body, sat down next to him. Your heart pounded in your chest—you didn’t understand, back then, what you were feeling.

He said nothing, just as you had. He barely glanced at you, then at the bowl. Then, he took it and ate the broth like he was starving—he must have been. He never thanked you, never asked for more. He just ate, set the bowl down, and closed his eyes. As if you were a ghost. As if you weren’t really there.

Unknown to you, his heart was beating just as fast as yours, trying to carve its way out of his small chest to meet yours—as if they were always meant to find each other.

Sometimes you lingered on that memory, certain, deep down, that your souls had been bound on that very day.

𝟏𝟏𝟖𝟐

He hadn’t meant to become this.

All he had ever wanted was the strength to protect his people, his family, his wife. He had prayed, begged for it. He wanted nothing more than to live in peace with the world. But the world had chosen to persecute them. And for what? For denying some foreign god.

Lughnasadh had only just passed, a time for celebration, for feasting, when it happened.

Quietly, in shadows, he had allowed himself to be drawn in by the village witch. She whispered of something within him, something stronger than in others. She told him he was meant for more, a better man, a better husband. That he could protect you from them.

But all he’d wanted then was to drink, to play music, to dance with you beneath the moonlight. The witch had seen the hatred buried deep inside him—the hatred he tried to ignore, to smother. The hatred the Christians had planted with every act of cruelty. And she knew how to feed it.

Everyone in the village knew Remmick as the calm one, the last to raise his voice, the last to strike. But if the Christians were involved, something in him shifted. He would tear down mountains to keep them away. He would not let them take everything, not as his father once had.

So he prayed. Prayed not to their god, but to his own. To the old gods. Prayed for the Christians to be driven away. For some unseen force to rise and cast them out.

Far from you, from his people, from Ireland.

He had been so consumed by his own prayers that he didn’t hear the witch’s voice—soft whispers threading through the night, melodic, almost enchanting. But she wasn’t praying. She was demanding. Demanding that they, those ancient, unseen forces, make of this man what she herself had never been brave enough to become.

He was the easier choice.

All she had to do was mention the Christians... and you. Then, he was hers. Willing. Unquestioning. Soon, he would be seen as a hero—or a devil.

She watched him closely, eyes sharp as a hawk’s, as he finished his prayers and stood, brushing the damp earth from his knees. He looked ready to return to the celebration, to the warm embrace of his dear wife. But as he passed her, she offered him a drink, an herbal brew, she claimed, something to help with the insomnia he so often spoke of.

He thanked her kindly, trusting, and walked away. He didn’t notice the metallic tang on his tongue, nor the blood that trickled from the witch’s own hand into the soil.

She knew he would come to hate her for this.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

𝟏𝟏𝟕𝟐

It had taken a long time for you to adjust to this new life, a life without your father, far from the home you once knew.

Mothers mourned, their grief quiet and constant. Wives wept. Babies wailed in the depths of the night. Children began to nurture an anger they couldn’t yet understand.

But not you.

All you felt was pity.

Pity for those poor men blindly following a foreign god, killing in his name, preaching poisoned sermons about how forgiving he was. Forgiveness? Her people didn’t need forgiveness. They had done nothing wrong.

They hadn't crossed seas and lands to colonize.

Now, lying silently in the middle of the village, you relished the rare quiet. It was forbidden to be outside after dark, tales told of witches and goblins snatching children to feed to forest gods. But those fairy tales had long since lost their grip on you.

The real monsters were not hidden in the woods.

They were men. Men who preached in tongues you could not understand, cloaked in righteousness, soaked in unseen blood.

A branch snapped nearby.

You gasped, instinctively straightening up on your elbows, eyes darting toward the noise. Had they no compassion? No mercy? Would they truly strike under the cover of night?

Then your shoulders eased. It was Remmick.

The moon cast pale light across half of his face as he stepped out from the edge of the forest. A few years had passed since the first time you gave him food. Slowly, the hostility in him had faded. He let you feed him. He even began working with the village blacksmith, earning enough to have himself a small, but decent, home. 

Now, nearing eighteen, he stood taller than when you first arrived—but more than that, he had grown into something steadier, gentler. There was charm in him now, one that was getting harder to ignore. 

You watched him approach, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as his eyes met yours. The small bundle of hares in his hands explained his presence in the middle of the night. He had told you more than once that hunting was easier under the cover of darkness, though it never quite made sense to you. Lately, he simply said he felt more at peace beneath the moon than under the sun.

“And what are ya doin’ out here, missy?” His voice was soft, lilting through the silence like a lullaby.

“Can't sleep,” you replied, your voice rough from hours of quiet.

“Too excited about Lughnasadh?” he asked, a playful smirk curling at the corners of his mouth.

He settled beside you on the cool earth, carefully placing the hares on his other side, away from you. He didn’t want their blood anywhere near you.

You were too pure for that.

You nodded and hummed in response, but your gaze drifted down to his left hand. It struck you again how strange it was that a man like him remained unattached. Half the girls in the village daydreamed about Remmick—hoped he might ask them for a dance at Lughnasadh, even just once.

But Remmick wasn’t like that.

To your ever-oblivious mind, he was simply a kind soul, gentle, perhaps shy, who hadn’t yet met the right person. But to everyone else, it was obvious: the boy was hopelessly in love with you.

A foolish boy, terrified of being turned away.

For you were the only kindness left in Remmick’s life.

His parents had long since passed, unable to bear the weight of exile. The journey had been too harsh, the change too great. They hadn’t even made it to this settlement. He’d been forced to leave them behind, too weak to bury them, too numb to weep.

He had refused to die alongside them. Death had brushed against him... and moved on.

And yet, now, years later, it wasn’t death that frightened him. Not hunger, not solitude, not the ghosts of those nights alone on the road.

It was you. 

Or rather, the thought of losing you. The thought of your eyes turning away, of your voice going cold. Of reaching out—and being denied. A simple thing like rejection frightened him more than any shadow he had ever faced.

He had fought another boy once.

It started like most conversations between young men—boasting, teasing, talk of girls. Eventually, your name came up. Just a few harmless remarks at first, about how quiet and shy you were. But then one of the older boys scoffed, saying you were good for nothing. Not the kind of woman worth marrying.

"But at least," he added with a smirk, "she's got the kind of body that could be put to use."

Remmick had almost let it go.

He knew your worth. He knew you better than they ever would. He could’ve walked away.

But then came the final blow: "Too bad we don't have no brothels here. She'd have the place of honour."

The next thing he knew, he was on top of the boy, fists slamming into his face, rage clouding everything but the sound of bone and breath.

That had been months ago.

You still didn’t know why it happened. Remmick never told you. The boy’s friends—too afraid of him now—never dared speak a word of it, either.

“You scared me,” your sweet voice pulled him back to the present. “Thought you were one of those evil goblins mother used to warn me about.” A teasing smirk danced on your lips. “Could’ve sworn you were one, actually—what with you being so small and all.”

“I’m taller than you,” Remmick retorted, without a hint of hurt or anger. He knew you were only teasing. In all the time he’d known you, he hadn’t found a single ounce of malice in you.

“But still shorter than most of the men here,” you said, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Not that I care, really. Couldn’t marry a man as tall as a tree anyway.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes—not with the way you felt his gaze on your face. A quiet warmth spread over your cheeks and down your neck. It was unlike you to flirt so openly. But it was Remmick.

And the moon had made you brave, like it was keeping your secrets. 

You figured the moon hadn’t made only you brave.

You felt Remmick’s body shift closer to yours, his warmth seeping into your barely covered skin. It was the end of July, but the Irish nights still carried a chill. His nearness felt good, comforting, grounding.

But when the moonlight vanished from your face, you opened your eyes.

Startled, you hadn’t expected to see him that close, to see his gaze locked on you, sharp and unblinking, like a hawk watching something sacred. You could make out every detail of him: the faint freckles across his cheeks, the dust clinging to the sweat on his brow, the unruly strands of his shaggy hair, and those slightly crooked teeth that gave his smile its charm.

He was beautiful. In every possible way.

And as if your eyes had whispered a secret to him, he leaned in closer, inch by inch, until his eyes slipped shut and his lips met yours.

They were soft, a little chapped from his nervous habit of biting them—but they felt perfect.

It was a small kiss, tentative and sweet. Both of you far too shy for anything more. He kissed you once more, just a brush, and then sat back up, though not far. His thighs pressed gently against yours, and this time, he was brave enough to take your hand in his.

That night, Remmick had been your first kiss.

And in that moment, you hoped, quietly, fiercely, that he would be your last.

𝟏𝟏𝟖𝟐

You had waited. All night, you had waited for your husband to come back.

Lughnasadh had only just passed, and tonight, he’d gone out again—a birth, he had said. Had you not been so worn from your day on the farm, you might have gladly gone with him.

A baby. A new soul in the village.

For years now, you had prayed for one of your own. A child born from your love with Remmick—someone to cherish until your final breath.

You had always dreamed of being a mother. Always imagined at least three children: little mischiefs running wild around the chicken coop, tugging at the flowers in your front yard, curling into your bed on cold winter nights, all tangled limbs and warmth.

But the years came and went, and nothing ever came of your prayers.

Barren. That’s what the druids called you.

Some of the crueler women in the village even whispered cursed.

You had tried everything—every herb known to the old midwives, every prayer whispered beneath moonlight, every position promised to bring fruitfulness. And still, the result remained the same.

Now, at twenty-seven, your hope had withered. What remained was a hollow ache in your chest—an emptiness no offering, no prayer, no amount of love from Remmick could fill.

He had never blamed you.

Even though he, too, had longed for children—a family of his own—he never raised his voice, never turned cold, never left. He stayed. Always gentle, always patient. Whispering comfort into your darkest hours.

He told you the gods would grant you a child when the time was right. That fate could not be forced. That you only needed to keep faith.

And so, for ten long years, you had been faithful. Patient. Devoted. And still, the gods gave you nothing.

Nothing but sadness—and blood—every month.

A silent tear slipped down your cheek as you watched the horizon through your window, the sky slowly blooming with the first light of dawn.

And still, Remmick had not returned.

He was never this late. He always made it back before sunrise—always—knowing how much it unsettled you to imagine him out there in the dark. He knew your fear hadn’t faded, not even after ten years.

You still couldn’t let go of the dread the Christians had left behind.

As the sun rose, you busied yourself with the morning chores, tidying the little house, feeding the animals, checking on the younger ones. The routine helped keep the dread at bay. Only once everything was done did you gather your shawl and set off toward the village.

You didn’t live far. Remmick had chosen this place purposefully, a quiet pocket of land away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. He couldn’t stand the lonely women with their endless gossip, nor the drunken men begging for shelter from the rain.

“All I need,” he once told you, “is a bit of land, a roof, and you.”

You knocked on Cormac’s door, not expecting much. It was early, but he was already up, a babe strapped to his chest. He was always working before dawn—fieldwork didn’t wait—but the sight still startled you.

You tried not to look too long at the child. You still weren’t ready for that.

“I’m sorry to come knocking so early,” you said, voice soft. “But… is Remmick here?”

Maybe he’d had too much to drink. Maybe he’d just fallen asleep somewhere safe. That had to be it.

Cormac frowned. “No. He left pretty early, said he wasn’t feeling great.”

Your breath caught.

“Oh,” you murmured. “He didn’t make it home last night.” It came out as a whisper—meant more for yourself than for him.

Your thoughts spun into a blur, unraveling one terrible possibility after another. Where could he be? What could’ve happened? Your heart beat louder than your footsteps as you turned from the door.

You spent the entire day searching.

You knocked on every door, walked every path he might’ve taken. Desperation led you even to the gates of the Christian village nearby. You crossed them without hesitation, ignoring the sermons that claimed your kind would burn just for stepping foot there.

But nothing happened. No fire. No wrath from their god. You had been willing to take that risk.

By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, exhaustion weighed on every limb, and your heart felt like it had been torn out of your chest. No one had seen him. No one had heard anything. And even those who might have had something to share had quickly turned their attention to something far more disturbing.

A rumor—horrible and spreading like wildfire—spoke of a massacre in the forest.

Christian men, slaughtered in the night. Their bodies drained of blood. Their heads torn from their shoulders. Left in a sacred clearing that belonged to your people. To your land.

Irish land. A place they never should have been. 

It was said the only reason they knew the men were Christians was because of the crosses left behind. Their bodies were so mutilated, so defiled, it was nearly impossible to recognize anyone.

The news chilled you to the bone.

What if Remmick had been among them? What if he had been torn apart, so mutilated no one could even recognize him?

You stumbled home in the dark, your sobs thick and trembling in your throat. It wasn’t like him to vanish. He had no reason to run—no secrets that you knew of. Something had happened.

And what shattered you most was the not knowing.

If he was dead… you might never find his body. Might never get to say goodbye. Might never give him the proper burial he deserved.

That uncertainty was its own kind of death. 

You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t sleep. You lay awake in bed, clinging to Remmick’s pillow, wrapped in one of his old shirts—the worn one you hadn't wash this morning—that still carried his scent.

The emptiness beside you felt unnatural. In all your years together, not once had you spent a night apart, not since your wedding nine years ago.

People always talked about how husbands grew tired of their wives, how wives grew resentful of their husbands. But not you. Not Remmick.

What you shared was sacred, special. Blessed by the gods.

You remembered how furious you'd been that night at the pub, when a few crude men had made a joke about Remmick finding himself a new woman, someone who could give him a child. That he would be back after he emptied himself. 

As if your love was something that could be replaced.

As if you could be replaced.

More tears slipped down your cheeks, silent and unending.

You were mourning a marriage that was meant to last forever, a love that was never supposed to fade. You would never love another the way you loved him. He was your sun, and you were his moon, chasing one another across the sky, always finding each other again.

You had made your vows beneath the watchful eyes of your gods, and that promise was sacred. Not even death could break it.

Now, the rest of your life stretched out before you, a quiet, aching shadow. You would spend it mourning a love that should have been. A life that had been so cruelly gifted to you… only to be taken away far too soon.

Ten years wasn’t enough. You had so much life left to live. And you had always imagined living it with him.

Knock.

A single, deliberate tap against your door.

It was deep into the night—far too late for visitors. Remmick had always made you promise: never open the door after sundown if he wasn't home.

You held your breath, heart pounding like a drum inside your chest. 

Out here, so far from the village, no one would find you for days if something happened. Longer, maybe—people were still tiptoeing around you, full of pity for the lonely widow with no news of her husband. They’d give you space to grieve. A week, perhaps more.

Knock

This time, harder. Heavier. The sound echoed against the worn wood of your door like a threat.

You moved slowly, barefoot on the cold wooden floor, the boards creaking beneath your weight. You didn’t dare light a candle. Whoever—or whatever—was outside didn’t need to know you were awake.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the iron poker by the hearth. Just in case. It was barely heavy enough to be called a weapon, but it felt better than nothing.

You stood still, just a few paces from the door. The silence outside was absolute. No wind. No animals. Not even the usual chirp of crickets. Just the humming quiet of something watching. Waiting.

Then— Scratch.

A slow, deliberate drag of something along the door.

Fingernails? Wood? You couldn’t tell. It sounded like someone testing the grain. Like they were thinking.

A third knock. This one made the whole frame shake.

You flinched. Stepped back. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Remmick?” you called, voice barely above a whisper. It was a ridiculous question. You knew it wasn’t him.

He’d never knock like that. Never so slow. Never so hard.

No answer.

Your eyes darted to the window. The curtain fluttered faintly from a draft, and for a moment, just a heartbeat— You saw it.

A shadow. Tall. Still. Right outside the frame. You couldn’t see a face. But it was standing there. 

Watching.

Your grip on the poker tightened. You stepped back again, your heels touching the bedframe.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, nothing.

No more knocking. No footsteps. No retreating figure. Just the suffocating silence and the sound of your own breath.

Silence. 

And then, nature began to breathe again, as if it had been holding its breath with you.

You didn’t sleep that night.

And in the morning, when you dared open the door, there were muddy footprints on the porch.

Too large to be yours, facing the door.

𝟏𝟏𝟕𝟑

It was well into June when you stood before the entire village.

Your mother was quietly crying, as were your sisters. A few other women dabbed at their eyes, while the men smiled, joy etched across every face. It was a day of celebration.

And as you walked toward Remmick, tears filled your own eyes too.

Almost a year ago, you had shared your first kiss, now, you were marrying him. It had been one of the happiest years of your life, full of love, stolen glances and kisses, and nights spent talking in the middle of the village while the rest of the world slept.

It had all felt so natural. He hadn’t even needed to ask. You had both simply chosen a date—simple as that.

As you reached him, it felt right. There were no nerves, no anxious thoughts churning in your mind. Your stomach didn’t twist with worry, and your palms were dry, like the sun-baked earth in midsummer. All the things people said about nerves and weddings, they didn’t apply to you.

It was meant to be. You were meant to be.

As the druid blessed your union and prayed to the gods for prosperity, you couldn’t take your eyes off your future husband—just as he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

He had cleaned up well: trimmed his beard and hair, scrubbed away the dust from his brow, and washed away the usual trace of sweat from his forehead and neck. His nails were clean, and his freckles dusted his cheeks more visibly than ever, kissed by the early summer sun. His blue eyes locked onto yours, filled with so much love that more tears spilled down your face. 

You chuckled softly when you saw how glassy his eyes had become too.

Gently, the druid stepped forward, his voice low and steady as he took a length of braided cord from his robes. He gently wrapped it around your joined hands, binding you together in the ancient tradition of handfasting, two souls woven into one, tied by fate and love.

“As the cord binds your hands,” he said with a sacred tone, “so too shall your hearts be bound. Through sun and storm, through joy and sorrow, you are joined as one.”

Remmick squeezed your hand, his fingers warm and steady. He leaned closer, his voice soft but sure, “From the moment I saw you, my heart has known no rest but in you. You are my strength when the world weighs heavy, my light in the darkest nights. I vow to stand beside you, to protect you and cherish you, for all the days our gods grant us. And I will love you until I feast them, and even then, my heart will belong to you.”

You felt your breath catch as you replied, your voice steady despite the tears gathering in your eyes. “You are my home, Remmick, my shelter, my hope. With you, I am whole. I promise to walk by your side, through every trial and every triumph. To love you fiercely, fiercely enough for both of us, for as long as the stars burn above.”

The cord tightened gently as the druid blessed your union once more, the bond between you sealed by more than words, by a love that had blossomed through hardship and hope alike.

As the cord was finally loosened, you knew this was not just a promise, but a beginning. Two hearts no longer separate, but forever entwined.

As he grabbed your cheek to kiss you, you heard the village erupt in joyful cries. Musicians were playing, and people were offering their blessings as well.

Turning around to face the crowd, more tears gathered in your eyes, tears of joy that freely streamed down your cheeks as you looked over at your mother. A sad memory of your father crossed your mind; you wished he could have seen how happy you were. But you knew he was feasting with the gods now, celebrating alongside you.

Still hand in hand with Remmick, you were about to join the celebration when you heard your mother’s voice call you to wait. You noticed one of your sisters running away earlier and had paid it no mind—she was still too young to understand love and marriage, probably just bored.

Confused, you watched as she returned, carrying a broom in her hands.

You chuckled softly and glanced at Remmick, who wore a gentle smile.

It was an old tradition, the broom jump.

The young newlyweds would leap over a broom, leaving their old lives behind and stepping into a new life together, full of love and loyalty. Almost no one practiced it anymore, but if it made your mother happy, so be it.

As your sister laid the broom in front of you, your mother gently kissed the top of your head and whispered in your ear, “It was your father’s favorite tradition.”

She stepped back then, her own eyes shimmering with tears. Smiling sadly at her, you were pulled back to your wedding when Remmick squeezed your hand.

“Ready for our new life?” he asked teasingly, as if you’d say no.

“Yes.”

And together, you jumped.

Hours later, after the feast, the dancing, the singing, and the drinking, Remmick was carrying you away from the village. He whispered that he had a surprise waiting as the cheers from the villagers grew faint behind you. The distant celebrating noises made you snort with amusement, but what made you smile most were the blessings of fertility and prosperity you still heard echoing along the path.

He had blindfolded you, carrying you bridal-style with joyful strength. You protested softly, insisting you were too heavy for him—or anyone—but he paid no mind to your worries, lifting you gently and securely.

As he walked, you felt the uneven steps beneath his feet, a gentle reminder of the alcohol swirling through both your veins. You had shared a cup, refilled it countless times with wine—the richest, most exquisite drink you had ever tasted. Its warmth dazed your mind, making you giggle at nothing and prompting Remmick to sing louder and more often than usual.

When he finally set you down, you nearly lost your footing too, you really shouldn’t have teased him. His hands were warm as they gripped your hips with a nervous, eager gentleness. You could tell how much this moment meant to him by the careful way he held you. Smiling softly, you waited for his next words.

“You can look now, my love,” he whispered close to your ear.

His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel his eyes burning into you like a hawk’s, searching, waiting, reading every flicker of emotion on your face. And still, you hadn’t taken off the blindfold.

He hadn’t been this nervous around you in a long, long time.

Slowly, your fingers reached up, trembling just slightly as you lifted the soft cloth from your eyes. The world brightened and shifted into focus—before you stood your new home. A cozy, humble cottage made of warm stone and timber, its windows glowing softly in the moonlight.

Around it stretched a patch of fertile land, freshly tilled and ready to welcome the first seeds. Beyond the garden, an old barn leaned slightly to one side, worn by years but sturdy enough to shelter animals and tools alike.

Remmick’s breath brushed against your neck as he whispered, “Our new beginning.”

The quiet promise of this place filled your heart — a home for your shared dreams, a refuge where the two of you could build a life together.

Turning around, you threw your arms around his neck, kissing him with a passion that made the world fade away.

It was perfect, your own little heaven, tucked away from prying eyes but still close enough to be part of the village’s life.

As the kiss deepened, his hands settled firmly on your hips, urging you to jump up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he carried you inside. But as he stepped forward, he stumbled against a wooden table, breaking the kiss with a soft hiss of pain.

A gentle chuckle escaped your lips as your hand found his nape, caressing it tenderly.

Wiggling down from his arms, you took in the cozy surroundings. Candles stood ready to be lit, matches resting patiently on the chimney mantle.

Watching you move with such ease, Remmick’s heart quickened. The scene was so domestic, so familiar, as if this home had always belonged to you, your sanctuary. It was everything he had ever dreamed of. Seeing you so natural and at peace here quieted every lingering doubt in his mind.

There was nothing left to doubt. Your souls were intertwined, they had been from the start, and now, they would be forever.

As you lit the final candle, his lips found your neck and shoulders, showering you with teasing, aggressive kisses. It tickled, but it felt unbelievably good. Too good.

The soft flicker of candlelight danced around the room, casting shadows that seemed to pulse with the beating of your hearts. His breath warmed your skin, each kiss tracing fire along your neck, settling on your collarbone as he turned you around. You leaned into him, arms tightening around his neck as his hands roamed with a careful eagerness, memorizing every curve, every sigh you offered.

His skilled hands worked carefully on the ties of your dress at your back. There was a strange mix of urgency and patience in his movements—a perfect reflection of his feelings. He wanted you close, to feel your warmth, yet at the same time, he longed to explore you for the very first time. He knew there would never be another night quite like this.

Both of you were untouched by others. You had saved yourselves for marriage, though you had shared innocent moments of discovery—a hand wandering, kisses growing too eager, sweet, harmless teasing. Memories neither of you would ever regret.

Remmick was familiar with the ghosts of your body: the gentle press of your breasts beneath the layers of fabric, the heat and dampness of between your legs resting against his thigh, your soft moans whispered in his ear. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he brought his full attention to you now, held safely in his arms.

His lips moved slowly, reverently—like worship—tracing down your shoulders and across your chest as he gently slid your dress down. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the moment, to the safety in his touch, to the unspoken promise in every movement. A soft thud echoed as your dress slipped to the floor, leaving you clad only in your sheer underdress.

You had never felt so vulnerable, and yet so utterly safe, all at once.

Remmick’s hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears you hadn’t noticed falling. His voice was low, trembling with emotion.

“You’re mine, always.” And you knew you were his—now and forever.

With shaky hands, he carried you toward the bed. This was new for him too, and he didn’t want to misstep. He didn’t want to ruin this moment. Only you.

The sight before him was ethereal, something out of the old songs and whispered myths. The thin, sheer underdress clung to your curves, barely concealing the shape he had longed to see. Your nipples peaked softly through the delicate fabric. But it was your eyes that undid him, dazed and soft, shining with a quiet trust that made his breath hitch.

He could have died in that very moment, and he would have gone smiling.

He knelt at the edge of the bed, his hands trailing down the sides of your thighs with a reverence that made you tremble. His breath hitched as he looked up at you, eyes wide with awe, like you were something sacred—something fragile and untouchable, even now that you were his.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, voice barely more than a breath against your skin.

You nodded, your fingers threading into his hair, guiding him forward.

His lips found your knee first, then traveled upward, grazing your inner thigh through the thin barrier of your shift. It sent a quiet heat pulsing through you, the kind that started low and slow, blooming under your skin like a fire.

Your breath caught as he kissed higher, but he paused just before reaching where your body ached for him. He looked up again, searching your face, waiting for your nod, your breath, your invitation.

You gave it, tilting your hips forward in silent permission, your fingers curling around the edge of the bed.

He smiled, something boyish and sweet in the curve of his mouth that made your chest ache. That same smile lingered even as he finally reached for the hem of your underdress, lifting it slowly, reverently, like unveiling a holy relic.

When the fabric cleared your hips, baring you to the cool night air and his gaze, his breath shuddered out of him. He laid you back gently, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the soft underside of your breast.

His hands explored in tandem, tentative but assured, learning you like a man learns prayers, slowly, with devotion, with wonder.

You arched into his touch, your fingers now knotted in the bedding, your name falling from his lips like worship. And when he finally met your mouth again, it wasn’t rushed or urgent—it was deep, slow, and full of promise.

Pushing his suspenders down, your own trembling hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, clumsy, sweaty, and too eager to be precise. Remmick chuckled softly against your lips, the sound warm and breathless. He pulled away just long enough to tug the shirt over his head and toss it aside. Before you could even miss his touch, his mouth was on yours again, hungry, familiar, and filled with promise.

Then your own clothing was gone. You were bare before him now. You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, your blood rushed to your cheeks, your neck, your chest, spreading like wildfire. It was the first time you stood exposed in front of a man, and the weight of his gaze felt too much to bear.

“You’re beautiful,” Remmick whispered, his voice thick with awe as he took in your naked form.

It was everything he had ever dreamed of. From the first time you handed him a plate of food, he’d known you were meant to be part of his life. As he grew, so did the dream, of one day seeing you like this, in a bed you would share, so open, so trusting. His chest felt tight, like his heart might burst from the sheer wonder of it.

It felt like a dream. One he never wanted to wake from.

He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, pouring everything into it, love, nerves, wonder. His hands were warm and steady now as they moved over your body, rediscovering familiar curves now freed of cloth, mapping every dip and rise as if they were holy lands.

When his palm brushed your bare breast, you gasped softly against his lips. He paused for a moment, eyes flicking up, needing no words to ask if he could keep going.

You pulled him back down instead, whispering, “Please.”

His mouth traveled lower, his tongue leaving heated trails across your skin. And when his fingers dipped between your legs, it wasn’t bold or greedy, it was gentle, patient. Testing, learning. He exhaled sharply when he felt how ready you already were for him.

“Gods…” he murmured against your collarbone, his voice thick with awe. “You’re perfect.”

He rose briefly to rid himself of the last of his clothing, and when he stood bare before you, your breath hitched. You’d seen him before, working the fields, swimming in the river, but never like this. Never with eyes full of need, heart open, body trembling with want.

He crawled over you carefully, his weight grounding you, his warmth spreading across your skin like sunlight. You opened for him, legs parting instinctively, your body aching to welcome him.

Your hands began to explore him with gentle curiosity, caressing his freckled shoulders, gliding over the firm lines of his biceps, then trailing down to his stomach. Lower still, until your fingers brushed through the soft hair at his groin. His skin was warm and alive beneath your touch, and every inch of him felt right against you.

As your fingers moved hesitantly lower, they found him, his arousal heavy and unfamiliar in your hand. You touched him with trembling wonder, both of you holding your breath. It was all so new, this tender dance of desire laced with deep trust, where lust didn’t burn, it bloomed.

His hand gently enveloped yours, halting your exploration. He kissed you again, softly, and in that moment, you both knew. It was time.

You couldn’t wait any longer. You were already on the verge of losing yourself to the haze of longing clouding your mind, and Remmick was no better. His breath was shallow, his touch trembling with restraint, both of you caught in the pull of something inevitable and deeply wanted.

“This may hurt,” he whispered, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “But I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. “I want this, Remmick. I want you.”

His hand guided himself to your entrance, and for a moment, everything went still, the room, the candlelight, the world. It was only you and him. 

And then, slowly, he pressed into you.

Your breath caught, a sharp sting blooming inside you, but you clung to him, burying your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of woodsmoke and wine still clinging to his skin. He murmured softly into your hair—nonsense words, comforts, apologies—as he held himself still, letting your body adjust.

When the pain dulled, you shifted your hips gently, and he took that as a sign to move. He began a slow rhythm, rocking into you with a care that made your heart ache even more than your body did. It wasn’t rushed or wild. It was intimate. Honest. Every movement was a promise, every breath shared between you was a vow.

He was barely moving, even the slightest thrust was overwhelming for both of you. His pelvis brushed against yours, the slow friction gently stimulating your clit. You could feel the slick wetness between your thighs—and his—and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you should be embarrassed by the sheer amount.

No woman had ever spoken of this. All they’d said was that it would hurt, but if you married a good man, it might be pleasurable.

If Remmick felt it, he paid it no mind. He kept his slow rhythm, his lips trailing back to your neck, kissing, sucking, licking, doing everything he could to savour you. You were intoxicating; the very feeling of you was better than anything he had ever experienced, and he was sure it would be the best he ever would.

You felt your bodies sync—like two threads pulled tight and tied into one knot. The pleasure built slowly, curling deep in your belly. Your legs tightened around his waist, drawing him closer, deeper, and he groaned against your throat, his control fraying.

"You feel so perfect, so warm my love," He rambled, his mind lost in his lustful haze. "Never want to be away from you, keeping you forever." He whined into your neck, feeling his own pleasure rising. 

You desperately wanted to tell him you loved him, to tell him he was just as perfect, but only moans and soft whines escaped your lips. You were already too far gone—your body blooming with sensations unlike anything before, clouding your mind. The deep knot in your stomach tightened, pressing into your lower belly, building with every slow, deliberate movement.

“I love you,” he whispered again and again, as if the words alone could anchor him.

You arched beneath him, your hands digging into his back, and when release finally took you, it was as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. Your nails sank deep into Remmick’s skin as a deep, trembling moan escaped into his ear.

He followed soon after, collapsing over you with a low moan, his face buried against your shoulder, body trembling with the intensity of it.

For a long while, there was only the sound of your breathing, your heartbeats slowing in unison, sweat cooling between your joined bodies. Turning on his side, he didn't dare pulling out. Not ready to break the sacred bond. Remmick pulled the covers around you both, still inside you, his arms tight around your waist. He kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips, softly now, lovingly.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. "Forever." 

“And you’re mine,” you replied, eyes heavy with sleep, voice full of peace.

The candles flickered. The wind whispered outside. And the two of you lay tangled together in the home.

In that moment, your souls intertwined for eternity, sealed beneath the sacred gaze of the gods.

𝟏𝟏𝟖𝟐

Watching.

It was all he could do.

He knew he had scared you last night. He wanted nothing more than to come back to you, to fall into your soft, welcoming embrace. He had knocked, prepared for you to open the door.

But then he felt your fear, smelled it. Heard the pounding of your heart. And all he could think about was that—your blood. How it might taste. How sweet it could feel as it slipped past his lips, marking you as his, forever.

He had fled before you could see him. The shame was too great. He hadn’t been able to control himself with the Christians—he’d given in to the hunger, to the monstrous need—and he would never forgive himself if you suffered the same fate.

You were meant to be cherished. Worshipped.

Now, sated after taking down two deer to quiet the gnawing hunger in his gut, he should have felt disgusted. He should have been horrified by what he’d become. But instead, all he saw were possibilities.

The strength he now had… it could be used to protect—no longer a coward hiding behind prayer. He could defend his land, his people, from those who sought to steal it. From those who threatened your peace.

To protect you.

To stay by your side until the earth itself crumbled into dust. Since the day he married you, that had been his only wish, to spend every moment of his life with you. Now he had more moments than he’d ever dreamed possible. Years, decades, centuries even. 

What had first felt like a curse was, in truth, a gift.

Let the world fall apart around him—so long as he had you, he would always be a happy man.

From his position in the forest, Remmick watched you move through the house—the home you were supposed to share. Even from this distance, he could tell something was wrong. The spark that usually lit your every step had vanished. Your shoulders were curved inward, weighed down by sorrow, and your hands kept reaching up to wipe at your cheeks—again and again—as if the tears refused to stop falling.

His heart clenched. He understood. Gods, he understood.

He knew that if he had thought you dead for even a day—let alone three—he wouldn’t have survived the grief. He would have sought out the tallest cliff, the sharpest blade, anything to bring him to you beyond the veil. But you… You were still here. Still standing. Still breathing. Stronger than him in every way.

And yet, he could see it now. Part of you had died with him. The same way he had died without you—just not in body, but in soul.

Leaving the tree line behind, Remmick stepped silently toward your house. The forest seemed to fall into a stillness as he passed. No crunch of leaves, no birdsong. The wind ceased its wandering, and the animals in the barn hushed their quiet rustlings.

It was as if death itself walked across your field.

But this time, it did not come to take. It came to return what had been stolen.

The sun had not yet fully set—barely minutes left—you hadn’t touched the untouched meal he knew you had forced yourself to prepare out of habit. And so, when he knocked—softly, not to frighten you—your body jumped, but your heart didn’t panic. Not like the night before.

Relief, raw and fragile, bloomed in his chest.

He had made certain that no trace of what he had become could be seen. No blood. No gore. His tunic and trousers were clean, his hands scrubbed until his skin was nearly raw. His nails were spotless. Even his teeth, he had cleaned until they gleamed pale in the dusk, like polished ivory instead of a predator’s fangs.

Because he would never let you fear him.

Not now. Not ever.

Still, the memory of the night before must have been fresh in your mind. He heard your footsteps falter just behind the door, your breath catching. Remmick stood perfectly still, listening. He could smell you—soft, familiar, achingly yours—through the thin crack in the wood. The scent hit him like a wave, and he almost sobbed from the ache of it. He had been away from you too long.

The longing burned through him, raw and consuming. It was different now, stripped of the chaos that had come with his transformation. The fear, the hunger, the confusion, all of it fell away in this moment, and there was only one truth left: you. Just inches away, separated by a fragile wall and the pain of three days apart.

"My love," he whispered, voice rasping with disuse, barely louder than the wind—but it was enough.

He felt it. The way your breath hitched. The sharp thud of your heartbeat. Then, the creak of the latch being thrown. The door swung open so fast it knocked against the wall, and then you were there.

Your eyes found his, wild, searching, disbelieving, and before he could even take another breath, you were in his arms, throwing yourself against him with such force it nearly sent them both to the ground.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, instinctively, desperately. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in like he was drowning and you were air.

"I'm here," he cooed, voice cracking, as your body trembled with violent sobs against his chest. "I'm here now."

His hands ran soothingly over your back, one cradling the back of your head, the other splayed protectively between your shoulder blades. You were clutching his tunic like it was the only thing keeping you grounded, as if letting go would make him vanish again.

Each sob that tore from your throat shattered him. He had never wanted to hurt you—never—and yet here you were, unraveling in his arms, the weight of grief and confusion finally breaking loose now that you could feel him, warm and solid, holding you like he never meant to leave.

“I thought—” your voice caught on a sob, “I thought you were gone.”

“I know,” he whispered into your hair, eyes closed tightly. 

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face streaked with tears, eyes red and wild. “What happened, Remmick? Where were you? No one in the village saw you! And those men in the woods… I just—” Your voice broke as another wave of sobs tore through you, stealing the rest of your words.

His expression faltered for a moment—he had no idea how to explain. What to say. 

All he could do was hold you tighter, his lips pressing gentle kisses into your hair. His hands moved slowly along your back in a soothing rhythm, as he whispered soft, comforting words into your ear.

You would understand—once he did what needed to be done, everything would make sense.

"Can you let me in, my darling?" he whispered gently, wincing inwardly as he used your distress to cloud your judgment just enough to invite the devil inside.

"Yeah—of, of course. Come inside, Remmick." Your voice trembled as you stepped aside, desperate to have him close again, blind to the shadow that now clung to him. "You must be starving," you added softly, not knowing just how terrible those words would come to mean.

His sweet wife. Always caring, always gentle. Your soul was too kind for this harsh world—but it was okay. Everything was going to be okay now.

He had seen the power the gods had granted him. They had chosen him for a reason. It must be so.

As you rushed to serve him dinner, he suddenly stopped you, gripping your hand tightly. Pulling you close, his lips crashed onto yours with an urgent hunger. After three long days apart, he couldn’t bear to be even a meter away from you any longer.

His kiss was fierce, demanding—almost rough—yet beneath it all, his usual tenderness still lingered. But now, it was overshadowed by a fierce obsession with you. Your body. Your soul.

He needed you with him, by his side. Even if the truth would shock you, even if this new life would be harder for you than for him, he’d do anything to keep you forever. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—he’d bring the world to your feet.

He deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down your waist, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. Every breath you took was mingled with his, every heartbeat a shared rhythm. You could feel the tremble in his fingers, the same yearning mirrored in your own.

When he finally broke away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and ragged. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he whispered, voice raw with emotion. “But I couldn’t stay away any longer. You’re everything I have. Everything I want.”

You looked up into those blue eyes—so fierce, so vulnerable—and your anger dissolved. How could you be mad at him when all you find in his eyes was love, devotion and desire? 

Slowly, carefully, he led you toward the worn wooden bed, the place where your worlds would merge once again.

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken promises and desperate need. His fingers trembled as he reached for the ties of your sheer underdress, undoing them one by one, revealing the warmth of your skin beneath. You shivered, not from cold, but from the electrifying touch of his fingertips.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. "Forever, you promised."

Lying back on the bed, you half-expected Remmick to shed his clothes impatiently. But instead, he kissed you again, slowly, deeply, with the same hunger that had set your heart aflame moments before. His lips traced a path down your neck, his nose brushing against the soft sweat of the warm summer night, inhaling your scent as if it were a precious offering.

His lips traveled lower, pausing to brush tender kisses and gentle licks over your breasts, each one a delicate promise. Then, inch by inch, he continued downward, his focus unwavering as he reached his destination.

Your soft, involuntary whines sent a haze of want clouding his mind.

With care, his lips closed around your clit, sucking gently as your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him closer. Your thighs instinctively clenched around his head, urging him deeper. His tongue joined the dance, flicking and tasting at your opening, drawing the essence of you with every deliberate motion.

All his senses were consumed by you—your scent, your taste, your trembling form beneath him. In that moment, his entire world revolved around you alone.

Soon, his new nature consumed him completely. All he could think about was making you his—forever, beyond time and fate. No matter what, you would remain by his side.

Leaving soft, lingering kisses on your clit—a tender promise—he slipped two fingers inside your aching, hungry cunt. He chuckled low when he felt you clench around his digits the moment they entered. Your sweet moans echoed in the quiet night, filling him with a fierce joy as you surrendered to the pleasure he gave.

After all these years together, he knew your body like it was his own. He knew exactly how to distract you, to draw you deeper into bliss.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath, lost before it reached your ears—completely unaware of his own apology.

His lips brushed your thigh in a soft kiss, promising tenderness, vowing not to hurt you too much. Drool glistened at the corners of his mouth as his breathing quickened, matching the rhythm of your own ragged breaths. His sharp teeth nipped lightly at your skin, testing your reaction.

Just as he expected, you didn’t flinch—you were used to his gentle bites, the way he marked you with his love, and you loved it.

When he felt you trembling at the edge of your peak, barely able to move his fingers, his teeth sank deeply into your plump thigh.

A mixture of scream and moan burst forth, filling the small cottage, your back arching wildly against the bed as your fingers tangled fiercely in his hair.

Sweet, just as he had predicted. Warm and sweet—just like you.

Flashes of your life flickered through his mind: your childhood, the horror of the Christians taking your father’s land, the moment you met him, the love blossoming between you, the life you built by his side.

Like him, your world revolved entirely around him.

You might hate him for it, but deep down, you would understand. There was no way he would allow illness, war, or aging to steal you from him, not when he held the means to keep you forever.

After the shuddering pleasure you had just experienced, the stress finally melting away with your husband beside you, and the endless nights of restless insomnia, your hazy mind didn’t notice how he was slowly draining you dry.

You simply lay there peacefully, waiting for him.

When he had taken enough, Remmick slipped off his tunic and wiped his face with it.

As if to apologize, he returned to you with a trail of soft kisses, from your clit to your plump stomach, across your breasts, up your neck, along your cheeks and forehead, and finally, back to your lips.

His kisses were gentler now, softer than before, as if his hunger had finally been sated.

"Remmick," you moaned softly, sleep tugging at your lids. "I feel—I'm so tired…" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

"Just let go, my darling," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. Tears traced silent paths down his cheeks—relief and sorrow tangled with the deep love he held for you. "I’ll be here when you wake."

He kissed you once more, softer now, then settled beside you, pulling you close into his arms.

“It hurts…” you murmured again, the ache in your thigh finally surfacing as a soft whimper escaped you.

“Shh,” Remmick soothed, his voice a tender lullaby in your ear as his fingers stroked your hair with infinite gentleness. “Go to sleep, my love. Just close your eyes.”

You drifted slowly into sleep, comforted by the steady rhythm of Remmick’s heartbeat against your back. Though pain lingered in your thigh, his presence made it bearable—a shield against the darkness threatening to consume you.

As your breathing faltered and your eyelids fluttered closed, Remmick held you tighter, silently vowing to protect you from every harm, from every shadow. His love was fierce, unyielding, and eternal.

But beneath that tender devotion, a darker truth pulsed. The man who once sought only to cherish you had become something else, and he had taken you with him. 

In the quiet of the night, with the moon casting pale light through the window, the devil he became watched over you — forever bound to protect, forever bound to love.

©sillyswriting 2025

it's finally here, and getting posted at 1:30am, oops?

[inseobts]

Fire in Our Hearts

portgas d. ace x fem!reader

after a painful breakup ace and you are forced to face everything unsaid — in a night of anger, longing, and love that neither of you can walk away from.

a/n: second attempt at writing smut, and second failure lmao sorry

words count: 2.3k

tags: no graphic body part descriptions, breakup, jealousy, argument, mild smut (it's just spicy), angst to fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sun burns high over the Moby Dick, but the air between you and Ace is heavier than a storm.

“You never listen to me” you snap, arms tight around yourself.

Ace stands there, frowning “I don’t need you telling me how to live my life.”

You feel your heart break a little “I’m not trying to control you! I just want you to be careful!”

Ace scoffs, turning his head like he can’t even look at you and that hurts more than anything.

You take a shaky breath, then say the words you can’t take back “Then you’re better off without me. So you can do whatever the hell you want.”

Ace freezes. You wait for him to say something. Anything.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, silent.

Your chest tightens painfully. You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Fine,” you say, voice cracking “Have it your way.”

You turn and walk away and Ace doesn’t follow.

And just like that, it’s over.

A week later…

The ship docks at a lively island. Whitebeard gives everyone a day off to party. You wish you could stay in your room, but Marco pulls you out by the arm.

“Come on, you’ll feel better after a few drinks” he says.

You don’t argue. You’re too tired to argue.

The tavern is packed, music loud and messy. The crew drinks and laughs, filling the place with noise. You sit at a corner table, nursing a drink, trying not to look at Ace. Trying and failing.

He’s across the room, leaning back in his chair, relaxed. Too relaxed.

That’s when you see two girls, pretty and smiling, slide into the seats beside him. They giggle, touching his arm, whispering in his ear.

And Ace... let them do it.

He smiles a little, says something you can’t hear. One of the girls leans closer, brushing her chest against him.

Your stomach twists.

You slam your drink down harder than you mean to. Some beer splashes over the edge.

Thatch whistles low beside you “Ouch. Looks like he’s moving on fast.”

You glare at him. Thatch raises his hands like he’s innocent.

You can’t stay here. Not another second.

You get up fast, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Without a word, you push through the crowd and stumble out the door.

The cold night air hits you hard. You breathe in deep, trying to stop the burning in your chest.

“Stupid,” you whisper “I’m so stupid.”

You wipe your eyes quickly. You’re halfway back to the ship when you hear footsteps behind you.

You spin around.

Ace.

He’s jogging after you, face serious.

“What do you want?” you snap, voice sharp.

Ace stops a few feet away, breathing hard “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms “Oh, now you want to talk?”

He frowns “You just ran out! What was I supposed to do?”

You laugh bitterly “Maybe not flirt with the first girl who smiled at you!”

“I wasn’t flirting!”

“Oh yeah? Looked like you were having fun!”

Ace steps closer, eyes burning “You were the one who said we’re better off apart! You’re the one who walked away!”

You feel your whole body shaking.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt!” you shout “It killed me, Ace! And you just—you just sat there! Like you didn’t care!”

Ace opens his mouth, then closes it. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says, voice low “I didn’t want to lose you. I just… froze.”

You glare at him, breathing hard “Well. You lost me anyway.”

The space between you is full of all the things you didn’t say. All the things you should have said.

Ace takes another step closer. You don’t move away.

“You think I don’t miss you?” he says, voice rough “Every damn day?”

You feel the tears threaten to spill again. But you don’t look away.

“And you think I don’t miss you?” you whisper.

For a long second, neither of you speak. The night is too quiet. Your heart pounds loud in your ears.

Ace’s hand twitches at his side.

You know if he touches you now, you’ll break... but you really want him to.

You stand there, fists clenched at your sides, heart hammering in your chest.

“You don’t get it, Ace!” you yell, voice cracking “You don’t get how much it hurt! You acted like I meant nothing! Like you didn’t even care if I left!”

Ace’s jaw tightens “That’s not true—”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?!” you shout, louder this time “Why didn’t you chase after me, Ace?!”

Your voice shakes, broken “You’re supposed to fight for the people you love!”

Ace looks like you just punched him in the gut.

For a second, he doesn’t move. Then he crosses the space between you in two fast steps.

You’re about to yell again, to push him away, to scream everything you’ve been holding in but Ace grabs your face in his hands and crashes his mouth onto yours.

You gasp, stiff for a moment, shocked.

Then you melt against him.

The kiss is rough, desperate, full of all the anger and love you couldn’t say in words. His hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, closer, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

You clutch at his shirt, fists twisting in the fabric, holding onto him like you’re drowning.

Ace groans low in his throat, deepening the kiss. His lips are hot and wild against yours, like he’s trying to pour all his feelings into you at once.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, faces inches apart.

Ace leans his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice wrecked “I’m so damn sorry.”

Tears blur your eyes, but you smile a little, shaky “You’re such an idiot.”

He chuckles, broken and soft “Yeah. But I’m your idiot. If you’ll still have me.”

You don’t answer, you just kiss him again, harder this time.

He lifts you up without warning, making you yelp against his mouth. You wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him like you’ll never let go again.

Ace carries you, half-stumbling, back toward the ship. Neither of you cares who sees. The crew’s probably still too drunk to notice anyway.

He doesn’t even make it to your room. He pushes you up against the first wall he finds, kissing you like he’s starving.

Your hands fumble at his open shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. His skin is burning hot under your touch, like he’s made of fire.

Ace groans again, mouth trailing down your neck, teeth scraping lightly at your skin.

“God, I missed you” he breathes against your throat.

You grip his hair, pulling his head up to look at you “Then show me.”

His eyes darken, full of heat and something deeper, something that feels a lot like love.

Ace kisses you again, slower this time, but just as hungry. His hands roam your body, careful and rough all at once.

You lose yourself in him.

In his touch.

In his heat.

In him.

“Fuck” Ace breathes against your mouth. His hands move lower, squeezing your ass, lifting you up without warning.

You gasp and wrap your legs around his waist, locking yourself to him. You can feel him, hard against you, even through your clothes.

Your hands fumble at the few buttons left of his shirt, pushing it fully off his shoulders. His skin is hot, burning under your fingers.

You run your hands over his chest, nails scraping lightly. Ace shivers under your touch, eyes dark and wild.

He grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs “Off. Now.”

You lift your arms and let him yank it over your head. The cool night air kisses your skin, but Ace’s hands are warmer. His palms slide up your sides, thumbs brushing over your breasts through your bra, making you shudder.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful” he whispers, voice rough like gravel.

You kiss him again, messy and hungry. Ace’s mouth trails down your neck, licking and biting, leaving marks he knows you’ll see later.

“Need you,” he groans against your skin “Need you so bad.”

You clutch his hair, dragging his head back up to kiss you again.

“Then take me” you whisper.

That’s all he needs.

Ace pins you harder against the wall, one hand slipping down between your bodies, his fingers brush over your panties, pressing just enough to make your hips jerk forward.

You whimper into his mouth.

Ace chuckles darkly “So needy.”

Now you shove his pants down too, hands greedy. His skin is hot everywhere. When you finally touch him properly, Ace groans so deep it vibrates against your chest.

He kisses you again, desperate, messy, almost too much.

Almost.

Ace pauses, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“Tell me you want this” he says, voice shaking.

You look him straight in the eyes “I want you, Ace. Always.”

With a low growl, he pushes into you, filling you all at once. You both moan at the feeling.

It’s messy, rushed, raw... years of love and pain and need crashing together.

Ace moves fast, hips snapping against yours, hands holding you like you’re his whole world. You bury your face in his neck, biting down to muffle your cries.

When you finally fall apart in his arms, crying out his name, Ace follows right after, holding you so tight it almost hurts.

But you don’t care. You never want him to let go again.

You don’t know how long you stay wrapped around each other against the wall.

Time blurs. Your body is weak, trembling, but you don’t care. You only feel his skin against yours, his arms around you, his breath warm on your neck.

He sets you down gently, like you’re something precious.

You cling to his shoulders a second longer, legs shaky. Ace kisses your forehead, soft and slow, so different from the way he kissed you before.

“Come here” he murmurs.

He scoops you up again, carrying you bridal. You bury your face against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat pounding fast under your ear.

Ace carries you up to your shared room on the ship.

He kicks the door open with his foot, laughing softly when you squeak in surprise.

“Relax” he says, voice teasing but full of love.

He lays you down on the bed carefully, following you down, covering your body with his.

You shiver, even though you’re not cold.

Ace notices. He grabs a blanket, pulling it over both of you before wrapping his arms tight around you again.

For a while, neither of you says anything. You just breathe together in the dark, feeling each other’s warmth.

Then, quietly, Ace speaks “I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes.

He looks wrecked, like he’s scared you’ll leave again.

You touch his face gently “I’m sorry too.”

Ace leans into your hand, kissing your palm. Then he says it... so soft you almost don’t hear.

“I love you.”

Your heart stutters.

You blink up at him. His cheeks are pink, his eyes shining like he’s terrified and hopeful all at once.

You smile, a real one this time.

“I love you too, Ace.”

He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it forever. Then he kisses you again, slow and deep, hands sliding up and down your back under the blanket.

“Never leaving you again,” he mumbles against your lips “Even if you try to kick me out.”

You giggle, nuzzling closer “Good. ’Cause I’m not letting you go either.”

Ace grins, that wide, stupid smile you fell in love with.

He tucks your head under his chin and hugs you tighter. You feel his whole body relax against yours, like he’s finally home.

You drift off to sleep in his arms, warm, safe, and loved.

For the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right again.

The sun slips through the curtains, warm and soft.

You groan, trying to roll over but you can’t move.

Ace has you trapped, one heavy arm around your waist, one leg thrown over yours, face buried in your neck. He’s snoring softly, breath tickling your skin.

You squirm a little “Ace… let me go, it’s hot.”

“No,” he mumbles, voice hoarse with sleep “Mine.”

You laugh under your breath, heart full. You poke his cheek “We need to get up. The crew’s gonna notice.”

Ace groans dramatically “Let them.”

He tightens his arms around you like a giant, overgrown koala.

You sigh, smiling. You’re not really trying to escape anyway.

There’s a loud bang against the door.

“Oi, lovebirds!” Thatch shouts from outside “You alive in there, or did you die from all the action last night?”

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. Ace groans louder and buries his face deeper against you.

“Go away!” he yells toward the door, voice muffled against your neck.

Another bang.

“We’re takin’ bets if you both can even walk after what you did!” Marco’s voice adds, laughing.

Your face burns hot. You shove your head under the blanket, groaning.

Ace chuckles low against you, his hand sneaking under your shirt again, teasing circles into your hip.

“They’re just jealous” he murmurs.

You peek out from the blanket, raising an eyebrow “Jealous of what?”

Ace smirks lazily, looking like the smug bastard he is.

“Because I’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world… and she’s all mine.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to melt, but you can’t stop smiling.

Another loud bang.

“Seriously! Breakfast’s getting cold! Unless you two are planning to eat each other instead—”

“WE’RE COMING!” you yell back, red-faced.

Ace snickers, clearly very pleased with himself.

You grab a pillow and smack him in the face with it. But even then, he just grins wider, grabbing you around the waist again, dragging you down into the bed with him.

“Five more minutes,” he begs, voice soft against your ear “Please.”

You sigh dramatically, but you don’t move.

Maybe five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe forever wouldn’t either.

[delugyu]

holy shit now i NEED to see a part 5 of that drabble gawdamn

ask and you shall receive!!!

(wc: 3.2k / warnings: masturbation, beomgyu’s fantasies in detail [including fingering, gyu being mean, virginity loss (again, just a fantasy), choking (f rec.), guilt], jealousy, possessiveness, angst, gyu is SOOOO pathetic like i feel bad for him)

the world doesn’t end with a bang or a big flash, but with a single instagram post. you’re officially with taehyun now. beomgyu stares at the picture of you that his friend posted, and some ugly feeling forms in the pit of his stomach. you look stunning, smiling at the camera with a fondness that makes beomgyu feel sick. he can imagine how giddy taehyun must’ve been posting this, getting to flaunt you publicly however he wants.

beomgyu must not be a good person, because he can’t bring himself to feel an ounce of joy for you or taehyun. he doesn’t like his friend’s post or type out a cute comment in congratulations. he just stares at the picture of you and thinks about how cruel you are.

beomgyu knows you only ever wanted him to teach you some things about sex. he knows he should have never wanted more than that. he knows it all, and it aggravates him so badly that he still craves you beyond those short-lived moments.

you must’ve known how easily you can make a man’s heart flutter. you had to know you were driving beomgyu insane this whole time, you saw all the signs yourself. you knew, right? he looks at your picture again—your kind eyes, your soft smile, your pretty face that he’s kissed enough times to memorize—and feels bad for even thinking you would be so mean.

you’ve got a flower in your hair, and everything about you has a whisper of innocence. something in beomgyu’s chest clenches, and it feels as if he actually lost something. you were never his, he tries to remind himself, but it’s not convincing him.

he can’t ignore the truth: to him, you were his. he had you in his sheets, he held you in his hands, he watched you bare your skin. he’s more familiar with your body than taehyun could ever be.

at least for a few moments, your lips were beomgyu’s. his eyes catch sight of that smile you wear in the picture, a smile you wear for taehyun. there’s a dull ache that grows inside him, and he should shut his phone off and think of something else, but he can’t. what could beomgyu have done differently to get you to look at him like that instead?

for a few moments, your face was his to hold. your neck was his to kiss. your body was his to undress, your skin was his to explore, your air was his to breathe. he had you in ways more vulnerable than anyone else has before, and so you were his.

he’s felt the beat of your pulse beneath his tongue when he familiarized your neck with his mouth. he’s felt the tremble in your legs when your orgasm creeps up, felt your hips under his palm when he held you down to endure the feeling. he’s heard the way you cry when the pleasure’s too much for you, and he knows where to pepper his kisses to soothe you. he knows you better than anyone else does.

you’re wearing a very pretty dress in the picture. beomgyu would have loved to see you in it, but you saved it for taehyun. beomgyu decides that you just must not care about him, that he’s just been some pawn to use to get to taehyun. you don’t care about beomgyu’s feelings, or the things beomgyu likes, or what dresses he might find you pretty in.

his stomach twists, and there’s a knot growing in his throat. the hand that’s not holding his phone grips his bed sheets, like that’s going to do anything. there’s an anger he feels deep in his chest that he needs to get out.

he wants to bring you here, wants to throw you down on his bed and push up the skirt of that cute dress you wear. it’s beautiful, and you look beautiful in it, but he fucking despises it. he’d tear it to shreds, make sure you can never wear it again.

he’d hold your chin up and make you look him in the eye. you wouldn’t dare look away, he’d keep your eyes on him and level you with an unwavering stare. he can imagine how confused you be, how your eyes would be filled with so much regret and sadness. you know that only beomgyu is good enough for you, so why run off to other guys who aren’t half the man that he is?

“apologize,” he’d demand, leaving no room for excuses. he wants to see you shed tears, to see the proof of how sorry you are. you’re so nice, too. he’d forgive you so easily as long as you told him you were sorry, but he’d still have to reclaim every part of you as his own.

he imagines your pitiful voice. “i’m sorry,” you’d whimper, and he’d press his knee between your legs. you’ll show him how much you mean it, you’ll give him all of you this time.

his hand finds his cock as he thinks about the way you’d jolt when he smacks your thigh. you’d gasp, so shocked, so scandalized, before moaning when beomgyu pushes his hand beneath your panties. beomgyu groans and spits in his hand to lubricate the slide of his fist over his shaft.

he’d tsk at how wet you’d be already, wanting to embarrass you a little. you deserve it for making him feel like this right now. his fingers would slide through your folds before they find their way to his mouth. he can’t help how he fiends for your taste, swirling his tongue around the digits before returning them to your cunt.

he’d push two fingers in, and you’d squirm and whine like the little virgin you are, but he’d hold you down and make you take it. you’d look so cute digging your nails into his skin as your pussy clamps over his digits. he fists his cock a little tighter, grunting as he fucks up into his hand.

he wishes you were here to take care of this for him. your hand feels so much better than his—smaller, softer, prettier. but you’re probably with taehyun right now, and you’re probably not even thinking of beomgyu. how fucking evil. he should show you how much you’re hurting him.

“you’re only mine, right?” he’d ask. even as you’re gasping and barely thinking straight while he fucks his fingers into you, he’d make sure you give him an answer. you’d have so much trouble trying to form a sentence, but you don’t get to cum without telling him this. “you’re mine, mine, mine,” he’d grunt out, holding you in place when your body starts thrashing around.

would his fingers jackhammering into you be too much to take? what a poor thing, soaking wet but still too tight to fit his cock. he’d wait for your answer, but you’re stuck moaning and crying out, just like a dumb little doll.

“you’ll never look at another man again?” he’d ask, and if you can’t bring yourself to answer that, he’d take your jaw in his hand and make you nod your head. “that’s right,” he’d say, so proud of how fucked out he made you. “never again.” he’d lean in to kiss your cheek, and you’d finally cum on his fingers.

it’s not quite enough, though. beomgyu’s cock is leaking now, begging to reach his climax, but he’s nowhere near done with what he wants to do with you. he imagines you catching your breath, laying beneath him like you’re his pretty whore, and his dick twitches in his hand. he wants to ruin you. much worse ideas start flooding his mind.

he’d run a hand down your leg, soothing, gentle, make sure you’re not tense or scared. all he can think about is sinking into your cunt, but you wouldn’t know that yet. you’d look so tempting, hole fluttering like it’s begging to be filled. beomgyu’s hands shake, stomach tensing as if this is all actually happening.

is this too mean? a part of him feels bad, but clearly not bad enough—he’s stroking his cock with a lot more fervor as he imagines your moans when his tip breaches your entrance. you’d be crying out apologies, begging for beomgyu to forgive you for ever even speaking to taehyun. the thought has him squeezing the base of his cock, on the verge of cumming too soon.

he feels guilty. he gets meaner. he’d sink into you all the way, holding your throat in a possessive grasp. you’d stare at him like he’s the only person in the world—finally—and he’d feel good about himself again. he’d feel like he’s worth something again.

tears brim his eyes, and his hips snap up into his fist, imagining it’s your cunt he’s fucking into instead. you’d be so warm, so wet, so tight, and all his. no one else would ever be able to know how you feel.

he needs to feel you wrapped around him, needs to feel your walls spasm as you cum on his cock. he won’t survive without it. his thrusts get angrier as he imagines ruining your cunt for anyone else. he’d make sure no other cock could satisfy you, and especially not taehyun’s. you’re just so fucking mean to him, can’t even let him have you to himself.

beomgyu spills all over his hand, hips stuttering as his orgasm takes over. your name flies from his mouth, and a tear falls from his eyes as he clenches them shut. he’s shaking a little from how intense his high was, breathing hard from the aftermath.

if he thought cumming would make him feel better, it doesn’t. he’s still pissed, and he still feels like shit, and he still wants you to break up with taehyun. beomgyu has never been an irrational person, but his mind is slipping from him now, all because of you.

he’s a little embarrassed of how depraved his fantasies of you became. he’d never be that rough with you. he thinks you’re something fragile and delicate, but you just make him so angry. he couldn’t help but want to take it out on you.

he hopes you don’t hate him. he hopes you still think of him fondly, if you even think of him at all. maybe you’re not as hung up on him as he is to you. maybe he should text you right now—maybe he should see you right now.

he wonders how you’ve managed to make him lose all his pride in such a short amount of time. you’ve reduced him to a much more pathetic man than he ever was before; he knows this because he’s walking to your apartment, desperate to pry something sweet from you. he feels like shit, and he just wants to see your face, to hear your voice, to smell your perfume.

he wishes he could just stay in his bed and be okay with everything, but he’s not. he’s standing in front of your door, knocking his fist against the wood, body all jittery and antsy. it’s like he’s actually addicted to you. it looks like you’re the one ruining him, after all.

“oh, hi, gyu,” you greet when you open the door, sounding as sweet as ever. it makes him want to sob. “what are you doing here?” you ask, brows slightly scrunched.

“what happened?” he asks, incapable of saying much more than that. he’s scared his voice might break or that a tear might fall if he says too much. he steps into your apartment, not daring to take his eyes off you even as he shuts the door behind him.

“what?” your voice is laced with confusion, and beomgyu doesn’t understand how you don’t immediately see the problem. how could you do this to him so suddenly?

“tell me you don’t really like him,” he says, eyes wide and pleading as he stares at you. he hates your silence. he hates it, it’s driving him crazy. “please,” he begs.

“is this about taehyun?” hearing his friend’s name on your tongue is almost enough to make beomgyu fall to his knees. he needs you to hate that guy—and he’s awfully sorry to taehyun, but he’ll do just about anything to get you away from him.

he wants to take a step towards you and close the space between your bodies. it feels so unnatural to be standing so far apart. he can’t do that anymore, though, not when the threat of taehyun finding out hangs over his head.

he almost asks you again to tell him if you like taehyun, but he thinks he might collapse if your answer is anything but no. his heart pounds, and he can’t seem to calm himself down. why does this feel so drastic? he needs his brain to let his heart know that he’s not dying.

“what about us?” he asks instead. his eyes dart between yours, but it’s hard to find your answer in your face. you wear a slight frown, eyes barely able to meet his own. you stand so still that beomgyu wonders if this is just his imagination again.

“we'll just have to stop all the… you know. since i’m with taehyun now,” you answer meekly, as if you’re letting him down easily. that’s not the case—nothing about this is easy.

it’s not just about the sex for beomgyu, and he thinks you know that. the way you soften your voice, the way you avoid his gaze, everything just tells him that you know the truth. maybe you knew before beomgyu even did. he likes you more than a friend, more than somebody he just hooks up with. he likes you enough that you could break his heart.

beomgyu shakes his head, unwilling to accept it. he’s pouting, eyes pleading as he stares at you like that might convince you to comfort him. he wants you to come forward and touch him, to cradle his face in your hands and coo at him gently. he wants to lean his face into your shoulder and sob. he wants to cling onto your body and never let go, wants to drag you everywhere he goes so he’ll have you forever.

he waits for you to make the first move. if you move forward even an inch, beomgyu would make it easy for you and meet you the rest of the way there. you don’t move, though. what more do you need him to say?

“i don’t like taehyun,” he admits. you still don’t move. he continues, “but i want you to be happy.”

“thank you.” you give him a small smile.

“i just really don’t want you to be happy with him,” he says. you sigh and look away, and beomgyu feels bad for making you feel so awkward.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what to say,” you reply.

you don’t have to say anything. you could just let him hold you right now and he’d feel a little better.

you speak again, “are we still friends?”

he looks at you for a long second. your brows are upturned, eyes dimmer than usual. he misses when they gleamed with curiosity and excitement. he fights back the urge to hold your face and kiss your eyelids.

he doesn’t want to hurt you. “yes,” he says.

“thank god,” you sigh, finally falling into him. your arms wrap around him, and beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to hold you in his embrace. he urges the earth to stand still for a moment, just so he can bask in your touch a little longer.

he holds you like you’re something precious, like he’ll be losing something when he lets go. beomgyu knows taehyun doesn’t cherish you like this. he just has to make you see that.

when you pull away, you linger in his proximity, close enough that beomgyu could lean down and kiss you. something in your stare tells beomgyu that you’ll miss him too, that you’ll miss what you used to have. it’s either that or beomgyu’s really gone crazy now, seeing whatever he wants to see. he’s too scared to mention it in case he’s wrong.

“let me stay tonight,” he whispers, as if talking too loud will break the moment.

you look like you consider it for a second. “you know i can’t,” you say. he wants to kiss the pout off your face.

“then let me stay five more minutes.” he grabs your hand, and you don’t pull it away. he brings it to his mouth to kiss it, then your wrist, then your inner arm. he’s soft and sweet and gentle; he wants to prove that he can be a good boyfriend, too. it’s not just a role taehyun could fulfill.

“i can’t,” you say. you step away just an inch, but beomgyu follows, not allowing the space to form between you.

“one more minute,” he insists, using his free hand to hold your waist. long enough for one more kiss, so he can remember your taste when he goes to sleep. long enough to draw one more gasp from your mouth as he lets his hands roam your body. he waits for your permission, ever so hopeful, but you don’t give it to him.

“good night, gyu,” you say as you break away from his touch. your hand is slow to retract from his, but maybe that’s just beomgyu’s mind playing tricks on him.

he wants to call you a lot of different things right now. mean. cruel. heartless. but the sour words don’t roll off his tongue when he’s around you; that would be impossible.

“good night, pretty,” he says. that feels a lot more fitting for you.

you laugh, “don’t call me that.”

“why? i always have.”

“no you haven’t,” you say, walking towards the door to open it for beomgyu. your tone holds mild annoyance, but your smile is the fondest one you’ve given him today. it gives him all the more reason to keep calling you that.

beomgyu steps out, and he etches your smile into his mind before you shut the door. the moment it’s closed and beomgyu’s left to walk back to his place, he’s finally hit by the weight of his actions. he made himself look so desperate and stupid. taehyun would never have to beg for your attention or your time.

he thinks about it the whole time he walks home. maybe you have a thing for strong guys. that’s fine, beomgyu can start working out. or maybe it’s taehyun’s intelligence that draws you to him, then beomgyu could pick up some books. he thinks of everything taehyun has that he doesn’t, and suddenly he feels competitive.

he stares at his ceiling once he’s back in bed, zoning out and wondering what he can do to get you back. he’s gone through a whirlwind of emotions today, but what he feels more than anything right now is fear. what if you’ll never think beomgyu is good enough? what if you fall in love with taehyun too fast, and beomgyu loses his chance? he can’t let you slip from his fingers.

beomgyu gets a notification, and he checks it too eagerly, thinking it might be from you. instead, he finds a text from taehyun—some link to a video he thought was funny or whatever. he huffs out in annoyance. now he’s just back to feeling pissed again.

taglist: @hyukarma @moaadiry @lilysiaaa @razsberrie (probably forgetting ppl who have asked before i’m sorry it’s been a minute 😭)

[oreo-creampies]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐬

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluff, period cramps, suguru takes a bath with you, they all refuse to let you walk, pouty reader with Kento because I for one am emotional over tiny things during that time and kento being sweet with me would be everything, making s’mores with Satoru, full of kisses adoration and cuddles, for when you need cuddles and a bath, nap and cuddles or chocolate and cuddles

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: Hi! May I request Suguru with a fem aligned reader (if u do write that but if not, gn is also ok!) who is on their monthly cycle? cramps r hell rn and I need some comfort.

Oreo: Hope this helps 🫶🏽 sorry I couldn't get this out sooner, I wanted to do more characters because I've been in the mood for some comfort too

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

Slowly peeling the covers back, gently lifting you off the bed, cradling you to his chest. “Poor Princess, I hate seeing you like this.” You grimace, furrowing your brows. “Sorry my love for moving you.” Covering your cheek in soft kisses.

He doesn't stop until you’re smiling from the sweet attack. “Got our bath ready, the warmth and water should help ease the flow.” Getting lost in his captivating tender warm chocolate eyes.

“Our bath?”

The softness of his voice soothing. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't hold you when you’re cramping? I was thinking I would wash us off afterward, carry you back to bed.” Kissing his hard pec, resting your head against his warm chest, closing your eyes.

You’ve never had someone talk to you with such gentle kindness, look at you with such adoring love or tenderly touch you until Suguru. “You’re better than I deserve.”

“You deserve only the best, and I'm going to give it to you.” Carefully sitting you down on a towel covering the counter protecting you from the cold. Holding your arms up for Suguru to slip the baggy shirt off.

Lifting you off the counter, steadying you on your feet. “You are the best.”

“That’s why I’m your’s.” Pushing your underwear down, for you to step out of. Kissing above your pubic line, gently rubbing in soft circles where you’re cramping the most. After a year of living together he knows your body well.

Using paper tissues to toss your pad in the trash. Lifting you off your feet, cradling you lowering you into the warm, bubble bath. It's the perfect temperature, the water lapping at the back of your neck easing some of your head’s tension.

The bubbles reaching above your head, you have to make a small space otherwise be consumed whole. “You look beautiful and cozy.” Letting out a gentle sigh, the warmth and muscular relaxer soothing your aches.

“This is wonderful, thank you darling.” Suguru slips his sweats down, folding them up to set on the counter. Leaning forward he whips his feet off in the mat, stepping in behind. Carefully sitting down, pulling you into his lap.

Closing your eyes resting your head listening to the music. His chest rumbles when he sings, “Whatever words I say I will always love you, I will always love you, whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am free again.” Kissing the top of your head.

“Your voice sounds like heaven. I want to record you singing, I can listen to it to fall asleep when you’re working late.” Looking up at Suguru’s face, he smiling down at you.

The soft curve of his lips, the love in his eyes, this is what it’s like to be treasured by someone. “Which songs do you want me to sing for you my love?”

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

Resting on his chest, eyes closed listening to Kento’s comforting voice reading. “Traveling down the thin winding path, not yet reclaimed by the forest’s growth. Breaking into a small clearing, displaying a partly dilapidated house. Part of the original brick structure standing tall still.” He pauses to flip the page, looking down at you.

Smiling at how you’d fallen asleep on his chest. Grabbing the long thin bookmark you gotten him. Slipping it between the pages, closing the book, setting it aside.

Checking the heating pad, gently making sure it's in place. Carefully lifting the blanket over you, covering you up to your neck. Slipping his glasses off, laying his head down on the pillow behind him. Closing his eyes and enjoying the peace of the moment.

Your cramps had been persisting all morning, at last you were comfortable enough to fall asleep. He loves your soft warm body resting in top of his. The safety in knowing you’re protected, happy and at peace.

The sun has set by the time Kento wakes up. “My love?” Kissing the top of your head. Massaging your stomach and sides. “Wake up I need to get dinner started, I'll get you cozy in the bed with the heading pad.” He peels the blanket back, grabbing the now cold heading pad setting it aside.

Shifting on top of him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Kento carefully fixes the blanket on yo. Wrapping his arm around you, slowly standing up. “What are you craving?”

Pouting whining in frustration, “I dunno! I'm hungry but I don't know what I want. I don't want you to leave me alone.” Cupping the back of your head, swiping his thumb in small circles. His gentle touch soothing your emotional turmoil.

“Take out it is you can look at what you want and take your time there’s no rush. I'll carrying you to and from the door to get the food.” Nudging the bedroom door open with his foot. He knows the bedroom by memory.

Carrying you with one arm, pulling the covers back, laying you down then flicks on the lamp. “We need to make sure we get you something yummy.” Kento kisses your forehead. “Lemme get your heating pad and my phone.”

Kento isn't gone long coming back into the room. He’s beautiful with his blond hair falling across his thin framed glasses. You like them more than his green and silver ones that hide the beautiful dark coffee brown shade of his warm, gentle, tired eyes.

Slipping into underneath the covers, holding his arms out for you to climb slowly onto his lap. Resting your chest on his chest craving the skin to skin.

Placing the heating pad on your stomach, grabbing the near by covers and covering you both. “Comfortiable beautiful?”

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

You have a wonderful view of Satoru in a tight black shirt splitting open firewood with a wooden axe. You’d insisted a cabin in the woods because you pouted about being around other people was a bit extreme. Now that you’re here with no one else but Satoru for miles around it’s peaceful and necessary.

The view of his arms flexing when bringing the axe through the wood catching your attention. Almost distracting you from the monthly fit your body is throwing from not getting knocked up by Satoru.

Loading the logs into the pit. He points his fingers at it, looks up at the window and smiles. Could he really spark the firepit without destroying the ground around it?

You eyes widen. There’s a flash of light and boom fire errupts from the pit. Arching towards the sky, settling down, gradually getting lower as it consumes the wooden logs.

Blowing off the his finger gun proud of himself. Then vanishing out of site as he comes into the cabin. Slipping back outside covering the bench in several blankets and the throw pillows from the sofa. The bringing out a plate with a roasting stick.

Dipping back into the house Satoru bursts into the bedroom, grinning widely. “It’s s’mores time! Cuddles, a crackling fire underneath the stars your wonderful boyfriend feeding you chocolate you might be cramping but that has to help a little right?

“Can’t think anything sweeter, other than getting some kisses from you ha.” Satoru climbs onto the bed, hovering over you carefully not to let his weight crush you. Softly kissing your nose, cheeks, forehead and lips. You can feel his smile in the gentle curve of his lips.

Wrapping your legs around him, parting your lips for his tongue. You crave Satoru’s slow, sweet romantic kisses more than air. Slipping your fingers through his short undercut into his fluffy hair.

Squeezing your sides lifting you off the bed. Refusing to break away, he’s lost in your soft lips whimpering into the kiss. Carrying you through the door, slowly sliding his hand up and down your back, cupping your ass.

Pulling away you need to breathe, resting your head on his chest. Shivering from the cool fall air, nuzzling your head into Satoru’s neck, kissing him gently.

“Your kisses are sweeter than any treat I could buy.” Satoru sits down with you straddling his lap. Picking up the roasting fork, its tip having been resting on a plate next to some marshmallow, a chocolate bar and some Graham crackers.

“Cheesy!” Leaning back enough to admire Satoru’s handsome face. Kissing his cheek.

He passes the roasting stick to his other hand. Squeezing your between his arms when he sticks a fluffy marshmellow onto it’s tip. “It’s true! The way you kiss me is so sweet and loving, it makes my heart beat faster every time. I can't stop kissing you, it's getting worse. Everytime I see you I want to cover you in kisses, hold you close and never let you go!”

Oreo’s m.list

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi Shinazugawa falling hard for his polar opposite but is too subborn to confess until he does

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,9k

Synopsis: Sanemi was never the type of guy who falls for something stupid as love. Especially not when it comes to his polar opposite, especially not with such a kind and gentle girl like you... Right?

Warnings: this is pure fluff y'all, reader and Sanemi being innocent babies, a tiny bit enemies to lovers

Thank you soo much for that cute request @blunderland, I just knew I had to write that asap hehe. Let me know what you think <3

There you stand with your stupid perfect face and smile so gentle that you could tame a demon with it. With worried expression, you bend over the little demon girl and inspect her wounds carefully.

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon”, you speak out while caressing her dark hair.

What a poor girl she is. And her brother…Your eyes drift towards the boy with the beat-up face. What he had to endure is truly unfair, too much to bear for a single person. He really lost his whole family apart from that one sister who got turned into a demon.

And now he’s fighting for the demon slayer corps.

“I admire you.”

Tanjiro Kamado’s eyes widen in utter surprise.

“There’s no need to admire me. Actually, I’m the one who’s looking up to you. You’re the first person who didn’t judge my sister because she’s a demon.”

“Demons were once humans too”, you explain briefly while gracefully getting up.

“And I refuse to see them as anything else until they prove the opposite.”

“What kind of fuckery is this, (y/n)?”, an oh so familiar voice barks at you from behind.

Sanemi Shinazugawa really seems like a man with a heart made out of solid ice with his hateful orbs gleaming at Tanjiro and his sister.

“Don’t you think they proved themselves more than enough, Sanemi? If Kagaya-sama agreed on allowing Nezuko Kamado to live and her brother to continue fighting for the demon slayer corps, there is nothing to question for us hashira.”

“Don’t touch that demon brat so casually”, he hisses through gritted teeth while grabbing your wrist tightly.

Your heart skips a beat when his bare skin touches yours. How ridiculous it is that you developed feelings for him. Out of all the other hashira, it was always Sanemi Shinazugawa before everyone else. Those rare moments of tenderness he shows from time to time, the way he worries about his comrades without expressing his true feelings to the world. His closed like a treasure, so gorgeous that you can’t take your eyes off him.

“That isn’t a very nice way to talk to our guests, Sanemi”, you reply softly.

Urgh. He can’t fucking stand you with that scolding expression on your face, how your other hand still rests on top of the head of that demon brat. Why do you have to be so sickening kind to everyone you meet? Why are you even a part of the demon slayer corps with that strange attitude of yours?

“Guests? Are you talking about those intruders? If it was for me, I’d rip both of your heads off without blinking-“

“Sanemi.”

Before he’s able to react any further, he finds his own face framed by your much smaller hands and eyes focused onto his so intensely that he feels his cheeks heat up in an instant.

Why…Why is he suddenly feeling so hot? He should slap your hands away, should show you your place-

“Trust me, I understand your anger. But they are innocent until they prove themselves guilty.”

Those calm eyes who never lose their composure, the eyes he threatened to get lost in countless times already. Why do you have to be so damn gorgeous?

Gorgeous? He furrows his eyebrows, body yanking away from yours instantly. There’s nothing gorgeous about someone like you.

“If you really think that you’re a fool”, he bites back before turning on his heels and storming away.

What the hell was he even thinking? You, gorgeous…Just because your eyes seem to sparkle in the sunlight or the way your hair looks like liquid silk when a ray of light hits it perfectly. Or maybe because of the way your uniform hugs you so well, because of your strength. Or is it the way you look at him?

Sanemi shakes his head vehemently. That’s absolutely ridiculous. You’re the complete opposite of him. How could he ever like you?

“I think Shinazugawa-san likes you, (y/n)!”, Mitsuri babbles out while making her way back with you.

“Really? It definitely didn’t look that way”, you reply with low voice.

Oh, how much you’d hope that someday, the wind hashira actually likes you back. Even though both of you are polar opposites, even though you might never be on same terms. You still somehow managed to fall hard for him.

“Don’t give up hope, (y/n)! I definitely caught the way he looked at you earlier!”

You smile at the girl next to you gently, how she starts analyzing every minor detail of your confrontation earlier on. Mitsuri always swore that there is chemistry between both of you.

“And I’m never wrong when it comes to love, you can trust me (y/n)!”

“You’re a fool for treating (y/n) like trash, Shinazugawa”, Obanai comments dryly while letting his feet dangle from the tree he’s resting on.

“What are you even talking about, huh? It’s none of your business how I’m talking to her anyway.”

“(y/n) truly has a tender and kind soul. What a shame it is you hurt her like that”, Gyomei adds, tears streaming down his face in waterfalls again.

“Are you too dumb to realize she has feelings for you?”, Obanai continues.

You? Feelings for him? He huffs out loud. Absolutely ridiculous, maybe even impossible. Why would someone like you fall for someone like him? Not that he’d care for you like that anyway…

“I don’t give a shit”, Sanemi finally mutters through gritted teeth.

“Shinazugawa, it seems like you have a type”, Gyomei declares all of the sudden.

Something inside Sanemi snaps.

“Are y’all actually too dumb to realize that (y/n)’d never want me? I’m actually so far away from being her type I might be on a whole other planet! It’s like everything I am is exactly what she doesn’t want”, he finally blurts out.

Sanemi’s heavy pants hang in the air while the eyes of Obanai, Giyu and even Gyomei are set on him.

“You should really start working on your self-esteem, Shinazugawa.”

“JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE Y’ALL!”

No, he can’t stand their bullshit anymore. Without listening to another word, Sanemi stomps away in the direction of his estate.

“(y/n) being in love with me? That I don’t laugh, why would I even care about that girl?”, he mumbles under his breath.

-a few days later-

Sanemi swallows heavy, orbs wandering up and down your body. You’re not wearing your usual black uniform and blooming haori. No, you look like a fucking goddess in that kimono and with those flowers braided into your hair.

“Do you think I look like too much?”, you question quietly, your own eyes wandering down your body in distress.

Maybe it was a mistake wearing that kimono for your meeting with Mitsuri. Of course, you knew she’d ask Obanai and Sanemi to accompany you. After all, it’s no secret that she adores the serpent hashira and knows too well about the feelings you hold for Sanemi. But now that you stand in front of him in something apart from your usual uniform, your confidence is blown away by the wind.

“You have to be kidding me. You look gorgeous”, Sanemi blurts out before thinking twice.

Fuck, did he really say that? You definitely think he’s a creep now. Maybe he should get going before it gets uncomfortable-

Your heart skips a beat, cheeks heating up in an instant. Did Sanemi Shinazugawa just call you gorgeous when he’s standing in front of you in that dark green kimono? How is it possible you’re never seen Sanemi in something apart from his usual uniform, that you never went out with each other?

“You look very handsome yourself. Dark green really suits you well”, you reply shyly.

Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same about you? No, that would be absolutely ridiculous, right?

“(y/n), actually there’s something I wanted to say you for quite some time now…” What the hell is he blabbering about? There’s absolutely nothing he has to tell you apart from how fucking annoying you are. You and your gentle voice, you and your captivating smile. You, the polar opposite of him-

“Oh, I actually wanted to tell you something as well!”, you reply a little too fast.

For a moment, you fear your knees might give in. Is this really the time to tell him about your true feelings? “Sometimes you have to be brave, (y/n), especially when it comes to true love! Confess to him!”

Mitsuri is the love hashira. She should know best, right? But what if you’ll make your relationship only worse by making him uncomfortable? What if he doesn’t even like you?

“Sanemi, I…I actually…I-“

“I love you, (y/n)”, Sanemi finally blurts out.

Oh.

There you stand with your opened mouth and blank mind. Did he really just say that? Maybe he didn’t mean it that what. But what if…What if he actually means it?

“You…love me?”, you breathe out.

“I know I’m your polar opposite and that I treated you like shit and I really don’t expect you to actually like me back. I just…wanted to let you know…”, the white-haired man opposite of you mutters while scratching the back of his head.

“But I actually do like you back…”

Sanemi’s eyes dart towards you immediately, his very own cheeks discolored bright pink.

“You…what?”

“I guess I was just never brave enough to let you know since I was sure you hate me…”, you mutter in response.

“Me, hating you?”

All of the sudden, you find his strong arms wrapped around your waist and his face only inches away from yours. You fail to breathe, your whole body refusing to function properly. That force of a man who never really seemed to care about you while your feelings for him were all over the place…He holds you so tight that your wobbly legs don’t have to carry your weight anymore, his usual so distressed orbs now looking down at you so passionately that your heart skips a beat.

“Do I look like I hate you?”, he challenges while pulling you even closer.

You expected a lot of things that could have happened today. Sanemi Shinazugawa declining Mitsuri’s invitation in the first place. Sanemi Shinazugawa keeping his safe distance to you. Sanemi Shinazugawa barking at you for being a blowhard. Sanemi Shinazugawa criticizing each and every little thing you do. But Sanemi Shinazugawa admitting his love for you, Sanemi Shinazugawa holding you tightly in his arms?

Not in a million years.

“I love you too”, you finally speak out.

“I actually did for quite some time. But I always thought you’d never like me back.“

“Well, here I am liking you back, idiot”, Sanemi mutters.

Is that a smile on his face? Why does it suddenly feel like his lips are moving closer? Oh, you thought about kissing that man countless times. Each and every night, you imagined what the privilege of feeling his soft lips pressed against yours might feel like. Is he rough, gentle? Did the wind hashira already share a kiss or two? Out of instinct, you close your eyes, allow yourself to get lost in his arms.

“Look what we have here. Seems like the two of you finally managed to admit your feelings”, Obanai’s dry voice jeers at you from behind.

Your eyes dart open immediately.

“No Iguro-san! You’re interrupting them!”, Mitsuri hisses.

“Are you too dumb to see we’re in the middle of something? Get lost, you fools!”

“I KNEW IT (Y/N)! I KNEW HE LOVED YOU!”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine

[skeltnwrites]

A Family Affair ✶ part one!

In a fit of jealousy over Nancy’s perfect new boyfriend, Steve falsely claims to be dating someone too. Robin recruits you to help Steve out, despite the fact that you’re practically strangers. | MASTERLIST

⤷ Fucking Brad ›› Hawkins Elementary puts on Peter Pan, Steve has FOMO, and you have all sorts of crazy plans 8k

Fucking Brad. Brad, with his slim waist and his broad shoulders and his chiseled jaw. Brad, who doesn’t slouch and can grow a full beard and always smells nice. Brad, who is the better version of Steve in every way. He’s the Ken of Barbies. He’s what every man wishes he looked like at thirty-two. He’s like Steve, if Steve had Botox injections and a gym membership. 

And God he has stupidly good hair. All layered and cropped like it’s trimmed every other week. But effortless in the way it sits perfectly on either side of his face. He probably hasn’t had a bad hair day in his life. And even worse, Steve’s yet to find a single gray hair on the man’s entire head.

It’s too good to be true, obviously. You can’t be that attractive and a good person. Steve doesn’t make the rules. 

But Nancy seems happy. And as a good ex-husband and father of her children, Steve’s trying to be happy for her and her new boyfriend. There’s just this sharp little shard of his heart that never quite slots back into its old place. And every time he thinks he’s patched it up, Brad comes along and knocks it loose again. 

The divorce took a heavy toll on Steve. He’ll admit that now, almost a year down the line. He lost weight, then gained twice as much back. He pushed Robin so far away that they didn’t speak for two months. It really changed him. It made him question things he used to be so sure of. 

Nancy was never cruel, not even on their worst nights. But the arguing became constant. Steve slept in the kids’ rooms more than his own. He became obsessed with finding solutions that Nancy didn’t care to try.

She was never cruel, but she did break his heart for a second time. So maybe that’s part of the reason he tells her a little white lie. 

It happened last week. Steve had been out of town for the weekend and subsequently didn’t have the kids for a whole week straight since Nancy couldn’t swap days with him. And this is the longest he’s not seen them in… probably ever, so he’s extra excited to pick them up. He even offers to drive to Nancy’s house on the other side of town rather than meet her somewhere halfway. But guess who pulls into the driveway at the same exact time as him? Brad. 

And Caroline, bless her sweet little second-grade heart, beams across the yard, right past Steve’s car up to Brad’s. Steve remembers watching in a daze, the scene unfolding in slow motion. His heart wrings itself in his chest just thinking about it. Caroline, his firstborn, his baby girl, his own flesh and blood, betrayed him, for fucking Brad. 

It’s not fair. Nancy breaking his heart is one thing, but his daughter? At this rate, he’s not sure he’ll live long enough to walk her down the aisle. And like hell he’ll let Brad be the one to do it. 

Steve steps onto the driveway and quickly receives the same armfuls of enthusiasm Caroline treated Brad with. He kneels to hug her back properly, both arms around her waist as he sprinkles kisses along the side of her head. 

“You’re back!” Steve feels the shape of a big smile through his shirt. 

“I missed you,” he says, pulling back to see her lovely face, “so, so much.” 

Caroline is proof that Steve’s done something right in his life. He finds more and more evidence every day. It’s in her kindness to strangers and her bottomless well of curiosity and her sunbeam of a smile that weirdly looks like a smaller version of his own. He used to hate the way his teeth looked in his mouth but now he wonders why.

He’s received comments about their alikeness since the day she was born. She obtained his hooded eyes, his square jaw, and his strong nose. She has lighter eyes, like Nancy’s, and lighter hair, like Steve’s when he was her age. But still, Caroline’s his carbon copy, his mini-me. 

“Missed you too, like, more than the whole universe.” 

“Woah! More than the whole universe? That’s a lot of missing to do.” His fingers crawl across her chest until she arches away in a fit of giggles. “Is your poor little heart okay?” 

Brad waves incessantly from the top of the driveway until Steve glances up. He’s not an asshole, he waves back, but he can’t help his smile curdling into something sour. 

Caroline, of his two children, is by far the least likely to lie to him. She burst into tears the last time Steve caught her red-handed and over something so insignificant he couldn’t even tell you what it was. But her words feels hollow when the memory of her picking Brad over him still stings fresh. Logically, Steve knows it wasn’t a malicious decision. Caroline’s a daddy’s girl to her core. But just knowing doesn’t make the hurt ache any less. 

Steve pulls Caroline up as he stands. “Where’s your brother?” 

“Mom said he can’t play outside ‘cause he got in trouble at school.” 

“What happened?” 

“He threw rocks at someone.” 

Steve presses his lips together with a hum. “Not good.” 

Caroline beats him to the front door, swinging it hard enough to shake the house. “Dad’s here!” she announces. 

Steve’s still in this weird limbo about entering the house without Nancy’s permission. To his knowledge, she’s never cared when one of the kids has invited him in, but it feels sort of wrong because he hasn’t lived there in quite some time. 

It’s a quaint little home at the top of a hill, purchased in their early twenties when Nancy was pregnant with Caroline. So many years of his life, etched into floorboards and door frames and garden stones that he rarely ever sees anymore. 

In the foyer, a riot of blonde fur slams hard into Steve’s knees. He’s expecting it, delighted more than anything to greet his honorary third child, Daisy. Eighty pounds, a golden retriever with more energy than Steve knew a dog could have. She was a Christmas gift from Steve to the family, a surprise Nancy has slowly grown to love over the years. Still, she would’ve been happy to let Steve take her, Daisy’s always been more his than hers, but signing the lease on a place that doesn’t allow pets complicates things. 

Steve’s crouched on the floor, receiving a face full of wet kisses when someone smaller barrels into his side. 

“Daddy!” 

Steve’s hand catches the carpet before he falls, his free arm slinging around his youngest, Andrew. “Hi, buddy.” He pulls him in for a forehead kiss but pushes him back for a better look at his face.

He’s got big brown eyes, round like Nancy’s, and feathered with a long set of lashes. He’s a fair mix of their genes, Nancy’s button nose and pointed ears but Steve’s thick hair and plush lips. He’s like Daisy, with endless reserves of energy and no off switch, but he’s half the dog’s size, tiny, even for six. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi. How was school?” 

“Good,” Andy smiles, words whistling in the gap his front teeth left behind. “I got something from the treasure box and I had music specials today.”

Steve gives his shoulder a loving squeeze. “That’s fun. I heard you got in trouble though, hmm?”

“Barely. It wasn’t really bad. I had a timeout but mom says I still can’t play.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll talk to Mom.” 

“Talk to mom about what?” Nancy frowns from the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest. 

One thing from their marriage that Steve doesn’t miss is Nancy materializing out of thin air. She’s quiet and quick on her feet, always appearing at the most incriminating moments. He can think of a dozen times he’d gotten in trouble for letting the kids do something she already forbade. 

Steve shifts his focus to her begrudgingly. He presses his lips into a cordial, tight-lipped smile. “Why can’t he play? He said he had a time-out already.” 

“Because he didn’t do what I asked, Steve. I know you like to let the kids get away with everything, but in my house there are consequences.” 

“Okay,” he raises his eyebrows and his smile slips away, “unnecessary.” 

She breathes a quiet sigh, hooking her fingernail under the fresh tear in her tights. “It’s been a long week.” 

“Sorry.” Steve means it because he’s been there, but he doesn’t waste much sympathy on Nancy these days.

Brad fills the leftover silence as he zips down the stairs, his fingers drumming along the handrail in time with his hums. “Steve!” he grins. “How was Florida? Catch some sun?” He cruises over to Nancy with a much gentler excitement, pecking her head with a soft, “Hi, honey.” 

Steve wants to gag. No, he wants to projectile vomit all over their nice floors. He stands and chooses to look at Nancy as he replies the simplest, “Yeah.” 

Nancy stares blankly back at him. He used to have some kind of superpower when they were in love. Could read her mind by looking at her eyes alone. But these days he can’t tell her frown from her smile, let alone her thoughts.

“Is your dad doing better?” she says. 

“Yeah, he’s– yeah, fine. He’s home now.” 

“Good.” 

Andy pulls Brad down to his knees, eager to funnel a “very important” secret into his ear. Steve tries, but he can’t decipher any words over Nancy’s voice. 

“So, can you take him?” she asks.

“Where?” 

“The dentist. Are you listening to me? I said his appointment is after school.” 

A vein pulses on Nancy’s forehead, though Steve isn’t privy. His attention swings across the living room behind her like a compass needle, always pointing to Andy and Brad. They’re both giggling, falling onto the couch like ragdolls. Steve’s never had worse FOMO in his life. 

“Yeah, sorry, yeah. I’ll take him,” he answers finally. 

“He’s been complaining about his mouth since last Tuesday. Think he has a cavity.” 

Steve nods. Nancy nods. The silence is awful. 

She turns her nose to the stairs and he knows she can’t bear the awkwardness either. “Andrew go get your stuff. Caroline!” 

“What!” 

“Come on! Dad’s waiting!” 

Andy shrieks and Steve turns instinctually. It’s a happy shriek, he finds, paired with pleads of, “Again! Again!”

Brad nods knowingly, slotting his hands under the boy's armpits and swinging him up and up and up until he launches him right back into the couch. 

Andy’s thrilled, of course. But Steve doesn't know how to feel. There isn’t a sound he loves more in the world than his kids laughs’, but his body tells him what is happening right now is all sorts of wrong. 

“Oh and don’t forget about the play on Friday,” Nancy adds. 

Steve can’t answer. He can’t fucking think over the sound of his molars grinding against each other. A switch flips in his brain. 

“It’s at six I’m pretty sure. Care’s pretty nervous so just, I dunno, don’t bring it up maybe.” 

“I’m bringing someone,” he blurts. 

Nancy shifts her weight from foot to foot, her stare sharp as a thumbtack, pinning him right to the floor. Why the fuck did he just say that? 

“Who?” she asks strangely. Her mouth is smaller like she’s mad. But her eyes are curious, a sudden softness to them. 

Steve clears his dry throat but finds no relief. He hasn’t fucking thought this through. He shrugs, his chin tipping toward the floor. “Just this girl I’ve been talking to. She’s…” He chances a glimpse up but steers his eyes away from Nancy’s the second they land. “It’s kinda gettin’ serious, so, you know.” 

“Really?” 

He squirms at the way she says it. He feels like he’s in trouble and about to get an earful. “Yeah,” he swallows, “Yeah. She’s great. You’ll like her.” 

“How long?” 

“Hmm?” 

“How long have you been seeing her?” 

His eyes rove across the ceiling as he pretends to count the imaginary days he’s spent with his imaginary girlfriend. “Ya know, a few months.” He frowns for show, “Give or take.” 

Nancy chuckles wryly. She very clearly doesn’t buy it. And of course, she doesn’t buy it, they were married for a third of his life, she knows Steve inside and out. Steve is officially, utterly, and irreversibly doomed. 

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he slips in nervously. 

“Right.”

“Yeah, so…” 

“Okay, well, I look forward to meeting her.” 

“Okay. Me too. Well– to you meeting her. I’ve met her, obviously.” 

Her mouth twists in a struggle to hide her amusement. “Okay, Steve.” 

This is pathetic. Steve’s never been more embarrassed in his life. Ten-plus years he’s had to make a fool of himself in front of Nancy and nothing will ever top this. 

Tiny arms curl around his legs and he knows they’re Carolines before he’s seen them. She’s a foot taller than Andy and ten times as gentle. Her ear presses into Steve’s side, her hair newly pinned with a set of plastic butterflies. Steve’s positive she gets prettier by the day and he’s just grateful to have anyone besides Nancy to look at. 

Andy hustles down the stairs not long later, sneakers swinging from his wrist by the laces, wearing a backpack twice the size of his chest. And with both kids in sight, Steve cuts straight for the front door, encouraging a round of goodbye hugs and kisses for Mom from the safety of the porch. 

On the ride home, Caroline has a deck of questions about his trip. If Grandma and Grandpa still live in that big house on the water. If the airplane ride was bumpy or not. His favorite– if he ordered the fish tails (popcorn shrimp) from that restaurant they all went to last time. 

Eight years he’s been a dad and to this day the infinite questions never fail to fascinate him. And even more remarkable, how Caroline remembers things from years ago like they happened this morning.

He hadn’t told her why he went to Florida or the real reason she couldn’t come. Steve’s dad had a minor health scare, and if it weren’t for his mom calling in hysterics, he probably would have saved the PTO. He spent most of the trip in the hospital, listening to his dad fuss about every possible thing he could find to complain about. 

Nancy preached honesty when it came to explaining things like this to the kids. But Caroline’s a worrywart. Steve couldn’t let her spiral, certainly not over his dad of all people. 

He’s very happy to be back home. And even happier to be distracted from his poor decision-making by the bottomless pit that is his daughter's brain. But time flies when you’re having fun as Steve apparently says now. Dinner goes fast, and bedtime even faster. 

The kids are asleep and he’s left to simmer alone in his stupidity. He replays the conversation with Nancy on a loop, each turn twisting the words until he can’t tell what’s real apart from what he wishes to have said. He fucked up, that much is clear. And for what? A fleeting satisfaction if Nancy had believed him? He truly can’t think of a time in the last ten years he’s said something so dumb. 

Steve dials Robin’s number and slips the phone against his ear as he opens the fridge. He stares at his groceries, or lack thereof, and listens to the phone ring and ring and ring until he’s turned over to Robin’s answering machine. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Robin! Or, well, it's not, obviously, because you're talking to a machine. Anyway, I’m probably busy doing something incredibly important, so, leave a message, and I’ll call back– unless I forget— which, statistically speaking, is very probable. Sorry.” –Beep! 

“Hi, um, this is Steve.” He shuts the fridge door and swipes the takeout menu from the magnets on the side. “I’m having an… emergency type of situation and if you really, truly love me you’ll call me back, like, as soon as you get this. Yeah, okay, bye.” 

Robin’s at work he’s pretty sure. That or sucking face with her new girlfriend, Lin. She’s busy a lot nowadays, Steve just as much. It’s put a weight on their friendship but Steve can’t imagine his life without her. She’ll surely call him a dumbass or an idiot or the classic dingus for what he’s done. But being snarky with each other is their love language; he looks forward to it. 

Steve’s three or four Cheers’ reruns deep when the phone rings. He rocks himself out of his recliner and takes the half-empty pizza box in his lap back to the kitchen. He’ll be the first to admit, his evenings aren’t all that glamorous. But things could be worse and he’s happy with the majority of his life’s choices– minus the most recent one, obviously. 

The phone slides against the pizza grease on his fingers. He pins it between his ear and shoulder to swipe his hands down the front of his shirt as he speaks, “You know, you’re lucky this isn’t a life-or-death emergency. I’d have been dead hours ago.” 

“Uh-huh. Tragic,” Robin rasps. “I’ll write your eulogy for you. ‘Steve Harrington: untimely death by dumbassery.’” 

“That’s not a real word, genius.” 

“It is now. I’ve made it one.”

“You can’t just make it a word. That’s not how it works.” 

“No, it is. Check your dictionary.” He hears the clinking of pans, water running in a sink. “But wait, what did you do? Lock your keys in your car again?”

“Ha, no. I wish.” 

“Forget to pick up the hellspawns?” 

“No, Rob.” 

“What? It’s happened before,” she laughs in that scratchy way she does. He can picture her whole face like she’s stood there beside him. “I dunno, I’m tired. I give up. What’s the crisis?” 

“Um, so, I told Nance that I’ve been seeing someone and that it’s serious and I’m bringing her to the kid’s thing on Friday.” 

Robin’s silent long enough for Steve to pull the phone back and check if the call’s still connected. But her laughter builds slowly, rattling through the speaker in beats. “Oh no, Steven.” 

“Yeah, so…” He shears the last bite off of the pizza he was working on before and tosses the crust back into the box.  “I’m fucked.” 

“You could say that.” 

“Thanks for the encouragement.” 

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, fuck dude. Why’d you say that?”

“I don’t know, okay? It was stupid. I fucked up.”

“Big time.”

“I have to figure something out.” 

“Can’t you just say it fizzled out? You had a good run, but you weren’t right for each other, cue dramatic sigh, problem solved.”

“No! She knows, Robin. She fucking knows I was lying. She was giving me that look she gives Andy when he’s done something he’s not supposed to.”

“Heh, I know the one. God, that’s hilarious. I love her mad face. Was she doing that weird lip thing, like she’s trying to suck them back into her skull?” 

Steve cuts off his own laughter, “Probably– I don’t know! I was panicking, bad, you should’ve seen me.” 

“Oh, I would pay so much money to see a video of this. Were there cameras? Where was this at?” 

“No, no, I have to do something. I need to bring someone to the show.” 

A beat. Two. “What? You want me to revive straight Robin? I can’t walk in heels to save my life, you know that.” 

“Jesus, no. She knows you're gay, dude.” 

“Then who?”

“I dunno.” Steve throws his hand in the air. “You know people.”

“I know people?”

“Yes?”

“You’re right, hold on, let me get out my address book and just call every single woman I know. ‘Hey, how do you feel about pretending to be my friend’s boyfriend so his ex-wife doesn’t make fun of him?’ Sound good?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” 

“Maybe while we’re at it we just start calling random women in the phone book. I saw a billboard with this sexy lawyer lady today.” 

“Robin.” 

“Steve,” she chuckles. “Come on. This is crazy. You have to see that.” 

“I don’t care, Rob. You don’t get it. Nancy is dating America’s next top model and I’m,” his words feel sticky as bubblegum, “I’m watching shitty TV and eating shittier pizza by myself.”  

Robin sighs. “Don’t act like I haven’t been a good wing-woman. I’ve tried to set you up with people.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not ready to date anyone for real, I just– I just want to pretend for a night, that’s all. I don’t want Nancy to think any less of me than she already does.” 

Robin sighs again, worse. He feels bad about bugging her but she’s his best friend and she bugs him to the same extent with her own relationship problems. He listened to her cry for an hour about a fight she had with Lin last week.  

“If I help you… will you promise me that you will move on and go on a real, actual date with a woman who is not Nancy Wheeler?” 

Steve’s about to say ‘I’ll do anything’, but the sentence catches in his throat. 

Robin complains about Steve’s dating life (or lack of) about once a week, if not more. It’s been a year since the divorce, yeah, but he’s short on time with two kids and a second full-time job that affords him the first. He’s not in any rush to do awkward first dates or even worse breakups again. 

But fuck, he’d rather die than face the consequences of his own actions. “Fine, yes. I’ll do it.” 

“Hallelujah.” 

“Please, just call a couple of your friends for me. One night, that’s all I’m asking.” 

“Honestly, I definitely know a couple of people who’d do it for a hundred bucks.” 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “If that’s what it costs to keep my dignity then so be it.” 

He hears Robin’s breathy smile. “You’re so dramatic. Shelly might do it for free. She doesn’t exactly look your type though.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“I dunno, Steve. We both know Nancy has a better gaydar than you.” 

“I hit on one lesbian at the height of my divorce-depression. I was desperate, okay?” 

“You hit on two, actually. I do count, still. And she was like the most butch woman I've ever met. You guys basically had the same outfit on.”

“It was a good outfit!” 

Her laughter is loud through the speaker. And before he realizes it, he's laughing too. In retrospect, that woman very obviously was a lesbian and not at all his type. 

“Wait,” Robin gasps, “what about Y/N!” 

“Who?” 

She repeats your name with even more emphasis. “She was at my birthday thing. You definitely met her.” 

Steve describes a vague version of the person he thinks is you. His memory is hazy. 

“Yes! Yes! You wouldn’t stop showing her fucking pictures of the kids.” 

“Excuse me, she wanted to see them.”

“No, I think you need to ask her that again, pal.” 

Steve reconsiders that moment he met you. He recalls a polite smile and how you had several nice things to say about his kids. He remembers you being pretty but it was too soon post-divorce for him to process that information then. 

“Oh my God,” Robin roars, “How did I not think of this sooner? You guys are perfect for each other, I’m telling you!” 

“Wait, wait, Robin. This is just pretend. I’m not actually dating her.” 

She scoffs. “Will you give her a chance? Please? This can count as your real date.”

“No, absolutely not. No. I can’t– I already know her. That’s weird.” 

“Oh my God. You’re making dumb fucking excuses already. You better hold up your end of the deal, Harrington.” 

“I will, I will. Just not her. We’ll figure it out after, okay?” 

The line is silent but he can almost hear the gears in Robin’s head cranking out a new negotiation.  

“I’m serious. Don’t tell her it’s a date.” 

“Ugh. Have you no faith in me anymore?” 

“Will you ask her? Seriously, Robin, please?” 

“Yes, whatever, I’ll ask her. But don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.” 

“Don’t tell her it’s a date, Rob. I mean it.” 

“I knowww.” 

“Thank you,” he sighs. He feels like a load of bricks just dropped from his back straight to his stomach. 

“But I really think you and Y/N should come to that romance retreat with me and Lin. She knows the owner so I’m sure she could snag us another couple of tickets.” 

“Mmm. Sorry, no. I’m actually busy that weekend, ‘member?” 

“Oh, I know you did not just lie to me right now. What is this, a compulsion?” 

“Oh my God. I was kidding,” he laughs. “But also hard no. I’m hanging up.” 

“You can’t avoid all your problems forever.” 

“Whatever. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight. Love you, dingus.” 

“Love you.” 

Steve slots the phone back in its cradle and presses his hand into the countertop. He thinks of you again, your face, your clothes, your voice– what had you said to him? He turns you in his mind like an unravelled spool but there are way too many loose ends. 

He agrees with Robin, this is a bad idea. He can’t imagine you’ll drop everything to help a guy you met one time. And if for whatever reason you do agree? You might be really awkward or rude to the kids or a kidnapper! He really, really hopes Robin doesn't befriend kidnappers. 

She assures him you are not a kidnapper when she calls him the next night. She also tells him he’s won the lottery and somehow you’ve agreed to this ridiculous plan. You’ll pretend to be his girlfriend in front of his kids and ex-wife and her boyfriend, just to save him from some embarrassment. Steve thinks you might be crazy but Robin promises you’re a match made in heaven. 

Steve jots down your phone number and thanks Robin until she hangs up on him. But he doesn’t call you yet. He chews on the plan all week and decides it still tastes bad. Very, very bad. But what choice does he have now? He’s groveled with Robin until she gave in and asked you and you’ve actually agreed. He’s in too deep now. 

It takes him three tries to dial your number all the way through. He only works himself up to the final digit with the mental image of Brad and his stupid, sparkly teeth. Steve's stomach starts cartwheeling as the line trills. 

“Hello?” 

He freezes. He doesn’t know what he expected you to sound like but your voice throws him for a loop. Every sentence from his practiced speech erases itself from his memory. 

“Helloooo?” 

Steve forces all the air from his lungs until he makes a strangled sort of noise. “Hey– sorry, um– hi, it’s Steve. Uhh, Robin’s friend.”

“Oh! She said you’d call.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Here I am.” 

You chuckle back but are otherwise quiet, waiting for him.

“So like–”

“How did–”

“Sorry,” you say overtop each other. 

“You go,” he begs. 

“Well, I mean– so Robin gave me the run down already, but like, how exactly do you want this to go?” 

“So,” Steve takes a deep breath, “my kids are both in the school play over at Hawkins Elementary. It’s this Friday from six to seven-ish. All I need you to do is just show up and pretend that you’re my girlfriend.” He cringes through the last part. The more times he explains this plan, the more outrageous it sounds. This might as well be a form of torture. 

“Just show up and watch the play and agree that we’re a couple if somebody asks? That type of thing?” 

“Yes, exactly. Yes. My ex-wife and her boyfriend will be there, so probably just them and the kids.” 

“Right, Robin said. But how much should I– how do I say– should I hold your hand, I guess, kiss you, things like that?”

“No, no,” he swallows so hard you probably hear it too. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

"Would you..." you pause for a while. He fears you’re backing out. “Would you want to meet up, maybe? Like, sometime before the play?” you ask. “We could talk more about boundaries and, I dunno, how we met, our first date, all of that junk. In case it comes up.” 

Steve doesn’t think that’s really necessary. He only needs you for one hour, the majority of which you won’t be talking. You’re really just there to sit beside him and smile. But you are doing him a massive favor, if it makes you feel better, it wouldn’t hurt to discuss it in person.

He lets you pick the time and place and thanks you endlessly before he hangs up, very much ready to crawl into bed and never come back out. 

His second impression of you doesn’t stray far from the first. You’re sweet, maybe a little too sweet for someone who barely knows him. And you must be smart. You have enough wits about you to question him and this plan. Maybe, with you there, it won’t completely fall apart.

But as luck would have it, Steve is forced to cancel on you last minute– thanks to Brad, of course. Well, it’s not really his fault his sister goes into labor but Steve likes to pretend it is when Nancy asks if he can take the kids that night. He reschedules with you once, then again when you can’t make it. But shit happens and things don’t work out how he hoped. Neither of you can make it work before the play. 

So Steve pulls up to Hawkins Elementary with his heart lodged in his throat like a stone. He’s about to make the biggest fucking fool of himself if you don’t show and he’s only about forty-five percent sure that you will. As of yesterday, you were still game, sounded excited, even, to come. But maybe you forgot about the whole thing or maybe you’re chickening out because you never solidified where you had your first date. Steve wouldn’t blame you either way. 

Brad’s already seated in the front row of the auditorium, Nancy likely dropping the kids off at their classrooms. Steve slinks around the back to a denser part of the audience hoping not to be seen. But it’s Brad. He’s got twenty-twenty vision, no doubt. He flags Steve down as soon as he turns around, standing and waving emphatically, leaving Steve no other choice but to sit with them. 

Brad talks his ear off, to no one's surprise, but Steve’s mind is stuck somewhere else. His eyes skip between the lavish rose bouquets in Brad’s lap to the measly assortment of pink and blue daisies in his own. It’s silly to worry the kids would love him less over something like flowers, but he can’t help himself. 

Nancy joins with a knowing smirk and immediately asks about Steve’s plus one. He feeds her some generic, bullshit line about you and how you’re trying so very hard to make it, and he decides Nancy must fucking hate him. She knows it was a lie. She just wants to watch him burst into flames and char into a corpse of embarrassment and regret. 

There are less than two minutes to showtime. The audience is buzzing, the auditorium doors are closing, and the bench space beside Steve remains unoccupied. He turns around for one last pathetic look behind him before his dignity is tarnished forever. 

But there you are! Stood up against the back wall, searching and searching until your eyes lock onto Steve’s and your whole face brightens like a sunrise. 

Steve waves, a little shy suddenly, but largely overwhelmed by the complete one-eighty his heart’s just spun. And it only worsens as you make your way up to the row. 

You look fucking unreal Steve realizes. You pat a pretty dress down your thighs, two big bouquets wedged in the crook of your arm, and shimmy past the family seated beside him with a dashing smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say to him, so genuinely apologetic Steve can’t remember the reason you’re there in the first place. You bend to wrap your arms around him, his nose tapping the sugared sweetness of your perfume. 

His brain reboots itself, a blank slate. He’s completely forgotten about Nancy and Brad until you lean across his lap to address them. 

“Nancy,” Steve coughs, “um, this is Y/N. My girlfriend.” The words trip off his tongue slow and he thinks it can’t be more obvious that he doesn’t mean them. 

But while his head is busy imploding on itself, you’re acing introductions. You’re smiling and waving, your voice stays so calm— exactly the reassurance Steve needed. He peels his eyes off your face for a glimpse at Nancy’s and nearly laughs. 

Her brows are up, obscured by her bangs, and she blinks like she’s got something caught in her mascara. Priceless. 

“Y/N, this is Nancy and her boyfriend, Brad,” Steve finishes. 

“Nice to meet you,” Brad smiles, squeezing Nancy’s knee until she does the same. 

The pretending is clumsy at first. Steve’s arm hesitates on its course behind your shoulders. And you go stiff as a board the first time his fingertips brush your bare arm. You overcompensate, laughing at something that’s not all that funny while Steve rambles on about how you met when no one even asked. But eventually, you find a balance somewhere between too much and too little.

And Steve can’t stop fucking smiling. You’re polite, funny, really pretty, you’re perfect. You’re more than what he hoped to have tonight. 

The lights dim and the curtains part, Steve’s excitement shifts toward the stage. His hand remains on your shoulder but his attention is reserved solely for his kids. You cheer for them just as loud as he does, for two children you’ve never met in your life. You remember their names and are eager for Steve to point them out when they appear. You’re a convincing girlfriend. You actually seem to care a whole lot. 

Caroline is a fabulous mermaid. She has a tail made of sequins and glitter gel down her arms. All those hours of practice were worth it, Steve nearly cries watching his little girl recite her two lines to a T. 

And Andrew plays a scruffy dog called Nana. He has no lines but he makes several appearances throughout the show, barking with flawless comedic timing for a kindergartener. Steve’s biased when he thinks his kids are the best actors here, of course, but he couldn’t be more proud. 

Touching you doesn’t become any less strange as the evening rolls on. Your thigh is smushed to his. Your back warms the inside of his elbow. He hasn’t touched anyone like this since Nancy, maybe besides Robin who doesn’t really count. And perhaps that’s pitiful, he’s not touching you all that much. But he likes it, which, is probably even more pitiful, you being his pretend girlfriend and all. 

The main cast of fifth graders bow, the crowd erupts with applause, and the lights flicker back on as the big curtains close. 

Nancy is staring at you when Steve checks her way. It’s not the first time he’s caught her tonight but he still isn’t certain that she fully believes this whole thing. At least you’re here and you seem normal and you’re a much better actor than Robin gave you credit for. That’s a mission fucking accomplished in Steve’s book. 

“They did really good, Steve,” you say in his ear. “They’re both adorable.” 

His smile is immediate. He won’t miss an opportunity to rave about his kids, not even to a stranger. “Did you see Andy’s run? He does this little skippy-thing, I dunno where he learned it.” 

“Mhmm! And Caroline, she’s only eight? She seems so much older the way she talked.”

“I know! She was so worried before, I can’t believe how good she did.” 

Nancy is one of the first parents to her feet. Brad collects her purse and the flowers as she scans each exit for the quickest route. Her face is rigid as she explains, “I’m going to get Caroline if you’ll…”

“Yeah,” Steve nods when she looks. 

Nancy’s eyes veer from his to yours for the briefest second before she turns around. Her chin juts up to Brad. “Ready?” 

He works a hand across the cardigan on her back and starts for the end of the row where parents squeeze and squish by each other toward the hall doors. 

Steve waits until their bodies bleed into the rest of the crowd before he faces you again. His lips tilt into a funny line, his eyes alive under the auditorium lights. “I kinda think that worked?” 

“Are you kidding?” you laugh and knock your shoulder into his. “She kept staring at me! She totally bought it.” 

Steve’s smile pinches up into his cheeks. He thinks you're really quite beautiful. It’s not new information to him, he noticed the first time he met you, bumbling up behind Robin in her kitchen. And he remembered just last week when she brought you up out of the blue. 

But today that knowledge feels different. Today you’re all smiles and sweet touches and sneaky glances. It’s doing something scary to his heart. 

Steve stands quickly. He’s hot all over, uncomfortably aware of the sweat accumulating under his clothes. Being sardined against every other parent in the school will do that. Plus, there’s you and your nice face. Still, somehow, he misses the heat of your thigh pressed to his. 

“She’s smart, Nancy, I mean… I dunno,” he worries. 

You stand too and your hand finds a home on the back of his arm. “No, no. It worked. Trust me.” 

“Trust you?” He can’t help but grin at your nonchalance. He wishes he could be like that, but having kids makes you worry more. 

You grin back and shrug. “Yeah, trust me.” 

Well, he can’t not trust you. Not when you’re looking at him with all the confidence in the world and squeezing his arm in gentle reassurance. 

His cheeks ache from smiling by the time you make it to the hall. He gestures one way and you follow him past doors and bulletin boards and as many children as there are adults. And finally, he turns through an open classroom door and it’s just absolute chaos. 

A ball pops against a ceiling tile, Steve’s heel slides under a stack of notebook paper, and a string of kids fly between his hip and yours, all in one blink. 

You recognize Andrew faster than Steve expects, pointing him out where he’s barking at a child sprawled on the rug. The other boy stops giggling as you approach, prompting Andrew to spin around with the crazed expression of a real puppy looking for trouble. 

His costume is even cuter up close, a painted snout and a fur-onesie with a floppy-eared hood to match. Andrew barks at Steve, crawling across the carpet on all fours until he’s panting at his father’s jeans. 

Steve squats down to his level, a gentle hand on either side of the boy's neck. “Oh, nooo. They didn’t turn you into a real dog, did they? Are we going to have to feed you from Daisy’s bowl now?” 

Andy slurps a rope of spit back in his mouth and rolls his eyes. “I’m just pretending, Dad.”

“Ohh,” Steve laughs, pressing him impossibly closer. “You did so good, bud. Proud of you.” 

“Did you see me? When I barked at the pirates?” 

“I did! I actually thought it was a real dog.” 

Andrew cackles once, throwing his head down on Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve pats his fuzzy back. “Tired?” 

He blinks up at you curiously and shakes his head. 

“Andy,” Steve cranes toward you, “this is my friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?”

He lifts his head and barks, high-pitched and snappy as a chihuahua. 

Steve tilts his ear away and pinches Andy’s side until the barking turns to giggles. “In English, please.” 

“Hi, Y/N,” Andy squeals out between the remainder of his laughter. 

“Hi, buddy.” You kneel beside Steve and fawn, “You did such a good job!”

Andy pokes his tongue through the gap in his smile. He looks you over entirely and bats his long lashes like a paper fan. 

“I got these for you,” you say, tipping the colorful blooms toward his face. “This one’s for your sister. Here.” 

He chokes the plastic-wrapped stems in his tiny fist, half his face hidden behind a rainbow of petals. 

“Here, bud,” Steve takes one of his bouquets from the floor and tucks it in with yours, “this one’s from me.” 

Andy can’t see much of anything with his nose pressed to a daffodil but he loves them all the same. You pick yourself off the floor, your laughter spilling like the sun. 

“Let’s go find your sister,” Steve says, a hand braced on Andy’s shoulder as he stands too. 

Andy looks between you and Steve in amazement. “She was a mermaid. Did you see?” 

“We did,” Steve answers. “She was a great mermaid, don’t you think?” 

“Yes. She was all sparkly.” Andy slips his small hand into Steve’s, then automatically offers you his other.

You find Nancy, Brad, and Caroline outside the school near the parent pickup circle. Brad’s got Caroline’s hand in his, her feet tracing the edge of the sidewalk like a balance beam. 

She jumps off the curb when she spots Steve, tripping over her toes before breaking into a sprint for his arms. 

Steve kneels right there on the asphalt. “Hi, baby,” he laughs. She sets her elbows on his shoulders as he kisses her on each cheek. “Did such a good job up there!” 

“Did you see me!” she yells. “I wasn’t even scared! I didn’t forget my words like I thought I would.” 

Steve thumbs the corner of her crinkled eye where eyeshadow glares silver under the moon. “I know! My big girl. I’m so proud. Know that?” 

She giggles, her fingers scrunching around the cellophane wrapping in his hand. “Are these for me?” 

“They are. For my best little lady.” 

She sticks her smile in the bouquet and sniffs. 

Steve is oblivious to the heart-warmed grin on your face. But you watch the scene unfold, feeling an unexpected fondness for a family that isn’t yours. You’re only a guest in their little world, an outsider looking in— but even from here, it’s undeniable. He’s a great dad.

“Hey, I have someone I want you to meet,” Steve says. 

You’re so enraptured by the moment, you completely forget that’s your cue. Steve beckons you over with features that echo Carolines, not just in emotion but in shape too. They’re cheek-to-cheek looking at you like a pair of very happy identical twins. 

“Hi, Caroline,” you wave and offer the same hand to shake.

She smiles big and wraps her smaller fingers around yours. “You came to see our show?”

“I did! You were a really amazing mermaid, you know? I especially liked the dance with the sea stars.” 

She shrinks away, suddenly sheepish as she thanks you. 

“Oh, here,” you shift the bouquet in your arms toward her, “before I forget, these are for you.”

“Another! Oh my gosh!” Her beaded hair-tie clinks as she pivots. “Mom! Look! I have three flowers now!” She takes the bouquet at the base and books it toward Nancy who’s engrossed in a conversation with Brad. “Can I keep them in my room, please? And can we get some more vases tonight? I’ll water them, I promise, Mommy.”

You have a fondness for his kids Steve doesn’t often see in the eyes of strangers. They're quite rambunctious a lot of the time and while the elderly compliment him and his genes occasionally, this is different. Affection softens every line of your expression and there’s joy stitched in each sweep of your lashes. It’s endearing as it is strange because ultimately you are still very much a stranger. 

Steve trusts Robin’s judgment more than his own sometimes. If love for his kids were a race, she’d take a very close second against him. She takes her duties as an aunt very seriously and so he’s confident you’re as great as she says. But still, he doesn’t know you personally. He can’t know your intentions for certain. And he might feel guiltier about that in the context of introducing you to his kids— if you weren’t so undeniably wonderful.

You idle beside Steve, a short distance from the rest of the crew. He places his hand on the small of your back and you exchange quiet smiles. 

It’s mostly for show. He feels the weight of Nancy’s gaze in his peripherals. But an ounce or two of Steve is motivated purely by his own self-interest.

He misses these simple acts of affection. Tracing the veins in someone else’s palm, kissing their eyelids, counting their lashes. It’s human nature, a need, he supposes. A need he’s been trying to convince himself is much more of a want. 

And you’re so very gentle with him. It’s really driving him mad. 

Nancy must tell the kids it’s time to go because they’re scrambling over in a cacophony of goodbyes. Steve gives them each a big squeeze and a little shake for the road. Caroline hugs you like you’re no different than the rest of them, while Andy, ever the little charmer, asks your name for the third time. They disappear behind the first row of cars, their voices carry far but fade into all the rest. 

When Steve turns, he finds you already looking at him. 

“They’re really great,” your smile worsens and Steve’s stomach capsizes, “your kids. You should be proud.”

The joy is contagious, infecting Steve with the same toothy smile, spreading through every cell in his body straight down to his jumping heart. “I am,” he manages. 

“God,” you shake your head at the stars, “I can’t believe that actually worked.” 

Steve closes his eyes and exhales a rough laugh. “You’re telling me.” 

“Did I make you uncomfortable at all? I didn’t want to do too much.” 

“No,” Steve promises. “No, no, it was perfect. You did great. Thank you.”

You throw your hand up in dismissal. “Don’t. That was… weirdly fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “is that fucked up?” 

“Not any more than me asking you to do this,” he snorts. 

“How long exactly do you plan to do this for? I could probably do most evenings but mornings are trickier with work.” 

Steve blinks unceremoniously. “Oh, I– well, I was just gonna tell her it didn’t work out, actually.”

“Really?” 

He struggles to understand your squinting. He didn’t expect you to question this part. “Yeah?”

“You want it to be believable, don’t you?” 

“Well, yeah–”

“Then you have to sell it, Steve. Give it a little buildup, some emotion. It would be so obvious if you ended it now.” 

He searches your face, not sure what he’s hoping to find. But there’s at least some level of authenticity there. “You’d want to? To keep going?”

“Like I said,” you frown, “weirdly fun.” 

He hums. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay.”

“I say we make a few more appearances, you know, as a happy couple. Then, we stage the breakup.” 

“What, in front of her?”

“No, not necessarily. But we plant the seeds. We aren’t as affectionate, we get a little worked up over something stupid. I don’t know. Just enough to make her catch on that things aren’t all that good. That’s believable.”

Steve stares at you for a long minute before his smile turns a sinister shade. “You’re crazy, aren’t you?” 

You huff but there’s no heat behind it. You’re grinning too. “I thought you had more manners than that, Steve.” 

“Yeah, well, if it's any consolation, I also think you’re a fuckin’ genius.”

“You’ve been a nice boyfriend, so, I’ll let it slide.”  

He rolls his eyes like a kid. He likes talking to you but he isn’t sure what else to say. 

“So, see you next time then?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “yeah, I’ll call you. Thank you.” 

“‘Kay. See ya.” 

There’s a beat before you go, a split-second where Steve could hug you, kiss your cheek, touch your arm. He’s not exactly sure what the protocol is for this type of situation, though. He makes the executive decision not to subject you to any more PDA lest you get the wrong idea about him. But the way you’ve got this all planned out, he’s not so worried anymore. 

“Bye,” he waves. 

You walk the same path Nancy and his kids had, the back of your head slipping behind the bed of a truck. There’s something about you. Something fun, something that makes him feel alive again. And a fake relationship isn’t really harming anyone if you’re both enjoying yourselves. So why the hell not?