#the sun must set to rise ( fates )

[bitesizedpoetry]

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the favorite of the gods. l General Marcus Acacius

Summary:  you were in the temple when the war came and the man of your dreams stood on the doorstep

Warnings:  +18, smut, mentioning about war, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that), breeding kink

 A/N: this story came from a single thought. it's not perfect, that's for sure, but i hope you like it. thanks for your feedback and the love you give me. ❤️ sorry for all the mistakes

You knew he would appear even before he set foot on your land. Before the birds began to cry and herald the arrival of armies. Before the wind changed and brought the sharp smell of smoke and war.

All this didn’t scare you so much, because his strong and majestic figure kept appearing in your mind and before your eyes. He was almost equal to the gods. You didn’t know his face, but you heard his voice - low, but soothing; commanding, but gracious - addressed only to you.

"Don’t be afraid, little bird."

You found refuge in this temple years ago, as a small, lost child. The priestesses gave you a home, and although you couldn’t become one of them fully, you put on their robes, learned the words of prayers and songs, took part in services honoring the highest. The temple of white stone became your home, and you were safe in it.

Then came the war.

You had heard about it from travelers and people who appeared on their way to safer lands. The Roman Empire was approaching, expanding its territory with sword and blood.

You couldn’t stop it with any prayers, any sacrifices. It was then, during your nightly prayers, that you saw him for the first time.

The undefeated favorite of the gods, the favorite of the god of war, Mars.

Terrified by this vision, you were unable to sleep. You blamed the fumes of incense for these hallucinations, because you knew no one like him. But when smoke as black as night appeared on the horizon, covering the sun, these visions began to haunt you more and more often.

Due to the approaching danger, all the priestesses were asked to leave the temple, and although they resisted, they eventually packed their meager belongings.

It was then that you decided to approach the oldest of them, the one you treated like a mother.

"A man?" she asked, sitting on the bed and looking at you carefully "When did you see it?"

"During the days and nights. During prayers and work." You knelt down next to the woman taking her hands in yours "He visits me more and more often. His voice... But not only that. I see a laurel wreath on his temple, I hear the patter of children's feet, but I don't see those children..."

"Mhmm... Do you see anything else, daughter?"

"Buildings. A city as if made of gold... What does this mean, mother? Have the gods cursed me?"

The woman smiled weakly, but her hand caressed your cheek.

"No, child. It is the grace of the gods." she replied. "Although you weren’t one of us, they had already chosen your fate. I knew that you didn’t appear by accident... They chose you to be married to Mars' favorite, to give him offspring as strong as he is and as wise as you."

"I-I can't... You must be wrong." Your eyes widened in disbelief.

"I can, but can you deny that this man haunts you in your dreams and in your waking life? You saw him before the smoke appeared on the horizon. He is coming for you..."

So you waited. Alone, in the empty temple. You devoted yourself to prayer and meditation, inhaling the scent of candles and incense, asking the gods to take away these visions and this man. Although he terrified you, you were unable to refuse the calling that the gods and fate had chosen for you. You were just clay in their hands, they were the ones deciding your fate.

Despite the fact that it was still daytime, the entire area was engulfed in dark clouds of rising smoke.

You saw the first Roman legionnaires on the temple steps. However, they didn’t enter, still respecting the sanctity of this place. You didn’t have to wait long, however. The clatter of hooves indicated that someone of higher rank had appeared, someone who had more courage to cross the temple threshold.

The favorite of the god of war, Mars.

He entered alone, as if he was not afraid of danger. His black and gold armor, with the golden head of Medusa on his chest, reflected the weak light coming through the windows. He was tall, with broad shoulders, strong features and dark hair, although you could already see silver streaks in it.

He looked around the main chamber with interest. But it was only when he spoke that you recognized him fully.

"Don’t be afraid, little bird." His voice bounced off the walls and reached your ears, your heart beating faster "Show yourself to me, because I know you are here."

"How do I know you haven't come to kill me, son of war?" you replied, clinging more to the column behind which you had found shelter "You bring death and despair, there’s no place for that here."

His footsteps were quiet, and your heart was beating so loudly that it was hard to focus on anything else.

"You are not a priestess." the man was close, you could feel it.

"Why do you think so?"

"Otherwise they would have taken you with them."

"You do terrible things with women, shame will fall on each of you." you moved carefully to hide in the shadows, you knew he was already on your trail "We have to run away from you."

"But you stayed. Why?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your throat tighten. The footsteps faded and appeared again, you couldn't see where the man was without revealing himself at the same time.

Suddenly you heard the sound of metal falling to the floor.

"I have no weapon with me." he continued "I am defenseless and condemned to your mercy. Show yourself."

You almost dug your nails into the stone column behind you. You had heard so many stories about merciful gods who saved people and other beings by turning them into trees or streams. Couldn't they have turned you into a bird so you could escape from this man? Were they really that hostile towards you?

You didn't find out though, because a strong hand gripped your wrist and pulled you towards the dim light. Brown eyes looked at you intently from under dark brows. It was the face of the man from your dreams. Skin touched by the sun, still a little dirty from the dust of battle. You recognized this silhouette immediately, it was him.

The favorite of the god of war, Mars.

"I know your face." he whispered, slightly surprised. "I've seen you before..."

"That's not possible..." you replied, trying to free your hand from his grip. "I've never been to Rome."

"I didn't see you there. I saw you here." he pointed to his head, and you froze. "You've haunted me in my dreams so many times..."

It was true. General Marcus Acacius felt like a man cursed by the gods. When an unknown figure began to appear in his dreams, he first thought it was the result of the wine he had drunk. However, the figure didn't disappear. He searched for her face in the faces of other women, but none of them were the sweet spirit that haunted him.

It was unbearable. He saw a face, heard a voice, and felt under his fingers, or at least that's what it seemed to him while he was dreaming, the soft skin of a being who looked at him with such love like no one had ever done before.

And now that same being stood right in front of him, looking at him with fear. He let go of her wrist and stepped back, feeling unworthy of being next to something so pure and beautiful. But his eyes were greedy, refusing to stop looking at the face he had adored for so long.

"How is that possible?" he finally spoke.

"I have no idea." you shook your head. "But I saw you too. With a laurel wreath on your temple, strong and undefeated. The favorite of the gods."

He frowned.

"Is that all you saw?" he asked. "Tell me the truth. Don't hide anything from me, little bird."

Your eyes filled with tears. You didn't want to, but you knew you had to tell him the truth. More and more riddles were finding their way.

"I heard the footsteps of children... And I saw a beautiful city, bright and golden. That's all..."

"Have you told anyone about this?"

"Only the priestess, who is like a mother to me." you replied "She said it was the will of the gods, that it was my fate and I couldn't change it... That this man would have me as his wife, and I would give him children, strong and wise, undefeated and wonderful like him."

"That's why you stayed here..."

"I can't fight what fate gives me."

The man approached you and his hand, although he hesitated for a moment, touched your warm cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment as if it gave him relief.

"I heard the same thing. About a woman who would give me solace..." he sighed "It's you, little bird. Tell me your name."

"Y/N."

A small smile appeared on his lips as he repeated your name, almost with reverence.

"I am General Marcus Acacius." his voice was strong and clear "You are in no danger from my hand, the gods are my witnesses. The creature haunting my dreams should not be afraid of anything. Are you afraid?"

You nodded.

Even though all the secrets were solved, you were even more afraid. Was this what the gods wanted for you?

Marcus took your hand in his, kissed the back of it tenderly and brought it to his cheek. You felt his rough stubble under your fingers, but he was like a docile animal. His gentle eyes stared at you with adoration.

"There is no other but you." he whispered, bringing his face closer to yours. "There will be no other but you. If the gods chose us, who are we to oppose it?"

"Marcus..."

That was all you could say when you felt his lips on yours. It was like nothing else you had ever experienced. He kissed you with passion and lust, and his hands rested on your hips, pulling you closer to him.

You slid your fingers into his hair as his tongue slipped between your lips, the last door he had to go through to possess you. You felt the desire growing between your legs. 

It was a familiar feeling. You didn't admit to the priestess that this kind of feeling accompanied your dreams, you couldn't do that. But now Marcus was real, he wasn't just a dream.

You felt the cold stone behind you as he pressed you against one of the columns. Only your delicate robes and his hard armor separated you. His lips slid down to your neck and collarbone, kissing and nibbling, and a soft moan escaped your throat.

You couldn't resist it. When his hands slid down the straps of your robes, revealing your breasts, his eyes sparkled.

"Do the gods really want me to possess something so perfect?" he croaked, but after a moment his lips closed over one of your nipples.

He sucked it and teased it with his tongue, and you felt your legs start to refuse to obey you. His thigh slid between yours, and you felt shivers at the sudden touch of your heat. His hands moved to your breasts, which he squeezed tightly.

"You seek solace just like me..." he sighed, feeling you move your hips to feel at least a little friction that would bring you relief. "I'll give you what you need."

He abruptly pulled up the hem of your robe, then found your pussy, and without hesitation, he slid two stiff fingers inside it. Your body tensed as he began to pull them in and out.

"You've never had a man before, I can feel it. I can see it." he whispered right next to your ear. "The gods destined you for me. So pure. Let me possess you. Will you let me?"

You nodded, unable to find your voice. His fingers were much better than yours, when you touched yourself during the night to find solace after dreams full of a mysterious man. And maybe it was surprising for you, but you wanted him from the moment he crossed the threshold of your temple.

His fingers curled and you felt him touch the place that gave you the most pleasure. His mouth was on your breast again, kissing and caressing it.

"Yes, Marcus... Please..." you moaned, digging your nails into his shoulders.

"Give it to me, little bird. Let me give you what you need."

When his thumb started making small circles on your clit, you closed your eyes, giving yourself to him completely. Pleasure spread through your body, and your pussy squeezed pleasantly on his fingers. You grabbed his face, kissing him hungrily as if you wanted to take all the air from his lungs. But Marcus just smiled.

You noticed how he pulled out a hard cock from under his tunic, a bit of precum glistening on its tip. Your lips became wetter.

"I don't know if I'll be able to take you..." the words left your lips.

"You can do it, little bird. And you'll take me many more times."

He kissed you hard, and his hands grabbed your buttocks and lifted you up so that you wrapped your legs around his waist. His tip brushed against your entrance a few times, and then you felt him push inside. Your walls slowly stretched and took him deeper and deeper.

"Breathe... Breathe, baby." his whisper was trembling with the pleasure he felt too "You're so tight, so warm..."

You moaned as he pushed in all the way. You both had to get used to this overwhelming feeling when you were one. His lips found yours, kissing them gently, but after a moment Marcus' eyes darkened.

His hips began to move, his cock began to thrust harder and faster. Your body was beginning to refuse to obey you. Luckily Marcus' arms held you tightly as he pressed himself into you.

"You're so perfect..." he panted, pressing his forehead to yours. "So perfect for me. I'll make you my wife... You'll swell up from my children... Every night... Ugh! Every night I'll bury my cock inside you, to hear those lovely sounds you make."

"Marcus!" your fingers tightened in his hair as you felt yourself getting close again. "I feel... I feel..."

"Let go, little bird. Let me fill you. Gods..."

He felt your velvet walls squeeze his cock, and your body tensed and shuddered as you reached your climax. But Marcus didn't stop. His cock moved inside you further and harder.

"You'll be only mine..." he rasped "Oh, fuck... So perfect, so pure..."

"Fill me all over, Marcus." you whispered "Make me yours."

And he did. His seed spurted inside you, painting your walls as he came with a loud groan.

You both breathed deeply, stunned by what had happened. His hands slowly left you and you stood unsteadily on the ground.

"I don't know what I did to deserve such grace from the gods." Marcus' voice was calm "But I will be grateful to them for the rest of my life for giving me you."

"If this is fate and the will of the gods, we can't fight it." you replied.

His hands slowly helped you put your robes back on, his eyes following your every move. There was silence all around.

His seed slowly dripped down your thigh. He felt it when he brushed his fingers against the inside of your thighs to keep that feeling of closeness for a moment longer.

"I'll take you to Rome, I'll make you my wife." he said. "You have nothing to fear with me."

"I won't be afraid, Marcus. Not when I'm with you." you replied. "I'm ready for our fate to be fulfilled."

In a moment his lips found yours again, kissing you tenderly. And when they broke away, he kissed the back of your hand and placed it over his heart hidden under his armor.

The favorite of the god of war, Mars.

By the will of the gods, your destiny took the form of this man.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[formulanni]

The Pit Wall as The Wheel of Fortune:

Greater forces that are outside of human control are at work here. The same forces that govern the changing of the seasons, or the rising and setting of the sun is also the master of luck and the fate of individuals. Where it lands is as random as chance - you may find yourself at either the top or bottom, but remember that no matter what the outcome it may not last for very long, for the wheel always turns.

Remember: what goes up, must also come back down.

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo @ch3rubd0lls

[bloodreinasbathwater]

It's Always Been You

Part 5

Jack Hughes X F!Reader (Childhood Best friend)

a.n: Don't beat me up guys. I know this damn chapter took forever but fr I didn't know where to take this chapter, I was going to start with a flashback, so it wasn't boring but even that was boring. so after the long-awaited hiatus here is the next chapter!!!

Warnings: anxiety, kissing, eventual smut (part 6), arguments, unrequited love, ignore the mentions of summer I was to lazy to remove them lol.

Word Count - 4,163

Summary : When do you finally accept that it's time to move on? When do you finally admit that everything you fought so hard to forget is exactly what you're meant to remember for the rest of your life? How long can he pretend that it hasn't always been you?

Jacks masterlist

The Michigan sun streamed through the gauzy curtains of the guest room, the faint light of the morning sun illuminated her features, showcasing her furrowed brow and pensive eyes as she stirred awake.

For a blissful moment, she forgot where she was—and why her heart felt so heavy. Then reality crashed over her like a wave, and she remembered: Jack's family home, the ill-fated confession, and the potential love that she left back in Jersey.

Y/N sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair, which was tousled from sleep. The distant laughter from downstairs was like music to her ears, a sound that she had grown to love —Jack's chuckle unmistakable even from afar. Her heart clenched. How was she supposed to act normal when every fiber of her being ached to be near him?

Her eyes darted towards her phone, resting on the soft sheets next to her. The glowing screen illuminated a new message and a missed call from Liam, causing her heart to flutter with anticipation and guilt. Ignoring it, she tossed the phone aside and decided to get up and get dressed.

She dressed slowly, each movement deliberate as she tried to delay the inevitable. The soft cotton of her favorite t-shirt offered little comfort as she pulled it over her head. It smelled faintly of home, of simpler times when loving Jack from afar seemed enough.

Hesitantly, Y/N made her way down the worn staircase, each creak of the wood echoing in her ears. Her heart raced as she prepared to face him, unsure of what the outcome would be. The aroma of coffee and bacon guided her to the kitchen, where Jack stood at the stove, spatula in hand.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted, his voice carrying a hint of playful teasing. "Thought you might sleep through the whole trip," he added, his tone lighthearted yet genuine. He flashed that crooked smile that never failed to make her knees weak.

Y/N forced a laugh, hoping it sounded genuine. "And miss out on your world-famous pancakes? Never."

She slid onto a stool at the kitchen island, acutely aware of the distance between them—both physical and emotional. Jack moved around the kitchen with easy grace, and Y/N found herself tracking his every movement. The flex of his forearms as he flipped a pancake, the way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders when he reached for a plate.

"Earth to Y/N," Jack's voice cut through her reverie. She blinked and looked up to see him staring at her with a mixture of amusement and concern, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She realized with a start that he must have asked her a question while she was lost in her own world.

"Sorry, what?" she mumbled, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

"I asked if you wanted blueberries in your pancakes. You okay? You seem a million miles away."

If only he knew how present she was—how every cell in her body seemed attuned to his presence. "I'm fine," she lied smoothly. "Just a little tired. And yes to blueberries, please."

As Jack turned back to the stove, Y/N caught a flicker of something in his eyes. Was it longing? Regret? Or just her imagination playing cruel tricks? She pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the plate he set before her.

They ate in companionable silence, but Y/N was hyperaware of every accidental brush of their hands, every shared glance. The pancakes tasted like sawdust in her mouth as she struggled to maintain the facade of normalcy.

"So," Jack said, breaking the silence, "we were thinking of taking the boat out today. Weather's perfect for it, just a little chilly."

Y/N's stomach dropped. The thought of being trapped on a small boat with Jack, pretending everything was fine, seemed unbearable. "Oh, um, actually..." she started, scrambling for an excuse.

Jack's smile was encouraging, but Y/N could see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes at her hesitant response. Just then, Luke appeared in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep.

"Morning, everyone," he said, his smile bright as he made his way to Y/N. He dropped a kiss on her cheek, and she saw Jack's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.

"Luke," Y/N said, an idea forming. "Jack was just telling me about going out on the boat. What do you think about staying behind with me instead? I'm not really feeling up to it, and I'd love to explore the yard a bit."

She saw a flicker of something cross Jack's face before he masked it with a nonchalant shrug. "Sure, if that's what you want. Daphne and I can take my parents out."

The mention of Daphne sent a fresh wave of pain through Y/N's chest, a sharp ache that tightened her throat. Her eyes flickered with a hint of hurt before she quickly masked it.

She forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes, which darted away to avoid revealing too much. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. "Sounds great," she managed to say, her voice strained. "You guys have fun."

…

As they finished breakfast and plans were made for the day, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of a precipice. Every interaction with Jack felt charged, laden with unspoken words and suppressed emotions.

She watched him as he cleaned up the kitchen, his movements efficient and familiar. How many mornings had they spent like this, comfortable in each other's presence? Now, every moment felt like a bittersweet reminder of what she couldn't have.

When Jack's hand accidentally brushed hers as he reached for her empty plate, Y/N felt a jolt of electricity run through her. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world fell away. There was something in Jack's gaze—a softness, a question—that made her breath catch.

But then Luke's arm snaked around her waist, breaking the spell. "Ready to go for that walk?" he asked, oblivious to the tension in the room.

Y/N nodded, tearing her eyes away from Jack. As she let Luke lead her outside, she couldn't help but glance back. Jack stood in the doorway, watching them go, an unreadable expression on his face.

The air was thick with the scent of pine and possibilities as Y/N stepped onto the porch. She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head of thoughts of Jack. But even as she walked away, she could feel the invisible thread that connected them, pulling taut with every step.

The afternoon sun hung high in the cloudless Michigan sky, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in Y/N's chest. She stood on the weathered dock, watching as Jack's family bustled around, preparing for their boat outing. The gentle lapping of water against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the chaos but did little to calm her racing thoughts.

Jack emerged from the boathouse, his chestnut hair pushed back carelessly, revealing the strong angles of his face. The pale blue shirt he wore clung to his athletic frame, bringing out the cerulean depths of his eyes - eyes that seemed to seek Y/N's gaze with an intensity that made her breath catch.

She found herself drinking in the sight of him, memorizing every detail as if it might be the last time she'd see him like this: carefree, relaxed, and heartbreakingly handsome.

As Jack approached, carrying a cooler, Y/N caught a whiff of his cologne - a woodsy scent that reminded her of countless shared adventures and unspoken longings. She fought the urge to close her eyes and lose herself in the familiar aroma.

"Sure you don't want to join us?" Jack asked, his voice low and tinged with something Y/N couldn't quite place. Was it hope? Regret?

Before she could respond, a melodious laugh cut through the air. Daphne sauntered down the dock, her presence as imposing as it was graceful.

She was the epitome of old money elegance, from her designer dress to her oversized sunglasses. Her honey-blonde hair fell in big, bouncy curls reminiscent of a 1970s fashion icon, framing a face that belonged on magazine covers.

"Oh, Jack!" Daphne called out, her voice saccharine sweet. "Don't forget the picnic basket I prepared. Remember how we used to love our little sunset dinners on the lake?"

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the image of Jack and Daphne sharing romantic moments on the boat searing itself into her mind. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain her composure.

Jack's eyes flickered between Y/N and Daphne, a conflicted expression clouding his features. "Right," he muttered, "I'll grab it."

As he turned to head back to the house, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way his gaze lingered on her, a silent plea in his eyes that she couldn't decipher. The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and suppressed emotions.

Daphne, not oblivious to the tension, sidled up to Jack, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. "We should recreate one of our romantic sunset cruises," she purred, loud enough for Y/N to hear. "For old times' sake."

The suggestion hung in the air like a challenge. Y/N felt a surge of emotions - jealousy, hurt, and an overwhelming desire to stake her claim. Before she could stop herself, words tumbled from her lips, sharp and biting.

"I'm sure Jack's made plenty of new memories since then," Y/N said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "No need to dwell on the past, right?"

The dock fell silent, the only sound the gentle creaking of the boat against its moorings. Jack's head snapped up, his eyes wide as they met Y/N's, there was surprise there.

Daphne's smile faltered for a moment before she recovered, tightening her grip on Jack's arm. "Of course," she replied, her tone icy. "Though some memories are worth revisiting, wouldn't you agree, Jack?"

Jack stood frozen between the two women, the conflict evident on his face. His eyes darted between Y/N and Daphne, as if he were trying to solve an impossible equation. "I, uh..." he stammered, clearly at a loss for words.

A thick atmosphere of unease hung in the air, causing Jack's family to glance curiously at Y/N as they loaded the boat. She could feel their questioning stares, as if they could see the unspoken connection between her and Jack that she was trying to ignore. It seemed like everyone knew something that they didn't, except for the two of them.

Luke appeared at Y/N's side, sliding a lanky arm around her shoulders. "Everything okay here?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Y/N leaned into him, grateful for the support even as her heart ached for Jack. "Everything's fine," she replied, forcing a smile. "Just wishing everyone a good trip."

As the two began to board the boat, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way Jack's eyes kept finding her, even as Daphne chatted animatedly at his side. There was a longing in his gaze that mirrored the ache in her own chest, a silent communication that spoke volumes.

Daphne, sensing the shift in Jack's attention, redoubled her efforts. She laughed louder, touched him more frequently, her actions screaming of desperation and possessiveness. It was clear she felt threatened, her carefully crafted plans unraveling in the face of the unspoken connection between Jack and Y/N.

As the boat pulled away from the dock, Y/N stood with Luke and his parents, watching it disappear into the distance. The sun glinted off the water, momentarily blinding her. When she blinked away the spots in her vision, she could have sworn she saw Jack standing at the back of the boat, still looking in her direction.

"You okay?" Luke asked, giving her a gentle squeeze.

Y/N nodded, not trusting her voice. How could she explain the tumult of emotions raging inside her? The love, the longing, the frustration, and the glimmer of hope that refused to be extinguished?

she turned to walk back to the house with Luke, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. And as much as it terrified her, a part of her welcomed it. Because pretending not to be in love with Jack was becoming harder with each passing moment.

The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Y/N and Luke sat on the porch swing, the gentle creaking of its chains providing a soothing rhythm to their conversation.

Despite the picturesque setting, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in her stomach since the boat departed. Luke watched her, his brow furrowed with concern. He nudged her gently with his elbow. "Hey, space cadet. Where'd you go?"

Y/N blinked, forcing a smile. "Sorry, just... thinking."

"About Jack?" Luke asked, his tone free of judgment.

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. This was what she loved about Luke - his ability to read her, to understand without pushing. "Am I that obvious?"

Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Only to someone who knows you as well as I do, sis."

The term of endearment brought a genuine smile to Y/N's face. Though they'd been dating for a short while, their relationship had always felt more familial than romantic. Luke was the brother she never had, a safe harbor in the storm of her feelings for Jack.

"Want to talk about it?" Luke offered, his arm coming around her shoulders in a comforting squeeze.

Y/N shook her head. "Not really. Distract me instead?"

Luke was quiet for a moment, then sat up straighter, causing Y/N to lift her head from his shoulder. "Actually," he said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice, "I've got some news that might do the trick."

Y/N turned to face him, curiosity piqued by the gleam in his eye. "Oh yeah? What's up?"

Luke took a deep breath, barely containing his grin. "So, you know how I've been waiting to hear back about the draft?"

Y/N nodded, her heart beginning to race with anticipation. "Did you...?"

"I got drafted!" Luke exclaimed, his face breaking into a wide smile. "I'm moving to Jersey after the summer. I'll be playing for the same team!"

For a moment, Y/N sat in stunned silence, processing the information. Then, as the reality of Luke's words sank in, her eyes widened. "Are you serious?" she asked, her voice rising with excitement.

Luke nodded, his grin growing impossibly wider. "Dead serious. Got the call yesterday, but I wanted to tell you in person."

"Oh my god, Luke!" Y/N squealed, launching herself into his arms. The porch swing swayed dangerously with their movement, but neither of them cared. "I can't believe it! This is amazing!"

Luke laughed, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. "Believe it, sis. Your boy's going pro!"

Y/N pulled back, holding Luke at arm's length to look at him properly. His face was alight with joy, and she felt a surge of pride and affection for him. "I'm so proud of you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You've worked so hard for this."

Luke's expression softened, and he tucked a strand of hair behind Y/N's ear in a brotherly gesture. "Couldn't have done it without my number one cheerleader," he said with a wink.

Y/N punched his arm playfully. "Oh please, as if you need any more ego boosting."

They fell into comfortable laughter, the kind that comes from years of shared jokes and mutual understanding. As their mirth subsided, Y/N found herself marveling at the easy camaraderie between them. Luke had been her rock, her confidant, through all the ups and downs of her unrequited love for Jack. And now, he was embarking on this new adventure.

"So, Jersey huh?" Y/N mused, settling back into the swing. "That's not too far. I expect free tickets to all the games."

Luke grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "You got it. VIP treatment for my favorite girl."

Y/N leaned into him, feeling a mix of excitement for Luke and a twinge of sadness at the thought of leaving him behind for the next couple months. "I'm going to miss you, how am I supposed to deal with Jack all alone until fall?" she admitted softly.

Luke squeezed her shoulder. "Hey, none of that. Summers gonna pass in the blink of an eye. Plus, think of all the headaches I’m gonna cause when I move in."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress her smile. "Always looking out for me, aren't you?"

"Someone's got to," Luke replied, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of sincerity. "Especially with all this Jack drama."

Y/N tensed slightly at the mention of Jack, but Luke quickly steered the conversation back to his draft news, regaling her with details of the call and his future teammates. As they talked and laughed, the sun dipping lower on the horizon, Y/N felt some of the day's tension melt away.

…

The boat glided smoothly across the lake's surface, leaving a trail of ripples in its wake. Jack sat at the stern, his eyes fixed on the shrinking shoreline where he'd last seen Y/N. The fading sunlight caught the pale blue of his shirt, making his eyes appear even more vivid than usual.

Daphne sauntered over, her hips swaying with exaggerated grace. She held two glasses of champagne, bubbles fizzing merrily against the crystal. "Here you go, Jackie," she cooed, using the pet name that had once made his heart race but now only made him cringe inwardly.

"Thanks," Jack mumbled, accepting the glass without enthusiasm.

Undeterred by his lackluster response, Daphne settled herself next to him, pressing her leg against his in a way that was clearly meant to be alluring. "Remember our first boat trip together?" she asked, her voice dripping with nostalgia. "We watched the sunset right here."

Jack shifted uncomfortably, trying to put some distance between them without being overtly rude. "Yeah, I remember," he said noncommittally.

Daphne leaned in closer, the overpowering scent of her perfume suffocating him with its sickly sweetness. "We could recreate it, you know," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "For old times' sake."

Jack felt a twinge of something - nostalgia, perhaps, or the ghost of old feelings - and for a moment, he almost considered it. Daphne was familiar, safe in a way. She represented a simpler time, before these confusing feelings for Y/N had taken root.

But as he turned to respond, his eyes caught sight of the house in the distance. Even from here, he could make out two figures on the porch - Y/N and Luke, their heads close together in conversation. The sight sent a jolt through him, clearing away any lingering thoughts of rekindling things with Daphne.

Jack shook his head, gently but firmly removing Daphne's hand from his arm. "I'm sorry, Daph," he said, his voice soft but resolute. "But that's not going to happen again."

Daphne's perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But why not? We were so good together, Jackie. We could be again."

Jack took a deep breath, surprised by the relief he felt at finally voicing what he'd been feeling. "Because... I think I have feelings for Y/N."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Jack himself seemed surprised by his admission, as if hearing it out loud had solidified something he'd only half-acknowledged to himself.

"Feelings I don't quite understand yet," he continued, more to himself than to Daphne. "But they're there, and they're real."

Daphne's expression cycled rapidly through surprise, hurt, and finally settled on a mix of resignation and irritation. She plopped down next to him with a dramatic sigh, all pretense of seduction gone. "God, Jack," she said, rolling her eyes. "I could have told you that."

Jack blinked, startled. "What? How?"

Daphne took a long sip of her champagne before answering. "The night I came to see you after your game? The way you talked about her, the look in your eyes... It was obvious to anyone paying attention."

Jack sat in stunned silence, processing this revelation. Had his feelings been that transparent? And if so, how had he missed them for so long?

As the boat continued its lazy path across the lake, Jack found his gaze drawn once again to the distant shore, to the house where Y/N waited. For the first time, he allowed himself to fully acknowledge the depth of his feelings for her, and the enormity of what that might mean.

…

Dark clouds rolled in from the horizon, their ominous rumble a stark contrast to the earlier calm. Jack guided the boat back to the dock, his knuckles white on the wheel as he fought against the choppy waters. The first drops of rain began to fall, creating tiny ripples across the lake's surface.

As they approached the dock, a crack of thunder split the air. Jack quickly secured the boat, then extended a hand to help Daphne disembark. She took it without a word, her earlier flirtatiousness replaced by a cold silence. As soon as her feet touched the wooden planks, she brushed past Jack, heading towards the house without a backward glance.

Jack stood for a moment, letting the light drizzle soak through his pale blue shirt. His eyes scanned the porch, searching for Y/N, but she was nowhere to be seen. A memory flickered in his mind - of a young Y/N, hair in pigtails, running to hide in the garden whenever she was upset.

Following an instinct he didn't quite understand, Jack made his way towards the old garden. The rain was falling harder now, plastering his hair to his forehead and blurring his vision. But he pressed on, drawn by an invisible thread.

As he rounded the corner, he saw her. Y/N stood by the fishpond, her back to him, seemingly oblivious to the rain soaking through her clothes. The sight of her, vulnerable and alone, made Jack's heart clench.

"Y/N?" he called out softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned slowly, her eyes widening as she saw him. "Jack? What are you doing here?"

He took a step closer, raindrops clinging to his eyelashes. "I was looking for you. I thought... I thought we could talk."

Y/N shook her head, a pained expression crossing her face. "I can't, Jack. I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" he asked, confusion evident in his voice.

"This!" she exclaimed, gesturing between them. "Pretending everything's normal when it's not. I can't be around you and act like my heart isn't breaking every single time."

Jack felt as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. "Y/N, I-"

But she cut him off, words pouring out of her like a dam bursting. "How long, Jack? How long can you pretend that it hasn't always been me? By your side, helping you through everything, loving you for who you are?"

The rain fell harder, mirroring the intensity of Y/N's emotions. Jack stood frozen, the weight of her words washing over him.

"I've been there through everything," Y/N continued, her voice cracking. "Your first game, your injuries, your breakups. I've loved you through it all, Jack. And I can't pretend anymore that it doesn't kill me to see you with someone else, to know that you don't feel the same way."

Thunder rumbled overhead, punctuating her words. Jack took a step forward, reaching out to her. "Y/N, please-"

But before he could finish, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the garden, followed immediately by a deafening crack of thunder. Y/N jumped, instinctively moving closer to Jack. For a moment, they stood there, inches apart, rain streaming down their faces. Jack could see the pain in Y/N's eyes, the vulnerability, and something in him finally clicked into place.

"You're right," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Y/N blinked, confusion replacing the hurt in her eyes. "What?"

Jack reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. "You're right. It's always been you, Y/N. I've just been too blind to see it."

The world seemed to hold its breath as they stood there, the rain falling around them, the air electric with more than just the storm. Jack leaned in, his intention clear, but before their lips could meet, a voice called out from the house.

"Y/N? Jack? Where are you guys? It's pouring out here!"

The spell broken, Y/N and Jack stepped apart, both breathing heavily. They stared at each other, a thousand unspoken words passing between them.

"We should go in," Y/N said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. Jack nodded, unable to trust his voice. As they walked back to the house, side by side but not touching, the air between them crackled with possibility and unresolved tension.

...

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[withonly-sweetheart]

Skin Out of Stone

He frees you from the confines of the Earth you were born, yet your feet grace the same ground that his does. He pays you an homage, and doesn't expect your reaction to be so... grateful.

a/n: so erm... this was supposed to come out a long long time ago but i couldnt find my rb of @chesue00 's art (middle image in header) in my fic ideas tag and thats bc i never rbed it.

kmsing rn. but erm YES SCULPTOR LEON HAS ME THINK A WHOLE WHOLE LOT BC UR BRAIN IS SO SCRUMPDIDLYUMPTIOUS SO YES THIS IS SOMEWHAT LIKE TO KEEP AN ANGEL I THINK ITS SET IN THE SAME TONE? idfk take this and gn 🫡🫡

tw: mentions of sex, nsfw, nun too bad i think, ig implied stalking but its all in good faith trust 🙏🙏

wc: 1.3k

All he’s ever wanted to do is capture you, a moment in time, in that block of concrete delivered to him the moment you had appeared into his life, a sequence of events he knew he was tumbling far too fast towards, yet unable to stop it anyway. The curve of your hip, where he braces his palm, flattens it against the clay that so easily succumbs to his touch, unable to think on its own. It serves his purpose to adapt to his thoughts, molding to his vision.

The vision of you, standing in the golden afterglow of mysterious sunlight, dappling you in unthinkable shadows, how you would be melting honey dripping between his fingers if you would just give him a chance. But your worlds, however you might begin to appear in the stone in front of him, will never collide.

Secretly, one part of him hopes that you might see it one day, appear at his doorstep, perched over his shoulder like a songbird waiting to serenade his work, his devotion to you. But your eyes will only ever be directed at him through the vivid ink in magazines, or the pixelated photos posted of you.

He feels disgusted with the people who breach your privacy for their shameful desires, for their aching heart, but he knows that he is doing the exact same thing. But how can he help himself, when your lips are the identity of his statue, days and days of work uncovering the perfect angle.

The chisel breaks off chunks of your body, carving you from the rough edges, smoothing you like unblemished paper, the divine goddess you are. In a way, he feels just like that; a worshiper to a deity who will never know of his existence. But he reluctantly accepts his fate, in his quiet, cozy studio, and he brings you to life.

Under his fingers, under his guidance, you emerge from the stone with each tap, each chink, revealing yourself draped in shadows, ones he has never seen. He plays a torturous game with himself, itching to get back to his work when the sun rises, the furrow in his brow deepening every day he is away from his idea of you.

He grasps your chin, wishing there was living, moving flesh underneath him, but alas there is no movement. Only the tilt of your eyes glancing downwards, destined to never drag your gaze over his body, raking him with unseen flames.

Without another moment of hesitation, he inches closer, thinking if he squeezes his eyes hard enough, you’ll materialize in an ethereal manner, bringing his fantasies to life. But his nose only brushes the rough peak of yours, smooth yet never in the way skin would be.

And under the lamplight, he envisions that he is still uncovering parts of you, secret to the world, save for you and him. An empathy felt only for him, only his fingers prying away your barriers.

Your blood runs gray and stony, cold to the touch, where he runs his fingers down what he assumes to be the shape of your body, hidden in the pictures he uses as references. He thinks, a time ago, he disdained the people who did the very thing he’s guilty of at this moment.

Strange, though, his frenzy only grows with every new discovery he creates, mapping your body with the landmarks, the dips of your crescent shaped thighs, admiring how beautiful you look when you’re just… simply his.

But there comes a time when his work must end, when his brush and tools must be swept aside, so he can marvel in your glory. And where he expects to feel immense pride, he only feels guilt.

Disgust that churns his stomach, turning him inside out, skin green with envy. His references were all locally sourced, but how could he have foreseen any of this? It was a simple thing, the sweet girl who lived next door, too innocent to know the power her beauty held over him.

So his only choice of action is to come clean, to hand over the hammer that could easily destroy weeks, even months of hard, untainted work. A single blow would be all it takes, and when the hammer falls limp in your hands, he is more than confused.

He watches your lips separate, the same way he had imagined all your fluid motions, your eyebrows raised, knocking against one another as you turn to him, setting his skin on fire. And unlike you, his skin is not of stone.

“You… did this?” you ask, skeptically, as if you are doubting him. The only reason that leads him to further reveal his mishaps.

“You were too beautiful to resist,” he admits, lowering his gaze in shame. Anger thrums with his heartbeat, if only he had just asked for your permission!

But to his surprise, you turn back to yourself, a mirror image of you set in one singular moment, with your gaze pondering the floor, barraging it with your thoughtful questions, and the corner of your lip quirks upward, he hopes.

“This is a strange way to ask someone out,” you murmur, voice as soft as he had imagined those words leaving your lips. Exactly how he had envisioned it, although in his dreams, you were saying more than just that.

“Sorry?” He’s blanked out on other excuses, words to fill in the silence he wishes wouldn’t be so awkward. Majoring in art left no room for any friends, unless you counted the ones online, only known in their identity overseas.

“It’s lovely,” you settle for after a second of readjusting your thoughts. He can almost see them clicking together like a jigsaw puzzle before your silky hair casts a protective sheen around it.

He wants nothing more than to pry them back apart, inspect how your mind works, to finally see the inside of your morals, how far you’d be willing to traverse with him by your side.

“Lovely?” he asks, tentatively.

<><><><>

Truthfully, in all aspects, the conversation had seemed drawn out, bland if he might venture to share his true opinion. But when you're gliding down his skin, all his rationality buries itself into an impenetrable box and refuses to come back.

“Oh, fuck, yes, just like that,” he stammers into your ear, attempting for praise but sounding weaker than he had planned.

There's an astonished look on your face, curving your lips and sweeping the lilt of your cheekbones to the side as you pant into his neck, thighs trembling around him.

And your reluctance speaks volumes to him, so he presses back for once, speaks up to keep the one thing that's grounded him to art, keeping you sane in his presence. Or somewhat the other way around.

This time, he finds what he's looking for. With every gentle stroke, every deep thrust, he breaks you even further, exposing you to his hungry eyes. He drinks up every last bit of your vulnerable form, savoring the sounds that tear themselves from your tired throat.

He cradles you, long after you've drifted off. He knows there is no use in dreaming when he's living it right now, experiencing what it feels like to be content with just rubbing your skin, soothing the reddening patches with his cool touch.

You shift to face him, and the moonlight filters through the window to illuminate your radiating, peaceful expression, as serene as it was the day he caught you sleeping in the library. He's always wanted to see that face in his bed, facing him, with your skin pressed tightly together, slick and smooth, miles of what feels like one being.

He finally reaches out, and for a moment, he fears you will turn to stone under his touch. So he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it to happen, for the inevitable to crash down onto him.

But it never does. In fact, all that meets him is warmth, rigid from the chill that creeps in through the walls. And he realizes something.

Your skin is not of stone, it never was.

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader. With stop being so pretty/handsome.” “You stop being so pretty/handsome!” Thanks!! :))

beautiful

benedict bridgerton x fem wife reader

Benedict Bridgerton was in the drawing room, a mess of papers scattered across the mahogany table. His easel stood nearby, a canvas half covered in the beginnings of a vibrant landscape. He had been at it for hours, completely absorbed in his art, when the door creaked open and Y/N stepped in, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.

"You’ve been in here all morning," Y/N chided gently, setting the tray down on a clear corner of the table. "You must be famished."

Benedict looked up, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of his wife. "I hadn't realized the time," he admitted, rising from his chair and stretching his stiff limbs. "But now that you mention it, I am quite hungry."

As he approached, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. His dark curls were tousled, and there was a smudge of paint on his cheek, adding to his roguish charm. She felt her heart skip a beat, as it often did when she looked at him.

"You have paint on your face," she said, reaching up to wipe it away with her thumb. "And you still manage to look devastatingly handsome."

Benedict caught her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers. "You stop being so pretty," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "It's terribly distracting."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and musical. "You stop being so handsome," she retorted. "It's not fair."

They stood there for a moment, simply enjoying each other's presence. Benedict's thumb brushed over her knuckles, his touch warm and reassuring. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I suppose we're both cursed, then," he whispered.

"Cursed with beauty," Y/N agreed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "What a dreadful fate."

Benedict chuckled, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Indeed. Now, tell me about your morning. What mischief have you been up to while I’ve been locked away with my paints?"

"Oh, the usual," Y/N said airily, resting her head against his chest. "A bit of reading, a walk in the garden. I did have an interesting conversation with Eloise about her latest literary endeavor."

"Ah, Eloise and her books," Benedict mused. "She’s always up to something, isn’t she?"

"Yes, she is," Y/N said fondly. "But enough about my morning. I want to hear about your painting. Show me what you’ve been working on."

Benedict led her to the easel, where the canvas stood proudly displaying the beginnings of a lush countryside scene. The colors were vibrant, the strokes confident and expressive. Y/N marveled at the way he captured the essence of nature with such skill.

"It’s beautiful," she breathed. "You have such a talent, Benedict."

He shrugged modestly, though her praise clearly pleased him. "It’s still a work in progress. But I’m glad you like it."

"I love it," she corrected, her eyes meeting his. "Just as I love you."

Benedict’s expression softened, and he cupped her face in his hands. "And I love you, Y/N. More than words can say."

Their lips met in a tender kiss, the world around them fading away. In that moment, there was only the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of their love and the promise of countless beautiful moments yet to come.

When they finally pulled apart, Benedict pressed his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers. "Stay with me," he murmured. "Let’s enjoy this day together."

"Of course," Y/N whispered, her heart full. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be."

And so they spent the rest of the day side by side, painting, talking, and simply being together. The hours slipped by unnoticed, filled with laughter and light. In the comfort of each other's presence, they found a joy that was as boundless as their love, and the world outside seemed a little brighter, a little more beautiful.

As the afternoon sun cast a golden glow through the windows, they decided to take a break and stroll through the garden. The summer flowers were in full bloom, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. Benedict held Y/N’s hand as they walked, his thumb gently stroking her palm.

"Do you remember our first walk in this garden?" Y/N asked, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips.

"How could I forget?" Benedict replied. "I was utterly captivated by you. Still am, in fact."

"You were so nervous," Y/N teased. "You could barely string a sentence together."

"Well, you were and still are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen," Benedict said earnestly. "It was quite overwhelming."

Y/N laughed, the sound like music to Benedict’s ears. "And now look at us," she said. "Walking hand in hand, perfectly at ease."

"Perfectly in love," Benedict added, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

They continued their stroll, enjoying the serenity of the garden and the simple pleasure of each other's company. As they rounded a corner, they came upon a secluded bench beneath a large oak tree. Benedict led Y/N to it, and they sat down, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above them.

"You’ve always been my muse, you know," Benedict said softly, gazing at Y/N. "Every brushstroke, every color, every canvas it’s all inspired by you."

"That’s a lot of pressure," Y/N joked, but her eyes were shining with affection.

"Not at all," Benedict said. "You make it effortless. You bring so much joy and light into my life. I couldn’t imagine my art, or my life, without you."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat at his words. She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. "And you, Benedict, have filled my life with such beauty and love. Every day with you is a blessing."

They leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of love, of commitment, and of the future they would continue to build together.

As the day turned to dusk, they made their way back to the house, hand in hand. The drawing room, once filled with the solitary pursuit of art, now felt warmer, more alive. They settled on the settee, sharing the tea and biscuits Y/N had brought earlier.

"Shall we make this a tradition?" Y/N suggested. "A day dedicated to us, to spending time together, no matter what."

"I’d like that very much," Benedict agreed. "A day just for us, every week."

"Good," Y/N said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Because I love our moments together. They’re my favorite part of every day."

"And mine," Benedict said, wrapping his arm around her. "Always and forever, Y/N."

They sat there in comfortable silence, watching as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky. Their hearts were full, their spirits content. In each other, they had found a love that was not only beautiful but also enduring a love that would see them through all of life’s challenges and triumphs.

And as they drifted off to sleep that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, they knew that they were not just blessed with beauty, but with something far more precious: a deep, abiding love that would last a lifetime

[cambion-companion]

Hi! I wanted to know, how do you imagine the interactions betwen Tav and Raphael would have gone like, if they had been Tav’s fiend patron? (as in, they already start the game with the contract (we were robbed)) 

Oh, it would be such an interesting dynamic. And Raphael is ready as ever to adapt to a new situation and manipulate it to his own ends.

The last few days had been an utter whirlwind of madness. Relief at not falling to your death from the Nautiloid contrasting sharply with the dread of having an Illithid parasite in your brain. A ticking time bomb.

You had wondered how long it would be before Raphael came to collect you. As it turned out, you didn't have long to wait before you sensed your fiendish patron's presence. The back of your neck prickled, a shower of sparks cascading from an opening portal caught your eye.

"I had wondered where you'd fluttered off to." Raphael's cadence sounded familiar and almost comforting to your ears, maybe he could help you. "And you've gained such illustrious companions along the way." Mildly sardonic as his brown eyes landed on Karlach who'd frozen in place while stuffing her face with dinner.

"Raphael." You greeted, breathless from the surprise visit. "It's..." You hesitated on the rushed words. "...good to see you." Despite the nature of the devil, you felt relieved at seeing a familiar face.

Raphael bestowed an arch look upon you, the corner of his narrow mouth tilting up. "I always keep close watch over my most prized possessions. When you disappeared from even my purview, I must admit to experiencing my own form of concern." He approached and took your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up for inspection. "You look a little worse for wear. Has my favorite client suffered a chance of ill-fate?" He moved your head to the side, you half thought he would open your mouth to inspect your teeth. "You have a little visitor inside that lovely head, it seems." He snaked a hand around the back of your neck, a little possessive as his gaze sharpened on something you couldn't discern. "A rather unwelcome one, on all fronts." You could intuit those last words were not meant for you or your companions.

"Can you help?" You asked, the urgency of your situation thrumming cold in your veins.

Raphael chuckled, his gaze still narrowed on your wan face. "Does the sun rise in the east and set in the west? Can a young sapling be felled by an ax?" Raphael gave the nape of your neck a squeeze. "I live to help those in need, and perhaps this...little problem squirming in your brain offers just the opportunity I've been seeking."

"Seeking? How so?"

"As ever, you delight me with your inquisitive mind, however naive to think I'd offer you such information so readily." Raphael looked down at you, your noses almost touching. "Come, it's time to go home and have a more private chat."

[cerisesparadise]

unspoken roads ㅡ park sunghoon

pairing - rising actor!sunghoon x fem movie director!reader

genre - romantic drama, contemporary romance, coming-of-age, lovers to exes to lovers (everyone deserves a happy ending), slight angst

warnings - none, other than writing this sent me on an emotional rollercoaster :’) maybe somewhat an open ending? (lmk if i missed anything!)

wc -  3.8k

synopsis - Once inseparable in the vibrant city of LA, Sunghoon and Y/N chased their dreams–he, a rising star in modelling and acting; she, a passionate filmmaker. When success pulled them apart, they believed they had lost each other for good. Years later, fate reunites them on the set of a film–she’s the director, he’s the lead actor. As old feelings resurface, they must confront whether their love can survive the same dreams that once tore them apart. Can they rewrite their story, or are some loves meant to remain lost?

a/n - hi!! so I can't even count the amount of times I cried while writing this, it genuinely sent me on a huge rollercoaster of emotions </3 Eitherway, the inspiration for this fic was NIKI's song "La la lost you"! Listening to the song made me think about the intent of the song, two lovers being separated in two different cities so - actor sunghoon in nyc and film director reader in la was born! I promise there will be more fluffy stories, but I hope you enjoy regardless! | bookshelf

On his rare day off, Sunghoon had no real destination in mind. Wrapped up against the biting winter air, he strolled through the streets of New York, the buzz of the city moving around him like a blur. Normally, he thrived in the energy of it all–the constant movement, the endless opportunities–but today felt different. There was nothing pressing on his schedule, no meetings, no rehearsals. Just time.

And in the quiet of that space, his thoughts drifted back to you. It wasn’t the first time. Every now and then, especially on days like this, he’d find himself lost in memories of LA. The way you used to pull him into some obscure café or alley, insisting it was your special place, even though anyone could’ve stumbled upon it. The way you’d get excited about your next project, your eyes shining with that determination he always admired. He hasn’t thought of those moments in a while–not intentionally, anyway–but they had a habit of creeping in when things slowed down, when he wasn’t distracted by work or the hustle of the city.

The cold air stung his skin, but the memories warmed him in a way that left him feeling both nostalgic and hollow. There were no answers in those memories, just lingering what-ifs.

It had been five years since he last saw you, and every moment since then felt like an echo of what his life had been before. The streets of New York had become all too familiar over the past years, yet it wasn’t the familiarity that hurt. Sunghoon had carved out a life here–navigating through the bustling avenues, attending high-profile events, and landing roles that had once felt like distant dreams. But as he walked through the city that had become his home, a weight settled in his chest. The echoes of laughter and love he once shared with you lingered in his mind, making the vibrant lights of the city feel hollow. He couldn’t shake the memories of you–the way you had once laughed beside him in the warm glow of the Los Angeles sun, the way you danced barefoot on the beach together as the sun set behind you. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever feel that spark again, lost in a city that reminded him of everything he had chosen to leave behind. One would say he’s living the dream, but to him it would never be complete without you in it. In LA, everything felt simple. Effortless even. But that was before the distance, before the cold realisation that dreams sometimes took people in different directions.

His breath came out in soft clouds as he walked aimlessly, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He had come here for a reason–some interviews, some shoots, the kind of opportunity he used to dream about when he was younger. Now, it felt hollow, like every victory he earned since you left only reminded him of what he no longer had. He tried to move on, to drown himself in work, but the thought of you lingered in the back of his mind like a song he couldn’t stop humming.

The last time he saw you was back home, standing in the doorway of your shared apartment. You had smiled that bittersweet smile of yours, the one that told him you were proud of him, even though you knew this was goodbye. “New York’s waiting for you,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears in your eyes. “I know you’ll shine there.”

He wanted to believe you, wanted to believe that this was just another chapter, that there would be more time later. But now, with the distance between you stretching not just across cities but across hearts, he wasn’t so sure.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him back to the present. It was a message from one of the guys, asking him to meet up for dinner. He ignored it for now, his gaze drifting up to the skyline. The city felt vast, cold, and impersonal, but it was exactly where you wanted to be–pursuing your own dreams. You always loved New York, even as a child. You used to tell him how you could picture yourself walking down Broadway, sipping coffee in Central Park, living the life you’d always imagined.

And now he was there. Living it without you.

A part of him wished you had asked him to stay, but he knew it wouldn’t have been fair. He couldn’t expect you to give up everything you worked for just because he was chasing his dreams. Love wasn’t about holding each other back, and he knew that the moment he boarded the plane to New York. Still, that didn’t make the ache any easier to bear. Leaving you behind in LA felt like leaving a part of himself behind, and even after all these years in a city that became his second home, he couldn’t shake the emptiness of what he left behind.

He paused in front of a small coffee shop, the kind you would’ve loved. He could almost see you sitting inside, a book in your hand, your eyes lighting up as you talked about your latest idea for a new movie. The pang of hope was sharp, almost cruel. For a moment, he considered walking in, pretending that maybe time stood still, that the years and distance didn’t erase what you were.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because he knew–you weren’t waiting for him anymore. And somehow, that truth was heavier than the weight of all the dreams he's ever chased.

Sunghoon sighed, his breath visible in the air again, and turned away from the shop. Maybe this was just how it was meant to be—two people who loved each other but had to let go to chase their own stars. Maybe, in another life, another version of New York or LA, things would have been different.

But for now, the distance was too great, the city too vast. And he was lost. Lost in New York. Lost without you.

As he walked back towards the subway, the city buzzing around him, Sunghoon couldn’t help but whisper to himself, "La la, I lost you."

A few days later, as Sunghoon sat in the backseat of the car, his mind wandered once again, almost on cue. The streets of New York became second nature to him by now, but today felt distant, like background noise to the memories swirling in his head. He hasn’t thought about LA in a while, or at least, he hasn’t allowed himself to. But today, as the city rushed past, his thoughts drifted back to you, like they did the other day when he passed by the café. The quiet moments you shared, the late-night conversations, the way your eyes would light up when you talked about your dreams–it all felt so vivid, as if time didn’t pass at all.

It was strange how quickly memories crept up on him, slipping through the cracks of his busy life. Especially now, on the brink of something new. He wondered if you still thought about him in quiet moments too. Lost in thought, he barely noticed the car pulling up to the studio. With a sigh, he pushed the memories back down, burying them like always, as he stepped out to face the day ahead.

Sunghoon walked through the studio’s doors, his usual calm demeanour in place. The hustle and energy of the place were familiar–people darting from one end to another, lighting technicians testing their setups, and makeup artists chatting with the stylists as they prepared for the day. He had grown accustomed to the noise, the constant buzz of activity that came with every project, but this one felt different. Bigger.

“Sunghoon!” His manager’s voice broke through the noise as she approached, holding a thick packet of papers in her hand–the script. “This is the one, I’m telling you. It’s a career-defining role, the perfect chance to showcase everything you’ve been working for. The studio’s all-in on this, and they’re backing you hard. You’re going to be the lead of something special.”

He nodded, taking the script from her hands, and flipping through the pages absentmindedly. He already knew the outline–he agreed to this project because the story spoke to him. It was intense, emotionally raw, and complex. But he didn’t have the chance to dive into the full script yet.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the edges of the script as he glanced over the pages. The movie, Unspoken Roads, had an almost magnetic pull–something about it felt deeply personal, even if he couldn’t quite place why.

The script unfolded like a slow-burning memory. Doyun, a man in his late twenties, had lost five years of his life to an accident–five years, including the memories of a woman he once loved, Eunjin. She was written as a beacon in Doyun’s forgotten past, someone he couldn’t recall but felt inexplicably drawn to. A road trip was their journey, but also a metaphor for piecing together shattered fragments of love, memories scattered by time. Each word seemed to pulse with the weight of something Sunghoon himself had long buried

Sunghoon paused. His eyes lingered on a line: “You can’t remember me, but I never forgot you.”

The words blurred as they sank in. Unconsciously, his breath hitched, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. Doyun’s journey, his confusion, his longing for a love he couldn’t recall–it hit too close to home. Sunghoon didn’t lose his memories, but it felt like he had lost something just as precious when he left LA. When he left you.

It hit too close to home, almost painfully so. He hasn’t thought about you in years–rather attempted not to–or maybe he did, constantly, but kept shoving the thoughts away, burying them beneath his rising career and busy schedules. But reading this, watching Doyun retrace a love he couldn’t remember, Sunghoon felt like he was standing in those shoes. He thought of you, the one he left behind in LA, the one who told him to go, to chase his dreams without you.

“We’re better off this way.” That’s what you said, wasn’t it? Or maybe you said nothing at all, just smiling through the sadness. And like Eunjin in the script, you had your own ambitions, your own road to take. He told himself it was the right choice. So why did it still feel wrong?

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. This isn’t about her, he reminded himself. It’s just a script. But as he read through the pages, your face kept flashing in his mind–every line felt like a whisper of the past, tugging at the feelings he so desperately tried to move on from.

Doyun and Eunjin’s story was all too familiar. The lost time, the unsaid words, the lingering question of what if? What if he had stayed? What if you had asked him to? Would things have been different? Could you have worked it out?

He swallowed hard, blinking away the sudden weight behind his eyes. Sunghoon didn’t sign up for this movie expecting it to strike so deeply, to unravel feelings he had locked away. Without realising it, a tear slipped down his cheek, then another, until his vision blurred entirely. The line between the script and his own past dissolved, and for a moment, he wasn’t reading Doyun’s story. He was living his own.

“Sunghoon, makeup’s ready,” a voice interrupted, like a background hum.

His thumb brushed against the tear-stained page as he stared blankly at the final scene. Doyun and Eunjin were standing face-to-face, years of separation between them, the weight of time palpable. His breath stuttered as he read Doyun’s final plea: “I lost you once. Please, I can’t lose you again. I love you too much, Eunjin.”

That line… was it something he would’ve said if he ever had the chance to see you again? Or has he already lost you for good?

“Sunghoon?” His manager’s voice was closer, more urgent.

He still didn’t respond, lost in the words, lost in a past that long slipped through his fingers. Tears continued to fall, silent but steady, until a firm hand rested on his shoulder, grounding him back to reality.

“Sunghoon!” His manager shook him gently.

He blinked, startled, realising his cheeks were wet. “Huh?” he mumbled, wiping his face quickly, disoriented by the emotion that caught him off guard.

His manager’s concerned eyes met his. “You okay? You’re… crying.”

Sunghoon touched his burning cheek, noticing the tears for the first time. He didn’t even realise. He let out a shaky breath, trying to compose himself. “Yeah, I… I’m fine. Just–this script, it’s–”

“Yeah, I know. It’s intense. But are you good to go? Makeup’s waiting.”

Sunghoon nodded, though his heart was still heavy. “Yeah. I’m fine- Let’s go.” He closed the script gently, his fingers lingering on the edges. But the lines he read, the emotions they stirred–they clung to him. Even as he stood and walked toward the makeup room, his mind was still back there, stuck between the story of Doyun and Hana, and the echoes of his own.

Maybe this wasn’t just another role. Maybe this movie found him, found him for a reason. Maybe it was time to face the past he left behind.

As Sunghoon stepped into the makeup room, the bustling atmosphere of the studio surrounded him. Makeup artists flitted about, their brushes and palettes busy transforming the actors into their characters. Sunghoon settled into a chair, trying to shake off the lingering emotions from reading the script, but the thoughts of Doyun and Eunjin clung to him like a shadow.

“Just relax, Sunghoon,” one of the makeup artists said, applying foundation to his skin with gentle strokes. He nodded absently, his mind still tangled in the narrative. But then, amidst the hum of conversation and the sounds of the studio, he heard it–a voice drifting through the air, clear and commanding.

“Okay, everyone, let’s go over the scene one more time. I need everyone on the same page!” The voice was familiar, and for a moment, he couldn’t place it. It pulled at his heart, wrapping around him like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Can we get the lighting adjusted over here, please? And make sure the sound levels are perfect for this scene. I need every detail to be flawless!” The voice was firm yet light, filled with a confidence that stirred something deep within him.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched as he froze. It couldn’t be. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him, right? Maybe the emotional turbulence from reading the script had scrambled his senses. He turned slightly in the chair, straining to hear better, but the voice faded into the cacophony of the studio. He felt a pull, an inexplicable urge to move, to follow the sound that resonated in his chest.

“Sunghoon, could you please face me?” his makeup artist asked, but he couldn’t hear her.

He had to know if it was you—if it was really you. 

“Excuse me, I just need a moment,” he said, surprising even himself as he stood up abruptly, startling the makeup artist. Without waiting for a response, he stepped out of the makeup room, heart pounding in his chest. He could still hear the voice down the corridor, and it felt like a beacon, guiding him.

As he approached the set, he held his breath, his mind racing. He rounded the corner, and there you were—standing with your back to him, surrounded by crew members who listened intently as you went over the details of the upcoming scene. You were as stunning as he remembered, even from behind. Your hair flowed down your back, and your focused stance exuded confidence.

Sunghoon’s heart raced. Was this real? Could it be? He took a cautious step forward, then another, compelled by the desire to see your face. He hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment press heavily on him.

“Y/N?” he called out, his voice shaking with disbelief, uncertainty twisting in his stomach. With shaking hands, he reached out as if to touch your shoulder, but stopped short. He couldn’t bring himself to reach out, not yet. What if he was just imagining this? What if the moment shattered if he dared to touch you?

You turned at the sound at your name, and the world around you fell silent. Your heart raced as your eyes met his. The surprise written across your face mirrored his own—a mixture of shock and disbelief washed over both of you, making the air feel electric.

“Sung- Sunghoon?” you breathed, your voice barely escaping your lips as you took a tentative step forward, your heart pounding in your chest. 

The distance between you both felt both infinite and painfully close. You hadn’t seen him in years, yet here he stood, transformed into a man who chased his dreams and succeeded. The man you once loved, now in front of you as the lead actor in the very film you were directing.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Is- is this real?”

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The memories of the last time you saw each other flooded back—his departure, the hurt in your eyes, the way you fought to smile through the pain. He left to chase his dreams, and now, standing in front of you, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of that decision pressing on him.

Your lips trembled as you fought to maintain composure. “I never forgot you. I thought… I thought maybe I’d lost you for good, Hoon…” A single tear slipped down your cheek, glimmering under the studio lights.

Sunghoon felt his own emotions surge, the dam he had built around his heart breaking down in an instant. “I didn’t know how to come back,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you every day, Y/N…”

The tears fell freely now, and he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, struggling to keep himself together. “I was so scared of what I left behind. And now… now here you are.”

You stepped closer, the distance between you disappearing entirely. “It’s like a dream,” you murmured, your voice cracking as you reached up to touch his face. “I never imagined I’d see you like this:”

Sunghoon felt the warmth of your hand against his cheek, grounding him in the moment. “Neither did I,” he said, his own tears flowing as he looked deeply into your eyes, searching for the love that had always been there, waiting patiently through the years. Instinctively, he reached up to hold your hand—the one resting against his cheek. His fingers intertwined with yours, and a wave of warmth washed over him, melting away the uncertainty that had clouded his heart for so long.

In that simple gesture, everything fell into place. The soft touch of your skin ignited memories of all the moments you shared—every laugh, every whispered secret, and every fleeting glance that had left him breathless. It felt like home, like the missing piece he had longed for during the years spent apart.

You looked at him, eyes softening as he held your hand tightly, as if afraid to let go. “Hoon…” you sighed, filled with a mixture of awe and longing.

“I’ve missed this—missed you,” he confessed, his voice trembling. The tears continued to spill down his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away anymore. “It feels like I’ve been searching for you in every role, in every city. I never wanted to forget, but I didn’t know how to find my way back…”

You squeezed his hand, your gaze unwavering. “You didn’t forget. Not really. I felt you with me, even when you were so far away, It’s like we were always connected, despite everything.”

As the weight of your shared history hung in the air, he took a step closer, closing the distance between you. With a gentle but deliberate motion, Sunghoon raised his other hand, resting it on the side of your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. He leaned in, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. The world around you faded into a soft blur, and in that intimate space, it felt like time had stopped. The tears had slowed, but the emotions still ran deep, swirling in the space between your shared breaths.

He let out a shaky exhale, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and resolve. “I lost you once,” he whispered, his voice soft but heavy with meaning. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, the intensity of his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “Please… I can’t lose you again.” His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through, the emotion clear in every syllable. “I love you too much, Y/N.”

The words hit you like a wave, crashing over you with the realisation that he was quoting one of your lines—the very words you had written for Doyun in the script. Hearing them from his lips, directed at you, made everything feel surreal and achingly poetic. You stared into his tear filled eyes, your heart racing, knowing that those words carried a deeper weight now than they ever had on the page.

You had written those lines with love in mind, never expecting them to be spoken back to you by the man who had once been your world. And now, as he stood there, saying them with every ounce of sincerity, it felt like fate had brought your story fully circle.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were different. They weren’t born from heartache but from the overwhelming sense of love that you thought you had lost forever. “Sunghoon…” you whispered, voice trembling as your hand gently caressed his cheek.

He leaned into your touch, eyes never leaving yours, the raw vulnerability between you palpable. “I’ve never stopped loving you, and I’ll never make the mistake of letting you go again,” he continued, his voice stronger this time, his hand squeezing yours. “I was lost without you. I’m done running.”

The world felt quiet, like it was holding its breath for the two of you. And as you stood there, hand in hand, you knew this wasn’t just an ending—it was the beginning of something new, something beautiful. Together.

You leaned in, forehead resting against his once more, and whispered, “You’ll never lose me again. I’m not going anywhere.”

© cerisesheaven — please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, copy, or alter any of my works. thank you angel!

[saythenametotheworld]

Timeless | jww

Pairing: SEVENTEEN Wonwoo x Reader

Notes: 2.5k words. Based on a writing prompt I saw today. here's some story written on a whim! Enjoy!

~

The sun shone brightly up the sky, bringing a comfortable warmth to the late Saturday morning at a park by the Han River. Wonwoo sat there, a timeless observer in a constantly changing world. He leaned back on the wooden bench, closing his eyes to the gentle hum of life around him. The soft breeze, the distant laughter of children, and the conversation of people around him that were reduced to soft murmurs in his ears all melded into a soothing symphony. But his thoughts were elsewhere, drifting back through the centuries to a love long past.

Wonwoo had stopped aging a long time ago, a quirk of fate that he had no idea how he came to possess but had left him a witness to the continuous march of time. He had seen the rise and fall of civilizations and empires, cities that crumbled and rebuilt, and the countless faces of people passing in and out of his life. He remembered the grandeur and the bustling markets of ancient Rome, the silent strength of the Great Wall as it snaked through the mountains between China and Mongolia, the rise of the Goryeo Dynasty, and its eventual transition to the Joseon Period.

Exactly how old is he now? He had lost count. Over time, it just didn’t matter anymore. One of his earliest memories was standing on the shores of a vast, uncharted ocean, the salty breeze whipping through his hair. He had been living his early life on an island with his kin and had no idea there was an entire world beyond the high seas. He had watched as explorers docked on the shores of his home and heard said explorers declare that a whole wide world was out there. Civilizations, society, and people. All of these were foreign to him. Surely, he must set out to see this massive world they spoke of, and he did exactly that.

Wonwoo had set sail into the unknown, his eyes alight with dreams of discovery. That was when he realized that he was no ordinary man. He was someone who had been gifted by the heavens with time—a limitless, continuous, endless amount of time.

In the years that followed, Wonwoo lived among these men, never given the chance to find his home again. He watched as men took to the seas, charting routes that allowed Wonwoo to explore the vastness of the Earth. He had walked through the newly founded streets of New Amsterdam, marveled at the opulence of Versailles, and witnessed the fiery birth of the industrial age. 

Wonwoo did everything and anything a man with unlimited time could do. He explored the world, unearthing and discovering its beauty and magnificence. He studied sciences, medicine, engineering, and even advancements in architecture and infrastructure. He dabbled with arts in its many forms. He made friends with some people who eventually passed but would be remembered as important figures in history. Sometimes he liked to think he had contributed to the progress of humanity, however little it may be.

And romance, well, despite not knowing exactly how to engage in genuine romantic pursuits, that didn’t stop him from indulging himself with people he found alluring—whoever they were, wherever they were from as long as he has taken a liking to them.

But among these myriad of memories, one stood out with aching clarity. You. 

You had been his heart's desire for heaven knows how long. Wonwoo had met you in a bustling marketplace, your eyes catching his from across the crowd. There had been an instant connection, a pull that neither of you could deny. You had spent days exploring the city together, hours lost in whispered conversations and shared dreams, and nights spent with passion and warmth.

He remembered the way your hair flowed freely with the breeze, your eyes that shone in the moonlight, the warmth of your hand in his, and the way your laughter had chased away the shadows of his loneliness. But time was a thief, and it had taken you from him, leaving only memories in its wake. Such was the life of an immortal. People will come and go, friends eventually pass, and the bond between lovers withers away like flowers in October. Although he had never experienced love the way he did with you, he tried to move on with his life knowing no power on Earth will ever bring you back. Or so he had thought.

Years later, he had been wandering through the streets of Paris when he saw you again, your face unchanged, your eyes just as bright. You did not know him—not at first—but the connection was still there, and it was as undeniable as ever.

“I know you,” Wonwoo had told you at the time.

You were surprised at first, frowning at the man with whom you unknowingly held hands when he offered to help you board your carriage. You had thought it was your coachman, but it was a stranger—an oddly familiar stranger, but still a stranger.

“You do?” you had told him, maintaining a dignified composure despite being intrigued by him. What was that slight ache tugging at your heartstrings at the sight of his smiling face? “Well, I do not know you so it would be best if you refrain from approaching me without warning, sir.”

“I see. I beg your pardon,” he replied, still smiling as if he was overjoyed to be in your presence. “I am Jeon Wonwoo. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

In that life, you fell in love once more. And like the first, your time together was fleeting, and you were gone once more. This time, Wonwoo was hopeful that you would find each other again.

This became your pattern. Several years after your death, you would reincarnate, always with the same face, the same smile, the same laughter. Fate would bring you back to Wonwoo every time, even when he wasn't looking for you. In the high society of England year 1750, you had been a debutante in search of a husband and found Wonwoo. In the streets of Tokyo, in 1821, you were a painter, your art capturing the essence of the love you shared.  In the serene hills of Tuscany,  you had been a writer, your words weaving your shared story into the fabric of time. In the roaring twenties of New York, you had been a singer, your voice a siren call that drew him to you.

Each time you were reborn, you and Wonwoo would meet as strangers, fall in love all over again, and then, inevitably, you would leave him.

“I’ll come find you,” he told you on your deathbed, sickness has caused your young body to wither away. It had always been this way. You meet Wonwoo, share a couple years with him, maybe a whole decade if you are lucky, and then some illness or accident takes you away.

“I love you, Wonu.”

“I know. I love you more than anything in this world.”

It was a cycle of joy and heartbreak, of fleeting moments to Wonwoo that felt like lifetimes for you. But he was content. He was happy and he finally had something he wanted to keep living for.

But then, suddenly, you stopped coming back. You just… didn’t. Wonwoo waited, searched, and hoped, but you did not return. The decades stretched into a century and even as the 2000s came, still, you were nowhere to be found. He scoured the corners of the earth, looking for any sign of you, but it was as if you had vanished from the cycle of reincarnation. Wonwoo had been complacent. He was too relaxed and got so comfortable that he forgot something like this could happen.

Desperation and longing became his constant companions. His endless life was lonely and devoid of meaning until he found love in you, and now, without you, it felt empty once more.

Still, Wonwoo did not dare give up. In his search for you, he discovered a new passion: music. He found solace in melodies and rhythms, and his talent quickly blossomed. He began composing and singing, pouring his soul into every note. His music resonated with people, and he became a renowned singer, his voice known across the world. While he enjoyed his craft, his fame also served another purpose. He hoped that by becoming a public figure, his face appearing on screens and stages everywhere, you would find your way back to him.

But as the years passed, his hopes began to wane. No one who came to him even remotely resembled you, not your face, not your smile, nothing. His frustration grew with each passing day, the relentless search taking its toll on his spirit. The world lauded his music, yet he remained haunted by an unfulfilled longing, his heart aching for the one person who made his endless life worth living. The world around him has changed so much, technology advancing, cultures shifting, but his heart remained trapped in the past—the time so long ago when you first saw each other. His heart stayed broken, yearning and mourning you that he had lost.

And today, Wonwoo opened his eyes only to realize that hours had passed since he sat in front of the Han River. This was your favorite spot in your last life. You made the best memories here together, and as such, this place has become the one place Wonwoo can go to if he misses you. As the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the park, Wonwoo closed his eyes again, the weight of his sadness sat heavy on his heart. He did not notice the figure that had taken a seat beside him, nor the way they watched him with a gaze full of curiosity and recognition. It wasn't until the voice broke through his reverie that he was jolted back to the present.

“You're still thinking about me after all this time?”

Wonwoo's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned to look at the speaker, his breath catching in his throat. There was no mistaking that voice. Even if it was over a hundred years ago, or two hundred, or four hundred years ago when he first heard you speak, Wonwoo would never forget that voice. And sure enough, it was you, unchanged by the years, as if you had stepped out of his memories and into the present.

“My love…” he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief and hope. “My love. Is that you?”

You smiled the same radiant smile that had haunted his dreams. “These days, I think it’s cooler to call your lover Babe, or Bub or something short but sweet like that.”

He reached out, hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You were real, warm, and alive, and the floodgates of his emotions burst open.

You reached back to caress his face. “It’s been a while, Wonu.”

Slowly, unbeknownst to himself, Wonwoo’s tears rolled down his cheeks. With both hands, he held your cheeks, pulling you to sit next to him on the grass. “Where were you? I couldn’t find you!” he said, his voice breaking. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to appear aloof even as your own tears threatened to fall. “Silly. You knew you could never find me even if you tried. It is me who must go to you. Always. It doesn’t matter if I don’t recognize you, I will always be the one to find you.”

“But it has been too long. Too much time has passed without you.”

“Why? Did you get tired of waiting?” you asked, leaning affectionately in his hands. You feigned a sulky face. “Has your love faltered after waiting too long?”

“No,” he denied, a relieved smile finally showing on his lips. “I never stopped looking for you.”

“And I never stopped waiting for a chance to come and find you again,” you replied softly. “I've seen you, through the ages. Always so close, yet just out of reach.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your shared history pressing down on you. Wonwoo’s eyes never left your face, not even for a second. If he could, he wouldn’t even blink in case you suddenly disappeared and he realized this was all just a dream. You let him stare at you as much as he wanted, enjoying his attention and feeling happy about being able to hold him again. The world around you has faded away, leaving only the two of you, bound by time and love.

Wonwoo thought back to the countless lives he had lived, the friends he had made and lost, the wars he had fought, and the empires he had seen rise and fall. Despite having everything, you had been the only one he wanted and loved, a beacon of hope and love that had kept him going. In his long life, he rarely prayed to the heavens who bestowed him the curse of immortality, but he prayed for you. He prayed they bring you back to him. If they really were up there, it seemed to Wonwoo that they had heard his earnest pleas. Or maybe not, but he still wanted to thank someone, whether it was god, fate, or the universe. Whichever it was, they had allowed him to reunite with his beloved once more.

He remembered a conversation with a philosopher in ancient Greece, who had spoken of the eternal nature of the soul. “Love transcends time,” the philosopher had said. “It is the one thing that endures, no matter the changes that come.”

Wonwoo had seen the truth of those words in the faces of lovers across the ages. He had seen it in the way a soldier clung to a locket, a token of his beloved back home. He had seen it in the eyes of a mother, cradling her newborn child. And now, he saw it in your eyes, as bright and full of love as they had been all those centuries ago.

“How is this possible?” he asked, still grappling with the reality of your presence.

“Honestly? I don't know,” you admitted. “But does it matter? We're here now, together.”

He nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “Please don’t let this be a wicked dream that I would wake up from eventually.”

You chuckled heartily, leaning closer to kiss his forehead. “It’s not, Won. It’s me.”

“It really is. It is you, my love,” he chimed, lifting your chin to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

For the first time in centuries, he felt a sense of peace, a feeling of coming home. There was a certain sense of finality in this reunion. Wonwoo could not quite grasp what this meant, but it didn't matter—not now that you're finally sitting there with him after so long.

As the stars began to twinkle overhead, Wonwoo held your hand in his and brought you home. Finally, he had found what he had been searching for all these years. Wonwoo and you found your own timeless moment, a reunion that transcended the ages. And in that moment, you both knew that love, true love, was indeed eternal.

[fin]

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | February 19th-25th 2024

I just realized this weekend that I'm gonna be away on a work conference the day of the premiere AND the next day 🙃 FML 🤦‍♀️

Complete

🔥 the kiln-blaze in my body by lamardeuse/ @lamardeuse (Post-S4 | 17K | Explicit): It's nearly six months before Buck tells anyone.

Leveling Up by lamardeuse/ @lamardeuse (Poker Date spec | 6K | Mature): When he rose to his feet, he found both Eddie and Maddie staring at him. “What?” “You, uh,” Eddie said, his eyes looking sort of glazed over. “You just did measurements by eye. And math.” “In your head,” Maddie said. “Huh,” Buck said. “Yeah, that was – weird.”

We blossom and ask no reason by lamardeuse / @lamardeuse (Canon Divergent, Florist!Eddie | 6K | Mature): “Hen!” Eddie turned at the shout to see a tall blond firefighter built like a brick wall jogging toward them. As he came closer, Eddie amended that to ridiculously pretty brick wall. Holy shit, now Eddie realized why those firefighter calendars were so popular.

🔥 The Definition of Love and All Things Ineffable by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Post-S5 | 29K | Teen): Maddie asks him, like she’s been waiting to ask him, “Does Christopher call you ‘Uncle Buck’?” “No,” Buck answers. “Why?” “He called me Aunt Maddie. You’re far closer to him than I am. I thought if I’m his aunt, you’d have to be his uncle. Why wouldn’t you be Uncle Buck?” And Buck doesn’t really have an answer. It’s just. It’s wrong. He’s not Chris’ Uncle Buck. Maybe he should be? Maybe he’s supposed to be? He shrugs and uneasiness settles in his stomach. What more could he ever be to Chris but an uncle? ~ In which Buck processes his breakup, learns his place in his family, has a huge crisis of sexuality, and finds the truth about love beating in his own heart. 

🔥 counteroffer by buckleyseddie/ @buckleyseddie (Season 6, Getting Together | 25K | Teen): Or in order for Buck to make it up to Eddie, Eddie suggests that Buck gives him one hundred kisses. 

That's What Friends Are For by phdmama/ @phdmama (Friends With Benefits to Lovers | 4K | Explicit): Eddie shows up an hour later. He’s clearly gone home and showered, as his hair is damp. He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt that Buck is pretty sure is his, and he smells of soap and bacon. No, wait, the bacon scent is coming from the bag of takeout containers he’s carrying in one hand. Buck’s eyes narrow at the sight of the object Eddie’s clutching in his other hand. “Tequila?” he asks, raising one eyebrow and then laughs when Eddie just makes a bitchy face back at him. “I mean, I’m in, obviously, but it’s like nine in the morning.”

Like Lovers Do by phdmama/ @phdmama (Accidental Sexting | 5K | Explicit): The thing is, Eddie knows Buck’s body as well as he knows his own, maybe even better. He’s seen Buck changing, averted his eyes from Buck striding naked into the showers in the locker room. Eddie has watched Buck push through a workout, he’s pressed his hands to Buck’s flesh as if he could stop the bleeding through sheer force of will. He’s woken up to Buck sleeping on his couch or stumbling around his kitchen, sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he pulls out the ingredients for pancakes. All this to say, he’s seen Buck’s body a million times, in a million different ways. But not like this. Never like this.

Flickers of Fate by steadfastsaturnsrings/ @steadfastsaturnsrings (S3E15: Eddie Begins, Soulmates AU | 1,6K | Teen): "Did-Did the man who helped me pull out the dead solider survive?" Eddie mumbled, "He-He....said he was right behind me but then disappeared...Is he okay?" "There was no other man, Diaz, You were the last one out of the helicopter. You pulled out that solider all by yourself" The official standing over him responded, looking at Eddie curiously.

Spinning Out by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (S7 Spec | 2K | General): The sun always rises in the east and sets in the west. What goes up must always come down. And if Eddie Diaz is in a helicopter with his team, it must fall from the sky.

(put some music on) soft and slow by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Canon Divergent | 6K | Teen): He walks up the stairs to the loft, and finds himself facing the backs of four office chairs. Over by the kitchen counter, Ravi gives a signal, and all four chairs turn around in impressive sync. “Saw you on TV last night,” Eddie says, still grinning. “Something you want to tell us?” OR: buck auditions for the voice. it goes about the way you'd expect.

🔥 Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 46K | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

Buttons and Patience by Tizniz/ @tizniz (PWP | 2K | Explicit): If anyone asks, Buck will blame Eddie’s buttons. Whenever Eddie wore those damn Henleys, he kept them reasonably buttoned up. But apparently not tonight. No, tonight those buttons were undone and exposing tantalizing skin, golden in the dimly lit bar lighting, and exposing Eddie’s collarbones. Buck wants to bite. Hard. Or lick. He’s not picky.

among the hungry and the patient by tinygiantsam/ @watchyourbuck (PWP | 3K | Mature): “Wanna make out?” Eddie blinked. Understandably so, by the way. He licked his lips, frowned, and took a step forward. “Excuse me?” Buck inhaled softly, somehow encouraging himself even more. “I said, do you wanna make out?” OR: Buck loses his patience with Eddie and asks him to make out.

Once Is A Mistake, Twice Is On Purpose by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Friends With Benefits | 5K | Teen): “Friends with benefits.” “Yeah.” “Just sex.” “Just sex.” Buck confirms, nodding.

Take It by Tizniz/ @tizniz (PWP | 2K | Mature): “Take it, Buck.” Eddie tells him when they break apart, squeezing Buck’s wrists. “Take it all.” “H-huh?” “This is about you and your pleasure.” Eddie gives his wrists another squeeze before he releases them, humming once more in approval when Buck keeps his hands there, fingers curling around the edge. And then Eddie grabs onto Buck’s hips, pulling him forward roughly against Eddie’s thigh. “Take what you want. What you need.”

WIP

if i need to rearrange my particles — i will for you. by dylaesthetics (Post-S6, Identity Porn | 4/16 | 15K | Teen): OR Buck joins a support app for first responders and matches with a firefighter who has PTSD and a kid who likes giraffes, apparently.

🔥 a foundation of trust and love we cannot see by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (FWB, BDSM, Sub Eddie, Dom Buck | 3/17 | 62K | Explicit): “It’s like I want to explore it and dive into it, but it’s not exactly like I’m seeing someone to try this all out with,” he explains, doing his best to keep down the annoyed huff that threatens to escape him at every other word. Buck nods to himself before steadily going silent. For a minute, Eddie thinks that this is the end of their conversation. “I can show you if you’d like.” Eddie nearly chokes on his beer.

🔥 because we'll all arrive in heaven alive by callmenewbie/ @puppyboybuckley (Post-S6, Disaster Fic | 6/9 | 41K | Explicit): During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, S7 Spec | 119/? | 357K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Re-Read

🔥Plus or Minus by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (S5 | 10K | General): “Why are you cleaning out the kitchen? Why is my stuff in boxes?” Eddie slows, then stops. “Figured you’d want it back.” It’s quieter. Pained. When he says it. “I haven’t decided anything. So unless you’re kicking me out—” “Buck. Come on.” He’s not angry or snapping. It’s still quiet, and somehow that hurts even more. He’s resigned and defeated, and Buck is a scooped out, gutted, hollow shell. “I know how this ends the same way you do. You want to be loved, you want to be married. You’re going to leave. Might as well…” His voice cracks before he can finish and get it under control. “Shouldn’t drag it out.” ~ Taylor is offered a job across the country and asks Buck to go with her. Buck has to figure out if he wants to start over or if he has a reason to stay right where he is.

[virginiaoflykos]

What to read after Light Bringer? (Series similar to Red Rising)

August 2023 update!

Red Rising is my favorite series of all time, and since I first read it, I have sought series and books similar in both spirit and execution. Some of these recs are books I haven’t read personally, but have often come up in discussions with other users!

1. The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson

Status: ongoing, expected 10 books in total, 4/10 out at the moment

Book 1: The Way of Kings. The Way of Kings takes place on the world of Roshar, where war is constantly being waged on the Shattered Plains, and the Highprinces of Alethkar fight to avenge a king that died many moons ago.

2. The Craft Sequence by Max Gladstone

Status: finished, 6/6 books out.

Book 1 (in publication order): Three Parts Dead. Comprised of 6 standalone books set in the same universe, the Craft Sequence tells the tales of the city of Alt Coulumb. The city came out of the God Wars with one of its gods intact, Kos the Everburning. In return for the worship of his people, Kos provides heat and steam power to the citizens of Alt Coulumb; he is also the hub of a vast network of power relationships with other gods and god-like beings across the planet. Oh, and he has just died. If he isn’t revived in some form by the turn of the new moon, the city will descend into chaos and the finances of the globe will take a severe hit.

3. Hierarchy by James Islington

Status: ongoing, 1/3 planned books out

Book 1: The Will of the many. The Will of the Many tells the story of Vis, a young orphan who is adopted by one of the sociopolitical elites of the Hierarchy. Vis is tasked with entering a prestigious magical academy with one goal – ascend the ranks, figure out what the other major branches of the government are doing, and report back. However, that isn’t quite as easy as Vis or anyone else thought it was going to be…

4. Suneater by Christopher Ruocchio

Status: ongoing, 5/7 books out

Book 1: Empire of Silence. Hadrian is a man doomed to universal infamy after ordering the destruction of a sun to commit an unforgivable act of genocide. Told as a chronicle written by an older Hadrian, Empire of Silence details his earlier adventures and serves as an introduction to the characters and the setting.

5. Dune by Frank Herbert

Status: completed, 6/6 books out

Book 1: Dune. Set in the distant future amidst a feudal interstellar society in which various noble houses control planetary fiefs. It tells the story of young Paul Atreides, whose family accepts the stewardship of the planet Arrakis. While the planet is an inhospitable and sparsely populated desert wasteland, it is the only source of melange, or "spice", a drug that extends life and enhances mental abilities.

6. The Expanse by James S A Corey

Status: completed, 9/9 books out

Book 1: Leviathan wakes. Set hundreds of years in the future, after mankind has colonized the solar system. A hardened detective and a rogue ship's captain come together for what starts as a missing young woman and evolves into a race across the solar system to expose the greatest conspiracy in human history.

7. The First Law by Joe Abercrombie

Status: completed. 3 books in the original trilogy + 3 standalone books + 3 books in the newest trilogy

Book 1: The Blade Itself. The story follows the fortunes and misfortunes of bad people who do the right thing, good people who do the wrong thing, stupid people who do the stupid thing and, well, pretty much any combination of the above. Survival is no mean feat, and at the end of the day, dumb luck might be more of an asset than any amount of planning, skill, or noble intention.

8. Cradle by Will Wight

Status: completed, 12/12 books out

Book 1: Unsouled. Lindon is Unsouled, forbidden to learn the sacred arts of his clan. When faced with a looming fate he cannot ignore, he must rise beyond anything he's ever known...and forge his own Path

9. Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons (one PB’s favorites)

Status: completed, 4/4 books out

Book 1: Hyperion. The story weaves the interlocking tales of a diverse group of travelers sent on a pilgrimage to the Time Tombs on Hyperion. The travelers have been sent by the Church of the Final Atonement, alternately known as the Shrike Church, and the Hegemony (the government of the human star systems) to make a request of the Shrike. As they progress in their journey, each of the pilgrims tells their tale.

[heartofmortis]

✧ the night we met

. *. ⋆ Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

summary: you confront anakin on mustafar

warnings: angst, no y/n

note: thank you so much for the love on my first fic!! here's a gift 🫶

word count: 489

Sword in hand, you are ready for battle. The glow of your lightsaber is calming against the odds. Heat prickles your skin as lava bubbles around the two of you. (You search Anakin’s eyes for the crystalline blue you have loved for so long.)

Mustafar is a horrid place. You feel the claws of the dark side attempt to cling to your sandy robes. Your resolve is strong. You will never embrace the darkness. (But your knees still try to buckle when Anakin sets his amber gaze on you. And the flutter in your stomach will not leave.)

"Come with me," pleads the Sith apprentice masquerading as your lover. "We can be free now."

"Anakin." His name scratches your throat, the hot air drying your voice. You want to scream at him to undo what he has done — but it is done. The Jedi are gone, the war is over. "I can’t."

A spark of anger in Anakin’s frame sends chills down your spine. Against the raging fire, you did not think the dark side would also feel cold. Suddenly, his eyes are soft and you want to run to him — safe in each other's arms. "Don’t you leave me too."

Your heart aches, the weight (the fate) of the galaxy pushes you low. This is the cost of love. This is what the Jedi warned you about. There is a fine line between compassion and attachment — you and Anakin had crossed it without hesitation. There was such beauty in your love for each other. Could you really give it up now?

I am a Jedi, you whisper in your head again and again until it forms a mantra. You are a Jedi. To be a Jedi is to love and let go.

(How did we get here? You wonder, heart aflame.)

You and Anakin stand in a forest clearing. A clear sky of moon and stars above you. Night birds sing and luminescent bugs drift like stars themselves through tree branches.

Hearts in hand, you vow to each other: never to stray, never to forget. Together in life and death.

You dance and whisper under the stars, hands clasped tightly for the universe to see. Until the sun rises, it is just you two Jedi risking everything for each other. In the twilight of war, how could you know your love would destroy everything you hold dear?

You first met on a night like this: a cloudless sky, lost beneath woodland. (Mustafar once had forests too. Nothing lives forever.)

Too many have died for you to walk away (with or without Anakin). You stand between a Sith and oblivion. While you draw breath, no more Jedi will fall by Anakin’s hand.

The glow of your lightsaber is calming, a righteous voice to push you in the right direction by the Force’s will. Sword in hand, you are ready for battle. (One or both of you must die tonight.)

[aquitainequeen]

I was thinking about the theme of watching death and cruelty in Furiosa.

Dementus forces Furiosa to watch her mother be tortured to death, telling her that she must not look away, even while the History Man is doing just that, even though his role would suggest that he shouldn't have that luxury.

(“Acts of injustice done Between the setting and the rising sun In history lie like bones, each one.” ― W.H. Auden)

Then in the very next scene, Dementus tells Furiosa that she doesn't have to watch the battle royale he's set up, but she flat out ignores him. Potentially she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction, or she might be catatonic; she continues to watch as the prospective gang members slaughter each other and then tear their former leader to pieces.

Immortan Joe doesn't even deign to stay and watch his War Boys attack Dementus' forces.

The Guardian of Gas Town isn't fooled by Dementus' hijacked war rig/Trojan Horse until he sees the attackers and 'War Boys' start to kill each other.

Furiosa is forced to watch one of the Wives giving birth to a mutated child and being cast out of the harem, knowing that this will be her fate if she doesn't get away, never turning her head or looking away as Rictus strokes her hair.

Dementus forcing Furiosa to witness Jack's execution, enthralled by watching her watch the man she loves die. Jack, even in the midst of this horror, is frantically looking for Furiosa, trying to see what's happening to her. And yet after he's unleashed his dogs upon Jack, Dementus suddenly doesn't have the stomach to watch what he's done, turning his back on the tortures.

Furiosa watching the People Eater plan out the 40 Day War, and he meets her eye and leers while leting grains of sand fall to signify battle.

Dementus' death, whatever form it took, is witnessed only by Furiosa. He even recommends being shot in the back of the head to increase the dread, since he won't be able to see the bullet coming.

[cauldronblssd]

Watch It Glow

CH 1/5 | Read on AO3

For @elucienweekofficial Day 1 - Fated

Thank you to my wonderful betas, @climbthemountain2020 and @witch-and-her-witcher.

Iron bars greeted Elain as she opened her eyes. Everywhere she looked, she found it - iron bars on the windows to a yard gated by iron and stone walls, iron knobs on the door to her bedroom, and an iron ring, flanked with pearls, covering her finger. She’d tried to soften the effect with breezy yellow curtains and flowers by the window. She begrudgingly replaced them every few days, the room didn’t get enough sun to grow anything. 

The thick wool of a rug served as a barrier between her bare feet and the cold stone floor as she stepped out of bed. A tray with tea and her morning breakfast rested along the table in the corner. Elain wrapped a warm robe in her favorite shade of green around her body to fight against the chill. Despite all of the color she spread around the room, the gray stones of the walls seemed to leech any light and happiness from the space. Every step she took seemed to echo around her. Aside from a few servants, she would be alone in the manor for most of the day.

Elain squeezed a slice of lemon into her tea before lifting the mug, letting the steam waft into her face. This time in the morning was one of the few simple pleasures of the day she allowed herself to savor. She sat at the table, reading correspondence that had collected from the day before.  A few of the noble families had moved back to the village to rebuild, and the Asters had invited her to a ball they would be holding in a few weeks' time. She read three more letters in the same vein, each polite but mundane in nature. The letter she hoped for, from Feyre or Nesta, would not come by post, but would be spelled to her room directly. It had been a concession that Rhysand demanded, allowing her to stay in contact with her sisters, even if it must be discreet. At the time, she’d requested nothing for herself, allowing her family and her betrothed to make the negotiations on her behalf. Now, she felt grateful that Rhys had been so forceful in his requests.

Setting her empty teacup down with a pleasant clink, she headed to her adjoining bathing chamber to draw a hot bath. She could avoid her duties for a little longer, relishing this time before the sun had fully risen. Afterwards, Elain would be spending long hours running the manor. She’d lost two members of her staff in the recent months, and replacing them had been harder than she’d hoped. Despite their advertisements in local papers for their town and the next several over, the pay did not entice anyone to leave their current position.

Not to mention, so few people were willing to live so close to the place where the wall had once been. Neighboring towns murmured that it was cursed, that dark magic lingered. Others feared the new treaties would be impossible to enforce with no wall or wards to prevent faeries from coming to snatch humans away, as they had once done. While Elain would like to refute this particular fear, she couldn’t deny it, given that what happened to her own sister had launched the series of events that led to her being made fae.

Elain sank into the tub, letting her muscles relax as the hot water seeped into her body. She always felt cold, either due to the cold gray skies or her too thin frame. She draped her long hair down the back of the tub to keep it from getting wet as she submerged further, letting the water rise to her chin. 

Just thinking of the faeries in the neighboring court made her nervous. Her own secrets felt too precarious. Her hold on her magic felt shaky, and she worried that just the presence of other fae might trigger an unwanted release of her powers. Elain nervously felt the tips of her ears, reassuring herself that the glamour remained firmly in place. Even in her own chambers, she never let it slip. She couldn’t risk alerting the servants. Her marriage, too, depended on her willful denial of all things magic.

The truth of who she was, what happened to her, felt too painful to acknowledge. Most days, her old human body felt like a comfort. Other days, it felt like chains from which she couldn’t free herself. She hadn’t seen her own, true face, in years. It felt disorienting to forget the particulars of her own features, like a distant relative. Even her movements, she forced herself to alter. Elain had quickly adjusted to the easy, graceful gait of the fae. Upon her return to the human lands, she’d retrained herself into her old, clumsy posture, moving her hips more stiffly or stepping a hair too loudly.

Elain regretfully extricated herself from the bath, wrapping a towel around her body. She chose an elegant but simple day dress from her wardrobe, the same as what she wore most days when not expecting guests. She tightened the stays around her waist and breasts. Between her frail frame and her naturally small breasts, she doubted anyone would notice if she forwent the constricting garment, but propriety demanded it. 

Long before her engagement, before Feyre had ever hunted down the wolf, Elain had been regarded as beautiful. Her own mother dismissed her for it, seeing her as destined only for a marriage based on her beauty. Her husband, too, had often remarked on it. It had been one of the first things he spoke to her of when they danced at a ball. Glamoured to her old human self, something about her appearance never seemed quite right. Her features remained soft, her eyes a shade of warm brown. She meticulously cared for her loose curls, and they shone as any human woman’s might. It seemed dull to her now. 

Something shifted imperceptibly, it was her own face, but not. She wondered if Rhysand had not captured her human features completely when he’d glamoured her, or if she just had lost appreciation for her own face and body.

Elain inhaled deeply before gripping the iron door to her room and trudging down the hall. She walked down the stairs to the dining room, meeting the cook to review the menu for dinner that evening. The maids and kitchen staff offered her polite nods or small smiles as they passed by her. She longed to talk to them, befriend them, but had been scolded that it was not proper for the lady of the house to spend time with the staff. Who she was meant to interact with was less clear, given that there were no ladies to invite to tea, and she saw her own husband only for dinner before retiring to separate rooms.

The only lady of significance in the village lived just a few miles from her own home, but they did not see each other. Lord Nolan had gifted the property on the outskirts of the village to Queen Vassa in hopes of securing her favor once she returned to the throne. What a queen would want with such a plain and unwelcoming house, she didn’t know. Of all the places for a queen to reside, she certainly would never have chosen her own humble village.

After the war, when she had settled into her routine as the lady of the Manor and a married woman, she’d written on a few occasions to inquire after the queen to invite her to tea or simply to ask after her wellbeing. She’d never received a response, even to decline her offer. She suspected that the messages never truly made it to the fiery queen, but she could never prove it. Graysen often met with her on some official business or another, but she had never been invited to join him and he rebuffed any of the questions.

Once, she’d glimpsed the queen in her firebird form. Even with talons and flamed feathers, she still exuded royal grace as she sailed above. The queen had released a screech that she could have sworn had been directed at her. She didn’t know if a bird’s caw could have a tone, but she felt certain there was unspoken judgment in that sound. It was that memory that prevented Elain from pressing Graysen or Lord Nolan further to visit the queen. Perhaps he had delivered her messages, and only meant to spare her feelings that the queen did not want to see her.

If Vassa resented Elain’s place in the village, she supposed she couldn’t blame her. They had both had their human bodies and mortal lifespans stolen from them. But while the queen was forced to relinquish her womanly form each day to take to the skies, Elain remained comfortably hidden amongst the humans in secret. She’d never had another vision of the queen since the war ended. She suppressed her own powers through sheer force of will and a weekly dose of fae bane. Occasionally, she considered loosening her hold on her magic, just so she could see if she could summon another vision for Vassa. Perhaps if she did, the Queen might consider inviting her into her home.

Jurian, her general and living companion, was another matter. She had seen him, once or twice, reviewing some security measures with Graysen and Lord Nolan, pacing the fields of ash groves that lay behind the manor. It didn't seem entirely proper to live alone with the general. From what Elain knew, Vassa did not keep servants and did not have any other family or court members in her home. To live unmarried with a man would be scandalous by most standards, but she supposed royalty adhered to different rules than lords and ladies.

From what she knew of the queen, she eschewed tradition anyway, much to the Nolan’s chagrin. They believed that ladies, even queens, should follow the guidance of men, should speak only when spoken to. It was just another barrier to her friendship with the queen, Graysen did not permit her to spend time with anyone he considered unsuitable. More than her lack of courtly manners, Elain suspected that the reason that she was not permitted to speak with Vassa was the magic that touched her. Vassa was tied to an immortal God, after all. While still human in appearance, she might draw unnecessary attention to Elain and her own predicament.

She’d thought about asking in one of her letters to Feyre if she still hoped to break her curse, if anyone from the Night Court communicated with Vassa and might beseech on her behalf, but she knew that would invite too much involvement from her sister into her life. Feyre and Nesta never rebuked her outright for her choice to stay with Graysen. She had been so miserable in her time in Velaris, so unmoored by her visions and her loss of her true love, that they had been willing, though reluctant, to make arrangements for her to stay in the human lands.

She knew that Feyre wanted them to stay together. Nesta had fully joined the fold of her inner circle, training as a warrior and mating with Rhysand’s own brother. Elain considered returning to Velaris for Nesta’s mating ceremony, but ultimately decided against it. It had been a selfish choice, she knew. Feyre had assured her that they could winnow her to Prythian and return her that same night, if she’d wanted. Even Rhysand, whom she rarely spoke with, had written to encourage her to come, saying how much it would mean to both Feyre and Nesta to have her there for the day.

Graysen would never agree. Besides, she feared what it might draw out of her to be around so much magic and fae. Instead, she wrote her sister often, suggesting choices for flower arrangements and finding out everything about human wedding traditions she might incorporate into her own ceremony. She sent her little gifts, embroidered signs and hand calligraphed invitations, hoping that she could show her that she would help, offer her any amount of her time, from afar. 

Once a year, her sisters came to visit the manor on her birthday. They made arrangements with the Nolans to clear the house of servants so they could winnow directly into the home and see with their own eyes that she was well and cared for. Along with the letters, it had been one of the requirements of their marriage agreement. Even though she missed her sisters, she dreaded the visits. They looked at her with such concern and pity, she felt the need to overcompensate by acting overly cheerful and enthusiastic.

After their last visit, she felt so exhausted and frustrated, she kept to her rooms for two days, claiming a headache. She knew the staff whispered that it was her own reluctance to age or her sadness that another year passed where she had not born a child. That she did not age and would never bear a child with Graysen was something that she did not say. Someday, arrangements would have to be made for an heir to the Nolan line. Graysen would most likely take a lover, and Elain would raise the child as her own. They couldn’t risk a child born demifae. 

To hide her own powers required constant diligence, to mask the body and magic of a child seemed impossible. Could Graysen love a faerie born child? She doubted it. She tried to imagine her child running free on the property through a forest of ash and amongst the fae hating soldiers that guarded the gates. For love, she would face it, but she wouldn’t place that burden on her offspring.

Elain agreed to a plain dinner of venison and vegetables that the cook had suggested. Though the woman’s skills were considerable, the Nolan’s palettes remained unrefined and therefore their food unseasoned. The vegetables, bought at the market, tasted as much of dirt as anything else due to the unfavorable soil. She’d offered, once, to try growing some produce in the garden herself. Like all things, Lord Nolan deemed it unladylike and suggested she take up painting or an instrument instead. Elain did not have her sisters’ artistic or musical genes and hated both.

She practiced needlework and arranged bouquets of flowers. She filled odd hours practicing the languages of the continents and reading their history, hoping she might one day put her hosting skills to more work as a courtier and the lady of the manor. That, of course, required that any foreign guests deign to visit the human lands outside Prythian. Moreover, it also meant that Graysen allowed her to speak with them about more than the occasional comment on the weather or their preferred dance. Still, if she could not travel, she could at least read and educate herself.

After meeting with the staff, Elain took her parchment and tea to the garden behind the manor to set about returning a letter to the Asters about the ball. She planned to offer her assistance to Lady Lidia. She might find something new to busy herself with and make a friend in the process. She’d just finished pressing the wax seal to close the envelope when she heard a crunch in the gravel from behind her. The heavy steps told her it could only be Graysen’s father, Lord Nolan. The pace of his steps slowed as he approached her. Elain plastered a pleasant smile on her face, as she stood to curtsy a greeting to her father-in-law.

“Lady Elain, you look fine this morning.”

“Thank you, Lord.” She lowered her eyes demurely.

“To whom might you be writing?” No letter ever left the house without one of the two men she lived with approving it.

“Just a letter to Lady Lidia. Her family just returned to the old Aster estate a few miles over. They plan to throw a ball, and I offered her my assistance.”

He nodded his approval, responding gruffly. “Very nice. However, I must ask that you rescind the offer.”

“As you wish. Might I ask the reason?”

“Graysen planned to speak to you this evening, but we ask that you remain more closely at the manor for the next several days. Should any needs arise, please let Parsons know and he will have someone see to it.”

“Is there any danger, sir? Should I alert the servants?”

“The matter has already been addressed with the staff. I will notify you personally when the issue has been resolved.”

Without any further conversation, he inclined his head as a dismissal and turned to walk back towards the town. Elain hated that Graysen and Lord Nolan refused to provide her with any information about the dangers that plagued their days. That they bypassed her to speak to the servants directly snubbed her role as the Lady of the Manor, one of the only true responsibilities they allowed her.

Even years after the war, they spent much of their time reviewing their weaponry and meeting in secret. It is not the first time they’ve asked her not to leave the manor, though usually Graysen delivered the information himself. 

With a sigh, Elain sat back down and broke the seal on her letter. She would compose a new one, politely declining her invitation. Perhaps the threat would be lifted by the ball and she might write to her again to plead for a renewed offer. It hardly set the right tone for a new friendship, but she would supplicate herself to the woman. Even groveling, in the coy sense of a lady, would be preferable to the monotonous silence of the manor.

*****

Two days passed, and Graysen and Lord Nolan never returned to speak to her or tell her how long she might expect to be stuck in the manor. She caught the servants looking at her pityingly on a few occasions. Despite their distant relationship, she knew the servants favored sweet, mild-mannered Elain. Only their loyalty to her kept rumors of her marriage from making it to the town gossips. Personal matters often traveled from one house to another in this way. 

What might they think if they knew that lovely Elain, whose fiancé had been so smitten with her he promised to court her upon their first meeting, had spurned her already, never visiting their marriage bed. Blame would fall on her, as it always did on women. They would speculate that she was frigid or dull or some other odious trait that might lead a man to look for a mistress rather than find satisfaction with his wife.

Whether Graysen chose this, she wasn’t certain. He was gone often, but presumably spent much of that time in the company of his own father. She’d never scented another woman on him, never caught any glances exchanged between him and another lady in her social circle. This meant little, of course. Outside of the social gentry, one might have any number of affairs without making any promises to the woman involved. Graysen might choose such an opportunity, now that he’d secured a pretty wife to host his dinners and uphold his reputation as a respectable gentleman. Feyre had an affair of her own, when they had fallen poor. No one had looked twice when she snuck off, unsubtly, to take her pleasure in the barn with Isaac Hale.

Occasionally, Elain regretted that she had not chosen a man for herself during those years to enjoy herself and gain some experience. She had entered into her marriage with her purity intact. The silent and dispassionate exchanges she had in the dark of her bedroom with Graysen hardly fulfilled the fantasies she’d had in her youth. Elain had been a dreamer, imagining a great romance to sweep her off her feet. She’d expected that to include the kind of thrilling sex life she’d read about or now heard her sisters describe. While the first few times had been awkward, she’d felt sure with practice they might learn about each other’s bodies and find ways to pleasure each other. Graysen had no such interest, his efforts in sex as stilted as their conversations. Eventually, he stopped coming to her bed at all and she stopped asking. 

Elain’s shoulders ached from crouching over her embroidery hoop for too many hours to pass the time. Forbidden from gardening, she sewed flower after flower into pillows and handkerchiefs and napkins. She could only study history or languages for an hour or two at a time before her brain turned to mush. She looked out the window through the gaps in the iron bars to see that the sun shone brightly. She did not see any danger. 

The guards had not taken any extra preparations, they chatted amiably with each other out in the courtyard as they stood at their posts. They only engaged in such casual behavior when the Lord and his son were away. One guard, Bade, had a soft spot for her. She’d noticed his gaze lingering on her as she passed to and from the house on more than one occasion. He was not unusually handsome, but he was sweet and always offered her a greeting, which was more than her own husband could say.

Had Lord Nolan instructed them that she was not to leave the house? Most likely. However, Elain had spent her whole life charming her way into getting the answers she wanted. Perhaps if she acted casually enough and buttered up the guards a little, she might take a walk to the village for an hour or two. She could pick up a new book and stop by the market. If the villagers knew of any danger to the area, there would be talk of it.

Elain grabbed a basket and her cloak before donning her most innocent expression. She strolled through the front door, offering friendly greetings to the two guards stationed on either side. She walked as quickly as she dared without drawing attention. Better not to speak more than necessary so she wouldn’t be caught in a lie. When she reached the iron gates, she paused to address Bade and the other guard, Radcliff.

“Isn’t the sun just beautiful today?”

Both men looked at her warily, though a slight flush bloomed on Bade’s cheeks. She heard his pulse jump, pounding loudly in the silence of the courtyard.

“Indeed, my lady. I did not know that you planned an excursion for this afternoon.”

Elain just smiled sweetly, tilting her head to the side. “Not planned, necessarily. Aida mentioned that she was a bit short of greens for tonight’s stew. I offered to fetch it from the market for her so that I could enjoy the sun. I had need to stop at the seamstress, anyway.”

The guards exchanged glances.

“All this gloomy weather had left me feeling rather ill. I hoped fresh air might ensure my good health.” She was laying it on thick, she needed to slow down if she didn’t want to raise suspicions. She recalled, with amusement, a time when her father had told her that faeries couldn’t lie. These men, of course, did not know that she wasn’t human, but she hoped to call upon a bit of fae trickery to get them to believe her all the same.

Bade bowed respectfully. “Of course, my lady. Lord Graysen will be most pleased to see you looking so well when he returns.”

“You’re too kind, Bade. When does he plan to return?”

Radcliff cleared this throat, perhaps startled that she did not know when to expect her own husband. “Tomorrow evening, Lady Elain, if my information is accurate.”

She forced a smile. “Perfect, perhaps I will pick up something for him while I’m out. You’ve been most helpful. Thank you, gentleman.” She looked at them each in turn, standing at the gate expectantly. They pulled the gate open and Radcliff raised his hand for her to proceed.

The village was just a little too far away to walk comfortably, and Elain’s feet started to ache in her boots by the time she reached the market. She had not intended to buy anything, but now that she’d told the guards about the cook’s need of it, she couldn’t return empty handed. Elain meandered amongst the stands, hoping to look inconspicuous. Usually, the lady of a house would never deign to procure her own food at the market. She tried not to linger too long in any area so that she didn’t call attention to herself. She knew many of the people selling their goods from when she had been poor, when she had bartered anything they had in the cottage to secure food and clothing when she could.

Speaking to any of them now, it was as if those years never happened. In her heart, she wanted to be forgiving, they had all been forced to face many hard years in the best way they could. However, she couldn’t bring herself to truly forget the scornful glances they’d given her when her bones had poked out of her body in every direction from near starvation. Even less so could she forgive the way it humiliated Nesta, the wound to her pride that still lingers.

Keeping her head down, she hadn’t noticed the uneasy glances of many of the customers and merchants as they bustled about the market. One woman held to her purse so tightly as she walked about, her knuckles had turned white. Another man already begun to shut down his booth, despite it not being an hour past noon. Elain’s heart began to beat a quicker pulse in her chest. Discreetly, she looked at her hands. They looked human, normal. Her fae hands had been graceful, with slender wrists and long fingers. Her skin too, looked human. She could even see where a patch had grown rough from the cold spring weather. Her ears were hidden behind her hair, but she felt no difference.

She turned around, looking for any indication of a disturbance. Perhaps there was danger after all, and she should hurry home. She tried to remind herself that she was not a weak human any more. If true danger arose, she could run quickly or defend herself if need be. But that would raise questions she was not prepared to answer.

Still, the thought of another day of quiet in that house with nothing to do but stitch roses and lilies might be her undoing. She quickly purchased some celery and spinach from one of the new merchants to town before hustling towards the next street where the shops were located. An unnatural quiet hovered over the street that normally sang with commotion on a busy day. Faces turned northward where crowds separated with clumsy urgency. She looked towards the cause of the disturbance. A spot of red hovered over the crowd of onlookers.

She stood, transfixed, hoping that she might catch a glimpse of who held the attention of so many villagers. Elain began to turn the other direction when she saw the familiar dark hair and broad shoulders of Jurian walking through the crowds. He looked agitated, his jaw clenched and his hand gripping the pommel of his sword. Jurian was infamous, as a war hero, but surely not the cause of such a fuss?

Elain looked at the person walking behind him and dropped her basket in surprise. She let out a surprised gasp that caused a few people to look in her direction. Walking alongside Jurian, his ruby colored hair gleaming under the bright sun, was Lucien.

[siren-serenity]

off to the grand line we go

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖 tell me, what is your dream? to become stronger? to roam the seas in sight for freedom? whatever you want, the sea is willing to offer

-all written by 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍-

note: the ones with (nsfw) are not suitable for minors! minors dni. however, those without any other labelling are safe for everyone :)

𝐋𝐄𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐄'𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 note: i've only watched a couple of one piece episodes so i'm not that sure of what arcs or whatever is happening. please be patient with me!! i will not write nsfw for non-humanoid characters ex. chopper honorary tag for sfw works, sanji + ace -> @officialdaydreamer00

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 ↳˳;; ❝ who is luffy to you?ᵕ̈೫˚∗

you would forever immortalize that day. the fated day in which you met the mugiwaras, or the straw hat pirates. luffy, thrusting his hand into your field of vision, mouth grinning and an odd laughter bursting from him. then, in the corner of your eye, you saw everyone else with an earnest look in their eyes. "join my crew!" luffy beamed, like sunshine, like the sun itself. your soul ignited. your heart resonating, beating like drums in your chest. "aye," you grinned, clapping your hand into his. "i pledge to make you king of the pirates!"

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈 ↳˳;; ❝ pillow prince (nsfw)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

sanji's hands are shaking as he holds yours, cradling them as if they were the finest piece of treasure in all the seas. his eyes are earnest, glimmering as always whenever he looks at something he loves, but they're more sincere than ever. "my dream is not just the all blue anymore. it's you and it's always been you."

𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐆𝐀𝐒 𝐃. 𝐀𝐂𝐄 ↳˳;; ❝ lucky to have youᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ who is luffy to you?ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ when he loves you (ace ver. part two)ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ you're so in loveᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ midnight snacks, midnight confessions (modern au!)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"i never thought there was someone out there who could love me," ace blows out a wisp of smoke from his mouth, looking outwards from where he leaned on the railing of whitebeard's ship. the sunset highlighted his rugged looks that always made your heart stutter. his next words are quiet, murmured like a sacred whisper. "but then you proved me wrong."

𝐑𝐄𝐃-𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 ↳˳;; ❝ when he loves you (shanks ver. part one)ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ who is luffy to you?ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"let's just drink our sorrows away," shanks lifted up a heavy bottle of rum before giving you a light-hearted grin. the sun rising behind him lit up his ruby hair and he seemed to glow otherworldly. "or shall we just drink merrily until we're black-out drunk?"

𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍 ↳˳;; ❝ my favorite shade of blueᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ when he loves you (buggy ver. part three)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"you," buggy grabbed your chin, tugging you closer to him. his lips curved upwards into a scarlet-smeared grin. blue eyes glimmered and shimmered with a hint of insanity yet there was something about the look in his eyes that made you drawn into the craziness of him. "you will be the greatest act of all."

𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐓𝐄 '𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐎𝐍' 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄 ↳˳;; ❝ morning routinesᵕ̈೫˚∗

you let an exasperated, yet concern-filled sigh escape your lips, hands bandaging his injured shoulder with ease. rosinante watches you with the slightest hint of guilt brimming in his eyes and you immediately felt soft again- no! he set himself on fire again! you must stay strict and- "thank you," rosinante grinned at you, charming in his own unique way, and you felt your heart flutter. "i love you."

𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 ↳˳;; ❝ i just wanna kiss youᵕ̈೫˚∗

"i swear, on my blade, that i will always protect you," zoro pledged and he seemed so serious that you didn't retort as you usually did. he sheathed wado ichimonji and then held your hands in his own calloused ones. the sun had set behind him and outlined his well-built body against the brilliant blue sky. "i swear it, because i will always prioritize you first and foremost." he took your breath away. he always had and always will.

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃. 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐖 ↳˳;; ❝ early dawnsᵕ̈೫˚∗

"thank you," law whispers. he holds you tight to his chest, inhaling your sweet, unique aroma paired with the metallic, sharp scent of blood. thankfully, the majority of it wasn't yours and you were alive, in his arms. "never do that again. please." law is begging, perhaps for the first time in a long time. but he will get down on his knees and do every humiliating action if you could remain safe forever.

𝐁𝐎𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊 ↳˳;; ❝ eyes and smiles (my heart beats louder)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"in this vast sea," hancock murmurs, having a lost look in her eyes. you step closer, embracing her gently with a hand cradling her head to you. "my love for you transcends everything." she leans back to look you in the eye and to your surprise, they had small shimmers of tears in the corners. she smiled and it was like the sun had blessed you with warmth. "perhaps our love is the most beautiful of them all."

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic fics by ...

- jaerie -

[1]

He stared with saucer-wide eyes at the wild so close up for the very first time, every minute twitch of the alpha’s face seeming exaggerated like Louis was looking at them through a high definition magnifying glass.  The flair of his nostrils with each breath, the tight clench of the muscles along his jaw and purse of his lips, the flitting of his light coloured eyes as they seemed to analyze Louis’ face, the unsubtle dilating of his dark pupils.  

His own eyes seemed to grow impossibly wider as the alpha slowly began to rise, growing in size like a dramatically slow motion scene in a movie with a sea monster rising out of the water to show their full and intimidating mass that eventually overshadowed the large ship looking to capture it.  Louis could do nothing but watch with absolute terror as the alpha rose to stand at his full height, towering over Louis like an eclipse and leaving him in a shadow from the morning sun. Louis didn’t even know the wilds were capable of standing completely upright, he’d never seen it, and to witness it for the first time while being held in place by the death grip of the same wild that had at least a foot on him had his shaking knees threatening to give out on him and his bladder threatening to release.  

[2]

“Hi!”  He said again and Harry took the hand he offered and shook it firmly.  “I’m Louis from Omega Services.  It’s nice to meet you.”  

“Aren’t you a little young?” Harry blurted out and then slapped a hand over his mouth.  At least that’s what he had intended to do, but with his glasses still gripped in the same one, he ended up smashing them into his face.  

“Ow! Fuck!” he exclaimed and ran his tongue over his lips to make sure he hadn’t busted one open.  Louis just laughed, light and cheery.  

“You okay?  But don’t worry, I get that a lot.  I promise you I am a fully certified and licensed heat specialist and I’ve been doing this for almost four years now.”

“Sorry.” Harry nodded, leading them the few steps to the kitchen. “I’m just not sure what I was expecting or supposed to expect, I guess.  Maybe a middle aged doctor type or something.”

[3]

If his parents no longer lived in Louisville, he didn’t have an excuse to ever return.  He wouldn’t have a reason to be there without a contracted appearance.  Security would never let him back on set just to “visit” Louis after he was truly turned over to the “real world”.  Plenty of his peers had disappeared over the years in the same way, never to be seen again.

He knew it was far fetched but he began to realize that somewhere in the hidden recesses of his mind he had convinced himself that someday he and Louis would end up together.  In the rom com movie plot of his life he was sure that eventually fate would allow them to be together.  They would have a tearful reconnection, bond, get married, have children... but the possibility of that was slipping through his fingers like loose sand.  It would never happen if Harry was written out of Louis’ life just as everyone eventually was.  

[4]

Their phone call was connected via sex hotline.  All logic said that biology was exactly what it was yet that didn’t explain why Louis had been so preoccupied with thinking about the omega since that first call. 

Louis shook his head.  It was only because having a nice omega caller was a rarity.  That was all it was.  He was horny and a nice omega with a sexy voice had been transferred over to him at the right time.  

But if Harry wanted to think so, Louis wasn’t going to change his mind.  He was Louis’ most tolerable client, likeable even. He didn’t want to scare him off.  

“Must be meant to be,” Louis said with a grin as he cleaned himself up.  He always hated the way lube and come started to get tacky between his fingers almost immediately.  

“Guess we’re one of the lucky few.”  

Louis sat back with his eyes closed and let himself imagine that that was true for at least a little while.  True connections like that were mostly made up, but he wasn’t immune to romantic thoughts.  Plus, wasn’t he paid to let people have their fantasies?  He figured he was allowed to have his own once in a while.  

- Answers below -

[1] The Wilds

The creatures that Louis observed every day weren't exactly human, but yet they were. Researchers had plucked some of them from their secluded island and transplanted them into an enclosure against their will like a bunch of zoo animals. Louis didn't think they were. But he was only paid to do the yardwork, he didn't have any say about the wilds that lived there. That was until an unfortunate accident changed his life forever and made one wild in particular his top priority.

[2] Just Jump

Finally, after years of suffering alone, the insurance plan at Harry's new job covered omega heat services. As a grown omega adult, it finally felt like the right time to try it out. And, since taking an entire week of heat leave would really put him behind at work, using a service to shorten it seemed like a responsible decision. At least that’s how he rationalized it. He was nervous about his decision but it was too late. The doorbell rang.

“Hi!” The alpha said again and Harry took the hand he offered and shook it firmly. “I’m Louis from Omega Services. It’s nice to meet you.”

[3] OmegaVision

Tomlin Networks Presents: OmegaVision starring Louis Tomlinson! The world's first 24/7 reality channel available in over 150 countries worldwide following the life of the first male omega born in over a century. Follow Louis through his daily routine, the ups and downs of growing up or just leave him on for comfort. There are many reasons to tune in but, no matter what yours may be, there's always a part of Louis that is just like you!

Or a Truman Show au that nobody asked for where Louis is Truman and Harry just wants to be his mate

[4] Confessions of a Fabricated Alpha

Hearing it now almost made Harry hang up the phone, but he sighed and pressed one to be connected to one of their alpha operators. He’d already committed to this low point in his life and hanging up meant he couldn’t wallow in it and he was in a wallowing mood.

“You are being connected to alpha operator number forty-four. Rogue will be with you shortly.”

The name was said in a different voice like a voice mailbox someone might have on their office phone. It made him snort out a laugh at how stupid it all was. It felt like a budget sex line.

 or famous alpha Harry Styles has a secret and paying an alpha to roleplay a relationship with him over the phone is the only way he can be himself.