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grandline-fics · 2 days ago

Note

I'm so in love with your writing, I'd love to see the "one bed trope" from you! Maybe a little suggestive, as far as you're comfortable, of course.

DESCRIPTION: There was only one bed

WARNINGS: nothing too suggestive, more on the fluff side

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Shanks

WORDS: 2,065

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. I didn't know which characters you wanted so used the most popular form the recent poll. I had intended to do Ace as well but only had the energy to get something done for Shanks and Mihawk. I love this trope so much that i'll probably do more parts in the future. I hope you're happy with what I came up with and I'm sorry I didn't make it suggestive.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

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MIHAWK

You were going to kill Crocodile. Not only did he order you to the tiniest island you’d seen in a long while, were the only thing in abundance seemed to be gloomy expressions but he also insisted you go to ‘keep an eye on' Mihawk. Since you considered Crocodile your main superior-a perspective you hadn't dropped since your Baroque Works days- you couldn't exactly refuse the assignment but it just made zero sense for you to be here. For starters Mihawk worked alone and efficiently enough that he didn’t require anyone to look out for him. Plus ‘observation’ wasn’t your usual role in Cross Guild. Normally Crocodile handed you a bounty list, told you to pick one and go get them.

This was just one big headache and to make matters worse after scouring the entire island a call came through from Crocodile saying the bounty had already been completed and just handed in. Now you really were going to kill your boss, but from the look on Mihawk’s face it seemed you would have to get in line. From the receiver, Crocodile’s laugh caught both of your attentions. “Look these things happen so stop pouting. Just make your way back to Cross Guild.”

Mihawk didn’t offer a response and ended the call, walking out of the alley you’d both stopped at to take the call. Silently you fell into step beside the former Warlord, walking the streets of the island for what felt like the hundredth time already. You let out a sigh of relief to see the inn come into view, now the only thing on your mind was trying to get a good night’s sleep and calm your annoyance at the whole situation. You couldn’t even muster a polite smile to the receptionist at the desk. “Two please.”

“Oh.” The receptionist glanced between you and Mihawk, her expression trained with years of experience to appear calm but you both saw the flicker of nervousness in her eyes for the smallest moment. “I’m sorry but we’re booked almost to capacity.”

“You’re joking.” You muttered. Why was everything going against you today? “You have nothing left?”

“W-well we’re a small island. Rooms go fast but we do have one room available.” You and Mihawk exchanged a look, both composed. Then the receptionist had to uselessly add. “Only one bed…” With a sigh you held out your hand for the key, knowing there wasn't much choice. Muttering thanks you glanced at the number of the keyring and headed for your room for the night. Stepping inside you found it lived up to your very low expectations but at least it was clean. Silently you eyed the bed you would have to share and looked to your stoic roommate. “So which side of the bed do you want?”

As expected Mihawk was mature and respectable about the whole thing. Calm as ever he chose his side-the one closest to the door- and settled in for the night. Mihawk’s ability to fall over to sleep at ease was enviable because in the dark you could hear his deep, even breaths as he slept facing away from you. As tired as you were and as comfortable as you normally did feel in Mihawk’s presence you just couldn’t fall asleep. While the bed you lay in wasn't the worst you’d ever had to sleep in, it wasn’t the comfiest and living at Cross Guild had practically spoiled you. You’d gotten so used to stretching out, something you couldn’t exactly do at this moment.

Deciding to just make do with your half of the bed and not disturb Mihawk, you rolled onto your side with the intention of getting comfortable. The only problem was you’d vastly overestimated the room you had to move and could only gasp as you felt the bed disappear from under you. In a split second as you braced to hit the ground, you were instead caught by a pair of hands. With ease you were pulled back onto the bed and you tensed to feel your back make contact with the warmth of Mhawk’s chest. “Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s fine, just sleep.” He told you while pulling one arm back to tuck his hand under his pillow. You tried not to react to how sleep brought Mihawk’s voice to a lower register that made it so much more attractive to you. You only nodded at his instruction and shifted slightly, already so much more comfortable than you had been all night. The only thing now was you noticed Mihawk still had one arm loosely draped over your body, not quite holding you but still enveloping you in his touch. “This is only to keep you from falling out of the bed again.”

“I didn’t say anything…” You mused, lips curving into a teasing smile that Mihawk could practically hear in the dark. “If you wanted to cuddle all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t make me kick you out of this bed.” Mihawk warned in your ear, despite the threat you smirked to feel his arm over you tighten just a little.

“Relax, your secret is safe with me.” Ordinarily you would have teased him a little more but between the tiredness finally winning over you and the warmth of his body against yours being so comforting. For a moment Mihawk wondered if you were genuinely comfortable against him, ready to release you at the first sign of unease. Yet you surprised him when you yawned and lazily placed your hand over his arm and smile in satisfaction as your eyes slid closed, your breathing evening out as you fell asleep.

Mihawk had been taking his time to slowly get to know you and let you in little by little, but now watching you roll onto your other side and curl up against his chest he began to reconsider his actions. Perhaps a few more missions away from Cross Guild’s base wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

SHANKS

This type of situation should not be happening in this day and age. Not with your crew and Captain having the reputation and fame they had. Drawing names to see who was sharing rooms of all things reminded you of when the crew was only just forming and the coin to pay for individual rooms was a luxury. Some of the others on the crew shared your slight annoyance but you all knew that there wasn’t much you could do about it. The ship needed repairs after getting damaged in a ferocious storm with the sleeping quarters affected and unusable for now. You were all pirates after all and you supposed you needed to be reminded of that.

Still though you were secretly hoping you were one of the lucky ones who got their own room. You mentally cursed when Ben pulled out a slip of paper and read your name out. Resigned to your fate you grabbed your drink and took a plentiful mouthful as the vice-captain grabbed another piece of paper to announce your roommate for the night. As you wiped the stray remnant of the liquid from your lip you spotted the man pause and fight a laugh, disguising his amusement by rubbing the lower half of his face. “Captain Shanks.”

Your back went rigid and you ignored the burning stares of the rest of the crew as you instead turned your attention to the man in question. Even he seemed momentarily thrown by the announcement but he recovered swiftly as expected of the laidback man. His dark eyes met your gaze and he offered you a cheeky smile and a wink.

That night when all the drinking had been done you and Shanks stepped into your shared room. Without needed to consult on anything you both instinctively went to your preferred side of the bed to sleep on. You sat down and worked on kicking off your shoes and shrugging out of your coat to at least be a little comfier. You looked over your shoulder when Shanks lightly cleared his throat as he pulled back the cover to settle down on the mattress. “Problem Cap?”

“Not really.” Shanks mused with a sly smile. “I usually sleep naked is all.”

“Poor baby, I’m sure you can be brave and at least keep your trousers on for one night.” You teased, used to your Captain’s antics and knowing he was only making jokes to ease the slight tension at having to share like this. With a tired groan you settled down on your side of the bed as Shanks flicked off the light, bringing the room fully into darkness. “If not the barmaid should still be about to help you.”

“And downgrade my sleeping partner? I’d rather lose another limb.” Shanks told you dramatically, offended you’d suggest such a thing. You let out a huff of amusement and rolled your eyes as you stared tiredly at the ceiling, letting yourself grow more comfortable against the mattress. “I lost count how many of the crew wanted me to swap with them…”

“Uh-huh.“ You mused with a lazy smile before breaking out into a long yawn, sleep coming over you quickly now. “Well aren’t you lucky? Now go to sleep, ‘kay?”

“Can I at least get a good night kiss?” Shanks teased lightly, playfully tapping your nose and grinning in the darkened room to see your tired face scrunch up slightly. He’d said it as a joke, something for you to barely register in your mind as you drifted off to sleep. What he hadn’t expected though was you to roll onto your side and push yourself up with a low hum of sleepiness, not even bothering to open your eyes fully.

He watched silently, completely overcome with curiosity as your hand reached out to skim your fingers against his face, searching for him in the dark. Your hand settled against his cheek and slowly you drew closer. With half-lidded eyes Shanks couldn’t take his gaze off of your slightly parted lips.

“Shanks…” your voice was barely a breathy whisper but it was clear as a bell to Shanks, his attention raptly on you and only you. Quickly you pulled back just enough and opened your eyes to smirk slightly to see Shanks had leant in slightly to chase your lips he had been quietly eager to taste.

“You’re killing me here, love.” Shanks protested with a small pout, his hand dropping to the small of your back, fingers flexing slightly a gesture, to request you close the distance. He wasn’t forcing you, you had all the power here. You tilted your head and smiled at the sudden pet-name. You couldn’t deny the temptation to give in to your own idle curiosities about your handsome Captain. Given how you were sharing a bed and he'd requested a kiss you would have been foolish to throw away the opportunity you had. Still you had to at least get a little bit more fun out of it by keeping Shanks in momentary suspense.

Finally you relented and kissed Shanks, your lips moving languidly against his; it being no surprise to you the he was already returning the action with no hesitancy. There was no fight for dominance in the kiss you shared but you could feel the power and command of Shanks’ presence over you but he left the pace, duration, and intensity entirely up to you. As much as you wanted to take it further, to push your curiosity and attraction towards the man against you for your own satisfaction you had to pull away reluctantly, knowing you wouldn’t have been able to enjoy what would follow fully with how tired you were. “Satisfied with your good night kiss, Captain?”

“You have no idea.” Shanks grinned pressing a quick kiss against your head as you settled down on the bed again. “I can now sleep peacefully and dream the sweetest dreams.”

“Good.” You grinned sleepily, opening your eyes just enough to fix him a playful smile. “I expect a good morning kiss in return by the way.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, love.” Shanks grinned at you, already counting down the hours until he got to feel his lips against yours again but for now he would enjoy the time he had to sleep beside you.

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maskedbyghost · 3 days ago

Text

Recovery (part 2)

Summary: When Simon Riley is injured in combat and left temporarily paralyzed, his world is turned upside down. Forced to take time away from Task Force, he struggles with the loss of his independence and his own demons. His live-in nurse, hired to help him through his recovery, quickly becomes a point of frustration and comfort. Will Simon let himself heal not just physically, but emotionally—and open his heart to the one person determined to stay by his side? Word count: 4.5 k

The late afternoon sun peeked through the blinds, casting faint golden stripes across the living room floor. Simon was at the dining table, arms crossed as he stared at the empty notebook in front of him.

It was part of his therapy—writing down a list of small goals for the week. Simple things: sit up straighter during exercises, transfer from chair to couch without assistance, manage a day without snapping at you (which you were tempted to suggest for the list).

But Simon had been sitting there for over twenty minutes without picking up the pen.

“You’re overthinking it,” you said softly, leaning against the doorway.

He glanced at you from under his lashes but didn’t reply.

Pushing away from the doorframe, you stepped closer and took the chair across from him. “They’re just goals. They don’t have to be perfect.”

He grunted. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

Simon tapped the table with the end of the pen, his brows furrowing slightly. “Feels stupid. Writing this out like... like it’s gonna make a difference.”

“It might,” you offered, leaning your elbow on the table. “It’s not about making things magically better. It’s about making it easier to see the progress you’re actually making.”

He still didn’t look convinced, but he reached for the pen anyway.

You watched as he scribbled something down, his hand large and awkward around the slim pen.

“What’d you put?” you asked when he paused, glancing up at him.

Simon hesitated before tilting the notebook just enough for you to see.

Be less of a prick

You snorted, covering your mouth. “Setting the bar high, huh?”

A small, rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Figured you’d appreciate it.”

“Well, as the person who has to deal with you every day, I do.” Your tone was light at that moment.

Simon rested his arms on the table, rolling the pen between his fingers. “Y’don’t have to,” he said.

Your brows furrowed. “Don’t have to what?”

“Put up with me.” He wasn’t looking at you, his focus fixed somewhere on the far edge of the table. “Wouldn’t blame you if you got sick of it.”

You tilted your head, studying him. He didn’t usually offer these glimpses into what was happening in his head, and it made you proud to witness it.

“I don’t ‘put up’ with you,” you said softly. “I’m here because I want to be, Simon.”

Something in his expression shifted, just barely. His jaw tightened, his lips parting as though he had something to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to phrase it. Finally, he nodded, leaning back slightly in his chair.

“That’s dangerous, you know,” he said after a moment.

“What is?” you asked, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

“Caring.” His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, more intense than you expected.

Your breath caught for half a second, but you recovered quickly, holding his gaze. “Maybe,” you said with a small shrug, “but I’ve been known to live dangerously.”

The smile that ghosted across his face at that moment wasn’t forced or guarded—it was just him.

And for the first time, it felt like the space between you wasn’t so far apart.

It was a quiet morning, sunlight spilling weakly through the kitchen window as you cleaned up the remnants of breakfast. Simon was at the table, absently turning his coffee mug in slow circles. His workouts were getting a little better, but the strain was still there.

You turned back from the sink and caught him looking at you. Not just a glance, but a slow, lingering gaze, but he blinked and looked down as soon as he noticed you noticing.

“Need more coffee?” you asked, pretending not to notice how flustered he suddenly seemed.

He shook his head. “No.”

“You sure? You seem like you need something.”

Simon’s lips twitched—not quite a smile. “Pushy, aren’t you?”

“It’s part of the job description,” you teased, walking past him to grab the towel you’d left on the counter. His eyes tracked the motion, subtle but noticeable.

It wasn’t the first time you’d caught him looking, but it felt different now. Less guarded.

There was the time you were adjusting his position during therapy, your hands on his shoulders to guide his posture. His muscles shifted beneath your touch, warm and solid, and when your fingers accidentally brushed the back of his neck, he froze.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back quickly.

But Simon didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked to the floor, like he was trying to sort through a dozen thoughts all at once.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he murmured after a moment.

The comment lingered longer than it should have.

As the days stretched into weeks, Simon’s walls began to crack in ways you didn’t expect.

One evening, after you’d finished helping him through an especially frustrating therapy session, he sat in the living room with a distant look in his eyes. You hesitated in the doorway, unsure if you should leave him to his thoughts, but he spoke before you could retreat.

“My dad,” he started, voice rough, “wasn’t the kind of man you’d want to be around long. Mean bastard, really.”

You paused, caught off guard by the sudden admission. “That sounds hard,” you said gently, moving to sit on the edge of the couch across from him.

“Hard wasn’t the word for it,” Simon said with a bitter chuckle. “But it taught me to survive. When you’ve been through enough shite, it doesn’t stick as much. Least that’s what I told myself.”

He glanced at you, before he continued. “You, uh… you don’t talk like most people. Don’t pity me.”

“I don’t pity you, Simon,” you said softly. “You don’t deserve that. And you don’t need it.”

For a moment, the expression in his eyes was unreadable.

It wasn’t long after that conversation when the tension between you became harder to ignore.

You were working with him through some stretches, helping to guide his legs into position. As you adjusted the placement of his hips, your hand brushed just slightly higher than usual, resting a moment longer than intended before you realized and pulled away.

Simon didn’t move, but his breathing hitched just faintly, something he couldn’t quite mask. You cleared your throat, pretending not to notice, but he didn’t miss your flushed cheeks.

“Should I worry about your technique?” he asked dryly, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“Only if you’re going to keep moving wrong,” you shot back.

He chuckled softly, the sound catching you off guard. You glanced at him then, and the way he was looking at you stopped you in your tracks. Not with the same guarded annoyance as before. His attention lingered on your face, then briefly, the line of your neck before he averted his gaze.

Late that night, you helped him settle in bed. He didn’t need as much assistance now, and you handed him the blanket, your fingers brushing briefly against his.

“Goodnight, Simon,” you said, lingering for just a moment too long before stepping away.

His voice caught you halfway to the door. “Hey,” he said, and you turned to see him watching you again, his features relaxed in a way they rarely were.

“You know,” he said slowly, “this’d be a hell of a lot harder without you.”

Your heart skipped, and you gave him a small smile. “That’s what I’m here for.”

But the way his gaze lingered as you turned out the light suggested that wasn’t all he meant.

The winter winds had begun creeping into Simon’s home, seeping through the old cracks in the windows. You adjusted the blanket around his legs, a routine between you both at this point. Simon had been more himself lately—still gruff, still the kind of man who said more with a glance than words, but lighter somehow.

“Bit cold for you, innit?” he said as you set a mug of tea on the table beside him.

“You’re the one who insists on keeping that window cracked,” you shot back with a faint grin.

“Can’t stand feeling caged in. You’d know about that if you stopped fussing.”

“I’m not fussing,” you argued, though the half-smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “I’m making sure you don’t freeze.”

Simon didn’t respond, his eyes flicking from the mug to your face. He always studied you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

You felt the weight of his gaze now, and it sent warmth creeping up your neck.

“What?” you asked as you sank into the worn armchair across from him.

“Just wonder how you put up with me,” Simon muttered, his attention shifting back to the tea.

“You’re not so bad when you’re not being stubborn,” you said lightly, leaning back. “Maybe you’re growing on me.”

That earned a low chuckle, and something about the sound made your chest tighten.

That evening, a particularly biting wind whistled through the cracks in the living room window. You were curled on the couch with an oversized throw, scrolling idly through a book on your Kindle when Simon came back from his room. His hoodie hung loosely off his frame as he maneuvered his chair toward the fireplace.

“Thought you’d call it a night,” you said softly, setting the Kindle aside.

Simon shook his head. “Couldn’t sleep.” He paused a moment, glancing at the throw half-draped over the couch. “Bit crowded up there. You mind sharing that?”

It caught you off guard—he rarely asked for anything that wasn’t practical. Without hesitation, you scooted over, leaving just enough space for him to transfer over to the couch, his movements slow. Once settled, you hesitantly spread the throw across both of you, acutely aware of the heat radiating from him in the small space.

Neither of you spoke at first, the only sound the crackling of the fire. But when your shoulders brushed, you glanced at him, surprised to find his eyes already on you.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Simon exhaled softly, his gaze dipping down to the blanket for a moment before returning to yours. “Nothing.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “Starting to think you don’t actually want me here.”

“That’s not it.” His voice was steady, but the look in his eyes gave him away.

When he reached for your hand beneath the blanket, it wasn’t hesitant. It was natural, like something he’d been waiting too long to do, his fingers curled gently around yours

“Simon…” you began, but whatever you were going to say faded into the air as his free hand tilted your chin slightly toward him.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft, the rough edge of his lips a stark contrast to the tenderness of the moment. He didn’t pull away quickly—if anything, he seemed reluctant to stop, his fingers still brushing yours beneath the blanket.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours for a moment, his voice low. “You really are impossible,” he murmured, but there was no irritation this time. Only affection.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and the room filled with a quiet warmth that seemed to reflect the moment you’d just shared. Simon’s forehead was still resting against yours, his breath calm.

Neither of you spoke for a long while, you didn’t want to move, you didn’t want to break the delicate balance of whatever had just begun to grow between you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that before,” Simon finally muttered.

“Kissed someone?” you teased, leaning back just slightly so you could look into his eyes, your lips curving into a soft smile.

A faint grin tugged at his mouth. “Not like that,” he admitted, his fingers brushing along yours again beneath the blanket.

“Good,” you whispered, surprising yourself with the honesty in your voice. “I wouldn’t want it to be something you gave easily.”

Simon huffed a soft laugh at that, his shoulders relaxing a little more. He leaned back against the couch but didn’t let go of your hand. “You’re trouble,” he murmured.

“So you’ve told me.”

For a long while, you both stayed there, his thumb moved absentmindedly across the back of your hand, a small, repetitive motion that left you feeling unsteady in the best way.

Eventually, your exhaustion began to catch up with you. The weight of the day, the emotions, and the fire’s warmth all started pulling you under. You shifted slightly, leaning toward Simon without thinking, your head brushing his shoulder.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, starting to pull back instinctively, but Simon’s free hand settled gently against your side, keeping you there.

“Don’t,” he said simply, his tone softer now. “It’s fine.”

You froze for a moment, caught off guard by the surprising vulnerability in his voice. Then, slowly, you let yourself relax against him, your head resting against his shoulder while his arm settled across you. The blanket covered you both like a cocoon, and for the first time in what felt like ages, the world outside faded completely away.

Simon shifted slightly beneath you, careful not to disturb the precarious balance. His warmth pressed against your side, and you swore you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“Comfortable?” he asked after a while.

You nodded sleepily. “Yeah. You?”

“Think I’ll survive,” he muttered dryly, but the small squeeze of his hand against yours told you everything else he wasn’t saying.

At some point, your eyes drifted shut, and Simon’s hand began to move again, this time brushing lightly along your arm. Whether it was a conscious effort or not, you couldn’t tell, but the steady, repetitive motion lulled you further into the haze of sleep.

“You’re not going to wake up with a crick in your neck, are you?” Simon murmured, his voice cutting through the fading edge of your awareness.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, nestling closer without really thinking about it.

He didn’t respond, but you felt the faintest press of his lips against the top of your head—soft, fleeting, but undeniably real. It was enough to send a shiver through you, your heart thudding in a slow, steady rhythm that matched his.

As you drifted off, Simon stayed awake a little while longer, his gaze fixed on the fire’s dying light. His hand lingered on yours, a silent promise he wasn’t quite ready to put into words yet. But for now, neither of you needed words.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Simon Riley felt like he wasn’t alone.

Simon had been quieter than usual over the past few days—short replies, little eye contact, and an edge to his tone that you couldn’t quite place. You gave him space at first, thinking it might just be one of his bad days. He had plenty of those, after all, and you knew better than to push when he wasn’t ready.

But the tension between you lingered.

You caught it in the way he avoided meeting your gaze during his therapy sessions or how his answers to even simple questions were clipped and dismissive. He seemed more frustrated than usual when his progress felt slow, and more often than not, his frustration turned inward.

One afternoon, as you helped him with his stretches, he pulled away sharply, his voice hard. “I can do it myself.”

You took a step back, hands raised in surrender. “Fine,” you said, trying to keep the bite out of your tone.

He barely glanced at you before struggling through the movement on his own, his jaw tight and his breaths uneven.

You wanted to argue—to tell him he didn’t need to do everything alone—but something about the set of his shoulders stopped you. Instead, you busied yourself with tidying up the room, giving him the illusion of space even as frustration churned in your chest.

That evening, the tension spilled over into a sharp exchange at dinner. You’d cooked something simple—a recipe you’d memorized by now after weeks of trial and error with his preferences. Simon barely touched the food, pushing it around his plate with a scowl.

“Is it bad?” you asked, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm out of your voice.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, but his tone made it clear he didn’t mean it.

You set your fork down with a sigh, fixing him with a tired look. “You could at least pretend to appreciate it, you know. I didn’t have to cook for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he shot back, his eyes finally meeting yours with an intensity that caught you off guard.

“No, but someone has to,” you countered, your voice sharper than you intended. “Or do you think everything’s just magically taken care of?”

The next day, Simon was uncharacteristically terse as you helped him into his chair for his morning exercises. His mood seemed darker than ever, and every attempt you made to engage him was met with a wall of indifference or irritation.

When you reminded him of the exercises his therapist had prescribed, his patience finally snapped.

“For fuck’s sake, I said I’ll do it later!” he barked, the force of his voice startling you.

You froze, staring at him in shock. “You’ve been saying that all week, Simon,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m trying to help you, but you keep shutting me out.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he said bitterly, wheeling himself a few feet away to put some distance between you. “You think I can’t see what you’re doing? Hovering like some bloody mother hen? I don’t need it—or you.”

The words hit, your breath catching as your chest tightened with both anger and hurt. “You don’t mean that,” you said quietly, though even you weren’t sure if you believed it.

Simon scoffed, looking anywhere but at you. “Don’t I?”

Something inside you snapped then, the frustration, hurt, and exhaustion of the past weeks bubbling to the surface. “You don’t have to make this so hard, Simon!” you shot back, your voice rising. “I’m here because I care—not because I have to, or because someone told me to. But you—” Your voice broke for a moment, and you took a steadying breath. “You can’t even see that, can you?”

His expression flickered for a moment, but the stubborn set of his jaw remained. “Maybe I didn’t ask you to care, either.”

The words hung in the air like a slap, the final blow that sent the last threads of your patience unraveling. You shook your head, your hands trembling as you fought to keep your voice steady. “Fine. If that’s how you feel, then I’ll leave.”

Simon’s eyes snapped to yours, a flicker of surprise in his gaze before he masked it with indifference.

“I’ll call Kate and let her know,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “She can send someone else—someone you won’t hate as much.”

You didn’t wait for a response. Turning on your heel, you left the room, the sound of the door closing behind you echoing louder than anything he might have said.

You spent the evening packing in silence, your mind racing as you replayed the argument over and over again. Part of you hoped Simon would come to his senses, that he’d apologize or ask you to stay.

But by the time you stood at the door with your bag in hand, the house was silent.

“I hope you get what you need, Simon,” you said softly, though you weren’t sure he could even hear you.

You stepped out into the cool night, each step away from him feeling heavier than the last. In the end, all you could do was hope he’d realize what he’d lost before it was too late.

The first few days after leaving Simon had been a blur. The pain of walking away felt like a dull ache that never fully went away, lingering beneath everything you did, every conversation you had. You hadn’t spoken to him since that day.

He hadn’t reached out, and neither had you. Part of you had hoped that he would, that he’d break the silence, but as the days turned into weeks, that hope faded, and with it, a part of you hardened, protecting itself from the lingering weight of everything unsaid.

You returned to work, plunging yourself back into the routine of your days, though it felt empty without him, without the way he had slowly started to seep into your life.

It had been hard, at first. Hard to focus, hard to sleep, hard not to think about the hurt between you both. There were moments when you caught yourself reaching for your phone, planning to send him a message—just a simple, “I hope you're okay”—but you stopped yourself every time. He had made it clear, in his own way, that he didn’t want you there. It was hard to accept, but you couldn’t keep forcing yourself into a situation that Simon wasn’t ready for.

As time passed, though, you settled back into your life, finding small comforts in the routine. You still missed him, in ways you couldn’t quite explain. It was more than the desire to be near him—it was the moments of tenderness, the connection you had started to feel, that bond you’d developed without even fully understanding how it happened. It was a nagging reminder of everything you could never have.

On the day while you were in the kitchen, stirring the pot of soup you’d been slowly working on, completely absorbed in the task. You hadn’t thought of Simon much that day; your mind had been elsewhere, lost in your cooking, in the quiet of your small apartment. But as the aroma of garlic and thyme filled the air, you suddenly heard a knock at the door.

You frowned, instinctively wiping your hands on the towel before heading over, curious at the unexpected sound. You weren’t expecting anyone, and it seemed strange that someone would come by unannounced. You peered through the peephole, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw who was standing on the other side.

Simon.

You couldn’t believe it at first. It wasn’t just that he was here—it was the sight of him, standing tall in front of your door, no wheelchair in sight, his posture straight and his demeanor almost... shy? The last time you saw him, he’d been a far cry from anything like this. He looked better. More like the Simon you remembered from before the accident. And he had a smile on his face, small but genuine, and it completely stunned you.

You opened the door slowly, hardly able to speak as he stood there, just watching you.

“Simon?” Your voice cracked slightly. “What… What are you doing here?”

He smiled again, though this time, there was a mixture of nerves in his expression. His usual stoic demeanor was gone, replaced with a vulnerability you’d never expected to see.

“I… I’m here,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. “All because of you.”

Your heart skipped, unsure of what he was referring to. He saw your confusion, and the smile faded slightly as he straightened up, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I worked hard,” he continued, looking down momentarily, as if to gather the right words. “I… didn’t want to come back like this—like someone who’s broken or incomplete.” He let out a breath, looking up at you with a newfound softness in his eyes. “I’m sorry. For pushing you away. For everything I said. It wasn’t about you—it was about me, and the mess I was. I wasn’t just angry. I wanted you, and I thought you deserved someone whole, not… someone stuck in a chair.”

The words hit you like a blow, and for a second, you were too stunned to say anything, the guilt and relief overwhelming you both at once. All this time, he hadn’t been rejecting you. He had been rejecting himself—his own brokenness, the feeling of worthlessness he had carried with him.

“I’m sorry, too,” you whispered, taking a step forward without thinking. “I should have been patient. I should have understood you better.”

Simon shook his head, a hint of regret in his smile as he shrugged it off. “No. No more apologies.” Then, his voice dropped into a soft, almost hesitant tone. “I just... I’m asking for another chance. I know it’s been a while, but I’m asking you on a date.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “A date?”

He nodded slowly, watching you with such intense longing that you almost couldn’t bear it.

“Yeah,” Simon said, offering the smallest, most sincere smile you had ever seen. “You’ve been patient enough, and you deserve someone who can give you their whole self… not just part of it.” He took a deep breath and chuckled nervously. “I don’t know what this might be, or even where we start—but if you’ll give me the chance, I’d really like to show you that I’m worth the wait.”

You blinked, fighting the rush of emotion that swelled inside you—relief, joy, the sudden weight lifting from your chest. Finally, after all this time, the silence and uncertainty had ended. He wasn’t perfect. And you weren’t either. But you were willing to try.

After a moment, when you finally found your voice again, you whispered, “I think I’d really like that.”

Without saying anything more, he pulled you toward him, his hands finding your waist as if guided by instinct, not words. The first touch of his lips against yours was gentle but filled with emotion. A little tentative, but deep with meaning, like he was testing the waters of what this was—what it could be.

It was a kiss born from everything between you: all the hurt, the misunderstanding, and finally, the breaking down of barriers. You kissed him back, slowly at first, your fingers threading into his hair as you let yourself lean into the warmth of his body.

The kiss deepened, this time with more intent, and you felt his hesitation slip away as he pulled you closer, if that was even possible. He moved with the slow determination of a man who’d been through too much to take things for granted. His hands traced the line of your back, steady but eager, each movement drawing you nearer to the feelings you’d both buried too long.

When he finally pulled away just enough to catch his breath, he rested his forehead against yours, his lips trembling with a smile. “I've missed you, more than you know,” he murmured.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you whispered, your heart racing in your chest.

Simon stepped back slightly, smiled shyly, and said, “So, what do you say? Another chance?”

Before you could answer, you moved forward again, closing the gap between you. Without a word, you kissed him again, this time with all the certainty you hadn’t felt before. A kiss that was an agreement, a promise—this was a new start, and you were ready. You didn't need to say it aloud—your lips told him everything he needed to know.

It felt like home, but better. It felt like the beginning.

-------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @ptbab

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #simon riley

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jungwnies · 1 day ago

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ASKING YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND TO HELP YOU DECORATE THE HOUSE FOR XMAS 🎄

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : tws : light kissing, nothing heavy ୨ৎ : word count : 3094

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : it's finally xmas season & this one was so fun and cute to write i love it >.<

ʚ・max verstappen

it was a couple weeks before christmas, and you were sitting on the floor, a box of ornaments and tangled lights in front of you. max was on the couch, scrolling through his phone, looking entirely too relaxed for someone about to be recruited for decorating duty. you glance up at him, already preparing your argument.

“baby,” you say, dragging out his name a little.

he doesn’t even look up at first, just gives you a hum. “hmm?”

“i really want to decorate the house for christmas. the tree, the mantel… everything.”

that gets his attention. he finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “decorate? like, the whole house?”

you nod, trying not to laugh at his expression. “yes. it’s our first christmas here together, and it’ll be fun. please?”

he sighs like you’ve just asked him to do the impossible, setting his phone down and leaning back. “i’m going to be terrible at this,” he mutters, already standing up.

you grin and pat the spot next to you on the floor. “you’ll survive.”

turns out, he wasn’t exaggerating—max is hilariously bad at decorating. the lights are a disaster. he pulls them out of the box, only to end up with a massive tangle in his hands. “how does this even happen?” he grumbles, holding up the mess. “these things are worse than a bad strategy call.”

you laugh, reaching over to help. “just give them to me before you make it worse.”

then it’s the ornaments. he starts off just randomly putting them on the tree until he gets oddly picky about the placement. “you can’t put two gold ones right next to each other,” he says, moving one.

“since when do you care about ornament placement?” you tease.

“i don’t, but this looks wrong,” he says, smirking.

when it’s time for the star, he insists on lifting you so you can put it on top. “don’t fall,” he warns, steadying you with both hands.

“you’ve got me,” you reply, laughing.

later, as you both sit back and look at the finished tree, he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “it’s not terrible,” he says, but the small smile on his face tells you he’s secretly proud.

you let out a soft laugh and give him a kiss on the cheek, "it's perfect considering this is our first christmas together."

ʚ・lewis hamilton

it was a chilly december evening, and the house already smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine. you were standing in the living room, a box of decorations at your feet and the christmas tree still bare in the corner. lewis wandered in, his beanie still on from walking roscoe outside, and gave you a curious look.

“baby, you planning to do all that by yourself?” he asked, nodding toward the box.

“was kind of hoping you’d help,” you said, looking up at him with a playful grin.

he chuckled, stepping closer and taking off his beanie, his curls springing loose. “you know i’m terrible at this kind of thing, right?”

“you’ll be fine,” you said, pulling out a strand of lights. “besides, it’s about the effort, not perfection.”

he raised an eyebrow, a skeptical smile on his face. “you sound like you’re setting me up to fail.”

but, to his credit, lewis dove right in, untangling lights with the focus of someone preparing for a race. “these things are like tire warmers,” he muttered, holding up a hopeless knot.

“i don’t think pirelli makes christmas lights,” you teased, reaching over to help.

once the lights were on the tree—after much adjusting and a few laughs at lewis’ questionable wrapping technique—you moved on to the ornaments. he took his time with each one, carefully inspecting them like they were trophies, even asking about the stories behind a few.

“this one’s cute,” he said, holding up a small handmade ornament. “you make this?”

“when i was a kid,” you admitted, a little embarrassed.

he laughed gently as a slight smile spread onto his face. he help the ornament carefully, placing it near the middle of the tree. “it deserves a good spot.”

when it came time for the tree topper, lewis insisted on doing it himself. “gotta make up for my shocking lights performance,” he joked. he climbed onto a chair, carefully placing the star on top while you steadied him.

stepping back, the two of you admired the tree, the warm glow of the lights filling the room. lewis slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “not bad for a rookie decorator, huh?”

you leaned into him, smiling. “you did great.”

he kissed your temple, his voice soft. “it’s not really about the tree, you know. it’s about moments like this.”

and as roscoe wandered in, settling near the tree with a content sigh, you couldn’t help but think he was absolutely right.

ʚ・george russel

it was late afternoon, and you were sitting on the couch with george, boxes of christmas decorations scattered around the room. the tree stood bare in the corner, waiting for some life to be added to it. george leaned back, one arm draped casually along the back of the couch, watching you as you sorted through ornaments.

“are we actually going to decorate today, or are you just going to stare at the boxes?” you teased, holding up a tangled string of lights.

he smirked, pushing himself off the couch. “alright, alright, i’m coming. but you know i’m terrible with the lights. they’re always a mess.”

you handed him the string, grinning. “well, you’re in luck. you’re tall, so you can deal with the top of the tree.”

george rolled his eyes playfully, taking the lights from you. “great. the perks of being tall. you get stuck doing all the hard jobs.”

“you’re lucky i’m not asking you to string lights outside,” you joked, sorting through the ornaments. “now, don’t mess it up.”

he stepped up to the tree, carefully draping the lights over the branches. “don’t mess it up,” he repeated in a slightly mocking tone, turning back to flash you a cheeky grin. “you’ve got a lot of faith in me.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “i do. just... don’t make it look like you threw them on blindfolded.”

george chuckled softly, finishing his work and stepping back to inspect it. “there. masterpiece. what do you think?”

you tilted your head, pretending to be deep in thought. “hmm... it’s not bad. i’d give it... seven out of ten.”

“seven?” he gasped, feigning offense. “love, that’s a solid nine at least.”

“if you say so,” you teased, holding up the star. “want to do the honors?”

he took it from you, carefully placing it on top of the tree. stepping back, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “there. now it’s perfect.”

you smiled up at him. “you know, you’re not so bad at this after all.”

“told you,” he said with a wink. “i’m a man of many talents.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

it was late afternoon, the golden light streaming through the windows as you wrestled with a tangled mess of christmas lights. carlos wandered into the living room, wearing his usual casual track pants, a hoodie, and that slight smirk he always seemed to carry.

“qué haces?” (what are you doing?) he asked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you struggle.

you sighed dramatically, holding up the lights in defeat. “i’m trying to decorate the tree, but these lights have other plans.”

he chuckled, that low, warm laugh of his, and walked over to you. “ay, dios mío. you didn’t wait for me? i could’ve saved you from this mess.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “oh, so you’re an expert at christmas lights now?”

“of course,” he said, grabbing the tangled strand from your hands. “i am el rey de las luces, the king of the lights." he gave you a wink, but within seconds, he had the lights in just as much of a mess as you did. “eh… maybe not.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “great job, amor.”

“oye, oye, don’t laugh. i’ll fix it,” he insisted, his accent thick as he focused on untangling the lights. his brow furrowed in concentration, the same look he wore when analyzing data back at the paddock. eventually, he managed to untangle the mess, holding up the lights triumphantly. “see? easy.”

stringing the lights around the tree became a team effort—or, more accurately, a comedy routine. carlos kept stopping to adjust them, stepping back every few minutes and tilting his head. “no, no, this side needs more. it’s like setting up the car—balance is everything.”

“you’re overthinking it, amor,” you teased, mimicking his accent slightly, which earned you a playful glare.

“cariño...don’t start with me,” he warned, pointing a light strand at you. “you want a perfect tree or no?”

when it came to the ornaments, carlos became surprisingly sentimental, asking about each one. “this one—where is it from?” he asked, holding up a little wooden angel.

“a market in my hometown,” you said. “my family bought it years ago.”

he smiled, carefully placing it near the top. “then it goes somewhere special.”

finally, the star. carlos insisted on doing it himself, grabbing a chair and climbing up with dramatic flair. “el momento más importante,” (the most important moment) he said, grinning as he carefully positioned the star at the top.

when he climbed down, he stepped back beside you, hands on his hips as he admired the tree. “mira. perfect,” (look. perfect) he said, nodding with satisfaction.

you glanced at him, smiling. “not bad for el rey de las luces.” you tease.

he looked at you, pretending to be offended. “eh, don’t disrespect the king.” then his face softened, and he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “but seriously… it’s nice, no? makes the house feel… like home.”

and with the glow of the tree lights reflecting in his warm brown eyes, you couldn’t agree more.

ʚ・charles leclerc

it was the weekend before christmas, and the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and sugar. you were trying your best to bake cookies, but the dough was a bit more messy than you expected. charles had just returned from his morning run, his hair still damp from the sweat, a towel casually draped around his neck. when he saw you, there was that warm smile—always so soft, so fond.

“hey, mon amour,” he said, his voice low and a little breathless, his accent as soft as the morning light streaming through the window.

“my love,” you smiled back, rolling your eyes playfully as you looked at the mess you’d made. “i think i need help here.”

he crossed the room with the grace of someone who was always in control, always in the moment. stepping behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. “bien sûr, anything for you,” he murmured in your ear, the words full of that effortless affection he always seemed to have for you.

“really?” you teased, glancing up at him. “because if you burn these cookies, you’re doing all the decorations this year, including the tree.”

charles chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “je vais pas brûler les cookies, don’t worry, i’m a professional.” (i won’t burn the cookies)

“uh-huh, and what if i don’t want a professional? what if i want my boyfriend making cookies with me?” you grinned, nudging him lightly.

his eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “tous les jours avec toi sont parfaits,” he whispered, as if it was the most natural thing to say. (every day with you is perfect.)

you felt your heart flutter, your smile growing. “you’re making me all mushy inside,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“c’est toi qui me rends comme ça,” he replied, his voice filled with a sweetness that made everything feel softer. (it’s you who makes me this way.) you didn't really know any french, but these sweet words he said repeatively were easy for you to pick up.

he kissed the top of your head, then took the mixing bowl from your hands, stirring the dough with a calm focus. “you know, i was never good at this... but with you, it’s different. everything feels easy.”

you watched him with affection, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at you. there was something so deeply sincere about him, as if every word, every touch, every moment together felt like a promise. “i feel the same way,” you said quietly, heart swelling with love.

he stopped for a moment, setting the bowl down and gently cupping your face, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. “je t’aime tellement,” he whispered, his eyes locking with yours in that way that made everything else disappear. (i love you so much.)

“i love you too,” you replied, voice a little unsteady from how full your heart felt in that instant.

he kissed you then, slow and soft, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the kitchen, the cookies, even the christmas tree that waited in the corner of the room. it was just you and him, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” you whispered when he pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

“c’est simple, mon amour,” he said with a tender smile, his voice full of that same quiet certainty. (it’s simple, my love.) “you’re everything i never knew i needed, and more.”

and in that moment, as the soft twinkle of the christmas lights reflected in his eyes, you knew—you were exactly where you were meant to be.

ʚ・lando norris

it was a chilly evening, and you and lando were driving home from christmas shopping, the car packed with bags and decorations. you were both exhausted, but there was that festive excitement in the air.

lando glanced over with a mischievous grin. “so, what’s the plan for tonight? we’ve got the tree to decorate and i might need to save you from messing it up.”

you rolled your eyes. “oh really? you think you’re the master decorator now?”

“obviously,” he replied, grinning. “i’ve got amazing taste. no one’s topping my skills this year.”

“right,” you laughed. “because last year you couldn’t even get the star on top of the tree.”

lando gasped dramatically. “hey, that was one time! and you were totally distracting me with your light-wrangling skills.”

“sure, sure,” you teased as he parked in the driveway. “let’s see how ‘amazing’ you really are this year.”

once inside, lando eagerly got the boxes of decorations, already talking about how tonight’s tree would be perfect. “first, we do the lights, then the tinsel, and finally the ornaments. it’s a science, really.”

“a science?” you grinned, grabbing a string of lights to untangle. “sounds like something you made up to sound more impressive.”

“maybe,” he laughed, “but trust me, i’ve got this. no tangles, no mess. just perfection.”

you set to work, and as you both decorated, lando made everything feel fun. his jokes and playful banter had you laughing the entire time.

“just don’t break any ornaments this year, alright?” you warned, glancing over at him as he placed a glass bauble on the tree.

“no promises,” he winked. “but trust me, it’ll look perfect when we’re done.”

you smiled, already knowing he was right. with lando, everything—even decorating a tree—was a little brighter and a lot more fun.

“you’re ridiculous,” you teased, admiring the tree.

“but i’m your ridiculous,” he said, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “and that’s all that matters.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

it was a warm evening, and you and oscar were sitting on the balcony, the australian summer air soft and easy. the christmas lights shimmered faintly in the dimming light, but something about it still felt a little off.

“you know, it’s just weird,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “christmas in summer. i keep waiting for snow, but it’s... hot.”

oscar glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he took a sip of his drink. “yeah, i get it,” he said quietly. “it’s different. but i think it’s kind of nice, you know? christmas in the heat, just feels... relaxed.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “i just can’t get used to it. christmas is supposed to be cold. cozy, with fireplaces and snow.”

“it’s still christmas,” oscar said, his tone calm and steady. “just... a little warmer, that’s all.”

you smiled, but still felt a bit out of place. “i can’t be the only one who thinks this is strange, though. there’s no snowball fights, no cold air... just heat.”

oscar chuckled lightly, leaning back and stretching out. “yeah, i guess. but, uh... christmas on the beach is pretty great too, you know? different, but good.”

you gave him a sideways glance, still skeptical. “how do you just... accept this? i feel like i should be wearing gloves and snow boots.”

he shrugged, his gaze soft but sure. “it’s just how we do it here. doesn’t make it any less christmas. you’ll get used to it.”

you looked at him, a quiet smile playing on your lips. “maybe... but i’ll probably be dreaming of a white christmas while i’m sweating in this jumper.”

oscar’s smile widened slightly, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “if you want, we can just have our own little cozy corner. christmas is about whatever makes it feel right, yeah?”

you leaned against him, feeling more at ease. “yeah... i guess so. still feels a bit weird though.”

“you’ll get there,” he said with a calm smile. “just gotta give it time. but hey, at least we’re together, right?”

you smiled, your heart warming in the quiet evening. “yeah, you're right. it’s still perfect with you.”

“and, if it helps,” oscar added, his eyes twinkling slightly, “we can make the house feel a bit more christmasy—like, wintery christmas, if you want. i’ll help you set up whatever you need.”

your face lit up at the idea. “you’d do that? really?”

“yeah, we can hang fake snowflakes, maybe throw some fairy lights everywhere... i’ll even wear an ugly christmas sweater if it makes you feel better,” he teased, his smile soft but sincere.

“that sounds perfect,” you said, feeling the warmth of christmas already starting to settle in. with oscar by your side, maybe this summer christmas wasn’t so strange after all.

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fionajames · 1 day ago

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i forgot to do this! tysm for the tag way !!!

uhmmmm if we're talking fic-fics, about 7, but i write more one shots, and that would be over a few dozen :3

i just tried writing nicer, with better flow

i typically write most for star wars, but the life series smp hyperfixatino came back and ive done a lot of stuff for that too!!!

uhmm probably 6 or so

a lot actually, so ill list some of my favs rn. grumbo, scarian, ranchers, flower husbands, anidala, caitlyn x vi, codywan, and jyn x cassian

i love grian's lore character, and crosshair did not capture my heart but ive seen him in a new light so-

arcane!!!!! and life series, ive never written for it before

all of them probably

my au ones when i had no pressure in writing them

chapters of one of my really long fics, its no where near done but each chapter was a couple thousand words

probably the one that was really long, it was hard and painful to grind out

the ones i really enjoyed

my shortest would have been a one shot somwhere, and my longest is the long fic. its only 4 chapters and 40,811 words

lots and lots and lots of noah kahan, and other things depending on the genre and mood

probably a zombie apocolypse fic im writing.

a fic called 'track four', which is the zombie apocolypse one

'The week the world ends seems to last forever. It’s a whirlwind of emotions, of twists and turns and pains. The days ache and stretch, sunrise to sunset, long hours of sunlight and empty hours of night.'

'He was aware of the message as it hummed in the air, surrounded by nonexistent howls and screams and cries. He was aware of the pain on his face and the IV connected to his arm. He was aware of the voices around him, although unintelligible with the pounding of the roars. Tears was aware that he had survived.'

“So, Tears, what’s been bothering you?” “The past, sir.” “And what happened in your past to haunt you now?” “There was an attack, sir.” “And what happened to you during the attack?” “I was attacked.” “And what else happened?” “I don’t know what you're talking about.” “You know exactly what I mean.” “It wasn’t my fault.” “But do you believe that?” “It wasn’t my fault." “It’s okay, I understand. Do you blame yourself?” “It was my fault. I blame myself, of course I do! Because it was my fault!” “It wasn’t your fault, Tears. None of it was.”

i dont really write funny stuff :/

i cant think of anything

i do my writing on google docs, and most of the planning on paper

probably getting my short story published

not really

took some time to let my brain come up with ideas without trynna force em

most of my stuff is fanfiction

i didnt do any, cause im lazy

uhhhhhh- my dog

i dont have a to do list ngl :)

MOREEEEEEEEE

tysm for the tag @waywardsou2

A slightly revised version of last year's questions! Two ways to play: Reblog and have your followers send you numbers, or answer the whole list!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

What ships captured your heart?

What characters captured your heart?

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

What were your go-to writing songs?

What was the hardest fic to title?

What's your favorite title of the year?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share your funniest line

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

What would you like to write next year?

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jxwl4k · 2 days ago

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Hi! It's me again with one more Bakugo request, and I'll leave you alone after this. So, it's another childhood friends scenario, but they've stood close the whole time. Somewhere down the line, they began flirting and kinda acting like a couple, which makes it clear to everyone that they like each other. However, the truth reveals that they're already together when they get caught having a really cute moment together, like baking or him tickling her and kissing. Also, thank you for writing my other request - I loved it!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ already yours .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x reader

☘︎ . . . request? yes by @rocketblasterr

childhood best friend to lovers.

Growing up next door to Bakugou Katsuki meant a life of chaotic adventures, loud bickering, and unspoken understanding. From the moment you both could walk, your moms swore you were a package deal. “Wherever YN goes, Katsuki’s not far behind.” They weren’t wrong.

You were the quiet shadow to Katsuki’s blazing presence. While he demanded attention, you held your ground right beside him, undeterred by his explosive personality. He dragged you into his games, made you his partner in crime, and over time, you became the one person who could hold your own against him.

By high school, things were different but still the same. The constant teasing from your friends—“Just date already!”—was shrugged off without a thought. “We’re just friends,” you’d say. Katsuki would grumble something similar, though his scowl was always a little darker when people brought it up.

But they weren’t wrong, not entirely. The shift between you two happened so naturally that neither of you could pinpoint the exact moment you became more than friends. Maybe it was that time you pulled him into a hug after he beat Todoroki at the Sports Festival. Or the late nights you spent studying at his place when he’d fall asleep sitting next to you, head lolling onto your shoulder. Or maybe it was the day he realized he didn’t just want to see you smiling—he wanted to be the reason you smiled.

Either way, it happened, and months ago, Katsuki finally admitted it. “Oi. I like you, dumbass. Don’t make me say it twice.” You hadn’t made him, not when your response was a breathless “Me too.”

The two of you didn’t make a big deal out of it. You were already so comfortable with each other that dating felt like a natural extension of what you had. There was no awkward phase, no dramatic confessions—just you and Katsuki, the same as always. Only now he held your hand sometimes, kissed you when no one was looking, and let his rough exterior soften just for you.

But you hadn’t told anyone. Why would you? It felt like yours, a quiet truth you didn’t need to announce. Besides, you were both sure people would overreact—because, of course, they would.

That’s how you found yourselves on a lazy Sunday afternoon, baking cookies in Katsuki’s kitchen. Well, you were baking, while Katsuki stood beside you, arms crossed and scowling like he was judging you on “Worst Cooks in Japan.”

“Your batter looks like shit,” he said flatly.

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you carefully spooned dough onto a tray. “Do you ever say anything nice? I’m doing just fine.”

“Tch.” Katsuki leaned in over your shoulder, his voice a low rumble near your ear. “You’re supposed to flatten it so it bakes even, dumbass.”

You turned to glare at him, only to realize how close he’d gotten. He was right there, head tilted slightly, crimson eyes watching you with that unreadable look he sometimes gave when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Your heart skipped.

“Then you do it, chef boy,” you shot back, pretending your face wasn’t heating up.

Katsuki smirked at your challenge. “Fine.” Without warning, he reached for the dough… and smeared a streak of flour across your cheek.

You gasped. “KATSUKI!”

A devilish grin tugged at his lips. “What? I’m helping.”

“Oh, you’re so dead,” you growled, grabbing a handful of flour.

What followed was chaos. Katsuki dodged every handful of flour you tried to fling at him, laughing in that rough, carefree way that made your chest tighten. “You call that an attack?” he taunted, wiping his hands on a dish towel like he was untouchable.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, you think you’re funny?”

You charged at him, aiming for the flour canister, but Katsuki was too quick. He grabbed you around the waist, pulling you into his arms with ease. You squirmed, kicking lightly as you laughed. “Let go, you big jerk!”

Katsuki didn’t. Instead, he grinned down at you, his hold loosening just enough for you to look up at him. The laughter died down, leaving just the two of you in the silence of the kitchen, breathing slightly uneven. Katsuki’s hands stayed firm at your waist, his thumb brushing gently against your side. His red eyes softened, searching your face like he was memorizing every detail.

For a moment, the world outside his kitchen didn’t exist.

Then he leaned down and kissed you.

It wasn’t your first kiss, but it still made your stomach flip in that way only Katsuki could manage. His lips were firm but careful, like he was trying to tell you something he couldn’t say out loud. You melted into him, hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Unfortunately, your bliss was short-lived.

“BAKUGOU! We’re—WAIT, WHAT?!”

You jolted away from Katsuki, turning to see Kirishima and Mina standing in the doorway, mouths hanging open. Mina’s squeal was ear-splitting. “I knew it!” she shouted, practically vibrating with excitement.

Kirishima grinned like he’d just discovered the meaning of life. “Oh, man! I told you two were acting different!”

Katsuki groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “What the hell are you idiots doing in my house?”

“We came to get you for training, but this is way better!” Mina said, grabbing Kirishima’s arm. “You two—oh my god, you’re actually dating!”

You buried your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing…”

“Don’t hide,” Mina teased. “You guys are adorable!”

“Shut it,” Katsuki barked, though his ears were flaming red.

Kirishima nudged him with a grin. “Don’t worry, Bakugou, you’re still the toughest guy we know. Just… softer when YN’s around.”

“OUT.” Katsuki pointed toward the door, glowering as Mina and Kirishima laughed their way out of the house.

When they were gone, you glanced at Katsuki, biting your lip to hold back a smile. “Well, the secret’s out.”

Katsuki sighed, rolling his eyes before pulling you into his arms again. “Tch. About time, I guess.”

“You’re not mad?”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Why would I be? I don’t care who knows. Long as you’re mine.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. “I’ve always been yours, Katsuki.”

His grip tightened slightly, and for once, Katsuki didn’t have a sharp reply. Instead, he held you closer, the scent of flour and vanilla filling the air around you.

And when Mina texted later with a million questions and teasing emojis, neither of you bothered to reply.

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aesthetically-dying101 · 2 days ago

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Not you.

A/N: yeah so atp this is basically a nanami account idk man, ive been mulling over this idea and just.. couldn't not write it.

warnings: she/her usage, mostly fluff and all, rival to lovers? kinda. Things aren't what they seem. i used a bunch of jargon, but idk what the hell it means so... usage of one or two of Y/N

Nanami Kento was a figure who commanded respect the moment he stepped into any room. As the head of the Financial Department, his reputation preceded him. A man of few words, Nanami always carried himself with a certain gravitas, his sharp suit and perfectly styled hair giving off an air of authority.

He was stoic, often leaving the office before anyone had a chance to catch up with him, and in all the time that anyone had worked with him, Nanami had never once mentioned his personal life.

There were rumors, of course—whispers about his wife, about how he was always so distant and so professional. The office was filled with speculation.

Who was she? What was she like? Why did he never speak of her? The only thing anyone knew for certain was that Nanami Kento had no patience for distractions, and his world revolved entirely around his work.

And then there was you—the head of the Operations Department, responsible for overseeing the company’s logistics, product development, and strategic planning.

Your department was vital to the company’s success, just as Nanami’s was, and your work ethic was practically legendary. You were efficient, meticulous and well-put-together—your image just as carefully crafted as Nanami’s.

But unlike Nanami, you didn’t just command respect, you earned it through your quiet authority, your quick intellect, and your ability to get things done.

You rarely discussed your personal life either, but that wasn’t for the same reasons. The office gossips had often speculated about your marriage, or rather, the lack of concrete information about it. You spoke of your husband in passing—always vague, always careful. When asked about him, you would smile softly and say, “He’s a wonderful cook,” or, “He's the best thing that happened to me,” but you never mentioned his name.

To the other employees, you and Nanami were like opposite ends of a magnet—both incredibly powerful in your respective positions but always repelling each other in public.

It was simple, you hated each other.

Allegedly.

*-*

The conference room was filled with the soft hum of hushed conversations as the remaining members of the board filtered in, the meeting about to begin.

The room, with its glass walls and sleek wooden table, seemed to swallow the light, the air thick with unspoken energy. The usual quiet before a presentation had taken on a different tone today—a sort of heavy, expectant stillness.

Everyone knew what this meeting would be like. The air was thick with anticipation, the feeling of two titans preparing to clash.

At the head of the table, Nanami sat with his usual impassive expression. His eyes, sharp and cold as always, scanned over the presentation materials before him, making quick, methodical notes in the margins of his tablet. His hands, large and steady, moved with precision, his posture impeccable. Despite his composed demeanor, there was a slight edge to his usual stoic appearance—his jaw set tighter than usual, his gaze flickering over the documents in front of him but never staying too long in one place.

Across the table, you did the same. Your posture was straight, your fingers tapping lightly against your own tablet- though your eyes remained focused on Nanami as if assessing him.

The subtle tension between the two of you could be felt by anyone in the room who dared to glance between the two of you. You had worked with Nanami for long enough to know how he functioned, but still, there was something about this moment that made you feel the familiar bite of competitive energy.

This wasn’t just business. It was more than that. This was your rivalry—your game.

“You two ready?” The CEO’s voice broke the silence, and everyone turned their attention to him, but all eyes remained glued to you and Nanami.

A brief, almost imperceptible glance passed between you and Nanami before you both nodded.

Nanami spoke first.

“I’ll start with the financial outlook,” he said, his deep voice calm and unwavering. His tone was confident, measured—his usual professional self. No one could ever accuse him of overacting or raising his voice unnecessarily.

That was his strength. Efficiency, precision.

You watched him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you mentally prepared yourself. You knew exactly what he was going to do—reel off the statistics and the metrics, the numbers that made sense but lacked the full scope of the opportunity you were about to present. You weren't going to let him walk away with this meeting.

You wouldn’t let him win.

Not today.

“Based on the projections, our current approach remains sustainable,” Nanami continued, pointing at his presentation slides, his finger steady. “We will continue with conservative growth, minimizing risks while maximizing short-term profitability.”

The numbers slid onto the screen with ease, each one perfectly in place, each calculation undeniably sound. You couldn’t help but appreciate his work. His plans were always tight, methodical—there was never a flaw. But there was also no room for expansion, no room for daring leaps.

That’s where you came in.

With a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, you leaned forward, picking up where he left off.

“I agree with the numbers,” you said smoothly, your voice carrying through the room. “But sustainability doesn’t always mean profitability. If we’re talking about the long-term viability of the company, we need to look at diversification.”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, then continued, your eyes never leaving his.

“You’ve kept it safe, Nanami. But we’re not here to play it safe. We’re here to grow, to expand. You can only play it safe for so long before the market overtakes us. I say we invest in new international markets, even if it means taking on a bit more risk upfront.”

There was a slight shift in Nanami’s demeanor. A tightening in his jaw. A flare of something in his icy blue eyes. But his expression remained unreadable as he flipped to the next slide.

“And what about the supply chain issues in the Southeast Asia region?” he asked, his voice steady, but there was an edge to it. He wasn’t backing down. “Any suggestions for how we mitigate that risk?”

“More diversification,” you shot back without hesitation, your tone smooth, but firm. “We can’t afford to rely on just one region when there are so many variables outside of our control. What we need is a more global approach—one that doesn’t put all our eggs in one basket.”

The tension in the room was palpable now.

Everyone could feel it. The subtle undercurrent of animosity, the way your words were calculated to provoke, the way Nanami’s responses were sharp, measured, never losing his composure.

There was a reason everyone in the office avoided the two of you when these meetings happened. The air seemed to hum, charged with an energy that made everything else feel distant.

A low murmur swept through the room as Nanami gave his final response.

“Diversification is too risky at this point. We don’t know enough about the regions you’re suggesting, and I don’t intend to make decisions based on speculative information.” His voice was calm but firm. “Without concrete data, we can’t afford to gamble the company’s future.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“And I’m saying we won’t have a future if we don’t take risks. Sure, we can stay on this safe path, but it’s the same one we’ve been on for years, and it’ll eventually stagnate.” You leaned forward, pushing the point. “We need to be ahead of the curve, Nanami, or we’ll get swallowed up by the competition. The world doesn’t wait for us to get comfortable.”

There was a long pause. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Nanami’s counterattack.

“You’re assuming the worst-case scenario,” Nanami replied, his voice still calm but with a subtle bite to it. “I don’t deal in worst-case scenarios. I deal in facts. And the fact is, our company is thriving just fine as it is.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smiled slightly, leaning back in your chair with a controlled breath.

“That’s because of people like me, Nanami. People who know that thriving isn’t enough. We need to evolve.”

It was a quiet challenge. A call to the very heart of his cautious nature, the kind of challenge that stirred something deep in both of you.

For a moment, the room was silent. No one dared to speak, sensing the standoff between the two of you. You both knew the stakes. Your points were valid, and his were just as solid. But in this game, it wasn’t just about who was right—it was about who could bend the other to their will.

And with that, the meeting continued, but the energy in the room never quite settled. The board members watched in silence, accustomed to the tension between you and Nanami by now, though none of them fully understood the true nature of the competition, of the rivalry between you two.

It wasn’t just about the work.

It never was.

And as the presentations came to an end and everyone began to file out of the room, Nanami gave you one last glance—his eyes not cold, but something else. Something unreadable, but familiar.

“Good work,” he said, almost as if he were conceding a point, though his tone remained neutral.

*-*

The day had been long—longer than usual, filled with presentations, sharp glances and the undercurrent of competition that was familiar but still exhilarating.

As the office began to empty, you found yourself walking down the hallway, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. It had been a long day, but the tension that lingered between Nanami and you after the meeting was… intoxicating. And, as always, you had a feeling you’d be running into him soon.

And by "running into him," you meant, of course, you were about to collide on purpose.

As if on cue, you turned a corner and found yourself standing in front of the conference room. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see the faint outline of Nanami’s figure inside.

You paused, your heart picking up pace, knowing what was about to happen.

This wasn't just a coincidence, it never was.

You pushed the door open, slipping inside with a barely noticeable smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Late-night work, Kento?” you asked, playing it cool, but the mischievous glint in your eyes betrayed you.

Nanami didn’t look up right away.

He was leaning over a set of papers, reviewing something quietly, and for a brief second, he gave no indication that he had even noticed you’d entered.

But you knew he had.

You always knew.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but with a certain edge to it, “-didn’t expect you to be so punctual after our little ‘debate’ today.”

You took a slow step forward, your heels clicking softly as you closed the gap between you.

“Oh, I’m always punctual. You know that.”

Nanami glanced up, his gaze narrowing slightly as his eyes met yours. That familiar, teasing tension was already swirling between you. You could practically feel it crackling in the air. And, just like every time before, it was like you were the only two people in the world.

You leaned against the table, crossing your arms casually.

“So, what’s the verdict on my very risky ideas from earlier? Did I win, or are we still battling it out?”

His lips quirked slightly, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stood from the chair with slow deliberation, locking eyes with you as he did. There was a dangerous, playful glint in his gaze now.

“We both know you’re stubborn,” he said softly, a challenge laced in his tone. “But you do make a good point every now and then.”

Before you could respond, Nanami turned and locked the door behind you, the soft click of the lock reverberating through the room.

You raised an eyebrow, the realization hitting you like a slow wave. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Kento,” you teased, but your voice softened.

He didn’t reply at first. Instead, Nanami took a step closer, closing the distance between you until there was only a whisper of air separating you. His hand reached up, fingers grazing your cheek, his touch delicate but firm. The tension between you felt so thick it could’ve suffocated anyone else in the room, but not you two.

You thrived in it.

“You know,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your lips, “I do love how much you push me.”

“And I love how much you push me,” you whispered back, your voice low and steady, heart pounding in your chest.

His lips curled into a smirk, and before you could fully register what was happening, his hand was on the back of your neck, pulling you toward him with a force that sent your pulse racing. Your lips met in a sudden, heated kiss.

No words. No preamble.

Just pure, undeniable fire.

The kiss was a clash of desire and frustration—a mingling of rivalry and affection. You could feel his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded by tangling your fingers into his shirt, tugging him even nearer.

Between kisses, Nanami murmured softly against your lips, each word barely audible but intense.

“You were right, you know. Your presentation was damn good. Risky as hell, but good.”

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips even as you kissed him back.

“Yeah? I know. I did well.”

He chuckled softly, the sound deep in his chest. “You always do,” he muttered, his voice soft and warm despite the heat of the kiss.

His hands moved to your face, cupping it gently as he deepened the kiss, his thumbs tracing the curve of your jaw. The intensity of the moment was enough to make you forget everything around you. In this room, there was no competition, no rivalry—just you two. Just him. Just the way you were always meant to be.

And then, between frantic kisses, his voice dropped into a breathless whisper. “Marry me.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, blinking in confusion. “What?”

He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you with the same affection that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Marry me again,” he repeated, his voice thick with sincerity. “You already have my heart, but I want to do this all over again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and joyful. “You already asked me, Ken.”

He grinned, his hands pulling you closer again. “Then let me ask you again. Marry me.”

You held up your hand, showing him the ring that already glimmered on your finger. “You really don’t need to ask. I already said yes.”

Nanami pressed his lips to yours once more, his kiss warm and tender this time, as if every part of him was soaking in the quiet joy of the moment. In between kisses, you heard him whisper,

“I don’t care. I want to ask you every day.”

And as the kiss deepened once more, you couldn’t help but think that, despite all the competition, all the tension, all the heated moments between you—they were all just a reminder of how much you really loved each other.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

A/N: yeah so idk my brain just couldn't not think of this. i might remake this into a longer fic bc I LOVE this premise so much

Masterlist

#jjk #jujustu kaisen #nanami kento #fluff #nanami x reader #jjk fluff #rivals to lovers #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento nanami #jjk au #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #hes so cute #what an icon

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arisluvvers · 1 day ago

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Highschool Jimmy AU smut fic.

High School AU Jimmy belongs to me and @birdyisthewordyy /silly. Note that Jimmy and the reader are both seniors in this fic and are of age!

Jimmy x GN! Reader

Readers Genitalia is not mentioned at all and is entirely left up to interpretation!

Contains mentions of: Paranoia, bullying, watching porn, masturbation, virginity loss, missionary sex (It's both of their first times give em a break)

Not proofread!! Reader discretion is advised.

A/N: Do you ever sit down and tell yourself "I'm gonna write 1K words." And then end up with 3.6K words? Anyways I'm so sick rn.

Jimmy bit his lip, his hands shook slightly before he met your intense gaze. “Are you sure you want to do this? With me? I mean out of everyone… you could pick… anyone from our highschool - are you really sure you want your first time to be with someone… like… like me?” His voice came out as a soft whisper and his soft brown eyes met yours, pleading for any sort of non verbal confirmation that you were indeed - okay with this whole thing happening - at his hands nonetheless.

That you were okay with him pressing his lips against the skin of your shoulders.

That you were okay when his breath hitched and his eyelids fluttered shut when you pressed open mouthed kisses to his collar bones.

That you were okay with his hands mapping over parts of your body that he dreamed of touching - that he spent so many hours of every day and every night fantasising about.

He wanted to make sure that you were okay with him. Okay with him being here with you.

Okay with him loving you.

Jimmy was socially awkward, and what most would consider: a loser, or even a creep. Jimmy wasn't stupid, he knew that much already. He was a nobody, a shadow in the background of every class photo. His fellow classmates barely acknowledged his existence - save for his best friend Curly of course.

He was called names behind his back. People whispered about him when he walked through the halls - and maybe he was being delusional, but Jimmy swore he could feel all the pairs of eyes trained onto his slouched form as they gossiped about him and called him weird or gross.

And you know what at this point - he didn’t mind it much anymore.

He never really cared about making friends, or appealing to anyone at all. Curly accepted him for who he was and that’s all he really cared about to be frank.

He wasn’t set out to meet and potentially befriend a million people. He was content with just one.

But that all changed when you stepped into the picture.

He had originally considered you the poor and unfortunate soul that was assigned by your teacher to be paired with him for your shared chemistry project.

Jimmy found these sorts of group projects to be the worst - usually his teacher assigned classmates would either: discreetly drop all of the workload onto his shoulders - and then get mad when he was barely able to scrape up a B plus - out outright said that they would refuse to work with the likes of him and demand a new partner, not caring if he was sitting right next to them - listening in.

What he didn't expect was for you to sit down next to him, after grabbing all of your things, flash him a brilliant smile and in the most angelic voice he has ever heard, ask him, “So… where do we begin?”

From that moment on Jimmy was smitten. Your hair - your eyes - your voice - your lips - heck he even fantasised about how pretty your hands would look against his skin. Not all of it was sexual though, Jimmy frequently caught himself daydreaming about being your boyfriend - about taking you out on extravagant dates - that he definitely couldn’t pay for but hey- you can’t blame him for dreaming! He thought of holding your hand and kissing you under the shooting stars. Way too many times he caught himself thinking of the kind of suits he might wear to your shared wedding - or the colour of the tiles of the kitchen floor your shared house might have.

It seemed that it was during one of his many daydream sessions when Curly pointed out that his best friend seemed so lost in thought lately - that it sounded like Jimmy here, was in love with his chemistry partner.

Only for a very flushed and red Jimmy to shut him down. Yet Curly’s suspicion never left the confines of the blond boy's mind.

And it never left Jimmy's either.

In love.

Was he in love?

Or was just a fleeting obsession.

A crush.

Nothing more.

It would go away.

That's what he told himself. “It's only just a crush, it'll go away. It's just like all the others, it'll go away.”

And yet - it never ended up going away.

Jimmy spent nights upon nights with your name echoed on his lips as sweat dripped across his moonlit kissed chest. His pants were discarded to the side, long forgotten. His body ached and was hot to the touch. He could feel his blood pulsating and thrumming under his skin. His hand was sore and he was tired - but he was almost there. It was practically on the tip of his tongue.

‘Jimmy.’

His subconsciousness blessed him with the memory of your voice - so soft and so fucking tender. And so full of love. He could practically feel your hands, sliding across his hot skin, pressing hot kisses to his body and ultimately - tipping him over the edge.

Jimmy bit his lip to muffle the sounds of his moans as he squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath. He arches his back, his brown eyes rolled back as he muffled his groans, reaching the peak of pleasure. It felt like fireworks were exploding in every one of his blood vessels, his whole body grew hot and sweaty.

The feeling of euphoria was nothing short of incredible.

It was almost like he could feel your soft, loving caress as he slowly recovered from his high. And yet when he opened his eyes.

His bed was empty.

It was during nights like these where Jimmy would usually end up frowning slightly before ultimately shaking himself off and moving to clean the mess he had made. It's fine - ‘you were way out of my league anyways.’

You probably had loads of boys in your bed before.

And if you were going to be in someone's bed it definitely was not going to be with him.

But it looked like he owed Curly fifty bucks. Money he definitely didn’t have right now.

He lost the bet because of you.

Because you were there.

You were here. In his bed. And it was real - this whole thing was real. He was really about to do this.

With you.

His biggest crush.

His wildest fantasies - the images that plagued his mind twenty four seven - were all unfolding right now in front of him.

In his fantasies he knew exactly what to do - where to put his hands and where to kiss you. In his mind the countless hours spent watching porn weren't for nothing, because he gained information from them. And he would use all of that information to make you cum so hard and so fucking fast that you would forget your own name.

But that was in his fantasies. Truth be told, now that you were here - laying in front of him - ’Wearing nothing but your underwear’, Jimmy told himself - he had no idea what to do. His hands where shaking and fuck- why was he sweating so much?? ‘[Name] must think I am so fucking gross right now.’ What was he supposed to be doing? Was he supposed to touch you? Or was he supposed to kiss you? Where was he supposed to grab? Your hands? Your hips?

‘God, if you’re up there. Please fucking help a poor guy like me out. I really think I might actually start crying right now.’

“Jimmy, are… are you okay? You're really red.” You mumbles, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek and brushing your thumb against his acne ridden cheek. “Hey it’s okay.. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to-” Jimmy shook his head, cutting off your words by pressing the palm of your hand against his lips, tenderly kissing your flushed skin.

There was no fucking way he was going to give up his one chance. He wasn’t going to throw away the one opportunity to love you completely - love you in the way he dreamed off.

“No no! I want to. I’m just… nervous is all...” He confessed, a whisper under his breath. Jimmy averted his eyes, casting them downward. Fuck- nervous was the understatement of a lifetime. Jimmy was down right terrified - what if you didn’t like it? What if you didn’t think he was hot enough? What if he wasn’t able to make you cum? What if you ended up hating him? What if you never gave him the chance to be your boyfriend if he screwed up? What if you never spoke to him again after this? What if-

“I’m nervous too… This is my first time y'know.” You confessed shyly, your body growing warm at your confinement of what you considered - your biggest secret. Your friends had their fair share of sex and weren’t afraid to spill any extra or juicy secrets. TMI was a thing of the past. Sure you watched your own fair share of porn in the past too but this was real, this was real life. This wasn’t a video that was going to end up being played on a screen. Nor was it over the top fake acting. But this wasn’t hushed whispers and slightly flushed cheeks in the back of the maths class either. Nor was it giggles and prodding each other for more information during lunch breaks.

This was real.

This was real and you were about to have sex with Jimmy.

Your chemistry project partner - turned lab partner - turned close friend - turned muse for any thoughts that lingered too long in the back of your mind and too many nights spent with your hands in between your thighs, his name leaving your lips like an empty prayer.

The same boy was now looking down at you - his hands shaking as he rested them against your bare hips. Jimmy’s eyes were wide. This was your first time? There was no way - there had to be a mistake - there had to have been someone else.

“This… is your first time…?”

Jimmy whispered.

You nodded and gave him a nervous smile.

“And you want to do this with… me?”

You nodded.

“And there’s no-one else you’d rather do this with - Cause I mean if there is I’d rather just get dressed y'know?… Don’t wanna waste your time with me when you could be fuckin’ oh I dunno… like Curly or someone y’know?.” Jimmy gave you a nervous grin, it was obvious he was trying to hype himself up but there was most definitely a layer of insecurity coated under his words.

Because of course there was - he wasn’t Curly. Curly who could charm the likes of both the students and teachers alike - Curly who would win the praise of everyone.

He wasn't ‘Overly Exceptional Curly.’

He was ‘Slightly Below Average Jimmy.’

You shook your head and smiled. “No. I can’t think of anyone else I would rather do this with. I want you to be the one to take my virginity, Jimmy.”

Those words. Those few words. The words he so desperately ached to hear were spilling from your lips.

Mist glazed over Jimmy’s eyes. Am I going to cry? He thought to himself. Fuck I’m going to cry. Jimmy sniffled and blinked quickly, trying his best to stop the tears from spilling.

You sat up from your spot on his bed and cooed under your breath, reaching up with a tender touch to wipe his eyes. “I want this Jimmy.” You reassured him once more with a smile. “I want you...”

He felt more determined now. Nodding he grabbed your underwear and slid it down your hips, exposing you to him. He swallowed, meeting your eyes. “If uh… this hurts or anything please tell me. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He mumbled. You nodded and smiled. “I trust you. And if it hurts I’ll tell you to stop.” You whispered.

Jimmy nodded, pressing two fingers at your entrance. He observed your face carefully, watching your every reaction as he slowly pushed in one finger. You squirmed and whimpered a little but didn’t draw away. Jimmy was ecstatic! At least he was doing something right! Right?

When you nodded again Jimmy began to thrust his finger in and out at a slow pace, he had read somewhere that sex required a good amount of preparation and lube too. Good thing he was prepared and bought a bottle of the stuff - and a few condoms too just in case.

“You can… add another finger.” You whispered under your breath. Jimmy snapped out of his train of thoughts and nodded, slowly easing in another finger. It’s warm. He noted to himself. His cock stirred in his boxers - twitching slightly at the promise of what was going to come.

Fucking hell he was so excited he could barely think straight.

You were so attractive and so nice and so hot and your kisses tasted like cherries and strawberry ice-cream. And you were here! And you were going to have sex with him. With him! Out of everyone you wanted your first times to be with - you wanted Jimmy to be your first! You trusted him enough to let him take your virginity!

You whimpered and his name escaped your lips in a pleading whine.

Jimmy could feel the precum pouring from the slit of his cock. His dick twitched and he groaned in delight drawing his fingers away. He smirked slightly when you whined at the loss of his touch. “Hey don’t worry, I just gotta prep myself and then I’ll be ready to properly fuck you.”

You nodded, throwing an arm across your face. “Okay…” The moonlight from Jimmy’s window pooled over your bare body and it was strangely comforting. Sitting there and knowing that you were safe. There was shuffling coming from Jimmy’s side of the bed and he cursed under his breath. “Are you okay Jimmy? Do you need help?” You chuckled, pulling your arm away and sitting up. The sound of the lube bottle being opened echoed around the room, and you silently thanked your lucky stars that Jimmy’s father was out for the weekend. You could only imagine the kind of temper tantrum that man would throw if he caught you in his son’s bed.

A very nervous Jimmy shook his head. “No, I got it! It’s okay! Just relax!” He insisted, pushing you back down on the bed. “I just uhm… Can I uh… tell you something?” He whispered.

“Yea?” You whispered back, looking up at the ceiling. The glowing plastic stars stuck on the ceiling made your heart flutter. Your eyes slid from one star to the other making constellations in your mind. ‘The star crossed lovers.’ You smiled as you looked up at them, two figures. Holding hands. How you managed to make that out from Jimmy’s plastic glow in the dark stars you wouldn't know. “Are you sure you won’t hate me?” Jimmy whispered.

“I could never hate you.” You whispered back, meeting his eyes. “I could never hate you Jimmy. Never.” You said sternly.

Jimmy nodded and took in a deep breath, positioning the tip of his cock at your entrance. The tip prodded at your entrance and he took in a sharp inhale of air, slowly easing himself into you. “I think I’m in love with you.” He whispered as he gripped the sheets tightly. Jimmy let out a soft moan and pressed his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut.

Your breath hitched and you bit your lip. “Fuck…” He felt so good and this feeling of being so… full. It felt so good. Your heart fluttered, thrumming against your rib cage. “I think I’m in love with you too.” You whispered back.

Jimmy’s eyes opened, his pupils were blown out and his cheeks were rosy. His breathing came out hot and bothered. “You’re… serious? You’re in love with me?” He couldn't help the stupid grin that spread across his lips.

You nodded, and smiled back. “Yea. I am. You’re amazing Jimmy. I would be an idiot if I didn’t fall for you.” You whispered back.

Jimmy swallowed and grabbed the sides of your face as he slowly rocked his hips against yours. “Stop me if I do something wrong.” He breathed out before pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss was desperate and messy and fuck was it hot. There was the feeling of tongues pressing against each other and teeth clashing. The feeling of the tip of Jimmy’s cock rubbing against that one spot inside of you - and the feeling of his tongue licking against yours - and now knowing that he shared the same feelings for you made your head hazy and- fuck it felt so fucking good.

Jimmy was making you feel so fucking good.

And you wouldn't have had it any other way.

Jimmy groaned, pressing his forehead against your shoulder pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. “You’re so tight I- it’s so warm… feels better than I imagined fuck-” he panted. Jimmy groaned - at this point he might not be able to hold on for any longer. He was so fucking close - his head might explode.

You weren’t doing any better either, with every delicious drag of Jimmy’s cock inside of you was bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body was hot - too hot, like your skin was on fire and felt like Jimmy was the water that existed to only quench your thirst.

Like he was your second half. The part that completed you The part that made you feel whole. Your reason for existing. When you held his hand you felt alive, the feeling of his pulse against your palm was the reason you felt so alive.

And now this - the feeling of him inside of you - the way his cock dragged through your sticky walls was enough to make you feel like you were floating. Airy… light… like you were in cloud nine.

Jimmy was the drug.

And you were already addicted.

“I’m… close.” He panted, sinking his teeth into the delicate flesh of your shoulder using it to muffle his moans.

You groaned, eyes rolling back, gripping at his shoulders and digging your nails into his skin. “Fuck me too-”

Jimmy nodded his words slurring, his vision growing hazy. Sex drunk. It hadn’t even been five minutes and he looked like he was about to pass out. “Cum with me.” He whimpered. “At the same time. Cum together with me.” He groaned pathetically, rutting his hips against yours, desperately trying to make you reach your high.

You nodded eagerly, moaning as you threw your legs around his hips, trying to stop him from accidentally pulling out. “Jimmy- oh fuck Jimmy ‘m so close.” You whimpered, eyes growing wet. Fuck it felt so good- he felt so good. You felt so fucking good.

Life felt so fucking amazing right now.

Jimmy bit his lip, his grip on the bed sheets growing even tighter - to the point his knuckles were going white. He threw his head back and moaned when he came. The filling of Jimmy reaching his peak was enough for you to follow, with your back arching and your legs shaking - you came with him.

It took a minute for you both to compose yourselves, the air in the room was stuffy and warm and reeked of sex. But neither of you really minded. “Did you… are you- I mean did you enjoy it?” He whispered, he was kind of hoping you’d say yes - seeing as he did make you finish after all. But still, he wanted to hear it.

He craved that sort of validation.

You smiled and nodded. “I did. I really enjoyed Jimmy.”

Jimmy grinned and pumped his fist. “Yes!!” He hissed under his breath before catching himself. “I mean uh… yea good that’s good. I wasn’t too rough or anything right?” He smiled when you laughed and shook your head. “No, I'm fine. Thanks for worrying though.”

“Good! I’ve uhm… never done this before so sorry- I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He mumbled under his breath and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Me neither.” You chuckled, flushing slightly. “But hey! We’ll get through it together.” You hummed, offering him a grin.

Jimmy grinned back, pulling on his boxers before helping you get dressed, moving to lay beside you in bed. “Yea… Oh that reminds me! Did you uh… mean it when you said you liked me back - I mean you can say no y’know I’m like- not gonna force you to be with me if you don’t want to or if it feels like I’m forcing you to be with me!”

You laughed and shook your head. “No I meant it! I really did.” You cut him off and watched the words die on Jimmy’s lips. You watched his face contort from joking fear of rejection - to confusion - to elation.

“You… you want me to be your boyfriend?” He whispered, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes and you nodded, smiling at him.

Jimmy grinning and grabbed you by the shoulders, tugging you into his arms with an ‘omph’. “This is the best day of my life!” He laughed. You smiled back and nuzzled into his side, body growing heavy with sleep. Jimmy threw an arm over his face. His cheeks were beginning to hurt from all the smiling he was doing but he didn’t care. This was the best day of his fucking life. ‘Thank you God. Thank you for keeping me alive. This is so worth it.’

Tagging: @birdyisthewordyy @tim-tam-jumbalya

#arij✩m !#my s★lfships !#mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #mouthwashing jimmy #mouthwashing x reader #jimmy x reader #mouthwashing game #jimmy x reader smut #mouthwashing x reader smut #mouthwashing headcanon #mouthwashing headcanons #mouthwashing jimmy x reader #mouthwashing jimmy x reader smut #x reader #jimmy mouthwashing x reader #jimmy x reader mouthwashing

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3igbootyl0ver · 2 days ago

Text

who hurt you? [iv]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara finally finds the courage to open up and seek help.

word count: 4610

warnings: mentions of abuse, violence, angst

a/n: guys I lied this is NOT the last part. I realized how much I have to write lol but the angst is over, the next part should be just fluff and tara's recovery. this is the longest I wrote so far lol so I hope its not too draggy

part [i] | part [ii] | part [iii]

Tara felt her phone buzz multiple times in a minute. It took her a moment to gain the courage and look at her notifications. 5 missed calls and missed texts from Amber herself. She felt a shiver run down her spine, not sure if it was from the chilly breeze or her fear of Amber coming to get her. Her fingers hovered over the screen, debating whether to respond or power off the phone and ignore the reality of her situation.

Amber

Tara, where are you?

I told you to meet me behind the bleachers.

You just can’t listen, can you???

(Missed call from Amber)

Answer your damn phone.

Seriously? Was this about that day? I barely touched you, it was a joke. Don’t be so dramatic

You know I only do these things because you push me. If you didn’t act like this, I wouldn’t have to.

Just get here.Now.

Tara felt her chest tighten after reading the texts, afraid of what could happen to her, her consequences. “You deserved it anyways,” was what Amber would say to her after she got hurt. At first, Tara had fought against those words, clinging to the belief that she was worth more, that she wasn’t the problem. But over time, the constant barrage of blame and cutting remarks chipped away at her resolve. Amber’s voice had become a whisper in her mind, louder than her own, until one day Tara caught herself nodding in agreement. Maybe she did deserve it. Maybe everything that happened was her fault.

Her breathing grew shallow as the weight of the messages and memories bore down on her. Her phone slipped from her trembling hand, landing on the floor with a soft thud, but she barely noticed. Her chest heaved as panic clawed its way through her, each breath feeling harder than the last. Her vision blurred, and the world around her faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the cruel echoes of Amber’s voice in her head. She clutched her knees, trying to ground herself, but her thoughts spiraled uncontrollably. What if she’s right? What if I deserve everything coming my way? The questions suffocated her, and she felt like she was drowning in her own mind, unable to surface.

Her breath hitched when a familiar face entered her blurry field of vision, concern etched deeply in your furrowed brows. You raised a hand slowly, your movements deliberate and gentle, pausing as if asking for silent permission. When she gave a weak, trembling nod, you knelt down and rested your hand over hers, the warmth grounding her in the chaos of her spiraling thoughts. Your voice followed, soft and steady, cutting through the haze as you spoke words of comfort and reassurance.

“Tara, hey. Look at me. I’m here, okay? You’re safe now. Take a deep breath with me. Let’s do it together—breathe in…and out. Nice and slow. Just like that.” Tara listened to your instructions, slowly gaining back her bearings before tearing up again, overwhelmed by her feelings.

“I’m sorry—I’m such a burden—“ “Hey, I want none of that right now, okay? You’re not alone in this. Whatever’s happening, we’ll handle it together. You’re stronger than this—always have been. It will pass, I promise.”

It took Tara a while to piece together what happened and where she was. She just had a panic attack. You were there. The softness of your bed beneath her and the faint scent of your room finally grounded her. She blinked a few times, her gaze settling on the familiar surroundings, and the realization hit—she was safe.

You sat beside her, your voice calm as you spoke. “I texted Chad and Mindy to come over,” you said gently. “I thought having some company might help. They’re on their way now.”

Tara nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. The thought of familiar faces brought a small flicker of relief amidst the storm swirling inside her.

As soon as the doorbell rang, you hurried to open it. Mindy wasted no time, wrapping you in a tight hug before you could say a word. Her embrace was warm and reassuring, a silent way of saying, We’re here for you. The moment she stepped back, Chad pulled you into his own firm hug, his hand patting your back in solidarity. Their presence immediately lightened the air, filling the space with a sense of comfort and support.

“We won, by the way. There was a party after, but it wouldn’t be the same without you.” Mindy commented, slightly smug about how she scored the winning goal. You’ve never doubted her once; you knew she could do it.

If Tara was being honest, she was afraid to meet the twins—afraid that she would be posed as the bad friend that avoided them, that she was weak and fragile. The thought of their disappointment, the way they might look at her with concern or pity, sent a wave of anxiety through her. It felt easier to stay away, to hide, than to face the questions and the judgments she imagined they’d have.

Tara took a deep breath, steeling herself as Mindy and Chad walked into the room. The moment Mindy stepped forward, she pulled Tara into a tight, almost desperate hug. Tara froze for a second, then allowed herself to melt into the embrace, feeling the warmth and safety that came with it. Mindy’s voice was soft but firm when she pulled away.

“You don’t have to apologize, Tara. We’re here,” she said, her tone full of concern.

Chad, a few steps behind, offered a reassuring smile before pulling her into his own hug, his hand gently patting her back. “You’re not alone in this,” he murmured, his voice calm and steady. Tara nodded, the overwhelming weight of her anxiety not quite lifting, but at least softened by the comfort of their presence.

As they settled around her, Tara felt an unexpected wave of guilt. If she were being honest, she was afraid of meeting them again—afraid that they would see her as the bad friend who had avoided them, that they would view her as weak and fragile. The thought of disappointing them, of facing their concern or pity, made her stomach turn. It felt easier to stay hidden, to avoid the inevitable questions they would ask about where she had been, why she’d pulled away. But now, as she sat between them, she realized that the fear of their judgment was nothing compared to the warmth of their unwavering support.

Tara took a deep breath, her heart pounding as she finally began to speak, her voice trembling with the weight of the words she’d kept locked inside for so long. She glanced at Mindy and Chad, their faces filled with concern and unwavering support, and it made her feel a little less alone. She told everyone in the room how she started dating Amber; and how things went downhill. By the time Tara ended, she was sobbing uncontrollably, your arms wrapped around her to calm her down. She looked at Mindy and Chad, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve come to you sooner.” Tara said tears still streaming down her face, but her voice stronger than before.

Mindy’s expression softened as Tara spoke, her eyes filled with both sadness and empathy. “Tara, you don’t deserve any of that,” Mindy said, her voice gentle but firm.

“None of it was your fault. Amber had no right to treat you that way, no matter what she said,” Mindy said, her words steady and filled with conviction. “You’re not broken, you’re strong. You’re still here, and you’re fighting. That’s what matters.” Mindy reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.

Chad nodded in agreement, his expression serious. “Mindy’s right. You don’t have to face it alone, you have us.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Tara, you should think about reporting this. What happened to you wasn’t just a mistake—it was abuse. And abuse needs to be taken seriously.”

“I know it’s scary, and I know you’re probably thinking about what Amber might do or say, but we’re here for you, every step of the way. Reporting this to the police isn’t just about getting her in trouble—it’s about protecting yourself and making sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else. You’re not alone in this. We’ll be with you, no matter what you decide.” You added, gently rubbing your hand along her arms, making her relaxed.

Tara sat in silence for a moment, her mind racing with the idea of taking that step. She had never imagined herself going to the police, but now, with Mindy, Chad, and you by her side, it didn’t feel quite as impossible. It was terrifying, but maybe it was the first step toward finally finding peace.

A few days later, Tara found herself sitting in a quiet room at the local police station, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked down at the paper in front of her. She had made the decision—she was reporting the abuse. The officer sitting across from her was kind, patient, but Tara could still feel the weight of every word she spoke. She told them everything. About Amber’s manipulation, the slaps, the pushing, the hurtful words. She didn’t leave anything out, though every sentence felt like it ripped open a wound she’d tried to bury for so long. She even included photos of her bruises she would take pictures of throughout the relationship. The officer appreciated it, it adds more evidence even when there’s a big yellowish blotch on her face that didn’t need any more explaining.

When the officer assured her that her report would be taken seriously, Tara couldn’t help but feel a tiny flicker of relief, even though fear still lingered in her chest. She had done the right thing. She hoped. But as Tara walked out of the station, the reality of her decision began to settle in. She had taken a step that could never be undone, and she knew Amber would eventually find out.

And it didn’t take long.

It was the following afternoon when Tara received a call from an unknown number. Her stomach dropped, the familiar anxiety creeping back into her veins as she hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hello?” Tara’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Tara,” came Amber’s voice, cold and filled with venom. “I know what you did.”

Tara’s heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively took a step back, as if she could escape the phone call that had already settled deep into her chest.

“You went to the police, didn’t you? You really think you can get away from me that easily? Blocking my number didn’t do anything, did it?” Amber’s tone was almost mocking, but beneath it was a layer of pure rage. “You’re nothing without me, Tara. Do you really think they’ll believe you? Do you really think I would hurt you? You’re a liar.”

Tara’s grip on the phone tightened, her voice shaking with fear but laced with a newfound resolve. “I’m not lying, Amber. I’m done. You don’t control me anymore.” Amber’s laughter came through the phone, sharp and cruel. “We’ll see about that.” And then the line went dead.

Tara stood there, the cold air biting at her skin, her heart racing in her chest; feeling the fear creep back in, until you called her downstairs for dinner. Ever since you found her during the finals, you managed to convince Tara to stay over at yours for awhile, considering she would’ve been alone at home and you wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.

You went up to the guest bedroom Tara was staying in to see her staring at her phone, slightly taken aback. You could sense her breathing getting shallower and sharper, realizing that she was having an asthma attack and quickly took her inhaler that was placed on the drawers.

She gasped again, but her breath wouldn’t come. Panic began to set in, her heart rate quickening, and she coughed uncontrollably, the sound rough and wet in her chest. The tightness in her throat made it harder to exhale, a wheeze escaping as she forced the air out. It felt as though the very act of breathing had turned into a struggle, and the more she tried, the harder it became. Your hand was already passing the inhaler to her trembling fingers. Tara’s breath hitched, struggling to move as her hands shook, but you placed your hand over hers, steadying it.

"Here, just... take a slow breath in. You can do it," you encouraged, your voice steady as you helped her press the inhaler to her lips. Tara obeyed, inhaling shakily, and within moments, she felt the familiar cooling sensation spread through her chest. The tightness loosened just a little, and she gasped for air, the wheezing beginning to subside.

“Good. Just like that,” you whispered, your hand resting on her shoulder, grounding her. Slowly, Tara's breathing steadied, each inhale coming a little easier than the last, the panic beginning to melt away as the medicine took effect. You stayed by her side, never letting go, just silently offering the comfort she desperately needed.

You were starting to get used to the sight of Tara struggling with both panic and asthma attacks throughout her stay at your home. It was a constant ebb and flow, moments where she seemed like she was almost back to herself, only for the anxiety or her breathing to hit her again without warning. At first, it was overwhelming—watching her gasping for air, feeling helpless as she trembled and shook—but over time, you learned how to respond.

You kept her inhaler close, always within reach. You knew the signs now, the way her chest would tighten, the shallow breaths, the subtle shift in her expression that meant her panic was escalating. You knew how to talk her down, how to ground her when the anxiety became too much, and how to steady her when she couldn’t catch her breath. The routine of it had become familiar: gently helping her breathe in through the inhaler, guiding her hands to her chest to ground her, reassuring her with calm words that she wasn’t alone.

But each time it happened, it still broke your heart. You could see the fear in her eyes, the fear of not knowing if she would get through it, the lingering dread that she wasn’t safe. You never left her side during those moments. No matter how many times it happened, you were there—watching, waiting, helping her through it until she found her breath again.

And while it was exhausting, both for her and for you, there was a certain quiet comfort in knowing you could help. Tara was stronger than she gave herself credit for, and you were proud of her every time she pushed through, even when it seemed like too much. With each attack, she seemed to hold onto that strength a little longer, even when she didn't see it herself.

After a few weeks of rest and recovery, Tara made the decision to go back to school. It wasn’t easy—every step toward the building felt like it weighed a ton, and her heart would race at the thought of seeing people again, of facing the memories that lurked in every hallway. But she couldn’t hide forever, and despite the anxiety swirling in her chest, Tara knew it was time to take that first step. The news spread like wildfire rippling both in Woodsboro and Blackmore. Everyone seemed to have their own version of the story, but the narrative was clear: Tara and Amber’s relationship was no longer just a private matter—it had become public, and with it, a storm of judgment.

Amber wasted no time in twisting the truth, claiming that Tara had fabricated everything. She told anyone who would listen that Tara was just seeking attention, painting herself as the victim of a lie. Amber played the part of the heartbroken, misunderstood girlfriend, while Tara was cast as the unreliable, dramatic ex who couldn’t handle their breakup. The accusations were swift, harsh, and relentless.

But amidst the gossip, there were small moments of clarity. She still had people who believed her—people like Mindy and Chad, who stood by her side without question. And you. You were her anchor. Every time the rumors swirled, you were there, offering her a steady presence, a reminder that her truth mattered, no matter what anyone else said. The world around her might have been filled with noise, but with your support, Tara began to find her voice again. Even if it took time, even if it was hard, she wasn’t going to let Amber’s lies define her.

The night before, she barely slept, tossing and turning in her bed, replaying the worst-case scenarios in her mind. What if Amber showed up? What if people asked questions she wasn’t ready to answer? But when morning came, you were there to reassure her once more, helping her gather her things and offering quiet encouragement.

“Just take it one step at a time,” you told her, giving her a gentle smile. “You don’t have to face everything all at once. We’ll get through it together.”

As Tara walked through the school gates, she felt a mix of nervousness and determination. She had her inhaler in her pocket, just in case, and a deep breath to calm the jittery nerves that clung to her. There was no going back now, but with each step forward, she could feel the weight on her shoulders lifting just a little bit. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

“Hey, Tara!” Serena, a classmate called out, her voice piercing through the crowded hallway. At the sound of her voice, you immediately tensed, a protective instinct kicking in. You weren’t sure if Serena was going to confront Tara, maybe join in the whispers and rumors that had been circulating. But as you glanced at Tara, you could see the hesitation in her expression. She was unsure what to expect from Serena now.

Without thinking, you gently pulled Tara closer, positioning yourself as a shield, ready for whatever was about to happen. Tara stiffened at first, but then she relaxed into you, seeking comfort in your presence. She wasn’t ready to face any more hostility or doubt—not from anyone.

Serena approached, her steps slow but determined. The usual confidence she carried was gone. Her face was softer, almost apologetic, and there was a sadness in her eyes that Tara hadn’t expected. She stopped just in front of you both, looking down at the ground before lifting her eyes to meet Tara’s.

“Tara,” she said quietly, avoiding your eyes. “I owe you an apology. I should’ve believed you from the start. Amber—she did the same thing to me.” Tara blinked, surprised. “You were with Amber too?” Serena nodded, her voice trembling.

You could feel Tara’s grip on your arm tighten, the weight of the moment sinking in. It was clear that this wasn’t just an apology—this was Serena reaching out to Tara, extending a hand to show her that she wasn’t alone, that there was someone who understood the pain.

“She manipulated me, made me feel crazy, like I was the problem. I didn’t see it until I left her. I saw how she treated you and… I didn’t speak up. I’m sorry for that.” Tara stared at her, processing her words. “I didn’t know… I thought it was just me.”

“I know. I should’ve been there for you,” Serena said. “But I believe you, Tara. Amber’s abuse wasn’t your fault.” Tara’s shoulders slumped, relief and confusion mixing in her eyes. “Thank you. I.. I’m glad you’re saying this.”

Serena gave a soft nod. “I’m here for you, anytime. You’re not alone.”

As Serena walked away, Tara exhaled deeply, her grip on you loosening. The weight wasn’t gone, but knowing Serena understood made the burden a little lighter.

It’s been a few weeks since Tara had the courage to start attending school again, and while the halls still felt heavy, there was a noticeable shift in her. The whispers had faded to a dull murmur, and the judgmental stares were fewer, replaced with something a bit more tolerable—curiosity, or maybe even a touch of guilt from those who had doubted her.

Tara had slowly begun to rebuild herself, day by day. With Mindy, Chad, and even Serena’s unexpected support, she had started to find the strength to face the world again. But every step forward came with its own challenge. Some days were harder than others, and the scars from Amber’s abuse weren’t so easily erased. Yet, Tara was determined to keep moving forward, and even though she wasn’t sure what the future held, she knew she wasn’t as alone as she once believed.

There were still moments of fear, of panic, but each time she faced them, it was a little easier to breathe. With you by her side, offering quiet support, she was starting to believe that maybe—just maybe—she could reclaim her life.

Tara knew she had to go back to her house to retrieve a few things. Her mind raced with memories of Amber, of the chaos and control, but there were still some items left behind that she needs—it would be a mixture of both closure and necessity. The thought of stepping foot inside her old home made her stomach turn, but she knew she couldn’t leave everything behind forever. Tara had spent too long running, too long living in fear. It was time to take those final steps—gathering her things, locking the door behind her, and finally letting go of the past that still haunted her.

She wasn’t sure if she could face it alone, but she didn’t want to burden anyone. Still, the idea of returning to the house she once called home left her feeling vulnerable and anxious. She looked over at you, a soft vulnerability in her eyes, unsure of how to ask for help without seeming weak. “I... I need to go back to my house, just to get a few things. I don't think I can do it by myself."

You immediately reassured her, “You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll go with you.” Tara let out a quiet breath of relief, her shoulders relaxing. “I didn’t want to ask, but I don’t think I can handle it by myself.”

“I’m here for you, always,” you said, offering a gentle smile. “We’ll go together, take whatever you need, and leave. You don’t have to face it alone.”

Tara gave a small nod, her nerves still present but now softened by your support. “Okay. Let’s go.” And with that, the two of you set out, ready to face the past together, step by step.

Several minutes later, you both arrived at Tara’s old house. The familiar sight of it made her pause, a knot tightening in her stomach. The house that once felt like home now felt like a prison—a place filled with too many memories she wasn’t ready to face. You could sense the vulnerability in Tara’s posture as she stepped into the house, the weight of the moment settling over her. You didn’t want to intrude on something so private, so important to her, but you also wanted to be there if she needed support.

“I’ll stay in the car,” you suggested softly, giving her space. “Take your time. I’m right here if you need me.”

Tara glanced back at you, her eyes filled with gratitude, though the fear was still there. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I don’t know if I can do this, but... I’ll try.”

You gave her a reassuring nod as she stepped inside, the door closing softly behind her. You remained in the car, your heart with her, knowing that no matter how long it took, you’d be here when she was ready to leave.

Just as she left the walkway, you saw a sketchy black car across the street. The engine was idle, and a chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. You quickly glanced at the house, knowing Tara was inside. Your protective instinct kicked in. Without thinking, you got out of the car and headed toward the house, your pace quickening.

Inside, Tara was gathering a few of her things when she heard the faint sound of footsteps behind her. She turned, her blood running cold when she saw Amber standing there, leaning against the doorway with that familiar, malicious smirk on her face.

“You didn’t really think you could get away, did you?” Amber’s voice was low and taunting. She stepped into the room, her eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. “I still have a key, remember?” She stepped forward, her fingers tracing the edge of the doorframe where she had forced Tara to give her the spare key long ago

Before she could react, you burst through the door, your body tense with fury. “Get away from her!” you shouted, stepping between them. Amber’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly sneered, taking a threatening step forward. But you didn’t give her the chance. In one swift motion, you grabbed her by the wrist, slamming her hard against the wall with a sickening thud. Amber gasped, her eyes wide with shock, but you weren’t done. Your fist shot out, connecting with her jaw in a brutal punch that made her head snap back, her body jerking from the force of it. You stomped on the leg that you injured a few weeks ago, making her groan in agony.

Tara gasped, her eyes wide, but the sight of Amber recoiling, clutching her cheek, was like a weight lifting off her chest. You didn’t wait for Amber to recover; you shoved her roughly back against the wall, your hand still gripping her wrist.

“Stay the hell away from her. I don’t care who you think you are,” you growled, your voice cold and deadly. Amber’s eyes flickered with fury, but she was too stunned to fight back properly. Tara stood frozen, watching, feeling a strange mix of fear and relief. Amber spat, her glare venomous. “This isn’t over,” she hissed, trying to regain her composure, but you tightened your grip and stepped closer, your gaze unflinching.

Amber’s breathing grew heavy, but she knew she was outmatched. With one last look of hatred, she wrenched herself away and stormed out of the house, limping while slamming the door behind her. As the house grew quiet again, Tara exhaled shakily, still trembling from the confrontation. You turned to her, your chest heaving, but you gave her a steady, comforting look.

“She’s gone. Shit—I’m sorry, I knew I should’ve—“ Before you could complete your sentence, Tara rushed into your arms, wrapping her arms tightly around you. She buried her face into your chest, her body shaking, her breath uneven.

“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t apologize. I... I needed that.” Her words were muffled against you, but you could feel the tension leaving her as she clung to you. “I was so scared... but now... I don’t feel so alone.”

You held her tighter, your hands gently rubbing her back as you spoke softly, “You’re not alone, Tara. I’ll always be here. Always.”

Tara nodded, her grip loosening slightly but her face still pressed against you. The world outside felt distant now, the past they’d just confronted fading into the background. What mattered now was the quiet, steady promise that she was safe—here, with you.

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a/n: I'm kind of forcing myself to write longer fics, and I hope this isn't too draggy and boring for u guys. feedback is appreciated :)

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x y #scream

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petals2fish · 1 day ago

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Just saw a post that said wolfstar birthed the marauders fandom and now I need to throw down some facts as a 33 year old grandma who’s been in this fandom long enough that she could write a book about everything that’s happened.

2003 - The second the “I’d rather go out with the giant squid” sentence was read by people in June of 2003 the world shifted. I personally watched marauders fanfic take over fanfic.net with a 50% increase in reviews and saves. The primary ship? Jily.

2004-2010 THE GOLDEN JILY YEARS

2007 - Commentarius is reposted to FFNET

2009 - The Life and Times posted to FFNET

2010 - tumblr marauders fandom really starts to take off—specifically the jily fandom on tumblr. We are taking the internet by storm The ship really takes off as MP3 files are made, headcanons are formed, and fanfics were being pumped out daily. It was a beautiful time to be alive.

To put it in perspective, within that time frame of hundreds of jily fics being posted plus new fans entering the marauders fandom and tumblr becoming a thing…only one person was historically really consistently writing and posting wolfstar. @MinervaEvenstar on fanfic.net…and their first fic wasn’t even until like 2005!!!

Wolfstar didn’t become super popular overnight either. It wasn’t until about 2012 that wolfstar became a more popular headcanon among marauders era readers. 2012 was a major shift in the jily fandom dynamics, which I think attributed to the shift in what were “popular” or “unpopular” ships, as the fandom had fractioned off into little cliques.

#petals talks #jily #the marauders era

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cressidagrey · 3 days ago

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You are the best thing that's ever been mine - Part 7 (The End)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: Sao Paulo 2024. The Dutchman delivered a defining drive…but maybe there is a relationship that could also use some defining.

Warnings: Jos Verstappen, angst, crying, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation

Author Notes: Hi, hey, hello! Apparently I write F1 Fanfiction now?! Also this is the first time I am trying a social media au so my Canva Skills were put to the test. (Disclaimer: I kinda put legibility over authencity, so twitter doesn't look like twitter and messages looks like...something) Also huge thanks to @onebigfangirlworld and @leodette for holding my hand with this 😘)

"Did you really throw Lewis of your Christmas Cookie list after Silverstone 2021?!" Max asked Ariel, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline after reading that particular text message.

Ariel didn't even bother looking up from her breakfast, as she was scrolling through her own phone.

"Yep," she said, popping the p. "I crossed him off my Christmas cookie list for two years. No cookies for Lewis."

Max looked at her, his expression a mix of amusement and bewilderment. "Two years?" he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

If she had thrown Lewis of her christmas cookie list for two years, there was no chance that Lando was getting any cookies this year. "That seems a bit harsh, don't you think?" he said carefully, but Ariel just shrugge.

“I am very aware that your job has its dangers,” Ariel said drily. “This wasn’t about what happened on track. I was making a point.”

Max’s lips curving upwards slightly at her words. "What point were you trying to make, schatje?" he asked, a hint of mirth peeking through his nonchalant tone.

Ariel finally looked up from her phone, bluish-green eyes that never could quite decide which colour they wanted to be, mustering him. Her expression serious. "The point was about respect. You could have died. You battled severe vision problems for the rest of the season. And Mercedes was talking about it like it was a lesson you were finally being taught. Lewis wasn’t the only one on a cookie ban. Everybody at Mercedes was," Ariel said sharply. “Because their behaviour after that crash was completely unacceptable. I decided that a two year ban without my cookies was enough to drive that point home."

Max's amusement turned into a full-fledged smile at her explanation.

"So, Mercedes' team didn't get cookies for two years?" he asked, clearly trying not to laugh. Ariel arched an eyebrow, a defiant look in her eyes.

"Yes, exactly," Ariel replied. "No one from Mercedes received any Christmas cookies for two years. And let me tell you, Lewis was heartbroken."

Max couldn’t help but laugh then, the sound deep and rich. The image of Lewis' disappointed face, finding out he was on her ban list for two years, must have been a sight to behold.

"I bet he was," he said, his laughter slowly subsiding, even when he couldn’t help but smile at her.

This was Ariel in a nutshell. She had always, always been unapologetically in his corner. There had never once been a question about her loyalty. She may called him out on his bullshit, but she was just as willing to go to bat for him.

"You're ruthless when it comes to your cookies, you know that?" he told her with a smile.

She inclined her head. “I have my principles,” she said simply. "And those principles include doling out cookie-related punishments when necessary."

Max shook his head, completely smitten.

"Oh, I know very well how protective you are of your principles," he said with a hint of tenderness in his voice. "And I love that about you." Max leaned back in his chair, his expression becoming more serious.

"But I have to say, it's touching that you were so upset by what happened during the race that you decided to ban everyone at Mercedes from your cookie list. But two years is a long time without cookies, schatje."Ariel seemed unrepentant, her defiant side shining through in her expression. “You didn’t need to do that. I am tougher than I look,” he told her with some amusement.

"They were lucky it was only two years," she snorted, her voice holding a note of irritation. "I was thinking about a lifetime ban."

Max chuckled again, amused by her determination.

"Lifetime?" he repeated, the word hanging in the air. "You really didn't pull any punches, did you?" She just shrugged, just as her phone vibrated. "Any reason why Victoria is texting me to tell you to call your Mom`?" she asked drily, after a short look at her phone.

Max rolled his eyes, even as Ariel’s phone pinged again. And again.

"Lewis did apologise about the betting pool by the way," he informed her and Ariel just snorted.

"He is worried about getting blacklisted again," Ariel told him sagely, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"I'll get my laptop," Ariel said softly as she stood, leaning down to drop a kiss against his hair and Max couldn't help himself but to pull her into a proper kiss. Max pulled her onto his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist with ease.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. A smile played across his lips as he spoke.

"You know," he murmured, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier note. "I could get used to having you here. In my lap. Anytime." He didn't want this moment to end. He could feel her breath against his neck, her fingers tracing small circles on his shoulder.

He was about to pull her in for another kiss when her phone pinged again, breaking the blissful bubble of intimacy they had created. "Call you Mom," Ariel told him pointedly as she stood.

Max chuckled, reluctantly letting her go. "Spoilsport," he teased, but his eyes were full of affection.

He reluctantly picked up his own phone and dialled his Mom's number. His mother answered on the second ring.

"Maxie! You took your time to call," she scolded him immediately.

He had. Mostly because he had no idea what to say.

What was Max supposed to say?

He had won a race. He had finally figured things out with Ariel...

And he was quite sure that the next time he tried to talk to his father it wouldn't end well at all, because his father had laid his hands on Ariel. And that was simply unacceptable as far as Max was concerned.

He opened his mouth to respond but his mother continued, talking over him in her typical, motherly way. "Are you alright?" she asked abruptly, her voice filled with worry.

He wasn't about to lie to her. "I...I am getting there," he admitted, his voice rough. "Did you see..." his voice broke before he could bring out the words.

"Yes. I saw," his mother said darkly. "Everybody saw, Max. Sky kept a camera onto the whole...thing. I am so sorry," she apologised to him and he couldn't stand it. First Ariel apologised to him about what his father did, then Victoria and now his mother.

He couldn't stand it.

Max felt a sudden flare of anger as he thought about the cameras catching the whole scene at the garage, his father's behaviour on full display.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his thoughts.

"It's not your fault," he said quietly, his voice betraying his emotions. "You don't need to apologise for him."

His mother was quiet for a moment, her voice softer when she spoke again.

"I know. But you are my son and I..." she trailed off, seemingly lost for words.

Max could sense her struggle, her own emotions warring through the phone."I'll be fine," he reassured her, his own voice quivering slightly. He appreciated her concern, but he didn't want to add to her worry.

He forced a light tone into his voice, trying to sound more like himself. "I'm a big boy,” he assured her. He was quite sure that his mother din’t believe a word he sai.

"How is Ariel?" She asked him instead.

Max couldn't help the smile that tugged the corners of his lips. The mention of her name lifted some of the weight off his chest.

"She's...she's good," he said honestly. "She's handling everything better than I am, honestly."

He glanced over his shouler, back inside as they had ha breakfast outside on the balcony…and found Ariel with her laptop on her lap sitting on the couch. Her focus was intense, as usual, as she typed away.

"You two are good together," he heard his mother say, her voice gentle. "I always thought so. At least one good thing came out of this whole mess," she said with a chuckle. “Even when it took you the better part of a decade.

Max's lips lifted in a small smile at her words, his eyes still trained on Ariel, his girlfriend. His girlfriend.

He couldn’t quite believe it, but he adored every single moment of it.

An he agreed with his mother. Despite everything, things between him and Ariel had turned out for the better. She was here, in his room, as his girlfriend and he was glad for it.

He couldn’t imagine to going back to being just friends, to not be able to reach out an pull her into a kiss…to not hear every single soft noise that escaped her as he pressed his lips to hers…

"Yeah," Max agreed quietly. "One good thing, indeed.”

"Look after her," his mother said, her tone now taking on a more serious note. "I know you will. But take care of her. And yourself while you're at it."

Max felt a warm rush of gratitude wash over him. His mother's concern never failed to touch him, no matter how old he was.

"I will, Mom," he assured her, his voice softened by affection.

"...What will you do with your father?" she asked him curiously.

Max's smile faded at her question, his thoughts turning dark once again.

He had been avoiding thinking about his father, not wanting to deal with the complicated mix of anger and hurt he felt. But he knew he could not run from it eternally.

He took a deep breath, his voice quiet and rough. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I can't just...I can’t just let it go, Ma. Not this time. He laid his hands on her," he added, his voice filled with a burning anger that he couldn't suppress. The image of his father's hand connecting with Ariel’s soft face… it was making him utterly furious.

His fingers clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. "I can't just forgive that."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, a heavy pause that carried the weight of his words.

When his mother spoke again, her voice was gentle, "You don't have to forgive him, Max. No one will force you to."

"Vic can do whatever she wants, obviously," Max continued. "But I am done. I don't want him anywhere near Ariel. I don't want him anywhere near my family."

His mother was silent for a moment again and he knew she was just processing his words.

"You are serious," she said quietly, her voice holding a hint of awe. "You really mean it, don't you?"

"Yes," Max answered firmly, his voice sure and steady. "I've had enough, Ma. This...this was the last straw."

He closed his eyes, his stomach turning at the thought of his father's actions.

"He laid his hands on her. I can't ignore that. I won't."

His mother was quiet for a moment, digesting his words. He could practically feel her surprise. His relationship with his father had never been easy and she knew that from personal experience.

Finally she spoke again, her voice careful but firm. "And what if he doesn't take your decision well?"

Max couldn't help the weary sigh that escaped him. He knew his father well enough to know that this would probably turn into a shitstorm.

"I know he will get angry," he admitted, his voice low but unwavering. "He always does when I don't just do as he says. But...this time I don't care."

“He can talk to my lawyers,” he said drily. Though he probably woul owe them truly ridiculous amounts of money to deal with his father when all was said and done.

His mother chuckled lightly at his words, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I'm sure they will be looking forward to that," she said dryly.

Then she sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of years of dealing with her ex-husband. "He won't go down quietly. You know that, right?"

Max nodded grimly, his free hand clenching into a fist. "I know," he said, his voice heavy with the knowledge of how stubborn his father could be.

He had grown up with his father's temper tantrums and his endless list of demands. He knew all too well that his father would not accept his decision without a fight.

But Max was no longer the little boy who had to comply with his father's orders. He was a man, a fully grown adult, and he was determined to stand his ground, no matter what.

His voice was firm when he spoke again. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I’m done with letting him control my life. I won't back down ."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Max could almost see his mother nodding, her face a mixture of worry and pride.

"You're stubborn like him," she said suddenly, the amused tone back in her voice.

Max smiled, a brief moment of levity in this dark conversation.

"You always were a determined little boy," his mother continued said, her voice filled with memories. "Even as a child, you never knew when to quit. I swear you're only getting more stubborn with age."

He couldn’t but chuckle quietly. His mother sighed.

"So you and Ariel," she changed the topic, trailing off leadingly. "Can I finally expect some grandchildren from you, then?"

Max almost barked out a laugh at the question. He was caught off guard by the sudden switch in conversation, but the subject wasn't an unwelcome one.

"Ma," he said, his voice tinged with both humor and incredulity. "One crisis at a time, please."

"It's a valid question," she said in response, her voice filled with feigned defensiveness. "I'm getting old over here."

Max rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. "You're not THAT old," he teased.

His mother huffed at his words, amused but pretending to be offended. "I am old enough to be a grandmother, Max! I want to spoil some grandchildren before I'm too old to enjoy it."

Max chuckled, the lightheartedness of the conversation a welcome break from the heavy topics of their previous discussion.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," he said lightly. "But you're going to have to give me a little time. I just got her, you know."

His mother snorted at his words, her voice filled with a mother's knowing. "Oh, I know you well enough, Max Emilian," she said, a hint of mischief in her voice. "Trust me when I say, it won't take long for you to put a ring on her."

Max rolled his eyes again at her words, but he couldn't argue with her logic. "We'll see," he said, his voice trying for a nonchalant tone.

The truth was, his mind had already started wandering down that path of its own accord. But he wasn't going to admit that to his mother just yet.

"You keep telling yourself that, Max," his mother said with a laugh, her tone filled with maternal certainty. "In a few months, I will have another daughter."

Max chuckled at her words, the thought sending a jolt of excitement through his chest. The idea wasn’t as scary as it should have been.

"You are awfully sure of yourself," he teased, his voice tinged with amusement.

"I know my son," his mother said simply, the affection in her voice clear. "And I know how much you love that girl."

Max felt a lump in his throat at her words, the truth of her statement hitting him hard. He loved Ariel with all his heart, more than anything in the world. He couldn't deny that.

"Ma..." he began, his voice growing a little rougher.

"It's alright," she said gently, understanding the emotions behind his words. "You don't have to say anything. Just...take care of each other, yeah?"

Max nodded, his throat too tight to form words. He knew what she meant, the unspoken worry for the road ahead. But he was determined to face it together with Ariel.

"I will," he managed to speak, his voice filled with determination and love for her. "I promise."

"Good, Maxie," his mother said, the nickname making him feel like a child again. But he didn't mind. In his mother's eyes, he would always be her little boy.

She paused for a moment, then added, "I'm so proud of you, Max. You know that, right?"

Max felt a wave of emotion wash over him at her words. To hear his mother say that to him, in this difficult time, meant more to him than he could express.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice a mixture of gratitude and love. "Yeah, I know."

He felt a strange sense of peace wash over him. Despite everything that had happened, despite the storm on the horizon, he knew he had his mother's love and support. And he had Ariel. He was not alone.

His mother's voice was soft when she spoke again. "Go back to your girl now," she said, a hint of humor back in her tone. "She's probably wondering what's taking you so long."

Ariel’s email inbox was an absolute nightmare

She couldn't stand the sight of it anymore.

Between the concerned emails from friends, the offers of support from colleagues, and the endless messages from people she had never even interacted with, her inbox was a swirling mess of sympathy, curiosity, and unsolicited advice.

She hated it.

With a sigh, she shot off a message to her friend Madeleine, making some plans to see each other sometime before Christmas...something which hopefully would involve more than one strawberry daiquiri.

(God, she really could do with one right now.)

She also had no idea what to do with the sprawling apology that she was quite sure Lando had either asked ChatGPT or Oscar to help him write.

She wasn’t sure which was more likely and less weird.

(Ariel also wondered if it was only about her christmas cookies…but she was willing to cut some slack…maybe.)

Other than that...it was still a nightmare. Ariel started to copy paste her response to every single media inquiry, which was that she was very much fine and very much not interested in talking to any of the media outlets about what had happened between her and Jos Verstappen and also very much not pregnant.

The mere thought of having to talk to a horde of journalists, all eager for the next juicy story, was horrifying.

She wasn't one to seek the spotlight, and the fact that she was suddenly thrown into the center of it against her will made her feel both irritated and violated.

Leaning back against the sofa, she took a deep, calming breath.She hadn't even "started" with her phone though. That one was also a nightmare of seemingly every person in her life deciding to blow it up with numerous messages. Some of it was really quite sweet. Some of it definitively wasn't though.

The amount of people reaching out to her felt almost overwhelming. Her phone was inundated with text messages, calls, and voicemails, all filling up her notifications to an almost dizzying degree.

Some messages were nice, filled with warm wishes and support. But there were also those that were much less pleasant, asking questions that were far too intimate. Some even seemed downright judgemental.(...Ariel’s list of people that were going to get cookies this year was definitively dwindling down.)

At this point, it was difficult to tell who was genuinely concerned about her and who was just trying to squeeze some gossip out of her. She found herself growing increasingly frustrated with each new message she read, the constant barrage of questions and inquiries making her head spin.

With a weary sigh, she put her phone down and scrubbed a hand over her face, feeling utterly exhausted both mentally and physically.The whole experience felt oddly voyeuristic, like strangers were peering into the most private corners of her life, trying to satisfy their curiosity without any regard for her feelings.

And she didn’t even dare to look at her instagram…or on tiktok. Or on the website formerly known as twitter. Until she did and then clicked away again immediately.

Social media was a vast minefield of people throwing out comments that were anything but helpful. From armchair psychologists to self-proclaimed relationship experts, they seemed to know exactly what she should - and shouldn't - do.

"Hey."

She looked up to see Max join her on the couch, sitting next to her. He held out his arm for her and she pushed away her laptop to curl against him.

The one good thing that was coming out of this drama was their relationship.

"Hey," she greeted him softly. "Good talk with your Mom?" Max nodded, his arm wrapping around her body and pulling her close. The feeling of her body against her was pure comfort.

Ariel happily leaned against him with a sigh.

"Yeah, she just wanted to know how we're doing," he said, his expression a mix of weary and affectionate. "She worries. You know how mothers are."

She did. There didn't pass a day where Ariel didn't miss her own mother.

She leaned her head against his chest, taking in the solidity of his presence. His hand began to move in soothing, lazy circles on her back.

"This isn't some sort of fling to me," Max told her suddenly. She was so surprised by his sudden change of topic that she could just stare at him. "I would probably marry you tomorrow, given the opportunity. I wasted 5 years, I am not wasting anymore time."

She could just stare at him, her mouth suddenly dry at this look in his blue eyes. It was…decisive. There was no other word for it.

Max had mae up his mind.

An his words made Ariel’s heart flutter in her chest.

"Max..." she began, not certain of what to say.

Marriage wasn't something she had considered in the midst of all the drama. It had… well. It hadn’t crossed her mind. Not yet. Not while there were a thousand moving pieces all around them.

“I just want to be with you,” Max told her fiercely. “We don’t have to do anything right now, if you want to take it slow. That’s fine. Anything you want is okay. But I am serious about us.” Max said, emphasising each word slowly and clearly.

He was serious, completely serious. The raw honesty in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

"Max," Ariel said his name quietly, her voice thick with emotion. She searched his face, looking for even the slightest hint of doubt or uncertainty. But there was none. He was earnest, sincere, and utterly in love with her.

"I love you too," she whispered. "And I am serious about us too."

Max's eyes brightened at her words, his whole face lighting up with a smile. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her even closer into his embrace.

"You mean that?" he asked, his voice filled with a slight tremor of disbelief and hope.

"Of course, I mean that," she promised him softly. "I love you. And I can't wait to spend the rest of my life doting on our two spoiled cats and stopping them from taking apart your Sim Rig. I can't wait watching you win races and knowing that you come straight home to me. And I can't wait to see what you'll do when you are done with it all and decide that you want to try out something new. I can't wait to grow old with you."

Max was stunned silent by her words, staring at her, swallowing.

"That's all I ever wanted too. Just you, me, and our little monsters. Nothing more, nothing less,"he said, his voice catching.

"Maybe some kids too. Down the line," she teased him. She wanted that. One day. Max had always been amazing with children.

"You...you would want that?" he asked huskily. "You want children with me?"

Her hands rose to cup his face. "Of course," she said softly. "I want everything with you."

With him, the thought of children didn't seem so scary. It felt more like a promise of the future, a future that would be filled with love and laughter.

Max's arms around her grew tighter, desperate almost. He pulled her even closer, burying his face in her neck and inhaling deeply.

"I don't deserve you," he mumbled against her skin. "I truly don't."

Ariel gently cradled his head against her, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion. "Shush," she whispered. "Of course you do. I love you."

They simply sat there on the couch for a moment, wrapped up in each other. The world outside their little bubble seemed to fade away, and all that mattered were each other.

"I really want to go home," she said softly. "And cuddle Sassy. And Jimmy."

Max chuckled quietly and nodded into the crook of her neck. The thought of going home after the last few days sounded idyllic.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice muffled. "Let's go home."

(Author's Note: While this finishes off this particular installment, I am SO NOT FINISHED WITH THEIR STORY. It will be a series and I have A LOT of ideas. So I will wildly skip through the timeline 😅😂 (Also if you have ideas/prompts/suggestions, they are always welcome!)

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polarisjisung · 3 days ago

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LOVE ON THE COURT | 36 BRUTAL CLARITY

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing (shocker but no sexual innuendos in this chap !) , lwk abandonment issues, blame shifting, lots of nervous habits too (?)

NOTES | first fully written chap, some of you guys will hate me for this, also, I was initially going to post this yesterday, but I got lazy and didn't write anything 😭

Now, Jaemin wasn’t one to believe in fate, but if it had somehow led him here, he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.

After 10 minutes of trying to pry the door open and too many failed attempts at picking the lock both captains had finally given up, too worn out from the game to actually bother trying to get out of the room they found themselves locked in.

Jaemin stood near one of the benches, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his hoodie. His eyes occasionally darted to Y/N, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back to him. Not a word had been exchanged between them in the past week, let alone during the last ten minutes. The silence between them felt heavy, far more suffocating than the game they'd just played.

There was so much to say—too much, in fact, and he had no idea where to begin. But Jaemin knew he had to start somewhere.

"Don't go on that date with Jay." He said softly, voice barely above a whisper. His body practically froze in the second it took him to process the words that had actually left his mouth, but Y/n sat still, unmoving. Of all the impending conversations, this was the last one he'd intended to start with.

He felt like an idiot.

When she didn’t respond, Jaemin felt a pang of uncertainty, wondering if she hadn’t heard him. He hesitated, the words stuck in his throat, but instead of repeating himself, he added, "Can we talk?"

Nothing. But he was certain she'd heard him.

"Come on, Y/N," Jaemin’s voice was quieter now but edged with desperation. "Talk to me"

Y/N’s shoulders stiffened, not turning around. Her gaze was fixed on the rough floor, the sting of old memories too sharp to face him directly.

Something about this moment felt too nostalgic, too tender, reminiscent of a past she desperately wanted to return to. And looking at Jaemin— she just couldn't do it.

Not now. Not when in this past week, she'd relived every moment she once knew Jaemin, through photographs and teenage diary entries,now buried somewhere at the back of her wardrobe.

Still, Jaemin took a step forward, and she bowed her head, refusing eye contact. His heart clenched. Her glossy eyes weren't difficult to miss, not for him.

"I don’t know what happened. I don’t even know why he's here, " Jaemin continued, his words rushed. "I just want to fix things. Please." He knew his words were jumbled, mixing pieces of conversations they should’ve had long ago, but if this was his only chance, he wouldn’t blow it. “Look at me, peach.”

Y/N’s lips pressed together, and for a moment, it seemed like she might just give in. Instead, she pulled her knees closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if to shut herself off completely. Cocooning herself.

Jaemin let out a frustrated breath and sank onto the bench across from her, his voice quieter now. Defeated almost.

"I swear, he came onto me first," Jaemin defended himself, trying to take a different approach to the situation, a dry, soulless laugh rolling off his tongue. "That's a lie, but he was pissing me off." His hands were up, raised by his head in full defence after he'd caught the way y/n snuck bitter glances at him in the mirror across from them.

God, she almost wanted to laugh. And she hated that she did, hated how jaemin always knew what to say and when to say it, how to get her to laugh in her worst moments, how to get through to her when nobody else could. After all that, she didn't understand why he was the same person to turn his back on her so quickly.

In all honesty, she could've cared less about what Jaemin had done to her father. He probably deserved it, hell she was ready to blow up at him herself— the man who had never once shown up to a single one of her games in support, coming to one of the few that meant the most. He did it on purpose. He was trying to throw her off and it was clear as day. He could be dealt with later she supposed, trying to process everything Jaemin was saying instead.

But it still didn't make sense. Nothing seemed to match up. Why would the Jaemin who'd walked out of her life so easily put so much at stake for her, the Jaemin who once couldn't care less about her, now begged her just to look his way. Her mind raced, a swirl of emotions, but behind it all, a lingering sense of confusion.

"Can we talk y/n? You've been ignoring me for days, and I have no idea what I did." He pauses, hoping she'll finally break. She doesn't, not yet.

"If anyone should be mad at someone it's me. I should be angry, hell I should be enraged, but here I am making an effort and you're giving me nothing." he tries again, hopeful. His voice raises, louder, more hoarse when he continues, a sign of his slipping patience.

"Work with me here because I'm trying to salvage our friendship after everything we've been through, I'm trying to save us, and somehow, it feels like you've already given up"

She finally spoke, her voice flat.

"I have."

Jaemin felt the way his eyes widened, the spark of hope in his eyes vanished, confusion flooding his expression instead.

"What."

"Why would I fight for something I know won't last?" She spoke like she had all the certainty in the world

Jaemin's expression faltered. "What do you mean?"

The question is simple but comes with such sincerity that for a moment, just for a second, Y/n wonders if she's gone insane.

"What do I mean?" she laughs, sarcasm dripping through her tone, "You know damn well what I mean Jaemin." His innocent act is enough for Y/n to rise to her feet, fists bundled at her side, jaw set in a hard line.

"You don't just get to walk out of someone's life, my life Jaemin, and pretend like you did nothing wrong. You don't just get to throw away relationships like that, not what we had. You want to talk about fighting, huh Jaemin? I fought, so hard. " her voice was sharp, coming in bursts of irritation, struggling to catch her breath as she hiccuped, tears welling in her eyes and already rolling down her cheeks " I fought so fucking hard, and I fought alone, because I thought you, I thought we, were worth fighting for."

She takes a second to wipe her tears, Jaemin taken aback— he'd never seen her like this, never so raw, so vulnerable.

Nothing she had said made any sense, nothing she spoke of aligned with anything he knew, and yet it seemed nothing short of the truth.

"You disappeared, and you never even told me why, and you want to talk to me about giving up on us? How do I know you won't do it again, huh? How do I let you back into my life, accept you with open arms and a smile, when I don't know if you'll do it again, if you'll leave again." At this point, Jaemin watched the girl's sentences disintegrate in their flow, broken sobs punctuating her words in some places, shallow breaths in others.

"You say want to talk about us, but the first thing you asked me was not to go on some stupid date that really shouldn't be any of your concern in the first place. Is this really even about us? Because it feels like you say all this shit about fighting for us when really, you don't care at all."

Her words were coming out jumbled, a disorganised mess of all the things she'd been meaning to get off her chest in years, and yet the weight on her shoulders didn't seem to lighten even when she spoke.

"I called a thousand times, texted a million more, I begged to talk to you, I sent you letters, I even sent emails, emails Jaemin, and you never responded, not once. I was trying so hard, and you, you weren't even trying at all."

Jaemin felt a knot tighten in his stomach, uncertainty coursing through his veins. The anger he thought he should have felt was replaced by a deep concern, making him question everything he swore he had known for so long.

"You think I cut you off for no reason?" perhaps he should've made a more conscious effort to soothe her worries, but Jaemin felt it, his clammy palms, his shaky hands, he was on the edge— ready to spiral if he had to listen any further. The need to defend himself, and perhaps, to really get to the bottom of this, was compelling.

Everything he did, blocking her number and her contacts, ignoring her countless knocks at the door and her shouts for him across the street, all of it, came flooding back into his mind.

For a moment, he wondered if she really deserved it at all?

"You were all I had y/n, all I needed really, and you think I just did this all for no reason. I know you're not stupid enough to think that." He chuckles— sourly. "You left me," he corrects. "Broke every promise you'd ever made to me and never turned around once to apologise"

It felt like he was speaking gibberish, like his words didn't make sense, and his emotions came out of nowhere, a throbbing now making Y/n's head spin. This act Jaemin was putting on was good, too good.

"Stop speaking in riddles, what do you mean?"

"I mean, you don't get to stand there and pretend this is all my fault," he snaps, sharp and honest. "You left me at regionals, after promising you would be there, you left me to fend for myself after knowing what I would've had to give up if I competed, what I did give up. Y/n you left me, betrayed me in fact, so don't you dare make this my fault."

You left me— the words rang in her ears.

But she didn't.

Y/n didn't remember much, not from that point in her life, after she'd made every attempt forget it, but she remembered this, and she remembered it so vividly. Regionals hadn't gone ahead that year. She was certain. They were cancelled, she tried desperately to recollect. And then it hit her.

As Jaemin stared at her, the pieces began to fall into place. Y/n felt her heart drop. Just how stupid could she be?

"They didn't cancel the competition?" she asked, each syllable thick with a newfound shame.

"Of course not" he scoffed, "Why would you think that"

Jaemin almost rolled his eyes.

But then he saw it, the way her skin had drained of its colour. Y/n's lips trembled, she fidgeted with her fingers, picking at the skin that surrounded her nail beds, flicking the hair tie against her wrist. Something wasn't right. Y/n finally realised what she had done, and god, she felt like such a fool. The truth hit hard, and it hit fast.

"I'm so sorry, jaem," her head hung low with embarrassment, but her stare still held his, as if she could only convey the sheer sincerity of hers through her eyes. The weight of her words hung between them, and Jaemin could feel the atmosphere shift around him, the heat that rushed to his head before was now replaced with a harsh knocking against his ribs, cold feet and constricted air.

He wanted answers. He needed to know.

"Y/n what happened that day. Tell me."

The signs, they'd had been clear as day, and now, she wondered why she'd believed him, after his constant let downs and disapproval for her sport, his constant attempts to sabotage her and her career.

The organisers had all gotten into a car crash on their way to the competition, that why the competition didn't go ahead— that's what her dad had told her.

Regret settled in her chest as she fought to intake enough oxygen.

Her head shook, frantic and fevered, there was no way.

She couldn't believe it.

Her father lied to her, and she'd been naive enough to believe him.

It was all her fault.

Her stupidity had cost Jaemin so much. It had cost them so much. Everything.

But she didn't know how to tell him.

Her eyes focused on Jaemin, but he seemed blurry and hazy. In fact, soon enough, he was spinning.

Y/n struggled to keep her footing, her legs wobbling beneath her. It was as if the ground was shifting, and she couldn't find her balance, her mind racing with thoughts that only fueled her anxiety. The bitter taste of guilt residing on her tongue, harsh and unforgiving.

"I need you to breathe for me, peach. I'm right here. Just breathe."

But she needed to get it off her chest. She had to.

"He said they cancelled the competition. He lied."

"Who did?" Jaemin was beyond confused, her sentence too short and vague for him to understand what she was getting at. Still, his heart skipped a beat, panicked.

"My dad."

It was as if a fog had lifted, and suddenly, everything made sense. Really and truly, it felt impossible. A brutal clarity.

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#jaemin #nct smau #nct social au #nct social media au #nct dream smau #nct dream social au #nct dream social media au #nct jaemin smau #jaemin smau #jaemin social au #jaemin social media au #kpop smau #love on the court 🏀

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tkomptgoedluv · 1 day ago

Text

watermelon.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.3

pt1. here | pt.2 here | pt.3

joost klein x f! reader

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader still really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, angst angst and even more angst, did i mention angst?, tooth-rotting fluff, so fluffy it’s honestly a little cringe <3, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 3,494.

warnings: very brief + vague reference to SA, rpf.

notes: hello!! welcome to pt.3 <3 this is probably the part that i’m most proud of, probably because it weirdly hurt the most to write. a couple fun facts about this part: reader’s coat is heavily based on one i have in real life and absolutely adore. also, i genuinely couldn’t bring myself to touch this wip for two whole days because my personal life started to match up with this storyline and i did not like it! became a little too self-indulgent. anyways — enjoy!! lemme know what you think.

love you all lots 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

in a lot of ways, the whole situation was more or less your own idea of hell — ironic, considering it all started with literally the worst night of your life.

not once did you ever think that you’d be here, that this was how things were gonna go. the fun part? you don’t even know how you got here in the first place. for someone so in the middle of it all, you know surprisingly little about what actually happened, or what you must’ve done wrong.

all that you know is that it’s different now. joost is different now.

you still text everyday, a few phone calls here and there, and you’ll see him in person a few times a month or more, but you can still feel it. the subtle lack of emotion in his messages, the only-ever increasing wait times in between responses, the missing details in his stories that you’d still end up hearing from your friends. something, at some point, shifted and joost just didn’t seem to be your joost anymore.

at first, you tried to think nothing of it. you weren’t exactly a stranger to anxiety; it’s always been just a little too easy for you to get lost inside your own head. this also wasn’t the first time that you had fallen down this rabbit hole, suddenly convinced that someone you love doesn’t even like you because they said something in a slightly different tone once.

but then those weird few days where things didn’t feel quite right turned into weeks, and it just didn’t feel like nothing anymore.

you thought it could’ve been the videos because, as predicted, entire montages of the fight found their way onto each and every little corner of the internet. joost could be seen clear as day swinging for him, landing punch after punch until one of his friends would eventually step in. though somehow, the backlash against joost never came. for every clip there was a ‘story-time’ to go right along with it, and every single one explained how joost was just defending ‘this girl that had been attacked by that guy.’

so instead you exhausted yourself asking if everything was alright, just in case there was something else going on that he also hadn’t told you. but there was only so many times that you could ask the same question over and over again, only to get the same answer back.

joost was fine; great even.

so it had to be you. nothing was wrong, nothing bad had happened, it was simply just you that had repelled him all of a sudden. and that was all you could think about whilst you sat in a room surrounded by your closest friends — joost included.

it was someone’s birthday, a friend of a friend who’s name was still unknown to you and yet somehow you still ended up with an invite. aspon was on your left, deep in a conversation with stuntje about some new anime you’d never heard of, and alanis was on your right, asking to see pictures of daan’s latest art piece.

you, of course, were there in between them all, just staring into space. all of the ice in your drink had melted as it sat forgotten about in your hands, and you were fairly confident that you had memorised each and every scratch in the wooden flooring. you were yet to find a better place to look other than the floor, because of course it was joost that had to be sat opposite you.

he had pulled the short straw really, because by the time he came back in from his cigarette outside, the only seat left was one of those awful, plastic fold-up chairs. like the others he too was wrapped up in a conversation of his own, only his included a girl that you’d never seen before, and he was making her laugh a lot.

you didn’t have a single right to absolutely despise what it was that you were seeing, but still your skin felt hot and itchy, and tears burned behind your eyes. despite arriving together in your group and being seated a measly three feet away from each other, joost was yet to even glance in your direction, let alone talk to you. the blatant avoidance was unbearable; the new ‘you’ that he was talking to was even worse.

but with the anger came the shame, because really, you had no excuse to be feeling like this. two strangers with mutual friends, talking with one another at a house party of all places, wasn’t exactly incriminating. they also weren’t touching or even flirting for that matter — from what you could hear, their conversation seemed limited to small anecdotes about the people in common they both knew.

you weren’t being fair, you weren’t being reasonable; there was no excuse for the tightness in your chest.

without a word, you got up and made a dash for the balcony; desperate for a cigarette. so desperate in fact, that you didn’t stop to grab your jacket despite the rain bashing against the windows. you just needed the fresh air, needed space away from whatever the fuck was going on in there.

the small roof that the balcony upstairs provided did little to shield you from the rain. your hair quickly fell damp around the sides of your face as the wind brought goosebumps to your arms. you really should’ve stopped to grab your coat, you were soaking now.

but the pure, unbridled relief that you felt when you breathed in the smoke of your cig made it all worth it, though. it was something else to focus on, something to help soothe all of your aches and pains. best of all, it gave you a reason to be by yourself for a while — a moment alone to think, to breathe, a chance to get a fucking grip.

you took another drag of your cigarette.

“think you forgot this, schatje.”

over the sound of the heavy-falling rain and the music from inside, you hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open and shut again.

from the corner of your eye you saw joost standing there, clad in a black gilet and the same adidas track-jacket that you had bought for him two birthdays ago. your coat was in his outstretched hands; a big, red furry thing that almost swallowed you whole every time you put it on.

“yeah…thanks.”

you wanted to cry.

the silence that followed was heavy and awkward; neither of you could even look at each other as you took your jacket from him and slipped it on. whilst you focused on looking outwards towards the skyline, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill, joost busied himself with lighting up a cigarette of his own. it felt like you were standing next to a stranger, and not someone who quite literally knew every single little thing about you.

someone who always picked up the phone when you called; someone whose bed you’ve woken up naked in just a few too many times to count.

“you, uh, you doing okay?”

you almost choked on your cigarette.

he’d barely even glanced your way all night, too distracted by other female attention to really care that you were there at all, and now he wanted to know how you were doing? oh he had to be joking.

you stubbed out your cig underneath your shoe and went to storm back inside, shoving past him with your shoulder as you did so. you had almost made it too, before he caught you by the arm and gently pulled you back. it really pissed you off how hurt he looked, like this wasn’t all his fault in the first place.

“hey, can we not just talk for a minute? i wanna know what’s been up with you recently. we don’t really talk anymore.”

as hard as you could you pushed him off of you, and then you pushed him once more for good measure. you couldn’t bite it back anymore, couldn’t keep it all from spilling out when your blood was already boiling. if you were to regret it in the morning, you would just blame it on the few drinks you’ve already had.

“and why the fuck do you think that is, joost? tell me.”

a small part of you that you really couldn’t quite understand, genuinely hoped that he would push you back. that he’d get all up in your face, yelling at the top of his lungs, just as angry with you as you were with him. you wanted him to shout, to scream at you about how wrong you were; you wanted to feel crazy for even thinking that something could ever go wrong between the two of you.

you didn’t want him to just…stand there with his tail tucked between his legs, looking like he had already given up on you a long time ago. you found yourself shoving him again, only hard enough to knock him back a step or two this time.

“tell me!”

now more than ever you wished that you could stay angry, that you knew how to hold onto the outrage instead of always just breaking down into pieces. it made you feel so small the way that your voice was cracking; your shouts quickly shrinking into cries. you felt like a child again, begging to understand why everyone always left in the end.

“i just needed to work some stuff out, okay? none of this was meant to happen. i never wanted to make you cry.”

you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, the state of your mascara becoming an afterthought, before raking your fingers through your hair. thin strands stuck to the corners of your face and the back of your neck.

“please, tell me what i can do to make it better.”

joost was panicking now, looking a lot like an old dog that somehow knew it was about to be left behind at the shelter. you could see it in the way his hands were shaking and how he couldn’t quite seem to stand still, shifting from one leg to another.

“you can tell me what happened; what changed or what i did wrong. i don’t care.”

from the look on his face, you never would have guessed that all you’d asked him for was the truth; ‘panicked’ was no longer the right word.

“i can’t. i promise, i’ll tell you later but i can’t tell you here. not like this.”

you laughed — you couldn’t help it. three months ago, when you asked him why he was so insistent on doing anything and everything for you, he gave you the exact same line. either he forgot that he’s already used it once before, or he thought you were stupid enough to fall for it all over again; either way, you knew now that ‘later’ was never coming.

before you really knew what you were doing, you were back inside and weaving your way through the small huddles of your friends. a few stared as you began to tread water through the house, a long line of watery footprints following behind you on your way out. you muttered a quiet ‘i’ll see you guys later’ to whoever was listening and in one smooth motion, grabbed your bag from one of the tables and disappeared through the front door, slamming it behind you.

no one tried to stop you. probably for good reason, too, because you could feel the makeup running down your face.

the only good thing to come from looking so sad and drenched from the rain was that nobody on the street stopped to bother you either. not many people were out in this weather anyway, so at most you felt their eyes on you as they passed, a look of pity on their faces. pity for a girl all dressed up for a nice night out, just to be walking home early in tears.

you didn’t want their pity, you just wanted to go home. you wanted your bed and your pyjamas. you wanted a nice warm shower and to try and forget that today ever fucking happened.

you didn’t want joost to be chasing after you.

you didn’t want to hear your name being yelled from down the street by the one person you didn’t want to see right now.

“cmon you always do this! stop running away from everything.”

that was the thing to get you; the one thing that made you stop and turn on the spot.

“oh i’m the one running away? you’re the one that left!”

you met him halfway with steam coming out of your ears, your hands trembling and nose all scrunched up. you were fuming and it seemed as though he was now, too.

“i never went anywhere! you’re making it sound like i disappeared off the face of the earth or something.”

“well that’s what it felt like! what about that don’t you understand?”

you were each taking turns yelling now, oblivious to how loud you were actually being. people were sticking their heads out of their living room windows, morbidly curious about the scene that was unfolding right outside their homes. those that walked by did double-takes and even contemplated getting their phones out to record.

“but i’m here now! and i was ‘here’ back there and you just ran away like you always do!”

“did you really expect me to just stand there and listen to you lie again? all this ‘oh i’ll tell you later’ crap, it’s just bullshit. ever since that night you’ve been different and if what that guy did to me changed how you see me then maybe you’re right, maybe we should stop being whatever the fuck we are.”

joost physically recoiled at your words, his entire demeanour changing to one of hurt.

“what are you..? schatje no, no, it’s nothing like that. fuck, please tell me you don’t really think that.”

how could you not? it was the only thing left for you to think. it wasn’t like you wanted to come to that conclusion or that it was the first one you jumped to, but joost never gave you any other choice. as much as it hurt, it was better than simply not knowing.

something died in him when you nodded — you saw it in his eyes. tears of his own spilled down his cheeks as he rubbed his hands up and down his face, wiping his nose with the inside of his elbow.

“i…i would never; that guy…that wasn’t your fault.”

“then tell me the truth, joost.”

all that adrenaline, all that energy from before was long gone. you weren’t two people arguing in the rain, full of love and anger like something straight out of a romcom anymore. you were just two people standing out in the cold, soaked to the bone, just trying to hold on for a little while longer.

you were still waiting for joost to say something, trying to prepare yourself for the worst. if he was to say that same shit again, that he couldn’t tell you now but would later on, that would be it for you. you’d walk away and not turn back again, not for anything; just like that it would be game over.

but joost wasn’t saying anything, and you couldn’t decide if that was any better or not. he was silent as he took a couple steps towards you, the palms of his hands suddenly cupping either side of your jaw. the pads of his thumbs wiped away all the tears and rain from your eyes and tucked the odd strands of hair behind your ears. not once did he glance away from your gaze, not once did he say something.

it was driving you crazy.

“joost?” you were pleading with him now, desperate for him to say something — do something. the way he was looking at you, it was like you were the only thing he could see. “say something.”

“i love you.”

you blinked, and all of sudden you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands anymore. it wasn’t the first time joost had said that to you because he says it to everyone, every single one of his friends. but he had never said it to you like that before, with a look in his eyes so heavy you feared that they might fall right out of his head.

“what?” your voice cracked as you spoke. “i don’t understand…what?”

“i love you. that’s what changed.”

a headache was coming, you could feel it. right behind your eyes, you felt a twinge, and then a subtle thumping that made your eyebrows twitch. you just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and the more you tried to make sense of it the more your head hurt.

“i swear to god if this is a fucking joke, if you’re just making this up -”

he shut you up with a kiss.

it wasn’t exactly for the first time or even close to being so, but it felt as though it could’ve been; all soft, gentle, careful. the hands that held either side of your face did so as though you could’ve cracked and shattered at any second. he moved slowly, almost hesitantly, until he felt you turn into mush beneath him. only then did he pull away, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

but you couldn’t let him have it though, could you? couldn’t just let him have the upper hand, just like that. you had to chase it, had to pull him down to your height by the collar of his jacket until your lips could meet his. by the time you were finished, both shaking and breathless, there were faint smudges of red all across his mouth.

“that was so hot; do it again.”

you laughed at his words for not the first time tonight, but now it was only out of pure joy instead of anything else. you laughed because of how out of it joost looked now, his eyes glossed over and lips parted ever so slightly as he panted. you laughed because of how much you did want to do it again and how you felt giddy knowing that joost wanted you to do it again too.

so you did. only this time joost was ready and pounced on you hard enough to knock you back a couple of steps, almost making you slip on the wet pavement. his fingers lost themselves in your hair, gently tugging at the roots as yours gripped onto the nylon of his jacket for dear life, too afraid to let go and risk letting him slip away.

you would have stayed like that with him all night if it wasn’t for the wolf whistle you heard from one of the windows above, followed by the rumble of thunder. the rain was starting to fall harder now, the storm only growing and you didn’t like knowing that people were watching you now.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here — people are looking.”

with his forehead resting against yours, joost simply groaned as he struggled to catch his breath. his hands still cradled the back of your head and his eyes were still squeezed shut.

“don’t care. need you.”

he may as well have been one of the puddles at your feet, the way he couldn’t even form proper sentences anymore. the things you were doing to him right now were criminal, almost cruel, and you were loving every minute of it. proud of it, actually. you might have been mush in his hands, but he was like putty in yours.

“well…maybe you should take me home then, yeah? then you can need me as much as you like.”

joost groaned again, muttering something about how you were ‘going to be the death of him’, and leaned back in. from your nose to your cheeks, to your chin, every inch was peppered with very sweet, very wet kisses.

“have i told you much i love you yet?”

he had, at least a handful of times by now, but not nearly enough as you would’ve liked. so you shrugged, a shit-eating grin plastered across your face as you did so, and stepped back, lacing your fingers with his.

“it’s okay, you can tell me one more time.”

apparently that was way too far for you to go, because after one singular step you were tugged back again and kissed as though joost’s very life depended on it. ironic, considering you were certain that you were both about to be struck by lightning at any moment.

“i love you.”

you figured if that were to happen by some chance, it’d be worth it if it meant staying here with him for just a little while longer.

“i love you too.”

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost klein x f!reader #luvvergirlwrites

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starkeynation · 15 hours ago

Text

I love you, I’m sorry

A letter from reader to Rafe

Content: Angst, like PURE sad, the lamp looks weird, based on the song I love you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams (may or may not be accurate)

A/N: about that cliffhanger and happy ending, I changed my mind… also ignore any writing mistakes if there’s any and this was kinda rushed so I hope it still turns out good

Masterlist

dividers from @anitalenia

Rafe,

It is Saturday night. I should be out doing something, partying or whatever to enjoy myself, yet here i am, pen in hand, finding myself writing to you again. I know this letter will never reach you- it’ll end up crumpled at the bottom of my drawer or burned to ashes. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself.

It has been exactly two august ago since everything fell apart. I remember the way I laid it all out, raw, I wanted to be real, hoping that honesty would mend us. We weren’t perfect. Hell, we were far from it. We fought like fire and gasoline, burning everything we touched. Jealousy leads us to mistrust each other but even then, I didn’t think it would end the way it did. I never thought that fight would be the last..the final, devastating blow before you ghosted me and blocked me everywhere.

I swear it wasn’t my intention to break up with you, I thought by exposing the cracks, we could patch them together. Instead, the truth just ended up pushing you away. When you drove off in your Benz and left me standing at my gate, it felt like everything had stopped. The time, the world, my heart…everything froze. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, I wanted to stop you, beg you to stay, to tell you that we could still save us but you didn’t look back, and i was too late.

Now, i watch you from a distance as you become successful, helping your dad doing business, running Cameron’s development like you were born to do it. I heard your name whispered in admiration at the club where I work, how you charm people the way you trained for. And you know what? I’m so so proud of you Rafe. I always knew you had it in you. I’ll be rooting for you always, even from the shadows.

Maybe two summers from now we’ll be talking again at some point, exchange smiles, our lives untangled and we’re cool again. I can picture you’ll be in your family’s jet, travelling, and me, on my boat moving on with our own lives. By then, i hope..im actually ready to move on. I know you’ve already moved on- I mean, why wouldn’t you? Still, there’s part of me wish that you wouldn’t yet, and maybe, just maybe, you would take me back.

But that’s just selfish isn’t it? I was selfish when we were together too. I made everything about me, i was inconsiderate, I turn something small into raging battles. I didn’t listen, didn’t see you for who you were. I’m ashamed of the person I was, of the mistakes I made. After everything i did, I’m surprised you haven’t send someone to kill me yet.

Lately I find myself sitting on the porch, watching sunsets like we used to, with a glass of something strong in my hand. I laugh at myself, at the crash I made, because what else can I do? It’s a twisted kind of coping—laughing at my own heartbreak. It doesn’t feel real and it’s really hard to let go but i guess that’s just the way life goes.

I know i was a dick, Rafe. I had too many flaws to count but as sick as it sounds, I loved you first. You’ll always be my first love. You were the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me, a storm that left me shattered but alive. Your love had impact me deeply, it is carved in my soul. No matter where we are, i want you to know that I’ll carry the past and the weight of my mistakes with me. Trust me, it will always, haunt me.

I regret every second for not treating you well, for not being the person you needed. Lastly, i want you to know that I still, truly, deeply, love you, I’m sorry.

*Ding* you heard the bell rings. You rush downstairs to answer the door.

“Pizza delivery”, says the delivery boy standing in front of you. You almost forgot you ordered one, an hour ago. You take your prepaid alfredo chicken pizza and thank him. It was Rafe’s favourite pizza, you’re not sure if it’s still his favourite though. After shutting the door, you walk to your kitchen.

Just two seconds later, *ding* the bell rings again. Did the delivery boy forget anything? You thought.

You open the door, “yes-“ you pause. You couldn’t believe it, standing right in front of you,

“Topper?”

“Topper what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice laced with confusion.

He then steps aside and reveals a man behind him, lying on the steps of your porch- a man whose silhouette you’d recognize anywhere. “Rafe,” you whisper.

“Shit I’m sorry to bother you but this dumbass got into an accident for driving while he’s high,” Topper blurts out, panickly.

Your brow furrowing and your confusion deepens. You walk closer to Rafe and spot the blood dripping from his head, “Accident? What? Then why do you bring him here instead of the hospital?” You ask, your voice sharp, slicing through the chaos of the moment.

“He won’t let me. He insisted I bring him here to see you,” Topper explains.

“Y/n,” Rafe speaks up, his voice low and strained.

Your heart skips a beat. It’s like the universe has stopped spinning again. This is the first time you hear him calling your name after two whole years.

“Hey Rafe, you’re bleeding,” you say, your voice mix with feelings.

“I’m fine,” he says, giving a soft, disarming smile while trying to sit up.

You instruct Topper to go find some cloth to stop the bleeding. As he dissapears, you sit on your knees facing to Rafe, “Rafe, what happened? Why are you here?” you ask, still have no clue of what’s going on here.

“I wanted to see you,” he replies, putting on that damn smile again, the one that’s always managed to unravel you. “I miss you, y/n.”

Your face goes pale, your eyes widens, the words hang in the hair, heavy and unexpected. “Rafe, you’re drunk,” you accuse, trying to make sense of what’s happening right now.

“No, I’m not, i swear I’m very conscious right now,” he insists, his voice firm. You’re still not sure if he’s telling the truth or not. “I really miss you, y/n,” he continues, his voice low but still clear for you to hear it.

Your heart aches, torn between disbelief and the undeniable pull of his words. “How hard did you hit your head? God, you’re still bleeding. We need to see a doctor,” you say, trying to stand up, but he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Stop it, I’m fine i swear…this is nothing,” he says waving off the concern. Just then, Topper returns with a towel in his hand. He hands the towel to you and says, “dude, are you sure you’re okay? When i saw your car there were smokes everywhere. Looks like you hit that tree pretty hard,” his voice fill with concern.

“I’m fine Top, just go. I need to talk to y/n,” Rafe says with a dismissive wave. Topper hesitates, he looks at you for confirmation as if you’re the one in charge here. You nod at him, signalling an approval, “s’okay Top i can handle this.”

“Okay, just call me if anything happens,” he says. “Thank you,” you mutter softly to Topper as he’s leaving towards his car.

With Topper gone, you shift your focus back to Rafe. You take the towel and start dabbing on the blood on his forehead, “we still need to get this stitched up,” you say. Rafe then grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, “look at me,” he demands.

You look at him straight in the eyes, drowning in his blue eyes. It’s overwhelming- staring at the man that you love but no longer yours.

“I do mean what i said, i miss you y/n and i wanted to see you,” he says, his tone steady and sure.

“But why now?” You ask, your voice breaking under the weight of the question.

“Sar..Sarah told me tonight that you’ve been writing letters about me. She found them stashed under your bed,” he says, hesitantly.

Your stomach drops and you shake your head in disbelief, “God…i knew it there was something wrong. She was acting so weird when she left this morning,” you mutter.

“So it’s true? You’ve been writing about me?”

Your face is turning red, you’re struggling to find the words. “I- yes…I’ve been writing letters. Pretending like I’m gonna send it to you but i never do,” you stutter.

“Why didn’t you just send them?” He presses, his voice low, almost pleading.

“You know why Rafe…you’ve moved on. You blocked me few months after we broke up. You’re thriving now with your job, you got your whole life together, and I- I was the reason why we broke up. I can’t just crawl my way back into your life like nothing happened,” you shatter, your voice breaking as you’re struggling to control your tears.

Rafe shakes his head. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and kisses it. “You’re wrong y/n, you’re absolutely wrong. I’ve been doing nothing over the past two years except than trying to forget about you. That’s why I’ve been doing all these jobs, thinking it could distract me, but no,” he shakes his head again. “Nothing could make me stop thinking about you.”

His confession leaves you breathless, your tears streaming down your face as he continues. “About the blocking and disappearing, I’m really sorry, I was a coward. The truth is, that day i came to your house to apologize. Then, as I stood outside, i saw you were laughing with jj through your window. I knew you guys were not together cause after jj left, I may or may not have confronted him…” he then mouthed sorry. “But then, I remember the way you looked so happy when you’re with him. At that time, I knew I had to let you go cause you deserve someone better and you deserve to be happy so that’s why I blocked you..as if that makes any difference.”

You idiot,” you scoff. “I never wanted anyone else, only you Rafe, only you. You’re the only one who could truly make me happy.”

His eyes glisten, his smile soft and hesitant. “Please forgive me y/n, I swear I’m a better person now and I love- I love you, so much. I still do.”

You reach up, caress his cheek and pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too Rafe,” you whisper. He cups your face and returns the kiss. The kiss is passionate, slow and tender. His lip is so soft and only god knows how much you miss this. The world fades around you, leaving only the two of you, two broken pieces finding their way back to each other.

You pull away from his face and let out a giggle. “Why are you laughing?” He asks, can’t help but let out a soft giggle too.

“Before you came I was actually writing another letter for you,” you admit, a shy smile appears on your face.

“Oh really? Tell me about it baby,” he smirks. Your smile widens at the sound of the nickname that rolls out from his mouth. “Mm I miss that. You, calling me baby. Anyways, it’s in my room, wanna come in?” You ask.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer as he leans back against the stairs railing. “Hmm in a bit sweetheart, you can tell me here while we stargaze. I missed your porch- and mostly you, of course,” he replies with a faint smile.

So you do. You talk to him about the letter while your head rest on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined. “Lastly I wrote, I love you, I’m sorry,” you say, explaining the last content of the letter. But then, you realise he has gone quiet. His stillness unsettling. You glance up to him, “Rafe?” He’s not responding. You check his pulse but there is none. Panic sets in as you shake him, calling his name.

“Rafe”

“Rafe, wake up”

“Wake up!”

“Y/n”

“Y/n, wake up”

You gasp, your heart is pounding like a drum. You’re sweating all over your body as reality crashes down. It was a nightmare.

“Hey..baby you okay?” You turn your head to your right and realise it’s Rafe. He’s okay, he’s alive and he’s sitting on the bed next to you. Relief floods through you like a tidal wave.

“Is it the nightmare again?” He asks. You nod, signalling him that he’s right.

“It’s okay baby I got you. Here, come back to sleep,” he says, gently pulling you into his arms. You smile and cuddle him, clinging to the illusion of safety his embrace provides. You close your eyes again trying to fall back to sleep till your alarm suddenly rings.

You wake up with a tear running down your cheek. You hit the snooze button and realise that was a dream and this time, it’s the true reality. You look to the other side of your bed, it’s empty. It always has been for quite a while now. The truth is, that night after Rafe collapsed, you called for an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, they try everything to make his heart beat again, but nothing works. It was too late. He had lost too many blood before that you weren’t aware of and that same night, Rafe had died in your arms.

It’s been 3 years since the tragic. You keep having the same dream almost every night. Part of you is grateful that you and Rafe had ended in good terms but another part of you knows that the truth is you’ll never get the chance to redeem yourself and be a better partner. There’s nothing remaining other than the memories that will haunt you forever.

Rafe, if you’re hearing this, I love you, I’m sorry.

Like and reblog if you want to kys after reading this😇☺️

#drew starkey #obx #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #outer banks #outer banks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe angst #angst #angst with a sad ending #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe fic #Spotify

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chaos-in-deepspace · 2 days ago

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LADS Xavier: Seasonal Moods | SFW

I've been feeling really off the past few days with a swirl of negative, self deprecating emotions, and decided to attempt to cheer myself up by writing some comfort. The newest event with Xavier really drove home the point to me that he would be the best at helping his depressed partner.

I know I'm probably not the only one who feels like this, and with winter being here I know a lot of us with year round depression if getting hit a bit harder than normal, so if this is you, I hope you can find a little comfort with this fic. Remember you're loved and cherished and the voices in your head feeding you all these negative thoughts are lying to you.

Anyways, I didn't proof read this as I didn't have the energy so I apologize for typos.

❧ Pairings: Xavier x Reader ❧ Warnings: Depressed Reader, Non Sexual Intimacy, Non Sexual Nudity ❧ Synopsis: Sometimes seasons make sad moods worse, but sometimes people in your life can help make it a little better. ❧ Word Count: 2.2k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

Seasonal Moods

You were feeling…some sort of way. It wasn’t a particularly good feeling in you, in fact you’d say it was rather the opposite of good. You felt dreadful, and for no reason other than it was winter. You had less sunlight, colder weather, and with that sometimes came a certain melancholic sadness that washed over you. You just felt…horrible.

Whenever you saw your friends together it felt more like they were almost ignoring you, even Tara seemed more distant from you. You knew logically it was all in your head, that these things weren’t happening, but it didn’t make you feel any better. It was like you were looking at every outing through a glass, you were there but there was something separating you from all the others.

You felt like you couldn’t reach out even if you wanted to. When everyone was having fun it felt like you bringing anything up would ruin the atmosphere. So you began distancing yourself as much as possible. Putting your phone on silent and saying you were asleep or busy when questioned why you didn’t answer, claiming you had something going on when invited out, the whole works. If you were forced to reply in message threads, it was easy enough to have some self confidence and fire at least. As long as you didn’t come face to face with others, most thought you were doing just fine. It did work, for the most part.

There was just one person who didn’t buy the facade.

Xavier.

How he always managed to know when something was slightly off with your mood was a quality in him you both admired and hated. He was your hunting partner, your neighbor, your friend, and possibly something more, but you two hadn’t had that discussion yet. You probably had just spent so much time together in the past few months he was able to easily tell when you were acting different. It shouldn't have surprised you, not with how observant he always seemed to be when it came to you.

You just wished he didn’t care so much, that he couldn’t tell you were depressed. That way you could easily distance yourself from him like you did with everyone else until you worked out your own thoughts and emotions. Sure it might’ve taken all winter to begin feeling better, but at least he didn’t have to see you like this.

He had made a surprise visit while you were in your bed, scrolling through funny videos in an attempt to distract yourself from your thoughts. You had managed to slip up at work and gotten a very minor injury, but it was enough to force you to take a few days off. You hated that more than anything. At least at work it kept you busy so you didn’t have time to deal with your emotions. When you were at home by yourself it seemed to only amplify the darker thoughts in your head.

“Hey,” his soft voice had startled you at first and you flinched, locking your phone and putting it against your chest. You closed your eyes, hoping he hadn’t seen you were awake on your phone. You were laying on your side, facing away from the door to your bedroom, so there was a…low chance.

Then you felt the bed dipping as he sat down, and you felt his hand threading through your hair so gently you leaned into it, “There we are, you are awake after all.” He said, the laugh he had was a little airy and you finally glanced at him. He was wearing his signature white hoodie at the moment and his hair was a little disheveled as if he just woke up a few minutes ago, “How are you feeling?”

“My side hurts, but other than that it’s fine. I can sleep it off.” You quickly said, slowly leaning away from his hand and placing your head back on the pillow.

“Have you already changed the bandages?”

“Yes.”

“Have you eaten today.”

Silence filled the air as you thought about that. You didn’t even know what time it was, let alone if you hadn’t eaten. The days were melding together, so you weren’t sure. You could see the sun was setting beyond the horizon…or perhaps it was just coming up. You had been doing nothing but bed rotting the past few days, sleeping on and off, and only getting up when you needed to use the restroom or when you realized how dry your throat was. When was the last time you even showered?

“I’ll take that as a no.” He said with another laugh, but this time it was less enthusiastic, “How about I go make you something real fast.”

This had you grabbing his wrist quickly, stopping him in his tracks, “What are you planning on making?” while Xavier had slowly gotten better at cooking foods, using things like the oven or stove top was still a hit or miss situation.

“It’s a bit chilly today so how about some ramen?” he suggested. Xavier could see the way your shoulders seemed to sag in relief at his suggestion. You weren’t particularly hungry, but you knew food would probably be good.

“That sounds good to me.”

“Alright, wait here, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Xavier ran his hands through your hair again, scratching at your scalp and you wanted to flinch away. It was probably oily and gross and you didn’t want him to feel it.

You felt the bed shift again as he got up and the door closed behind him, leaving you alone again. You stared at the wall in silence, wondering if maybe you should get up and tell him he can go home, that you were capable of taking care of yourself right now. It would be a lie, sure, but you didn’t want him fretting over you. You didn’t deserve his attention when you were the one who dug this self deprecating hole yourself.

You didn’t have the energy though, and instead just laid there and waited for him to come back. Once again you didn’t know how much time had passed, it could’ve been hours or even seconds, it all felt relatively the same to you. The door opened back and you could smell the savory ramen, he had made one of your favorite flavors…again he was far too observant. The bed dipped and you heard items being placed on the nightstand next to you.

“Come on, let me help you sit up.” Xavier said, slowly lifting your body into a sitting up position. You felt him grabbing pillows to help prop you up in the bed and you sighed when the warm ramen was placed in your hands alongside chopsticks, “Eat up, I’m sure you’re starving without even realizing it.” He said. You glanced back at him, noticing how he was eating as well, blowing on the steaming noodles before taking a bite.

You followed the motions, noticing that, for some odd reason, the food tasted a little better than usual. The moment you took the first bite it was like your body kick started and you realized you were pretty damn hungry. You two ate in silence side by side on your bed, and by the time you finished you were being handed a nice cool glass of water to sip on. He let you just be for the time being, not saying anything but just being there. He helped clean up the empty containers and when he came back to the room he was shifting you again, picking you up.

Your hands found purchase around his shoulders, “Xavier, what are you doing?” you quickly ask, not understanding why you were suddenly being carried somewhere.

“To the shower.” It was simple enough of a statement, but you felt a wash of shame overtaking you. So he had noticed, of course he did.

You gave a strained laugh, “I must smell pretty bad if you’re dragging me to the shower…sorry about that.” You murmured, trying to make light of the situation.

“You don’t smell bad,” He quickly stated, “and even if you did, I don’t mind.” The door to the bathroom opened and he placed you on top of the counter, “I just realized you probably hadn’t had the energy to do it, so I’m helping.”

Your face felt a bit hotter now as you avoided him, “I’m not that injured.” You muttered under your breath.

“It’s not the injury I’m worried about.” Xavier was already working your clothes off, tossing the fabrics you’d been wearing for days off to the laundry basket you kept in the bathroom. It was almost overflowing with clothes at this point, and while you wanted to be embarrassed being stripped bare in front of him, his eyes weren’t focused on your body. He was more focused on taking care of you, which you didn’t know if it made you feel better or worse.

“Then why are you fussing over me so much if it’s not because of the injury?” you finally asked, watching as he went to turn the shower on to a warm temperature.

He began taking his own clothes off as he answered you, “You haven’t been yourself lately. Tara had even come up to me and asked if you were alright. I was going to wait a bit and see if you’d reach out, but I can’t wait too long when I knew you were here by yourself.” He explained, “You haven’t answered my messages like normal, and any time I try to make plans you say your busy, I got worried.”

His words were earnest and made you feel even worse about yourself. Congratulations to you, you’ve managed to make the sweetest man you knew feel bad and worry over nothing.

“I’m sorry…” it was all you could say as he began dragging you into the shower. His hands were already working on getting your hair wet so he could properly wash it for you. He didn’t know your entire hair routine, but at the very least your scalp would be clean. Anything else could be taken care of when you felt better.

“Don’t apologize.” He said, his words a bit sterner, “I’m not upset with you. You’re allowed to reach out whenever you want, or not at all. It won’t change the fact that I care about you and wanted to make sure you were okay.” He explained.

“If I hadn’t been so distant though, you wouldn’t be so worried.” You explained, “It’s my fault.”

“Is it also your fault that your brain decided to make you sad for no reason?”

“Yes.”

“No, it isn’t.” He said, rinsing out shampoo from your hair and putting in some conditioner, “It’s not. Sometimes things just happen. I wanted to be here for you, it’s as simple as that. I’ll continue being here for you as well, whether your sad or happy, and that’s of my own free will. You have nothing to apologize for, besides, I like being able to take care of you like this. I wish it were under better circumstances, but that’s no fault of yours.” He explained.

You didn’t know what to say, honestly, so you didn’t say anything at all. Instead you just let him wash you, and then you were being wrapped up in a fluffy towel and dried. The hoodie he had some in was placed over you, the smell of him taking over your senses. He put on the blue shirt he always wore underneath it and finished getting you two dressed. He went back to carrying you, but instead of going to your bedroom, he carried you out into your living room.

There were a lot of things you expected, but seeing a giant blanket fort with fairy lights, the TV on with a movie already prepared, and some soothing smells coming from an oil diffuser that you were certain you didn’t own…it hadn’t been what you expected.

He placed you down onto the soft blankets and you noticed a box of mini cupcakes next to you, all of them having cute designs in an assortment of flavors, “Tara bought those for you,” Xavier said, “She said when you’re feeling better she wants to take you to this new bakery that opened up, that’s where those came from.”

“I should message her soon.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing from you, but for now.” You felt Xavier getting into the fort with you, pulling you against his chest as he started an older movie. It had cartoon characters and you recognized it as one of your favorites growing up. You were certain you had only spoke of it once with him, but of course he remembered, “Let’s just relax for the rest of the night, okay?” he said.

“Ya…I like the sound of that.” You got out. You still felt a bit numb, still felt off. It did make you feel better though, especially when you saw some lights from his evol, a little bunny he made, bouncing around. It was enough to make you genuinely smile for the first time in a while. Perhaps…being taken care of wasn’t so bad.

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #Xavier Love and Deepspace #Lnds #Lnds Xavier #lnds x reader #x reader #reader insert #xavier x reader #l&ds #l&ds xavier #l&ds xavier x reader #lads x reader #lads xavier #lads xavier x reader

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deepdarkdelights · 4 hours ago

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Predator (Jungkook x Reader) Part II - Prey

Pairing: Vampire Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Series: Predator Universe

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Vampire Jungkook, Obsession, Manipulation, Forced Relationships, Blood (So much of it), Fear (Copious amounts), Panic/Anxiety Attacks, Mind Games, Tormenting the MCs, Discussions about dead bodies, Jungkook and his unblinking stare, Self Injury (Non Mental Health Related), Forced Feeding, Isolation

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: The worst part was that you never tried to run. Jungkook never tied you down to anything or bound your wrists or feet. He simply knew that you would never try. It would be idiotic for you to try and run, you knew he was a talented tracker - he would be able to find you within minutes of your escape. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide from him, he would always be able to find you.

A/N: I am alive! This was entirely inspired by an ask that was sent to me so the entire reason this exists is because of the wonderful anons who have asked be about what has happened since the end of Predator and who have asked to see what a more lucid Jungkook would look like. I haven't had this much fun writing in such a long time. I'm sorry it's so short, I hope you can forgive me 💜

_______

It was dark and quiet, the only sound being the steady, slow, drip of water hitting the dusty floorboards and the harsh chatter of your teeth as they clashed together.

You were freezing, your body trembling despite your best attempts to collect yourself. It was no use, no matter what you did you were never able to warm up anymore. You knew it wasn’t all that cold outside, but that didn’t really matter. Despite the chills that wracked your body there was a fine sheen of sweat that coated your skin.

You were unsure as to how much time had really passed since you had found yourself here. All of the days had begun to blend together like some horrible fever dream you simply couldn’t wake up from. The only constant in your life has become him.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was trying to kill you.

What was truly likely, was that this was a side effect of his treatment of you. It was very likely that he just didn’t know how to take care of a human. And despite your incessant pleading, he had told you that he would not kill you. So really, it was his own ineptitude that had you knocking on death’s door.

Your skin felt grimey, not entirely from lack of hygiene, but from the film of blood that coated your skin. It was all over you but it mostly dominated your cheeks, lips, throat, chest, and fingers. He was not violent when he claimed his feeds, but he was not necessarily gentle either. You hadn’t looked in a mirror for quite some time, but you were certain no amount of vampire blood would be able to seal your wounds with how often they were readily reopened.

This wasn’t a life, it was a slow and painful trek to the afterlife.

Your trembling increased as the front porch creaked, he was already back. Your head lolled backwards and hit the wall behind you in defeat. You couldn’t do this again, you couldn’t give him another part of yourself - this time you were certain that it would kill you.

Every time he fed from you, there was a horrible, delightful, exhilarating rush that followed. Whatever it was that he was doing to you, it was forcing you to enjoy the very thing that was killing you. It was perverse. It was disgusting. It was addicting.

It was hard to hate him in the throes of ecstasy, there was this horrible thrill that came the second before his fangs pierced his limb of choice as you knew you would be rewarded with bliss in the moments that followed. It was easier to hate him when he wasn’t there, his lack of presence giving your mind the briefest of reprieves to remind yourself of the horrible situation you were truly in.

The distance, however, didn’t seem to allow him the same clarity. If anything, it made him grow more needy, more irritated, and more clingy.

The door creaked open, and your time to yourself disappeared. Your body shook tenfold as his presence filled the room. He still looked the same as he did the first time you had come face to face with him. His clothes were worse for wear, even more blood stained and shredded than they had been before. There was a permanent coppery scent that surrounded him, the dried blood being the prime suspect.

You were certain that you didn’t smell that much better. Although, to a vampire, you probably would smell all that more enticing.

His gaze was immediately drawn to you, your eyes locking with one another, bridging the fifteen foot gap between you. His eyes often fluctuated in vibrancy depending on how hungry he was. The days where they were near black were the most difficult for you, but today they were a bright crimson red. He had fed on someone, someone who luckily wasn’t you.

“Hello little mouse,” He greeted, his voice low and surprisingly soft, devoid of the almost manic tone you had been familiar with for the longest time.

He began to close the distance between the two of you, his gait smooth as he approached you. The way he moved was unnaturally perfect, the silent power of a predator imbued in every muscle of his body.

He wordlessly dropped a bag in your lap as he sank down to the ground beside you, his wide, red, unblinking eyes staring at you, waiting for you to make a move. No matter how much time you have spent with him, his stare was still unnerving.

It took you longer than it should have to open it, your fingers trembling beyond your control. But Jungkook was patient, he has all of the time in the world to wait.

The scent of food hit your nose, your mouth watering and your stomach growling eagerly in response. From the color of his eyes and what he had brought you, you assumed he had decided to have his fill of a hiker instead of you.

Jungkook didn’t know how to take care of a human, that much was obvious. He had, however, been keenly aware of how much blood he was draining from your body on a daily basis. You had become so weak, anything but sitting felt like a herculean task nowadays. And the lack of consistent meals was weighing heavy on your body.

You didn’t care that he was watching you eat, your mannerisms ravenous and most likely off putting. But you no longer complained when he took his fill of you, and for some reason he remained silent and returned that courtesy.

You had noticed a shift in his behavior when that other vampire had found the two of you not that long ago. He knew Jungkook, from the way they spoke it appeared he knew him very well. This other vampire, despite how he appeared more human than Jungkook, frightened you just as much. You could tell from the curl of his smile to his confident gait that he was just as bad, if not worse, as Jungkook.

You had nearly fainted on the spot when he suggested the two of them share you, you were already tapped out as it was, Jungkook had fed on you that morning. The two of them, together, would kill you for sure.

To your surprise, Jungkook had not responded enthusiastically. He responded like an animal defending its territory - baring his fangs and growling in just barely contained rage. And that reaction had set off the other vampire and before you knew it they were a blur of limbs.

They moved so fast your human eyes could barely keep up with them. You were only able to focus when one of them threw the other giving you just enough time to watch them separate before they came back together again. The sound their bodies made when they clashed together was like thunder from what you could only assume was the pure force and strength they possessed. And, much like animals, they ripped and tore into one another with their teeth and nails.

By the time the two of them had finally separated for good, it was because of how much they had injured one another. The both of them were covered in wounds oozing black blood, some of which was their own, and some belonging to the other.

The other vampire, whom you had briefly heard Jungkook address as Hoseok, was tired but still enraged.

“Are you fucking serious? All of this for what, a pathetic little human?!” He yelled, his nostrils flaring in anger. “It’s food, Jungkook! I’m your brother!”

Your body flinched out of habit at the snarl that left Jungkook.

“With the rate that you’re going you’ll kill her anyways! Why does it even matter?!”

“She’s my human,” Jungkook replied, his voice low with warning.

“This isn’t even supposed to be about her! She’s nothing! Namjoon sent me to come and find you but you know what, I think I’ll let you deal with the consequences of your actions. It’s only a matter of time before he comes for you and when that happens, you're on your own!”

He disappeared quickly after that, it was like he was there one moment and then vanished the next. Once he was gone, Jungkook’s once sturdy stance softened, his shoulders bending forward from the strain of his own weight. He was hurt, badly.

He slowly turned to look at you, the red of his eyes and his dark mop of hair just visible over the curve of his shoulder. You knew that look, it usually didn’t end well for you.

“No, no, no, Jungkook, please!” You whimpered, scrambling backwards.

But it was no use, he never listened to you anyways. He always took what he wanted, even when you had nothing left to give.

He stumbled when he moved but he quickly regained his footing, his black blood stained hands grabbing you by the shins and pulling your retreating form towards him. You fought as hard as you could but you were already weak to begin with.

“Stop it, please!” You begged, but he didn’t listen. He wrapped his arms around you, his grip too tight and utterly uncomfortable.

“Jungkook-”

“Shut up,” He grunted before yanking your head roughly to the side and sinking his teeth back into the scarred skin of your neck. The shriek that left you was borderline inhuman, the building scar tissue made the intrusion all the more painful and Jungkook was not gentle.

And he had already taken so much blood the day before. It wasn’t long before your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you went limp in his iron hold.

That was the first time that Jungkook had given you vampire blood. You had almost died that day, you had gotten so close to finally being free of him and still he wouldn’t let you go. Even death wasn’t a great enough adversary for him.

When you had woken up after that attack, shocked that you managed to survive, you were met with those big, red, frightening eyes. The look on his face was the most serious you had ever seen it before, an odd clarity in his eyes that you were seeing for the first time.

He had been dreadfully quiet since then, speaking even less and shorter sentences than he normally did. You wouldn’t say he felt bad for what he did, but he had become increasingly aware of the inherent fragility that came with being human. He never apologized, but he had fed from you a lot less after that.

You froze mid bite as you felt his icy fingers graze your flesh, the coolness biting your skin and seeping into your veins. His touch was feather light, just barely there, but you went still beneath it anyways. You were incredibly aware of the strength that was concealed in that touch. He appeared unbothered by your response, his thumb smoothing over the curve of your jaw as he leaned in unbearably close.

You flinched at the feeling of cold metal being draped around your throat, his fingers clasping the material at the nape of your neck. It was a necklace. Your chest felt tighter, the food in your stomach quickly souring.

He was doing it again.

You were well aware of Jungkook’s strange and disturbing habit of taking mementos from his victims. His ears, wrists, neck, and practically every inch of his body were adorned with items he had stolen. You noticed he had an affinity for jewelry, but his jacket and boots had been taken from someone’s corpse as well. And, recently, he started bringing them back for you as well.

Your bloody fingers were littered with several rings, a bracelet on your right wrist, and your ears decorated in earrings - some of which he had pierced himself. And now, the necklace.

It left your stomach in knots when he did this, you couldn’t help but think about the bodies abandoned in the woods that he had slaughtered every time the metal glinted back at you. Each piece felt like another shackle keeping you at his side.

The worst part was that you never tried to run. Jungkook never tied you down to anything or bound your wrists or feet. He simply knew that you would never try. It would be idiotic for you to try and run, you knew he was a talented tracker - he would be able to find you within minutes of your escape. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide from him, he would always be able to find you.

And so, you had become his plaything. His dinner and now his doll, a weak body that he could play with and decorate to his greatest desires whether that be with a corpse's jewelry, or a litany of scars.

“Pretty,” He said, his voice deceptively soft as he grazed the skin of your neck, his fingers moving from the clasp of the necklace to trace over the scarred imprints of his fangs and teeth.

You were thankful that he wasn’t hungry.

The odd, calm atmosphere between the two of you was quickly dissipating. Jungkook shifted away, agitation clear on his face as an annoyed growl parted his lips. You flinched back against the wall, scooting away to stay out of his path.

This wasn’t unusual - he had been having rapid mood swings lately.

The few moments of peace the two of you would share were often interrupted by the sudden pained twist of his features - his eyebrows drawing together and his nose scrunching in a snarl. It almost looked like he was in physical pain despite there being no signs of any injury.

And then, the pacing would start. It was like watching a caged lion sweep the perimeter of their enclosure. Back and forth, slow and menacing steps. It was like he was looking for something, or trying to guard the two of you from someone else. You hadn’t dared to ask what he was doing, to be entirely honest you tried your best to avoid initiating any interaction or conversation with him at all. The few times you did speak to him, it was usually to beg for him to leave you alone, pleas that often fell on deaf ears.

You didn’t know what to do with this. When you first “met” him, he had been sadistic, like a zealous child with more power than they knew what to do with. He had wanted to play his sick and twisted games with you and the plan had always been to gorge himself on your blood and leave your mangled corpse deep in the forest to wither and return to the earth. That was what was familiar to you, that was what you were expecting.

You were never supposed to live, that had been an unfortunate circumstance, a split decision he made to prolong your torture and pain. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do with this suddenly quiet, confused, and barely human creature in front of you. One that would rip open your flesh to feed just as soon as he would leave bruising kisses on your lips and throat, painting the flesh a rich red that was left to rust.

You were waiting for him to snap, waiting for it to all finally be over. But that would be luck, luck that you didn’t have. He had promised you, so long ago, that you would never be alone again, that he would keep you. And you have suffered the consequences ever since.

When he said your name you felt your blood freeze over. He had never said your name before, you didn’t even know that he knew it. He had always called you that horrific pet name, his little mouse.

You wrapped your arms around your legs, pulling them into your chest in an attempt to feel some sense of security as he continued to speak.

“We’re leaving soon.” He said, the words simple but the expression on his face ever so complex. Reluctance, frustration, pain, anxiety.

You swallowed, but did not move. The silence was deafening. But, by the look on his face, you knew that he was waiting for your response. You would have to break the stalemate.

“Are you…taking me home?” You dared to ask, your heart thundering in your chest as that predatory gleam returned to those red eyes.

“No,” He growled, his jaw clenched as his fangs ground against his lower set of teeth, “You’re not going back there, ever.”

Your heart shattered.

“I’m being called back to my home.”

His home? This was the first that you were hearing of it, you never stopped to ask yourself if he had a home. You couldn’t picture it even if you tried, it was a puzzle piece that simply didn’t fit. You had always assumed he was simply a nomadic creature that moved as he hunted. And, due to his supernatural nature, it seemed that he never needed the typical human necessities and comforts such as four walls and a roof.

You knew he had some sort of family at the very least. You had, after all, had the displeasure of meeting Hoseok who had referred to himself as his brother. And he had mentioned the name Namjoon, the phrasing suggesting a hierarchical structure. But even the notion that he had a family felt just as mismatched. And how ironic it was that he was returning home to a family he didn’t even want, and he wouldn’t let you go home to the family that you missed so much.

“And that’s bad?” You hesitantly asked, flinching as he growled in frustration.

“It’s worse than bad!” He yelled, his hands sliding through his hair in stress, “It was difficult enough fending Hoseok off, but all six of them? You’re as good as dead.”

Hope.

“Then…don’t go?” You said, although it sounded more like a question. By the way he was acting, it was like returning was not a choice.

“If only it were that easy,” He laughed, the sound bordering on being unhinged. “I can’t ignore it, if I’m called I have to answer. If I don’t it becomes more and more persistent. It feels like a cord that grows tighter and tighter until it pulls and my body moves on its own and takes me back.”

That explained the pacing, the restlessness his body had been experiencing. He had been trying to redirect it by walking the perimeter of the decrepit cottage but it had been a temporary fix to the problem. You could only assume that he was getting to the point now where his body was ready to return against his will.

How horrible it was, to be someone’s unwilling puppet. You knew that feeling all too well.

You didn’t know what you were supposed to tell him. There were no choices to be made by the two of you. He would have to return, and he wouldn’t leave you here on your own as he knew you would be given the greatest opportunity you have ever had to leave him. So, he would have to take you with him right into the lion’s den where you would undoubtedly be consumed.

He was mumbling to himself now, his pacing becoming more frantic and much faster, your human eyes struggling to keep track of him. You were sure that he was moving so fast he would wear down the old floorboards beneath him and the soles of his beat up boots.

You could only assume that meant the call was becoming even stronger. Before - it was asking, now it was commanding.

You had never seen him so frantic before, those wide blood red eyes unblinking and shifting back and forth faster and faster as his thoughts raced. It was borderline demonic, like something you would see during a paranormal movie or an exorcism. It was terrifying.

You began to scoot back as far away as you could until your spine was flush with the wall behind you. You felt better with some part of you concealed from the open, but that did little to calm your racing heart and the creature that raged in front of you.

What was he so afraid of, so panicked by? You couldn’t imagine anything scaring him, not with how terrifying he was on his own. What could be so bad, so scary, that it frightened a monster? You weren't sure you wanted to find out, even if it meant you could finally feel the sweet embrace of death and escape him once and for all.

Jungkook finally came to a stop, his body still but his eyes continued to move erratically. And then they too settled, and a look of deadly calm settled over them. He had decided something, and you were certain that whatever his decision was it wouldn’t be good for you.

“They wouldn’t,” You heard him mutter to himself, “Not if I put a fail safe if place.”

A fail safe?

Before you could even blink he had moved across the room, faster than your eyes could track. Your body had been ripped away from the wall and set in between his legs, your spine pressed against his chest, the both of you seated on the ground.

An uncontrollable wail shook your body, the sound emanating a feeling of pure hopelessness. You had been surprised it came out of you, but you knew why. You were terrified he was going to feed from you again.

His one arm was wrapped around your ribs, his legs tensed and forcing your own to squeeze together. He had immobilized you, there was nowhere else you could go and no way to escape him.

Your entire body shook and heaved with hysterical breaths as you writhed in his grip. “Please, please don’t do it again I can’t take anymore of this!”

He hushed you, his free hand brushing over your hair in a surprisingly gentle manner. It was more like someone who was trying to calm a startled stray animal than anything else. His touch moved to your chin, lightly taking hold of the point where your neck and jaw bone met.

He didn’t say anything, instead he forced you to look at him, turning your face so that he could look directly into your eyes. And then, to your shock and horror, he plunged his fangs into his own wrist and ripped the flesh wide open. A torrent of thick, viscous, black blood rolled down the pale flesh of his forearm. And before you could do or say anything he grabbed you by your hair and jerked your head back before pressing his open wound to your mouth.

You gagged at the smell and taste, tears blurring your vision as you tried to move your head away but he did not budge. His arm around your ribs finally moved but only to help him pry your jaw open and force the blood flow down your throat. He continued to hush you as he forced you to drink, gently rocking your body in stark contrast to the harsh and violent hold he had you in.

“Just relax,” He whispered against the shell of your ear, “The more you struggle, the longer I’ll keep you here. We need to get as much of my blood as possible into your system.”

You were crying even harder now, the salt of your tears slipping between his wrist and your lips and mingling with his blood in your mouth. What had you ever done to deserve this? What horrible thing had you done in some past life to deserve this kind of punishment?

You just wanted to go home. You wanted your mom and dad, your grandparents, and the gentle comfort of your bed in your childhood room. You wanted that life back, and you were never going to have it again.

His harsh grip on your jaw loosened as you went limp in his arms, resigning yourself to your inescapable fate. His hand returned to those soothing strokes against your hair, a low hum in his chest vibrating against your back as he watched you feed from him with a curious gaze. You were such a weak little thing, you needed him more than you would ever understand.

You hiccupped pathetically when he finally removed his wrist from your mouth after what felt like hours. Your lips and chin were stained black from the blood he spilled when you had struggled. He stared at you again, curiosity evident in his gaze, as he leaned forward and licked the flesh of your lips, tasting his own blood.

You shivered as he made a soft hum, cocking his head to the side before doing it once more, stroking over the bitten and chapped skin with his tongue as he transitioned into kissing your battered lips in a grotesque act of intimacy. He laughed against your mouth as you weakly pushed against his chest, he was amused by your pathetic attempts to push him away. It only encouraged him to kiss you harder and deeper, sampling the taste of his own blood straight from your mouth.

Once he was satisfied he finally allowed you to breathe, a devious gleam in his eyes that you had not seen in a long time.

“They won’t be able to kill you for a while now, not unless they want another vampire to worry about.” He said. He was gloating, reveling in the win his family had no idea he had already achieved.

Your blood ran cold, your body freezing at his revelation. The very thing you craved, your own death and by association freedom from him, would be the very thing that would trap you with him for the rest of eternity. If you were killed with his blood in your system, you would become one of them. He truly had taken everything from you, even the dignity of your own death. Your life was his and his alone.

He really was a monster.

His features suddenly twisted in pain, his head jerking to the side as he released a low and threatening growl. The call was becoming even stronger, the most intense it had ever been. There was no more delaying it. They had to go, and they had to right now.

He quickly lifted you into his arms as his body began to move on its own, forcing him to begin to move in the direction of his home. There was nothing more that you could do, all you could do was remain limp in his arms. It was over, there was point in fighting anymore.

He had finally broken you.

When he stepped outside you were shocked by the fresh air and the cold weather. Then again, you always feel cold now. The clouds were thick today, the sun hidden behind their cover. It had been so long since you were outside, and even longer since you had been in the sun - that wouldn’t change in the near future. But what truly shocked you, was that the world went on without you. The seasons continued to change, the flora continued to flourish and then decay. The cycles continued while you were stored away. How cruel the world was to keep going on as you withered away.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, shielding your face from the harsh wind as he began to move faster, running at his impossibly fast pace that no human could ever wish to match. How had so much changed? When did you go from human being to a play thing for a monster like him. You had a life, but now it had become inconsequential, toyed with and thrown away like it never even mattered.

What were you supposed to do now? At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter. He had won, he had played his sadistic stupid games with you, and he had won. He had broken you. You tucked your chin into your chest and like the pathetic creature that you were you whimpered.

You cared about what was going to happen next. If Jungkook had been wrong, then the two of you walking into the proverbial lion's den would end with you turning into one of them, a fate worse than any other that you could imagine. To be tied to him for all of eternity would be your personal hell on earth.

What would they do to you when you got there? Would your death before your next life be slow and torturous, or quick and merciful? Would it be planned and intentional, or accidental?

Jungkook began to slow, his fast pace relaxing into a natural walk. The tension that previously rested in his body had begun to dissipate. You could only speculate this was the relief of obeying the command to return home. His control over his own body was slowly but surely coming back to him the closer the two of you came to his home.

He stopped for a moment, placing you down on your own two feet before he took hold of your wrist and forced you to follow after him. Your knees wobbled beneath your weight, unaccustomed to you standing after being curled up in a ball in that abandoned shack for the longest time. You looked more like a baby fawn learning to walk than you did that meek little mouse Jungkook always thought you were. He, however, paid little attention to you at that moment. He was tense, his body in a state of alert as subtly surveyed the area as you continued on.

He could sense something that your dull human senses weren’t entirely picking up on. However, the hair on the back of your neck prickled and your gut twisted as you felt phantom eyes digging into your body.

Someone, somewhere, was watching you.

A building began to break through the cluster of trees. A modern, contemporary house in the middle of the forest was coming into view. This was the last place you thought of when Jungkook had mentioned his home. In all honesty, you would have been less surprised by a crypt and a row of coffins.

In front of the house, stood a man. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his eyes that familiar shade of deep burgundy, the same shade the monster’s eyes were when he was hungry. This sent chills throughout your body, your entire being sensing the danger in the vampire that stood across from you.

Those burgundy eyes swept towards you, a look of shock and confusion discoloring their once calm gaze that you speculated was rarely rattled. His features twisted as he took in the state of you, the dried human and vampire blood that coated your body in thick layers, the dirt that was caked into your clothing, your hair that needed to be washed, and the smattering of scars that decorated your body and glistened in the cloudy daylight.

You were barely human anymore, you were a walking corpse.

“You called me home, Namjoon.” Jungkook simply said, his body moving to shield you from the other vampire's gaze.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon said, utter disbelief tinging his words, “What are you doing to her?”

In every possible scenario you had conjured in your mind, this had not been one of them.

Sympathy.

_______

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