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mapis-putellas · 3 days ago

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𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅/𝑨.𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

This didn’t come out as good as I wanted, so I apologise <3

Alexia didn’t like it when you gave her the silent treatment. She liked it even less when you wouldn’t tell her why. You’d been ignoring her since the second she got back from training, and that had been nearly two hours ago. There had been no greeting at the front door. No hug. Not even a kiss. You had barely even acknowledged her existence, and Alexia had no idea why.

She wracked her mind as she showered, trying to figure out if there was an important date she’d missed or if today had any particular significance. But there was nothing. It was just a regular Tuesday. As far as she knew, today held no importance to you and it certainly held no importance to her. So what was going on?

Her mind ran through every possible scenario as she got out of the shower and changed, slipping into one of your hoodies in an effort to feel a little closer to you. You were fine this morning. You’d woken up together, as usual. You’d been intimate, you’d showered, and then you’d cooked breakfast before she’d left for training and you’d left for work.

That was about as perfect as a morning together could get, so it had to have been something that happened after, right? But how was she supposed to know that for sure when you wouldn’t talk to her? How was she to blame for that when she hadn’t even been there?

The thing was, both you and Alexia thrived on communication. Neither of you liked being upset with the other, and it was often you who believed in talking through everything. Even when things were hard. Even when things were uncomfortable.

It was why you so rarely argued or fought. You always talked it out. So what was different now? Why wouldn’t you talk to her?

She came to a stop in the living room threshold, brushing a wet strand of hair out of her face as before tucking her hands into the pockets of her -your- hoodie. You were on the couch, curled up beneath a blanket watching tv. From the angle the couch was placed, Alexia knew you knew she was there, and she silently pleaded for you to look her way. To acknowledge her. But you don’t. You continue staring at the tv, even as Alexia made her way over and sat down on the couch a couple feet away from you.

She reached out, tentatively brushing her fingers lightly against your ankle, hoping to draw your attention, but you only pulled your leg away. She tried to pretend it didn’t sting. She swallowed heavily as she exhaled through her nose, pulling her hand back, trying to ignore the way her vision became blurry as she stared at the tv. Her hands, resting on her thighs, trembled slightly as she toyed with the cuffs of the hoodie. She chanced a glance at you, but you were still looking at the tv.

Alexia blinked then, and a single tear fell down her cheek, tickling her skin in its wake. It dripped past her jawline and into her hoodie, slightly marking the material. Another followed shortly after. Then another. And another, until she was silently crying. She didn’t wipe them away, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She didn’t want you to finally acknowledge her just because she was crying. Pity was the last thing she needed.

Eventually, she had no choice but to sniffle slightly so her nose didn’t start running, and from the corner of her eye, she see’s your head whip around to face her at an almost comical speed. A part of her wanted to meet your eyes, because finally, finally she was getting the acknowledgement she’d been wanting since she’d gotten home. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so, because quite honestly, she was scared of what she’d see.

She heard you sigh lightly as you shoved the blanket off of your legs, tossing it to the side before crawling over to her. Her eyes remained stubbornly glued to the tv as she felt your body press lightly against her own, your head resting against her shoulder. She sniffled again, hesitating for just a second before she leaned her head against your own.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, turning your head slightly to press a kiss to her arm.

Alexia nodded, honestly not quite sure what she was supposed to say.

You sighed again, eyes closing for a brief moment. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ale. It’s just…a bad day.”

“You ignore me because you have a bad day?” Alexia whispered, and you hated the sound of hurt that lingered in her voice. You swallowed thickly as you wrapped your arm around her waist, internally grateful when she didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “Really. I’m sorry. It’s just…misplaced anger, I guess. I’m not mad at you, but you were just…there.”

Alexia was silent for a second. “Why are you angry?” She whispered.

You shrugged. “I don’t know.” You admit. “I’ve just…felt wrong all day.”

“I don’t understand.” You felt her shift beneath you slightly, and you look down to see her fisting the sleeves of her hoodie in her hands.

“I know,” you murmured, the guilt in your stomach amplifying by a thousand. You placed your hand over her own, squeezing softly. “I don’t either. Not really. But I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored you.”

“No,” she whispered, voice breaking. “You shouldn’t.” You look up at her just in time to see a couple of tears stream down her cheeks.

“What can I do, Ale?” You reached up to wipe them away, the pad of your thumb now trailing over the damp skin of her cheek. You pretend it didn’t kill you a little inside when she pulled away from your touch.

She looked hesitantly down at you, almost as though she was checking for a reaction. “I do not know.” She admitted.

You nodded, bottom lip trapped softly between your teeth as a somewhat uncomfortable silent settled over you both. You shifted a little against her shoulder, but neither of you pulled away from each other. In fact, you tightened your hold around her waist, terrified she’d push you away even though you probably deserved it.

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” You assured after a few quiet moments, and though Alexia didn’t say anything, you do feel her nod, her cheek brushing the top of your head.

The rest of the afternoon passed pretty uneventfully. Alexia was quiet, to no fault of her own, and you tried your best to be extra attentive despite your still souring mood. You let her put on the football without complaint despite the fact you’d rather watch anything else. (You liked watching her play in person, sure, because it was Alexia and you loved watching her in her element no matter what it was she was doing, but watching it at home with people you couldn’t care less about? Less fun, but you kept your mouth shut.)

You made her favourite dinner, something you didn’t do too often considering the time it took and the extensive clean up process afterwards.

By the time bedtime rolled around, things were less…tense so to speak. Alexia was still quiet, but she leaned into your affection and actually laughed at the jokes you were trying to make as opposed to humouring you with a fake smile. You could tell she’d forgiven you for how you’d acted, but you weren’t quite done making it up to her yet.

She deserved more than just basic human decency.

Tomorrow was one of her off days, and whilst she usually preferred spending those at home with you -you didn’t get much free time together, so she liked to make the most of it- you had a plan up your sleeve. Alexia loved going on hikes. If given the chance, that’s probably what she’d spend all of her free time doing, but her schedule just didn’t allow it. She was busy all the time. Constantly on the go with matches, training, media. That wasn’t even mentioning away games that took her away from you for days at a time.

You, on the other hand, could not hate anything more. You weren’t as fit as Alexia, not even close, so you often struggled with things she did with ease. You got sweaty. Out of breath. And you complained, a lot. Not intentionally. And she never got mad at you for it. But you could tell it bothered her, not being able to enjoy something she loved with you.

And so tomorrow, you were going to hike with her. You were going to go wherever the hell she liked and you weren’t going to voice a single world complaint or distaste.

The next morning, you woke before your alarm. Alexia was still out next to you, lying on her stomach with the sheets pooled at the waist, exposing a sliver of the bare, tanned skin of her back. Her arms were holding her pillow to her chest, and soft, barely audible snores were escaping her slightly parted lips.

You reached forward, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as you leaned down to press your lips to her forehead. The kiss lingered for a few moments before you pulled away, tugging the blankets up to cover her properly before sliding out of bed.

You got ready as silently as you could, slipping into a pair of leggings and sports bra, pairing it with an oversized shirt that you tied at the waist to fit better. You packed lunch, slipping it into the fridge to keep cool whilst you focused on breakfast. Pancakes and coffee, her favourite on rest days. Table set, you headed back to yours and Alexia’s shared bedroom, pushing the door open and peeking inside.

You smiled when you saw she was still asleep, now lying on her back with her arms above her head. Her head was facing you, and as you got closer, you could see the way her eyelashes fluttered as she dreamed. Her nose would twitch occasionally too, and your smile widened as you climbed onto the bed, throwing a leg over her waist and carefully settling to straddle her hips.

Alexia stirred immediately, her arms moving down to rest on either side of her body. She scrunched her face up, obviously unhappy at the interruption to her sleep, and you laughed softly as you leaned forward to rest your elbows just above her shoulders. You reached forward slightly and trailed the backs of your fingers over her cheek. It was warm to the touch, and you hummed as you pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips.

No reaction.

“Baby…” you mused, leaning forward to kiss her again. This time, she turned her face away from you, and though she tried to hide it, you didn’t miss the way her lips quirked up just slightly at the corners. Ahh. So she was awake.

“I saw that,” you murmured, the smile audible in your voice. “Come on, my love. I made you breakfast. Your favourite.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

“There’s coffee too.” You try and tempt, but much to your dismay, she remained still.

“Alexia…come on baby. It’s going to get cold.”

Silence, though her lips do twitch again.

“Okay, so you’re going to be difficult, huh?” You laughed, sitting up and sliding off of her. “I can work with that.” You murmured to yourself, shaking out your arms before sliding your arms beneath her back and hauling her up into a sitting position. You then bend at the waist, using the momentum to throw her over your shoulder, blankets and all.

“Amor!” She squawked, now face to face with your ass as her hands scramble for purchase against your T-shirt.

You bounced her up slightly, your arms looped around her thighs as you begin making your way out of the room. “I tried nicely, baby. You asked for this.”

“I ask for nothing!” She cried.

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Put me down, now!” She demanded, adding emphasis to the last word by slapping your butt. Hard. The sound of her palm making contact with you echoed throughout the hallway.

It was your turn to yelp. “Ow! Don’t hit me, you tyrant.”

“Then put me down, amor! Now!”

You only complied because you were in the kitchen. You set her down in front of you, your hands trailing up her body as you did. She glared at you as your hands came to rest on the small of her back beneath her shirt, her face red. She tried and failed to hide the way her lips threaten to quirk up into a smile.

“You are trouble,” she grumbled, and you simply grinned as you pressed a kiss to her nose.

“You love me.” You shrugged, reaching round her to pull out her chair. “Now eat up. I have a surprise for you.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow as she sat down and allowed you to push her closer to the table. “Surprise?” She picked up her coffee and took a tentative sip.

“Sí,” you confirmed, kissing the top of her head as you sat down opposite her. “I won’t give much away, but it’s something you love doing.”

“You?” She grinned, and you snorted in amusement as you reached for your own drink. “No, but maybe later if you’re lucky.” You nudge her with your foot beneath the table.

Alexia hummed a little, hiding her smile by taking another sip of her drink. “Bien.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You know the hike Mapi and Ingrid mentioned going on last week?”

Alexia’s eyes light up. Her eyes drifted down to your outfit, almost as though she’d just taken note of what you were wearing. “Sí?”

“You wanna go?” You ask, picking up your fork.

“Contigo?” She leaned forward in her seat slightly.

“Sí. With me.” You confirmed. “We can have a picnic at the top too. I’ve already packed the food.”

Alexia’s eyes flicker over to the refrigerator. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, and Alexia, seemingly unable to help herself, grinned in excitement as she set down her coffee and goes to stand up.

“Hey, no.” You stop her, reaching out a hand.

Alexia froze midway to her feet, looking at you sheepishly.

“Breakfast first, baby.” You gestured to her untouched pancakes.

“But-“ she pouted, looking longingly to the bedroom.

You shook your head. You were glad she was excited, but you didn’t want her going on a hike on an empty stomach. Knowing your luck, she’d end up passing out or something. “Breakfast.” You said again.

“Fine.” She grumbled, pouting as she dropped back down in her seat and picked up her fork.

An hour and a half later, you were midway through your hike. Alexia was a few steps ahead of you, happily chatting away as she pointed out different things that caught her eye. You hummed in acknowledgment each time she glanced back at you for approval, forcing a smile into your face, but inside, you were slowly dying.

You insisted on carrying the backpack, which, now half an hour in, you were quickly regretting. It was heavy; filled with lunch, drinks, a small first aid kit which Alexia had insisted on bringing and who knew what else. You were sweaty, your legs burned, and you were pretty sure you had a blister. But, like you promised, you hadn’t uttered a single word of complaint. Not a single one.

You’d come close though. Several times, actually. Almost instinctively, your lips had parted, and something along the lines of a complaint had begun to slip out. But you’d managed to stop yourself, and Alexia had been none the wiser for which you were thankful.

But then, along came the rock. You were completely unaware of its presence, sticking out of the ground just a few feet ahead of you. You were too busy trying to keep up with your pro athlete of a girlfriend whilst simultaneously ignoring both the burning in your legs and lungs. One second, you were walking. Or, well, stumbling really. And the next, you were sprawled out on the ground, your hands in front of you in what you could only assume was a subconscious effort at protecting your face.

You laid there, bewildered, for approximately ten seconds before Alexia’s voice filled your ears.

“Amor, are you okay?” You feel her hand come to rest on your back.

You shifted a little, wiggling both your hands and feet. No pain. That was good.

“I’m..I’m okay,” you muttered, bracing yourself and pushing up onto your knees. You heaved a breath before forcing yourself to stand up, Alexia’s hands slipping under your arms to help you do so. Keeping her hold on you, she guided you away from the traitorous rock to a flatter part of the ground before letting you go and reaching for your hands.

“Let me see.” She murmured, and you swallowed thickly as you comply.

You wince a little when the pad of her thumb trailed over one of your palms, and she gave you an apologetic look as she reached up to pull the backpack off of your shoulders. You let her, watching as she crouched down and unzipped it before pulling out the first aid kit that was placed at the very top.

You supposed it was a good job she insisted on bringing it after all.

“Here bebé, hold out your hands.” She instructed as she stood back up, a bottle of water and gauze in her hands.

You thought it was a little overkill for a couple of scrapes in all honesty, but figure it was best to let her do what she thought was necessary. You wince only slightly as she wiped away the dirt and dried blood from your palms, giving them a few moments to air dry before covering them with two large bandaids. And then, without warning, she brought both of your hands to her lips and placed a lingering kiss to each.

Your smile was instant.

“Better?” She looked at you over the top of her sunglasses.

You nod, cheeks flushed a light shade of red. “Mhh, better. Gracias baby.”

She grinned. “De nada, amor.” She put the first aid kit back into the backpack before hosting it over her own shoulders. You don’t try and fight her, instead taking the hand she offered and allowing her to tug you forward.

A comfortable silence settled over you both as she absentmindedly swung your hands back and forth, and you find yourself letting out a quiet sigh of content as you trail your thumb over her knuckles. She squeezed your hand in response, and you instantly returned the gesture as you looked up at her.

She met your gaze, and her lips immediately quirk up in so a smile so genuine it made you melt a little. It also reignited the guilt over yesterday you thought had faded, and you let out another sigh as you looked down at your feet.

“You do not have to feel guilty, amor.” She broke the silence, and you look up at her immediately, eyes wide in shock.

How had she…

“I know you.” Is all she said.

You purse your lips contemplatively for a moment before speaking. “I hurt your feelings, Ale. Of course I’m going to feel guilty.”

She hummed. “Sí.” She agreed, and you bite your bottom lip as you look down at your feet. “But you apologise. You make it up to me, no?” She gave your hand a squeeze, silently coaxing you to look back at her, and you do. The look in her eyes was one full of love, understanding, and it eased the guilt just slightly.

“I’m trying.” You nod.

Alexia squeezed your hand again. “You were forgiven…Inmediatamente, amor. Te amo. It was easy.”

You gently eased her to a stop before coming to step in front of her, resting your hands on her hips. She stepped close, her own hands rising to cup your cheeks as you raised up onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips against her own. She let out a quiet exhale through her nose as she reciprocated, eyes fluttering closed as she pressed her chest flush against your own. You slid your hands round to rest at the small of her back, sliding up and down just slightly as her nose grazed your cheek.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Ale. Truly.” You murmured as you pulled away, and Alexia hummed as she brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You were you. Simple.”

“I love you.”

“Te amo, amor.”

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult @totaly-obsessed

#soft alexia putellas #alexia putellas x you #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso x reader #woso appreciation #woso imagine #fluff #woso fanfics #woso one shot

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andhumanslovedstories · 2 days ago

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Something I've been thinking about in regards to the difficulty of writing about my job in the healthcare profession is that there's very different conversations happening at the same time. The first is that this is a job that gives us a lot of power over vulnerable people that is easy to abuse and easier to be passive about. The second is that people will never not bitch about their jobs.

What if a customer service job was high-stakes? That's nursing. It's not the only part of nursing, but cmon, anyone who has worked a public-facing job knows how some people can be. Hospitals are full of people having the worst days of their lives while also being tired, hungry, lonely, and bored.

Plus, it's not just the general population you're dealing with. Hospitals have a disproportionate amount of very difficult people. To draw some examples from my own direct experience: the dementia patient had become too violent to stay at home (unfortunately common), infected chronic wound guy who is so racist that his facility will not take him back, confused patient who screams unceasingly 24 hours a day until she passes out, sexually inappropriate guy who needs two caregivers at all time, another racist patient but this time they're also sexist, banned from multiple shelters for assaulting the staff, etc. Or what might be the most common: person who is too sick to go home alone but no one they know will agree to take care of them. Like, have any of you cut off horrible relatives or abusive partners? People who were in whatever way unacceptable to be around? Would you like to take care of them? And you KNOW they're also not doing any of the stuff that would help them heal so it seems like they will never leave.

I think the gap between healthcare as a Duty versus as a Job contributes to hostile conversations. When you're complaining about your Job ("that moment when you let a call light ring for a while in the hopes someone else answers this time because that patient is annoying as hell"), it's frustrating to get a response that solely looks at the situation through the lens of a Duty ("all patients deserve the same level of care and shouldn’t be ignored.") And it's also frustrating to have these legitimate criticisms ignored or disputed because people are like "it's not that serious, calm down, let nurses vent." And it’s also frustrating to feel so intensely monitored in your free time because of your job. And it’s also frustrating to see people in their free time display qualities that seem like they would have big, negative impacts on their job.

Thinking on this topic, I keep coming back to this one memory. There was a time when I responded to a Code Blue (cardiac arrest, guy’s heart has fully stopped) and was the fifteenth or so person to arrive. The room's full of critical care nurses, I'm not the direct care nurse, the rest of the floor is quiet. So basically, I'm useless to the emergency situation. I ran into a coworker who also responded to the code. I hadn't seen her in a minute, so we caught up. She showed me the new stickers on her water bottle. I don’t remember the exact sticker, but I believe it was a nacho-based pun. It was a pleasant chat.

Meanwhile during this entire conversation, within eyesight of where we are because we’re waiting around to see if we’re needed, people are trying to bring a patient back from the dead. What was happening in that room is life-or-death--to the patient. For me, it was an interlude during a forgettable shift. I only remember that code because the discrepancy between what I was experiencing and what the patient was experiencing was so stark. I don't even remember if the patient survived or not.

None of the patient’s family was there. If they had been, we would have removed ourselves further or not talked so casually. Probably. But if the spouse was there, it would be so insanely insensitive if we tried to include the patient's spouse in our chat about fun stickers. If me and that nurse had been casually in a different hallway chatting, it would be very abrupt for the patient's spouse to walk into our conversation and explain how the patient's death would be so hard on the kids. One of these examples is way more sympathetic and understandable than the other. And I want that spouse to feel comfortable coming up to me and discussing that! That’s part of my job! But also, you can get why that would be a distressing interruption to a moment of downtime.

In both cases, the people in the conversation couldn't be further apart in tone and investment. Neither of us are being bad people. We just should not be talking to each other. And the nature of the Internet and public posting is sometimes talking about my job feels like it's me, my coworker, the spouse, and the revived but severely affected patient in single group chat.

#nursing blog #b.#here’s nursing writing unrelated to the strike #I drafted it ages ago and just found it again

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hy6erion · 2 days ago

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𝐄𝐮𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲- 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟

⇢ 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐦/𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐳𝐚𝐮𝐧

𝐯𝐢𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 o( ❛ᴗ❛ )o

Zaun never sleeps.

Somewhere in the distance, metal scrapes against metal, a high-pitched whine of machinery grinding through the underground streets. The scent of smoke lingers, thick and acrid, seeping into clothes, into skin, into everything that makes this place what it is.

But in here, in Viktor's small, cluttered room-where the air is thick with oil and old books, with sweat and something sharper, something charged-there is only him.

And you.

You never done this before. Not with him. Not with anyone.

He knows. Of course, he knows. He notices everything. The slight tremor in your fingers when you touch him, the way your breath catches before you even realizes it, the way you keeps shifting, as though your own skin doesn't quite fit right.

Viktor watches you like you’re something to be studied, analyzed.

Not in a cruel way-he isn't unfeeling—but in that slow, careful way he approaches everything, taking his time, committing every reaction to memory.

You swallow hard, nails scraping lightly over his shoulders. "You're staring."

His lips twitch. Not quite a smirk, but something close. "Am I?"

You huff, shifting slightly beneath him, and the movement draws a slow inhale from his parted lips. He's warm—warmer than you expected. His body, lean and sharp as it is, presses down against you, keeping you pinned.

Not that you mind.

"I'm nervous," you admit, almost reluctant, eyes flicking away for a moment before dragging back to his.

"Aren't you?"

Viktor hums, tilting his head slightly.

"No." His fingers trace the line of your ribs, slow, deliberate. "Should I be?"

You frowns. „I don't know. Maybe."

He chuckles softly, pressing his lips just beneath your jaw, his breath fanning warm against your skin. "I have waited long enough for this." His voice dips lower, something dark curling around the words. "I will not let nerves ruin it."

Your stomach tightens.

He knows what he's doing. You’d wondered if he would. He isn't like the men who linger in the dark alleys of Zaun, greedy and impatient. No, Viktor is methodical, deliberate in everything he does.

And right now-right now, he is unraveling you piece by piece, taking his time, savoring every flicker of hesitation, every shaky exhale.

His fingers slip lower, dragging over the sensitive skin of your hip. "You want this?"

You nod.

Viktor's grip tightens suddenly, fingers pressing firm into your skin.

"Use your words, love."

The sharp authority in his tone sends heat curling through you.

"I do," you breathe.

His lips brush against your ear. "Good girl."

Your whole body reacts to the praise, something embarrassing and hot twisting in your stomach. Viktor notices-of course he does. His mouth curves against her skin, amused, satisfied.

"You like that," he murmurs. Not a question. A fact.

You don’t answer.

He laughs softly, his breath warm as he drags his lips down your throat. "Ah, you are shy now?" His fingers tease at the edge of your clothes, pushing fabric aside like he's peeling away layers, stripping you down to something vulnerable, something fragile.

It should be uncomfortable.

It isn't.

"Stop thinking so much," he murmurs, shifting against you, pressing you deeper into the mattress. "You do not need to be so tense."

You huff a short laugh, hands gripping his arms. "Easy for you to say."

His teeth scrape lightly against your pulse. "I could make it easy for you," he muses, voice dipping lower. His hands slide up, pulling your thighs apart with slow, deliberate pressure.

"Or-" He breathes in, exhales slow. "I could make it harder."

You exhales sharply, your head tipping back against the pillow.

Viktor's tongue flicks out, tracing a slow line along your throat. "Which do you prefer?"

You don’t know.

He hums, dragging his fingers up the inside of your thigh, spreading you open. "No answer?" His voice is soft, teasing. "Hm. I think I know already."

You swallows. „Viktor-"

He presses a single finger inside you.

Your whole body tenses.

It's too much and not enough at the same time, the stretch of it unexpected. You exhale shakily, fingers gripping his wrist before you even realise what you’re doing.

Viktor stills. He doesn't pull away. He waits, patient as ever, watching you closely.

"You are alright?"

You nod, trying to breathe through it, but he catches your wrist and stills you.

"I did not ask for that." His fingers flex slightly. "Say it."

You exhale slowly. "I'm okay."

His expression doesn't change, but something in his gaze softens, just barely. He leans down, pressing a slow kiss to your temple.

"Tell me if it is too much," he murmurs against your skin. "I will be careful!"

You believe him.

When he moves again, it's slower, more patient, his fingers working you open, his breath warm against your cheek. You feel stretched, unpracticed, but there's something about the way he watches you, the way his mouth parts slightly when you react just right—

You grip his shoulders, head tipping back, and he smiles.

"There you are." His voice is pleased, teasing. "It is not so bad, hm?"

You exhale sharply. "Shut up."

His laugh is quiet, low.

He doesn't shut up.

But when he finally pushes into you—

You forgot how to speak, anyway.

#✰⍣ 𝐡𝐲𝟔𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 #arcane #x reader #arcane x reader #arcane x reader smut #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #arcane Viktor x reader smut

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hjvi · 2 days ago

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𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝑼𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅

Pairing: Bsf!Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Summary: After burying your feelings for Chris for years, you're caught off guard when jealousy resurfaces, watching him with another girl. requested

Word Count: 2k

You’ve known Chris for as long as you can remember. His laugh is unmistakable—the kind that echoes, rich and deep, bouncing off walls and filling every corner of the room with warmth. He’s always been loud, full of life, and incredibly magnetic, effortlessly drawing people in with his charm. But for you, it was always more than that.

You knew him long before you started feeling this way—long before his tousled brown hair, with the hints of sun-kissed highlights, started looking a little too perfect in the way it fell over his forehead. Before his blue eyes started making your stomach twist in a way you could no longer ignore. Before you started noticing the little things, like the warmth of his hand when it brushed against yours, the way he’d throw his arm around your shoulders during movie nights with the group, the way he’d pause mid-sentence, just to smile at you like he couldn’t help himself.

For so long, you’d been his best friend—the quiet one, the one who had always been there for him, laughing at his jokes, listening to his stories, offering support. But recently, it started to feel different. You started noticing things—small things—that never bothered you before. His smile. How it lingered just a little longer when he looked at you, how his eyes would soften when you spoke about something that mattered to you. The way he would rest his hand on your shoulder casually when you were hanging out, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

But you couldn’t admit it—not even to yourself. Because how could you? He was Chris, your best friend. Your partner in crime, the one you could tell everything to, the one who made you laugh when you felt like crying. If you told him how you felt, you were terrified it would ruin everything. You couldn’t lose him, not like that. Not over something as silly as a crush.

Ever since Chris and I were kids, he had the biggest crush on me. His brothers would tease him relentlessly, making exaggerated kissing noises every time he so much as looked at me for too long. Everyone knew. It was an unspoken truth, something that just existed between us, a constant presence I never had to question.

It lasted for years. And I never thought much of it—Chris always asking me dumb questions just to talk to me, always finding excuses to sit beside me, always looking at me like I hung the stars in the sky. It was just Chris being Chris.

Until he stopped.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but one day I realized he didn’t ask me those corny things anymore. He didn’t try to sit closer. He didn’t stare at me like I was his entire world. And I should’ve been relieved, should’ve been grateful that the teasing from his brothers had finally died down.

But I wasn’t.

I missed his attention. I missed knowing I was the center of his focus..

I remember the first time we formally talked about our crushes. It was in middle school, sprawled out on his bedroom floor, tossing a stress ball back and forth.

"I kinda like Sophia," he had admitted, his voice casual, like he wasn’t saying something that made my stomach twist.

Sophia. The blonde that every guy liked. The one with the kind of effortless beauty that made people gravitate toward her. Of course, he liked her.

I had forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah? She’s cool."

Chris studied me for a second before tossing the ball again. "Who do you like?"

I froze. My heart stuttered, my mind scrambling for a name that wasn’t his.

Because for the first time, I realized—I liked Chris.

And it terrified me.

"I don’t know," I lied, shrugging. "Haven’t really thought about it."

He smirked. "Liar."

I laughed it off, quickly changing the subject, but the truth sat heavy in my chest.

The weight of unspoken words had never felt heavier than it did now. For as long as I could remember, Chris had been my person. My best friend. The one I could always count on to make me laugh when the world felt unbearable. The one whose presence alone made everything feel lighter. But somewhere along the way, things had shifted. My laughter lingered a little too long when he cracked a joke. My heart raced a little too fast when his hand brushed against mine. My eyes searched for him in every crowded room, drawn to him in a way I knew wasn’t just friendly.

I had fallen in love with him.

And I never told him.

I buried those feelings so deep inside me, convinced that if I ignored them long enough, they would disappear. Because why would someone like Chris ever look at me that way? He deserved someone beautiful, effortless—someone who didn’t trip over their own words when he smiled at them. And if I ever told him, it would ruin everything. So I stayed quiet. I convinced myself that being his best friend was enough.

But then, Leah came into the picture.

At first, it was just a passing thought. You knew about her, of course. She was friends with the group, always hanging out with them, just like you. But over the past couple of weeks, things had changed. You’d noticed the way Chris started talking about her more—how he’d smile a little brighter when her name came up, how he’d mention things they’d done together, and how his eyes would light up when he talked about her, in a way that he’d never looked at you.

It was a gradual shift, but one you couldn’t ignore.

It started small at first. The way he talked about her. A girl whose name I had never needed to remember before, but suddenly, it was everywhere. Her laugh, her texts lighting up his phone, the way his eyes sparkled when he mentioned her. And then I saw it—the way he looked at her, and it shattered me.

I had spent so long pretending that I was okay just being his friend, but now, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Every time he smiled at her, it felt like a knife to the heart. Every time I saw her name flash on his screen, I wanted to disappear. Because it wasn’t me. It would never be me. And the thought of that—of watching him fall in love with someone who wasn’t me—was unbearable.

So I started pulling away.

At first, Chris didn’t notice. He’d text me, and I’d reply hours later, blaming school or sleep. When he called, I let it ring until it stopped, my fingers hovering over the answer button, aching to hear his voice but knowing it would only hurt. I started making excuses, avoiding plans, choosing solitude over his company.

But Chris wasn’t stupid.

It was a Thursday when everything came to a head. The weather was unusually warm for an early spring evening, the sunlight streaming through the window in Chris’s room as you sat next to him, legs stretched out on the floor. Chris had his headphones on, scrolling through his phone while you were lost in thought. The space between you both felt wider than ever, like something had shifted and you couldn’t put it back.

He was talking, his voice full of energy, but you weren’t really listening. You were too focused on the way his laugh sounded when he mentioned Leah’s name—how much joy seemed to be wrapped in that one syllable.

“Yeah, Leah and I were talking about going to that concert next month,” Chris said, not even noticing the way your heart dropped at the mention of her.

You forced a smile, trying to keep the sadness from showing. “That sounds fun,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You bit your lip, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over. It was becoming harder and harder to control them.

Chris pulled his headphones off and turned to you, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked, his voice softening. He reached out to touch your arm, and his touch made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your throat tight. You didn’t know how to explain it to him—not without feeling like a fool. How could you tell him that you were in love with him, that every moment with him was a reminder of what you could never have?

This was just the beginning of the interrogations

“Okay, what the hell is going on with you?” he asked one evening, barging into my room without warning, his blue eyes sharp with concern.

I sat frozen on my bed, my laptop open in front of me, though I hadn’t typed a single word in the past hour. My heart slammed against my ribs. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, dude. You’ve been weird. Distant. You barely talk to me anymore.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Did I do something?”

Yes, I wanted to scream. You fell for someone else. And you didn’t even notice it was breaking me.

But instead, I shook my head. “I’m just busy, Chris.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back immediately, crossing his arms. “You’re avoiding me.”

I swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at him. “I’m not.”

He sighed, stepping closer, his voice softer this time. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Tears burned at the back of my eyes. I clenched my fists, willing myself to keep it together, but it was useless. The pain, the jealousy, the heartbreak—it was all bubbling to the surface too fast for me to stop it.

“Chris,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please just drop it.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I won’t. Because you’re hurting, and I don’t know why.” He hesitated, searching my face. “Is it something I did?”

The lump in my throat grew, and before I could stop myself, a single tear slipped down my cheek. “You didn’t do anything.”

Chris’s face fell, his expression crumbling as he reached for me instinctively. “Then why are you crying?”

He leaned in closer, his warm blue eyes locking with yours, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He froze, and you felt his hand gently tug at your chin, pulling your face back toward him. His eyes were wide with concern, his usual teasing expression replaced by one of deep, genuine worry.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and the vulnerability you’d been hiding for so long threatened to break free. You looked at him, his face so close to yours, his genuine concern written all over his features, and it hit you like a wave.

And just like that, the dam broke.

I sucked in a shaky breath, my entire body trembling. “Because I can’t do this anymore,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t kill me to see you with her. I can’t keep acting like I don’t care when you talk about her, when you smile at her, when you—” I broke off, covering my face with my hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

Chris stood frozen, his breath catching. “Wait,” he said slowly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

I let out a bitter laugh, wiping at my tears. “I’m saying I love you, Chris. I have for a long time. And I never told you because I was terrified of ruining this—ruining us. But now, it doesn’t even matter, does it?” My voice cracked on the last words, my heart breaking all over again. “Because you’ve already found someone else.”

Chris’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing deeply. “Wait—what?” His voice cracked slightly, the shock evident on his face. He pulled you closer, his hands gently cradling your face. “You... you’re in love with me?”

The words felt like a breath of fresh air—like a confession you had kept locked away in the deepest part of your heart. But even as you said it, you weren’t sure what would happen next. Would he push you away? Would he laugh? Or would he... understand?

Silence.

My chest heaved, the room spinning around me. I didn’t know what I expected—maybe for him to let me down gently, to tell me he was flattered but his heart was elsewhere. Maybe even for him to walk away. But I didn’t expect what happened next.

Chris stepped forward, closing the distance between us. His hands cupped my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumbs brushed away my tears, his touch so unbearably gentle it made my breath hitch.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, wiping at your eyes, trying to suppress the tears. “I never wanted to say it. I didn’t want to ruin things between us.”

Chris was silent for a moment, his brow furrowing as he stood up slowly. He walked over to you and gently took your phone from your hand, placing it on the coffee table. His touch was light, his hand brushing against your fingers in a way that sent warmth rushing through you.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you so you were eye-level. “You don’t have to apologize for your feelings. It’s okay to feel what you feel.”

But you couldn’t stop the tears. They came in waves now, the floodgates opening. “I just thought… I thought I was fine,” you whispered through the sobs. “I thought I could handle it. But seeing you with her, seeing you get so close to her, it just—it hurts so much. I… I don’t know how to be around you anymore.”

Chris’s expression shifted from concern to something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place. He gently cupped your face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. His eyes were intense, a mix of confusion and something else—something you couldn’t decipher.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered, shaking his head.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” he murmured, his voice rough. He gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his warmth enveloping you. “I’ve been trying to figure this out, too, you know.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to explain how I had felt so invisible, so forgotten. But his next words stopped me.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, I’m pretty sure it’s written all over my face,” he said, his voice raw, unguarded. “But I never said anything because I thought you didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to mess everything up. But the truth is... I can’t stand seeing you hurt. I can’t stand the idea of losing you. I need you, and I always have.” Chris’s hands gently ran up and down your back, the touch comforting yet charged with emotion.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering against my chest as his words sank in. I blinked rapidly, trying to process them, to keep my composure, but it was like everything inside me finally cracked open. All the years of pretending, of burying my feelings beneath layers of friendship and doubt, had been in vain. Chris—Chris felt the same way.

“You... love me?” I whispered, still not quite believing it, my voice trembling as I searched his face for any sign of doubt. But there was none. His gaze was steady, unwavering.

“I love you,” he said, more firmly this time. “Always have. Always will.”

The realization hit you then, like a weight lifting from your chest. He had been feeling the same way all along, hiding his feelings just as much as you had.

Without thinking, you pulled back slightly, looking up into his eyes, and that was when everything seemed to come together. The pain, the confusion, the years of silence... it all fell away. The only thing that mattered now was the connection between you two.

“Chris... I’m scared,” you whispered, your hands shaking slightly as you cupped his face.

He smiled softly, that familiar, reassuring grin that made your heart race. “I know,” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

My chest swelled with something I couldn’t quite name—relief, hope, joy—until it all broke free in a rush of emotion. Without thinking, I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. My hands found his chest, pressing against the solid warmth of him, and before I could stop myself, I was kissing him—softly, tentatively at first, as though testing the waters after a lifetime of waiting.

The moment our lips met, everything else faded into the background. At first, it was slow—tentative. His lips were soft against mine, his breath warm and steady. I could feel the tension in his body, like he was testing the waters, unsure if this was real. And then, just like that, it deepened. Chris’s hand slid to my waist, pulling me in closer, until there was no space left between us. His touch was gentle but firm, like he needed me, like he was afraid to let go. His lips moved against mine with a tenderness that made my heart flutter, each kiss a promise, each one a reassurance that this moment was more than just a fleeting desire.

I melted into him, my fingers finding their way to his chest, lightly gripping the fabric of his shirt. His heart was racing beneath my touch, mirroring mine. The kiss grew more urgent, but there was still a sweetness to it, a softness that made everything feel like it was happening in slow motion, like we had all the time in the world. His lips were warm and sure, coaxing mine to respond, to give in, and I did, losing myself in the sensation of him, in the feeling of finally being close to the one person I had secretly longed for.

But eventually, I had to pull away, gasping for air. The intensity of the kiss left me breathless, my body trembling from the closeness of it. I couldn’t think, couldn’t process anything beyond the overwhelming feeling of his lips on mine, of the warmth of his touch.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my chest heaving as I looked up at him. His eyes were still closed, as if he were trying to hold onto the moment just a little longer. But when he opened them, he locked his gaze with mine, and in that moment, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t expected—something so tender, so vulnerable.

He reached for me almost immediately, his hands gentle as he cupped my face, pulling me back toward him. His lips found mine again, but this time, it was softer—gentler. He kissed me with a tenderness that spoke volumes, as if he needed me as much as I needed him, and as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as I had. His touch was no longer desperate, but filled with a quiet longing, a reassurance that we were in this together, that we had both found something we couldn’t bear to let go of.

His breath mingled with mine, warm and slow, as his forehead rested gently against mine. His hands moved to my back, holding me close, as if he never wanted to let me go. I could feel the warmth of his chest against mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my fingertips, and it was like everything in the world had finally fallen into place.

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” Chris whispered, his voice soft, almost a little shaky. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

I nodded, my heart swelling with emotions I couldn’t quite put into words. The love in his voice, the way he held me like I was fragile, like I was something precious—it was everything I’d ever wanted. He gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my skin for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was memorizing the feel of me, like he never wanted to forget this moment.

“Don’t pull away,” he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes searched mine, the intensity in them soft but unwavering. “I need you here. With me. Always.”

I looked into his eyes, feeling the sincerity in his words, the depth of his feelings for me. His hands were still on my waist, holding me close but with a softness that made me feel safe, cherished.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered back, my voice a little shaky as I cupped his cheek, running my thumb across the stubble that had started to form there. “I’m right here.”

And with that, he kissed me again, slowly this time—more like a promise than a question. His lips were gentle against mine, like he was savoring the moment, making sure we were both fully present in it. There was no rush, no urgency, just the quiet certainty that we were exactly where we were meant to be. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me even closer, and I let myself get lost in him, in the feeling of finally being with the person I had loved for so long.

When we finally pulled away again, I could see the faintest smile tugging at his lips, and I knew that whatever came next, we would face it together. His hands gently cradled my face, and I could feel the tenderness in every touch, every look. He wasn’t just kissing me; he was showing me that he needed me, that he loved me, in a way that words couldn’t fully express.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'm sorry if this feels a bit rushed – it's because, well, it kind of is. This was a requested piece, and I apologize it's not a full-length fic, but I really hope you still enjoy it! Things have been pretty busy on my end, but I'm hoping to dive into future requests with more plot and depth. Thanks again for your patience and support!

tags - @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44 @mommymomm @chriss-slutt @humpster35 @courta13 @idkwhatthisis2009 @yourfavoritefangirl @slutformatt17 @watercolorskyy @mylifeisevenstranger @suyqa @junnniiieee07 @thecrawlys

╰┈➤𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒊

#matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo edit #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo

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fluentmoviequoter · 3 days ago

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Pull This Move

0.8k+ words of chaotic Tim Bradford fluff

A/N: Have you guys seen the "when he's copying your snaps so you pull this move" thing? I saw a drawing of it with the Batboys and then this happened.

“Tim never keeps his ringer on,” Lucy muses after your phone buzzes again. “Is that a cop-to-cop thing?”

“Yeah, some people have problems with it, others don’t mind,” you explain. “I usually have mine silenced, I just forgot.”

“Do you know why Tim is off today?”

“Just needed a break,” you explain. “Have to have to a balance in a job like this.”

“And Snapchat gives you that balance?” Lucy teases as your phone chimes with an incoming photo.

“If it’s from who I think it is, maybe,” you answer cryptically.

“Who do you think it is?!” she inquires loudly.

“Hold that thought, we’ve got a reckless driver ahead.”

During your lunch break, you open the new Snapchat and roll your eyes.

“So,” Lucy says as she sits beside you. “Who is it? New boyfriend? Potential boyfriend?”

“Let’s go with really good friend,” you reply. “Who doesn’t know how to use the app and just copies my snaps.”

“Cute!!”

You hum, then think of the snap you wish to get. So, you open the app and move the phone to one side to capture your flexed bicep. Lucy gasps as you lock the screen, and you furrow your brows at her.

“What?” you ask.

“It is a guy! Why else would you flex to have them copy it? Tell me everything!”

“New rule, when I’m substituting as your TO, you have to talk to me like Tim.”

Lucy sighs and raises her hands in surrender when your phone chimes again. Yet, after you unlock it, she snatches your phone out of your hand.

“Lucy!” you yell as she stands. “No, stop- listen. I will blue page you, Chen!”

Lucy freezes. Half-standing with your arm extended over the table, you exhale.

“Give it back and I’ll- I’ll let you see the picture. That’s it, and you have to learn to respect boundaries.”

“Will you tell Tim?” she asks, blocking your phone with her free hand.

“Not if you listen.”

Lucy nods and passes your phone back with a quiet apology. You sit, and Lucy pulls her chair beside yours. You click the red square in the app and lift a brow appreciatively at the muscled arm on the screen. There is a familiar gray shirt stretched tightly around the flexed bicep, and you hold the screen for several seconds to prolong your enjoyment of the picture.

“There,” you say, shifting your hips to slide your phone into your pocket. “Happy, Chen?”

Lucy doesn’t answer, and you turn toward her. Her jaw drops as she stares at you.

“What?”

“Was that Tim?” she asks.

“Why would you think that?” you say rather than answering.

“He wears a lot of gray shirts, and you… I don’t know how to say this without getting in trouble again.”

You cross your arms below your powered-off body cam and lean back in your seat. “Speak freely, Lucy.”

“Everyone knows you have a crush on him,” she blurts out.

“So, a gray shirt and a workplace crush lead you to believe that Tim - officer stoic and serious - would send me a Snapchat?” you challenge.

“Well when you put it like that,” Lucy mumbles, “it sounds ridiculous.”

“I’ll give you something if you give me something,” you offer. “I need some dirt on Lopez. Help me get that, and I’ll tell you something.”

“Done,” Lucy agrees. Then, she asks, “Wait, why? What’d she do?”

“No questions. Agree or don’t,” you reply. Lucy nods, and you say, “I’m going on a date with the guy in the picture tonight. We’ve been dating for a while.”

“Will you tell me more later? If things work out and I get something on Angela?”

You stand to return to the shop and say, “We’ll see.”

Walking into your house after your shift ends, you sigh.

“Did you actually help my boot today or just send Snapchats?” someone asks from the kitchen.

Laughing, you enter the room and lean your forehead between your boyfriend’s shoulder blades.

“Lucy saw the picture,” you say. “It was a really good picture, though.”

“How?” he asks, holding your arm as he turns toward you.

“She wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t tell her much, and she’s helping with our Angela problem.”

“Your Angela problem,” Tim corrects.

“Which will become our Angela problem when she finds out that my fiancé and my least favorite sergeant are the same man,” you point out.

“Shouldn’t have told her you were engaged.”

“I didn’t!”

Tim chuckles, so you sigh and fall against his chest.

“It’ll be fine,” he assures you.

“As long as you keep showing those Bradford biceps,” you grumble against his chest.

“Hey,” Tim begins carefully.

You pull back and narrow your eyes at him.

“If Angela already has an idea, and Wade knows… maybe we should ask them to help,” he suggests.

“You want Wade and Angela to be our witnesses?” you clarify. After a moment, you concede, “It could work. She’d keep it a secret if we let her come to the wedding.”

“Not what most people think about when they’re wedding planning.”

You smile and kiss Tim, thankful that your relationship is anything but average. Most people don’t have Tim Bradford going down the aisle with them, you think.

#tim bradford blurb #tim bradford x reader #hanna's blurbs #hanna writes✯#fem!reader #tim bradford

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hongjoongspoetry · 1 day ago

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I am so ready for this series to see daylight omg!

I don't even know where to start, to be honest. You really know how to make me feel like I'm in the exact setting as the characters. The warmth of the coffee shop mirroring Mingi's personality when he gives the MC a drink, him checking up on her, the little brush of their fingers, her asking him about his glasses, her fixing his glasses for him — it’s so domestic, but with an undertone of complexity that we are still in the dark about. You don't call someone a friend who would defy gravity for your sake 😭 Also, through the first few paragraphs we can evidently see how good relationship they have, just by them knowing each other's every move, fussing and worrying about one another, it's very cute and I like how you didn't need a whole backstory to capture the weight of their "friendship".

Another thing I love about your stories, your MCs are never dull. They always have interests or occupations that are new or "unusual". I don't think I've ever read a fanfic where the MC makes jewellery for a living (that could just be me not being good at finding fics, but I stand by my words!)

“Buy some butter-flavoured popcorn, I forgot to grab some yesterday.” Mingi nodded as he unlocked the door, playfully tugging on my pinkie when I went to open it. I glanced back with raised eyebrows and he shrugged, looking down to the floor like a kicked puppy. I chuckled and squeezed his pinkie back, pulling my hand away as I finally pushed the door open, “Don’t pout, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Fuck, these two will be the end of me and we're not even that far into the first chapter 😭

She had untameable ginger hair and fiery red lips, her earrings always colourful hoops and her outfit the colours of the rainbow. She was full of energy and life, filling the shop with her radiance much like the sun filled our hearts on a cold winter day. I loved working with her, she saw beauty in everything and offered anyone a chance when they felt useless or good for nothing.

Girl, did you just pull a Stan Lee moment on us and include yourself in your fic? Because if you did, you're a genius and this is amazing 🩷

The whole scene where they are first watching a movie and cuddling together on the couch then making out is so sweet and domestic, and I think it's so funny how the MC refers to Mingi as a good friend. I'm really intrigued on what Mingi's view of this whole relationship/friendship is, and if he sees the MC as a friend too? I doubt it, but I mean, it's still the first chapter so I can't really draw any conclusions. All I know is that the MC has been through stuff and needs time to figure out what she wants/needs on her own, but Mingi is a bubble she can get lost in and not worry about other things. Yet that will probably only hold for so long because she will have to face these things sooner or later, and I wonder what support Mingi will give her then?

A great first chapter, Ari 🩷 I'm really excited to see what the other chapters will have in store for the MC and Mingi. This is just the beginning and I can't wait to see more of their friendship/relationship progress through the chapters. I'm already dying for the domestic setting and couple like exchanges between them, like I need more.

Every time I see you...chapter 1 ↰

...my throbbing heart rate spikes up

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

☆ Warning: none ☆ Word count: 5.3k ☆ Rating: sfw ☆ Genre: slice of life, established situationship, post university setting, fluff ☆ Summary: There was nothing exclusive between the two of you, but somehow you didn't mind being in Mingi's arms, in his presence. A day spent well gets rewarded by a movie night with the person you're the most fond of.

☆ Visuals ☆

M.list

A/N: And so, the first chapter is here! It's a slow ease into their relationship, it will pick up as we proceed, I promise. I hope you find it intriguing, let me know what you thought of this part, I'm curious to hear your opinions! I think this is very different from what I usually write, but soft!Mingi is so dear to me that I sob anytime I write for this series LMAO. The Mingi from this story is canon Mingi, and you can't convince me otherwise lol. Next chapter coming next week around this time! ^^ Check out the vision board I made for this story, as well as Giselle's Dopamine song! Taglist is open for the story! Enjoy! ^^ divider

Taglist: @spicxbnny @hongjoongspoetry

🎧 𝘭 𝒹𝜎𝑛’𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝛼 𝓂𝛼𝑛, 𝒿𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝛼𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝜎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 / Ⴘ𝑒𝛼ℎ, 𝑦𝜎𝑢 ℓ𝜎𝜎𝑘 𝑠𝜎 𝑔𝜎𝜎𝒹 𝑠𝑡𝛼𝑛𝒹𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑒𝘹𝑡 𝑡𝜎 𝓂𝑒 / 𝛮𝑒𝘹𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝘭 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝐷𝜎𝑝𝛼𝓂𝑖𝑛𝑒 / 𝘊𝛼𝑛’𝑡 ℓ𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝜎𝑢 𝑐ℓ𝜎𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝜎 𝓂𝑒 🎧

The scent of ground coffee was potent as the grinder disturbed the otherwise serene atmosphere of the modest coffee shop, located in the heart of the city, right under a publishing company. Thus, it was famous among bookworms, office workers, or high school students who loved to skip their last class of the day, the school was located just a bit further up on the street. I loved this area because it was always busy, littered with people and various shops on both sides of the boulevard, housing hidden gems and other popular hot spots like the Moon & Stars Coffee Ground coffee shop that Mingi worked at part-time. His back was turned to me as he worked the coffee grinder, his exposed biceps bulging as he screwed the top of the lid back shut, finally stopping the grinder. Silence fell upon the coffee shop once again, giving way to the quiet jazz music playing through the speakers. Mingi had the opening shift today, the shop wasn’t opened yet, but I had a few privileges by being his friend, so, I was allowed in as long as I helped with dusting the tables off and changing the flowers which were withering away in the small, cute, orange vases placed on top of each round table.

The coffee shop was an explosion of colours, the walls painted a deep green with low-hanging retro chandeliers that gave the place a moody vibe even during the day. Plants weren’t scarce either, giving the air inside a much-needed refresh from the polluted air coming from the outside. Abstract paintings hung on the wall from artists even I didn’t know, and the counter I was leaning against was a deep maroon, sturdy and able to withhold a few splashes of the drinks placed atop it. A few delicacies were displayed in the window to my left, most of them were still being baked in the kitchen located straight behind the counter, and I picked at the leaf of the small plant absentmindedly as Mingi’s silver rings collided against the shaker he used to combine different coffee grounds. The sun was just rising on the horizon, coating the inside of the coffee shop in an orange hue, a single sunray falling onto Mingi’s dark brown hair, making it appear lighter than it was. I continued watching him in silence, my eyes still heavy from having woken up not even an hour ago.

The world was still quiet outside, but those who started their jobs early or had to travel longer were out and about, all quiet and not bothering each other as they walked down the sidewalks. The coffee shop had half an hour before it would open, and by that time I would be gone, headed to the store I worked at. We were lucky that our workplaces were relatively close to each other, if we were in a hurry, we could make the walk last roughly ten minutes. The thought of having Mingi just around the corner was comforting for some reason, perhaps knowing that if I texted him that I needed him for something, he’d come running around the corner brought a sense of security with itself. I was used to having Mingi by my side, ready to drop everything if I needed his help or assistance with something. He was a good friend, dependable and trustworthy, loyal beyond what could be considered healthy. I smiled as Mingi lightly swayed his hips to the music, the dark green apron tied around his waist accentuating the tininess of it. The sweet scent of salted caramel made saliva gather in my mouth, and I knew Mingi’s intention before he had even turned around.

“You haven’t dozed off, sleepyhead?” He asked with a chuckle, his voice quiet and a deep rumble in his chest. It had always been like that, gravely with a rasp to it, yet warm in tone and used with gentleness. Mingi wasn’t the type of person to shout, perhaps if he got too excited his voice would raise a few octaves as he was carried away by his exhilaration, always eager to share it with someone as his eyes sparkled like the stars on a clear stary night.

“Not yet,” I answered, chin resting in my palm as Mingi leaned his hip against the counter, searching for the right lid for the cup he held, “It would be a bit difficult while standing up, I’m not like you.”

That made Mingi chuckle as he threw me an amused glance, his heavy and sharp eyes friendly as they crinkled at the ends. He found the right lid for the cup and placed it on top of it, pressing down thrice to make sure he had placed it on correctly. Then, he slowly pushed the warm container towards me and I smiled, accepting the coffee wordlessly. Our fingers brushed together and I felt a rush of warm tingle through my hand, making my smile widen as did Mingi’s, his eyes becoming smaller with the action.

“Thank you,” I muttered as I raised the sweet coffee to my lips, taking a cautious sip since it was still hot. Mingi hummed, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and his taut chest muscles pulled at the form-fitting white tee he wore. It was warm inside the coffee shop, but I wondered how his exposed arms weren’t covered in goosebumps yet. My cardigan was warm, yet I didn’t look forward to when I’d have to step outside into the crisp morning air once again. Mingi’s necklaces were nicely layered, his outfit simple but put together with a good eye for fashion, “Did you forget your glasses at home once again?”

Mingi’s eyebrows slightly furrowed and he reached up with a hand to touch the bridge of his tall nose, having to check physically that his glasses were missing or not. I shook my head with amusement as I took a small sip of the salted caramel-infused drink, “Seems like you are the sleepyhead.”

“No, it’s here,” Mingi argued, leaning down and reaching forward, arm getting lost in the counter as he felt around for his glasses. His thick eyebrows furrowed, and from his position, they framed his eyes, making his already sharp features sharpen even more. He liked wearing his hair brushed back and out of his eyes lately, the length not quite ready to require a cut, but annoying enough to make Mingi complain about it every once in a while, “See?”

He stood up straight, his height almost intimidating as he leaned forward, shaking the glasses in front of my face before he wore it, the rim thick, boxy, and black. The shape suited his face and softened the intimidating features he was born with, making him look cute. I reached forward, hip digging into the counter, to push the glasses further up on his nose because he had a habit of looking above the glasses instead of through like he was supposed to. Mingi pouted at the action but leaned into my touch, his plush lips jutted out reminding me of our adolescent days when he was nothing but a sulky boy, hating his round-rimmed glasses and always complaining about his school uniform, which didn’t fit him because it was a hand me down. It had taken a few years of maturing for Mingi’s muscles to grow out, strengthened by Pilates, his guilty pleasure as he liked saying. The few classes I accompanied him had me convinced that Pilates was invented for those who craved to have their muscles burning for days, a sort of masochism that I found no joy in.

“You should wear it more often,” I noted, raising an eyebrow as Mingi playfully rolled his eyes, “before your eyesight worsens, of course.”

“Right,” He mock-saluted, leaning just a bit over the counter to be closer to my face, “You’re starting to sound more like my mother each day, Y/N, it’s a bit freaky.”

I chuckled and rolled my eyes, reaching out to flick his forehead, but he knew me too well and dodged my inoffensive attack in time. But before I could retract my arm, he grabbed my wrist with his large hand and brought it down to the counter, gently keeping it in place as his larger hand caged mine against the surface. It was a small effort to make physical contact and I didn’t hate it, I rather enjoyed the small moments of intimacy we could share freely when it was just the two of us. Mingi was an affectionate person, he didn’t shy away when he needed a hug or just a little bit of support, arms wide open and eyes soft as he batted his long eyelashes at you. I hummed and basked in the peace that enveloped us around, something we both enjoyed on quieter days. There was no need for loudness or boisterous behaviour, we already knew who the other was, and there was no need to show off anything.

“Let me play the role of a concerned mother for a bit longer, then,” Mingi snorted, glancing at the clock on the wall to make sure he didn’t keep the coffee shop closed for longer than the program said, “Did you start your research on your final coursework?”

Mingi liked to stay ahead of his assignment deadlines, but sometimes laziness got to him like to any other person. But he hated having to hurry and half-ass his work so that rarely happened. Unless he was loaded with coursework, his assignments would be handed in weeks before their deadline.

“Yes and no,” Mingi sighed, his soft fingertips gently tracing my skin, “I’m supposed to meet with my coordinator this week so that we agree on a subject, I have too many ideas to choose from and I know he’s not fond of research that goes past the twentieth century.”

I nodded, taking a larger sip of my coffee, I could already feel it rejuvenate me, the sleep was gone from my eyes and my body felt less sluggish. It’s a wonder I even managed to get out of bed today, “And let me guess, you want something that deals with the nineteenth century, huh?”

“You know me too well,” Mingi chuckled with a shake of his head, taking his hand off mine as he reached out, swiping his thumb over the corner of my mouth. I looked down at my cup of coffee and ignored the skip of my heartbeat, my cheeks feeling a bit warmer than before, “Maybe I’ll manage to convince him, who knows…what about your day? Do you have a lot of work to do?”

“Not that much, we got three commissions this weekend for five pieces, I’m hoping to get the larger necklace done today,” I answered, glancing at the clock on the wall, and realised I’d have to leave in five minutes if I wanted to make it to the store before it opened.

“You’re always quick, I’m not worried about it.” Mingi winked with a bit of a struggle and I smiled, humming because I knew he was right. I had been making jewellery for a long time now, I was becoming faster and faster at crafting lately, it was rather a blessing since we could have plenty of orders coming in on busier days.

“I’m going to go now,” I said as I grabbed my bag off the floor, throwing it around my shoulder as Mingi nodded, grabbing the keys to come and unlock the entrance door for me, “Are you coming over tonight?”

“Yeah, want me to bring anything?” Mingi asked as he came around the counter and linked our pinkies together while we walked to the door. I quickly did a mental check if I had everything we’d need for our movie night, then remembered that I was out of popcorn…the most important snack of the night.

Mingi hummed as he came to the door and leaned against it as I exited, giving me a small smile, “See you, have an easy day.”

“You too, Mingi.” I waved before turning around to head down the street, which was slowly filling up with cars and people as the city awoke, the sun higher in the sky. I could feel Mingi’s eyes on the back of my head, and I didn’t have to turn around to know he’d stay in the doorway, watching me until I crossed the crosswalk and turned the corner, disappearing from sight. The thought of having someone who cared for my safety and looked out for me wasn’t too bad, but I thrived on my independence and wouldn’t have struggled if Mingi wasn’t so sweet to look out for me. Even so, the lingering warmth in my chest due to his attentiveness wasn’t too disheartening.

By noon, the city had fully awoken and was bustling with restless people going on about their day. The jewellery store I worked at was on a side street, so, we were away from the rambunctious traffic and the impatient drivers that honked their car’s horns at the smallest inconvenience. That didn’t mean, however, that our store was one filled with quiet and calm, it was quite the opposite if our clients proved to be teenage girls looking for beaded friendship bracelets, or colourful rings with gemstones of which attributes they didn’t know about so they asked me or my boss, who was a lovely lady in the forties. She had untameable ginger hair and fiery red lips, her earrings always colourful hoops and her outfit the colours of the rainbow. She was full of energy and life, filling the shop with her radiance much like the sun filled our hearts on a cold winter day. I loved working with her, she saw beauty in everything and offered anyone a chance when they felt useless or good for nothing.

Her store, much like herself, mirrored the same brightness its owner carried. The walls were a light orange with yellowy rays painted on the opposite wall to the entrance, mimicking the warm sun beaming down on Earth through the clouds. Wooden shelves were set up across from the front desk, framing the walls with quirky designs that held the handmade jewellery we worked on day, and sometimes even at night. The floorboards were a rusty copper, and much to everyone’s surprise upon a first encounter with the store, a gorgeous Persian carpet was laid down with intricate design that just brought the aesthetic of the whole place together. The back room was small and hidden behind a beaded curtain right behind my back, offering a perfect escapade when the day was getting too long and the customers were too demanding. Incense always burned, coating the store in a woody scent that felt refreshing but sometimes nauseating if my boss left it on for too long, the ceiling fan thankfully dispersed the strong scent evenly.

The store wasn’t huge, but it felt inviting even upon one glance, and our customers felt cared for whenever they entered and we listened to their requests closely. Having landed this job was just as random as me deciding one day that I wanted to attend a Fine Arts course, focusing more on crafts and clay making. The few vases I had designed were displayed on the higher shelves where it was harder to reach and accidentally break them, my boss was more than happy to sell those too in her store. We both contributed with a little something of ours to the store and that’s why it worked out so nicely, just two fundamentally different people who enjoyed the same arts were brought together to attempt to make something beautiful and long-lasting.

I was tying the knot to the custom-made bracelet one of the teenagers had asked for when her friend walked up to the front desk, eyebrows furrowed and phone in her hand. She held two crystals in her palm, looking at them sceptically.

“Which one is the rose quartz?” She asked, her voice loud and a little rough as she let the crystals fall onto the glass counter. I glanced down at them and pointed at the clearer one on the left.

“That’s a clear quartz, the other one,” My burgundy nail pointed at the pinkish crystal, “is the rose quartz. Which one are you looking for?”

“Rose quartz,” She answered quickly, pushing at the rose quartz with narrowed eyes, “Is it true that it attracts love? Will I find a boyfriend if I wear it all the time?”

“Depends, are you a Taurus or Libra?” I asked as I leaned back in my chair, my boss was on her break and, meanwhile, she knew more about crystals, I had learned this and that from her throughout the years I’ve worked here.

“Not really…” The girl muttered as she shared a look with her friend, who had taken the bracelet I made for her to try it on. The strings I used were yellow and brown, a nice combination of colours, personally not my favourite, but it worked well with her complexion and it was also what she had asked for.

“Well, I heard it’s better if you have Venus in your chart if you want to wear a rose quartz,” I hummed, looking up at the ceiling in thought before I shrugged, “Rose quartz is good for emotional healing too, not just attracting love. But if you think it will help, you could try it out…”

“Do you believe it works?” The girl asked, her eyes just slightly widening. I chuckled, deciding to be honest with her.

“No, but that’s just me. Maybe it’ll work for you.” The girl just nodded, looking at her friend for another opinion. She just shrugged and told the girl to do whatever she wished. Their third friend walked up to the counter and told them that she wouldn’t buy anything today, so they could head out if everyone was ready to leave.

“I’ll buy it.” The girl said as she placed the crystal on the counter and I nodded, grabbing a small plastic wrap for her to store it in until she got home. I scanned the items and told the two girls the price of their purchase, watching them with amusement as they left the store in a hurry, words leaving their mouths in a hurry before they were even out of the store. I settled back into my chair and grabbed my bottle of water to take a gulp, my fingers aching just slightly from the various jewellery I had managed to make until now. The shop was rather busy today and my boss was excited as she whirled around, helping customers out with choosing items for themselves or as gifts.

My phone pinged before I could reach for it, and Mingi’s name lit up my screen as I unlocked it. I tapped on our messaging app and opened our conversation, gasping quietly when I was presented with a picture of a black and white spotted cat, emerald eyes staring curiously into the camera, head tilted to the side in wonder. Its ears were pointed backwards and I could practically hear Mingi cue at it. He loved kittens more than anything and had always wished to buy one, but he thought he was too busy right now to care for another little life besides his.

Mingi: Look how cute she is!! I’ve been feeding her for two weeks now, I’m 100% sure she knows who I am. I’ve named her Genie, isn’t she just so adorable? Me: Man, she really is adorable! I wish she was around when I’m at the shop, pet her in my place too! Genie because she grants wishes?

Mingi: Not more adorable than me, right?? I bet she’d love you too…but I’m her favourite, I just know it. I wanted to name her Greenie at first, but that felt weird. Genie, however, isn’t too bad. No reason for why I gave her that name, though… Me: I think she might be more adorable than you, Mingi… Wait until she meets me, you won’t be her favourite anymore, mister… Your mind sometimes is a mystical place, Mingi, I wonder what goes on inside of it

Mingi: Well, right now I’d like to be in your arms sitting on the couch or something… Something like…being the little spoon because I fall asleep faster when you wrap yourself around me… That’s what I’m thinking about right now instead of making sure I don’t burn the next batch of apple pies, do you want me to put some aside for tonight? Me: You are so cheesy, Mingi, anyone else would block you… I knew you liked being the little spoon, now I even have receipts of it, hah! I had muffins yesterday, so no thank you! Now stop texting and focus on your work, man. Mingi: Right, see you later, woman. Muawh

I chuckled and shook my head, setting my phone to the side with a smile on my face as I opened the new email we had gotten while I was texting Mingi. Seems like the week just started and we’d barely have any time to breathe between all these commissions.

My living room was covered in darkness aside from the flashing lights of the TV, the movie playing at an acceptable volume to not disturb the neighbours or deafen us. The blanket was fluffy and draped over our legs, mine pulled underneath me while Mingi’s were propped up on the coffee table. His legs were long enough to reach it if stretched out, and I might have envied him for that for a long time. Our hands were intertwined underneath the blanket and placed on Mingi’s thigh, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against my knuckle every once in a while. Our shoulders brushed together and I would shift around from time to time, to try and keep my ass from going sore. Mingi, on the other hand, had no issue keeping his initial posture for hours on end. The blackout curtains were drawn together to offer us privacy since I only lived on the second floor, and the butter-flavoured popcorn Mingi had brought had been long eaten.

We had been watching the movie in silence for over an hour now with the occasional commentary coming from Mingi about how cool Captain America was. No matter how many times we’ve seen this movie, it never got old or boring. Perhaps it was Chris Evans’ face that made the viewing more pleasurable, alongside Scarlett Johanson, but we were both pretty hooked on the plot despite knowing what came next. There were small easter eggs that we hadn’t noticed before, so there was always something new that one of us accidentally discovered during our rewatches. I felt warm all cosied up next to Mingi, a bit even sleepy as his familiar cologne eased my tense muscles after the long day I’d had. My wrists were sore from all the crafting at the store today, I had even brought home a bracelet that I had to finish for tomorrow. I was too tired to work on it now, but I could thankfully get it done in the morning in thirty minutes.

As if Mingi had read my thoughts, he grabbed my wrist with both hands and slowly started rubbing it, creating heat and gently massaging the tense muscles of my hand. I smiled and playfully grabbed at his fingers, making him chuckle under his breath as the Winter Soldier appeared on the screen for the first time, the car the characters had been using now nothing but a mess of scrapes. I could see Mingi angle his body towards mine from my peripheral, and he licked his plump lips before he cleared his throat.

“I’ve been thinking…” He started quietly, his forehead slightly creasing as his eyes bled into the side of my head. I turned my head away from the TV, familiar with the scene already. The light lit up Mingi’s face, his glasses creating a tiny shadow over his face as I raised my eyebrows at him to prompt him to continue, “So, we’ve both been working hard, and I could use a vacation before my last exams come up. I know I should be studying, but at this point, I feel like I could recite any textbook you hand me, I really need a break. You’ve also been working a lot, and you didn’t take vacation off last year, so…”

I hummed, curious as to where this was headed, “So?”

“Let’s get away for a few days, I’ve been looking for a nice little cabin somewhere in the mountains. Not too far though, I know you don’t like long car rides.” Mingi grabbed my other hand and started massaging that one too, making me sigh in contentment as my hands now tingled with warmth, the tenseness gone from them.

“Just the two of us?” I raised an eyebrow, the idea actually sounded appealing. I could use a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

“Yeah, just us.” Mingi nodded, smiling a little as I contemplated his offer for a second. I would have to visit my mother before we left, and I’d have to let my boss know in time, but other than that, it sounded like a plan to me.

“Sure, I’d love that.” I smiled and Mingi’s eyes lit up, fingers intertwining with mine as he squeezed our hands together. I chuckled at his excitement and let my eyes run over his face, taking in the softness in his eyes and the curve of his gorgeous mouth. Something in my gut coiled as my hands continued tingling with electricity, and I licked my lips as I leaned forward, eyes set on Mingi’s parted lips. He mirrored my actions and leaned forward, closing the distance between us confidently. His lips were warm as always and faintly tasted like the marshmallows he kept stuffing himself with not even half an hour ago, another guilty pleasure he seemed to have. This one, however, I could understand and even support.

Our bodies leaned closer as I raised my free hand to hold his jaw, tilting his head slightly back so that our lips pressed together a bit firmer. Kissing him always brought a wave of excitement, an electrifying spark running up my spine as our lips moved languidly, taking their time since there was no reason to hurry. He was sweet and gentle even with his kisses, always allowing me to set the pace as his teeth nipped at my bottom lip, his long nose digging into my cheek. Mingi wasn’t a messy kisser but he had never shied away from a little saliva, and there was nothing he loved more than tracing his tongue against mine, sucking on it to deepen the kiss even more as he brought me halfway into his lap. Our hands parted as I grabbed his shoulder and swiped my tongue against his, a content sigh catching in the back of Mingi’s throat as his hand pressed into the small of my back, warm and burning through the fabric of my thin blouse. I could never get tired of his lips, sometimes kissing Mingi was so disorienting that we’d lose track of time, our lips almost as if glued to each other.

Inhaling through my mouth, I let Mingi press small kisses to my chin and mouth, muttering something I couldn’t understand before I captured his lips again, adding just a bit more passion into it as I felt a suffocating emotion build in my chest, heavy and demanding as if having Mingi like this wasn’t good enough. I had always craved more despite having everything I could ask from him, it seemed that I hadn’t been fully satiated just yet. It was a peculiar feeling, but I couldn’t ignore the fire and knot in my stomach anymore as he lapped at my tongue, his fingers gently holding my jaw as if he was afraid I’d slip away. Tonight was a slow evening, I was content with being in his arms, content in wrapping myself in a cocoon of safety that helped me forget the hardships the day had brought with itself. Pulling apart, I pressed a chaste kiss against his swollen lips and cradled his cheek, feeling how warm it was. Before I could completely pull back and sit back next to him, Mingi grabbed my arm as he readjusted himself on my spacious couch, opening his legs up so that I could sit between them. I climbed over his leg and settled down, adjusting the blanket around us so that it would keep his legs warm too as Mingi’s arms wrapped around my torso, nose nuzzling into my nape as he exhaled loudly.

“Do you think Natasha and Steve should’ve ended up together?” He asked quietly, mumbling it into my skin, and I laughed, looking back at the TV.

“I think they were too different for it to work out, and Steve was still in love with Peggie,” I answered truthfully, watching Chris Evans lean against the doorframe in nothing but a muscle white tee, a few bruises here and there, jeans, and a white towel to clean his hands in.

“I think Natasha would’ve been able to show him a new world, I wanted them together.” I didn’t have to look to know that Mingi was pouting, I could hear it in his voice.

“You say that every time we watch this movie.”

“Right, my thoughts won’t change on a random afternoon.”

I chuckled as silence fell upon us once again, wrapped around in the blanket and Mingi’s warmth, with his arms around my body, I felt the safest. It was a weird feeling that never developed into something I could completely understand, but there was something about Mingi’s presence that made me feel at ease, like the earth outside us would keep on turning around its axis and we wouldn’t miss out on anything because here, in each other’s arms, we had everything we needed. It was something I had never felt with anyone else, not even with my ex-boyfriend I thought I would end up marrying. There was something so gentle about the silence between Mingi and me, the understanding without spoken words, the warmth of a simple caress, the reminder that we were there for each other by the simplest things only made my chest tighten as the TV screen blurred, making me wonder whether I had gotten teary-eyed or just extremely sleepy.

Here in Mingi’s arms, in a dark living room lit up by the movie that we were watching for the nth time, I wondered if I could ever again trust that love existed, trust that there was indeed a person that was yours, meant to be with you without hurting you. I wondered if Mingi ever thought about it, if he wondered where his person was. Perhaps he didn’t care about such things and that’s why he wasted his days away by my side, smiling from ear to ear with glimmering eyes full of hope and something I could never truly understand. I grinned when I felt his feet rub against mine playfully, it was his way of letting me know that he wasn’t so lost in the movie that he wasn’t aware of me anymore. I sighed and relaxed into Mingi’s body, letting the doubtful thoughts and feelings simmer in a deep cavern of my heart for the rest of the evening.

>> next chapter

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aimfor-theheart · 14 hours ago

Text

brush the sky no. 2: caught

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

|| vi x reader || part one || masterlist ||

tags: mafia au, bodyguard!vi, femme!reader, longing, a little angst if you squint. a little sevika in this chapter/reader flirts with her a bit

cw: drinking/alcohol. suggestive.

wc: 1.9k smh

a/n: this isn't a "part two" as in chronological order, but it's apart of the same universe as part one. calling this little series "brush the sky" and i'll add more if i write more! lmk if you'd like to see more...or if you ever wanna talk about this au, i'm always down <33 vi takes up like most of my brain capacity lately lol

dividers by @/cafekitsune

The night is young and blush-dark; perfect for trouble.

“You’re supposed to be grounded, missy.” Vi’s voice is a drawl, and underneath the tease of it, is a little irritation.

From your place perched in Sevika’s lap, you pick your head up to look at Vi. You smile slow and wicked, eyes glittering, fox-sharp and knowing.

“Violet!” You chirp, extending your arm to her, “so glad you could join us! Want a drink?”

Sevika snorts, “looks like your babysitter’s here.”

For a moment, the two women eye each other, size each other up. You feel the fissure of tension bolt through the air, watch as Vi shrugs out her shoulders to look bigger, taller. Sevika spreads her legs a little and you’re jostled slightly with the movement.

“I’m a little too old to be grounded or have a babysitter, don’t you think?” You finally say, voice laced with distaste as you rise to your feet and purposefully get between their gazes to break the standoff. “I am a big girl.” You say dryly.

“You’re not supposed to be out tonight—and you’re definitely not supposed to be out with one of Silco’s—“ Vi starts, but Sevika cuts her off;

“We were having a good time, kid. And like she said—she’s too old for this shit. Why don’t you tuck tail and go home?”

A muscle in Vi’s jaw feathers. Sevika’s reaching hand meets air as you step towards Vi now, knowing that the look in her eyes—darkening blue, all stormy and fierce—means trouble. You try to draw her focus to you by placing your hands on her chest, right around her collar bones.

You get in Vi’s gaze again, and watch as she focuses on you, softens a little.

“My father find out I disappeared?” You ask, trying to give your best eyes. Sweet, a little sheepish.

“Not yet,” Vi responds, “I’m here to drag you back before he does.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” You purr, thumb dragging over the exposed skin of the base of her throat.

She sucks her teeth, “and you’re a brat. Let’s go, princess. Night’s over.” She says, short and sharp and firm.

You pout at her, “but I didn’t even get to dance.”

“I did promise you that, didn’t I?” Sevika says around her drink, dark amber liquid sloshing as she takes a sip. She sets it down, ice and glass clinking, and leans forward. She grins at Vi, wolfish, “Why don’t you pass her back here, kid?”

Vi’s teeth bare and she jolts beneath your touch like she might lurch for Sevika. A dog on a leash. You step further in front of her to stop her.

“Easy, tiger.” You hum and to keep a brawl from breaking out, you add, “we’ll go home—let’s go—take me home, Vi.”

Slowly, that viciousness melts from Vi—all her muscles uncoil. Vi’s a good bodyguard because she’s overprotective. Vi’s also a bad bodyguard because she’s overprotective. She doesn’t like when people talk about you like that—doesn’t like when they sniff around you a little too long, doesn’t trust anyone near you. And she’s a person of action; if she doesn’t like something, or someone, she does something about it.

And tonight, you don’t feel like cleaning up any blood.

You turn back to finish your drink in one last gulp, then you lean forward and press a fleeting kiss to Sevika’s cheek. “Next time, maybe!” You chirp, before turning back to Vi, who clasps a hand down around the back of your neck—like you’re being taken by the scruff.

(Uh oh, you think, I’m in trouble now—)

Over your shoulder, you wave to Sevika as you’re pulled away, and out of the swanky little speakeasy—into the crisp, clear night.

Despite the firm hold on you, you lean towards Vi, into her side.

As if to say, I’m sorry, as if to say, I won’t run off. As if to say, you’ve got me now.

Vi let’s go of a hard sigh and the hand around the nape of your neck moves to your lower back. She takes your weight as you walk together, in step. “You’ve always gotta make my job hard, huh?”

“Don’t mean to make it hard for you—“ You say, “but I can’t be kept cooped up all day.”

“So you go out with Sevika?” She asks, and there’s bite in it.

(Maybe something more—jealousy simmers in the edges of her voice. Your eyes light up a little.)

“I didn’t go out with her. I went out and she was there.” You correct Vi, “she bought me a drink and…”

“She’s dangerous.” Vi snaps, “and she’s only sniffing around you because Silco and your father are rivals.”

“You wound me! You don’t think it’s because I’m charming and beautiful?” You try for levity. And anyway, you’re not naive—besides, who’s to say the reason you had your arms looped around Sevika’s neck like that weren’t for similar ones?

Your apartment isn’t far from the bar you were at and you head up to the top floor with Vi on your heels.

She snorts, “well, there’s no doubt about that. But—“ She drags a hand through her hair as you let the two of you back into your space. “You like to play with fire a little too much, princess.”

You toe off your heels, already unpinning your hair and shaking it out as you wander towards your bedroom. Much to your pleasure, Vi follows after you. You flop onto the edge of your bed, back hitting the softness of your mattress with a huff.

“Why’d you have to go out so bad anyways?” Vi asks and she takes a seat across from you, in one of the velvet loveseats.

You sigh, before pushing up onto your elbows to look at her and—the strap of your dress slips down your shoulder. Your hair is tousled, jewelry askew. You watch as she drinks you in slowly, from your head to your stocking clad toes. Warmth flickers deep in your stomach. Oh.

“A girl has needs, Violet.” You respond, lips quirking up into a little smirk.

“Yeah?” She asks, low and dark, “what needs are those that you need to head out to a bar at this hour?”

“Everyone needs a little love and affection. Besides, I wanted to dance.” You sigh.

“And you’re trying to find that with strangers? Think they’ll take care of you?” She asks, eyes stone-dark.

“And where should I have turned?” You parry softly, brows lifting, “who could take care of that for me?”

She licks her lips. Then she stands suddenly, crosses to you, gaze heavy.

Your stomach flips.

Without thinking, your knees fall apart to make room for her. You sit up fully, chin tipping up to look at her.

“Not strangers, sweetheart.” Vi says lowly and you feel her, just there, against your inner knees.

“Then who?” You press, your hand lifting to fan out against the jut of her hip, just barely her abs. “You?”

Vi sinks to her knees. Your hand falls away. Her eyes, endlessly blue, flutter as she takes you in—like this.

Splayed out, for her.

You part your legs a little, let one slide over her broad shoulder and your dress has ridden up enough that she can certainly see the sheer lace underneath, through the opaque cling of your tights.

(And there’s something about it—the layers between you still. The distance you can barely hold, like the thin, delicate threads of your tights. Your head swims.)

“Am I supposed to come to you for that, Vi?” You murmur, “you gonna take care of me?”

Vi, against her better judgement, lets her hands settle around your thighs, inching closer. She sighs hard and—

God you feel it, against your thigh. Her breath.

“You know I’ll always take care of you.” Vi says, voice hushed, brows furrowing a little in earnestness. She settles her cheek against your inner thigh, looks up at you with those sweet, blue eyes. Devoted. Heated. “But I shouldn’t—in this way.”

Your lip pushes into a pout, “Want me to beg? I can beg real pretty.”

Vi curses. Her hands squeeze the plush curve of your waist. And for one, burning moment, her eyes fall to the apex of your thighs.

Then back to your face.

She hangs her head like a guilty man.

“No—“ She gets out and her voice is frayed, desperate. “Don’t beg.”

Your fingers trail up around her face, hand moving to card through her tousled hair. You push it from her face, look at her.

“You look close to begging.” You hush, smile curving over the bend of your lips.

Vi laughs, soft and rough, “begging for strength here, princess.”

“Don’t always need to be strong.” You respond and—you realize you want her unguarded. You want her vulnerable. You want her split open and trembling and—

Vi turns her face towards your leg. She presses one, searing kiss to the inside of your knee. And then slowly, she detangles herself, she stands.

“In this way, I do.” She finally says, standing over you again.

You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, only to realize your own heart was trembling—you were open and vulnerable.

You try to cover it up with a pout, “You’re such a tease.”

“Ha,” She pinches your cheek, “coming from you—that’s rich.”

You sniff delicately, swatting her hand away.

And after a moment of trying to get your heart and your head under control, Vi speaks up;

“Dance with me.”

You lift your eyes to hers.

She offers her hand. And you look at it, the scars and the marks, the way her fingers arch towards you.

You take it.

She pulls you up. She moves to the record player in your room, sifts through your collection a moment, before settling on one.

In a moment, slow, burning jazz plays from the speakers.

Vi takes you into her arms. You let yourself fall into her embrace, head against her sternum, hand in hers, other hand curled against her chest. You can hear her heartbeat like this. You can feel it, too.

She holds your waist, your hand. The callouses of her palm come up against the soft, unworked skin of your own hands. Her body presses to yours, ribs to ribs, heartbeat to heartbeat. She sways with you.

She holds you in a way you’ve never been held before—like you’re the world in her arms.

When the song ends, you lift your head and ask, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

(And you want to add—I’d take you in any way. In every way. Even if you just sleep beside me, or at my feet, even if I can only be beside you with a wall up. Or my hands chase you all night, never to catch you.)

Vi looks at you, takes you in slowly and you wonder what she sees, wonder how she sees you, or the thoughts that flicker over her mind. She’s not unreadable—but what you see in the ocean of her eyes—

She leans forward and presses a second, searing kiss to your cheek. She lingers there. Your breath stutters.

“Next time, maybe.” Vi echoes, lips lifting into a hint of a smile but its twinged with longing. An ache.

She steps away from you, moves towards the door. Over her shoulder, she says, “Goodnight, princess.”

You stand, alone, in the center of your room.

“Night, Vi.” You respond, and try and keep the disappointment out of your voice.

She’s gone in a moment, like she was never there at all, except for the warmth lingering in your hands. On your cheek.

You catch a glance at your face in your vanity mirror.

You wonder if she thinks hunger looks good on you, too.

#vi x reader #vi x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #cielo writes!#cielo's writing!#brush the sky

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00valentina-writes00 · 2 days ago

Note

Abby with an older reader perhaps? I’ve seen a couple older abby x reader fics but i don’t think i’ve seen one where it’s the other way around 🤔

✞⛧ Three Dates Minimum ✞⛧

Warnings: age gap, drinking, flirting, suggestive themes, persistent pursuit, mutual teasing, slow burn, tension, implied smut but no actual smut

Setting: A normal AU, modern-day setting. You meet Abby at a bar you frequent after work.

Word count: 6.2k

The hum of the bar wraps around you like a familiar coat—low conversations, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the dimly lit room. It's the same as always. The end of another long day, another well-earned drink in hand, another moment to yourself before you return to whatever waits outside these walls.

You lean against the polished counter, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your glass. The ice inside has begun to melt, condensation beading against the smooth surface, but you're in no rush. This is routine. The weight of the day lingers in your shoulders, but your posture remains composed—years of knowing exactly who you are and what you want evident in the way you carry yourself. You're dressed well, sharp yet effortless, a presence that stands out without trying. And if the looks you occasionally catch from strangers are anything to go by, it's a presence that commands attention.

Someone else has certainly noticed.

You feel it before you see it—eyes on you, persistent and searching. You don't react immediately, letting it simmer for a moment, drawing it out like a game you haven't quite decided to play yet. But when you finally lift your gaze, it's met with striking blue.

She's been watching you.

She's seated across the room, surrounded by friends, though it's clear her focus isn't on them. Her body is turned just slightly in your direction, posture relaxed yet attentive, like she's trying not to be obvious but failing miserably. A drink sits idle in front of her, fingers curled around the glass without much thought.

And then there's her.

It's impossible not to notice the way she takes up space—not just physically, though God, that's part of it. Broad shoulders, thick arms crossed in a way that only accentuates their definition, the lines of muscle cutting sharp even beneath the dim lighting. She's built like someone who knows how to hold her own, someone who's fought for everything she's ever had. It's in the rough edges of her, the weathered freckles that dust her tanned skin, the faint scars on her arms and face that whisper of past battles.

Her blonde hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, a few strands falling forward, catching in the light when she tilts her head slightly—like she's trying to gauge whether or not she's been caught.

She has.

You arch a brow, lips quirking in amusement as you hold her stare. Most people would look away, flustered under the weight of being seen. Not her.

No, she smirks.

And fuck, if that doesn't make things a little more interesting.

You take a slow sip of your drink, considering. She's younger than you—clearly—but not in a way that screams immaturity. There's a certain confidence in her, something bordering on cocky but not quite tipping into arrogant. It's charming, in its own way.

And then, after another lingering moment of hesitation, she moves.

You don't miss the way her friends exchange looks as she pushes up from her seat, nor do you miss the subtle roll of her shoulders before she makes her way across the bar. There's a self-assuredness in her stride, a deliberate kind of slowness, like she knows eyes are on her but only cares about one particular gaze.

Yours.

She stops just short of your personal space, close enough for you to take in the way she smells—faint hints of salt and leather, something clean but unpolished, like she's spent all day on the move.

"You always drink alone?" she asks, her voice rough in a way that suggests she's used to barking orders but is trying to sound casual.

You huff a quiet laugh, setting your glass down. "You always stare at women from across the bar before working up the nerve to talk to them?"

Her smirk widens, but there's something sheepish in the way she glances down for half a second, like she knows she's been caught. "Only when they look like you."

Smooth.

Your amusement flickers into something else, something sharper, more intrigued. You lean back slightly, taking her in now that she's up close. There's a rawness to her, a strength that's not just physical but intrinsic. You can see it in the set of her jaw, in the way her hands flex like she's used to gripping something solid—weights, weapons, people.

Still, she's waiting for a reaction, and you're not one to give an easy win.

You tilt your head. "And how do I look?"

That catches her off guard for half a beat. She exhales through her nose, rubbing the back of her neck, fingers brushing over the faint scar near her jaw. "Like you know what you want."

Your lips twitch. "And you have a thing for that?"

There's no hesitation this time. "Yeah."

The weight behind the admission, the way it sits in the space between you, is enough to make your stomach tighten.

Interesting.

You pick up your glass again, swirling the liquid inside, feigning a nonchalance you know she's already seeing through. "I don't usually entertain women who don't introduce themselves first."

Abby exhales a quiet chuckle, like she's both impressed and slightly exasperated. "Abby."

You hum, letting the name settle. It suits her—strong, no-nonsense, but with just enough softness beneath it.

"Well, Abby," you say, watching the way her throat bobs when you say her name, "I appreciate the effort, but I don't make it easy for people who want my attention."

She lifts a brow. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

Abby shifts her weight, studying you like she's considering her next move. Then, with a slow, deliberate ease, she rests an elbow on the bar beside you, leaning in just slightly. Not enough to crowd, but enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of her, the solid presence of her body so close to yours.

"I like a challenge," she murmurs.

Oh, she's good.

You fight the urge to smirk, instead letting silence stretch between you, letting her sit in the anticipation. And when you finally lean in just the barest bit, close enough that your breath ghosts over her cheek, you can practically hear her inhale.

"Then you'd better bring your best, sweetheart," you murmur. "Because I don't waste time on half-hearted attempts."

Abby swallows hard.

And you know, in that moment, that she's completely hooked.

———

You're not easily impressed.

People come and go in this bar, lingering long enough to swap half-hearted conversations and meaningless glances before disappearing into the night. You've been coming here for years, watching the ebb and flow of unfamiliar faces. Rarely does anyone manage to hold your attention past a single encounter.

But Abby Anderson keeps showing up.

At first, you think it's just coincidence. A passing flirtation she'll forget about the next day. She's younger, after all. Attractive, sure, but still that rough-edged kind of bold that suggests she doesn't take rejection personally. You assume she'll move on, find someone easier to win over.

Except she doesn't.

The first time you see her after your initial conversation, she plays it casual. No immediate approach, no shameless staring like before. She takes a seat across the bar, just close enough to be within your periphery, her broad frame unmistakable even when she's trying not to be obvious.

You're amused, but you don't acknowledge her right away. Instead, you sip your drink, letting the anticipation settle between you, waiting to see if she'll make the first move.

And she does.

A fresh drink slides into place beside yours. You glance up just as the bartender nods toward Abby. She raises her glass in silent acknowledgment, watching you with that same cocky smirk, blue eyes sharp beneath the dim lighting

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

You pick up the drink, considering. Then, deliberately, you turn slightly in your seat and lift the glass in return, mirroring her gesture.

Abby grins.

That should've been it. A single attempt, an unspoken challenge, a playful exchange that would end the moment you walked out the door. But the next time you show up, she's there again.

And the next.

At first, she pretends it's happenstance. A small, innocent shrug when your eyes meet, like she just happens to be here on the same nights you are. You know better.

The thing is, she's charming in a way that isn't suffocating. She doesn't push, doesn't bombard you with attention or force herself into your space. Instead, she lingers just enough to make you notice, always finding some excuse to interact.

One night, it's another drink sent your way. Another, she casually takes the seat beside you, pretending to be caught up in something on her phone while you finish your own drink. Sometimes, she just watches, waiting for you to acknowledge her first.

And maybe it's the effort, or maybe it's just the way she looks at you—like she's trying to memorize every detail, like she's fascinated by the simple fact that you exist—but you find yourself enjoying the game more than you expected.

You start to expect her.

And you hate to admit it, but you like it.

——

Tonight, she's there again.

The moment you step inside, your eyes land on her without meaning to. She's easy to find, her presence commanding in any room she enters. The low lighting does little to soften her features—her sharp jawline, the way her cheekbones catch the dim glow of the bar's neon signage.

She's dressed the same as always. A black tank top, exposing the sheer breadth of her shoulders, cargo pants tucked into worn combat boots. Her arms are crossed, biceps flexing just slightly with the movement, and when she lifts her drink to take a sip, your gaze follows the curve of her forearm, the rough scars cutting through freckled skin.

She's strong. And she knows it.

The realization settles in your stomach like heat, slow and simmering.

But when Abby notices you, there's no immediate cockiness. Just a flicker of something unreadable in her expression, something quieter than the usual bravado.

And then she stands.

You're already moving toward the bar when she steps into your space, close but not intrusive, like she's testing whether you'll brush past her or acknowledge her presence.

"Was starting to think you were avoiding me," she says.

Your lips curve slightly. "That would imply I had a reason to."

Abby huffs a small laugh, shifting her weight. "You're not gonna make this easy, huh?"

You tilt your head, amused. "Would you want me to?"

She shakes her head, rubbing a hand over her jaw. "No," she admits. "I think I like the chase."

That catches your interest. You study her for a long moment, watching the way she holds herself—strong, steady, but with a subtle restraint, like she's still figuring out how far she can push.

"You've been persistent," you note, leaning against the bar. "Showing up here every night."

Abby doesn't deny it.

Instead, she shrugs. "Maybe I just like the drinks here."

You give her a look.

She grins, dropping the pretense. "Alright. Maybe I just like you here."

It's a simple confession, but there's weight behind it. Not in a way that feels suffocating, but in a way that feels... genuine.

For the first time, you let your gaze soften slightly, your usual amusement giving way to something more curious.

"What do you want, Abby?" you ask, voice quieter now.

She doesn't answer right away. She exhales, rubbing the back of her neck like she's gathering her thoughts. Then she meets your eyes, expression earnest.

"I don't know yet," she says. "But I know I don't want this to be nothing."

It's the first time she's hinted at anything more than just a casual flirtation.

That surprises you more than anything else.

You glance down, considering. Then, with deliberate ease, you pull your phone from your pocket and hold it out.

Abby stares for a beat before realization dawns.

The grin that spreads across her face is nothing short of victorious.

She takes your phone, fingers brushing against yours for just a second too long, and you pretend not to notice the warmth that lingers.

As she types in her number, you catch the way her hands move—strong, steady, calloused in a way that speaks of years of work.

When she hands it back, there's a glint of something teasing in her eyes.

"Guess I finally won you over," she murmurs.

You hum, tucking your phone away. "I wouldn't get ahead of yourself just yet."

Abby laughs, shaking her head. "Nah," she says, stepping back with a confidence that's more controlled than before, more assured.

"I think I'm exactly where I need to be."

———

The moment your phone buzzes, you already know who it is. The message is quick and lighthearted, carrying the energy of someone still high on their victory.

"Guess I finally got your number, huh? Should've gotten it sooner, but hey, good things come to those who wait 😉"

You lean back against your kitchen counter, phone still in hand, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you read the message. Abby's persistence has been undeniable, and tonight—despite all her flirting and teasing—something about her feels different. You still don't know if it's because of the way she looks at you with that gaze that's both raw and intent, or because of how she keeps pushing, but there's an edge of realness to this that wasn't there before.

A small part of you wants to play along, give in to the playful back-and-forth that's been building since the first night she approached you at the bar. But something else inside you—the one that's seen it all before, dealt with enough to know better—holds you back.

You sigh and type back a message, the words coming easily, almost naturally.

"Just so you know, I'm not interested in a fling. If this is just some older woman fantasy for you, let's stop now."

There's a beat of silence, your thumb hovering over the screen as you wait for her reply. It's not that you don't enjoy the tension between you, but you're not here for casual games. You don't have the time, the energy, or the interest in something fleeting.

When your phone buzzes again, it's a surprising shift in tone. No flirty emojis, no lighthearted remarks. Just a straightforward message from Abby:

"That's fair. But if I'm being honest, I'm not just looking for a quick night. I'm not that kind of person, and I'm not going to treat you like one. So how about this—let's go out. Just us. No games."

You blink at the text, trying to figure out whether she's being sincere or just responding to your boundary because she's determined to get a reaction. But there's something about her words—the lack of hesitation, the seriousness— that hints at something more genuine.

You sit with the message for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in. You don't have time for games. You don't have time to let yourself get pulled into something that's just going to burn out as quickly as it started. But Abby... Abby's different. The kind of different you can't ignore.

"Three dates," you type back, the words coming quickly as you set the line in the sand. "Minimum. If you're serious, you'll wait. No sex until we've had time to get to know each other. That's the deal."

You don't expect her to reply immediately, but when she does, it's almost immediate.

"Three dates. I can do that. Don't worry, I'm in this for more than just a casual fling. I'll make sure you see that."

You let out a breath, staring at the screen. For the first time, you wonder if you might be in over your head. But then again, there's a part of you that's intrigued by her confidence, by the sincerity you've started to feel in her words. Abby doesn't strike you as the type to back down from a challenge. And you have a feeling you're about to find out just how far she's willing to go.

—

The first date is set.

It's simple enough—a dinner reservation at a quiet restaurant downtown. Nothing too flashy, no grand gestures, just a chance to talk. You told Abby you weren't looking for a whirlwind romance, but you also weren't going to sit around and wait forever.

When you see her walk through the door, your breath catches in your chest. She's dressed differently than usual—no tank top or cargo pants, just a button-down shirt that emphasizes her shoulders, paired with dark jeans and boots. The shift in attire only highlights her commanding presence, and for a moment, you're struck by how striking she is. How... real.

Her freckled face is a little more polished than usual, though you can still see the shadows under her eyes that speak to her hectic life. She's trying—trying to show you that she's here for more than just a fleeting moment. You know it the second your eyes meet.

She doesn't speak right away, but the smile on her face is wide, genuine. "Hey."

You return it, feeling your own lips pull up in response. "Hey, Abby."

As you walk to the table, you're aware of the way people glance in her direction. Abby stands out—her athletic, muscular frame a stark contrast to most of the others in the restaurant. You don't mind it, though. It only reinforces how different she is from anyone you've ever met.

Once seated, you both order drinks, and the conversation starts easily enough. At first, it's the usual small talk—how's work going, what's new, what's been keeping her busy. But it quickly deepens, as if she's holding nothing back.

"I've been training a lot lately," Abby says after a few sips of wine. "Trying to get stronger. I'm in a weird place right now—feels like everything's constantly moving, but I'm not sure where it's going."

You nod, leaning back in your chair as you look at her. "I get that. Life's always in motion, but it's easy to get caught up in the rush. Sometimes, you just need to slow down and focus on the things that matter."

Abby meets your gaze, her blue eyes steady. "Yeah. I'm not used to slowing down, though. It's easier to keep moving."

You smile a little. "You don't have to slow down, but you do have to know when to focus."

She watches you for a long moment, her fingers tapping the edge of her wine glass. "And what about you? What do you focus on?"

You pause, considering. "I focus on what I can control. The rest... I just let go."

The conversation lingers there, unspoken truths passing between you as you both take in the weight of each other's words. It's different from any date you've had before—more mature, more grounded. You realize you like it. Like her.

When the evening winds down, Abby insists on walking you home. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, she says. You don't argue, though the truth is, you're starting to feel a different kind of connection with her—one that isn't based on fleeting chemistry or easy attraction. It's something more.

At your doorstep, she stops, giving you a long look. "So... what now?" she asks, a hint of vulnerability in her voice that's completely at odds with the strong, tough persona she projects.

You smile, tilting your head slightly. "We go on two more dates. That's what comes next."

Her lips twitch. "Fair enough."

And then, to your surprise, she leans in, her presence overwhelming in the quiet of the night, her hand brushing your arm as she whispers, "Three dates. I'll make sure you won't regret it."

You stare into her eyes for a moment, feeling the promise behind her words. "We'll see, Abby. We'll see."

——-

The days between your first and second date stretch out in a strange, anticipatory silence. It's as if the air is thick with unspoken words, with each interaction between you and Abby carrying a weight of its own.

You're not sure what you were expecting from Abby after your first night together, but you definitely didn't expect how easy it would be to fall into a rhythm with her. Her determination to prove herself, to show that she's not like the others, is clear, but there's something else that lingers too—the softness that you get glimpses of when she lets her guard slip. The vulnerability in her eyes, the way she looks at you when she thinks you're not paying attention.

When you confirm the second date, a casual coffee meet-up, there's a tension in the air that feels just as electric as the first time you saw her. You're still cautious—still setting boundaries, testing her intentions. But part of you can't help but wonder what's really underneath that tough exterior of hers.

Abby arrives at the café right on time. You spot her immediately as she walks in, her presence filling the room before she even says a word. Her broad shoulders and athletic frame are impossible to miss, especially in the light of the morning sun. The simple T-shirt and cargo pants she wears seem effortless, but there's something about her that makes everything she wears look like it was made for her body—like she's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but somehow, it fits her.

When she spots you, she gives a quick smile, her blue eyes lighting up just a fraction before she makes her way over.

"Hey," she greets, her voice low but warm.

"Hey," you reply, standing to greet her. The small exchange is a quiet one, but it feels more comfortable than before. More natural.

You sit across from each other, the clink of cups and the low hum of conversation from other patrons forming a soft backdrop to your words. The initial awkwardness between you both fades quickly, and soon you're talking as though you've known each other for years.

"So, tell me about your job," Abby says, her gaze intense as she takes a sip of her coffee. "What do you do exactly?"

You hesitate for a moment, but her genuine interest makes it easy to share. You talk about your work, the challenges you face, the things you're passionate about. It feels good to speak openly to someone who isn't just listening for the sake of small talk. Abby actually listens—there's a depth to her focus that you didn't expect.

She nods, her expression thoughtful. "Sounds like a lot of responsibility. Must be a good challenge, though."

You laugh lightly, shrugging. "Yeah, it can be. What about you? What keeps you busy?"

Abby's smile falters for a moment. There's a flicker of something in her eyes—something that almost looks like hesitation, but then it's gone as quickly as it came.

"Training," she says, her voice steady but a little quieter than before. "I work with a lot of people... helping them get stronger. Whether it's physical or mental, I guess I'm all about pushing people to their limits."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "You're a personal trainer, then?"

She shakes her head slightly, leaning forward. "Not exactly. I've worked with people in the military, too. Taught them how to survive, how to fight when everything falls apart. Not much room for weakness in that line of work."

The admission surprises you, but there's no judgment in her tone. Just a quiet certainty that speaks volumes about her past.

You try to imagine Abby in that world—leading people, training them to push beyond their limits—and you find yourself thinking that maybe she's not as hardened as she lets on. Maybe there's more to her than the tough exterior she wears so proudly.

After a beat, she shifts the conversation back to you. "You still haven't told me what you do when you're not working."

It's a simple question, but it makes you pause for a moment. You're so used to talking about work, about responsibilities. But in this moment, sitting across from Abby, you realize you've never really taken the time to think about yourself outside of those roles.

"Well, I guess I like to read," you finally admit, giving her a small smile. "I've always been into books. And I like to spend time with friends—nothing too crazy, but... I like having a good laugh."

Abby grins, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You don't strike me as someone who just goes with the flow. You're more of a planner, aren't you?"

You laugh, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugs casually. "You just seem like you know exactly what you want. Not like me. I'm more of a... take things as they come kind of person."

You can tell she's not just talking about coffee or plans for the day. It's almost as if she's letting her guard down, just a little bit.

There's a shift in the atmosphere between you both, a subtle change in the dynamic. The more Abby shares, the more you realize that the woman sitting across from you is more than just the intimidating figure you first saw at the bar. There's a gentleness to her, a thoughtfulness you hadn't expected. It's an unexpected layer of complexity, and you find yourself wanting to know more.

The conversation continues, winding its way through various topics—light and easy at first, but with more depth as the minutes pass. You find yourself relaxing, laughing at Abby's dry sense of humor and her occasional self-deprecating remarks.

When you finally finish your coffee, Abby looks at you with a certain intensity, as if she's trying to gauge something. "So... what's next?" she asks.

You smile, feeling the tension in the air shift again, but this time, it feels more like curiosity than uncertainty.

"We'll see," you reply, standing up from the table. "I said three dates, right? This is just the second one. We'll see what happens on the third."

Abby nods, her eyes never leaving yours. "I can wait."

——

Date three comes quickly, and this time, it's Abby's turn to plan the evening. You're curious to see how she'll handle it. There's a palpable nervous energy in the air when she arrives at the restaurant, looking more put-together than usual. She's dressed in a fitted button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her forearms, strong and defined. Her jeans are dark, tailored just enough to highlight her legs without feeling too formal.

You don't think it's possible for Abby to look even more imposing, but somehow, she does. She's trying to impress, you realize, and that thought fills you with a strange mix of anticipation and intrigue.

She greets you with a quiet smile, and for the first time, you see a hint of nervousness in her eyes. It's small—almost imperceptible—but it's there. You're not sure why it catches you off guard, but it does. Abby, the woman who radiates confidence in everything she does, is nervous.

"Hey," she says, her voice a little lower than usual. "Glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't miss it," you reply, your voice teasing but sincere.

You both settle into your seats, and the evening unfolds with a comfortable ease. Abby leads the conversation, but this time, it's not just about her life or her past. She asks about you more, delving deeper into your thoughts, your values, your dreams. The tension between you both shifts again, like the pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together.

As the night progresses, you catch her staring at you—often. Her gaze is intense, and when she catches you looking back, she quickly looks away, the corners of her lips curling into a small smile. It's as if she can't believe you're actually giving her a chance, like she's still surprised by the fact that you're still here.

The chemistry is undeniable, and as the meal comes to an end, Abby's posture shifts, her muscles tense with the unspoken desire to lean closer, to close the distance between you. But she doesn't. She waits, her gaze lingering on yours, her body barely held back from moving closer.

You can feel the tension building, feel the pull between you both. She wants to kiss you. You can see it in the way she watches you, the slight shift of her gaze toward your lips before she quickly looks away again.

You hold back, not ready yet to let things go that far. But Abby... she's patient. And when she leans in to say goodbye, the closeness between you both is electric.

"I'll see you soon," she says, her voice low and serious.

You nod, heart pounding in your chest. "We'll see."

And just like that, the tension lingers between you both, a promise, a challenge, a question. You can feel the next step on the horizon, and for the first time, you're not sure which way it's going to go.

——-

It's been a month since your first night at the bar with Abby, and the quiet tension that's built between you over the course of three dates finally comes to a head. There's something undeniably magnetic about her—something that pulls you in and keeps you on edge. She's unlike anyone you've ever met before, and as much as you've tried to keep your guard up, you can feel the walls crumbling bit by bit.

Abby has been patient. Almost too patient. She's let you set the pace, taken things slow the entire time, but every time you've seen her, that intensity in her eyes hasn't wavered. It's as if she's waiting for the right moment. And tonight, you have a feeling that moment has finally arrived.

She texts you earlier in the day, suggesting a low-key night at her place. A horror movie, some drinks, maybe a little takeout—just the two of you, away from the crowds and expectations. You're relieved by the simplicity of it all. No pressure. Just the opportunity to relax, to see where things go without all the outside distractions.

By the time you arrive, Abby's already waiting for you. The door is cracked open when you knock, her voice calling from inside.

"Come on in, you're not late."

You step inside, the dim light of her apartment welcoming you. It's cozy, though you can tell she doesn't spend too much time making it look pristine. The place is functional, with a few personal touches—a photo of her with a group of friends on the wall, a worn-out couch that has seen better days, but it feels... real.

Abby is lounging on the couch when you walk in, the glow of the TV screen flickering against her face. She's in a loose t-shirt, one of her old band tees that's faded from years of wear, and sweatpants that hang comfortably off her hips. Her blonde hair is tied back in a messy ponytail, a few stray strands falling out of place.

"Make yourself at home," she says, her voice relaxed but still holding that edge of authority that seems to follow her everywhere.

You nod, taking a seat next to her. The space between you is a comfortable distance, but it feels charged, the unspoken tension from earlier dates still hanging in the air. Abby picks up the remote, clicking through options, before finally settling on a horror movie you both agreed on.

She leans back, her leg casually brushing against yours, and the simple contact sends a shiver up your spine. You glance over at her, catching the slight smirk playing at the corner of her lips as she catches your eye. There's something in the way she looks at you—soft, teasing, but there's also a rawness there that makes you wonder just how much she's holding back.

"I hope you're ready to be scared," Abby says, her voice low, but the challenge in it is unmistakable.

You laugh, not at all intimidated. "I've seen worse."

She raises an eyebrow, as if she's doubting your bravado. "We'll see."

The movie plays on in the background, but you can't focus. Every time Abby moves, every time she shifts on the couch, it feels like she's drawing you in closer without even trying. Her scent, a mix of the outdoors and something distinctly Abby, fills your senses. Her presence—her warmth, the strength of her muscles beneath that worn t-shirt—keeps pulling you closer, as if her very being is magnetic.

You're hyper-aware of her every movement now. The way she occasionally shifts, her bare foot brushing against your leg, the way her breath hitches during particularly tense scenes, even the way she rolls her shoulders back, stretching slightly.

You're starting to realize something. Something you hadn't allowed yourself to acknowledge before tonight.

Abby is more than just some cocky woman in it for a good time. There's a depth to her, a quiet sincerity that shines through the cracks in her tough exterior. She's not playing games with you. She's not trying to chase an older woman fantasy or take advantage of some power dynamic between the two of you. No, there's something real here.

Your heart races, and you catch yourself staring at her again. Her blue eyes flick to you at the same moment, as if she's been waiting for you to finally notice what's been right in front of you all this time. The silence stretches between you both, thick with anticipation, but neither of you says a word.

Then it happens.

Abby's hand—strong and calloused from years of training—finds its way to your leg, her fingers lightly brushing against your thigh. The touch is small, almost accidental, but it's enough to send heat flooding your body. She leaves her hand there, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of your clothes. You hold your breath, afraid to move, afraid that any shift will break the fragile moment between you.

And then she does it.

She leans in, just slightly, her face inches from yours. Her breath mingles with yours, warm and inviting. There's a soft smile on her lips, something playful but also full of meaning. "So, are you going to keep pretending you're not into me, or are we going to do this?"

You can feel her body shift closer to yours, the subtle pressure of her weight against your side. Your pulse quickens, your hands trembling slightly, and you don't even think before you close the distance between you.

You kiss her.

It's slow at first, tentative, as if you're both trying to gauge what the other wants. Abby's lips are warm and firm against yours, tasting like the remnants of the beer she'd been drinking earlier. But when she deepens the kiss, when she pulls you closer, your heart races even faster.

Her hands find their way to your body, tentative at first, as if she's waiting for permission. But the way she touches you, the way her hands roam over your back, pulling you closer as if she can't get enough, tells you that she's not holding back anymore. She's all in.

The kiss intensifies, the heat between you both becoming almost unbearable. Your hands tangle in her hair, the strands soft beneath your fingers, and for a moment, everything else fades away. There's only Abby. Only her warmth and the electric charge that courses between you both.

When you finally pull away, gasping for air, you're both left breathless, staring at each other.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Abby mutters, her voice low and rough, her lips still hovering close to yours.

Then her eyes soften, the playful edge fading just a little. "I told you I wasn't here for a fling. I'm not just trying to get a quick thrill. You're... different. I want more."

You blink, stunned by the sincerity in her voice. For the first time, you see the real Abby—no masks, no walls. Just the woman who's been patient with you, who's respected your boundaries, and who's finally letting herself be vulnerable.

"Good," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Because I want more too."

And just like that, you realize that Abby's not here for a fleeting moment. She's here because she's genuinely interested in you. She likes you. Not just as some older woman fantasy, not just as a passing fling, but as someone she sees something real with.

The weight of that realization hits you hard, and you find yourself smiling—genuinely. Abby is exactly who you thought she was, and more. You're not sure where this is going, but you know one thing for certain: there's no turning back now.

The kiss resumes, this time with a sense of urgency. Abby pulls you closer, her hands finding their way beneath your shirt, her fingers warm against your skin. You let her guide you, let her show you just how much she's been holding back.

There's no rush. There's no need to hurry. Tonight, you both have time. Time to explore, time to finally give in to the chemistry that's been building between you both for weeks.

#abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x you #abby x reader #abby imagines #abby headcanons #abby anderson x reader #the last of us x you #the last of us x reader #the last of us headcanons #the last of us fic #the last of us

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vantetaes · 3 days ago

Text

BOOK WORM {PT TWO} 🫧🥂

ONYANKOPON X ARMIN X BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! continuation of book worm

WARNINGS!!! mutual yearning, oral {f}, threesome, competitive men, whiny men

start of christmas break rushed like a breath of fresh air for your friend group. everyone making plans for trips, indulging in everything they couldn’t with the hellish exams, and even finding physical attraction along the way. the weather finally cooling down to jacket attire and twinkling lights draped from businesses.

the air is thick and warm with the smell of spiced cider and half-burnt sugar cookies, mingling with the sharp tang of pine from the christmas tree.

the spiked cider pressed flush to your lips, drawing in the flavor while the scene around you grew more intense. eyes scanning the small crowd of companions, basking in the way the christmas tree lights kaleidoscoped off their skin, illuminating everyone in a warm glow of red and greens. jean slaps down a green reverse card, smirking as he looked over at historia, who’s hand had gotten smaller.

“sash’, you saw that right? fuckin’ cheater.” mikasa huffed, slamming down a black ‘draw four’, confusing the other game players. you throw your hands up, legs crossing as you lean more into the couch.

“it’s not your turn! how is he cheating when yo ass don’t even know the rules to the game?” connie bit back, pushing the card back to the girl who looked a few seconds away from sliding him across the table. the game continues clockwise, a few huffs as draw twos and fours were thrown out.

“just be saying shit.” jean mumbled, throwing out his red card.

helplessly, your eyes were latched onto the blonde haired boy. his long golden locs slipping from the clip you jokingly put on him earlier in the night. his hand held one card, tucked under the table.

“uno out.” armin says simply, placing the card into the wild stack, drawing attention to his now empty hand. everyone halts in movement, the roar of the group growing.

“i told yall someone was cheating!” sasha agrees with her black haired best friend, lips curled down in a pout while placing her losing hand down.

“how did i cheat when you can’t play?”

eren recollects the cards, starting to reshuffle the colorful deck. you take the last swig of the drink, clinking the empty bottle against your rings.

“anybody want something to drink?” asking the group collectively, everyone shakes their heads no, too focused on winning the next game.

standing from your spot on the couch, armin shuffles to get up, moving the blanket that covered his shoulders, eyes meeting yours.

“i’ll come grab my beer.”

you inch around the pillows that littered the ground, avoiding slipping with socks on the freshly waxed wood. armin follows behind carefully, eyes locked on the curls that extended to your lower back, almost swaying in the wind. the air you left behind wrapping him up in an intoxicating spiral.

he felt like he was in a fucking cartoon. it’s felt like being lifted into the air completely, following a glorious scent his nose and body followed.

“minnie?” recollecting his thoughts, his eyes snap to you, the light from the refrigerator the only source of sight. you’re holding out a glass, staring at the man in concern.

your eyes pinned on him. the light cascaded a gentle glow on the left side of your body.

taking the bottle, putting it right back on the granite countertop, he begins walking towards you, the shadow from his height casting over you. your feet inch, moving backwards to the wall.

“we can’t right now, min.” your voice small and hushed. with you pressed against the wall, he smiles down at you, lips glistening in the dimly lit area.

“just one kiss baby. they don’t gotta know.” his hands come up, sliding carefully under your shirt. cold fingers slowly caressing your skin, pinching the places he knows you’re a little more sensitive. closing the gap more, he finds himself leaning over into your ear. the gusts of wind from his nose sends chills down your back. you couldn’t take it.

ever since you and armin had sex, you’ve spent almost everyday together. no more classes, no more tutoring, means a lot of time to lay

“please armin-“

with a quick motion, his lips are pressed into yours. the mix of cider and beer cascaded your lips. swallowing you in as his lips deepen. arms finding rest on his shoulders, you could feel the warmth beginning to pool in your underwear, coating you in hunger for him.

“we gotta go back.” whispering against his hungry lips, the head of blonde just shakes.

“one more.” the entanglement felt like it went on forever, hands clawing messily in his hair as he lifts you by the waist off the floor.

without wanting to, he pulls away, forehead resting on yours before setting you down on your feet again.

“i want you tonight.”

without saying anything else, he takes the beer from the counter, motioning for you to walk in front of him. falling for his bait, his hand places a light slap on your butt, the motion causing your skirt to fly up a little.

everyone sat in their same positions, new cards in their hands and pleasant smiles across their faces. you opt to take the same spot, alone on one of the two leather couches historia designed with.

the doorbell rings, a jarring sound that cuts through the noise. historia and sasha hop up to answer, and you sink deeper into your spot, trying to focus on the new game starting up, already getting glimpses of everyone hand. the laughter fades, replaced by a murmur of voices. then you hear his name.

your stomach drops.

when he walks in, it feels like the room shifts, tilts even. his presence is magnetic, confident as always, broad shoulders clad in a dark coat still dusted with snow. he greets everyone with a warm smile, the kind that once made you feel like you were the only person in the room. but when his eyes land on you, something in them flickers.

“yn, nice surprise, didn’t think i’d see you here.” he says, his tone casual but lined with something sharper.

you force a smile, your hands gripping your glass like a lifeline.

“well, to be fair i didn’t think you’d come.”

he shrugs, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

“historia invited me. hope that’s not a problem.”

“of course not!” you say, but your voice is too tight, hands begin to crate moisture.

the game starts, but the energy has shifted.

you knew your friends wanted you two back together. you knew that in the deepest parts of your body and mind, this wasn’t an accident.

onyankopon takes the spot next to you, legs wide as he adjust in the grey sweatpants. he was close, close enough that his knee brushes yours and you can smell the cologne he’s wearing. you can feel the weight of his presence, the unspoken questions hanging heavy between you.

you thought you were over it. but the man sitting beside you made it impossible.

across the room , armin is unusually quiet, his knuckles white as he grips his cards. your eyes flicker to him, noticing the seething anger he’s masking, face curling up slowly.

he watches as onyankopons fingers shamelessly danced over your arm, small conversation now consuming the both of you. how his eyes never left yours. how you were instinctively leaning into the man’s touch.

he hated onyankopon.

“so!” jean says after a particularly loud laugh from connie, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

“how was finals for yall? stressful?”

the question feels innocent enough, but ony’s eyes are locked on you.

“same as always.” you reply quickly, too quickly.

“really? because you seem… different?” onyankopon presses, leaning in just slightly. you rear back a little, face furrowed in confusion.

the words are casual, but the undertone is unmistakable. your cheeks burn, and you glance at armin, who’s staring down at his cards like they hold all the answers in the world.

onyankopon doesn’t miss it.

his smile sharpens, twitching a little at the corners, his gaze flickering between you and the blonde.

“interesting.” he says softly, just loud enough for you to hear.

your chest tightens, the weight of his unspoken accusation pressing down on you.

the next round begins, but you can’t focus. your heart pounds in your ears, drowning out the chatter around you. onyankopon leans over, head almost resting on your shoulders.

as the night progressed, you, ony, eren, and connie sat on the balcony, passing around a thick blunt. watching as the smoke escapes and quickly gets pulled back in by ony, he taps the burning tip against a small ashtray. carefully handing it to you.

“see i need me something like that.” eren laughs, rolling up another blunt, turning his body to shield from the stray snowflakes.

“something like what?” connie asks, taking the blunt from you in rotation.

“like them! they ain’t even together and all up on each other!” ony rolls his eyes, catching a quick glance at you.

“yall acting like i cheated on her or something.” he shook his head, using the arm thrown over your shoulder to wipe away the snow.

to tell the truth, you and onyankopons relationship was the most solid one you’ve been in. ever. there was no doubt in your mind that you loved him.

unfortunately, he loved football. too much for his own good sometimes. from trying to schedule days to see you and work around his practice, and you having extra classes this semester. you both decided it would be better if you stayed friends.

eren tucks the fresh blunt behind his ear, finishing off the one that circled through the small group.

“im going in, it’s too fucking cold out here.” connie bites, standing from him spot on the patio furniture. quickly tucking his hands into his pockets, the boy rushes inside the warm apartment. eren looks at you and ony.

“want me to spark?”

“you want some more or are you okay?” ony asks you, full attention and eye contact. his deep brown eyes sparkle in the moonlit night, using one of his fingers to push your curl out of your lashes.

“um, im okay.” eren nods, grabbing his beer before standing.

“where you going?” ony asks, reaching for his beer to finish off.

“back in, my fucking face froze.” with that, he shuffled quickly back in, sliding the door closed.

“what you been up to? since, well-“

“i swear im not falling apart without you, onyankopon, texas’s greatest quarterback, prodigy since eleven, uh- may i go on?.” tone joking, he shoves you a little in the arm, holding onto you so you didn’t actually fall against the side of the sofa.

“im glad. y’know i always want you to be good.” he’s leaning forward, elbows in knees, eyes focused onto the moving city.

“then, can i ask you a question?” you whisper, able to see your breath in the air, watching as it rises.

“you know you can.” he reaffirms.

“why did you decide football was more important than me?” in taking a sharp breath, he turned to fully look at you.

“so you think that’s what that was, yn?” nodding your head and unsure ‘yes’, he begins to slide closer to you.

“i never wanted to choose between you or football. i just wanted to get where i am, right now. i wasn’t motivated enough for the sport. wasn’t motivated enough for you. i was doing terrible.” his eye shimmered, glossing over a bit as his body’s warmth began to radiate onto you. without thinking, your palm comes up to caress the man’s face, nails running against the smooth skin. legs side by side, onyankopon leans into your shoulder, embracing the cool gentle touch of your fingers.

“i never wanted this to happen.” he raises his head from your shoulder, faces inches apart.

“me neither.” you push out, eyes look down to his lips. “kiss me ony.”

his lips take over yours with passion. moving at the same rhythm, you begin to lay backwards, eyes snapping to check the door. wrapping your arms around his neck, he starts to nibble at your earlobe, teeth gently grazing. one of his hands rest on your thigh while the other rest on your waist.

releasing a small, restrained moan, the man hums with enjoyment.

“let me get you back baby. everything’s different now.” listening to his pleas was getting harder to do as he snaked his hands up your sweater. gently teasing your stiffened nipples between this fingers.

“let me lift this up.” you lift your body a little, allowing him to pull your sweater up.

god he wish he didn’t. there on your right breast was indeed a large, circular, maroon and dark purple mark. without saying anything, he just pulls your sweater back down, not completely sure what he just saw only knowing it was blowing his high.

“wanna go back?” he asks, grabbing his empty bottle. your body jolts into a sitting position, confusion filling your brain, and panties.

“uh, yeah sure.”

“what’s that?” he asks, genuine curiosity fills the question. his jeweled finger points to the glass you held. the orange-brownish liquid.

“spiked cider. wanna try it? i don’t think you’ll like it.”

“you don’t know that!”

this is why you should’ve avoided the man. subconsciously watching how simple it is for you to treat him as if he’s your boyfriend, still. his lips press against the cool bottle, taking in a sip before immediately curling his face up. a loud laughs slips from your mouth before you can catch it, earning a side eye from the man.

“i told you.”

armin clears his throat, taking down the rest of his beer before throwing another ‘uno’. his gaze meets with yours, something else filling him now. this draws onys attention too. noticing the smoke coming from armins ears and nose, he decides, why not?

“armin!” onyankopon says smoothly, leaning back in his spot, his voice dripping with curiosity.

“you’ve been quiet tonight. nervous about something?”

“what?” armin replies, voice a little tight, helping shuffle some of the colorful cards.

“yeah man i mean- what- what im saying is we usually talk a little more, what’s up?” his tone was sweet but intimidating.

the question is a loaded gun. the air in the room shifts. armins head snaps up, his eyes low, and for a split second, he looks at you. it’s a mistake. a terrible, damning mistake.

when he turns back to you, it’s with a look that cuts through you like a blade.

“very fucking interesting, yn.” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. but it’s loud enough.

“onyankopon, let’s go talk on the balcony.” you start, your voice shaky, desperate to diffuse whatever bomb is about to go off.

“no,” he interrupts, his tone calm but laced with steel. “i think i get it now.”

the room quiets, the playful chatter fading as your friends start to notice the tension radiating from your corner. historia glances over, concern flickering across her face. jean raises an eyebrow, and sasha freezes mid-bite of a cookie. mikasa and eren both place their cards down, glancing at one another.

“what’s.. going on?” connie asks, breaking the silence, his tone half-joking but uncertain, still high from the balcony session. mikasa just shakes her head, indicating for him to be quiet.

ony doesn’t answer. his eyes are locked on you, unrelenting, his voice steady when he speaks again.

“tell me something.” he says, leaning in just slightly, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“did it even mean anything? or was it just sex?”

“stop.” you whisper, your throat tightening, but it’s too late.

“or was it just convenient?” his words slice through the air, louder this time, the venom unmistakable.

the group stares now, all eyes darting between you, armin, and onyankopon. armin stiffens, his face pale as a sheet, his fingers clenching so tightly around his cards that they crumple.

“what’s he talking about?” sasha asks, her voice small, uncertain. crumbs of cookie falling from her glossed lips.

“yeah, are yall fucking each other or some-“ mikasa launches a used paper towel at the back of jeans head.

your vision blurs, heat rushing to your face as the walls feel like they’re caving in. you want to disappear, to melt into the floor and escape the unbearable weight of their stares.

but onyankopon doesn’t stop. he laughs, a bitter, hollow sound.

“don’t play fucking stupid.” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“watch your mouth, onyankopon.” armin speaks, jaw clenched in anger.

“shut the fuck up, mommas boy. like i was saying.” eren opens his mouth a little.

“let me finish. it’s obvious, right? finals week, all that tension, you two couldn’t help yourselves, could you?”

“ony-” you choke out, pleading, but your voice falters.

armin finally breaks.

“im sorry man.” he says, barely above a whisper.

it’s like a bomb goes off. historia gasps, sasha’s jaw drops, and jean lets out a low whistle, muttering, “no way.”

the room erupts into chaos, voices overlapping as everyone reacts, but all you can focus on is onyankopon. his eyes hadn’t left yours.

“can we please do this outside? all of us.”

at the end of the night, which was shorty after, nothing was said. not even in the group chat.

a week to new years.

it’d been two weeks since you’d seen either of the boys. only talking to your friends about the situation once before they respected wishes and never brought it up again.

your slippers padded against the floors, echoing off your walls. pink and gold glitter covers your floor, a few shards of broken glass ornaments lay when the small pine used to decorate your apartment. soft rnb lulls in the background, keeping your mind preoccupied as you box away what decorations you didn’t break.

lola, your ragdoll, sprints down the hall before extending her limbs, stretching from her nap on the bedroom widow sill. she drops down onto her side, licking off a spot on her belly.

“wow, you work so hard, you must be so tired!” you say sarcastically, bending down at your knees, petting the cat. nudging you with the wet tip of her nose, she begins to purr.

“what would i do without my sweet lola baby? you know just how to distract me-“

the doorbell rings once. your cat rears up, sitting and looking directly at your front door, a small meow breaks from her. you wait two minutes before determining it was an accident.

but then it happens again. reaching for your phone, you quickly open the ring app. the doorbell camera catches armin, swaying side to side, fingers fidgeting with each other. wasting no time, you wander over to swing the door open. in the hallway, all you could see was him getting ready to walk away.

“yes?” you answer softly. he turns quickly in his heels, you could’ve sworn he was going to burn a hole to the next floor down. his blue eyes light up once they’ve seen yours.

“yn. can we please talk?”

inviting him in, you apologize for the mess.

“i’ve seen worse from you.” joking lightly, he takes a seat at the bar chairs, watching as you wipe off the glitter from your black lululemon set.

“haha, so funny. are you doing okay? why are you all the way on this side of town?” taking the chair next to him, you could tell the man was holding something in. hands gripped into fists, eyes locked ground, you couldn’t react before he took your face into his hands.

his plump pink lips press against yours, groaning at the feeling of you beginning to kiss back. you couldn’t help but to cave in. feeling how soft and warm his lips were against yours. he pulls away, still connecting your forehead with his.

“please, yn. you’re everything i’ve ever wanted.”

before you could open your mouth to say anything to the man, another ring at the door pulls you away. armin walks to the living room, taking a seat on the couch, watching as lola made biscuits in the throw blanket.

you swing the door open, eyes wide when you see onyankopon standing there, eyes low and red.

“what-“ he just pulls you in for a hug, lifting you off your feet. naturally, your legs swing around the man’s waist, feeling his large hand across your ass as he holds you up.

you’re wearing his favorite set, smelled like his favorite perfume of yours. the hug lasted well beyond a full minute , unmoving from the hall. his head dips down to the crook of your neck, groaning a little.

“ony, now’s a bad time. i have something to straighten out inside. come back over later?” you try to climb down from his hold only to be held tighter. he just shakes his head, kissing the exposed skin of your neck before placing you down gently.

“let me just come in, you wont even notice.” your lips fold inwards, turning to look at the adjacent door.

“look. to tell you the truth, armin showed up like two minutes before you did.” onyankopons face drops, a laugh starting but ultimately ending up in a harsh frown.

“so you chose him?” he asks, stepping away from the door.

“no. ony, i didn’t ‘choose’ him. i’m going to hear what he has to say, then he’s leaving. if you can be an adult and stay to talk, i’ll hear you out too.”

“you’re a fucking idiot, why would she want to wait sixteen years for you to pay off student loans when she can have it all right now?”

“until someone knocks that rock of a cranium on your shoulders hard enough.”

you stood in the kitchen, throwing away trash and cleaning up your area. them coming over wasn’t going to stop your cleaning day.

“i can hear you two!”

finishing off the counters of your kitchen, you head back to the living room. watching as both men sit quietly now, head hung in shame and guilt.

“okay since the men in here want to act like babies, i’ll start. armin i really enjoy your company, you’ve been my friend for a really long time now and i cherish that. you know that.” the blonde man looks up at you, an expression of knowing but also pain crossing his ocean blue eyes. walking over to sake a seat in your chair, lola follows behind, waiting for you to sit before she jumps up, curling into your lap. you eyes flick to onyankopon who has his head thrown back, arm shield his eyes.

“onyankopon. you need to understand that whatever me and armin did happened when we broke up. we weren’t texting, weren’t talking. i had given up already. but you know i love you too.”

“i get it, yn. just something about thinking of his hands over you just- i never wanted to break up.”

“yet you were quick to leave.” he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, a bitter ‘ha!’ coming from his chest.

“yn. when we played there and talked, that was the most i’ve spoken to anyone personally in a really long time. you care about me, i care about you.”

“ugh i don’t know! it’s all just- complicated.” the two men make eye contact. a first, anger, hatred. then, as if they shared a brain, something shimmers in their eyes. onyankopon shifts in his seat, nodding at armin.

“then at least, let us make you feel better. you can tell us whoever you want when we’re done or we can just leave, princess.”

you’ve got to stop putting yourself in these positions.

armin sits in the chair you once occupied, watching intently, hand wrapped around himself as he stroked slowly. letting some saliva from his mouth fall onto his swollen tip. hands twisting to coat himself in the slick.

his eyes daze at how large onyankopons hands wrapped around your torso, holding your arms behind your back, as he bounced you on his length. lips attached to your swollen nipples, his eyes focused on your face above him.

“fuck, ony! just like that!” releasing your arms, he pulls you into a full sit on his dick. fingers digging into your waist. you feel it stretching and filling you up, pressing against your spot as the man nips at parts of your neck and chest. small red spots being left behind.

he picks you back up, holding you a little higher, using the leverage to fuck into you.

“look at me, ma. let me see how i’m making you feel.”

this was the position he used to love putting you in. showing off his strength but also how no matter what, he knew what was going to make you crumble.

“want your lil friend over here so he can see how to actually make you cum baby?” you whine, head lolling all the way backwards to look at armin. he was a mess under his own doing, shirt hoisted to his chin, hand still wrapped around his sticky skin. his eyes low, burning right into yours.

“oh fuck- i’m gonna cum! ony fuck! im-“ eyes rolling to the back of your head, youre shooting warm squirt all on the man’s bottom half. he lays you down on the couch, letting your orgasm shake your body while he rubs your side soft.

“come here.” onyankopon motions for armin to come over. the blonde man checks on you before turning to look at the other male.

“might as well go home.”

armin has you on your side, facing onyankopon straight on. his hand wrapped around your throat, other holding your leg up by the knee. his dick pumps slow, feeding you every inch of him while his lips suck at your exposed neck.

“min! min! oh my god-“ you cry out, feeling his he’s making your stomach bulge, your hands reaching behind to try to keep him from going so deep.

“keep your hands to yourself, baby.” he used his body strength to pull both of you up into a sitting position. with you facing your ex, armin folds your knees up to your chest, fucking into you from below.

“fuck- pussy so fucking nice to me baby.” he groans, slow strokes killing you.

“im so close armin please!”

onyankopon couldn’t lie. this was driving him crazy. watching as the drool falls from your pretty pink lips. how you’re pressed up against armin, his teeth marking your skin.

pumping his cock, his head falls backwards, listening to the moans fall from your lips. the sound of your pussy filling the space.

“im cumming! oouu shit, baby.” watching as the white ring formed around the base of armins cock becoming thicker as he continued to fuck into you. not caring about who you picked, just wanting you to feel your best.

“fuck- that’s not fair!” onyankopon watched as armin flipped you into a new position, aligning himself on top of you.

“stop being a fucking pussy and come help then.” armin bites back, positioning himself, he pushes into your clenching hole.

“ah! s-so sensitive i can’t take it!” you feel onyankopons hands rub from your breast, sliding up before taking control of your arms. holding you in place as armin beat you into the couch. the blonde digs his thumbs into the crease of your hips, dropping his cock into you.

“yes the fuck you can, ony go open her bedroom door.”

the two men help shuffle you down the hall, both grabbing at your body like vultures. you climb onto your bed, eyes locked with onyans. he fully strips himself, climbing right beside you. you attach your lips, humming into the kiss as his hands roam your tits.

“i missed you.” he whispers between a kiss, catching you off guard as armin turns your head the other way. he presses into you gently, fingers drawing faint lines on your spine.

“who do you want to fuck you, princess?” armin asks, watching as your head snaps back to onyankopon. the man wastes no time bringing you to his lap. lips reattached as he flips you onto your back.

“go sit behind her.” he instructs armin. the man climbs behind you, you feel his hard length against your back as your ex dips his head down.

his mouth places a few kisses on your bottom lips, begging a delicate as he possible could. he uses one hand, speeding you open before licking from your throbbing hole to the abused bud. letting some spit fall from his lips, his tongue spreads it around.

“oh! ony! love your fucking mouth so much.” armins hands play with your nipples, your hands up playing with his locks.

the man below sucks at the bud slow, eyes watching as your lips connect with armins. saliva coating both your faces in hungry affection. climbing back up, he pushes your legs back.

“hold them.” armin listens, holding your legs back while the other places himself at your entrance. his eyes watch you hungrily as he pushed inside, bottoming out.

“i know she missed me, look at how she’s taking me baby.”

he teasingly pulls out, watching as your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, before sliding back in. your pussy making noises as he continues to fuck you into the mattress.

“doing so well for us baby, taking all his dick huh.” armins watching down at you, lips curled into a smile while his hands played with your nipples.

“how this shit feel baby? you missed this dick?” ony asks, head quirked to the side as he watched himself fill you up. you nod, lost in pleasure and close to yet another orgasm.

“uhn uhn let me hear you say it baby. tell me how much you missed me fucking this pussy.”

“i missed you so much, daddy- oh fuck! im so close please- i cant!” he doesn’t stop, relentlessly pounding into you, feeling your nails dig into his arms.

“yeah, give it to me ma, come with me.” before you know it he’s releasing long white ropes across his body while armin is turning you around on all fours. onyankopon climbs into the spot armin occupied, smiling down at you.

“you’re doing so good, mama. just one more okay?” his large hand comes up to slightly rub the side of your face. tears flood as you feel armin start to fill you up. your ex watches as your face contorts into pleasure, looking as you peer back at his acquaintance.

it’s like they both were trying to find something important. slow strokes stealing your soul as he hikes one of his legs up, pressing down on your back with both his hands.

you could feel him in places you didn’t even know existed. face rested on onyankopons hands, back arched, armin digging into you from behind. your body’s on fire.

the sound of his balls slapping against your abused clit fill the room. your moans turned to nothing but gasps of air and drool falling out the corner of your lips. eyes rolled back into your head.

“one more, princess. just one- shit- one more.” he reassured, hips dragging quicker.

“pussy so good. m’i making her feel good baby?” you nod, lost in pleasure. he could feel you clenching around him. how your hands shot out to grab hold on your exs chest as you release all over armin. clear liquid shoots out as you collapse. the two men move off the bed, sighing at your beaten frame.

“you take her to the shower, i’ll wash her sheets?”

onyankopon agrees, picking you up bridal style.

“let’s go princess.”

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 days ago

Text

the river splits but still runs home (Stan & Ford)

twins. like light split in two, a star cracked open in the womb and made two hands of the same body, reaching for each other before they even knew what hands were

it starts like this

a house where the salt spray eats the paint off the walls. their mother, Caryn, is standing in the kitchen, wrists deep in soapy water, humming some song neither of them know the words to. the windows are open and the ocean breathes in, breathes out, just like she taught them

Ford is at the table with his glasses slipping down his nose, chewing on the end of a pencil, something half-sketched in the margins of his notebook. Stan is on the floor, legs kicked out behind him, tongue stuck between his teeth as he wrestles a knotted fishing line into submission.

“you're gonna snap it,” Ford says without looking up.

“no, i'm not.”

“you're holding it wrong.”

“you're holding your face wrong!”

Caryn sighs, scrubbing a plate with the practiced hands of someone who has done this a thousand times before and will do it a thousand times more. “boys.” she says

Stan gives the line a particularly aggressive tug and. . . snap.

Ford looks up. Stan looks down.

Caryn turns, raising her eyebrows.

“. . . Ford did it” Stan says immediately.

Ford's mouth drops open. “i did not!”

“you were distracting me!”

“you're the one who broke it!”

“okay, okay,” their mother interrupts before it turns into a wrestling match. she dries her hands on a dishtowel and comes over, kneeling down next to her son Stanley. “let me see.”

Stan holds up the ruined line, eyes downcast. Caryn takes it, carefully untangling what's left, making something whole out of something broken.

“not a big deal,” she says calmly. “i've got another one in the drawer.”

Stan sniffs, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve. “i wanted to do it myself.”

“i know, baby,” she murmurs. she kisses the top of his head softly. ”you'll get it next time.”

Ford watches, silent. Stan exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, the need to prove something wilting under their mother’s hand on his back.

“help me with dinner?” she asks, gently ruffling his hair.

“yeah,” Stanley answers, already halfway to forgetting. he scrambles to his feet, following her like a little shadow.

Ford watches them go. he pushes his glasses up his nose. picks up his pencil. finishes the half-sketched drawing.

the ocean breathes in, breathes out

the first time Ford tastes saltwater, it’s because his brother dunked him under the waves. it’s a game kids play when they don’t yet know the world is full of real drownings. Ford comes up coughing, spitting out the ocean, laughing loudly. Stan’s grin is wide and reckless.

“gotcha, poindexter!” he crows, hands still in the water, ready to do it again.

Ford shoves him back, not that hard but it makes Stan stumble and splash into the shallows. their mother calls from the shore, “boys, don’t go too deep!” but she’s smiling, and the wind carries her words off over the tide.

their mother, so young. her dark hair twisted up in a scarf, her dress fluttering, hands on her hips. she worries, always, but right now she lets the worry go. the ocean is big, but her boys are still here.

Ford wipes salt from his eyes. “you’re gonna pay for that, Stanley!”

“you can’t even catch me, four-eyes!”

and then they’re off, kicking up seafoam, yelling so loud they could wake up every gull on the shore. Ford chasing, Stan laughing, the two of them running so fast they forget about gravity, about time, about the fact that childhood ends.

Caryn watches from the shore, hand shading her eyes. her boys. her impossible boys. her heart aches just looking at them.

years later, one name will be stolen, the other lost in a machine meant to swallow men whole.

but she does not know that yet.

for now, her boys are hers.

“boys! dinner!”

two twins, Stan and Ford are already running, tangled together, because that's what twins do. they spill into the kitchen in one motion, laughing, shoving, too loud, too much. Caryn shakes her head but she's smiling.

“plates,” she reminds, tapping the counter, and Stan groans but Ford grabs them both.

their mother watches them eat as she asks. “what are you going to be when you grow up?”

Ford swallows his bite too fast, too excited to answer that. “an adventurer!” he says, as if he's thought about this every night before sleeping. (he has.) “a scientist. a— a traveler, maybe. i'll see things nobody's ever seen before!”

“and you, Stanley?”

Stan taps his fork against his plate. shrugs. “i dunno,” he says. “but wherever he goes, i'll go too.”

Ford looks at him. like the sun looks at the moon, like gravity itself, like there is no world in which they are apart. “yeah, yeah, of course.” he smiles at his twin

their mother closes her eyes. she wants to believe it. she hopes. god, she hopes.

she has a feeling, deep in her gut, that one day, Ford is going to go somewhere Stanley can’t follow.

they are eight, they are ten, they are twelve.

“you think,” Stan mumbles one night. “when we're old, we'll still be like this?”

Ford snorts. ”old?”

“like, really old. like . . . like thirty.”

Ford laughs into his pillow. “yeah. of course. what kind of question is that?”

Stan doesn't know. it just. . . sometimes he gets scared, that's all.

years pass and they swallow them whole.

time is not kind to their dreams. it chews them up and spits them out on different shores.

Ford falls into another world, Stan falls into survival. they are no longer boys dreaming on a dock.

but here’s the thing about twins. you can split them apart, you can burn them down, you can throw them to opposite ends of the universe, and still they will find their way back.

years pass.

Stan's hands are steady on the wheel, the waves licking at the hull. the sky is full of bruises, pinks and purples spilling into each other, the last gasp of daylight.

Ford leans against the railing, wind pulling at his coat.

“remember when i broke that fishing line?” Stan asks suddenly.

Ford turns, squinting at him against the light. “what?”

“back when we were kids. mom fixed it for me.”

Ford blinks. then he huffs a laugh. “yeah. yeah, i remember that.”

Stan grins. “you were so smug about it.”

“because i was right.”

“no, you weren't.”

“yes, i was.”

mom's not here to stop them fighting. it's okay. they're not boys anymore

Stan rolls his eyes, but it’s affectionate. he looks out at the horizon, lets the boat sway beneath them.

Ford watches him.

the thing is, Stan was always like this. loud, quick-tempered, full of teeth. but he was also this. soft, sentimental, remembering things Ford never thought he would.

Ford clears his throat. “mom was good at fixing things,” he says.

“yeah.”

the sky darken and the stars blink awake. Ford glances down, at his own hands. at the scars, at the years worn into his skin.

“we turned out alright, huh?” he asks quietly.

Stan snorts. “speak for yourself.”

Ford rolls his eyes.

they drift. the boat creaks, the ocean sings.

Ford looks at stan. Stan looks back.

and then Stan reaches over. ruffles Ford’s hair. quickly and carelessly, just like their mother used to.

Ford freezes what makes Stan grin as he pulls away

Ford groans, swats at him. “you always do that—”

“mom did the same,” Stan says, laughing.

Ford rolls his eyes again, but he’s smiling. suddenly he gets too quiet, lost in his own thoughts and memories

“mom would love this,” Ford whispers. “us out here. she always liked the ocean.”

“yeah, she liked watching us in it.”

once, long ago, their mother sat on the shore and watched her boys in the waves.

now, the ocean stretches out before them, endless and unknowable.

“let’s head in,” Stanley says and pushes his brother lightly on the shoulder. ”before you get all misty-eyed on me.”

somewhere in the tide, in the wind, in the bones of the ship creaking beneath them, she is there. her boys are together again.

they sail on.

#gravity falls #Stan Pines #ford pines #stanley pines #Stanford pines #a tale of two stans #young stan pines #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #caryn pines

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takuma-talkz · 2 days ago

Text

Treat You Better(When you should be with me instead?)

A/N: This is the fluff ending to Treat You Better. I still have the angst ending to this series. But after that I will be exploring other ventures with dae-ho!!

Part 1:

Part 2:

warnings: death

dividers: @dollywons <3

“Dae-ho!” You ran over to the man by the door. Dae-ho wrapped his arms around you.

Gunshots rang out through the arena. You stole a glance at your ex. You watched as a pink soldier, gunned him down.

Dae-ho pulled your gaze to him, he caressed your cheek. You pulled him in for a kiss. He kept you close by your waist. You both pulled away just in time for the doors to open.

Dae-ho holds you close. His arm swung around your shoulders. The remaining survivors walk back, you chat with Young-il.

“I would visit a hospital when you return home.” Young-il advised.

“Thank you, Mr. Young-il. I definitely will.” You smile as you all reach the dorms again. Your group takes its usual spot.

Dae-ho helps you up into his bunk. He fluffs the pillow to lay back and you relax back on his chest.

“When we get out of here, I’ll come and find you. And we’ll both pay off our debts and I’ll be with you every step of the way. For you and your child.” Dae-ho whispered into your hair.

“Our. Our child. Even though the man who got me pregnant isn’t you, I want you by my side.” You draw little shapes on his chest.

He was silent for a minute. “I’d like that.”

“I know that my sisters would love you. They’d probably steal you away on weekends for girls’ night.” He chuckled, his chest rumbling lightly.

You giggled, shifting upwards to kiss his chin.

The pink guards come around to commence the vote.

Gi-hun starts first. He votes to leave.

“Player 389.” The guard calls your number. Dae-ho reluctantly lets you go so you can vote.

You walk up to the machine. You take a look at the piggy bank then at Dae-ho.

35.6 million each.

More than enough for you and Dae-ho to start over.

You hit the X button and join Gi-hun and Jung-bae. Dae-ho shortly joins your side. He stands tall next to you, with an arm around your shoulders and a hand on your belly.

All you remember is being lifted in the air by Dae-ho. The X side had won.

You were going home.

One by one, players were being escorted out. The women were let out first.

“Remember this number. Call me when you get the first chance.” He says his phone number in your ear.

As the guards separate you two, you repeat the number over and over.

“I love you, Kang Dae-ho! Don’t forget about me!” You shout out before you lose complete sight of him. But you hear one last thing before everything goes dark.

“I promise I won’t! I love you too, [name]!”

“Somebody call the police!”

“Umma look! She’s waking up!”

You’re blinded as the streetlight beats down on you. As you adjust to the bright light, three strangers surround you.

A woman and her two children.

She quickly undid the ropes. It seems she and her kids were doing laundry at a laundromat nearby because she handed you some clean clothes.

She covers you with a blanket and you four, along with your belongings walk back to the laundromat. She ushers you into the bathroom so you can change privately.

You thank the woman for her kind actions and watch as she and her children walk home. You charge your phone in the laundromat until it’s at 15%.

You call for a taxi and notice a weird black card under your jacket.

Luckily there’s an ATM outside. You swipe the card and boom.

35.6 million won.

You survived hell and this proves it.

Your taxi pulls up and you give him your address. You enter the number Dae-ho gave you. It rings a couple of times. Then it goes through.

“Kang Dae-ho. How can I help you?”

“Dae? It’s me, [name].” You muttered softly, happy that he didn’t give you a fake number.

“Oh, baby. I’m so glad you’re okay. How are you? And the baby too? Are they okay?” His voice was rapid. Like he had been on pins and needles waiting for you to call.

“Where are you? I need to see you.” Dae-ho whispered breathlessly.

“Heading home.” You give him your address.

“That’s not far from where I’m at. See you soon. I love you.” Dae-ho said to you.

“I love you too, Kang Dae-ho.” You nearly broke into tears.

“Appa! Come down the slide with me!” Your beautiful five-year-old daughter calls for Dae-ho’s attention.

He runs over to the playground. You giggle as Dae-ho struggles to sit comfortably on the slide.

You look down at the cooing baby in the stroller in front of you.

Your secondborn, the result of the love between you and Dae-ho. After the games, you and Dae-ho had much better lives full of happy marriages, healthy children and so many other things.

Never again will you be beaten by the hands of your loved one. Never again will you be talked down to by your loved one.

Dae-ho promised to treat you better, and there’s no about it.

After note: wrote this while listening to Kenji play Poppy Playtime 3 :)

taglist: @krissophia @come-as-you-are-111 @lovinqbella @hejjehdjfhrbbfbjgjgjfw @carlandoxlestappen @rileylovescats @fanneartist @hardbeingcasual @casually-simping @scarlettlupinblack @littlegirlmin @valvoria @glossedtears @gizaspicebag @ang3licbabydolly @silas-222

#kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #kang daeho #kang ha neul #kang ha neul x reader #dae ho x reader #player 388 #player 388 smut #player 388 x reader #dae ho #dae ho squid game #dae ho smut #dae ho imagine #squid game x y/n #squid game smut #squid game

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starredblood · 10 hours ago

Text

NOWHERE GIRL

PART SIXTEEN

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: you and sae-byeok’s plan to sneak back into your apartment goes haywire, all in the midst of your conflicting feelings towards her.

wc. 4.2k

warnings: none

(nowhere girl masterlist)

You know the dangers of liking someone like Sae-byeok could entail but feelings betray you in the worst ways possible. Now, it was like your mind couldn’t help itself from grasping onto every minute detail on her face. You always knew she was an attractive girl, but now you can’t help but admire her attractiveness in a rose-colored lens. It’s…bizarre.

The last time you felt these strange feelings for someone was your ex best friend from high school. But you feel differently about it this time. As you become more comfortable with your sexuality and Sae-byeok’s awareness of it, you feel twice as vulnerable.

You knew yourself well enough that this epiphany would keep you up at night so once you got to bed, you made sure to take melatonin gummies to prevent your mind from racing. But even when you shut your eyes all you could see was Sae-byeok. Especially her eyes. Her dark eyes that are haunted yet underneath them are the faint sign of love she’s trying to hide from everyone.

A night of dreamless sleep was disrupted when you felt your body stir awake by a hand shaking your shoulder. You wake up, sweat beads dripping down your forehead and your heart racing. You despise a melatonin induced sleep.

Cheol is standing in front you, eyes full of concern as you try to make sense of the fact that you’re awake now. Once your eyes settle on the boy, your fight or flight instincts die now. You insisted that you would walk Cheol to school today because it was too risky for Sae-byeok to be seen with Cheol, who needs to be guarded at all times. Who knows if Deok-su or his gang could be spying on them.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Cheol asks, grasping the straps of his school bag tighter in fret.

“Uh, yeah.” you stammer and pull yourself up the couch.

Immediately you’re hit with the scent of Sae-byeok. You peer down at your clothes, you were currently wearing her sweatpants and hoodie to sleep in. It suddenly dawns on you why you took the melatonin in the first place.

“If you can’t take me to school it’s okay. I can go by myself.” Cheol says timidly.

“No, I’ll take you just give me a few minutes to brush my teeth.” you tell him, patting his head before heading to the bathroom.

It was seven o’ clock in the morning and you have a feeling neither girls who live in this apartment complex are here right now. You know Ji-yeong would be at work but Sae-byeok’s whereabouts are a complete mystery. When you enter the bathroom the first thing you do is go on your phone to call your place of work. It was a bad look on your end to call in sick for an internship, but today was an important day. So, you did your best to sound groggily and weak when you’re on the phone with your boss.

To be frank, it felt like Cheol was the one taking you to school. Your sluggish footsteps concerned the boy from time to time and you fail to mask your sleepiness so he would turn to check up on you every now and then.

“Noona,” starts off Cheol after five minutes of walking in pure silence. You hum in response. “why did you come back? Did you get kicked out of your place?”

You quietly chuckle. “No, uh…there’s a leak in the apartment and it’s too—dangerous for me to go right now.” if you recall that was the lie Sae-byeok told Ji-yeong when she asked if you could stay at their place.

“Then you aren’t staying with us for long?”

“It depends on how long it takes for them to fix the leakage.” you say. “Why? Miss me already?”

Cheol smiles faintly. “I want you to live with us. Then you can show me how to draw as good you as you.”

“You’re really passionate about art, huh?”

“I—I think so.” he says, glancing down at his stained hands. “My friends like my drawings but I don’t think they are good. Not like yours.”

“Let me give you an advice, from artist to artist.” you say and the boy listens attentively. “Don’t ever compare your work to anyone else’s. Focus on how your art reflects you as a person—and practice like hell. Oops, I mean—“

“It’s okay.” he giggles. “Thanks for the advice, Noona. I really want to become an art student like you.”

Pride swells your heart. You never thought you’d see the day when someone looks up to you as an inspiration. If you were being honest, the advice you gave Cheol was something you struggled with as a young artist back in your middle school and high school years. Comparing yourself to others made you feel so insecure about your work and it wasn’t until you came to college when you strayed away from that mentality.

“Wow.” you mumble. “That’s—great. I will make sure to help you become a great one too.”

His grin becomes larger to the point he is showing his teeth. A rare occurrence. When he smiles like that you wonder if Sae-byeok has ever smiled this large before.

“Did you always like doing art?” he asks.

You gaze up at the orange sky to pause and think. “Yes, but at first my parents didn’t want me to study art.” you reply.

“Really? Why?”

“They said it wasn’t a real profession but I proved them wrong eventually.”

“Are your parents gone too?” he asks innocently.

“Huh?”

“I heard Ji-yeong noona say once that you don’t live with them anymore. It’s okay, my dad is dead too.”

Your eyebrows furrow in concern. However, Cheol appears to be unfazed. He must’ve seen things no child should bear the weight of seeing, yet his childlike innocence is still alive and well. It was hard for you to find the right words to tell him right now—he didn’t notice you struggling.

“But you’re going to reunite with your mom soon, right?”

Cheol heaves out a sigh. “Noona, says she’s working on it but…I don’t think she’s going to escape.”

“Cheol...” you frown.

A tiny gasp escapes his mouth as if he just noticed he spoke his thoughts out loud. “Please don’t tell her I said that. I—I didn’t—“

“No, no, I won’t say a single word to her.” you say, mimicking zipping your lips up.

Cheol nervously laughs and starts looking down at the sidewalk, face red with embarrassment.

“Are we almost to your school by the way? I feel like we’ve been walking for ages.”

He hums to say yes and glances at you some more, his eyes staring at your current attire. “Is that my sister’s hoodie by the way?”

Your face becomes flushed. “It is.”

“I’m surprised she let you have it. That’s her favorite.” he claims. “When Ji-yeong noona wore it one day my sister wasn’t so happy about it.”

Your conflicting emotions come washing back. She let you borrow her supposed favorite hoodie—how can your heart not start racing?

“We finally made it!” he cheers, pointing at the school building at the end of the block. “Thanks again for walking me to school.”

“Of course. I’ll be back to pick you up.” you chirp. He sends you a thumbs up and starts rushing to the school when they heard the faint sound of the school bell ringing.

You observe him until he’s enters inside the school before turning back around to head back to the apartment. By now, the sun already starts scorching down on you and you’re starting to feel the sweat beads form on your forehead.

It was hard not to think of her on your way back. The comment Cheol said made your mind go all loopy again like last night. It’s scary how your feelings for a person can change with just a flicker of a switch. Now, all you think about throughout your small journey is if Sae-byeok will be home once you arrive. You two have made an arrangement to get your stuff back from your studio after all.

Entering the pin to enter their apartment, you bite the inside of your cheek in anticipation. A part of you doesn’t want Sae-byeok to be behind these walls in fear of the butterflies in your stomach coming back. But the other part needs to see her freckled face and hear her low handsome voice again.

“Good morning.” says that husky voice of hers the second you appear from the entrance. “I made breakfast.”

“Morning.” you whisper, not daring to look over at her from where she is standing in the kitchen.

You drag your feet to the kitchen, timidly observing her.

Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing her tanned forearms while she plates your food. It was the most attractive thing you’ve seen her do thus far.

When she goes to glance at you, you immediately look anywhere else. You start feeling self conscious of your body language and don’t know what to do with your arms so you leave them pressing against your sides.

“Why are you standing like that?” Sae-byeok asks, immediately catching onto your stiff and strange behavior. She sighs when you don’t reply to her. “Fine, whatever. Anyways, I think we should leave to head to your apartment in about an hour. You think that’s a good time to go?”

“It’s a little too early but I guess the suns already shining…Yeah, why not.” you shrug, focusing on the breakfast meal hard. “I want to get this over with.”

While you were too busy turning your back on Sae-byeok, she observes your antics carefully. It wasn’t difficult to sense her intense gaze. But you do your best to maintain your eyes on your food and your food only.

“Woah—what’re you doing?” you quickly ask when you feel her calloused fingers reach to tuck strands of your hair behind your ears.

Sae-byeok’s face remains deadpanned as ever and she leans on the counter to fully survey yours. “Are you nervous about going back?” she asks calmly.

“Definitely.” you lie.

She lets out a quiet snort. “Okay. But as long as I’m there you’ll be fine.”

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

“Is this all?”

You collapse on the edge of your bed. It was exhausting having to pick and choose what to take with you back to her apartment. It was even worse seeing the place you found sanctuary in get flipped upside down by Jang Deok-su and his gang. Everything you owned, they left on the floor. Luckily, you didn’t have anything of value for them so it was a matter of you digging stuff off the ground and stuffing them inside a laundry bag.

Sae-byeok was keeping an eye by the entrance of your studio while you gathered as much stuff as possible—most being your clothes and art supplies. You didn’t really care for your kitchen utensils.

When you are all set you drag the laundry bag that’s filled to the brim down to where Sae-byeok is standing, watching over at the stairways like a hawk.

“Y—Yeah, that’s all. Here.” you say out breath and pass the bag to her. “Take this downstairs while you talk to Miss Ahn. I need to find my sketch pad.”

There is a glint of hesitation etching her face at the thought of leaving you here by yourself. She peers back at the staircase, there no signs of any intruders, and glances back at you. Nodding, she takes your bag and drags it down the stairs.

You go back upstairs to your bedroom and start searching for your sketch pad. It was the most recent one with your drawings from this past semester, you couldn’t just let it go. Especially not when a ton of drawings contained the girl who keeps making your heart race.

After searching every nook and cranny the only place that’s left to search is the bottom of the mattress. You overestimate your ability to lift two layers of heavy cushioning, making you grow more tired as you kept lifting it up. Luckily there was a familiar rectangular shaped object by the corner of the bed.

You sigh in sweet relief that your sketch pad was in your possession, and you press it up to your chest as if you were hugging it. Now it was time to scurry out of here—leaving some bits and pieces of you behind.

A fleeting gasp escapes from your mouth when you see a short lanky man that appears to be susceptible of harm. He slowly makes his way toward the kitchen but spins around when he heard your footsteps coming down the stairs. A sinister smile appears on his face, showcasing his rotten teeth. His beady eyes look at you like a piece of meat.

“And who are you little lady?” he grunts, his eyes malevolently eyeing you up and down.

You swallow thickly. “This is my apartment.”

He scoffs and takes a few steps forward, making you take a few steps back up stairs. “Where��s, Kang Sae-byeok?”

“Who?”

“You know, I have a deep hatred for liars. I’ll give you one more chance to tell me the truth or you’ll regret spewing lies in that scummy mouth of yours.”

You press your lips in a thin line, hoping and hoping that Sae-byeok will magically appear with her pocket knife and a whole lot of anger. But after a few seconds of your silence, the man cackles and starts pacing over to you at a much quicker pace.

However, you knew you had an advantage. Being at the top of the stairs you prepared yourself to kick him down the stairs if he tried coming up. Gangsters must be dense, you think as he does what you imagine. Using all the strength your muscles have, your foot lands square in his chest making him topple down. You skip a couple of stairs and race out of your apartment.

“Sae-byeok! Sae-byeok!” you cry out once you burst open the outside door. No signs of her.

“Come back here, you bitch!”

You didn’t want to risk exposing her to the gangster so you scramble trying to find somewhere to run. The loud grunting behind you lets you know that he’s trailing close behind you.

“Help! Help me!” you shout as you run but the lack of passerby’s on the sidewalk makes your shouting useless as it was still morning hour.

Sliding inside a narrow alleyway you shuffle all the way to the other side. You can hear the man faintly shout profanities as you try reaching the far end of this sticky alleyway.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?”

When you reach the end, he ends up spotting you and moves faster than you. Your bottom lip trembles in fear and your eyes dart every entrance in this alleyway. Only one back door was open so you head inside it.

You quickly discover that this was the back door of the public library—there has to be workers here that can possibly help you. So, you bolt to the front desk to find someone.

“Miss! M—Miss!” you stammer, sending pleading eyes to the elderly lady at the front desk scanning books.

“Oh, dear,” she says, her shaky hands dropping the book because of your shouting. “is it opening time already?” she bends down slowly to pick up the book. This was useless.

You groan and head to the entrance of the building to open the door. No—they weren’t open yet.

“What the hell is my life!” you whine as you try shaking the locked door in frustration.

“You fucking bitch I know you’re in here! Where are you?!”

You were cornered in this library. The only option you have is to run and hide in between the tall narrow shelves arranged with ancient books. You clamp both your hands to your mouth to stop yourself from breathing so loudly, concentrating on his footsteps. When he got nearer you shakily crawl to the other aisle, then the other aisle, and another isle. You were starting to lose hope as you were reaching the last aisle.

“Hello? Who’s there?” you hear the elderly woman ask around. You hold back your breathing again.

There was an abandoned book cart on the very last aisle, so you curl behind the moment she spoke. You hear more sets of rapid movements speed across you to the front door. It’s the man—and he’s shouting at the elderly employee.

“Who do you think you are barging into my library?!” she scolds.

This was your only chance to pull out your phone and try to reach Sae-byeok. At this point, she surely would’ve realized you disappeared. When you pull your phone out of your pocket it slips from your shaky fingers. You bite your bottom lip so hard a metallic taste began to creep onto your taste buds.

“The only intruder in this library is you, sir!” she keeps shouting at the man who is asking about your whereabouts. “Now get out of here!”

They didn’t hear your phone land on the ground. You snatch it back and quickly pull up her contact to share your location. It was a difficult task when your hands couldn’t stop from shaking.

You stay curled up in a balled up position behind the book cart for who knows how long, the library must be open by now with how long you’ve been sitting there. At this point, you become more concerned with Sae-byeok’s well being than yours. She hasn’t called out or texted you anything after sending her your location.

Using the cart as an arm support, you use the last bit of strength you had left to lift your feet back up. When you carefully poke your head out of the bookshelf aisle, you land back down on the ground with a thud. Something or someone hit you right on the forehead. Hard.

You and whoever you knocked heads with groan in pain, unable to get off the floor from the hard impact.

Opening your eyes was a task. But when you did, you were so glad. So so relieved that it was, Sae-byeok. There is no one in the world you would be glad to headbutt other than her right now.

Her eyes flutter open the same time yours do. But she is quicker to get back on her feet and throws herself on you.

“Oh my god.” she shakily whispers beside your ear, hugging you with a great squeeze. “W—What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

She breaks the hug to press both her large hands against your cheeks and inspects every inch of your face. Her face so close to yours you feel her wavering breath hit you. You appear to be fine other than your cheeks turning scarlet.

“I’m fine.” you say. “But—But we have to go he might be around.”

“You’re incredibly reckless.”

“Wh—“

“I like it.” she mutters and dips down to give you another quick embrace. She then grabs your arms to pull you back up. “Don’t worry I got your stuff here. Let’s go.”

She takes your hand while the other one is grabbing your bag and you both manage to slip out the back door of the library without being seen by early bird customers or the elderly employee.

You follow Sae-byeok’s lead, who was seamlessly moving from alleyway to alleyway all the way to the apartment. You weren’t too surprised to know that she was an expert at hiding and sneaking around. But you did get worried since she was getting tired holding your stuff—because they were a bit heavy. Time from time she would shoot you a quick glance to make sure you’re keeping up with her pace.

“You’re okay. We’re here now.” she assures airily when you both reach the apartment building.

“That…” is the only word you can muster when you finally step inside your newfound sanctuary. Sae-byeok tosses your bag to the side and soars for the couch and stares up at the ceiling catching her own breath—her cheeks blazing red too. “was horrible.” you finally finish.

Sae-byeok silently agrees with you and palms her face, exhaustion clearly reaching to her. You couldn’t even move away from the front door where your back is currently leaning on.

“Do you want to lay down in my room?” she asks you softly after long minutes of trying to calm your nerves down.

You hope the queasiness in your stomach was from the unsettled nerves and not for the fact that she offered to take you to her bed.

“No, it’s okay.” you quietly reply. Just like this morning, you’re unable to look at her. You mentally curse to yourself when you hear her feet shuffling louder and louder.

“Come on, you should properly lay down on a bed.” she prods you in the arm to make you get off the floor. You groan.

Her poking was constant. She wasn’t stopping until she gets the answer she wants.

“Fine…”

You pull yourself back up and drag yourself to follow her to her room. The room was rather quaint with no decorations other than Cheol’s drawings littered aimlessly around the walls. Besides that, the only thing they owned was the king sized bed and a small drawer beside the bed.

She slides to one side of the bed and her muscles immediately relax when lying down. You sit on the edge awkwardly peering down at your lap. If she offered you to lay down on her bed days ago, you would’ve done it without the fear of her touch. Now, it’s hard to be around her without thinking deeply about your growing feelings.

“I said lay down. Not sit down.” her deep voice says, matter-of-factly.

You roll your eyes and slowly rest your back on the mattress. You two keep your eyes trained at the ceiling. But this was better than sitting.

“So, what happened?” she asks.

“Once you left a short skinny guy came in. He asked for you and got violent when I didn’t answer. So…I got chased. And you found me.” you answer dryly.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked right away.” she murmurs. You hear her pillow rustle, perhaps facing you now. “You’re okay though, right?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

Sae-byeok frowns. You’ve been acting off but she gives you the benefit of the doubt. You did get chased by one of Deok-su’s gangsters.

Since you don’t seem to notice her staring, she studies the scars of your past. The bruise in your cheek inflicted by Yen-ho is long gone, but your legs always seem to be scraped, and you still were sporting a bandage on your chin. She’s curious if your skin was smooth like porcelain before she met you or were you always prone to getting scars.

“You’re going to Italy soon.” she says, hoping that you become less tense after steering the topic. “You must be excited.”

You softly chuckle. “No. I’m actually scared.”

“Once you get there you’ll regret feeling scared. I hear Milan is beautiful.”

It was at this moment that you couldn’t bear not looking at her. Her eyes were captivating. “I’ll bring you a bunch of stuff…if you want.”

“That’d be nice.” a suppressed smile flickers and dies on her lips.

“You’re the reason I’m going of course I’ll get you souvenirs.”

You stare at the ceiling some more until you hear her softly say your name beside you. She too kept her eyes on the ceiling with a stoic look on her face.

“Don’t say a word but…” she swallows thickly. “I’ve been thinking for a while. I think I’m like you in the sense that I’m…”

Your lips are parted, a fervent twinkle setting in your eyes. The anticipation of her words is keeping you on edge.

“—into girls.” she finally finishes. “Just girls, I think.”

The air was knocked out of your lungs thanks to her confession. You were dying to know if potentially you played a small role in her finding out about this big discovery.

You were drowning in your thoughts you didn’t hear her phone alarm going off.

“Cheol is getting off school in a few.” she sighs and turns off the alarm. She gives you a quizzical look, as if she didn’t just confess something huge to you just now. How can someone be so calm about this? Only someone as enigmatic as her, of course.

“Oh—yeah I’ll pick him up.” you stammer and roll off the bed. You had to get away before you explode.

“Thanks. Once you both get back I’ll have food prepared.”

You simply nod and pace out the room.

Your heart keeps pounding till you hear the thumping sounds on your eardrums. Why did she confess this to you all of a sudden? She must’ve caught onto you. But you still need time to think—do you seriously like Sae-byeok? If so, will you be willing to risk rejection or run away from it?

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss @everly-summers-solace @we1rdth0ughts @wlvlurvsfimmia

#kang sae byeok #kang sae byeok x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #fanfic #kang sae byeok squid game #kang sae byeok x fem!reader #wlw #wlw fanfic #kang saebyeok

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youknowwho-mustnotbenamed · 3 days ago

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February 01 - Honey | word count: 672 | @black-brothers-microfic

They are sitting in the common room, a bottle of firewhiskey making it’s rounds. Regulus had already regretted agreeing to come when he first entered the Room of Requirement to find his brother and his friends already gathered around the fireplace. But he had already been spotted, and he could hardly deny his boyfriend as he made grabby hands to pull Regulus onto his lap. That’s where he sits now, in one of the two chairs while his brother and Remus occupy the other, leaving Barty, Evan, Dorcas, Marlene, and Peter on spare cushions and pillows on the ground.

He rests his head back against James’ shoulder, letting himself get lost in the feeling of James’ fingers in his hair, gently soothing the building ache. He’s been undeniably lucky with James, who somehow always manages to sense what Regulus needs, and gives it to him without question.

“What’s the worse injury you’ve had?” Marlene asks, and Regulus instantly tenses up. Out of all the questions that could have come from her mouth, it is the one that a majority of the people in this room would find uncomfortable. “I sprained my collarbone while playing rugby in primary school.”

“I fell from a tre—wait, no. My worst was when that bludger knocked me from my broom and I broke like ten bones.” James says, almost boasting as though the memory of that day doesn’t put an ache in Regulus’ bones. He had been worried sick, afraid the other boy might not wake up, or if he did, that the damage would be too severe to ever play Quidditch again.

“Mrs. Norris caught me while in animagus form last year.” Peter shudders. “I still have the scars from her teeth.”

“I think we all know what mine is.” Remus says, voice heavy. Sirius shifts in his seat, curling around Remus the best he can, as though that will shield him from the monster living in his own body. He tucks his face into Remus’ neck, muttering something there. Cheeks burning as he unwillingly intrudes in a private moment, Regulus turns to James.

“Potion explosion because somebody wasn’t paying attention.”

“You can hardly blame me when you are far more interesting than any potion we could have been brewing.”

“Uh, huh.”

“My blood oath with Evan.” Barty says, drawing everybody’s attention to him. He merely grins, wiggling his eyebrows at Evan.

“Your what?” How could he have missed two of the most important people in his live taking a blood oath? His curiosity lasts for as long as it takes for the devilish grin to materialize on Barty’s face. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”

“What about you, Sirius?”

“I think… oh! The time I was attacked by a nest of hornets.”

“I’m sorry, you were what?”

“I haven’t told you guys this one? Oh, its great!”

“It’s not great, Sirius. It was stupid and unnecessarily risky.”

“Well now I have to know.” James insists.

“Well, little Reggie here wanted honey on his toast, but we didn’t have any.”

“And instead of asking Kreacher like anybody else would have, the idiot went and—”

Sirius reaches over and clamps his hand over Regulus’ mouth. “Don’t spoil the story. Stop licking me, Reg. Anyway, I was, I don’t know, nine? ten? either way, there was this bee’s nest in the garden. Nobody ever told me there were different kinds of bees, let alone different kinds of nests. I thought they were all the same thing. Honey came from bees, and bees lived in that nest. So, I climbed on a nearby bench and pulled it down.”

“Sirius.” James gasps through laughter. “Why?”

“I thought I was being a good brother! I had no idea I was going to be attacked.”

Regulus pries Sirius’ hand from his mouth, “The idiot was bedridden for a week.”

“It was worth it.”

“How? What part of that entire incident was ‘worth it’?”

“We got to spend that whole week together, and mother couldn’t do anything about it.”

#black brothers #jegulus #sirius black #regulus black #marauders era

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grapejuicestyless · 18 hours ago

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Seven(ways to Neverland)

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: “And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad, and that must be why.” Y/n and JJ grew up together, and while it was inevitable, Y/n and JJ swore they’d never grow up. Not even when life told them it wasn’t possible to be young forever.

“My Ma is always saying dad left because he was a piece of work.” The girl said softly into the cold silence. Waves lapped at the shore calmly, and wind blew through her wild hair. She twisted the loose ring on her middle finger, a hollowed out and ground down acorn that was more brown than green nowadays. She spun the slightly wet ring around on her skin. “But I don’t believe her.”

The girl tucked her chin into her knees, curling up like a turtle in a shell. Her eyes glistened in the pale moonlight.

“Why?” The tow head blonde boy asked, curiosity in his defeated gaze.

“She drinks a lot.” The girl shrugged like it was normal. “She always did, but more now that dad is gone. Her friends do too. They talk about how their ‘glory days’ are behind them…or something like that.” She overshared her mother’s secrets, her young mind not comprehending the idea of dirty laundry and why you don’t air it out.

“Oh.” The boy looked down at the sand. “My dad drinks too.” He looked to the girl, who was now drawing circles in the sand mindlessly.

“Maybe it’s a grown up thing, and we don’t understand it yet.” She said hopefully, but her voice was low and quiet, and she looked awfully sad when saying it.

“Maybe.” The boy responded just as quietly.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if my mom married your dad?” The girl suddenly questioned. “Then maybe they wouldn’t drink as much. They wouldn’t need to, and my Ma’s friends wouldn’t have to sleepover in my bed.”

The boy nodded slowly, considering the idea before tossing it out the window.

“You wouldn’t want my dad to marry your mom.”

Silence filled the beach again, and the boy took some sand in his hand and watched it drain out slowly back onto the ground.

“He’s always angry. Sometimes he’s not, but it feels like he is.” It was the girls turn to look down and try to find some words of sympathy.

“Yeah. Parents suck.” The girl smiled, knowing the feeling of helplessness all too well.

They were only seven, but they knew a whole lot about things they shouldn’t, and they understood that just because the world worked that way for them, that didn’t mean it worked the same for everyone.

“Does he hit?” The girl asked curiously, her smile fading. The conversation seemed so casual, calm. Little children who should have been cowering, already accustomed to the treatment.

“Sometimes.” The boy answered truthfully, and the girl nodded.

“So does my mom.” The girl said quietly, still doodling in the sand beside her feet.

“Do you hate her?” The blonde boy asked after a beat passed, looking to see what the girl would say.

She thought about it for a moment, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth and twisting and pushing against the acorn on her finger.

She shook her head.

“No.”

That was her answer. Plain and simple like there was no other reason for it. She was her mother after all, and she was a kid. She would cling to her and try her best to be great for her, and when her mom would hit, she would try even harder to be great because even if her mom was a bad person, she was a bad person that the girl wanted to love her so badly.

The innocent and the good look up to the horrible and the ugly.

“Would you run away?” The boy pressed further, maybe because he was curious of what the girl would say, but maybe also because he was curious if anyone else shared the same thoughts.

“Would you come with me?” She asked.

“Why?” The boy questioned with his brow raised, his head cocked to the side.

“I don’t like being alone. I don’t like the dark.” She hugged her knees even tighter.

As the wind blew warm salty air onto the shore, waves crashed more violently against the sand, the tide rolling in quickly.

“You’d hate my house then.” The boy joked with a chuckle. It sounded almost bitter. “Dark, quiet, scary.”

“Sounds haunted.” The girl looked back into the boys blue eyes.

“Maybe. But ghosts aren’t real.” The boy shut down the girls observation quickly, picking at the loose threads at the ends of his board shorts.

The girl hummed and silence fell over the two kids again. Messy blonde hair and two tangles braids with dead ends fraying in the wind. A faded pink shirt with cursive writing and a dusty white tank top. They were so young.

“Well, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad, and that must be why.” She spoke up suddenly, kicking the sand and standing up.

“My dad isn’t afraid of any ghosts.” The boy stood up quickly, looking straight back at the girl. They were at the age where he could still stand eye level with her, but he figured in a few years he’d have a few inches on her.

“But he must be afraid of you.” The girl reasoned.

“My dad isn’t afraid of any seven year olds either.” The boy argued a little more firmly, feeling protective of his father, or his lack of, despite all the cruelty he was shown from such a young age.

“Well then, why does he hit you? He has to be afraid of something if he’s hitting you. My mom says it’s because I look so much like my dad. Like I could be the ghost of him and she hates it.”

The boy fell quiet, which was unusual. Everything about the way he acted around her was odd. He wasn’t a quiet boy, wasn’t one to just sit and talk, he’d rather pace around and pick at his nails.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” The boy said softly, looking down at his dusty boots. “Maybe I look like my mom…” He agreed, but he didn’t really know what his mom looked like.

“Well, I bet she was really pretty.” The girl said, her eyes shining despite her lack of a smile. Like she was calm on the inside despite the outer furrowing of her brows.

“You think?” The boy asked, raising a brow and his head.

“I know.”

She was looking right at him, his blonde hair and his blue eyes. His skin was tan, soft looking. He had sun kissed freckles on his nose and pink lips. Anyone that pretty had to have a pretty mom, she thought. But they would never know.

The boy blushed, and he held out his dusty hand until she took it in a loose handshake.

“JJ. JJ Maybank.” He smiled, looking back into her eyes. He was only seven, and he wasn’t like his friend Pope. He wasn’t the kid who read in his free time or who practiced spelling on his weekends. He was out between the sand and the weeds, picking at the dirt and getting his knees muddy. But even he could see the wild look she had, untamed but gentle.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n.” She smiled in return. She had a sweet smile, JJ thought. He’d never thought that before, or if he had he hadn’t thought about him thinking that. She had a really sweet smile. She was sweet. Blush from the wind on her cheeks and coloring the tip of her nose. A missing front tooth, which, by the cut in her bottom lip right where it should have been, JJ figured she’d knocked it out herself.

“Y/l/n.” JJ hummed, putting it to memory.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Y/n hummed, her hair pulled back into two uneven braids, the part in the back a mess. JJ had done them for her today.

“Shoot away.” He replied calmly, smiling and tugging at the end of one braid, watching the girl’s head tilt closer, her feet crossing in an unbalanced step. She slapped his bicep weakly.

“JJ!” She laughed through her annoyance. She could never really be annoyed with him, she believed. She hoped JJ didn’t know it because Y/n figured if he did, he’d push through every fragment of tranquility they shared. He’d find a way to bring her right to the brink of frustration and then make her laugh it all off over and over again.

“What does JJ even stand for anyway.” Y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, wrinkling her waffled shirt. “Probably something stupid.” She smirked, unraveling her hands to tuck them into the pockets of her hand-me-down overalls.

JJ punched her, his lips drawn in a thin line. Y/n rubbed her arm quickly to soothe the sting, her brows kissing at the center of her forehead. “Ow!” She yelped.

That was the thing with growing up, some get stronger, and others get left behind. Not to say Y/n was weak, the bruises on JJ’s arms from her little shoves and playful punches were proof enough, but they were nearly twelve now, and JJ figured he could probably bench her by this point.

“You started it!” He argued, though his palm still smoothed over where he hit her maybe just a but too hard. He’d check to make sure he didn’t leave a mark later.

“Did not!” They fought like children, and smiled freely like they did when they were seven, like they didn’t have all the reason to frown, to cry. To let genetics be hereditary and become the punishers. But instead they swung weakly at each other and laughed everything off until nothing really mattered anymore.

A silence fell between their giggles, a silence only broken my JJ’s pointer finger and thumb playing with the little tail tied off at the end of the braid.

“I don’t know. I never asked, I figured it was just my name. JJ.” He shrugged. “Simple. Like me.”

Y/n nearly snorted.

“You might be a simple boy, JJ, but you are not simple.” She smiled, eyes flickering down to her muddy shoes, bright red converse with holes in the sides so wide, ants found refuge in the warm shelter.

“John?” Y/n threw out an idea. JJ shook his head.

“Nah, we already got a John.” He pointed out, stuffing his own hands into his pockets.

“Well, your dad didn’t know that at the time.” She argued, and still, JJ couldn’t get on board.

“Okay.” Y/n thought, humming and biting her bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth, and swiping her tongue over the faded scar where, she had in fact, lost her front tooth all those years ago. An adult tooth had grown in since, but the scar, now pink instead of bloody, lingered like a faded memory.

“Jackson?” She looked at him, and for a moment, he thought about it. Then, he hummed, pulling his own lip between his teeth.

“Nope, too fancy. Maybe if I was Kook royalty.” He joked.

“So maybe one day?” Y/n teased back, wiggling her brows. JJ gave her an amused look as if to say, yeah right.

They went back to listing names, stumbling down the list until random names became those that started with a J. She tried out George with a J, followed by Jerry, and Jeremy. But all fell flat. It seemed to look as though the boys name was nothing more than two letters squished together.

Then, with a click of her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and a sparkle in her eye, she looked up at the blonde with wonder, the start of an idea.

“Jesse James.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her hands cupping her hips confidently.

“Who now?” He raised a brow.

“The outlaw?” She said in return, like it was common knowledge. Like her and Pope didn’t stick their noses deep into western books all summer much to JJ’s dismay. Not that he hadn’t know she was a bookworm, as if she hadn’t lugged around whatever second hand book she could snatch without the librarian noticing, but the summertime was time for the water, the waves, the tide. Not dusty pages written in small cursive letters with stupid plots less lively than any adventure JJ could drag her on.

And, no, he wasn’t jealous. That’s not why he went on a long list of reasons why he didn’t recognize the name, how it evolved into a complaint of her time spent glued to Pope instead of him, because JJ was surely not jealous.

“He was an outlaw back in the 1800’s. He robbed, killed, fought. Ran a gang with other outlaws.” She explained with a plain expression.

“Oh, so an asshole?” JJ shorted, and the sound made Y/n laugh.

“No. Well—yes, but that’s not why I think it’s so fitting. It’s adventurous, fun. Risky, you know?” She gushed over old literature, and god, if it had been Pope or anyone else, JJ swore he would’ve rung their neck by now, or at the very least ran as far away as possible. But Y/n explained it with a giggle, and JJ simply couldn’t resist listening to each word pouring from her mouth.

“Anyway, I think it’s fitting on a surface level.” She shrugged finally, and then, her eyes flickered over to his. “But I think I like plain old JJ the best.” She smiled sweetly, and then, she licked her chapped lips.

JJ figured if she liked it, he liked it too. He never really longed to know what his name stood for, if it meant anything, but her questions always raised his own. He thought a bit more as they walked between the broken branches and thick grass. He felt bugs on his shins and sweat beading down the back of his neck. He adjusted the old, beat up hat that flattened out his messy blonde hair against his forehead.

“Well, what about you?” JJ finally questioned, itching to hear her philosophies some more.

“What about me?” She continued walking, the sound of running water nearby tumbling down smooth rocks.

“Well, if I’m some outlaw, what does that make you? The damsel?” He smirked, and Y/n couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Could he really picture her in a corset? A layer over another until she was all fabric and barely any skin and bones. A big skirt hiding the frame of her hips and the sweet curls of her hair. She laughed at the image she painted for herself.

“If anything, you’d be the damsel.” She pointed her finger into his arm, looking up at the ground ahead now, and then let out a peaceful sigh.

“The accomplice.” She smiled, hooking her arm in mine. I let my hand slip out of my pocket so she could pull me closer. “But never the follower.” She raised her brows, a serious gleam in her lively eyes through her long lashes.

“Anyway, crime isn’t for me and it isn’t for you either, blondie. You’d end up in jail, and I’d have to bail you out. Hell, I’d probably be behind bars with you too.” She dreamed up the image, already seeing the way JJ would be leaned back, laughing at her stressed out expression. Cool and unbothered, the way he always seemed to be.

“And I don’t know about you, but I don’t just wanna be the kid from the cut who ended up as just another sheriffs little pet. I wanna be something. Someone.” She clenched her fist in determination.

“I wanna be that girl even in my eighties, dancing in the rain and running up and down the beach like my bones can’t flake away.” She smiled brightly. “And I want to scream, I want to yell! I’d scream ferociously, leaping between the waves like we do now, and I’d finally jump from the rocks, and I won’t be scared because I’ll have done it thousands of times.” She painted her future, her desire.

There was no money, no big house with a picket fence and an army of children. Just the ocean, some laughter, and enough fearless ambition to spill into the next lifetime.

“Sounds nice.” JJ agreed, but he didn’t have the same imagination as she did, he didn’t have it in him to dream a dream as pure and grand. So what, he wished for a little money, it didn’t make him any less noble. He didn’t need to live on figure eight, he just didn’t want to be stuck with three jobs until he turned to dirt.

“It will be. And you’ll know it because you’ll be there with me, and we’ll be the same pirates we are now. We’ll smoke on the roof and wear fancy clothing that we made ourselves. We’ll ride the waves and make lemonade and sweet tea like John B’s dad does. We’ll have mustaches from the sugar, and we’ll be young forever with the grass between our toes!”

She stopped, suddenly grabbing his shoulders at the opening of the thick greenery, the sandy beach an open land that laid out for miles around them. The waves hit the smooth rocks, the rougher ones that stood tall thrashing with the heavy water. Sea salt coated their glistening skin.

“We will be interesting forever.” She promised with a serious smile, like she knew there was no other fate for people like them. “And nobody will ever forget how we lived like real people should and how we never let the temptation of a corporate paycheck take away the big picture.”

Her hands wrinkled the shoulders of JJ’s old tank top, the sides cut so far down, it was nearly just a napkin with a hole for his head. Everything about their attire screamed kids from the cut, there was no fooling anyone, yet they carried themselves with pride, like the lack of civility in their lives was a thrill, the dirt and the worms and the bees and sweltering sunburns were all a gift to have been rubbed across them on their walks in the rain, in their summer time hikes to the secret beaches they weren’t supposed to venture on.

The Kooks had it good, an easy life, but Y/n declared that they were the only ones living.

“Well, we can start on that dream now.” JJ declared hopefully, looking out to where the waved lapped at the shore. His ringed fingers pointed out at the rigid rocks that overhung the deep waters.

“If we’ve got a thousand of leaps to take, you have to start with one.” He looked back at the girl, the way she nervously fidgeted before setting her hands stiffly by her sides.

“And then we won’t be scared.” She repeated to herself, but more to him.

“No, we won’t ever be scared again.” And there was a shared understanding, an understanding that dreams are just dreams until they make them more. If she could do this terrifying thing, all for the rest of her deepest wishes to come true, there was a new found certainty that anything scary could be done.

That she and JJ could do all the scary things the world could offer, even just as the awkward children they felt they had grown into. It was possible.

JJ sat in jail for the first time when he turned sixteen. He hated it. His head hung heavily in the palms of his hands, elbows pressed sharply against his thighs, eyes focused on the dirty floor between his old boots.

It wasn’t his fault—not fully at least. Yes, he agreed he had instigated Popes anger, but to JJ he saw everything they had done as self defense. Pope was a good kid, a smart kid, second in the class—no. First. He was first now. She was first, but now she wasn’t. Funny how things can change so quickly, rearrange to make it seem like nothing changed at all.

The point was, Pope had a future, and JJ sure as hell didn’t. Any dreams he had were replaced when she had shared hers, because he decided then that he wanted those things too. But that hope had long vanished, and now Pope had a real chance to chase his dreams, so JJ took the fall. He sunk to a new low just like the boat, sitting alone in the cell she had once warned him about. Only now, she wasn’t there to share it with him.

He thought about that day a lot. Just a year after they’d taken the leap, started the path to their future filled with laughter and whispered secrets, meticulously planned schemes and toothy grins. JJ woke up early, ready to sneak around the back of her house that sat beside John B’s and knock three times on her window. He’d beg her to go sneak away and let loose with him, and of course, she’d agree.

He biked the short distance, ignoring the storm clouds, ignoring all the signs that led straight to the forming pit in his stomach. The worry, the dread. He hadn’t felt it yet. He only felt the dust clouds kicked up by his feet and the rust scratching his shins from his old bike chain.

The police lined her driveway. Sheriff Peterkin stood with her hands in the loops of her belt. Men stood with their weapons drawn, her mother sat on the gravel, handcuffs binding her violent hands. She looked angry, but her eyes were dark with the evidence of liquor. She looked well-rounded from a far, but JJ knew the truth, and the dirt under her nails made his stomach flip.

In the line up of tin and metal, a van with a label he’d known so well from watching his old classmates getting whisked away. Child Protective Services.

“Y/n!” He’d nearly fallen to the ground at how fast he jumped from his bike, the petals grinding against the gravel. He ran the rest of the way, desperate to know what had happened. He had seen her yesterday, she was happy yesterday, what happened? Why were the authorities at her front door?

“Y/n/n! Where are you?” He reached the back window, only to find the emptiness of the bedroom through the cracks in the glass. It was messy, but untouched at the same time. Every single item thrown around left where it had been yesterday. Her pajamas she had laid out, still thrown over her flattened pillows. Untouched.

He hadn’t seen her leave, didn’t hear her cry. The van was empty, he’d caught a glimpse through the tinted windows. They hadn’t snatched her away yet, so where could she have gone?

“Come on!” He grunted, his palms pressing underneath the stubborn window, the wood groaning as the glass slide against itself. His thirteen year old arms bent under the weight, and he cursed his scrawny limbs. The glass only cracked more as it finally shot up enough for the blonde to wiggle himself into the room, soft thuds and gasps escaping his lips as skin pressed between wood and plastic.

“Y/n!” He pleaded more softly, weary of the fact that he was sure the entirety of the Kildare Police Department was lined up outside, and the breathlessness that came with the pressure on his lungs.

He earned no response, and in a desperate effort to trace some clues back to her, he began further ripping the room apart, spinning in circles for some sort of clue, evidence she still existed, that she wasn’t just some name in the wind, another urban legend spread around Kildare for the tourists to gawk at. Underneath her bed, behind the small table she’d made herself with rotting wood and hot glue, in the piles of clothes thrown around. He spun around and bent over until everything ached and he grew dizzy.

His eyes found the crooked clothing rack, a cheep bar of metal she had found with him in a ditch beside an old thrift store. She had painted it teal in the fifth grade and carved her initials into the posts. Her favorite pair of overalls hung limply from where they were draped over the bar, swaying in the wind with a crinkling sound in the front pocket laid flat out in the center of the chest, still covered in mud from their last adventure.

He investigated curiously, and in his best attempt to slow down in his desperate hurry, he pulled out a small slip of paper with his name scribbled on the front.

“Jesse James.” It read just beneath his real name, though it seemed now that she had become the true outlaw.

He opened it with shaking hands, his brows furrowing. When he saw the familiar scratchy handwriting, he internally let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully, this wasn’t another one of her failed cursive lessons he always failed.

“JJ,” The note began, “The rich are the bane of my existence. I hope one day, when we are older, we are rich in all aspects of life but the literal sense. Maybe it’s just Kildare, but the more money that lines their pockets, the more cruel people seem to get. But we will be kind forever, and we will continue to swing from tree branches and work long and hard for the simple pleasures. I’ve been ratted out; or—my mom has. Ward Cameron passed by earlier to return a shirt I left at their house at the end of the year party. It was one of her bad nights, you know how she gets. Anyways, he must have heard her, seen it. I didn’t even get the chance to wipe my blood off of the window before the cops started pulling into the driveway. I’m running. I’m running far away into the trees where nobody without a heart will be able to trace me. I promise to come back. After all, what is an accomplice without her influence? But I cannot keep our dream safe in a faraway place where they want to take me. If you need me, picture me in the weeds and you’ll hear me in the folk songs at the Chateau. Until we dance again, Y/n/n.”

JJ stood there in the silence, the banging from outside the house leaking indoors, and soon, he had no choice but to slip out of the familiar sanctuary that was her bedroom, the paper hidden in his blistering palms, damp with the sweat the coated his now clammy skin.

They were thirteen then, freshly graduated from middle school and ready to take on high school. She had been leading the class in all ways, kindness, brains, bravery, and now, there was nothing left but the crumpled note JJ had thrown in the fire out of bitterness towards the Kooks and whispers about the girl who disappeared.

To Narnia, they said. The ball of sunshine and endless life had slipped away to a place where only the creative are let in. She would be a pirate there, she wouldn’t have to hide in the closet on beneath the sheets in fear. She was as free as the August breeze, and JJ was as lost as a drunken sailor.

JJ decided he didn’t want to be an outlaw anymore after his first time behind bars. It wasn’t as fun as she had pictured it. Maybe if the trouble was something interesting, a scheme they could have conjured up together, but it wasn’t a sadder reality. Pirates weren’t on peg legs with eye patches and parrots anymore, and the good and interesting were more boring as they tried to come up with philosophies that could never measure up to the youthful spirit she once had.

He wished for all the beautiful things he once had, and often he found himself wondering if they even still existed. His friends were his life, his soul. But he could still see her braids in woven patterns, hear her feet hitting the concrete and whipping in the tall grass in the breeze, and her laughter in those old cheesy folk songs John B’s dad used to play.

JJ found bliss in recklessness. Partially for himself, but also for her. He always believed in the idea that no matter how far he strayed away, pieces of him would always reflect his father whether he liked it or not. So, when presented with the possibility of a gold hunt that led him right into his jail cell, he took the chance, gambling away his safety for the thrill of the chase.

They had gotten so close too, the heavy metal sitting pretty and shiny in his hand. But he never won, no matter how hard he tried or how much he gambled and chanced and risked, he always came up short, the small half of a wishbone, the edge of the party crackers. He felt like an outlaw now, and it wasn’t nearly as fun as it should have been.

How they all ended up on some boat, JJ had no clue. Well, he had some hints, another forbidden treasure stolen just when he thought they finally won, and now, nothing but heavy breathing in a heated storage container that had no food, no water, nothing but pointless rope and endless trash.

The B team, is what he referred to himself as, which Kiara had taken offense to. Sure, it was low of him to refer to her like she was a worse option, but the blonde was itching for some action.

But he was benched. Benched because he was everything she loved. Reckless, unpredictable, free. He protected that sweet sliver of childhood beauty he found when he thought of her memory. Her sweet eyes, her sweet smile. He had never thought about anyone like that before, and not ever since. He hated braids, hated the way they reminded him of her, how Sarah and Kiara would slap his hands away and grumble about how childish he could be. She wouldn’t have gotten angry, she would have laughed. Or maybe she wouldn’t, he didn’t really know anymore and that killed him.

It killed him that he couldn’t know because he didn’t even know if she made it, if the trees were kind to her or if she had swung herself over the edge on a vine stretched too thin.

She would be eighteen now, just like him, though he was a little older. He wondered if she still wore the two loose braids down over her shoulders, taming her wild hair and tucking her curly strands behind her ears. Did she still swear by overalls? Dare to run barefoot over the hard cement and dive head first into thrashing water? Were there still beautiful things to her, or had life finally caught up to her?

JJ didn’t know her face, and he was sure if it weren’t for the hours he spent trying to find her, trying to trace her cheeks even in photographs, he wouldn’t recall it at all. She was five years older, and so was he. He wasn’t scrawny, he’d swore to get strong so that the day she would finally return, he could slam the windows open and keep her tucked safely behind him.

“What are you thinking about?” Kiara spoke up, legs swinging softly from where she sat on top of piles of plastic and wooden crates. JJ sat curled up in the corner, his elbows resting heavily on his knees. He’d never been so sweaty.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged plainly, focusing on the small circles on the floor made of rubber. They weren’t very comfortable.

“You gonna tell me, or should I guess?” She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears. He saw a flash of someone he once knew sometimes in her. Sometimes it was nice, other times it made him angry. It wasn’t Kiara’s fault though, not her fault she had spent so much time around the lively firecracker of a girl that she had also become another version of Y/n.

“I know I said a surf trip would be good. I mean it would, but do you ever think about what you might do with all that money?” JJ furrowed his brows, licking over his lip, the split in the corner of the bottom lip stinging at the sensation.

Kiara hummed, leaning back and stretching her neck to catch the passing breeze through the small opening in the top corner of the metal container covered by a vent.

“I mean, yeah. A stable home life would be nice. Then, I’d probably do something with turtles. It’s a lot of money so, could probably do a lot with it.” She reasoned, wiping her skin with her palms and blinking the salty liquid away from her eyes.

JJ hummed. She had it all figured out, her real, serious dream that had stability and certainty. All the things Y/n’s dream never had, the very dreams she made JJ want just as bad.

“You know what Y/n would do with all this money?” JJ snorted at his own thoughts, practically hearing her voice ringing through his head. He heard Kiara hum, waiting for him to continue, and he simply smiled wider. “Absolutely nothing.” He laughed to himself.

Kiara laughed too, knowing deep down he was right. Maybe a tree house, or a small plot of land on the outskirts of society where all good things green can grow and only the wild folk dare to stumble, but nothing more than that. A few thousand, if it even were to cost that much, and the rest pocketed, maybe donated. Maybe just enough left over to buy some new shoes, some good shoes for dancing.

“A lifetime supply of overalls and red converse. Maybe even some nicer scarves to tie in her hair.” Kiara entertained JJ’s thoughts. She still thought of the girl every so often too, they all did, but no one more than JJ. After all, nobody had known her nearly as closely as JJ had. A bond that only comes once every few lifetimes, that’s what they had, Kiara was sure.

“She’s probably outgrown the overalls.” JJ added, and silence fell over them. Then, in the still air that coated the small space in a thick layer, laughter bounced between the pair.

Such a funny thought, to think Y/n could ever change. She had been a lot of things, but she was always herself. She found what she loved, and she loved them dearly. There was no changing her free spirit and old habits, it was who she had grown to be, through and through.

“What do you think she looks like now?” Kiara wondered out loud, looking down at JJ to see the way his brows furrowed and he pulled at the corners of his lips.

JJ thought for some time, because though at first he had tried to piece together and image of Y/n all grown up in his head, he’d long given up on those fantasies because they were never her. Only bits and pieces of the girl he could never forget.

“Bangs.” JJ said suddenly, followed by nothing else. He could picture them, hair sun kissed and twisting up in wild curls that were swept to the side. Not full, choppy bangs, but those cut with rusty scissors in the early morning, just framing bits to tug out when she put her hair up.

“Bangs?” Kiara chuckled, her hands subconsciously slipping over her stomach, and her arms tucking into a firm grasp, a hug she was giving herself. “Nothing else?” She smiled, curious because she had thought about it a lot.

Her hair would no longer be in braids, and those sun kiss freckles would have multiplied like the sparkles in her eyes did. She would have an eyebrow slit, or a piercing, maybe even a stick and poke, all of which she would have done herself to make herself stand out. Maybe she would have finally grown out of her nail biting, but Kiara doubted that part.

“Nope.” JJ said wetly, leaning back further and letting out a deep sigh. “Just like she was, only taller and older.”

Part of JJ wondered if it was his heart forcing him to believe Y/n would never change, and then the other part of his would remind his aching heart that it didn’t matter, because he would never know. All he could do was do as she asked so nicely before she left, picture her in the trees, jumping wildly from stone to stone and dancing in the breeze.

“Do you think she made it?” Kiara wondered out loud, her temple now pressed against the metal confines of the container. The breeze soothed her burning skin, and her sweaty palms threaded through her tight waves.

“Y/n?” JJ asked like it was even a question. It wasn’t even a question to him, wasn’t even an occurring thought, not after the first time he really sat down and thought it over.

“She made it.” He said confidently, because he knew the girl, and even if she had lived in the mud amongst the bugs and the thick vines that attempted to grow over her tired body in the night, she would do it happily because she was living.

“Without a doubt?” Kiara shut her tired eyes, her chest deflating with every labored breath. Sweat glistened as it rolled down the slope of her nose, sparkling on the slivers of sunlight.

“Without a doubt.”

When she said she wanted to be a pirate, she had envisioned a life close to home, lounging around on John B’s old boat with her best friends, drinking from coconuts and ripping the skin off of mangoes with her teeth until the juice stained everything she touched. She imagined a life of pure peace, where the little things were enough and money was an afterthought.

But here she was, skin slick with sweat, hair stuck down to her forehead in damp curls, and her shirt clinging to the denim that covered her. The deck was cooler, a free space for her to stretch her eager legs, and though it was confined, she found peace in the open ocean, a vast space of blue expanding as far as her eyes could see.

Now, her back ached, her wrists just as damp as her face, and with each swipe of the backs of her hands against her temples, she simply spread the wetness across her forehead in a streaking mess.

She fed the flames, shoveling coal and other waste into the small opening, trying to fuel the large ship with what little energy she had left to offer.

Her back ached, and her knees were sore. She loved a challenge, yearned for the work because at least it gave her something to do, something to stick her needy palms into, but she was too worn thin to carry multiple jobs all at once. She desperately waited for the girl she had come to call her close friend to return, shovel in hand and thick gloves covering her relatively well-manicured hands. Cleo, she learned to call the girl over her few months spent on board, had abandoned ship, split when she needed her most. Nobody had said anything about her absence, so Y/n was led to believe she had left without warning.

It was hell below deck, a new low, and Y/n knew low. She could list a few things just from the past couple days if she wanted to scrape the surface, but most memories came from her earlier years, when college still seemed so far away, and she swore she would never grow old. She missed when her joints didn’t ache with even the smallest movements. She missed jumping from branch to branch and swinging herself into the depths of the ocean with reckless abandon.

More than that she missed him. Her best friend, and the only person who had ever believed her when she swore to live out her most childish fantasies. Anyone else always looked at her like she had dreamed of being a fairy, a mermaid, a princess. All things unrealistic and unreachable in her living situation and the rules of the world, yet JJ had always seen it as completely plausible.

If she said she wanted to jump to conquer a fear, there he was tugging her along and laughing the whole way down. If she wanted to dance, he would learn the steps, and fall into line with her, spinning and dipping her in the wet pavement that scraped against their bare feet.

So, as she shouted for some sort of assistance in the basement, she couldn’t help but wonder if she should have let them take her away that day. If she hadn’t been so set on remaining untouched, unfiltered, wild and free, if she had let the warmth of a calm, civilized home find her, would things have ended differently? Was it her mistake for chasing after a feeling of childish wonder that had been stripped of her? Was it wrong to want something so badly simply because her own life had been too hard to ever enjoy at a normal pace?

She hadn’t seen the thick greenery in years, the daffodils snd the daisies only vibrant sights when their stems were sliced and their leafs were wilting. She missed the mud between her toes, the summer air lifting her up. When she wore braids not because they kept her thick hair off of her neck, but because she liked the way they looked. When her overalls were a fashion statement, not because they shielded her from the dangers of her work. She missed the bright red fabric on her converse, and the old doodles from her friends on the soles when they got bored. They were caked in oil, and grime, and sludge. Dimmed by the struggles of her reality. She wondered internally if there were still beautiful things.

Then, like her prayer had been caught in the wind by her savior, there was some scrambling that echoed across the floorboards, followed by distant shouting and metal hitting metal.

Mumbling and chaos shook the frame where she stood, distant cries and grunts as bodies slammed together leaving her torn in a moment of desperation. Her heart ached to go, to run and finally catch her breath, to see what disaster had swept over the ship in such a short moment of time, but her brain thought logically, told her to feed the flames to keep everyone afloat. It was a split second decision, the divide between rational and reasonable.

And then she thought about all the good in the past few days. She thought of the glimpses of the world she’d stolen between the bustling mornings and the restless nights, of the small treats she stuffed in her pockets and the beautiful sunsets and clear constellations in the center of a world untouched by light pollution. She thought of Cleo, her only friend she’d found in a life where she only knew abandonment and fear. Where the only affection she had ever accepted had hurt her, and the only good and gentle people in her life had fled, Cleo had appeared like an angel, a thick accent and a toothy grin. Born and raised as a thief, and trained as a fighter. She was smart, and kind beneath her rough edges, and Y/n thought of the sadness in her eyes each time she worked until her bones stung. She thought of how badly she wanted to dive into the waves below them and pull the girl with her to show her how freeing running can be.

Faced with fear, she could not save either of them if she waited for another miracle, another moment to excuse her actions, to make her breaking loose seem justified if it were to all go wrong. If they’d have her head for betrayal, the ocean waited for her on all ends, and she believed in her ability to survive confidently enough to take the risk presented to her.

She took the stairs two at a time, and the door to the outside air swung open with such force, it echoed like a gunshot when metal connected with metal, bolts grinding together angrily, her soot covered hands staining the rusting exterior, the cheap white paint flaking off where her hand had pressed firmly against the door.

“Cleo!” She shouted in the wind, her arms covered in goosebumps as the slick sweat became a layer of gel that turned her warmth into an uncomfortable chill.

She looked frantically, turning corners and sprinting over ramps and down steep stairwells. She hopped over ropes and swung from bars, her dirty sneakers slapping against the floors in heavy steps, and her breathing coming out in short pants through her nose.

“John B!” A quiet shout rattled down the thin hall that lined the perimeter of the deck, bouncing off of the thick walls and hollow railings. It was a name she hadn’t heard in a while. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it, that in her moment of desperation to grasp onto the bits and pieces of bliss in her hellish life, her mind had reeled and found a temporary way to cope. But then it came again.

“Where is he? John B!” The voice called out again, whiny and pleading, and much too loud on a ship crawling with people who were indescribably more dangerous and destructive than the cruel people who lingered in her hometown.

Then came the struggle, more grunting, and the sound of shoes scraping against the floor in a slippery mess. She could hear faint taunts, familiar names of people she longed to see again ever since the day she had left, and the sounds of exasperation over the loud lapping of waves against the side of the ship.

“Kie, now!” She heard suddenly, a deafening shout that silenced all other chaos around her, her breathing slowing in her ears and her heartbeat pounding against her temples.

It was as if time slowed, and all things far away rushed at her in a blink of her eyes. It was slow, yet so fast, her vision blurring into a jumbled mess to the rhythm of her unsteady heartbeat drumming against her ribs, begging to get out.

It was a voice she prayed to hear again, only deeper and raspier, but still the same. A voice that called to her in her darkest moments and pulled her from her slumps, reminded her of all the beauty of instability, of pure trust in luck and intuition. A voice that she had grown to love and hold dear to her, one so precious she found herself covering her ears so that she would never forget the sweet sound of it.

“JJ?” She pivoted quickly, her hip slamming harshly into the metal railing and her shoulder making contact with the opposing wall as she used the accidental thrashing as momentum down the long, swaying strip of flooring she ran on.

She felt crazy, delusional chasing after a sound she wasn’t even entirely sure was real. She had been dehydrated, overworked, underpaid, forgotten about and thrown to the side amongst all the other treasures that laid untouched beneath the deck. She used to scream ferociously anytime she wanted, and now it felt more like her life had become an exhibit at the zoo, a cage for her bosses to look down on, tossing fish to keep her from starving. What had happened to her freedom, her love for recklessness? She decided to hold onto her delusion, to chase it because to be wrong was better than to be certain in her correctness and abandon her love for the chase.

“JJ? JJ!” She shouted, her voice coming out in broken cries, knuckles whitening with how hard they gripped anything with a corner or a curve. Anything that could keep her afloat as she dove into waters so deep, she couldn’t touch anymore.

“Cleo!” Her cries echoed through the tense air, carrying over the grunts and slamming and shouting that passed through coworkers, some she knew, and others she didn’t. If she couldn’t be given the life long dream to reunite with her drive, her motivation to keep going, she prayed to whoever was listening to her that at least her friend would be waiting for her at the end of the hall.

The boat rocked with a shift of weight, a crane groaning under the intense pressure of something indestructible, and in the glistening sunlight, Y/n caught sight of something truly magnificent. A golden cross shining in the halo of sunlight that surrounded it in all of its glory, a true treasure that had been, unbeknownst to her, been stuffed away just mere feet away from where she had been working until not a single inch of her body didn’t know pain.

She stumbled back at the sight, the jewels imbedded into the holy fortune sparkling with a beauty Y/n had never seen in person. It took her back to her days at Sunday school sat right beside JJ. Her mother wasn’t a religious woman, but JJ’s father was, and so with an excuse to be cut loose from the torture of her house—because she refused to call it a home; she too began to believe in something greater than what she was supposed to believe in.

For the first time in her life, her neck craned up to look at the artifact which swung ferociously in the wind, the groaning crane whipping it around erratically, Y/n closed her eyes, and she prayed.

She didn’t ache for the chase, for uncertainty in this moment. She was unchanging in all her beliefs, but for one singular second, she prayed and pleaded that for once, there would be certainty in who she would stumble across.

Then, with a sudden feeling of calamity in the midst of reigning chaos burning over the life she had grown accustomed to, Y/n rounded the corner, stepping down the last bit of the hall into the thicker opening of the side of the deck, lined with a few stray crates to block off broken pieces of the rusted railings.

And there it was, the sudden loss for breath, the heavy feeling that weighed down everything she could once do without even thinking. Her feet refused to move, and her nails dug into the ragged shorts of her overalls. The wind blew her curly, sweaty bangs across her face, tickling her nose. Her entire world shattered and then became rebuilt at the relieving sight.

It was a man she did not know, someone who had joined the expedition under the employment of someone Y/n wasn’t allowed to know. A man who simply worked for another man much wealthier than she was, erratically swinging his curved machete around in an act of violence against two people she recognized clear as day as if time had never passed them by.

Kiara sat bent over, the wind knocked out of her as her cheeks puffed up to try and keep what little air she had left inside of her. Her hair hung over her bright eyes, her pink lips bitten raw, Y/n could make out that detail even from a distance. But there, just s few feet away, stood JJ backed up against the railing, leaning dangerously close to the edge, his hair wild and untamed like the rest of his appearance.

He wasn’t the boy Y/n had left behind. He wasn’t the scrawny tow headed blonde who liked to tease and run, but rather a more muscular blonde with a fire in his eyes, passion that couldn’t be manufactured, but found through growing up. He was just as beautiful as she remembered, just as dear, just as lovable. Even without a single bit of insight on what he had been up to, how he could have changed, Y/n’s feelings for her best friend had been long cemented within her heart. She loved him like no other, to the moon and to Saturn.

She was only broken out of her lovesick visions by the sight of the unfamiliar man growing closer to her friends, his grip tightening around his weapon like a threat, and Y/n feared the worst.

“JJ!” Y/n found her tongue, which had previously gone numb at the sight in front of her. She had shouted out for the boy to warn him, to try and get him to recognize the mans posture, how he stalked over Kiara like a looming threat, but she was foolish to believe that the sight of her, even so many years later when she was sure he would have learned to forget her, wouldn’t stop him in his tracks.

His blue eyes found hers, and she could see how his body seemed to tense, and then very quickly, slump in shock. His jaw fell slack, eyes widening and brows furrowing, almost as if he was in pain, in some sort of conflict. To run into her arms, or to focus on why her shouting was so desperate, so raw and broken.

He wanted to speak, to beg her to tell him if this was all real, or if the heat from the container had caused some sort of heat stroke and he was hallucinating her up to comfort him in a time of crisis. But his breath refused to come out, and in a blur, the blunt end of a blade struck his head, and his feet swept over the edge of the boat, plummeting him into the depths of the sea below.

In that moment, Y/n realized three things. One; she had spent so much of her life dreaming, she had left so little time to go and live those dreams. Two; in every single thing she had ever wanted so badly it had become a part of her dreams, JJ had always been there right alongside her. In most, he even led her confidently, and three; that very same boy she had been dreaming of for endless nights, until her entire youth was filled with only dreams of him, had just gone overboard, and now, so was she.

Her dirty shoes scraped the edge of the railing. Part of her felt like spreading her arms out wide to welcome the wind, but as her wide eyes flickered from the golden hues of the sky to the deep blue that seemed miles away, fear struck her body.

It was a long drop. Much farther down than the rocks she had learned to leap from effortlessly, hand in and with her best friend to guide her. Water thrashed below her then, and it did so now too.

He floated below her, face down and limp and she felt her blood pumping. Back then, he had held her hand firmly and whispered out promises into her ear with each doubt she had. Back then, she believed every word he said when he promised there wasn’t a single possibility she would get hurt because he was right there. And when she leaped with him, he had been right.

“Wasn’t it fun?” He had laughed back then, so excited to have been right. Her face was unreadable, her lip trembling and eyes wide. For a moment, he had panicked, even at twelve years old he understood what it felt like to want to keep something so special safe. He held her face, cradled it in his wet palms until her cheeks lifted into a smile.

“Can we go again?” She had giggled, feeling a familiar warmth in the pit of her stomach spreading.

“Yeah. Yes!” He encouraged, proud of her bravery and her ability to find pleasure in things that once scared her.

He was always more brave than her in her eyes. She imagined if it were her down there, he would have already jumped in no hesitation.

Y/n looked down again, and then back at Kiara, who was back up on her feet, limbs tangled with the man she still didn’t know the name of. She was struggling to a degree, but quickly got some ground to push off of.

“Y/n!” Kiara called out from over the mans broad shoulder, eyes frantic and her skin dusty from the mans shirt and the wooden deck.

She could see her internal debate, both people who were so special to her put in situations where they were nearly helpless. To leave JJ meant he would be on his own, but to leave Kiara opened up so many more possibilities.

“Go! I’m okay!” Kiara promised as he pushed the man away, getting some leverage, and at the desperation in her voice, something inside clicked within Y/n.

The bottom of her worn out shoes scraped against the old metal, and for a moment the wind felt freeing as she leaped out, the warmth from the sun made it feel like flying, like by some miracle she could never fall. But the cool water below crushed her imagination as it wrapped around her body like a cold blanket.

When she surfaced, the world around her spun, echoes of her old pleas to go again ringing through her ears as her limbs cut through the waves desperately, goosebumps pebbling down her arms almost instantly.

“JJ!” She shouted, her voice raw and ripped from all the desperation she felt, how vulnerable and helpless she felt.

He laid on his stomach, submerged with no air like a starfish, only bobbing with the current. He seemed completely washed of all life.

She felt weak splashing over to him. She kicked and cut through the waves like she needed it to survive, and yet her malnourished bones only let her go so far so fast. It felt taunting to her, having to watch him get closer at a snails pace.

Y/n’s arms wrapped around him feebly, his larger body resting heavily on her shoulder. He was broader now, no longer the small boy she had to leave behind. If only he knew how quickly her dreams were crushed in order to survive, if only she’d been more careful, if she hadn’t left her shirt. If only she’d didn’t look like her father, if only her mother was a good woman.

“JJ hey, I’m back, wake up okay?” She smiled weakly, like her presence could shake him. He swallowed so much water, she knew it. If only she wasn’t so scared. If only she hadn’t been stripped of all the bravery she had learned from him.

The boy’s head rolled to the side with each tap of her wrinkled fingers, the cold biting their limbs with each lap of the waves crashing into them.

“JJ, come on wake up please!” She grew frantic as the water seemed to only grow rougher, a vision of the thrashing water between the jagged rocks clouding her reality and his weight sinking them down below the surface.

“JJ!” She cried out, her voice ripping through the heavy pants and her nails digging into his body. Blood stained his hairline, his blonde hair now darkened from the water and strawberry at the roots from his wound.

She knew it better than she ever had. He had grown stronger while she had been whittled down into only a shell of who she had once been. He was taller, faster, braver than she ever was, and as hard as she kicked her legs and splashed around, it felt like more and more waves seemed to pull them under momentarily.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She apologized towards the sky, guilty for not being able to keep them afloat in the choppy waters. “I’m sorry, I love you.” She promised, and she held onto him tighter with each passing second, even as her vision started to blur.

After all, he always loved the company and she was afraid of loneliness and the dark.

“I love you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m trying J, I really am!” She promised through gasps of air, water falling from her lips more rapidly now.

“John B!” She screamed, her voice piercing through the empty space. “Pope!” She called out again, hoping that just one of her friends might hear her. Would they recognize her voice, she wondered, or had growing up changed everything about her? Had she become unrecognizable?

She surely didn’t recognize herself anymore. She avoided mirrors, and parties, and small talk often. She hated the sound of her voice and how it had changed and how she’d grown taller and how her freckles seemed to dot her face more messily. How she had to live with the changes that would make her harder to recognize if she would ever get to meet her friends again.

“JJ, please wake up.” She pleaded again, all other sounds beyond her heavy breathing and the faint ringing in her ears falling deaf.

She recalled the last time she heard him laugh. She heard it in her sleep, covered her ears to drown out anyone else’s late at night to savor the sound. She recalled running her fingers through his hair under the stars, promising him one day everything would be okay. It would be okay, right? One day it would be okay?

“Kiara!” Her throat felt raw now, the salt water tearing apart her dry lips and stinging the scrapes on her palms and knees. Everything hurt, the more and more she begged and cried for help, the longer time seemed to stretch. The heavier he grew in her arms.

There was nothing she could do to change what was happening to them, no plywood or branch to grab onto, no ladder or savior to come and save them. Her heart felt empty, her chest closing in. If she had a mirror, she would’ve seen the loss of color fading from her skin. She missed the certainty she once hated. She missed everything about knowing what tomorrow brought, when she knew JJ would still be tapping at her window, when he wasn’t lying limp in her arms.

She hated it and cried about it, though it was pointless. She cried out for help but her voice was muted with bubbling water, her head bobbing below the surface. For a moment, her vision cleared as the waves dipped, and she swore she saw the outline of a figure in the distance, but she couldn’t be sure. The waters rose just as quickly as they fell, and with a deadly grip, her arms wrapped around JJ to ensure not even the strongest currents could pull them apart as her body gave out. And in a sudden moment of weakness and a final soft apology and a kiss to the blondes cheek, the feeling of sinking was a gift.

Then, the tugging. It was desperate, nails drawing blood by her neck, three or four pairs of hands pressing their palms deep into her raw skin, fingers all wrapping around her before the depths could take her. She felt the rough material before she saw it, the dark grey fabric lining the outside of the small boat, a large motor in the back and each empty space filled with a familiar face, all of their legs bent upwards in an impossibly uncomfortable position to save space.

Her breaths came out ragged, heavy dry heaves leaving drops of water heavy with saliva stringing from her mouth. Blood trickled down the bridge of her nose, a new, burning scratch earned in the messy tug-o-war to save her from sinking.

Y/n swore she felt her heart stop with each cough, eyes squeezed shut and her back hunched over in pain. Her palms pressed into the bottom of the boat until her body found the floor, and her knees slide beneath her.

Still, she recognized two things; one, the air sent pins and needles down every bump that had spread over her skin, her joints screaming with each small bend; and two, JJ was laying lifeless just a few inches away.

His head was propped up against the side of the boat, the fabric wrapped around what Y/n assumed was an inflated portion of the body. His face was tiled away from her, having lolled to the side as the boy Y/n recognized as John B through her blurry vision frantically steered the boat.

The blood had stopped trickling down JJ’s forehead, but the sight of his breathing so shallow and uneven, as if he was fighting each time to get another chance to breathe, sent an uneasy feeling through Y/n’s body, and panic shot straight into her brain.

“JJ!” Her voice came out rough, stripped from all her panic alongside the copious amounts of water that nearly filled her lungs. But despite her obvious aching and tender pain, her hands grasped the boy with a new found determination, her knuckles shaking with the intensity of her grip on his skin.

JJ’s head rested against the boat, but his back no longer pressed at an awkward angle between the elevated sides and the hollow floors, but rather laid tucked against Y/n’s lap, her left hand pulling him close, even as her arm shook with his weight mixed with her weakness all while her right ran affectionately through his wet hair, trying to rouse him from his unconscious state.

“No, no, no, no. Please, please I just got you back please.” She begged, her trembling hand connected against his cheek in quick, soft taps.

Her eyes filled with tears immediately at the horrific sight, her lip trembling all the way down through her chin. She breathed deeply, but choked it all the way down. She could barely swallow, her saliva and her pride stuck between her teeth. Guilt consumed her.

“JJ!” She shouted, nearly demanding that he wake up like a distraught child. Her voice was laced with a whiny tone, each plea falling from her mouth more broken than the previous.

Y/n’s hands connected with JJ’s chest, no longer providing that warm comfort that her delicate palms had as her fingers ran through his hair and cradled his wet face, but rather quick jabs at his firm body, just below his heart.

Her curtain-like bangs hung in curls over her face, dripping onto JJ’s chin and neck and reflecting small images of the girls distraught expression. With each shake, another droplet rolled off of his skin, and with each push she felt his back dig into her knee.

Y/n felt hands on her back, soft, smaller hands gently pressed against her shoulder blades, right between the crevice between the bones. The fingers were adorned with rings, the delicate hands rubbing soothing circles as her back shook with suppressed sobs.

“It’s all my fault.” Y/n’s voice broke, her lips trembling and her words nothing more than a shattered whisper. She stopped hitting the blonde boy, and instead covered her mouth to contain her cries of guilt, and grief. “If I had been braver I could have gotten to him sooner.” She tried to reason, needing something to blame to give her some form of organization, even if the blame was inflicted onto herself.

“Y/n.” The girl who kneeled closely murmured, her hand a point of stability as Y/n watched the sky fall. “It’s not your fault.” She tried to provide comfort, but her attempts fell short.

“But it is!” Y/n nearly snapped, but not out of anger, of something else.

Everyone was looking at her, she had caught it the second they had pulled her from the sea. She was a spectacle, a great vision of the past, a figure that had slipped from the lives they had grown attached to long ago. Someone they had all missed and grieved in their own time. And so they stared at her and drank up the changes they had missed.

She was pretty. Y/n was always pretty, but now she was especially pretty. She grown up to be taller than she was when she left, her hair curls twisting all the way down her back, the short hair now a distant memory, and her body curving in ways that gave proof of her aging. She was the more mature version of the firecracker that had been shot too close to the sun too soon. Their light that had burnt out prematurely.

And so they all looked at her, ogling like she was something out of a fantasy film instead of looking at him.

“No, no, no! You don’t get it!” She threw her arm up in frustration, tilting her head back to force the building bile in the back of her mouth to go down. Why couldn’t it just all go down? Push it down, that’s what she needed to do. Push it down. Forget it, and push it down. “I’ve ruined everything. A-and I’m no good and I’ve fucked it all up!” Y/n sobbed, her head hanging forward now, shoulder slumped and her hands now gripping the wet shirt that clung to JJ’s body so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

“I should’ve jumped, I should’ve jumped in but I was too scared and he was there, he was there and if he hadn’t and it had been me he would’ve. He would’ve jumped in because he’s not afraid of anything. He would’ve have held my hand and he would have told me it would all be okay because he’s braver than me and he’s a whole lot better than me.” She rambled, and the wording of her breathless explanation made little sense to those who crowded around her, those who hadn’t experienced the moments Y/n and JJ were free of civility.

“Y/n.” Pope, the smartest of them all, spoke up, his voice emerging from behind a blonde girl she recognized as Sarah Cameron even all these years later and the familiar, yet somehow, not comforting face of her newer companion, Cleo.

Y/n didn’t listen, she refused to, too overpowered by her self blame, pointing her fingers at herself before anyone else got the chance. Why wasn’t anyone else freaking out? Did the loss of their friend not rip them completely open like it had her? Or had her best friend she had kept as a fond memory, completely kind and loving grown bitter and cold over the years? Was he not the JJ she knew?

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” Her eye contact was fleeting, and in a final attempt to cling onto what she could before all was lost, her head fell to JJ’s chest, her forehead pressed against his shirt, listening to the fading beating of his heart.

Then, a cough, then another and another until a loud heave tore open JJ’s lips, a thick mixture of warm salt water and stringy spit drooling down his clammy skin, splatters of the mixture falling into Y/n’s salt-soaked hair.

She didn’t care, of course she wouldn’t, not even if it were blood and vomit, she swore she wouldn’t as she raised her head, her eyes flickering to where JJ’s brows furrowed, his shoulders drawing forward.

Y/n rested her hand in the dip on the center of his chest, applying soft pressure to ease his wheezing.

“JJ.” She breathed out, relieved and yet completely broken from the near loss, one she couldn’t handle again.

The thought alone shook her. He would never know how hard it was for her to leave, how badly she wished she had just hidden in the closet. But she knew her hiding could only do so much, the evil would find her and she had to go, she had to go to save them both.

"Yeah, yeah! Cough it out, cough it out baby!" John B encouraged, a sea of instructions following from the others in a desperate hurry, all reaching over to simply feel for a steady thumping of a pulse, all while the deafening ringing filled Y/n’s ears, her eyes stuck to the pretty sight of JJ’s face.

Y/n sat back on her heels, but her body fell forward in a deeper slump to protect the boy from the burning sun. She felt sick, and crazy, and confused. She wanted to throw up, scared of how fragile the boy might have become.

"Welcome to the land of the living, dude." Popes voice cut through the distant bells, the busy streets, all the background noise that flickered in short fragments through her head.

At her realization of his return, as it really sunk in, Y/n’s touch became a hovering sensation over his body, fingers shaking over his chest like she believed she had the power to only cause harm to what was already hurt, like she could fracture what had been a small crack.

Her chest felt like it was closing in, her ribs clenching around her heart tightly, and she wondered if it was what dying felt like, if JJ had felt something similar while each breath became less full.

Her mind spun like a broken clock, thoughts of self deprecation running in a constant loop, leading back to the same problems in similar processes with no end in sight. How beautiful was the feeling to be pulled from her spiral by the sight of his blue eyes focused on her face, tracing the curve of her nose down to the cupids bow on top of her lip.

She waited for him to speak, to say anything to her. Her heart pounded waiting to hear his voice, how lovely each syllable rolled off of his tongue. But the silence stretched on, just heavy breaths and tight grip that kept them connected.

His arm raised from where it lay limply by his side, his index and his thumb reaching by her arm to twirl the end of one of her braids between his fingers. In a swift motion, the pads of his fingers pinched the loose strands, and tugged for a short moment hard enough to tilt her head to the side.

She let out a soft gasp, only in reverse. All her air had deflated out of her chest, spreading a soothing sensation through her tightly wound bones just like the warm smile that expanded across her flushed cheeks.

Her laughter was a work of art, the most beautiful music JJ had ever heard, just as light and sweet as he remembered it. She hadn’t changed much, yet she had. She had more freckles now, and he found Kiara was right about the bangs. Yet her hair was still woven into the familiar pattern of two braids that now hung loosely at the bottom of her head, twisting and falling over her shoulders perfectly. She was taller, older, but he felt the shortness of her nails against his skin, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself knowing old habits die hard.

“There’s my favorite pirate.” JJ finally spoke, his voice gravely from the exhaustion that traveled through him, leaving his body heavy and soft in Y/n’s arms.

“Theres my favorite outlaw.” Y/n joked back, her voice just as soft as it was the first time he heard it that day on the beach. Just like it had been when he heard it even when she was gone, in the trees, and floating through the folk songs that spread throughout the old Chateau.

“Welcome back to the good life.” JJ laughed, and the sparkles in his eyes as he said it held every bit of truth within that statement.

It was a life that promised all she ever wanted to be. One where they could be interesting forever, where they would be kind forever.

This was the best life, the most freeing one she could ever dream of. It wasn’t about swinging from the vines or leaping from the ledges anymore, but rather the guiding hand on her back as she scraped her knees and chipped her baby teeth. It was always him, the influence to her accomplice.

She had promised to run freely with him again, to dance with him just like they used to and lucky enough, Y/n’s shoes were good for dancing.

“I claim thee, Poguelandia.” JJ’s foot propped up against the old tree that hung low over the sand. It’s tilted stump holding firm in the breeze, and its ancient branches shaking from the way John B’s hands gripped the leaves.

“Do we get a vote?” Sarah complained, rolling her eyes at the uncreative name JJ had thought of on the fly.

“Nope.” JJ smiled, pointing a finger at the blonde girl. “It’s already patented and pending.” JJ spoke confidently.

“Define that.” Pope sassed, crossing his arms and lying back against the old bark. Silence filled the sandy space, soft laughter echoing around the small circle everyone had created, sitting as comfortably as possible of the dying drift wood.

JJ shook off the comment, a smile forever present on his face despite the pounding headache and small bump forming on his temple.

“I like the ring of it.” JJ ignored Pope, pressing his palm against the large tree everyone gathered around and leaning into his hip until his shirt hung just above where Y/n’s body sat slumped in the sand.

She let out a soft laugh, if it could eve be considered that. More of a huff of air escaping her nose, a smile slowly spreading across her cheeks. Despite the quietness of her amusement, it seemed to only push JJ on, his eyes sparkling at the familiar sound he had gone without.

“I’m gonna make a flag. It’s gonna have a chicken on it. With a coconut bra smoking a ‘j’ in crocs.” He continued with his wild fantasy, watching how the girl beneath him hunched over with laughter and brought her hands to cover her toothy grin. “Y/n likes it.” He pointed out proudly.

“Yeah, I didn’t say that.” The girl quickly argued, tossing her head back and stretching her neck to catch his eyes. Though she tried to keep that same fight she once had with him, that natural bickering that made their relationship so beautifully complex, the reality that she finally had him again set in swiftly, and her serious expression failed to mask her excitement.

“Whatever, she totally does.” The boy swatted his hand, playfully pushing the girls head forward until she nearly bent in half. Just where they had left off, completely comfortable in each others touch and always ready to give back what they took.

“We were feeding a broken engine for hours, I think we’d both take anything over that.” Cleo pointed out, bumping her shoulder against the flustered girl beside her. Y/n couldn’t help but give Cleo a soft shove. An old habit she never really squashed.

“We? You bailed ship Cleo, don’t think I forgot.” Y/n said, pointing a finger at the sweaty girl who seemed uncomfortably close even with the endless amount of space around them. A whole island to themselves.

Then, with a careful glance to make sure JJ had leaned away from her, she stood up quickly, wiping sand off of the wet denim that clung to her skin, each cuffed leg weighing her down just a little more.

“Why don’t we leave the naming stuff to Kiara or Pope. Or you know…not you.” She twisted her braids between her hands, tugging the stretched bands out from the ends to free her now nearly dry hair from the patterns woven throughout. As she ran her knuckles through the tangles, her hands clasped around the legs of her overalls, her hands unrolling the pants until they sat just above her ankles.

“Where are you going?” JJ called out for her, not used to the proximity of her now that he had grown used to the distance. He chased after her as quickly as she began to walk away, chasing after the rush just the faint smell of her gave him.

“It’s gonna get dark soon, right? Can’t live off of salt water, J.” She teased, her feet leaving wet prints across the sand, kicking up the dirt in clumps that stuck to the backs of her heals.

He followed like a dog, practically weaving between her legs with his tail wagging in excitement, a familiar rush that was only brought out in the forever thrilling presence of her.

She took the pocket knife from the ripping pocket in the center of her chest, dark denim carrying puddles of the ocean in the stitching. With a bend of her knees, he watched as she dug the blade into the fabric that dripped around her feet, slicing the legs with a tearing sound just above her knee. With her other hand, she rolled the overalls higher, and stuck the closed knife back into its home. She left the cut pants in the sand where they had pooled by her ankles, walking by like it had been nothing. JJ figured she had done it before, probably when she was younger and on the run.

“I don’t remember you being so quick around a blade.” JJ teased, bumping his elbow against hers. He wanted to tug at her hair again, but his fingers curled around nothing by his sides as he decided on admiring the slope of her nose down to her pretty smile instead.

“Bull—shit, yes you do.” She laughed, turning to him with a sense of wonder in her curious gaze. “I used to cut you out of shit all the time!”

“Nah.” JJ played it off, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. “I let you. So we could play pirates and all that.” He lied through his teeth, recalling all the times he stumbled through the thick bushes just a little too carelessly and how Y/n’s rusting knife had cut his laces just a little shorter each time he lost a boot in the entanglement of twigs.

“Oh is that what we’re calling it now?” She bickered back, biting back a large smile in exchange for a playful grin. If she had access to the dusty space that she had once called home, she would have hung up the dusty laces that had been stored away in some box shoved beneath her bed.

“Yup.” He popped the p, licking over his dry lips with his tongue swiftly, tasting the salt on his skin.

A comfortable silence fell over the pair, her steps falling into line with his, and their hands shoved deeply into the depths of their pockets, fingers poking through the holes at the bottom from rough knuckles and heavy rocks.

With a heavy sigh, JJ tried to catch her eye, yet it remained trained on the sky like it was the most perfect thing she’d ever seen. He wondered silently if she’d seen the hues they once adored so much as kids recently, or if the thrilling life on deck had swept away her favorite thing, stargazing and watching the sky change as if she needed to put it to memory.

“So.” He finally broke the silence, her breathing hitching only to relax once her eyes found his, a gentle reassurance that everything would be as it once was, that the chase was finally over. “Was it as cool as it was promised?” He couldn’t help but ask, the same childlike wonder sparkling in his eyes.

“What?” Y/n let out a breathy laugh, wiping her hands on her tanned thighs.

“The pirate life. Where civility doesn’t exist and dreams can come true.” He clarified.

To anyone else, they might have believed it was condescending, a taunting question to shame her for her deathly grasp on all the childhood promises nobody ever kept for her. But to Y/n, she knew he really meant it when he asked, that he wanted to know if what they dreamed up was really as good as they pictured it on paper.

“It’s no Peter Pan story.” She breathed through her nose, eyes flickering down at the way her body was blossoming with bruises from her restless work, her dreams all crushed within the first week spent on the sea.

“I tried to make it Neverland, I really did. But you can’t change what happens to you, no matter how far you run. It’s like running in a circle. You go so far, yet nowhere at all.” Y/n knew she would never enjoy the pirate life she once dreamed of. In her dreams, JJ and her were co-captains, sailors with fancy white hats and no hooks for hands.

Now she felt like she should be fearing the ticking of the clocks, and running from the danger that once excited her.

“Did you believe it?” She couldn’t help but ask, wondering if her JJ had really waited to hear all the stories she promised to share with him, all the hustle and bustle of her fantasies.

JJ paused, then, looked at his sad friend’s face, and gave her a sympathetic nod. It wasn’t completely truthful, but that’s what happens naturally. He always believed in her and her curiosity towards the simple things in life. He believed that all the times he felt he had an ounce of childhood to hold onto were only beliefs because she had made them so. And when she had to go, so did the nice things he saw in nothing at all.

“I won’t confess that I believed it, that I didn’t have my doubts, but I always figured you’d be okay. That you’d find your way and maybe even come home.” What he didn’t say is all the times he’d left the lamp on, kept it burning on the porch so she’d know someone was home if she were to return.

He didn’t tell her that he had only gone on the wild gold hunt because part of him believed if he had the money to back it up, he could search every part of the earth to find her. Because it wouldn’t matter if he had or hadn’t told her, it wouldn’t make a difference and it wouldn’t change a thing.

They both made promises they couldn’t keep, and that was just the way life seemed to go. So she didn’t ask where he had been all these years, and he never asked about where she had gone. The timing would come to them eventually, and it would all work out. There was no point in catching up for two souls that had never been truly apart.

JJ and and Y/n had walked themselves to a ledge by the end of their conversation, nothing but soft breathing and the comfort of the wet, warm winds to wrap around them like a soothing blanket of serenity.

Y/n would be lying if she said the height didn’t scare her, if the wild waves below didn’t cause a crisp trepidation to shoot through her limbs. It was a big jump, the final leap she had always dreamed of.

The waves hit the smooth rocks, the rougher ones that stood tall thrashing with the heavy water. Sea salt coated their glistening skin, and as the wind blew through her hair, she came to a realization she had never considered before.

All this time she believed she had been something like Peter Pan. She joked about pirates, and running free, and all things children should know and love, and she acted fearlessly like she would forever be that version of herself. Yet, as time closed in on her and she grew taller, maturity had grown into her bones with each added inch. She was no Peter, she was more of a Wendy, and at first it had killed her, but only for a moment.

When she looked over to her side, she saw the blonde she had fallen in love with when she was still so little. They were young, and with their spirits, she was sure part of them would always be. And she knew then, if she was Wendy, he was her Peter.

“What?” JJ smiled, catching her glances. Standing proudly beside him, only older than the last time they’d met up. She had promised to grow up and come find him. She guessed she wasn’t lying about that.

"We will be interesting forever." She recited her promises from their youth, promises that were oceans deep with a serious smile, like she knew there was no other fate for people like them. "And nobody will ever forget how we lived like real people should and how we never let the temptation of a corporate paycheck take away the big picture."

Her hands reached up to hold JJ like she had when they stood only five feet tall. Now here he was, towering over her like he always promised he would. She wrinkled the shoulders of JJ's old tank top, the sides cut so far down, it was nearly just a napkin with a hole for his head. Everything about their attire screamed outlaws, pirates, lost boys, fighters, and believers. There was no fooling anyone, yet they carried themselves with pride, like the lack of civility in their lives was a thrill, the dirt and the worms and the bees and sweltering sunburns were all a gift to have been rubbed across them on their walks in the rain, in their summer time hikes to the secret beaches they weren't supposed to venture on.

The Kooks had it good, an easy life, but Y/n declared that they were the only ones living.

“Do you still dream the same dreams?” JJ asked softly, the wind blowing through his messy blonde hair, and the ocean rolling calmly below them now.

She nodded, letting her hands fall into his, and tugging at the loose threads that fell from his worn out friendship bracelets. Just fractions of the ones she had littering her own wrists.

"I still wanna be that girl in my eighties, dancing in the rain and running up and down the beach like my bones can't break away." She smiled, and he noticed how much more sincere it felt now. "And I want to scream, I want to yell. I'd scream ferociously, leaping between the waves like we did now, and I'd finally jump from the rocks, and I won't be scared because l'll have done it thousands of times." She painted her future, her desire with a loving glance into JJ’s blue eyes.

There was no money, no big house with a picket fence and an army of children. Just the ocean, some laughter, and enough fearless ambition to spill into the next lifetime.

"Sounds nice." JJ agreed, only now he had grown to have the same imagination as she did, he had it in him to dream a dream as pure and grand. He didn't need to live on figure eight, he didn't even mind being stuck with three jobs until he turned to dirt of it meant they would be dancing together forever.

"It will be. And you'll know it because you'll be there with me, and we'll be the same pirates we are now. We'll smoke on the roof and wear fancy clothing that we made ourselves. We'll ride the waves and make lemonade and sweet tea like John B's dad did when we were kids. We'll have mustaches from the sugar, and we'll be young forever with the grass between our toes.” She kept her word, because there it was, the same sparkle in her eyes. The same sweet, delicate wonder.

"Well,” JJ began, his eyes leading hers to where the grass overhung the large fall into the deep blue below. “we can start on that dream now." JJ declared hopefully, looking out to where the waved lapped at the shore. His ringed fingers pointed out at the rigid rocks that overhung the deep waters.

"If we've got a thousand of leaps to take, you have to start with one." He looked back at the girl, the way she didn’t seem to be nervously fidgeting like she had when he first promised everything would be okay.

"And then we won't be scared." She repeated to herself, but more to him, more for the memory of the first time she felt like flying.

"No, we won't ever be scared again." And there was a shared understanding, an understanding that dreams are just dreams until they make them more. If she could do this terrifying thing, all for the rest of her deepest wishes to come true, there was a new found certainty that anything scary could be done.

That she and JJ could do all the scary things the world could offer, even just as the awkward young adults they felt they had grown into. It was possible.

He took her hand more firmly in his, and counted down under his breath. There were hoots and hollers from the excited audience that had gathered below. Their friends filled with fear but also the fiercely spreading feeling of wonder and happiness that JJ and Y/n had found in one another.

With a deep breath, he led her off the edge, and in the moments that came before the cool water surrounded them, they swore they were flying. That they were living like nobody had ever lived before. They were seven again, then thirteen, and then back to where they found themselves now, flickering through the past as they came down.

It was only one of a thousand promised leaps, and Y/n didn’t feel any fear as the water poured into her ears.

Because when they surfaced, there he was, his hair wet and his smile wide. His hands clasped in hers, holding her arms over her head so high, her legs had to wrap around his waist.

“Again!” He shouted excitedly.

One promise kept, nine hundred ninety nine left to live.

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