#grief thanks *snatches*

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you sacrifice your strawberries and eyelash wishes for the boy knocking at your door.

idol!jungkook x reader, strangers to friends (?) to lovers / fluff and a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: allusions to death and grief / jungkook is a cutie patootie and a blushing hopeless romantic mess / he wants to kiss oc so bad (me too bro) / oc is a sunshine <3 / they do chores and watch movies together :((( / in one scene he was worried oc would think of him as a perv lmao / they’re dorks and i love them / seokjin cameo hehehe

> in which masterlist!

note: to make up for the pain i may have caused and will cause <3 LOL. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing :D as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! come chat w me. ily 🌼

—

“it’s so cold,” you mutter through chattering teeth.

the grocery bags sit on the hardwood table with a thud— the careless bringer too hasty. you shove your icy hands in the deep pockets of your jacket, breathing in and out with a sense of relief.

you are not granted the mundane euphoria for much longer, however. the doorbell rings and you are padding across the floor against your will. the cold air hits your face before it enters your apartment.

however, the happy smile that greets you blankets your heart with a type of warmth that is difficult to describe.

if you had to guess who was behind the door, you wouldn’t say the boy you’ve been fiercely pining over for the past month, but it is certainly who you’d be hoping for regardless.

“good morning!”

“oh! wait there for a moment!”

jungkook stands motionless by your open front door as you disappear into your apartment. confusion accompanied by curiosity, he tries poking his head inside, but then decides that he shouldn’t.

upon your return, his face lights up again.

“here you go!”

he accepts the jar of honey faster than he could think.

“w-why are you-?”

you tilt your head, lips forming a small pout. “isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“uh, actually-” he awkwardly pauses, hand that carries the heavy paper bag behind him suddenly feeling weak. “i came here to give you something.”

your eyes animatedly expand in surprise of the size of it, not at all expecting to receive a gift from him today. you do know that he’s fresh from japan, as you converse on the phone almost everyday… why would he come here almost immediately? and didn’t he say they weren’t given the chance to roam the city because of their work schedule?

“i just grabbed things i thought you might like. i hope i got most of them right?” he explains with a nervous chuckle as you take a look inside.

a diverse array of snacks; a beautiful journal painted with cherry blossoms; a hello kitty plushie; stickers, muji pens…

“oh my god, jungkook… these are too much. you didn’t have to.”

oh, curse the hopeless fluttering of your heart.

“wow, gifting your merch- that’s real idol behavior for you.” you tease him, referring to the hooded jacket that has their group logo on its plastic packaging. “thank you!”

“no but it seriously warms you up! i have one too!”

“jungkook, why are you so cute?!”

“ah, shut up! i’m getting embarrassed!” he whines, blushing. “just look at them later after i leave, how about that?”

“let go! it’s mine!” you glare at him, hugging the paper bag to your chest to deny his advances on snatching it away. “are you not leaving? don’t you have work?”

“i told you— it’s my rest day.”

“you did?”

“while we were texting last night.”

“oh,” you blink. “i don’t remember reading that.”

“you? what are you doing today?”

you bite back the smile threatening to give away the thoughts running in your mind a thousand miles per hour. why does he want to know?

“nothing special. just chores the entire day.”

jungkook puts his hand inside the pocket of his coat, an attempt to appear casual as he offers you his valiant effort. “do you want some help? i’m good at doing chores.”

you stare at him, perplexed, as if he just said the most ridiculous sentence you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“it’s your rest day and you want to do chores?”

“sure,” he grins playfully, not at all seeing how that could be wrong. “why not?”

“you know…” you pause— observing his expression, considering shutting your mouth, but that plan rarely ever works out. “you can just say that you want to spend time with me, right?”

your bluntness sends his heart racing. you’re a danger to his health.

he sinks his perfect teeth on his bottom lip, bringing his dimples into view. to be honest, you didn’t always have a thing about dimples. you didn’t consider them all that special. but why do they make him look cute and sexy at the same time?

his cheeks become tinted with a pale scarlet. you’re wearing that friendly beam again; he doesn’t know how to act. he never knows whether you are joking or not.

“well, now i know.”

—

jungkook sets down the jar of honey on the table as he settles in the living room, fascinated doe eyes darting around every inch of your place. it’s not his first time here, but somehow, it looks different each time. the two frames hanging above the sofa captures his attention all over again, colorful drawings against the plain white wall. gifted to you by your siblings, you said.

a tall castle with a happy family. a little boy slaying a dragon to protect a princess from its savage fire.

he is blissfully unaware of the knowledge that the drawings are the lone survivors of a school bus and a tragedy. you want it to stay that way. you want people to feel the opposite of the sadness you feel when you look at them. that is how you seek your peace.

“are you wearing toe socks?”

“huh?” he makes a sound of confusion, only processing your question upon seeing your gaze trained to his feet. “ah- toe socks- yes.”

“i’m only noticing them now. they look funny.” you scrunch your nose, chuckling.

“don’t laugh! they’re so comfortable!”

“really?” your eyes widen with genuine interest. “i should try them then.”

“yeah, you should!”

he whips his head around as he jokingly voices out an observation.

“but ____, your house kind of looks different today… it’s almost like it’s cleaner than the last time i was here.”

you bury your face in your hands with a high-pitched wine, hiding from him in humiliation. you did not plan on inviting someone over that night, and he had to watch you run around organizing and picking up things— the scattered books all over the table and the floor; the jackets that have created a big heap on the small couch; the jewelry box that ended up on the dining table for some reason.

he laughs in endearment, unable to take his eyes from you. even the way your hair bounces as you furiously shake your head is pretty. wait, does that sound weird?

“that’s right, it should look different! the first thing i did when winter break started was clean up my mess.”

“what’s the first chore on the list then?” he catches the grocery bags in the kitchen from his peripheral. “were you putting away your groceries?”

“you really want to do chores? you don’t want to watch a movie or something?”

“aigoo, it’s fine!” he waves off your reluctance. “stop worrying! i already said i’d help you.”

“but it’s embarrassing…”

it’s either jungkook is denying your advances or he is simply dense. but the fact that he showed up at your door unannounced on his day-off despite complaining about his exhaustion from their hectic work schedule, you want to lean towards the latter and believe that he is… as good at chores like he claims to be.

“you must like fruits a lot.” jungkook comments as he is squatted infront of your fridge, sheltering the freshly bought perishables one by one.

kimchi, lettuce, strawberries, tangerines, shine muscat, apples…

this is an entirely different world through your lens.

it feels strange to watch another person restock your fridge for you.

“they’re easy to eat and i’m lazy to cook.”

he chuckles as he looks back at you, who is sat on the dining table, airy and carefree as you snack on a bag of assorted chocolates from the paper bag he brought. almost all of the white chocolates are gone, he notes.

“not because they’re nutritious?”

“that’s the bonus!”

“what is this?”

“cranberry juice.”

“and this?”

“oyster sauce.”

you energetically hop off the table, an idea lighting up the bulb in your mind.

“i have another recipe for you. french toast with strawberries, then drizzle some of the honey. should i make it for you?”

“ah!” he gasps as if he is in pain, but the truth is his mouth is watering. he hasn’t eaten breakfast, and he wanted to eat more for dinner last night but sleep proved to be much more enticing than food. “that sounds so good! i’m starving!”

“stand up!” you begin pulling at the back of his sweater, forcing him to remove himself from the floor. “i’ll make it! just go relax in the living room, okay?”

“but you just said you’re lazy to cook.” he tilts back his head, meeting your gaze. “i’ll help you.”

“i’m not lazy when it becomes to being a host.”

you bend down with a sweet smile, merely inches away from him, and jungkook swears the earth has stopped spinning on its axis. your face is natural and bare, except for the sheen of lip balm across your lips— and dear heavens, having you this close, you are so breathtakingly beautiful.

“they’re playing christmas movies on channel 36.” you announce, giving him the bag of chocolates. “and the remote is… somewhere on the sofa… or maybe the floor.”

and as he gets practically kicked out of the kitchen, your hands roughly pushing his back, he daydreams of kissing you and tasting sugar on your lips.

—

the sweet, addicting smell of the french toast— strong hints of butter and cinnamon— invades every corner of your apartment. consequently, it also compels jungkook to break your rules and insert himself in the kitchen again.

“you never give up, do you?”

“i don’t,” he agrees, nodding eagerly. he has successfully stolen the task of washing the strawberries, and then slicing them after. he endures the freezing water rendering his hands numb. “it’s a known fact.”

“are you saying i should study harder?” you cross your arms, expression painted with faux vexation.

“yes! exactly!” he humors you, grinning of amusement. “what’s my favorite color?”

you sigh, looking at him from head to toe.

“anyone can guess that from a mile away, jungkook.”

“fuck, okay. that’s fair!”

the sound of his laughter reminds of you reasons to stay through the cycle of the seasons. you don’t understand why, but for some reason, it has finally begun to feel like christmas. the only comfort that comes along with the cruel winter that nips at your skin; the blanket over your heart that provides a type of warmth one can travel to seek but will never be able to find alone.

“what’s my height then?”

“aren’t you six feet?”

the silence that follows is an answer enough for you. the noise of the television emerges now that none of you is talking. he pretends to be too busy to speak, transferring the strawberries over to the chopping board.

“yes, you’re ri-”

“liar!” you point an accusatory finger at him.

and he winces, guilty as charged.

“you hesitated!”

“tsk, i should’ve said yes faster! i wanted to experience what it’s like to be tall!” he regretfully purses his lips, eyebrows knitted as if he just lost the lottery. “but haven’t you read it online? even my shoe size and weight are there.”

“what? why do people even need to know that…?” you exclaim, flabbergasted. “i mean- of course i’ve searched up your name, but it feels like cheating on a test. does that sound silly…? it’s just more fun learning about you from you.”

you briefly walk away to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and jungkook is left at the counter with fondness blossoming in his chest, bleeding into the chopped strawberries staining his hands red.

he calls out your name.

“mhmm?” you hum in question, muffled by the water in your mouth.

“want to hear a fact about me?”

you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, eyes expanding with fueled interest. “what?”

“i’m actually very good in the kitchen.” he boasts his skills with the kitchen knife, quick and precise, the blade against the wood creating the satisfying click you usually only hear from cooking shows. “are you seeing this? huh…? what do you think?”

“so i’ve noticed. i want something new!”

at that, his shoulder sags in disappointment. to his demise, there goes another failed attempt at making you acknowledge that he is boyfriend material.

“what do you want to know? ask me questions.”

“what’s your ideal type?”

being in your presence for the past hour has gotten jungkook re-adjusted to your personality— straight-forward, bold, smart— so vivacious that it’s dizzying. you make him nervous and comfortable at the same time, and he doesn’t quite know how to explain it either. but you’re a breath of fresh air, the change that he has been anticipating to disrupt his routine.

“why do you want to know that?”

you shrug coyly, smiling like the troublesome vixen that you are. you rather enjoy the tension that has hung in the air. if you’ve learned something from the past: men are easy to get, not easy to keep. because they relish in the chase, getting strung along like this. so, shouldn’t you have your fun too? but even if jungkook’s intentions were pure, you can only imagine that seeing someone whose life revolves around their career is… the perfect recipe for disaster.

“i think who you like also says a lot about who you are as a person.”

“i like someone who is kind and funny…” he hums in thought, unconsciously slotting a piece of strawberry in between his lips. “and passionate about the things they love… mhmm, someone who can be honest with me.”

his words form a constellation named after you, unbeknownst to you, and he wants to say more but anticipating what comes next after you connect the dots makes his stomach twist. he doesn’t feel like an adult yet. he’s still just a young boy with a gorgeous crush and high ambitions that coalesce in his dreams.

“i like someone who has a really pretty smile, too.”

and he should probably stop staring, erase the dumb lovesick smile on his face. for fuck’s sake, it would be easier for him if you would just do the same. behind the sparkles of your eyes, there is something he’s been dying to decipher.

“okay, why are you looking at me like that?”

because you are so pretty, especially when you smile.

“nothing,” he replies innocently. “you? what’s your ideal type? who do you like?”

“i don’t know… no one has captured my heart yet. they’re not trying hard enough!”

every romance you’ve had so far has been a letdown.

“but i’m still looking. i’m young, and hot, and the universe is vast.”

“mhm, i see… that’s true, but maybe… you don’t want to be looking too far.” jungkook suggests.

you smirk. “so you agree that i’m hot?”

“you know. you don’t need me to say it.” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“but i want to hear you say it.”

“you’re very beautiful, ____.”

“but that’s not-”

“the food is ready! let’s eat it before it gets cold!”

he runs to the living room without waiting for you, and you seize the opportunity to squeal without a sound, punching the counter without actually punching— releasing the giddiness threatening to spill from the seams of your heart.

you don’t know if this is heading somewhere, nor do you expect it to, but where you are right now is a good place to be.

—

the movie playing on the screen has become more of a white noise to you, a family comedy far less fascinating compared to jungkook drizzling honey over strawberries and bread from a spoon. you wonder if he is aware how often he creates sound effects while he is doing something.

beside you, his body quakes with cackles during the scenes that an editor would definitely insert the classic sound of an audience’s collective laughter and holler. you stumble upon the understanding that his happiness lies in a myriad of things, and you would envy him for it if not for the fact that he is currently sharing that happiness with you. you laugh when he laughs, and being becomes a little less heavier at that moment.

another commercial break rudely interrupts and jungkook turns towards you. the two of you sit cross-legged, knees knocking against each other as you occupy nearly the entire sofa.

“hi!”

“hi.”

“what are your plans for the holidays?”

“my best friend’s family invited me to stay with them for christmas until the new year. it’s kind of been a tradition since…”

the end of your sentence hangs suspended in the air. you still can’t say it out loud.

jungkook knows they’re gone and you’re alone: only the plain and brutal truths.

the reminder that this is the third christmas you will not spend with your family; the thought that this would be the third christmas they would spend without you if the afterlife was real— they bring tears to your eyes at once, but you forcibly blink them away, shoving enthusiasm down your throat.

“how about you?” you take a bite from your toast, attempting to divert your thoughts to… anything else. “are you coming home?”

you hide so well behind a smile. it doesn’t occur to jungkook that his question rubbed salt on an open wound.

“i miss my mom but i can’t go home yet.” he pouts. “i have work on christmas day as usual. we’ve been preparing hard for it.”

“oh, that’s right! gayo daejeon?!”

he nods in confirmation.

the music festival has been an annual event for his group since they debuted, and he never feels the need to complain because not everyone is given this kind of opportunity. what’s extraordinary for most has become his ordinary, and what was once his ordinary like everybody else’s has simply become a thing of the past. nevertheless, he does not have regrets. he is living a good life, one that he believes is his fate. as long as he has a voice and it is being heard, then his existence has meaning.

“your family will surely watch you, so they’re still celebrating it with you in a way. making them proud is the best christmas gift you can give!”

and right now, in his life, you are the cherry on top. you were so cheerful and supportive about the final shows of their tour as well, raving about how amazing it is to perform three nights in a row at gocheok skydome.

“i’ll watch you too!”

he can’t help it— you’re driving him to be better at what he does. childishly, he wants show off and be the one to capture your heart.

“ah!” he groans. “that means i should work harder at practice tomorrow! i can’t mess up infront of you and my family!”

“why not me? you want to make me proud too?” you interrogate him jokingly.

“of course, it’s my job. it’s what i do best. i’ll make you see!”

“use me as motivation then. you can’t mess up, okay? you have to do well, jungkook! you better not make a mistake! my eyes will be focused on you only!”

his face is reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights— the headlights being your wide, threatening eyes.

he releases a shaky sigh in dramatic fashion. “i don’t feel motivated, though? i’m getting pressured?”

you wheeze; the plate over your lap tilts along with its contents.

“this is tough love!”

jungkook nearly staggers to his feet. “…love?”

you roll your eyes, small corners of your lips still cheekily lifted. “was the french toast good?”

jungkook is interrupted before he can form a response.

“but if it tastes like shit, just lie to me!”

“what are you talking about?!”

oh my god, you’re too fucking good at making him laugh.

“you’re eating it too! you know it’s delicious!”

“maybe you got a bad batch!”

—

“i’m going to the laundry shop across the street. i’ll just be a minute.” you announce, hauling a laundry basket to the living room.

your strained grunts prompt jungkook to look up from his phone, and eventually to stand up with urgency and relieve you of your heavy, heavy burden.

“shit, how heavy is this?”

you’re not given a chance to protest as the basket is immediately stolen from your grasp; your lips part open but no words come out.

“i’ll come with you!”

“well, hopefully not more than twelve kilos.”

it’s definitely heavier than usual; mainly comprised of the thick and layered clothes you’ve been wearing to shield yourself from the unforgiving cold.

“let’s go.”

jungkook wraps his hand around your wrist, gently tugging. the butterflies in your stomach wakes up earlier than spring’s arrival.

“this thing is bigger than you.”

an extremely obvious exaggeration.

“i’ll be the one to carry it.“

—

jungkook wears a cap and a face mask underneath his hoodie, eyes barely even visible in his all-black getup for the public to see; and somehow you also find yourself with a scarf around your neck, pulled up over the bridge of your nose.

when the year 2017 rolled in, you predicted that more crazy, life-altering stuff would happen. it has been an on-going theme, a relentless domino effect that has brought you to your knees time and time again. but you never would’ve fucking imagined that this is how you would be wrapping it up. how the hell did you cross paths with a famous idol, and why is he carrying your laundry basket right now?

“wait here for a bit.” you bring both hands to the basket’s handles, coaxing him to let go. “i’ll just bring it inside.”

“are you only dropping it off? that’s expensive!”

“what?” you stare at him in bewilderment, not expecting him to utter such statement at all. “you’re talking like you’re not rich!”

“i’m not! and still,” jungkook becomes flustered underneath his disguise. “it’s good to be practical. anyway, we have a lot of time.”

“you sound more like a mom than my mom did.”

“shhh!” he shushes you, putting a finger over his face mask. “let’s just do your laundry ourselves.”

“why would you do laundry right now? you’re supposed to be resting in the first place!”

a tug of war ensues infront of the laundry shop. strangers doesn’t know better. you look like a married couple bickering over who should take responsibility of the chore.

“____, just let me, mhm? i’m a pro at doing laundry too! we’ll be done before you know it!”

“how are you good at everything? honestly, it sounds like a scam!”

“how dare you doubt me?” he gasps in offense. “i do my own laundry!”

“seriously?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“i’m serious!”

“i don’t think i believe you, though…”

“if you search online, you-” your voice echoes in his mind, and subsequently, jungkook cuts himself off.

‘it feels like cheating on a test. it’s more fun learning about you from you.’

“oh, nevermind. let’s go inside already. i’m freezing!”

“jungkook!” you whine, stomping your feet on the ground as you refuse to let go of the basket despite jungkook beginning to head inside.

“why?” he copies the childishness of your tone, and although you can’t see his face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you enough.

“we can’t…”

the adorable sight of you appearing to be so shy is foreign to him. he can’t help but to chuckle. “why not?”

your lips form a pout.

“my panties…”

you bring a finger to point at the basket.

“they’re in there too… i was only going to drop them off today because you came with me…”

“ah…” jungkook awkwardly freezes, unblinking. “wait, you’re right?”

why didn’t he think of that? he’s a fucking idiot. of fucking course. what if you take things the wrong way and you’re creeped out by him now?!

“fuck, sorry. i’m sorry. i wasn’t- um, i swear i wasn’t trying to…”

his tongue becomes tied, struggling to search for the words that won’t make him sound like a damn pervert.

yeah, way to go, jungkook. you’re not the fucking boyfriend yet and you’re ruining your chances.

“did i make you uncomfortable? i’m sorry. it probably looked li-”

“hey, breathe, calm down. it’s alright, jungkook.”

you giggle in amusement, placing a hand over his chest— his heart. it’s meant to ease him, but the knowledge that you’re feeling his racing heartbeat only causes it to further intensify. he swallows the lump in his throat, dumbfounded by the turn of events. he wants the ground to swallow him whole, but he also wants to stay in this moment a little while longer.

“it’s alright. i’ll go bring this inside then i’ll treat you to lunch at the restaurant over there! don’t run away from me, okay?”

—

“the yukgaejang looks good.” you utter absentmindedly, admiring the spicy beef soup with plentiful vegetables from afar. “i’m jealous of you.”

the other tables are already having a feast while you and jungkook are waiting for your take-out to be prepared.

“then you should’ve ordered it too.” jungkook scolds you lightheartedly. “should i go?”

“no! i’m not good with spicy food. spice makes me cry.”

he smiles softly. once again, you complete the picture from his eyes. “what is there to frown so sadly about?”

“i feel like i’m missing out.” you complain, the pout on your face almost permanent. “spicy food is like one of the trademarks of korea, you know? but i can’t handle it!”

“so cute…” jungkook has decided to give in to his impulses, it seems— the evidence is him pinching your cheek for the very first time, and with the discovery of its delightsome softness, it will definitely not be the last.

“oh, oh, oh! an eyelash!”

his doe eyes glisten with pure wonder and excitement, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended when his hand moves to tenderly cup the side of your face. as he is absorbed in capturing the tiny eyelash that has fallen and glued itself on your cheek, your mind reels with the size of his hand, the sensation of his innocent touch against your neck.

“aaand-” jungkook takes your hand, passing on the eyelash to your index finger. “there you go. make a wish!”

your eyes flicker down, and none of you speaks for a moment or two.

a wish…?

what does one wish for when they have given up on wishing for miracles?

“did you do it?”

you peek at jungkook, nodding. at last, you blow the eyelash away, outside the window, where it becomes one with the snowflakes that came from the same sky where wishes are supposedly granted.

“what did you wish for?”

“i’ll tell you when it comes true.”

—

jungkook eats so well— you feel full just by watching him eat. so when he asked you, eyebrows knitted and legs bouncing, if he could have more rice, you were left with no choice but to plug in the rice cooker for the second time today. you cooked only enough for two meals today: brunch and dinner for one. you’re more than happy to have given him the dinner portion. you like that your apartment is providing warmth for another soul, despite the old times that it housed ones that ended up haunting you.

“are there any more chores to do? while we wait for the rice?”

you gaze switches from him to the living room.

the boy who was knocking at your door is now vacuuming your floors.

you sit on the couch with your legs hugged to your chest, chin propped on your knees. an unexplainable feeling swims in your chest, but your heart calls to welcome it. not to be delusional, but technically, isn’t this a marriage proposal?

it falls on dear ears— the infuriating sound of the cheap vacuum cleaner your landlord lended you and never came back for. underneath it is jungkook’s mellifluous voice, humming and singing, and it’s all you can hear.

the only use you knew of honey is the magic it does with tea for a sore throat. when you learned about his demanding occupation, he is all you can think of in relation to the elixir. since then, you’ve been taking the god awful amount of honey your pesky neighbor provides without any complaints.

this is nice… this is good. you are glad that you opened the door.

—

after a hearty and satisfying meal, you and jungkook retired to your previous spots infront of the television screen. more of the snacks he bought for you ended up being shared. near your stacks of books are colorful food wrappers and half-empty glasses of water. two mediocre yet entertaining movies later, you tell jungkook that you should pick up your laundry before the shop closes in an hour. however, after he has excused himself to the bathroom, he is greeted by the sight of you peacefully asleep on the sofa.

once more, a new side of you is laid bare, and his affection grows. he doesn’t know when he can admire your face this close again without melting from your stare.

heedful of disturbing your much deserved rest, he carefully places a pillow beneath your head, and he pulls down the blanket you’re wrapped in to cover your cold feet.

with one last stolen glimpse, he grabs your key and receipt from the bowl and leaves.

—

“is it time for you to leave?” you delicately rub at your eyes that are still half-closed; voice quiet, barely there.

you were awoken by the front door opening and closing, but nothing has quite registered to your fuzzy brain yet, except for the coat that you neatly kept and is already re-worn by its owner.

and he knows you’re most probably just sleepy, but the way you’re gazing at him as if you’re sad to see him go makes his heart clench.

“no, i picked up your laundry.” he enlightens you, consciously speaking with refined tenderness, as to preserve the serenity that has enveloped the atmosphere. “i can stay until eight. is that okay?”

you release a weary sigh, nodding. “of course… and you’re such a nice friend, thank you.”

he plops down on the sofa, filling the jungkook-shaped space beside you.

tired… you’re so tired… despite the given privilege to finally sleep to your heart’s content, you’re still so tired. your forehead lands softly on his shoulder, and unbeknownst to you due to your stupor, jungkook’s breath hitches— the polar opposite of the steady rise and fall of your chest. you make him swoon. he deliberately ignores the fact that you just called him a friend.

you peer down at the floor, past the curtain of your disheveled hair, slowly blinking. those ridiculous toe socks… you giggle in secret.

“jungkook?”

“yes?”

“are you cold?”

“freezing.”

you lift your head and he knows— you have to be playing games with his heart, bringing the temptation to kiss you so painfully close. “do you want some tea?”

—

the performance has commenced but the passionate screams of the audience still rings in jungkook’s ears as he runs backstage, chased by the staff attempting to wipe the sweat he is practically bathing in. he squeezes one eye shut as beads of sweat threaten to enter it. his chest heaves with exhaustion and his heart pumps with overwhelming adrenaline. most of the time, this job doesn’t feel real. he feels high. this is the textbook definition of a dream.

“where’s my phone? please? does anyone have it?” he yells in the midst of the chaos and clamor as he completely strips off his in-ears.

a hand reaches towards him with the device, and his expression of gratitude gets lost somewhere among the repetitive reminders of the remaining time before they should have returned to their designated seats.

he allows the hair and make-up stylists to do their jobs, him as their doll in need of a retouch. on the other hand, he impatiently waits for his phone to power on.

the tapping of jungkook’s foot ceases, and from his glowing reflection on the vanity mirror, the clueless people surrounding him witnesses love strike.

guess my eyelash wish worked like a charm. your performances went really well

and you looked so cool on stage ☺️

merry christmas jungkook ❤️

“jungkook-ah, what are you smiling at?!”

seokjin cackles. jungkook didn’t even notice him roll his chair so close. he then decides to play dumb to tease their youngest one.

“wow, who is this ____ you’re texting?”

“hyung!” jungkook panics, hissing underneath his breath. “lower your voice!”

“ouch!” seokjin yells, rubbing his arm that was hit as a punishment.

he allows a moment of silence.

his expression goes blank and he avenges himself.

“ah!” jungkook gasps as the slap on his thigh resonates, forced to be ripped away from overthinking a text message. “hyung! you better start running!”

Draft: i know it’s late.. but can i see you later?|

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taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

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#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

[astraystayyh]

Invisible Thread- two.

This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.

pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.

genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.

cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.

summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

word count: 17k

a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3

(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))

Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.

The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.

But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.

So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.

You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.

But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.

But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.

It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.

But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.

Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.

But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.

"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."

"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."

"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.

Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.

"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.

"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

"You should go with them."

"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."

His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.

So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."

✹✹✹

Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.

Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.

It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.

Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.

He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.

You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.

"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.

"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."

"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."

"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."

"Really?"

"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."

Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."

You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."

"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."

"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."

"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."

"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.

"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."

"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.

"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.

"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.

✹✹✹

Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.

Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.

You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.  

"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."

"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.

"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."

"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.

"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.

You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.

It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.

You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.

Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.

Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.

"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.

"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.

"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."

"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"

"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."

Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.

You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.

"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"

"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."

"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.

"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night…  And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."

"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."

Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.

"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.

"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.

"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.

"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."

"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."

"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.

"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.  

"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.

"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.

 It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.

"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."

"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.

"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."

"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?

Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.

"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."

"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.

Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.

You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.

"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.

"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.

"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.  

Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.

You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.

You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.

Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.

"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.

"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.

"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.

His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.

"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.

You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.

His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.

Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.

Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.

"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.

"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.

"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.

You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.

You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.

"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.

Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.

"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.

Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you. 

✹✹✹

Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.

It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.

The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.

There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.

You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.

"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.

"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.

"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.

"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.

"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.

"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.

"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.

Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.

"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."

He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.

"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."

✹✹✹

It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.

"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.

"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."

"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.

Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."

"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"

"37," he replies instantly.

"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.

Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.

"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."

"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.

"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."

"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."

"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."

"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.

"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.

"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.

"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.

"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."

As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.

He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.

The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.

Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.

It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.

"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."

You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.

"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.

Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.

"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.

Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.

You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?

Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.

You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.

Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.

He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?

Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.

"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.

"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.

"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."

"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."  

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. 

The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.

Selfish. 

Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.

Selfish. 

Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.

Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved. 

Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you. 

His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode. 

Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.

You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his. 

You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too. 

✹✹✹

You are being distant. 

Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam. 

And it's his fault. 

He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were. 

Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you. 

He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you. 

It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back. 

He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you. 

You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features. 

"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again." 

"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him.  "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."

"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes. 

"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you." 

It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin. 

"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?" 

"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad." 

"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault." 

"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong. 

Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you. 

Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere. 

"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means. 

"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you. 

"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return." 

He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him. 

"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his. 

"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?" 

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?" 

"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too." 

"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?" 

"I will, I promise. You too, right?"

"Mm. I will too." 

"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."

✹✹✹

The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.

And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.

Four months ago.

"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"

You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.

"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."

"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.

"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.

"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace. 

"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.

You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.

"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."

Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore. 

"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.

"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.

"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”

"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"

"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.

"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.

Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"

"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.

"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.

"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.

"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."

"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."

"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness. 

"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."

"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.

"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."

"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.

From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known. 

You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars. 

You should've known. 

Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.

It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.

You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.

"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss. 

"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him. 

"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."

"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"

"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."

There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t. 

"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.

"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.

"Did you meet my mom?"

"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.

Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily. 

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."

Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. 

You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.

"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him. 

"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch. 

"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.

"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it." 

"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. 

"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him. 

"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it." 

You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking. 

"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."

An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.

"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly. 

You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.

"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.

You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.

You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.

You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.

You don’t.

The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.

It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.

You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.

You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.

But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.

You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rings again.

You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.

"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-

"Your mother died in a car accident."

Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.

Your mom. Gone.

But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.

It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.

You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.

You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.

Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.

So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.

Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.

You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?

The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.

The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.

"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."

You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.

Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.

"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.

"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"

"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.

He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"

"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.

"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.

"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.

"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.

The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.  

So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.   

Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.

Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.

✹✹✹

The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.

But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.

Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.

It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.

He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today." 

He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.

He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.

But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.

"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.

"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."

"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."

You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.

The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.

It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.

He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.

He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.

Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.

You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.

And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.

"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.

You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.

"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.

"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"

"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."

"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.

 Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?

"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.

"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"

Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."

"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."

✹✹✹

It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.

"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.

"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course. If you want me to, that is."

"I can try."

Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination. 

"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."

"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."

You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes. 

"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.

The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.

You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.

"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."

"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.

"I remember your hands used to be so cold."

"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."

"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"

"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.

"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.

"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.

"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.

You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.

"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.

"How's that death warrant going?"

"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.

"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."

"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.

He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.

"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."

"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.

"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.

You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.

Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.

"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.

"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.

"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."

His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.

"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."

"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."

You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.

"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids x you #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know x you #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #lee know fluff #lee know fanfic #stray kids angst #skz angst #lee know angst #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #lee minho angst #lee minho fluff #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz hurt/comfort #stray kids hurt/comfort

[auroravictorium]

anti-hero (k.b.)

i wake up screaming from dreaming. one day i'll watch as you're leaving, and life will lose all its meaning (for the last time).

Summary: reader is awake and heads outside for fresh air. kaz questions whether reader still wants to be with him, and reader begins to heal.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship) Word Count: ~4.3k (!!!) Warnings: allusions to reader's recent trauma (kidnapping, torture, severe injuries), mentions of injuries (scars, cuts, bruises), mentions of sibling & parent loss/death, mentions of blood, mentions of kaz's haphephobia, mentions of violence (kaz bashing heads and dangling people of rooftops) Genre: fluffier angst? brief angst then fluff? Author's Note: i really gotta stop with these disappearing acts. anyway, i promised you guys the next part, so here is the next part at a whopping 4.3k. pls enjoy <3 masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur as you fought to recover from what you'd been through. Nothing aggravated you more than the stiffness of your muscles and the pain throbbing throughout your body; just a week ago, you'd been able to jump across rooftops and snatch a pouch of kruge from a man's pocket without any issue. Now, damn near everything ached, though the vertigo and throbbing in your head had eased thanks to Nina's work.

On one of the warmer days, where the snow had melted into the ground to form a muddy slush, you woke up feeling much better than when you'd been carried out of the warehouse. While the rest of the house slept, you slowly made your way out of the room you were staying in and down the stairs. You stuck to the edges, using the banister to support yourself as you avoided potential creaky spots. The house was in remarkably good condition, but you didn't want anyone questioning why you were up and about on your own. You needed to move, to feel the fresh air again.

To remind yourself that you were free, despite everything.

You slipped on your battered boots, your body aching as you hunched over to pull them onto your feet, then stepped onto the front porch, looking over the bleak, icy land sprawling before you. Crossing your arms to brace yourself against the cold, you stepped off the porch and stood in the snow. You let the muddy slush soak the material of your boots, chilling your skin even through your thick socks.

The air stung your lungs as you inhaled deeply, burned through your chest, and then you let it out slowly, the air fogging before you. To be standing outside felt like bliss; in the open air, you could forget the griminess of your captivity for a moment, the sensation of blood sliding down your fingers, the ringing of your ears as your friends had arrived in a flurry of action and chaos. 

You gulped down more air to chase away the prickling hairs on the back of your neck as you considered all that had happened. Not now. 

You realized then why it was easier to close off, to not think of the horrible things those mercenaries had done, that Rollins and his Dime Lions had done in Ketterdam over the years. Denial was easier than wading through the grief of what happened. Preferable, even.

Snow crunched behind you, but you didn't turn, your eyes still fixed on the empty, slush-covered fields before you. A gloved hand carefully wrapped a worn blanket around your shoulders and lingered for a moment before falling away. Kaz stepped beside you, his coat wrapped tightly around himself; there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his face was a touch paler from exhaustion. 

You frowned at him. "You haven't slept."

"Neither have you," he said quietly, sliding his free hand into his coat pocket and looking down at you. He was silent, his icy blue eyes roaming up and down your form as he surveyed you. The look made you shiver, and you turned your gaze away, a blush unrelated to the cold rising to your cheeks.

Out of your periphery, you saw Kaz slide his hand from his pocket, and you felt the brush of his fingers against your arm, loosely wrapping around your wrist. You glanced up at him, and you let him gently turn your arm so that your forearm was to the sky; he pushed your sleeve up carefully, tenderly, and his gaze lifted from the bandages around your arm to your face, waiting.

"Go ahead," you said softly. You didn't want to hide your pain and your scars from Kaz, even though instincts told you to shield it from him. You ached to hide your weakness like when you first arrived on Ketterdam's streets, to settle into denial and rage. But this was Kaz. You trusted him to catch you if you fell.

Kaz undid the bandages with practiced ease, and you wrinkled your nose as cold air hit your wounded tattoo. The flesh was nearly healed thanks to Nina's hard work, but most of the ink itself was destroyed, only a few dark remnants remaining at the edges of what had once been the crow perched on the cup. Shiny scar tissue lined your forearm, and Kaz ran a gloved finger over the skin. The gentlest of touches, but enough to make you hold your breath and look away.

"I'm sorry," Kaz said, breaking the silence with his raspy voice before you could speak. Though he deemed his investigation complete, he didn't release your arm. Instead, he carefully wrapped the bandages again and secured them in place, his leather touches nothing more than a whisper against broken skin. 

You shook your head. "It's not your fault," you said, looking up at him. You were startled to find his gaze already on you, and your breath caught as you saw the raw emotions flickering there. Concern, anguish, guilt. A raw mix of vulnerability he would never let anyone else see.

Kaz looked back down at your bandaged arm, still in his hold. Black leather gloves against pale white bandages, a stark contrast that he hated. He'd caused this. He was at fault, whether you would say it to him or not. The moment he'd crawled out of that harbor, determined to make the city pay for taking his brother, taking his name, taking his dreams, he'd set everyone around him on a path to harm.

"Kaz," you said, turning your arm in his grip so that you could grasp his. Your breath fogged in the cold air between the two of you, a warning of the winter storm brewing above that you elected not to heed. "Tell me what you're thinking. Please."

He let out a breath, and he wanted to turn away. Your gaze was intense, reaching deep into his soul and threatening to pull out every word he'd stashed away where nobody could ever find them. Most believed he didn't have a soul, and he liked it that way; it was his treasured hiding place of all the things he wanted to say but never would, because Dirtyhands wasn't tender. He wasn't kind or caring. He was ruthless, selfish, and brutal. He bashed skulls into stone floors and tortured men on rooftops.

Yet you seemed to break down his walls with only a look, stripping away the layers he'd created to become Kaz Brekker. You saw him, the boy who grew up on this farm, who fell asleep every night with the threadbare blanket currently wrapped around your shoulders, who believed in goodness in the world.

He struggled to reach into that hidden, tucked away part of himself, to find the words he longed to say to you. I love you. I'm sorry. I am not the man you should want. I love you. I thought I'd lost you. I am a liar. I love you.

I love you, and I thought I had lost the chance to say it.

"Do you still want this?" he managed to say, the words nothing more than a rasp, the sound of sandpaper against wood. Even as Kaz Brekker longed to take steps back, to fling up those walls and fall back into the comfort and safety of being ruthless and harsh, the ground beneath his feet had him rooted in place. The Rietveld farm, where the ghosts of his father and brother lurked in the house just feet away. They were watching, begging him to do better. To be better.

He could be.

"Yes," you said without hesitation, your grip on his arm steady and your gaze unwavering. "I made my decision a year ago. I stand by it." Your words were firm but not unkind, leaving no room for argument or misinterpretation.

A lot of horrible things had happened in the past week. Kidnapping, torture, interrogation, and scarring you hoped would one day heal. And despite the urge to collapse, to fall and give in, you wouldn't. Your friends wouldn't let you. Kaz wouldn't let you. And you wouldn't let Kaz wade into the guilt he was feeling. You'd haul him out by his coat collar if you had to. You wouldn't blame anyone for what had happened to you aside from those who deserved it; the guilt lay with the mercenaries and with Pekka, left behind in that warehouse.

Kaz was quiet for a few long moments. He let your words play over and over again in his mind, searching for any whisper of deceit, any hint of blame from you that would reinforce the guilt that pressed down hard enough on his lungs that he felt like they might be crushed beneath the weight. When he found none, he pushed a slow breath past his lips, trying to ease that pressure. "Alright," he said.

Because as much as he did blame himself, it was your choice. Your decision to stay with him, despite his belief that you would only get hurt again. And he wouldn't take that choice from you, even as everything he'd taught himself screamed at him to distance himself from you until you changed your mind.

He would be better.

Kaz swallowed, realizing he still held your arm in his grasp. He looked down at it again, his hand gently cradling your injured arm, and he slowly shifted his hold until your hand was held in both of his, his cane resting against his hip so it didn't fall into the slush. He could feel the coldness of your fingers through his gloves, and he trapped your fingers between his palms to try and warm them up. 

You stepped closer to him, realizing how cold you actually were, even with the tattered blanket around your shoulders. The heat radiated off him in waves, and soon you were nearly chest-to-chest with him. You tilted your head up to look at Kaz, your heart slamming in your chest as you dared to step into his personal space. He smelled like city smoke, like faint remnants of cologne. Home. Comfort.

"I thought I lost you," Kaz rasped, the words almost inaudible, even as you stood mere inches from him. He almost choked on the words, but he owed it to you to say that. To say so much more. "I thought Pekka had won."

"He didn't," you said quietly. 

"I killed him."

"I know."

His breathing turned ragged. "I should have done worse. I should have made him suffer more."

You shook your head, turning your hand in his palms so you could lace your fingers with his. "You did what needed to be done. Nothing more, nothing less. That's all that matters." You tilted your face up, taking in the emotions in his eyes.

"Before you left, you said..." Kaz's eyes slipped shut. Just say it, you fool. Say it. "You said you loved me."

The words didn't burn on his tongue like he thought they would and didn't taste like salty, bitter seawater. It didn't make his teeth chatter or his clothes feel stuck to his skin. It felt blissfully warm, burning in his chest like it might ignite him from the inside out.

You didn't answer, not wanting to interrupt him as he fought to speak. You had a feeling you knew what he wanted to say, why he looked like he was somewhere between keeling over and taking off across the property to disappear into the treeline. So, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze to encourage him, feeling your heart pound as he spoke again.

"I should have said it back," Kaz said. "I should have told you I..." The words stuck in his mouth like the sticky candy he'd shared with his brother on this very property, the sun beating down on their heads. "I should have..." He faltered again, his brows creasing as he grew increasingly frustrated with his inability to spit the damn words out.

Kaz sighed, the breath rushing out of his lungs and clouding in the air before he managed to force out, "I should have told you that I love you." As the words passed his lips, a feeling of peace came over him. The knot in his chest eased, and the heavy weight within his chest became easier to bear. Taking the chance, he continued, his voice quieter. "You could have died, and all I thought about on the ride here was how I didn't say it back. I just turned away like a fool and sent you into the lion's den."

He was grateful for that temporary moment of relief. At least if you stepped away and changed your mind about wanting this, wanting him, the last thing he would remember of the two of you would be this moment of respite with your hand in his and the knowledge that he'd finally told you what he felt. That would be some consolation before the bitter taste of pain rose.

You stepped closer, cutting off his train of thought by pressing his gloved hand against your racing heart, his palm resting just beneath your collarbone. The words he'd just spoken suddenly seemed far away, and his mind went completely blank as he felt the hammering of your heart against his palm. A stark reminder that you were still alive, and he didn't have to think of the 'what ifs' anymore. You had chosen him. You hadn't changed your mind, after everything.

"Don't torment yourself," you said quietly. Your gaze met his, a simultaneous fierceness and gentleness visible there that almost knocked the breath from Kaz's lungs. "Do you remember what I told you? Your pace?"

The words reminded you of an evening that felt long in the past. The two of you, sitting on Kaz's tiny bed in the Slat and working through his fear when you told him you love him and that he didn't have to say it back until he was ready. Your pace, Kaz.

"I remember," he said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of his breathing as he dropped his hand from your heart and twined his gloved fingers with yours once more. Once he was sure he wouldn't hyperventilate or collapse into the icy mud like a fool, he opened his eyes again.

"I love you," you said softly, giving his hand the gentlest of squeezes. The words felt right, just like every time you'd said them, tasting like shots in the Crow Club and snow falling over the city, like a heady bliss you wanted to feel again and again, as though you might never get enough. Though the words felt right, you realized you started trembling after you said them. From the cold? From the vulnerability strung between the two of you? From the anticipation of his response?

Your fingers were cold between Kaz's, and before he realized what he was doing, he caught both of your hands in his this time, clasping them between his gloved palms to warm them up. Only a few inches separated your faces now, and your tangled hands were wedged between your chests. Selfishly, he wanted to close that distance completely, to remind himself of how your lips felt together. It had been six months, and though he thought about that moment in the alley outside the Crow Club every single day, he found that the feeling had begun to drift from his mind.

"We should go inside," he rasped, despite the thoughts warring in his head. You were freezing; that much was obvious. The old blanket he'd brought to you hadn't done much to keep you warm in this bitter weather, especially as a fresh flurry of snow prepared to blanket the ground.

"I'm fine," you responded, though the growing numbness of your nose and ears said otherwise. You were caught in his gaze, trapped by the heated look in his eyes. You'd seen him angry, distant, and vulnerable at times, but the look he wore now was one you hardly recognized. It was one you'd only seen once before, moments before he'd kissed you outside the Crow Club like he'd die if he didn't get the chance.

"That's what most say before dying of exposure," Kaz deadpanned, but even his response couldn't tamp down the burning in his chest. He didn't recognize it, the looseness in his muscles and the burning in his chest. For once, no terror rose in response to your closeness, ready to shove him away with cold, invisible hands.

You rolled your eyes at him. "I can assure you, the cold won't take me out that easily." Still, you shivered just a bit as a slight breeze kicked up to remind you both of the incoming storm, making your words much less reassuring than you wanted them to be. Traitorous nature. But Kaz (and the wind) was right, the two of you should head inside, even if you wanted to bask in the vulnerability and simmering feel of his gaze for a little bit longer.

Taking a step back, you moved as if you might disentangle your hands from his and head back toward the house. Once again acting before he could stop himself, Kaz caught you, his fingers gentle as they wrapped around your wrist. "Wait," he said, his voice almost inaudible. He took a shaky breath as terror sunk its fingers into his flesh again, making his words come out more unsteadily than he intended. "Can I?"

He could win against his fear again, could push himself past the newfound comfort of holding hands with you. He'd done it once, even though it had kicked an unfortunate series of events into motion. But maybe... maybe that wouldn't happen again. It was just the two of you and the cold. No witnesses, no traitors amongst you except the bone-deep terror that threatened to rear its head every time he dared to challenge it.

Confusion briefly flashed across your face, and then your mind went blank with recognition. The memory of the alleyway, a kiss tasting like bitter liquor and snow, flashed through your mind.

Oh. Oh.

You nodded, just as you had before, feeling your cheeks heat up despite the cold.

As he stepped closer, closing the last few inches of distance, you wanted to ask him whether he was sure. He'd opened up to you so much already; you didn't want him to feel obligated to do so further. But he'd initiated it, and you trusted him and his newfound confidence in his ability to heal. 

You were proud of him.

His lips met yours, tentatively at first. They were cold, chapped slightly from the weather, and he waited for the icy terror to yank him to the ground and drown him right there on land. While his legs felt unsteady, pushed and pulled at by his own fear in its twisted form of pale, dead hands in the harbor, he felt like he could keep standing as long as he focused on you.

It no longer felt like the midst of a Kerch winter. As snow fell down and started to kiss your cheeks, you could imagine it was a morning drizzle on a summer day, before the sweltering heat kicked in and was compounded by the smoky air of the city. You felt warm, maybe too warm, and you freed one of your hands to move up and grasp the back of his neck, standing up on your tiptoes to keep the distance between you closed.

Kaz startled at the touch, his hand moving to grab your arm out of instinct as his heartbeat picked up at the feel of your hand on his skin. The touch was foreign, soft, and hesitant, but not unwelcome as he steeled himself against letting his fear take over. He wanted to be able to kiss you, to accept your touch and affection without feeling like he might collapse. 

His determination fueled him to press even closer, his hand releasing your arm in favor of cupping your cheek. He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, pretending he could feel the softness of your skin beneath his touch. You shivered, and a surge of warmth ran down his spine, making goosebumps rise beneath your hand on his neck.

Distantly, he felt his cane fall from where it had been propped against his hip, thumping against the frozen ground. But his focus was on you. You, your lips, your nose bumping against his as you settled into this still-new feeling, your hand on his neck, your other moving up as if to join the other before chancing it, sliding into the mussed strands of his hair that he hadn't bothered to slick back before joining you out here.

You fought the heat running throughout your body and forced yourself to pull back, gasping a bit and looking up at him. "I'm-" you began, already starting to retract your hands. What if you'd pushed him too far? You'd felt how he tensed beneath your touch for a moment, felt him go somewhere else for just a moment. What were you thinking, Y/N? His pace, remember?

"Don't," Kaz said roughly, knowing precisely what you were thinking. He kissed you again, chasing the euphoria of your lips against his. He surprised himself with how hungrily he kissed you. The feel of your lips was better than any liquor. Better than any drug, or high in the aftermath of a successful heist. He liked the feeling of kruge passing into his hands, but this feeling had quickly surpassed that.

You made a noise of surprise but didn't protest or pull away, sliding your hands back into his hair and through the dark, silky strands. There was a bubble of something in your chest, the urge to chase this and press further, but the burning in your lungs and throbbing of your wounds in response to the worsening cold forced you to pull back far sooner than you wanted to. 

You opened your mouth to speak, ready to ask if he was okay, or what he was thinking. A million emotions were flickering through his eyes, and you were having trouble pinpointing any of them. Just as you recognized one of them as longing, Kaz's face went neutral, the emotions disappearing before you could blink as the front door to the house creaked open. Your head turned, and you saw Nina, who had just woken up judging by the wayward hair framing her face.

"If you two are done frolicking, I figure I should tell you the storm is about to hit," Nina called from the porch, leaning against the doorway with a smugness on her face that made you blush and take several steps back from Kaz. 

Tightening the old blanket around your shoulders, you glanced at Kaz as he grabbed his cane off the ground. His cheekbones were flushed pink, and there was a purse to his lips that gave away his embarrassment at being caught. But as he straightened up, his cane firmly in his hand again, there was a sparkle in his eye as he met your gaze and offered you an elbow to help you back inside.

"Not a word, witch," Kaz said to Nina, eyeing the wicked grin on her face as he tapped his boots against the steps to free the snow and mud from them. He kept his arm extended for you to hold onto as you did the same, noting the winces of pain as the impact sent shocks of pain through the bruises and scrapes on your legs.

Nina gave Kaz an innocent smile. "Of course not." She reached up to pinch his cheek, and he batted her hand away with a sharp glare. "Can't ruin your terrifying reputation, can I?" 

"No bickering before breakfast," Jesper groaned from the couch, pushing the blanket away from his face and yawning. "I can't add any witty commentary on an empty stomach." He sat up and rubbed his eyes before grimacing and hunching his shoulders. "Now, will you please close the damn door? It's freezing out there."

You suppressed another smile, stepping into the house and setting your shoes to the side. As Nina and Jesper bickered, you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, sharing a brief glance with Kaz as you settled next to the fireplace to warm up. A flicker of something soft passed through his eyes before disappearing as he carefully leaned down to add another log to stoke the flames. 

Inej padded down the stairs, putting the finishing touches on her braid as she investigated the commotion. If she noticed the faint blush on your cheeks or Kaz looking anywhere but you, she didn't say anything. Instead, she pushed Jesper's legs off the couch to make room to sit, ignoring his groggy protests.

Though you weren't sure anything other than time could heal what happened, being surrounded by your chosen family was a good start. A warmth unrelated to the fire settled over you, a comfort and security that eased the tension that hadn't lifted since your capture. You would heal. Wounds would scar and fade, memories would become less vivid, and the ink along your arm could be replaced one day. 

In the meantime, you'd bask in that warmth, even when your return to Ketterdam inevitably tried to chase it away. 

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#kaz brekker #crooked kingdom #six of crows #six of crows duology #kaz brekker x reader #kazzle dazzle #soc kaz #soc fanfic #soc inej #soc nina #nina zenik #jesper fahey #soc jesper #shadow and bone #the grishaverse #shadow and bone season 2 #sab season 2 #grishaverse fanfic #freddy carter #the crows #inej ghafa #inej my queen #midnights but make it kaz brekker #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #sab season two

[bau-drabbles]

love me not

it's hard loving someone that doesn't return the same affections

after maeve passed, they all thought reid would honestly be the next. he was a shell of a person he used to be, it honestly scared you how frail and weak he looked and your heart truly went out to him. he had found true love and the world had snatched it away from his hands before he could've enjoyed it.

you knew grief was tricky, you knew they said things they didn't mean. you knew how challenging and how painful it could be but seeing the pure rage in spencer's eyes was something you could never forget even if you desperately wished it to go. you could never forget how he looked at you with pure hatred and disgust at your lack of skill. as if the history between you both had simply vanished away, leaving nothing but pain and anguish in its wake

•••

"it was all your fault!" he sneered as he threw the gift basket behind him, the same basket you had spent hours making for him. trying to find his favourite things and even enlisting garcia and jj for help. but it didn't matter now, they were all crumped behind him and you feel yourself deflating as he continues the harsh words.

"you could've surrounded the area, you could've the shot from the back. you could've have done more" he stood, his hair tousled and messy but his eyes were dark with rage. that was new, he never gave you that look before and it rattled you.

"the main priority was you spencer! i-" "no, it was maeve. she was the victim in that situation! thanks to you, her parents lost their only daughter and i lost the only woman i ever loved!" he snapped vehemently, his fists balled up and slamming into the table. the sound shocked you and you look at him with pure confusion and pain

"what?" your voice was so soft, so fragile as you stare at him. your eyes were prickling with tears at how cruel he cold be, making you think if you ever truly knew reid.

so wordlessly, you stood up and walked out of his apartment and towards your car ignoring any and all comments he made. ignoring how he shouted your name, ignoring how he slammed his door when you left.

"you don't know what i mean. you wouldn't know what love is, how could you?" there's so much malice in his voice, it doesn't sound like the spencer you knew. and the very thought makes you want to cry. you tried to defend yourself but in the midst of the moment, seeing him so enraged at you for no reason, its as if those rose coloured glasses had fallen and you saw reid for what he truly was.

that the man you thought he was, the perfected imagine in your head, the romantic and funny and kind hearted doctor reid really only existed to maeve. he never extended that courtesy to you, and now you were an outsider to him. you had killed his one true love and with that, you had killed any love he had for you.

hot angry tears spilled down your cheeks when you reached home, your head swimming at what he had said to you. as much as you tried to force yourself to believe it wasn't him saying these things, you couldn't count how many times he left you feeling like pure shit. you held him in such a high regard but he never did the same to you, you didn't matter the same to him. it was hard because he was grieving and you knew it was a messy process but the pain and the ache in your heart felt so overwhelming.

it was enough, he was mourning someone that was dead. you were mourning a person that was well and truly alive.

•••

after weeks reid had finally come into work, greeting all the team members but you had made sure to stay out of the way. the pure rage that bubbled inside of you wasn't yet securely tightened and you weren't about to cause a scene in the bau.

and he noticed, of course he did.

when everyone hugged and rejoiced that their boy wonder finally came back, you watched from the background. you made no effort to walk towards him, no effort to hug so you just observed with a numbness in your heart that threatened to swallow you whole. he looked at you with a soft smile but you had turned your back, walking back into your office feeling more furious by the second of being anywhere near him.

when everyone sat into the chairs ready to discuss the next case, he noted how you chose the one that was most far away from him. when he tried to make eye contact you kept your gaze to your files or to penelope that explained the gory details.

when it came to sitting on the jet, you made sure someone had sat next to you so he couldn't. even when he was paired with you on a case, you only spoke about the facts and nothing more. he tried to talk but you shut it down, not responding unless it was about the case.

and you were okay with going about it like this. it hurt like a bitch but this way, you couldn't fall into mind numbing fantasies that the thought of you and reid could ever go anywhere. it wasn't the most healthy, sure. but this way, your heart and your head were protected from any links with reid. he was dr reid to you. nothing more, nothing less.

but the last straw was when he turned up to your home, knocking at some ungodly hour while you practically hold back your frustrations by a string. seeing him standing at your door step, tousled hair, dark eyes you have to force your arms back from touching him.

"go home" you utter, avoiding his touch like he was poisoned and trying to side step him to get him away from you

"i can't. i can't go unless this gets this resolved, please" he blocked your path and you tried to reign in the emotions. but with every passing moment, it was becoming incredibly hard to do so.

"and you'd do what?? you thought you'd come here like some prince charming and help me??? this isn't some fairytale reid, wake up" you scoffed and he just stood there completely in shock until it switched to pain and then anger

"why are you being so mean?" his voice was soft but his face had hardened, his eyebrows furrowing at you. that was the straw that broke your back, the fact that he continued to remain ignorant despite everything he had put you through

"you still don't get it, do you??" a humourless chuckle fell from your lips, eyeing him again. the rage felt completely overwhelming but behind that, there was grief. for the person you wish he was, for the man you used to adore. and you so desperately want yourself to be enveloped with the promise of a happy ever after with spencer reid but the truth was, you could never have that. not in this life, he wasn't yours to have nor hold. he wasn't yours to cherish and love.

he shrugs his shoulders, gesturing around eyes wide as he presses you further for the information

"i have supported you throughout this grief despite you being so mean to me reid. i helped you because i didn't want you to suffer alone and yeah, maybe that was my mistake," your eyes were beginning to prick with unshed tears that shone underneath the lights. every anger he had in the past moment has all deflated and he's standing there, looking at you with such a sadness you could almost drown in it.

"i didn't ask for that" his voice was low, his eyes red as the tears welled up.

"you didn't have to! that's what friends do! i loved you reid, more than i ever thought i could" your voice had turned into a soft whisper, tears spilling down your cheeks but you hastily wiped them away

"y/n" he steps forwards but in return you take one back. you wouldn't let him cloud your judgement tonight, he had taken up far too much space in your heart and mind already.

"but that was then. this is now" your voice is firm, looking at him with so many emotions you're not sure which is the most dominant.

"i did everything i could've though to do. i was there outside your damn door, not moving until i heard you eat something. i was there, pretending to walk away so that when you finally showed face, you were still alive. i didn't do that to receive validation, the only thing i wanted to do was to make sure you were okay. but to accuse me of maeve's murder like that..." your voice was pained, as if you still couldn't really believe the extent he had gone to, to make you feel so bad.

"i-i'm sorry y/n" his own voice barely escapes him but you're through with it. all the deceit, the hatred, the lies, the anger, all of it.

"i don't ever want to see you again. i don't want you coming by here anymore. you once asked me what love is? it's this" coming to your full height you walk towards your front door and open it. it's the most hardest thing you've had to do in a while saying goodbye to the man who holds your entire heart. but breaking your heart now meant that he couldn't make it shatter later on.

"y/n please don't do this. i-i love you, i do" if he had said these words to you a mere few weeks ago, how you would've embraced him without a single doubt. he was better than anyone you've ever met and all you truly wanted was his love, to bathe and bask in it.

but you take no notice now, opening the door wider.

"loving you is hard enough, don't make me hate you" your voice trembles and try as you might, it's difficult to stay strong when you feel like you're drowning in your despair.

"please don't do this" his voice shook as the tears he had been holding back finally trailed down his cheeks. he looked absolutely exhausted, so close to breaking but for the first time since you had met reid, you chose yourself. for you knew deep down maeve would always occupy his heart and you could never come close to the fire he burned for her. your love would simply diminish and extinguish, it could never be enough for him.

when he leaves, your back meets your front door. you covered your mouth as short shaky breaths left your lips, the floodgates were well and truly wide open now, the pure devastation and anguish leaving your eyes as you cradle yourself close. but it was better this way. better to face to hard cold reality that reid could never be yours than to envelope yourself with the sweetest lies that he could change.

and spencer was behind your door, his forehead meeting your door as his shoulders shake with all the pain in his heart. a million thoughts in his head and yet not one could pass his lips. his palm flattened over the door, trying but failing to muster up the courage to rap his knuckles again. to make you understand, to make you see that he loved you. that he needed you, that he yearned to be with you. that you were what he needed and he needed your comfort and your help and your presence

but the hand never knocked and all he could do was stand there with choked sobs leaving his lips. his forehead leaning against your front door, never once being so close and yet so incredibly far away from you

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

[sonder-paradise]

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐈𝐈— 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭

◊ ft. diluc, childe, kaeya, zhongli, gn!reader

◊ genre. angst to fluff?

◊ cw. stabby stabs and brief descriptions of blood

— 𝐃𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐜 𝐑𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐫

he had warned you not to make trouble. sure, the warning in of itself was just a minor precaution that he had spat out as the two of you left. but as diluc watches the blood-splattered blade grind into your stomach, his heart lurches. it should have just been another routine visit with a few abyss mages. so why were you staring at him with those horrified eyes?

your name is a whisper on his lips as he stumbles back onto his feet. in a flash the enemy evaporates into that familiar black and red mist. diluc rushes to your side; his widened eyes scan your wound, desperately trying to apply pressure while your blood stains his hands.

"why... why did you do that?!" he exclaims, "you should have just let me take the hit!" you smile weakly. the sort of smile that has him reeling and disgusted with himself. "i wanted to protect you. besides," you cough, "I'll be fine. you can't kill me that easily."

diluc holds you to his chest, burying his face in your shoulder. "still, please don't scare me like that. i couldn't bare to lose you too." you can feel his worry in the way his heart pounds against your own chest and his eyes screw tight as he if when he opens them you'll be gone.

— 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞

a confident grin befalls childe as you watch him from the corner of your eye. a peaceful day in the mountains of liyue have the two of you wrapping up a prolonged training session. perhaps he should have paid more attention to what was around but before he knows it, your gut-wrenching shout fills his ears.

childe stumbles, unsure of the events that had just transpired. he was certain you had shoved him just as he had called your name. but he blinked in a mute horror upon spotting your limp body slumped against the trunk of a tree. the monstrous geovishap growls ferociously at you and childe can’t help but let that horror grow into a vile rage.

the next thing you know, you’re staring at the most grief-stricken childe you’ve ever witnessed. his eyes are murky and tired. his hand clutches yours with such an intensity that you find it nearly hard enough to break. and for a second, childe appears to be at a loss for words. “i… i patched you back up,” he says slowly, “you should be… better now.” the way he sounds make it seem as if he’s trying to convince himself at this point.

“what’s wrong?” you murmur, softly squeezing his hand in yours. he just seems lost, unsure whether or not to scold you for what you did or thank you. “just… please don’t do that again,” he finally says, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

— 𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐚 𝐀𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡

“kaeya!” you watch your lover gather his thoughts. you never would have thought a quick, routine scouting of the nearby mountainous forests would have resulted in an argument. but here the two of you were, struggling to explain to the other your innermost thoughts. the argument had been a petty one. just something kaeya wished to warn you about.

honestly, he was just looking out for you. it wasn’t often he got angered at you either. but something about the evening swayed his emotions when it came to you. upon hearing his name he frowns, turning back to hear you out at the very least. yet, as he does so the disgusting scent of blood snatches his senses.

kaeya feels the wet substance hit his cheek as you shove him aside. the ruin guard leaps, shadowing the land of his descent. but in the moment, kaeya’s quick to summon the strength to look back at your wounded body limp in his arms. your blood stains his skin and his lungs feel as though about to collapse.

when your eyes open, you're in a warm bed and at the end of it is kaeya. his eyes look tired. but a breath of relief flows back into them when he notices you are awake. "oh thank god," he whispers, kissing you fervently. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry." he repeats the words over and over until you finally hush him back into that loving embrace he adores.

— 𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢

it's a flash of heartbreaking thunder that crashes down onto the man. one second you were assisting him with a simple task and suddenly he's gripping onto your bleeding wound, eyes wavering as he looks down at you. he feels frozen at his feet when you swallow harshly. blood spilling from the ghastly cut on your abdomen.

his shield should have protected you. you were not supposed to be his. his mouth opens and shuts, trying to comprehend the situation. he hasn't truly felt hopeless since the archon wars when she died. and now you may suffer the same fate because of his negligence.

"zhongli!" you cry, snapping him out of that horrified trance, "it's gonna be okay. i'm still here." it's his turn to swallow back the bile in the back of his throat and nod slowly. he can change your fate this time. "just hold on, my love," he says softly, wrapping your wound with a cloth.

"i trust you," you murmur. for a moment he almost wishes you didn't as he feels his heart sink even further. "right. just... please don't close your eyes," he quietly begs. you're in his arms in a second, determined to pay attention to his words as he heads towards the abandoned camp he noticed earlier. you can feel his hands tremble; if not from fear then from the anger towards himself.

Taglist: @xo-cuteplosion-xo @planetxiao @nonsense-corner @ireallylikehamsters @eccedentesiast-sapphic @rebeccka @the-lost-anime-dad @lettucecabbage-kun @irethepotato

Wanna join my taglist? Comment under this post!!

#[🖋] writing #diluc x gender neutral reader #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc fluff #diluc angst #childe fluff #childe x reader #childe angst #childe x y/n #kaeya x y/n #kaeya x reader #kaeya fluff #kaeya angst #zhongli fluff #zhongli x you #zhongli x reader #zhongli scenarios #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin drabbles #diluc headcanons #kaeya headcanons #childe headcanons #zhongli headcanons

[fanaticsnail]

Sapsorrow Chapter 7

Masterlist Here, Sapsorrow Masterlist Here

Word Count: 8,800+

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

(Image Source)

Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood

Notes: Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner! Thank you for your patience, I had this chapter beta-read twice. Thank you to @since-im-already-here and @vespidphoenix for their kindness in volunteering to do that for me! Such love and appreciation for you both.

Song Suggestions: Casper's Lullaby,

Their Wedding Serendade: Turning Page - Sleeping At Last

“I will not marry him.” 

Her voice held such sorrow, but her cries fell on deaf ears as her governess began to tug her hair into place with the rough scrape of a bone comb. Thrown onto her hands, pale gloves thrust up to her elbows by the hands of her ladies maids; her shoulder straps readjusted to float down her forearms like beams of radiant moonlight. 

“He has heard your demands, and seen them done. You are his princess...”—her governess’ voice paused while she shook her head to rid her eyes of her own tears—“...and now you are his bride. You bound yourself to him the moment you placed that damned band over your unity finger.” The small quiver in her tone had the princess’ eyes spilling over with a fresh stream of hot tears. 

Immediately springing to her feet and snatching her hair out of the firm grip of her ladies maid, she flung herself against the corner of the room. Her face was littered with tears, her eyes swollen and lip bruised from the force of her teeth clamping on them. 

“My princess,” the governess spoke, her hands quivering as they reached out in an anxiety induced panic, “You have been training your whole life to marry royalty. This was a title you were born to bear. You are to be queen of your lands, ruler of your home country. With your union to the king-.”

“-I will not marry him!” She beat her gloved hands against the wall, her enclosed fists almost shattering her bones atop the cobblestone walls. Sobs rocked her shoulders, her wails echoing throughout the hallway and flooded the ceremony space with her grief. Attendees held a similar somber expression, along with royal subjects celebrating with glee at the prospect of a new queen. 

“My lady,” the governess’ voice shook as she stepped closer to the shaking princess and placed her hand over her shaking shoulder, “My lady, please.” 

The bloodshot eyes of the royal princess snapped up to her with a cold and frightening stare. 

“What would you have me do, my governess? Wed this man who is more than twice my age? Dine with this man, consummate a union with this man? A man who already rules over these lands as king? A man who i-is-...” 

Her eyes fluttered closed as a fresh surge of tears fell from her darkened orbs. 

“A man who is my father?” 

The princess rounded on her ladies in waiting, her eyes now incandescent with helpless rage. “What would you do?” she continued. “What would any of you do, were you in my place? The law of the land binds me to this ring. I have become plagued by an unnatural and grotesque curse-.”  Her voice halted in her throat, plagued by her own revelation. 

That is exactly what this was. This was a curse. 

A curse on her soul to bind her in matrimony to her own flesh and blood. Where other children dreamed of fairytale romance, being spirited away into the arms of a lover, she was bound by fate to this ring. 

The princess’s gaze landed on a pot of water hanging in the fireplace. As she walked in that direction, her eyes never leaving it, the water went from simmering to bubbling to boiling over. Hardening her resolve, she grasped the iron handle and removed it from its place above the fire. 

“My lady! What are you-,” the calls of her ladies in waiting were silenced by a single look from  the governess. 

The princess’ sobs began to crack and cackle into maniacal and sinister laughter. 

“I will curse you. I will curse all of you,” she booms, casting the glove from her left hand to reveal a violet ring encrusted with an array of several stones bound within a thick band. Nine stones of unique colors danced within the light, their forms melded into a large central stone in the middle. The green hue of moss overshadowed the radiance of the smaller stones, the thick band dwarfing her unity finger. 

“If you are thinking of casting it into the fire, my lady,” the governess stepped closer, her hands held with palms facing outwards in defense, “The damage is already done. You are bound to marry him, there is nothing you can do.” 

The princess flung the band from her finger and threw the object into the iron pot. 

“In that hopelessness, I shall thee bind,” she intones in a hundred voices, at once of the deepest bass and highest soprano. The attendees within her chambers stepped back, some thrust onto their knees under the powerful boom of her voice. 

“Whosoever shall find, claim or attune to these crafts, their souls shall be cursed under the plague of unity,” she continued, her hair shifting in colors and tones to several shades closer to death, “May their suffering feed my heart with gladness and life, as my suffering brings gladness onto thee.” 

“-My lady,” the governess spoke, her eyes widening in fear as she witnessed the princess wither beneath her curses, “My lady, please-.”

“-And as my yearning for a love true and just shall never be quenched,” the princess’ voice hitched, her own tone dominant within the vocal strands of external forces, “I will allow the wearer to place a plague of conditions on their heart the moment the craft is thrust upon them.” 

Her hair whipped in the unnatural wind, the ring now smelting down into a lava of molten gold. The gems began dancing within the pale light as smoke poured from them in hues darker than night.

“Should their conditions never be completed,” the princess continued, her heart swelling with vicious rage, “I will claim their souls and bind them to my own in eternal suffering a year from the day it begins.” She ripped a fistful of her vibrant hair, placing it within the concoction alongside her tears. 

The ladies in waiting, the maids, and the governess clutched their hearts and covered their screams with their hands as the clouds of smoke spread through the chambers. 

“My lady!” The governess shrieked, “Princess, please! You do not know what it is you are making. This unnatural phylactery has no place in the lands of the living. My princess-.”

“Your Queen,” her voice boomed, her pupil-less gaze snapping over to her governess. Her face contorted into an unnatural and cool gray tone, her vibrant hair lifeless in hue while whipping around her face within waves of spectral ocean. 

“My queen,” the governess repeated, bowing her head to the royal witch. Her hue returned to her, the gold simmering down as she poured the liquid onto the coals below the surface. An unnatural steam rose within the flames, the vapors smelling of metallic blood mixed with the sweetness of honey. 

“I-I just-...” the princess wailed in defeat, her shoulders slouched, “-I just wanted to find love, governess. I wanted so desperately to find peace with a spouse of my own choosing. I wanted a partner to court me; to woo me, to cherish me. I never wanted-.”

“Sapsorrow, your king awaits you,” A voice called from behind the door, interrupting the unnatural scene within. As the ladies glanced nervously between the princess and  the door, the final words of the princess’ confession bound all but one stone within nine rings, leaving the central moss agate laying dormant, as if awaiting a final command. 

“I just wanted a love that was truly mine.”

- 

The echo of those final words plagued your mind, dancing as the concept of time began to mould from the past and spring you into your future. The repetition of ‘truly mine’ rotated and stirred within your slumber, breaking the peace you had once found for yourself beneath your bedsheets. You catapulted from your huddled pile of blankets into an upright position; your damp hair clung to your brow and sweat stuck your nightdress to your body. Your plagued slumber left you with more questions than answers. 

Had the spectre wanted you to see that image? Did she have control over your mind, did your attunement to the moss agate ring bind to you? Drawing your right hand up to your face, you rotated your thumb and index finger over your temples to rid yourself of the nightmare that seemed to persist each time you lay down to slumber. 

A light rap at your door had you jolting from your thoughts, snapping your head towards the wall and hastily making your way over to the interruption. 

“Governess!” A hushed feminine whisper called to you, “Governess, can I come in?” Perona continued her polite rapping, the drum of her knuckles gathering up rapidity against the wood in an anxious thump. You sighed, shaking your head and allowing a small smile to dance over your features. 

Collecting the iron handle beneath your hands, you open the door and immediately become overwhelmed by the embrace of your pink-haired pupil. She squealed into your ear, bouncing happily on the balls of her feet as she attempted to twirl you. 

“You are getting married to Mihawk today!” Her voice squeaked with high-pitched enthusiasm, “Have you tried on your dresses? Have you written your vows? Did you read his letter yet? Have you thought about your perfume? How are you doing your hair? Are you doing it in three different styles for the three different outfits?” 

The sheer rapidity of her questions had you unable to find an anchor to hold them. You fluttered your eyelashes shut, shaking your head hastily and attempting to wrap your mind around her flurry of words.

“Of course you haven’t read his letter yet, I still have it! I am scatterbrained today, my lady. I can barely contain all of the excitement!” She continued, breaking away her contact from you and thrusting a wax-sealed envelope into your hands. 

“Perona-?” You began, your voice halting as she danced past you into your chambers and staring at the two mannequins in the corner of your bedroom beside your changing shield. Her voice caught in her throat, all air relinquished from ballooning her lungs. You turned to face her, holding the envelope close to your chest as a warmer smile drew itself to your features. 

“O-Oh-... Oh m-my-...” Perona’s words found no harbour against her lips, all thoughts became silenced within her mind as she hovered over to the dresses. You allowed a warm giggle to rise within your throat at her fawning over the objects. 

“Do you like them?” You asked her, cocking your head over to the right hand side to find a better angle to read her face. 

“They are beautiful, my lady,” she whispered, reaching her hand towards the sleeve of Sir Crocodile’s creation and halting before her digits found purchase, “Can I touch them-?”

“-Don’t you dare, Perona,” A gruff, masculine voice called from the corner of the room. You snapped your face over to the doorway, noticing Zoro donned in lengthy tan sleeping trousers and a dark yukata hanging limply at the front. 

“Zoro!” You gasped, drawing your chemise closer to contain your form from his eyes, “It is one thing having Perona in my personal suite, but another to have a young gentleman while I’m clad in my nightdress.” Zoro shook his head, his wolfy grin taunting you beneath his down tilted head. 

“Would you change your tune if I said I have wine?” Zoro’s brow quirked up, revealing a green bottle from behind his back with a small, nonchalant shrug. You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head and removing your arms from concealing your chemise from vision. 

“Have you got a saber tucked somewhere on your person, Zoro?” You quirked your own brow up in question. Zoro laughed, turning away from his lean to reveal three swords clinging limply against his hip. 

“You can take your pick, my lady,” he shrugged, his hand lying on the hilt of his favoured blade. You opened your arms to him, gesturing for him to enter your suite with an elaborate flurry of motions. 

“Then by all means, my green-haired pupil,” you mixed your tone somewhere balanced between absolute sarcasm and unwithheld appreciation, “Welcome to my humble abode. Shall we begin by getting ourselves ready for the ceremony, or having a drink before breakfast?” 

Zoro answered wordlessly with a small smirk. Withdrawing the white blade from within its scabbard to claim the cork from the top of the wine bottle, and unlatching the wax by severing the rim with his sword. He reached towards your small dining table, upturning three of the four teacups from their place atop their saucers and pouring the amber liquid to the brim. 

“You gonna open your letter?” he asked, nodding to the envelope clutched within your hands and reminding you of its presence, “We’ll do a small cheers and give you a bit of privacy to read it.”

“I hope you are both planning on giving Mihawk a similar wake-up call,” you laughed, reaching forward and claiming a teacup from Zoro’s outstretched grasp. Zoro chuckled, shaking his head as he raised his own teacup to clash the rim with your own.

“Oh, he’s been up for hours,” Zoro confessed, Perona giggling as he handed her her own teacup, “He’s been brooding in the ceremony space: hovering over the decor and pacing, last time I checked.” Perona struck the corner of her teacup against Zoro’s before meeting the edge with your own. Your brows furrowed, glancing from the corner of your eye outside your bedroom window to seek out the elevation of the sun. 

“How many hours remain between now and the ceremony?” you asked Perona with a partial anxious quiver depicted within. Perona stepped forward, brushing her shoulder against yours in a small gesture of comfort. 

“You’ve got two hours, my lady,” she whispered, prompting your heart to nearly stop beating and your breath to halt in your lungs, “That’s why I thought to wake you-.”

“-And why I thought to bring you booze,” Zoro added, throwing back his teacup and downing the contents in one heaping gulp, “Just to take the edge off.” Your hands stuttered, taking a small sip of the wine within your cup before setting it back down. 

“I thank you both for your thoughtfulness, my dears,” you gave them a small downturned smile, your brows triangulating in the center of your forehead, “I have thoroughly enjoyed my time getting to know you as my pupils-.” 

“You’re going to be our lady now, my lady,” Perona added to your thoughts, “No longer just our governess, but something akin to an adoptive mother beside Mihawk as our apprehensive father.” Your breath caught in your throat, hitching at the thought of becoming unified not only to a spouse today, but upholding a promise to chaperone the two wards at a place of higher standing.

“Don’t think too hard about it, my lady,” Zoro reassured, his brow furrowing down. Placing his mug down on the table, he reached his hands up to clasp your shoulders beneath his heavy-handed grip, “You’ve already got so much goin’ on in your head, just know-,'' his breath caught in his throat as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. He was bewitched by the charm of your melancholy and apprehensive expression, your doubts begin to spiral behind your eyes. 

‘You are not good enough for this role. This is not your place. This is not a role you were born to play. This was a role that always belonged to someone of higher standing; someone of higher class-.’

“-Know we would be proud to have you as our lady, not just a governess hired to serve a role,” Zoro continued, collecting your chin beneath his fingertips to hold your gaze with his own. Perona stepped her body closer to you, weaving her arms around your waist and hastily drawing her cheek to press against your back. 

“I can hear her too, my lady,” Perona whispered into your back, prompting you to break your eyes away from Zoros to glance over your shoulder. Perona’s large, dark eyes looked up at you with sorrow and understanding held within her orbs, promises of empathy propelling her utterances, “And any words she brings onto you harbouring doubt, I will smother you in nothing but kindness and love to reassure you.”

Heart swelling at her utterances, your eyes began to pool over with gladness. The mist of your eyes clouded your vision as Perona continued to sing her praises into you. 

“I love you, my lady,” Perona hushed, her eyes beginning to dance with her own emotion. Her lip quivered, looking up into your eyes with true adoration and love at you, “We both do, don’t we Zoro?” At the sound of his name, Zoro’s breath caught itself within his mouth for the second time. 

You trailed your eyes back over to his, breaking away from your contact with Perona, and meeting his hazelnut orbs with your own once more. No whisper of a word, nor utterance fled his lips; all emotion depicted in the slight shudder of his eye and quirk up of his lips. Sighing out, you drew your arms around Zoro’s waist, turning your head to feel his heartbeat below his warm chest. Perona continued to nuzzle against your back as Zoro’s hands on your shoulders snaked over your back and pulled you both closer to him. 

“I am so glad to have met you both, dears,” you whispered, scrunching your eyes shut and deeply inhaling your insecurities, exhaling your worries into the air as they held you firmly. 

“Zoro, you need a bath. You stink, and I can smell you from here,” Perona called over your shoulder, “I pity your proximity, my lady. He’s probably spilling that musky smell onto you, meaning we’ll have to bath you too- My lady! We’re running out of time!” Perona immediately broke away from the embrace, tugging at your hips to break from Zoro’s grip and leading you to the changing shield.

“You: bath,” Perona ordered, pointing her finger at Zoro, “And you,” she snapped her eyes over to you, “Moon-dress first, right?” You sighed, nodding your dismissal of Zoro with a light smile. Zoro grunted a cough, adjusting his waistband around his yukata, and nodded in return before exiting your chambers. He halted at the table, collecting the half-drunk wine bottle by the neck, before heading through the door and latching it again with a small click.

“My lady, the moon first?” Perona asked once more, taking your attention from the door to gaze into her eyes. You nodded in confirmation, prompting her to shove you behind your changing screen to rid your body of its night chemise. You folded the chemise over the door of the screen, as the variety of items presented themselves to you in order from lesser to grander. 

“Perona, sweetheart,” you called to her, your voice holding an anxious laugh, “There is far too much material here for me to continue thrusting this onto my body.” Perona laughed in response, walking over to the screen and peeking over the top of the wooden frame. She inhaled deeply, a small squeak propelling her inhale. Her brows rose in excitement, her eyes upturning in glee at the first part of the assembly of the moon dress. 

The bodice of the dress clung to your breasts, an ovular shape wisping in layers of tulle and smoothed satin to draw over the midpoint of your shoulders. Trailing down from its seamless layers, your back was joined with an elaborate assortment of ridges and latches. Upon investigating it initially, you were unsure of why such items were joined in bands of silver, onyx and gold to its back until it hit you.

This was truly the moon. 

The silvery hue of the beams, the mystery of fluttered blues and pale whites cascading from end to end; all bound by circular divots of darkened onyx and quartz to resemble faces and craters atop the lunar surface. The many layers of skirts laid a train ending in the same ovular shape as the neckline atop your chest. 

“O-Oh, my g-goodness,” Perona’s voice managed to stutter out, her soul mirrored within her expression of youthful adoration and excitement, “You look so beautiful, my lady. As luminescent and radiant as the moon in peak of nightful.” You sighed with your smile, brows upturning and weight falling away from your shoulders. 

You gave Perona a small twirl, the material pooling and drifting as effortlessly as warm mercury over cool stone. She gave you a small applause and a small jittery cry of joy before ushering you over to sit at your vanity. Glancing up at your features, the illumination of the dress mixed perfectly with the tone of your skin and hair.The task had been executed flawlessly. 

“Now then, my lady,” she said, shaking her head and clapping her hands, “I am going to leave you to get yourself primed, painted and dressed with the jewellery-,” Her eyes widened, “-Jewellery, my lady! I have to get the jewellery!” She hastily turned back around and fled to the door, flinging it wide and immediately cowering away from a large, balled fist descending to where wood once was. 

You recognised the scent first, the smell of cigar tobacco and ashen smoke wafting into your chambers mixing with the expensive and earthy cologne of the hulking and boorish-.

“-Sir Crocodile,” you uttered as you began to rise from your vanity. Turning to face him, the intimidating aura of the hulking man hung behind the threshold of your door. 

“My lady,” he nodded his head in response, his head ducking below the frame to meet the purple hue of his eyes with your own, “May I enter your space?” Perona sucked in a breath, darting her eyes between the man at the door and you in your bridal dress in a small panic. Without turning his head, Sir Crocodile’s eyes met with Perona’s through the corner of his narrowed gaze.

“I harbour no ill intent with your mistress, little mouse,” Perona pouted at his words, prompting the twitch of his smirk to pull at the corner of his lips. He cleared his voice, removing the cigar from his lips and extinguishing the flame atop the stone wall beside the door frame; an action prompting your lips to curl in a small snarl. 

“As I were the means to provide you with such a dress,” his sinister smirk drew up to his cheeks, the huff of cigar smoke pooling from his lips, “I desired to be the first to see you in your radiancy. How are you enjoying your daw' alqamar-,” he shook his head in reprimand for his verbal linguistic slip, “-Your moonlight, my lady?” 

Several thoughts lingered in your mind: a reprimand for using your wall to douse the burnt end of his cigar, asking him to leave your space to continue dressing yourself for your wedding, thanking him for the skill that designed and crafted the garment over your body. Elevating to your feet and walking over to the door frame with precision and grace, you halted your movement and dipped into a low stooped curtsey.

“Sir Crocodile,” you spoke in a low and stern tone, “I would offer my praises and my gratitude to you presently,” your tone twitched in subtle agitation as you rose to your feet, “But I am a bride, and my groom is awaiting me.” Crocodile hummed through his nose, his smirk continuing to hold against his lips as he stared down at you. He took a moment to stare at your bodice, his brow twitching as he cocked his head.

After taking a moment's pause, his eyes softened to a point almost unavailable to an untrained eye. 

“You look beautiful, my lady,” he offered in a hushed whisper, “That dress was made for you by my means,” he stooped lower, remaining outside the threshold but hovering closer to you in proximity, “And you wear it as it you were born to don such a garment.”

At those final words, both Perona and Sir Crocodile left you in your solace to prepare yourself for your wedding ceremony. As you applied the final stroke of paint to dance atop your lips, from the corner of your eye; you spotted the parchment paper sealed with a wax stamp not dissimilar to the letter of summons from Mihawk those months ago. 

Placing down your lip-paint brush, you reached for the letter and unfolded the crease and snapping the small seal holding it closed. Immediately, your eyes widened at its contents:

“My Beloved Wife,

In light of harbouring no such secrets between us; I have written the vows I desired to forge with you, and present them to you before we meet for the first time as husband and wife.” 

You halted your reading, the swell of emotion elevating your heart to a risen drumbeat of both adoration and anticipation. Quickly reading through the customs he wished to claim over the ceremony, your smile broke your sorrow as you truly witnessed how much thought he placed into each declaration and decree. So many elements, so many customs you were learning held meaning for your husband to be; you found yourself awestruck.

“I have no such means for communication with you before we meet to truly know if you agree with the terms. 

But know this, 

I appreciated you for your skill as a governess to our wards, I found myself smiling at your playfulness as my Lost-Lady, and I am looking forward to the future that we will find ourselves forging; unified as one. 

My darling, I do

I will.

And I will always love you. 

Dracule Mihawk ~ Your Devoted Husband.”

A small drop soaked the page, swelling the signature lovingly scrolled ink into the bottom of the page, smudging its words. Shocked, you rose your hand to your cheek to find a damp trail of tears falling against your cheeks; completely unaware of when you had begun to cry. A small laugh flung from your lips, prompting you to sniff and shake your head before setting to the task of reapplying your paints and perfumes to the highest quality. 

The final step was placing the cascading veil atop your hair and covering your eyes, sheer in material appearing to illuminate pale blue under the lights. In your hand, you clutched your bouquet of lilies, roses, and baubles of babies’ breath. Nestled into the arrangement peered throughout were small wisps of blue forget-me-nots, a small nod to your prior filterless encounter with your Farm-Hand and you as his Lost-Lady. 

The halls were littered with similar flowers, illuminating the area with bulbs of roses, flurries of jasmines and hiding within the scattered arrangements: the same innocent and small forget-me-nots in clusters joined with twine. Although walking alone, you felt the presence of all guests loitering within the ceremonial space of Castle Kuraigana to propel you. 

Murmurs of hushed voices, small conversations resonated within the halls and beyond had your heart beating with irregular jumps in anticipation for what awaits you behind the large, closed doors. You sucked in a breath, the trail of your moonlight dress dancing along the lengthy hallway for each movement of your feet. 

‘You are truly going through with this, are you? Joining yourself to a role that you have no place in unifying with-.’

“-Sapsorrow,” your hushed voice rang into the air, the atmosphere cooling at the immediate utterance of her name. Whispers and hushed hums alerted you of her presence standing beside you in her spectral regality. 

“You dare speak my name, Governess?” the voice to your side answered you, your spine and follicles standing in tingles at her tone. You rolled your neck on your shoulders, twitching your hands by your side to rid it of your anxiety as you turned to face the spirit haunting you.

Her hollowed eyes framing her pupil-less gaze found your face, her sinister smile resting comfortably against her lips. Hair swiping in a wind not present as she moved, her dress pooling at her feet like a flag within water. She was a horror to behold, but there was a deep melancholy reflected in her eyes. 

“Queen Sapsorrow,” you stooped low, bowing yourself almost to the floor with your humility, “I express my gratitude to you.” You heard her spectral voice hitch in her unnatural throat, her animosity fleeing from her in the wake of curiosity. Before she opened her mouth to speak her taunts to you, you spoke once more as you rose to your feet. 

“I have no parents; no father, nor mother,” you confessed to her, your eyes depicting your honesty through each word spoken, “No family to call my own, until this very moment.” You stepped closer to her, reaching out your hand to bare your right palm to her. 

“I was alone in this world, drifting from place to place and finding purpose as a governess - an excellent governess,” you corrected yourself with a smile. Her uneasy and cautious expression unwavering for each parting moment you held her hostage with your words. 

“You are the reason I am here, and I will forever be grateful to the future you had bound to me,” She clicked her tongue at you, scrunching her nose to reveal her snarl at you. You hardened your resolve and continued, “Two wards: a man akin to a roguish son, alongside a beautiful and delightful daughter. In this unity: I have found a love that is truly mine,” you concluded, a warmer smile drawing up to reveal your teeth to her in a kind smile. 

Sapsorrow’s eyes widened, her unbeaten heart fluttering and reigniting within her chest at hearing her own words reflected from the lips of another.

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk?” you offered her, stepping closer to her and continuing to hold your hand elevated to the front of you.

“Excuse me?” Her spectral voice called, her tone somewhere between offended and bewildered at such an offering. 

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk, Sapsorrow?” you again offered, gesturing to her spectral hand with your forehead, “From what I know of your history in the tale once told to me, you deserve your own happy ending. Walk with me, and I will be glad to share mine.” 

“You think my curse ends with just you?” Her form faded from vision, her voice reverberating in the hall outside of the ceremony with you, “Oh, I have eight more curses to awaken, you arrogant woman-.” Her voice held source from all corners of the hallway, “-Nine if you account for the clause that stupid tall blonde placed upon the band lying around that inked doctor’s neck!” 

Her sinister cackle broke her sentence, unnerving you more than the words she was speaking,“I shall start with those who aided you in completing your conditions; the easiest of the three to ensnare will be the Crocodile, for I know where his ring lay-.” 

Your breath hitched at her confession, her own words halting as she attempted to stuff them back into her undead lips. A rough spectral sigh drifted within the walls, her face once again revealed to your eyes. She looked softer, almost human now. Her hair was less wild, her face less horrifying, and her eyes soft and baring pupils within them behind her thick and lengthy eyelashes. The was truly beautiful, her sorrow depicted alongside an unfamiliar warmth in her undeath. 

“I will allow your happiness to lie only with you, Lady of Kuraigana. You deserve peace today,” she confessed, a warm smile rising to her lips as she leant forward to take your hand, “Enjoy the time you have with your love.” She stepped forward, pressing her left hand against your offered right, a tingle dancing against your skin at the contact. 

“This is where I leave you,” she confessed, floating backwards slowly towards the high ceilings, “But I will be watching your future closely.”

“Thank you, Sapsorrow,” you offered your gratuity by slinking down to another low bow. Halting her final exit by the upper window, she turned once more and glanced at the corner of her eye at you and smirked through the left hand corner of her lips. 

“The Sun-Dress is my favourite, my lady,” her small laugh propelled one of your own to dance alongside hers, “If I had a heart, I would even show mercy on Red-Hair for such a fine craft. But alas,” her beauty once again faded into the horrifying spectre you had initially seen her as, “I do not.”

Her spectral body disappeared from the window, a swell in orchestral melody commencing as soon as she departed from the space. You were once again drawn to this single moment, your heart beating now in anxiety of what your future held for you. 

You were to become Lady of Kuraigana, bound to one of the former warlords of the seas. The World’s Greatest Swordsman as your beau, the Lord of this land you were now to call home. As you began to step towards the threshold of the door, the wooden barriers were pulled back by members of staff to reveal the attendees within. At the end of the ornately decorated row, your gaze immediately found linked with the honeyed hue of your beloved. 

Flowers lined the pews within the large room, candles alight with warm flames to illuminate the shadowy row. All eyes snapped to you, gasps fleeing from their lips as they took in your incredible beauty dressed in an arrangement as radiant as the moon. You could audibly hear the smirk from the hulking Sir Crocodile, as praises of your dress were flung into the air with their comments and sighs. 

The music swelled, a small smile drawing up to your face as you propelled yourself forward while clutching your bouquet close to your naval. You thanked your veil from shielding your nerves from prying eyes, a small blush dusting your cheeks as you shamelessly raked your eyes over the body of your intended.

His shirt was dipped into a deep ‘V’, tasteful frills decorating the hemline against his collarbone and neck. His overcoat lay open black in colour with the softest shade of mauve within the inner shield. Dark, leather pants were clasped by a golden buckle decorating his waist, the outer frame of his thighs supporting embellished embroidery in the similar mauve decorating his overcoat. Atop his head, his signature hat with his puffed, white feather dancing behind the broad brim and shielding his curled locks beneath it. 

In all your time spent with Dracule Mihawk, you could safely assume you had a grasp on how to read the subtle changes in his stoic face. His lips were barely parted, his eyes only slightly widened and his face only a single shade away from his regular hue with the dusting of the palest pink. Once again, the thought hit you like a puff of cautious wind: you were to wed Lord Dracule Mihawk, become his wife and he your husband. 

If his words to you were left unread and unwritten, you would have no doubt plaguing your mind at this very moment of one thing. Lord Dracule Mihawk was hopelessly, truly and deeply in love with you. 

As you approached the final steps towards him, you slowly turned to view Perona standing to the side of the aisle, noticing Zoro standing beside your intended: both holding similar expressions mirroring your own. You had all been awaiting this moment with the greatest anticipation: from the moment your accidental hands toyed with the moss agate ring, to the knowledge the curse bound you now by fate. 

Mihawk opened his mouth, watching as you slowly placed your bouquet he had affectionately crafted for you within Perona’s outstretched and awaiting hands. The officiant gave you a soft smile, turning to address the large number of attendees scattered amongst the pews in their most formal attire. 

“Valued and adored guests here gathered,” she began, her arms gesturing outwards in a warm embellished wave, “On behalf of the Lord and Lady to be of Kuraigana, I would bid thee welcome to witness the unification of two souls in matrimony.” Mihawk had yet to tear his eyes off you, paying attention to all words spoken by the woman in front of you, but hypnotised by your presence at his side. 

“There are a few elements to witness performed here. We are to leave no stone unturned nor phrase unuttered in their bonds forming,” she continued, turning away and gathering a larger twin candles within her hands and holding them to the side of her body, “Lord Dracule, you may reveal your wife from beneath her shroud, so we may witness her declarations departing from her lips.” 

Mihawk rose his hands to your collar bones, his fingertips pinching the sheer material within his thumb, index and tall finger and hastily withdrawing the shield from your face. He allowed himself the luxury of the backs of his hands brushing with your cheeks as he flung the sheer fabric over your hair, a shaken breath escaping your lips at his tender touch. 

As your eyes met without filter between you, his expression finally revealed more to you than a subtle tick and twitch. The air was sucked from his lungs, his eyes softening as he found his body drawing closer to you almost against his will. You smiled up at him, adoring this new and unrefined experience of adoration dancing over his face. 

“I present you with two candles,” the attendee informed you, placing them out in a gesture for you to take them from her hands, “I shall alight the wick of Lord Dracule's, and he will speak his actions and their meaning aloud.” She lit his wick, gesturing for you to turn to face one another with your candles extended in the middle of your bodies.

“With this flame,” Mihawk uttered in full clarity, “I vow to light your way through all darkness that plagues you.” He extended the flamed tip to ignite your candle in front of you. 

“Under its light,” you uttered with a small bow to him, “I trust you to guide me.” A small sniff from Perona, attempting as she would to halt her emotions from expressing themselves, had a similar experience rising in Zoro behind Mihawk. The two wards witnessing their Lord and Lady now unifying themselves in matrimony finally began to find harbour within their hearts in each passing moment and gesture. 

Taking the candles from you and placing them within their designated dishes on the table and elevating a silver goblet and accompanying decanter. She poured the crimson liquid within the spherical container, offering to place the cool stem within your fingertips. 

“Your cup may never empty,” you expressed, offering to your swordsman the container, rotating the object twice within your hands first and bowing your head low, “For I will be the wine that fills it.” His fingers brushed over yours, grasping them and taking them with him as he elevated the wine to his lips. He continued holding his hands over yours as he offered the goblet up to your own lips. 

“May I be the wine that fills your cup,” his smile twitched at the corner as he added, “And may you always be satisfied with the contents that replenishes you.” A small blush rose to your cheeks as your eyes never broke from Mihawks. He elevated the wine to your lips, allowing for a small sip to pass from your lips. The celebrant reclaimed the goblet from your hands and placed it beside the lit candles, rising now a tray with two cubes of sticky honeycomb atop the surface. 

“This may get a little messy, bear with us everyone,” the attendee expressed, drawing a small teetered chuckle and rise of giggle from your guests. Mihawk allowed the softness to be depicted in his face at the small giggle that fell from your lips, both claiming the sticky cubic piece of honeycomb into your fingers. 

“I shall serve you in all the ways you require,” you both spoke in unison, “And may the honeycomb taste sweeter coming from my hand.” You both placed the sticky cubes within each other’s awaiting mouths, both laughing at the mess atop your fingertips. Without hesitation, Mihawk clasped your wrist, holding your hand in place as his tongue danced around your fingertips to skillfully rid them from the honey. Your shocked expression was shrouded by the presence of Mihawk’s thumb within your own lips, prompting you to perform a similar action to suck the sticky substance to rid its presence from his digits. 

Small whistles and flirtatious commentary fell from the lips of the Red-Hair pirates, hooting and hollering in their support of such an unbridled expression of lust within the ceremony. Another rise of laughter occurred between you as you retracted your fingertips from each other’s mouths. The attendee placed the tray beside the goblet and returned with two thin sheets of material and offered them to Zoro and Perona. 

Perona reached forward and gathered the material within her hands, Zoro apprehensively doing the same with no frame of reference as to why he was doing so. 

“The two wards under the care of Dracule Mihawk will present the ties to bind you, solidifying their positions in upholding you within your commitment to one another as your chosen witnesses,” Mihawk turned away from you, as you did him, to gather the material within the hands of the wards behind you. 

“May our bond continue to grow all the years you choose to remain with us in unity, Perona,” you whispered to her, prompting her to smile through her tears that began to fall as soon as your vows commenced.

“I will stay as long as you’ll have me, my lady,” she confessed in a similar tone, offering the sash for you to take into your arms. 

Although you both were too wrapped to hear the conversation occurring behind you, Zoro and Mihawk had a similar moment parting between them.

“Although you are destined to earn my title as ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’ in single combat, I am proud to call you a son under my familial name, Zoro,” He uttered with a small twitched smirk and narrowed eyes. 

“I will hold both such titles with honour, Lord Mihawk,” he reached forward, his arms containing the sash and prompting both Mihawk and you to return in facing one another. 

“May this knot you tie demonstrate to those present here the symbol of your unity,” the attendee uttered to you, prompting a skillful dance of fingertips brushing and hands clasping one another to tie the two sheets into a single knot in the centre. You and Mihawk both presented the unified material to the celebrant, who collected it from you by the knot in the centre. She placed the knot beside the dish containing the small syrupy honeycomb remnants, raising a box containing two bands of gold within. 

“My lady, you may raise your hand to place the ring atop your beau’s unity finger and relay your vows onto him,” she gestured for you to claim the larger band within the box, elevating it to his left hand and hovering it over his fingertip.

“My beloved,” you began, glancing from his hand to dart your focus between his two honey-coloured eyes, “These are the vows of promise I swear unto you, unifying us in marriage.” He awaited expectantly his breath hitching once more as you relayed your confession of love onto him.

“I will never possess you, for you belong to none but yourself,” you smiled at him, beginning the descent of his ring slowly over his finger, “I cannot command you, for you are free.” Shimmying the object over his first knuckle, you continued to relay your vows.

“I pledge to you that your name be the one I cry into the night,” your smile cracked at the corner of your face at a small stifled squeak from Perona, “And may mine be the smile that greets you the morning after.” You slid the ring over his final knuckle, securing it to the base of his finger before interweaving your fingertips with his. 

“May this ring be a symbol of my devotion to you, unifying us as one to all those who view it,” you concluded. Finally meeting his eyes once more, his glazed over eyes held such softness for you it felt too intimate for his public persona. He firmly squeezed your right hand within his left before unweaving his fingertips from yours and collecting your ring from the box presented by the attendant. 

“My beloved,” he began, clasping your left hand with his right, and elevating his left hand to hover the golden band above your left finger; his own new band catching your eyes as it danced in the light, “These are the promises I swear onto you through my vows of devotion.” He slid the ring slowly over your fingertip, his eyes never breaking away from your own as he presented his words.

“I will never command nor possess you,” he ushered the ring over your first knuckle, “For your will belongs to you alone.” Sliding the ring over your second knuckle, he continued to relay his vows slowly onto you. 

“I pledge your name to be cried from my lips in the night, and my smile-...” his right hand gently squeezed your fingertips as his smile drew up onto his face, “-be what greets you on the morrow beside you.” Perona stifled another squeal behind her unoccupied hand clapping over her lips, prompting a smile to break over your own lips. 

“May this band unify us in matrimony, and be a beacon of my promise to all who view it,” Mihawk concluded, immediately stooping his lips to press a chaste kiss atop your knuckles, much to the detest of the celebrant. She clicked her tongue to reprimand him, shaking her head with a smile of her own. 

“Given your lips can’t hold their restraint, my lord,” her warning tone playfully reprimanded him, “I will now allow for the lord and lady to solidify their unity in the sharing of their first kiss as husband and wife. You may both collect each other and seal your covenant with words left unspoken. You may now share your lips with one another.” 

Mihawk immediately began his descent, cradling your jaw beneath his left hand and shepherding you towards him with his lips parted in anticipation. You hastily drew your own left hand up to his right cheek, your right hand finding purchase on his waist and anchoring yourself to him as he finally pressed his lips onto your own. 

His lips were slow in movement, savouring the sweet taste of sugary honeycomb mixing with the bitter wine presented to each other earlier. He gasped into your mouth, opening it to deepen the unity between you by presenting a small flick of his tongue into you. His nose brushed with your own, his hand on your jaw fell immediately to your waist and clutched you firmly against his waist. Brows furrowed in unbridled passion, the world around you fled from memory at each press of his lips against your own. 

You slid your hand up to clasp his shoulder, a small squeak fleeing from your mouth into his as he turned your body in a low dip towards the guests in their seats in the pew. This action drew you away from your lustful hypnosis, the applause and cheers of your guests gleefully erupting into the air. He hastily drew your body back upwards with the flitter of your luxurious dress pooling behind you. 

“I am now delighted to pronounce, through this seal of unity,” the celebrant concluded her presentation, “The Lord and Lady Dracule of Kuraigana. Celebrate and uphold them, and may jovial celebrations continue into the night with merriment.” Mihawk clasped your hand and placed it into the crook of his left elbow, beginning his ushering of you to flee with him from the ceremony space to continue into your reception. 

Several of your guests greeted you both with their offerings of congratulations and affirmations, Red-Hair Shanks prying your husband away from your arms with his arm hooking over his shoulders and ushering him into a warm embrace. You made eye contact with the first mate of the Red-Hair pirates, who offered you a polite smile and the nod of his head; both of which you returned with actions mirroring his own. 

However, as soon as you became distracted by the embraces falling to your now husband, your elevated mood of joy was immediately halted as a floating and severed gloved hand clapped over your lips. You could not offer a hum of protest, nor a scream as your body was pried away from Mihawk’s and into the hallway outside of the ceremony space. 

“All part of the plan, Starlight,” a soft, nasally voice reaffirmed you in your ear. You turned your head to meet with the face of the flashy-fool himself, his face painted to the highest quality. His hand rejoined his forearm with a small suctioned ‘pop’.

“I’m gonna take my hand away from your face now, alright? You gotta be quiet and listen to what I’m ‘bout to tell you,” He nodded, his eyes serious with no room for joking. You nodded in return, prompting a smile to rise to his lips. 

“I’ve done some reading,” Buggy informed you, his tone apprehensive and nervous, “And there’s a custom in Kuraigana regarding weddings that sounds way too fun to be left out of ol’ Hawkie’s.” 

“And what may that be, sir Buggy D Clown?” Your frown deepened the longer Buggy kept you away from your new husband. He chuckled at your apprehension, a sly smile now developing further in elevation. 

“You are to be dressed in a new gown, no longer a bride but a wife under his name,” he confirmed with a nod, your understanding reflected in your own nod. “As your new dress is placed onto your body, you’re a new woman. And as a new woman,” his eyes twinkled with mischief, “Your groom has to woo you to win back your favor.” 

“What are you saying, sir?” you narrowed your eyes, and threw him an accusatory and pointed look. 

“What I’m saying, Starlight,” he continued, linking his arms with yours and beginning to shepherd you further away from your celebration, “Is that I’m going to kidnap you and dress you in your starlight gown,” he grimaced a small grin, “I may have had a couple of my crew break in and steal the mannequin earlier,” he quickly uttered before waving his hand in front of him to halt your protests, “And he has to humble himself and perform a skill worthy enough to win your favour.” 

Your bewilderment was pictured over your face, looking from his eyes and apprehensively allowing him to draw you to the peer. 

“What type of skill, Buggy?” you asked him, your curiosity peaked the longer the clown explained himself.

“Could be anything, Starlight,” he shrugged, his playful smirk pulling wider. His eyes twinkled, the paint falling within the crows feet beneath the blue and white hues, “He could dance, sing, recite poetry, he could even juggle. It truly doesn’t matter as long as you’re impressed and successfully wooed.”

You took the moment to study him. From his painted face, to his beautiful assortment of a red and yellow diamond patterned vest, to his tanned leather pants, and all the way back up to his hair braided and styled away from falling in front of his eyes. He threw his best grin at you, his lips curling in an apprehensive and crooked smile. You shook your head, stepping closer to him. 

“Does Mihawk know about this?” You uttered quietly, your dress shifting behind you in your haste. He sighed out a shuddered laugh of dark glee.

“Oh, I’m certain Red-Hair is filling him in right about-...” he trailed off, thinking long and hard about his answer. As soon as your feet found the wood of Buggy’s ship, the anchor rising and sails drawn down by his crew, he gestured to the doors of Castle Kuraigana in the distance.

“-Now.”

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #mihawk fanfiction #sapsorrow au #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk sapsorrow au #mihawk storyteller au #mihawk fairytale au

[pucksandpower]

Can I request a Charles insta au where his gf receives hate from the fandom and Charles defending her <<3

Charles Leclerc x widow!Reader - Social Media AU

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc date night on the road ❤️

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yourusername so thankful i get to experience all of this with you

charles_leclerc i wouldn’t have it any other way

pierregasly wow just go ahead and crop us out i guess

carlossainz55 they were so caught up in each other i think they forgot that we joined them for dinner

gridgossip why is she private???

circlingthecircuit must have something to hide

leleleclerc or … she doesn’t want to sacrifice her privacy just because she’s dating an f1 driver

paddockgirlie awww they look so happy together

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc my pianist in-training

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yourusername emphasis on in-training 🫣

charles_leclerc you weren’t that bad

yourusername don’t lie to me

charles_leclerc seriously, it was good for your first time learning to play

tifositalking in the words of avril lavigne: hey, hey, you, you, i don't like your girlfriend. no way, no way, i think you need a new one

ferrari4ever charles could do so much better than her!

leclercitup am i the only one who thinks they’re adorable?

feralforferrari me too! they genuinely look completely in love with each other

leclercalicious you deserve to be more than just a rebound for a gold digger

pierregasly

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pierregasly no wonder charles actually let me drive without a fight today

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yourusername couldn’t help it. i had a comfy pillow

charles_leclerc and i had a personal space heater

luckyleclerc tell charles that she’s just using him

gridgossip seriously! how does charles not realize that she’s going to lead him on and then discard him just like she did her first husband?

totallytifosi you need to leave them alone. you know nothing about her or their relationship. stop blindly hating

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc an important note

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pierregasly no one should have to deal with this and especially not someone with a soul as kind as y/n’s

sebastianvettel so sorry to hear what y/n has been through. it can get very tough sometimes. we’re always here if you need to talk

carlossainz55 anyone who doesn’t like y/n is a horrible judge of character

yourusername

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yourusername It has now been four years without you, my love. Your hoodies no longer smell like you no matter how long I refused to wash them. Your fingerprints on the mirror have been covered by dust. Sometimes I find myself forgetting what your voice sounded like and breaking down in the middle of work. Grief is a horrible thing. But you are permanently imprinted in my heart and my memories of you live on. I fight every day to keep them alive.

I met someone — his name is Charles. In many ways, he reminds me of you. You are both loyal and loving and so incredibly passionate. For the first time in years, I felt my heart come alive again. Charles understands how cruelly love can be snatched away from you. He understands the battle of trying to keep living while melancholy weighs you down. Alongside him, I learned that my heart has room enough for two incredible men and that I can love you both equally and in your own ways.

I know that this is what you would have wanted for me. I know that you’re smiling down on me right now. And it took me a long time to come to terms with it, but I know that it is okay for me to find love and happiness again. I have found it all with Charles. Time will keep passing us by but I promise that my love for you will never grow fainter.

To Ben, I will always love you. To Charles, I will love you just as faithfully until my own dying breath. To those who have supported me, you gave me a reason to keep living. To those who have misjudged and hated on me, I hope that going public with this will set the story straight and at the very least lead to me being treated with basic human decency. Thank you

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charles_leclerc so proud of you, mon amour. thank you for loving me and letting me love you

pierregasly one of the strongest people i know

arthur_leclerc charles has never been happier and anyone with eyes can see that

leclerc_pascale ❤️❤️❤️

carlossainz55 so much love to you both

landonorris i’m so sorry it came to this but we’re all behind you

georgerussell63 we always have your back

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[abibliophobiaa]

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(8k+ words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; mild smut in later chapters so 18+; additional warnings to be added.

(AO3 Link) || Master List || NEXT CHAPTER ||

*

Winter, 1987

*

Everyone tells you it’s crazy.

They say to take the money and sell the property your grandfather left you in his will.

They say to take it and run.

They say don’t move to that town, the shop’s a lost cause, the place is cursed.

They tell you they’ve got murderers and the literal gates of hell were open there for a time.

‘Satanic worship,’ some say.

‘Cultists.’

‘Don’t want to mess with their kind; might rub off on you, make you evil.’

‘One of them Freaks.’

‘And whatever you do, don’t ever go to that trailer park,’ is the gravest of warnings you’re given. Apparently some girl was sacrificed there, and that’s when it all started.

Eyes ripped clean from her skull, body broken, just like two others around the same time.

Mangled beyond repair.

The work of pure evil.

‘They’ll tell you everything’s okay now,’ people warn you, ‘but it’s not.’

It’s all lies.

Meant to try and preserve that place.

To try and bring life to a town many believe should have been erased from the map.

But you’ve never been one for rumor or superstition.

So you pack some bags with your things and get in your car.

Hawkins it is.

*

All in all, Hawkins is…quaint.

A small town with a modest population. People turn and look as you pull into the shop parking lot with bags spilling out of your trunk and piled high in the backseat.

It’s the kind of town where they wave as you get out, curious gazes trying to get a glimpse of the new girl.

Only you’re not new. A stranger, maybe, but this town made up your formative years.

Memories of walking in the streets, getting ice cream with your grandfather, enjoying a day in the park, riding your bike in the neighborhood flit in your mind. They bring a smile to your face as you climb out of your car and take in the front of Sunshine Coffee.

It’s…different than you remember. Darker, somehow. But what’s darkness against a little love and light, you think, as you brush your fingers along the front door and push the key inside the lock.

A bell chimes above you and suddenly you’re a kid again, running inside to snatch a cookie freshly out of the back oven.

You brush your hands along your face to wipe your tears away at the memory as you step further into the building, taking in the place.

It seems like your grandfather had kept up with the place up until his death, or had at the very least hired someone to maintain it.

Sure, it needs a little love and updating, but it’s still got that homey feeling. The sort of place that immediately makes you feel at peace when you enter.

It’s so funny to think this is the same town.

This town people back home said is bestowed with a curse. It’s a little more rundown than you remember. Buildings here and there with wooden planks in windows, or burn scars, regrowing grass.

But it looks like it’s healing.

Like everything they’ve gone through is becoming more and more a thing of the past.

People seem joyous now, your heart swelling when you later see your new neighbors, an elderly couple that owns the local flower shop, and they offer to help you unpack.

You only thank them, telling them you’re more than okay, but that you appreciate the offer.

And they wish you well on your ways, saying they are proud to see your grandfather’s shop open up again.

You spend the afternoon walking back and forth from your car to the building, unpacking your things, making yourself at home.

Home.

This is home now.

What a funny thing?

Just wanna make you proud.

*

It takes a few weeks of deep cleaning and reorganizing, but Sunshine Coffee gets back to its normal splendor, with a few new personal touches thrown in.

You’ve updated the place, replaced the darker hues your grandfather preferred with paler shades.

Creams, tans, whites.

You’ve removed the drapery against the windows and swapped them for billowing curtains, delicate laces, whimsical accents.

The windows are full of fresh poinsettias and other red and green offerings. Whatever blooms are in season at the time, given to you as donations from your new neighbors—the sweet older couple who own the flower shop next door.

There’s also a new bar you don’t recognize from the last time you came to visit nearby.

The Hideout, the scrawling font declares.

It glows through your bedroom window at night.

The little upstairs apartment your grandfather had built is small, but suitable for your needs. It’s no more than a kitchen, bathroom, living area, and bedroom that you can access from the back entrance of the coffee shop. You have little other than some necessities at this point, but figure you’ll take a trip to the thrift store in the upcoming months once you have cash to spare to spruce things up to your liking.

At night, you can hear music filtering in through your windows—a different genre each night.

Most nights, it lulls you to sleep.

And it’s not long before the coffee shop is ready for opening, and a ‘NOW HIRING’ sign stands erect in the window.

Now we wait, you think, pride blooming in your chest.

Because it’s not much.

But it’s all yours.

A legacy upheld in a town that maybe needs a little bit of hope.

*

Max and El are life saviors that blow in a few days after you hang your sign up in the window alerting the whole town you’re here to stay and looking for help.

Opening day is set for a week from now, and you still need to train the potential staff on how to make the treats on your menu, and the coffees and teas you intend to offer.

And there they are, a flash of red and brown hair as they pull up one day in front of the cafe and knock on the front window. You can’t help but think they’re solicitors at first. You’ve really not ventured far from your shop and apartment yet, still getting used to the new town you’d only visited over the summers throughout your childhood.

You interview them both at the same time, finding them more than capable, and offer them to start training that afternoon if they’re available. Your grandfather had left enough in his will to ensure you have a little money to last you for a bit, and until you have a steady stream of customers you intend to use it to pay them.

Training goes smoothly.

The girls are naturals, it seems, understanding within a few hours how to make most of your drink offerings and work the register.

The three of you spend the afternoon in your new work aprons—black in color with Sunshine Coffee written across in pretty white detailing with little daisies underneath—and suddenly it starts to feel real.

Even if it’s a failure, even if you have to pack up and go home, it’s real and it’s yours and you’re doing this.

*

Spring, 1988

*

It starts as a…well, it starts as nothing.

In the beginning, there’s this nothingness.

Held together only by a mutual love for coffee.

Or rather, his need for coffee to get him through his shifts. You’re the supplier, really. But that’s where it starts. Humble beginnings, fleeting glances, soft exchanges. In those breathless seconds, where neither of you speaks, but silence screams.

He’s the boy with eloquent sadness, a way about him unfamiliar and curious, and you’re the girl who wants nothing more than to break down his walls.

To find out who Eddie Munson is at his core.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s best this way for things to start.

It gives things a chance to start, to grow, to thrive.

To begin…

*

The first weeks of the coffee shop opening are better than anything you could ever imagine. It seems like the town has been in need of a place to get away, to enjoy the company of friends and community. And it doesn’t take long before you’re adding chairs and tables both inside and out to make more room for those wishing to buy a drink or a treat and stay around.

El and Max mill about behind the register. El tending to money exchanges and Max perfecting the foam on her cappuccino for the table of boys sitting near the front of the building who just so happen to be their boyfriends. They’re trying to be subtle about it, probably to keep their interest a secret from you (their boss) but you find it endearing, seeing them glance over every so often to look fondly at them.

“Girls,” you call over to them. Two heads whip your way. “You’ve both stayed late the past two days, I’ll close up shop. Go to the movies, have fun, be teenagers. I’ve got things here.”

“Really?” El asks, looking over your shoulder to the longer haired boy to give him a shy little wave.

“Yes,” you say, tying your apron around your hips and slipping behind the counter. “Go—both of you, or else you’re both fired.”

Max snorts at that, untying her own apron from her hips and blowing a red strand of hair away from her face. Her blue eyes clash with your own as she hooks the apron on the racks you have hanging against the back wall.

“You’re sure?” she asks.

“Yes,” you tell them. “Although it looks like we’ll be needing more help sooner than I expected. If either of you know anyone looking for work, let me know. Now shoo!”

The group of teenagers rushes out the door with no further protesting, leaving you alone with the hustle and bustle of your shop.

And soon, the morning rush slows into the afternoon lull.

It’s during this time of day, you’ve noticed, the building quiets and you have time to clean up a bit around the place.

Patrons sit around in hushed conversation, writing in notebooks, or reading their books as you maneuver about the tables with a rag, wiping down surfaces until they sparkle in the setting sunlight.

It’s then that the door jingles and in walks your next customer.

He’s a vision in all black. Dark pants, dark jacket, dark Metallica shirt underneath. His hair is pulled back behind his head, strands coming to fall in curls around his face, forehead full of raven colored bangs. But it’s his face that’s striking. He’s all hard lines and sinewy bone, pale skin that accentuates the small dimple in his cheek as he regards the room upon entering. The shadow of his eyes reach yours as you rush behind the counter to serve him, and his head only tilts up just enough where you can see a scar crawling up the side of his face, and another on his neck. But it does nothing to detract from the fact he’s striking.

Beautiful, in a way you’ve not seen before.

At your gentle perusal, he tilts his head a bit, angling himself in a way where it’s hidden from view once more.

“What can I g—”

“A black coffee, two sugars. Please.”

Short.

Clipped.

No nonsense.

Your head dips swiftly and you rush over to pour him a cup from the freshest pot, fingers trembling a bit as you rip two sugar packets and pour them within, before stirring the drink with a wooden stick.

You walk back over to the counter, grin sliding across your features as you announce, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around yet. First coffee for a new customer is always free.”

He grasps the cup in his hand as you offer it to him.

There’s a brief tick in his cheek.

Not quite a smile, but not a grimace either. “Thank you…”

You tell him your name, pausing at the end to leave him room to say his.

He doesn’t, though.

His head only dips and he leaves, the door jingling on his way out.

Well, nice to meet you, too, stranger.

*

The man in all black comes back every day after that.

Every day at four in the afternoon.

He orders the same black coffee with two sugars and never says much more than a few words.

Good afternoon.

I’m fine.

Thank you.

Every day he seems in a rush, everyday he seems caught up in his thoughts, every day he makes you wonder what it is about him that makes him so distant from the rest of Hawkins.

You’re mid sweeping one afternoon when you decide to ask Max if she knows anything about the man who says little and regards you even less.

“You mean Eddie,” she states, wiping down a countertop.

“What’s his story?” You ask.

“It’s not really for me to say,” she admits, pausing in her cleaning. “What I can say is…two years ago some stuff happened and he was kind of…in the middle of it all. Why?”

“He’s a customer,” you tell her, resuming your sweeping. “Just trying to get to know everyone. New girl in town and all, you know?”

*

Over the next few weeks, you make it your mission to try to get to know your elusive customer.

You start with writing silly facts on his cups; you figure it’s lighthearted and pleasant, a great conversation starter even.

Or at least that’s your hope.

You set his cup aside a little while before he comes in, whatever fun fact is in the newspaper for the day already ready on the outside of his cup. He doesn’t react at first, and even when he starts to, you can almost tell what kind of day he’s having by his reactions.

A crocodile cannot stick its tongue out.

A twitch in his dimple.

He’s really not looking to stick around, probably has to be somewhere.

Almonds are a member of the peach family.

A soft uptick of his lip.

He spares you a few extra words that day.

Tells you to have a nice afternoon before slipping out the front door.

A dime has 118 ridges around the edge.

He finally tells you his name, even though Max told you weeks ago now.

It’s nice to hear it from him, though.

“Eddie…Eddie Munson.”

He says it slowly, as if he’s expecting some sort of response out of you.

Except it never comes.

You only smile, and that seems to calm him a bit, his shoulders slouching comfortably.

He glances down at the factoid on his cup and lets out a laugh.

The sound catches you off guard, just as his voice does most days.

It’s beautiful and your heart twists in your chest, knowing you’ve brought it out of him.

“You really think someone sat around and counted?” He asks.

“Obviously,” you tease, handing him his change. “It’s in the newspaper. Doesn’t that mean it has to be true?”

He lets out another laugh and tosses his change into your tip jar, shaking his head as he slips away and out of view.

*

You don’t mean to find out where he works the way you do. You’ve been steadily slipping factoids on his cups for the better part of eight weeks when you close up shop for the night and decide to go on a little walk around the neighborhood.

Spring is finally getting warmer, your thin sweater more than enough to block out the chill of the night as you slip out the front door and step out beneath one of the street lamps.

You can hear the familiar thumping coming from the Hideout, but what isn’t familiar to you is the sight of Eddie leaning against the front of the building with his leather jacket unzipped, threadbare navy tee in place, and a cigarette between his lips. You spot the flash of silver in the dangling earring in his ear, the curls that dance about his shoulders freely today.

He looks like a phantom in the night, all shadows and pale features bathed in moonlight.

“Streets aren’t safe at night,” he calls from across the short distance.

“I think I can handle my own,” you shout back, stepping further along the parking lot. “You know, those are terrible for you. My grandpa needed a quadruple bypass after all the years he smoked.”

He lets out a low whistle. “I’ll give ‘em up one day.”

“Just not today?”

“Not today,” he admits, glancing over your way. “Heading home for the night?”

“I…actually live in the shop. I have an apartment upstairs,” you tell him, crossing your hands behind your back and clasping them there.

You sway lightly on the balls of your feet, a little nervous to be standing before the man who spares you a few words on a good day.

“You got a lock?” he asks, snubbing out his cigarette on the concrete below with a dark boot.

“A chain one for now. The deadbolt doesn’t work well.”

“You need a new deadbolt then,” he tells you, not quite making eye contact. “These drunken idiots get up to who knows what when they leave here.”

You bite at your bottom lip, trying to hide your grin. He arches a brow in question, pushing up off the wall to step nearer to you. “Eddie Munson, are we becoming friends?”

“There are no other good coffee shops in town,” he says with a shrug, and if anything it makes you grin wider. “I’ll install it on the weekend if you’re around. Before my shift.”

You ask, “Here?”

He nods. “I bartend, yeah.”

“Saturday is good.”

He dips his head once, feet moving him backwards a bit toward the bar. “I have to head back. I’ll see you.” He pauses at the door and adds over his shoulder, “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you echo.

He doesn’t smile.

Not yet.

But he waves, and something hopeful flickers in your belly.

*

True to his word, Eddie Munson shows up at three in the afternoon on Saturday.

El and Max wave as he enters, and you wonder if they know him more than they let on, with the way he lets them come forward to press themselves into the crook of either of his arms and they lead him toward your shoddy apartment entrance.

You tend to the front counter as Eddie works out back, showing your newest hire, Will Byers, how to perfect foam on a latte. He’s El’s step-brother, you learn very early on, and a son to Joyce who happens to be a regular. Her husband, Hopper, also comes in from time to time.

And though you were hesitant at first in hiring siblings to work together, you learn pretty quickly that Will is the quietest of the bunch, whereas it’s El and Max who tend to get a little rowdier.

“Was that good?” Will asks gently, holding the lid to the cup a few inches above the drink, closing it as you nod.

“Perfect!”

You clap excitedly, earning a smile from the boy just as Eddie comes stalking back in with the girls at his heels.

He glances at you as you approach from around the counter, the skirt about your ankles shifting as you move, his eyes dark as you hold out a coffee cup in hand.

He takes a sip and hums, the toolbag he brought with him over one shoulder shifting as he moves closer to you. “Thanks.”

“How much do I owe you for this?” You ask, not wanting to be a bother.

He was the one to offer in the first place, and yet you feel like you owe him something.

“This is fine,” he says, holding the cup up for emphasis.

“Eddie,” you start to argue softly, chewing at your lip.

The girls look on with equal expressions of interest from over his shoulders.

“This is payment enough,” he promises, tipping his head up at Will over your shoulder. “Hiring all the kids, huh?”

“They don’t seem to mind,” you say, smirking slightly to the girls. “Plus, I think I’m a fun boss.”

The girls nod in agreement, and over your shoulder Will echoes the sentiment. Eddie snorts, hooking his bag higher over his shoulder. He glances about the room one last time before he cups El over the top of her head and ruffles Max’s double braids.

“Gotta start my shift,” he announces, turning about the heel and heading to the door. He stops to turn and look at you, the shop mostly empty by now. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Thank you for fixing my door.”

And he’s gone, out the door and crossing the parking lot to the bar across the way.

El is the first one to burst into a fit of giggles, and soon Max follows. Will urges the girls to keep their composure, but you suddenly have three teens laughing at you—or at least you assume they’re laughing at you, because their dark haired friend is long gone now.

You whirl on them all, feeling heat bloom beneath your skin. “What?”

Your response is their giggling, each kid one by one resuming their job tasks.

Will to his lattes, El to the register, and Max back to cleaning the shop.

You never find out what’s so hilarious.

*

You decide to switch things up in the weeks that follow, as the month of May starts to bleed into June.

The weather starts to rise and the people of Hawkins start to wear less layers.

Except for Eddie.

Eddie’s always wearing his leather jacket.

Always.

On those days, when Eddie’s storm cloud over his head seems a little extra heavy, you swap his cup with a grinning factoid on it with one that has a corny joke written across instead.

What do you call a pig that does karate? A pork chop.

He’s…well, he’s not impressed with that one. Only offers you a pitying hum before he marches off and heads to the Hideout.

Why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants? In case he got a hole in one.

You think you catch the slightest curl of his lips.

Maybe you imagine it, but it makes you feel warm and giddy inside long after he’s gone, humming a Beatles song as you wipe down tables.

What did the policeman say to his belly button? You’re under a vest.

That one makes him glower.

Actually glower.

But you know it’s only half-hearted, because he says, “This one was ridiculous and even you know it.”

“I’m trying!” you whine the words and he chuckles, humming as he slips out the front door, chime dangling as he goes.

Why do seagulls fly over the sea? If they flew over the bay, they would be bagels.

He’s not happy with that one. But you can also tell he’s not happy in general.

A group of people around a table had looked at him as he entered that afternoon, whispering amongst themselves.

In the months you’ve been at Hawkins, you can tell there’s an affinity for gossip here.

But Eddie?

He’s always to himself, never says much more than he needs to, makes himself seem smaller whenever possible.

You can’t imagine what anyone might have to say about him.

But you hand him his coffee all the same and don’t miss the way he tucks his hair over the scars along his neck and face as he walks back out.

Why are there gates around cemeteries? Because people are dying to get in.

Something happens that day.

It takes your breath away.

Eddie laughs, a genuine, joyous laugh.

And what’s even better? It’s paired with a smile.

The first you’ve seen on his face, and it’s absolutely beautiful.

*

Lightning slashes across the sky and you know it’s only a matter of time before you hear the resounding boom that fills the air.

It sends you shooting up in bed, heart hammering away in your still unfamiliar apartment, moving across your bed to try and flick your bedside lamp on.

Only nothing changes, and you’re still left in darkness.

Power outage.

Your heart kicks up at the dread curling in your chest as you try and navigate about the room. Thankfully you can see light seeping in through your bedroom window. The familiar glow from the Hideout sign catches your eye.

You open your blinds enough to let some of the light in and move about the room to pull on a pair of jeans and some shoes, and then rush over to grab your backpack and raincoat hanging from your closet.

The distance between your shop and the Hideout seems daunting with it downpouring as it is, feet barreling beneath you as you rush across the parking lot and shove the door open.

Hawkins is a small town, you know this, but you realize just how small when everyone in the room whirls around and you recognize them as regulars of the shop.

And just as you recognize them, they recognize you.

You figure very quickly you have three options: rush to the bar and seat near the currently busy Eddie who is making a drink for an eager patron; try to sit with some of your regulars and mingle for a bit; or pick the furthest corner of the bar to hang out in and keep to yourself.

Keeping to yourself rules out, your sleep deprived state carrying you over to the furthest seat, which happens to be a little booth in a corner, away from prying eyes.

You intend to read.

Really, you do.

Pull out the book from your backpack and everything, open to the page where you left off, but the hum of the music from the jukebox in the corner has your eyes fluttering. The mingling of customers as they talk about their weeks, the shuffle of feet against hardwood floors, the tinkling of glasses as groups toast to life has you propping your head up with your hand. You glance over to Eddie and catch his gaze briefly, his hair moving about his face as he works, talking with one of his customers, all stoic and hard like stone.

You remember his smile and you smile.

Your eyes scan the words on your current page but they start to blur. The room dissolves around you. And finally, with the sound of thunder faraway in your mind, you drift off into sleep.

*

“We close at three in the morning,” a voice says.

“What time is it?” You groan against your book, face pressing into the cover, eyes bleary.

He's walking toward you when you rouse, slow movements and long limbs. Light on his feet in a way that seems otherworldly, but makes sense for him.

“Three ten? Fifteen?”

Even in your sleepy state you know who it is right away.

Dark hair, pale skin, chocolate brown eyes.

Eddie.

His body slides into the vinyl booth across from you, a towel strewn over his shoulder, hair pulled back in another one of his signature ponytails.

You blink twice, wondering if he’s about to disappear, but his image only solidifies further the more you come to. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m sorry—seriously. You can kick me out. I'm sure you want to get out of here and I’ve kept you late. I…my power went out and I saw your lights were still on over here so I walked over and I—”

You sound tired and it’s a little pitiful on your ears. The new girl who can’t even sleep in her own apartment because of a little storm. You curse under your breath, hoarseness lingering as you utter another ‘sorry’ under your breath.

“Breathe,” he says, sliding a glass of water across the table. “Drink. Slow sips; don’t want you choking on me.”

You lift the glass and take a slow sip. That sandpaper feeling gnawing in the back of your throat lessens. “Sorry…again.”

“It’s fine,” he says, and the silence between you lingers.

You’re not used to this. This quiet that breathes and settles into the atmosphere around you. And yet, you’re not sure how to fill those spaces.

Eddie only leans back in the seat, one ankle hooked over his knee, a forearm across the table.

“I…uh, don’t like storms,” you admit softly, sliding your cup around the table in a circle, settling on trying to get something out of him beyond your normal short responses you’re used to. “The dark either. Not really. So when my power went out, I just didn’t want to, uh, be alone.”

He’s silent again for a while. Reaches across the table to thumb at the condensation on your glass. It feels familiar, and yet it’s not. You’re still mostly strangers. Two people who live in the same vicinity as one another, and yet you’re not friends.

Not yet.

You can see the twitch in his fingers, the tapping of them along the surface, rings on his fingers glinting in the light.

You’ve noticed them before, sure, but never like this.

Never so close.

He swallows and you catch the bob of his throat. The shift of his silver chains around his neck. “I don’t like the dark either.”

His voice is so soft, eyes focusing on a rivulet dripping from your glass. He’s not looking at you, and that’s okay, because you’re still shaken by the sudden vulnerability of the admission.

I don’t like the dark, either.

You can’t quite mask your disbelief. Him of all people, afraid of the dark, catches you off guard. “Really?” Your voice wavers at the end.

He finally looks up at you, and his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Yeah. Haven’t for—well, for a while now,” he says quietly, slowly. He drags a hand along the back of his neck, rubbing lightly. “Kind of why I work here. By the time I get home there’s only a couple hours till sunrise.”

You sense his hesitance at sharing that. The way he shifts ever so subtly against the vinyl, glancing back away from your gaze. You soften, heart warming at the fact he chose this moment to open up, even if only slightly. Your thumb grazes the side of your glass, eyes intent on a droplet that cascades down the side, and you force a sly grin across your lips.

“It’s why you’re a secret coffee fiend too.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, sides shaking from the effort. “I don’t really think it’s a secret.”

You swallow, throat a little dry as you softly ask, “Hey, Eddie?”

It’s a gamble and you fear you might push him too far too soon, but the question rests in your mind all the same. Has been for some weeks now. This wonder as to where Eddie goes when all of Hawkins goes to sleep at night. Why you’ve never seen him elsewhere, except for the four walls of your shop and now this bar.

“Hmm?”

Your fingers toy with your napkin sitting beneath your glass of water. A corner rips away and you ball it up between your fingers, letting it soak in the slickness of the table from your melted ice. “Where is…home? I never really see you around town, except for when you stop by the shop.”

“It’s in the next town over. I like the…privacy.” He sounds faraway, even though he’s sitting right across from you.

You understand what he means. Since moving in, you feel like you’ve been thrust into a world where you’re constantly under a microscope. People want to know at all times what the ‘new girl’ is up to. You’re used to all the gossip. The hush of whispers on the streets, the questions of what you’ve been up to, if you’re seeing anyone, what a young girl is doing moving into a town like theirs. And while most people are accepting and kind, you can’t help but to feel like they’re simultaneously picking you apart or waiting for you to fail.

“Hawkins is small, so I understand that. I unwillingly know everyone’s drama.”

You notice he’s started to fidget with his hands. Pale fingers curl around those silver rings adoring his knuckles and begin to twist, metal jangling against metal. “Everyone?”

There’s an innate urge to reach across the table and soothe him. To brush your fingers against the back of his hand, remind him that you’re there to talk and nothing more. To be a friend to him, in whatever capacity he allows.

It’s clear that there’s trepidation there over your words. Fear, unbidden.

You shake your head rapidly, wishing to urge away his worries. “Not yours, if that’s what you’re worried about. Believe it or not, you’re a tough one to crack.” You let out an uneasy chuckle, and add, “but I think I’m starting to.”

“Think so?” His brows perk up at that, body shifting to lean forward on his elbows. From this angle you can see every detail of his face, the span of his lashes, the way his bangs tickle his forehead and those shorter curls brush the highest point of his cheeks.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning forward onto your elbows. You drop your voice into a whisper, like you’re about to share the deepest of secrets and mutter, “you prefer corny jokes to facts, for one. You laugh more at them.”

He’s, well, he’s magnetic like this. You’re not sure he even sees it. This quality of curiosity that brims when he’s near, to know, to learn about him. “That’s because they’re so awful I have to. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, you know?”

Mirth bubbles in your gut at his words. “You actually love the kids that work for me.”

“They’re…they’re good kids.” He says it looking off into the distance a little.

You imagine he’s thinking of El, Will and Max. You drift off all the same, thinking of them with their glowing kindness and effervescent personalities. Each one a bright spot in your life and valuable both to your business and personally as the children that brighten your days.

“You like black coffee with two sugars. Fitting. Tells me a lot about you.” It’s said brightly, practically giddy as your elbows press further into the tabletop.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You like a little sweetness in your life.”

He guffaws. Head drops back as he shakes with it. You pout as he meets your gaze, his voice light as he opens his mouth to speak. “That was about as bad as your corny jokes,” he tells you. “Plus I gave you that one for free. Doesn’t count.”

“That's all I’ve got so far from you.” You slide the glass closer to your form, fingers circling around the base. “but I’m patient.”

He’s suddenly very interested in the clock resting over your shoulder. You know it’s there when you follow the line of his sight and see it there, his dark eyes flickering between that and you, and then the bar on the far side of the room. His fingers drift up to the towel over his shoulder, curling around the edge as he slides it down and holds it within his palm.

“I…should really close up the place. I’ll drive you home. Just give me a few, okay?” He’s already standing. Long limbs slide out of the side of the booth, his earring glinting in the moonlight drifting in from the open windows.

You immediately feel a burning in your gut at the thought of inconveniencing someone you barely know, hands coming up in front of you as you urge, “You don’t have to. It’s a short walk.”

His response is a hard stare and a monotone, “It’s pouring.”

“Okay, if you insist.” You force an uncertain smile onto your face, pushing your glass away from your form to let it rest in the center of the table.

He’s already walking behind the bar when he says, “I insist.”

You sit in silence as he works. He’s diligent and swift about it, moving in and out of tables and chairs, making sure every inch of the building is spick and span. You remain with your head in your hand, elbow on the table, simply watching him. You try to remain inconspicuous about it, not wanting to linger too long on his features. And yet there’s the part of you that cannot look away from him. That magnetic quality sparking something unfamiliar in your gut; this pull to figure out his secrets, crack the code to what makes him him.

You notice he hums as he works, a tune you vaguely recognize spilling through pursed lips, his lithe arms shifting as he does.

He watches you, too, you notice after a while.

Dark eyes haunting and imploring, drifting to your frame every so often.

You wonder what he’s thinking.

You wonder how he sees you—if he looks at you with as much curiosity as you do him.

And then he’s reaching for his wallet and keys from a lock box kept in a secret space behind the bar, fingers jingling as he holds the silver metal aloft before him.

You rush over to him when he waves you over, moving to go stand at his side as the two of you slip from the building doors and he locks up behind you. He leads you to a van in silence and opens the passenger side door as you walk around the vehicle. There’s a brief moment of touch as he extends a hand to you and you climb inside, trying to move quickly to avoid being soaked to the bone once more. Eddie drapes a hand over his head and rushes around the other side, clambering in with a loud huff and slamming the door shut beside him.

His head shakes as he enters, the audible jingle of metal in his ear echoing in the space as water droplets flick from the moist ends of his hair. You toy with the edge of your sweatshirt awkwardly, uncertain of where to look. Where to focus as he turns the radio on and metal music blares out. Catching your sudden jolt, his fingers move to lower the knob, eyes meeting yours in the dark of the moonlight. The music settles into a quiet hum, lyrics swirling around in your mind as he regards you carefully.

There’s a beat of silence, and then he says, “You know, you can come to the Hideout after your shop closes. I might not be able to talk much, but…well, it’s there.”

It’s an invitation.

An opening.

A welcome to his world.

You don’t miss that; you don’t miss the clear implication of his words. The fact he doesn’t mind you being in his space, being near him, spending time within his company.

But you can sense his nervousness. The way he shifts in his seat and curls his palm around the steering wheel, hands a little shaky as he lets out a slow exhale. Trying to ease the tension, you turn in your seat and glance up at him through your lashes, passing him your kindest of smiles.

“Across the parking lot from me,” you say, a little uneasily, a little nervousness brimming at the surface.

You’re only feet away from one another on a good day.

A thirty second walk, if you were to time it.

“Yup,” he says, turning his eyes onto the building in front of him as he puts the key into the ignition and starts the car.

It’s a short drive.

The shortest really.

He turns around in a giant circle and ends up in front of your building, car jerking lightly as he puts it into park and pulls the key from the ignition. Your hands slide across the fabric against your thighs, throat burning as you look across the space between the two of you and see him regarding you carefully like he expects you to flit away into the wind. Like he expects to blink and your appearance will disappear from his mind, there one moment and gone the next like an apparition.

You gather your things in your hand and reach for the door handle.

“Well, thank you for keeping me company tonight and for driving me home,” you say, opening the side door.

“Not a problem at all.” His voice is quiet.

But he gives you one of those smiles, and that brings an unthinkable joy to your heart.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Goodnight.”

*

It really starts with trips after work.

They’re quiet and tentative.

Nothing more than glances over the top of your glass of wine or whatever you choose for the night as you sit near the bar.

Eddie hadn’t lied when he said he might not be able to talk much. He’s typically occupied for a majority of his shift, and when he’s not he’s cleaning or trying to maintain the place.

Even when you can catch up to talk, it’s brief conversation there and there about the day to day.

His remarks about whatever fact or joke you put on his cup that day, talks about the weather, how your day was.

But you find you enjoy it, and soon enough routine takes place: everyday you open up for your shift, stay till close and help the kids clean up, and then rush across the parking lot to share space with your work neighbor.

So yes, it starts as strangers, but it’s grown into this.

Into this something.

You find that you like it.

*

“So what’s your story?” It’s Chance Muller who asks you.

Chance with his dark hair and brown eyes.

Chance with his muscular stature, honed by years of sports in school and maintenance thereafter.

He’s pretty, in this almost too perfect kind of way.

And he likes you; that much is obvious very early on, simply because he’s been coming every time he has the early shift at work just to see you before getting in his cop car.

He’s nice and he makes you smile.

But he’s not Eddie.

It’s an acceptance that came crashing earlier that morning, just days after your encounter with him at the Hideout.

Your curiosity for the dark haired metalhead has become an undeniable attraction.

A crush.

Something that feels so silly as an adult, and yet it’s your reality all the same.

“What do you mean?”

You snap yourself from your thoughts, remembering that Chance is there in his tan uniform, hands on his hips as you walk about the mostly empty coffee shop.

It’s still early.

Barely minutes after opening your doors for the day. Most people don’t come until the morning rush that starts around seven in the morning.

It’s five now.

He steps closer to you, his cup of coffee against the table he’s set it on.

Broad shoulders fill the empty spaces in the room, the outline of his arms visible even in the long sleeves of his uniform.

He’s broader and bigger than Eddie, you think.

Eddie, who is all lithe and less hardened. He reminds you of the way elves are described in his favorite books he’s recently lent you to read.

“You’re the new girl in town. From what I’ve heard, everyone loves you. But you’re still single—what gives?” He leans his elbows against the countertop, dark eyes swooping up to meet yours.

You don’t feel the gentle kick up of your heart, nor the rustle of butterflies in your belly.

“Chance…” Your chest burns at his insinuation, shifting awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, whirling back around to face him. “I guess I just haven’t met the right one.”

It’s been a while since your last relationship, and even then it hadn’t been anything serious.

You’ve always been moving, always on the go, trying new things and never lingering in one place for long enough to try.

You know what he’s about to ask you even before he gets a chance to say it.

And yet your stomach tumbles as he says, “I was thinking…if you’re up for it, we could grab dinner then?”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Chance.”

“Come on now.”

“I have my employees and my business to look after. It’s still so new, I don’t really think I can take time off.”

It’s not a lie, but you know it’s not the best excuse, either.

You haven’t really taken any time for yourself, no; with the business, you’re constantly working on trying new things, making sure your money is on track, payroll is upkept.

And then there’s the cost of supplies and the repairs here and there that you’ve needed done.

“Would you at least think about it?” His eyes are soft and your resolve dissolves a bit, recognizing that it is only one date.

It doesn’t automatically mean there will be more.

It’s an opportunity to try, however.

“You’re my customer.”

His fingers trail along the petals of the flowers you’ve set up in front of the cash register. Pretty, in a bright arrangement of purples, pinks and greens. ��Pretty sure everyone in Hawkins is one of your customers.”

“Fine, I'll think about it.” You offer him an easy smile.

He begins walking backwards toward the door, keys in his palm jangling as he grins at you widely and says, “Just two adults out for dinner. Doesn’t have to be anything crazy, just us getting to know each other. Everyone in town knows of you, but I get the feeling that no one really knows you knows you. Was thinking we could change that.”

“I bet you use that one on all the ladies. I told you I’ll think about it,” you reply. “Don't you have to get to work? Writing traffic tickets and all that fun stuff.”

His hand is around the door when he tips his head up and raises a hand to wave. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Bye, Chance.”

*

Eddie’s head perks up as you come barreling in the front door to the Hideout. It’s a quieter night, as Mondays always are, and he barely has a moment to blink before you’re hopping up onto one of the barstools across from him and tapping your fingers along the tin you cradle close to your body.

He eyes it wearily, tucking some bills away in a cash register.

“I need your opinion,” you say, sliding the tin closer to him.

“What’s up?” He crosses the distance between you two, ringed fingers tapping along the counter.

He’s wearing red today beneath his jacket and you’re pretty sure it’s your favorite color you’ve seen on him yet.

“Try these,” you tell him, not failing to catch the slight wince he makes, “don’t make that face, they’re not poisoned.”

He moves to lift one of the foil corners, glancing in hesitantly with his head tilted back a bit. It’s as if he expects something to jump out at him. “What’s wrong with them then?”

“I can’t make you cookies and expect you to eat them?”

“I don’t want pity cookies.” He shoves them back your way, though there’s no malice in the smile that adorns his lips.

“They are not pity cookies. They’re ‘I'm-trying-a-new-recipe-for-my-shop-and-need-an-unbiased-opinion-cookies.’” You push them closer to him once more. “You’ll tell me they’re crap if they’re crap.”

“How do you know?”

You fix him with a blank stare. “You laugh at my jokes because you hate them, not because they’re funny. Need I say more?”

He doesn’t, because despite his bumbling, there’s one thing you’ve learned about Eddie in these past months: the way to his heart is through his stomach.

The man loves sugar.

You figured as much with his coffee order, and have brought him extra treats from the shop here and there whenever you can.

So it comes as no shock to you when he takes a bite of the cookie and turns away from you to hide the way his dimples immediately pop as a smile blooms across his cheeks. “Oh…oh.”

“Good?”

“Mm.” It’s a hum around a mouthful of food as he puts the rest of the cookie in his mouth.

Yet he’s still not given his answer. Nervousness wells and bubbles.

“Eddie, if they’re garbage tell me they’re garbage. I won’t cry.”

“You cried last week at The Hobbit,” he points out.

“That’s because you didn’t warn me that everyone dies. I walked in blind. Blind.”

“Yeah, but you loved it. You asked me to keep my copy after you finished.”

You had.

And he’s right, because you did love it. You loved even more he’d felt comfortable enough to share something so special to him with you.

“I’m still upset you said no.”

“I’ve had that thing for ages. I’ll never give it away. Just admit you loved it. It’s okay to be wrong about things sometimes.” He’s enjoying himself. You want to wipe the smug look clean from his face.

“All I said was I like books that have love in them.”

“I’d say The Hobbit has love. Maybe not romantic love, but there’s love there.”

“True. Although I’m stuck on Tom Bombadil in The Fellowship of the Ring.”

“I thought you’d enjoy him, seeing as you’re Miss Sunshine around town. It’s what everyone says, at least.”

“And what about you?” you ask. “What do you say?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You’ve known me for almost three months now. Here I thought we were friends.”

“Are we?” He tips his head to the side.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I don’t have many of those these days.” He winces at that.

“Well, I have one of those these days.”

His eyes narrow, disbelieving. “That’s bull.”

“Everyone knows me in town, sure, but they don’t know me.”

“Sometimes that’s best,” he admits quietly. “Sometimes that’s safer.”

“Is that how it is for you?”

Him keeping people at arm's length at all times.

Him only going out in the later hours of the day, staying up late into the night.

Him never opening up beyond a certain point, cards always close to his chest.

He goes quiet at your words, and you worry you’ve offended him.

“The cookies are great,” he finally says.

Conversation over.

“I’ll make you more tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

There’s another pause.

You can’t hide the fear of his upset, your mouth curling downward.

His eyes slide across your face, and he reaches over to grab another cookie.

A peace offering.

“And for the record, I think we can be friends,” he says.

It really begins as friends.

*

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson post s4 #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x afab!reader

[jasmines-library]

hi :) can you write sam x reader where she lives with boys and while dean is in hell she and sam are alone together, and she is like the only person who can calm him down

Just a little complication

Summary: The request pretty much says it all. Hurt/comfort with a fluffy ending!

Warnings: Dean's death in s3, grief, guilt.

Word count: 1.2k

Note: Hey anon! I loved this request, thank you so much for asking for it. I'm so sorry that it took this long for me to get to it, but I hope you enjoy.

⛤ MASTERLIST ⛤

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Dean Winchester was dead. There was no gentle way to say it really, not after you saw the way he was torn to shreds by the Hellhounds. His blank gaze would haunt your mind for a while, burnt permanently into your mind. It was no easy situation to understand, and the suddenness of the situation snatched away so much from you so quickly that it was disorientating. To lose a friend like that was like losing a part of yourself; it left you feeling incomplete. A fragment of who you were before. But it was a different story for Sam. 

Sam was racked with grief. At first, he didn’t leave Bobby’s for days. He just locked himself away in his room, with his curtains drawn in his own artificial night, withdrawn into his own mind. The bags beneath his eyes were heavy and cumbersome and the pile of half-touched plates that had piled up in his room had reached a staggering number. But what was worse was the guilt that gnawed at his stomach. It clawed away at him and no matter how many times you or Bobby tried to reassure him that this wasn’t his fault, he refused to believe it. 

Eventually as time moved and the days began to get longer and the flowers bloomed, Sam seemed to be getting better. He began to talk to you more, and returned slightly towards his old self. He was still struggling though, despite how much he tried to hide it. You could see the pain in his eyes that lacked the usual sparkle they had. He had also developed the habit of picking at his skin, or biting around his nails as he thought anxiously. 

He was chewing at his thumbnail when you noticed something was particularly off. He was restless, constantly shifting his position on the couch or bouncing his leg up and down. Bobby was out of town, following up on a lead with Rufus, leaving you alone with Sam. You had planned to sit beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, but instead you noticed his distress. 

“Sammy”? You furrowed your brow, watching him hesitantly. 

He kept his gaze down, not daring to meet your gaze because he knew that the moment he looked up at your pity-riddled gaze, all those thoughts would come bubbling over and he wouldn’t be able to stop the river of tears that threatened to fall. 

At his lack of response, you sat yourself beside him, moving one of Bobby’s couch pillows out of the way so that you could give him a little bit of space that you sensed he needed. You placed a hand gently on his leg, smoothing the denim of his jeans under your thumb. 

“Sam?” You asked again gently, tilting your head towards him. “Talk to me.”

“I- I’m sorry.” He stuttered, standing up abruptly and beginning to walk off. “I can’t.”

His voice wavered as he turned briskly half walking, half running towards one of Bobby’s many alcoves. You followed closely behind him, not missing the way that his breathing got faster and faster, heaving in rugged and uneven rasps that were sure to hurt his lungs, but he seemingly didn’t care as he made his way through the house, weaving between the empty beer bottles and discarded books that no one had bothered to clean up. The way his hands shook made your heart clench as his body trembled. You called after him, trying to grasp his attention. When they finally broke through his hazy mind, he turned and you saw his tear stained cheeks and they way that the droplets had streamed down his face and beaded at his chin before splattering onto his shirt. 

Your face softened. “Oh Sam…”

“It’s my fault.” He choked out through sobs. “If I- He did it for me. Because I wasn’t strong enough to finish him off. If I had just done it then I wouldn’t have died and then he wouldn’t be-”

“Sam. It’s not your fault. No one can stop Dean.”

Sam took a wavering breath, clenching and unclenching his fists, before turning away and swiping the contents of the desk to the floor, some things bounced and rolled across the floor, others shattered or landed with a heavy thud, but neither of you paid much notice as Sam continued to spiral. 

“This is so stupid!” He said. “So stupid-”

He raised his hands again, but you took his wrists in his and held them still. Almost immediately at your touch he calmed down. His body still trembled as he cried silently. Your hand found itself wiping away the tears from his eyes as you hushed him.

“It’s okay Sammy, you’re okay. Deep breaths.”

You inhaled deeply, pulling the air into your lungs before releasing it again. With his hands in yours, he tried to follow the rhythm of your calmness until eventually it slowed to nearly normal pace. 

“Good.” You smiled at him reassuringly. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

“I’m sorry…” He whispered as you sat him down on the plush chair in Bobby’s office. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I just - I miss him. So much…”

Your heart broke and he pulled you close to him. “I know you do, Sammy. I know. But its gonna be okay. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

He sniffled and nodded soundly. 

The two of you spent the rest of the evening snuggled up on the couch together, with you laid out across his chest. He clung to you desperately as the sun cast a golden hue over the window before dipping below the horizon to be replaced by the moon. The pair of you didn’t move for hours as you scrolled endlessly through TV channels and crappy movies that Sam secretly loved no matter how much he tried to hide the little smile that snuck up on him. It was something that he had needed desperately. Not so much a distraction, but a reminder that you were there for him and that things would be okay, eventually. Even if they took a little bit of working out like things do. 

When Bobby bustled through the door, rifle slung over his shoulder, the house was silent and dark save for the Tv which was flickering with life. As he rounded the corner, he melted at the two of you wrapped up within each other's embrace. He was glad to see the way that Sam relaxed around you. It was then that he saw the mess of his house and after frowning, he just shook his head and laughed soundly with a sigh.

“Idjits.”

#supernatural #spn #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester #spn x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #guilt

[the-s1lly-corner]

How they deal with outliving you

Some angst I've been having on the brain; particularly for the characters that dont age/live for a long time + adding a new character to the base list!!

Obvious CW for loss of a loved one/partner + the grief that comes with it, cause of d3ath across all is by natural causes

S/o is mortal, of course

Slenderman;

Considering the fact that he's an ancient creature that's existed for lord knows how long, it was inevitable that he would outlive you

The concept of you one day being gone was something he already thought about before pursuing you romantically

I feel like out of all the ones on this list, he's the most calm about it, he isn't obviously broken up about the loss

That's not to say he doesn't care; he does. You were very likely his first love; and you will likely be his only love. It'd be a different story if your life was snatched away by someone else; but if it were something natural like for these scenarios, he grieves quietly. In fact, deaths in his woods temporarily slow down during this period

He has a designated area in the woods dedicated to you; flowers, pretty rocks, mementos, etcetera

He does 'guard' over your old home, for a while. That's likely the most drastic thing he'd do; he can't bare the idea of someone taking your place when the wound is still so fresh

Splendorman;

How ironic to add in this new character; someone so bubbly and sweet, with a prompt so... sad..

He doesn't handle it as smoothly as slenderman does; he's an absolute wreck. You were his absolute favorite person in the whole wide world, and just like that, you were gone

Is visibly wilted for a long time after your passing; only really putting on his usual happy face when he's needed

He cries, loudly, and he almost looks lost as he sits; almost as if he's awaiting your return

He understands mortality and the concept of death, but he never prepared himself for this

How could loving someone hurt so bad?

He talks about you to everyone who'll listen; both so he doesn't ever forget you, and so others can hear how amazing he thought you were

I like to think that when you were alive he gave you flowers... daisies, probably... he always keeps a daisy on him; either pinned to his coat or hat

Laughing Jack;

Denial

Denial

Denial. It will take him so so so long to finally come to terms that you'll never be coming back

He sprials; at first selfishly believing that you had purposefully abandoned him.. and given his past with being forgotten; he first responds with rage... before fully caving in on himself

Rumors are spread in town that your old house is haunted; thanks to Jack's howling cries

Hoards a lot of your belongings

It takes him a while to recover; and he's more irritable after all is said and done

Eyeless Jack;

This one's gonna hurt; because Jack is already gloomy and reclusive as is

Unlike the others, he's mortal; however he ages on a slower rate

So while he retained his youth he saw you change

After you're gone, he just

Sits in his cabin for a few days

He doesn't really leave unless his monstrous hunger gnaws away at him enough to prompt him to go into one of his feral episodes

I feel like he'd be similar to slenderman; in terms of the fact he will likely never love again

It feels...

Odd, for him to return to his lonely life, the one he had before you stumbled into his life

Some days he found himself wishing to relive the day he met you; or to wake up one day in your arms

As if this were all some long nightmare

But it never comes

#creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #slenderman imagine #slenderman x reader #slenderman headcanons #splendorman x reader #splendorman imagine #splendorman headcannons #splendorman #laughing jack x you #laughing jack headcanons #laughing jack x reader #laughing jack #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack imagine #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack #angst #x reader #canon x y/n

[nerdieforpedro]

How did you forget?

Benny Miller x reader

My entire blog is 18+ MDNI

Summary: A person can forget a lot of things, but this is a new one.

Word Count: 400

Warnings: the reader being oblivious, Benny being a sexy menace, sexual innuendo, domestic fluff

Notes: Finally I have finished something for Benny. Our resident tall sweet silly man. I wanted something a little fun and sexy today. 🤭

Main Masterlist/ Benny Miller Masterlist

“It’s not that I hate what’s happening here at all. I’m just at a loss as to why…” It’s not an unwelcome sight, coming home and being presented with a towering, muscular, all his tattoos exposed along with him only covered by a silk handkerchief that says happy birthday. It took you a few minutes to read it because there was plenty else to look at. His long body is draped over the black leather of the couch, making his skin appear brighter, almost like he’s glowing - if there was anyone who you knew who could spontaneously glow it would be Benjamin Miller.

“Sweetheart, you forgot what today is? I know you’ve been working extra shifts but it only comes around once a year.” Benny sits up on the side of the couch and lifts up the handkerchief pointing to it. “I mean sure I’ll be home naked sometimes, but there’s a clear reason tonight.” Closing your eyes, you laugh, realizing why he’s so surprised at your confusion.

You have forgotten your own birthday.

It’s been a busy two months with you and Benny getting settled in your new house. It finally felt lived in, decorated by the two of you. The different happy birthday texts you’d received hadn’t registered the correct day either, thinking everyone was a week early. It didn’t feel like your birthday, usually Benny would be dropping some hints about what you wanted or plans. You didn’t remember any but also you may not have noticed, which is even worse.

“Good grief, I am so sorry baby. Thank you.” Instead of sitting next to him, you snatched the silk from him and put it around his neck before straddling him. “Come on, love. Let’s celebrate how I’d like to. Right here. You had the right idea.” Tugging on the soft material, Benny’s lips met your briefly before his reaching beneath your legs and hopping to his feet, holding you around his waist.

“When we’re on the same page like this I remember why I married you. I’ve been ready since you walked in the door sweet cheeks.” His hands shift to your ass as you wrap your legs around his waist tighter to hold on.

“That right Mr. Miller? Well, show me the rest of the evening.” With that, Benny nuzzles your neck as he walks you both to your bedroom for a sweaty birthday night.

Peeps who’d like to see behind the silk handkerchief ❤️: @tinytinymenace @laurfilijames @rhoorl @musings-of-a-rose @megamindsecretlair

#fanfiction #garrett hedlund #benny miller #benny miller x reader #birthday #benny miller x you #benny miller fanfiction #Benny miller fluff

[arclundarchivist]

SPOILERS C3E91

-

TURN BACK

-

THIS IS NOT A PLACE OF COMFORT!

-

Goodnight, Smiley Day

He blinks, and he…. feels the touch of light on his skin.

The warmth of the air around him, he breathes in and he tastes all he has ever wished, oranges and mint and chocolate and water.

Fresh Cut Grass pushes himself to stand and looks around. An idyllic field rolls into the distance, all about him, except for where he currently stands.

A crossroads.

And from it, the paths extend far beyond the horizon, rising into beautiful tresses of the goddess he has only ever seen at a distance.

The Changebringer.

She smiles, and suddenly, she and he are eye to eye, her gentle hand reaching up to caress his cheek.

"I… is this how it always goes?" they ask.

She laughs, gentle yet sad, her eyes surprisingly downcast.

"No… no, it isn't," she states, looking to the sky, and he follows her gaze.

Ruidus bleeds in the sky, scarlet light snapping and biting at the pristine blue, and he can hear… a scream on the wind.

"We live in unfortunate and unusual times." she breathes.

"Yeah… yeah." he agrees, looking up at her after a moment.

"Did I make the right choice?" he asks, clutching for the coin but instead finding her hand.

She gives it a comforting squeeze.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"I…" he pauses.

"Yes." he finally states, and she smiles.

"I don't know what kind of path I'd set them on, but… I'm glad they'll get to keep walking on." he states, "Even if I'm… not there with them."

"Who says you won't be?" the Changebringer asks, gesturing towards the roads winding away from them.

And suddenly he can see his friends.

Ashton, carving a path, grief, and rage shattering stone as his coin, a beacon, clutched tightly in their fist.

Imogen kissing her hand as she lays it on his body, that same hand then tightly grasping her mother's, a road reforged between them, "Thank you, Letters."

Orym, standing firm, bronze armor marked by three blades of grass shimmering defiantly against an oncoming storm, "Together, Grass."

Chetney carving a toy in his likeness to hand to a frightened child, "For a smiley day."

Fearne snatches the coin from Ashton, kissing it and slipping it back, "So we're both with them for tomorrow."

Laudna stands at a crossroads beneath a tree, half livened, half wizened, reaching for the glow even though it burns her hand. There is resolve in her eyes.

Dorian, amidst unfamiliar faces, staring up at the red moon.

"We're fighting for a shiny day."

A confused dwarf looks up at him, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Something a friend always wanted. A good day." Dorian remarks, tapping the sending stone in his palm.

"I love you, Faithful Caregiver." A soft voice murmurs.

They freeze, turning to see FRIDA standing and looking at him, gently smiling, "I'll see you soon."

"No, you… you take your time," FCG mutters, and to his surprise, tears track down his face.

The Changebringer reaches out and wipes them away before pulling him into a tight embrace.

Huh… so this was a hug.

"Do… do folks always feel most alive at the end?"

"Not always. The end doesn't give the journey meaning; it's the joys you find along the way." The Changebringer returns, squeezing him tighter.

He sees Milo, Dancer, Joe, Deanna and Prism, all trying to make sense of the world and the paths set before them.

"You did good." a gruff voice remarks, the whisper of Eshteross.

"But the journey's just begun." a more jovial voice states, Bertrand.

And there they stand, down the road.

"What… what happens now?" FCG asks, looking to the Changebringer.

"Now, we do what we can from this side." she states, "And see this all to the end of the road."

"Alright… alright." he remarks, smiling as she squeezes his hand once more, "I'm ready."

And he heads on down the road.

Goodbye, Fresh Cut Grass. Your love, your faith, your hope, let it ever be a beacon for those who knew you best.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr imogen #cr fearne #ruidus #cr laudna #cr orym #cr ashton #cr chetney #cr fcg #cr frida #cr dorian #cr deanna

[mathanlin]

Fae/Foster AU where Fae aren’t trusted to speak for fear of making deals — and so each foster family is given the Fae’s name to immediately mute them. Like Tommy, the unwanted Changeling.

And yet the Watsons let him communicate.

By… writing on a cheap plastic whiteboard.

It’s an incredible gift. 

He’s practically giddy with joy, scrawling out words that someone *finally* listens to. And not just anyone — the kindest, sweetest people the world has to offer. 

And selfishly, Tommy wants more. 

“Thank you.”

He holds the whiteboard out to Phil after supper. He’s eaten their food & thanked them, gave them so much power. As if his name wasn’t enough. 

Phil… smiles. At *Tommy,* the inhuman, unwanted creature.

And that makes the silence worth it. 

Almost. 

Because it hurts. 

To not be able to laugh during meals. To not banter with Wilbur or ramble with Techno. (Even when they say, “You’re a great listener, Tommy.” 

Because that’s all he is.)

And to know that if he ever said, “I love you,” it would be accompanied by the acrid stench of the marker.

And silence. Always silence.

That’s what makes him desperate enough to try.

“Hey, mate.”

Phil turns around, halfway through a sink of dishes. His smile falters to a look of concern as he sees Tommy’s hunched, shaking frame.

And that concern evaporates as he sees the message scrawled on Tommy’s whiteboard.

“Can I have my voice back?”

Tommy’s stupid enough to hope.

That maybe a year with the Watsons was enough. That maybe he’d gained their trust through his quiet help & shaky smiles. By being *easy.*

But Phil’s face tightens, grip tightening on the silverware in his hand. 

They’re thinking the same thing, Tommy knows.

Fae are dangerous. It’s a good thing there’s iron everywhere — if worse came to worse, they could ward off Tommy with it.

(What Phil doesn’t know is that Tommy would let them. 

That he’d take the pain and rejection silently.)

“We need to talk.”

It’s not said to Tommy. It doesn’t involve him at all. Just Phil and his sons who he’s called to the living room, voice quiet as Tommy eavesdrops.

That doesn’t make the words any less gutwrenching. 

“You can’t let Tommy speak.”

The twins tense, but they… they don’t even argue.

Phil’s jaw tightens. “He tried to ask me. You two have his name, too, he’ll go after you next. We can’t risk anything.”

What isn’t said is, *He’s too dangerous to trust.*

But they all know it. 

Tommy somehow gets quieter.

Because horribly, it makes sense. The Watsons can’t risk their family falling into a dangerous Fae deal.

And even if they did give his voice back, he’d be different. Too loud, too bubbly, too desperate for their love.

So he cuts his losses.

“Just for one day.”

It’s Wilbur he approaches, months after Phil’s warning. The boy looks up at Tommy, his incredible, undeserved fondness masked by confusion.  

“One day for what?”

*To have my voice back,* is the true answer. 

But there’s more. So much more. *To say I love you. To call Phil Dad, just once. To call you and Techno my brothers. Just one day to speak, and all I’ll say is how much I love you.*

*I’ll be quiet after that.*

“To have my voice back.”

In the end, that’s all he writes. There’s not enough space to write out all those vulnerable truths, the stench of the marker making him dizzy.

And Wilbur’s face falls.

“Tommy.”

He sounds… doubtful. Tommy’s heart dares to rise, hands shaking as Wilbur stands, face drawn tight with grief, pain, and… guilt?

It only takes a second for that last emotion to make sense.

Because Wilbur snatches the whiteboard from his hands.

“You can’t be trusted with it.”

That’s Wilbur’s explanation as he stalks down the hallway, Tommy clinging to his side, mouth desperately forming muted apologies. 

And when Wilbur hands the whiteboard to Phil, those damning words still scrawled across it, Phil says the same.

That’s not the end of it.

The notebooks around the house are taken. So are any scraps of paper, loose pens, pencils, or markers.

And Phil, voice thick with grief, orders, “Tommy, don’t try to talk to us again.”

It didn’t have to be an order. Tommy would’ve listened.

But the end result is the same. Tommy stays silent, buried in his room, unable to even cry out. To ask for *anything,* let alone the chance to say, “I love you.”

And like this, he’s lost the chance to ever hear it, too. 

#dsmp #dsmp au #sbi #sbi au #threadfic #tommyinnit #technoblade #mcyt #wilbur soot #philza

[normal-internet-user]

A gift. An offering for my wonderful @zeepziesdiary . I gift you Papa Leo content.

WHEN I'M GONE

◇~~◇~~◇~~◇~~◇

Summary: One of the only ways you can hear your Papa is through old files. Thank gosh Uncle Tello records everything.

Warnings: Slight angst, not much but it's there. Grief. Don't worry though, there's comfort!!

Requested: An offering to my beloved (/p)

GN Reader!

....................................

You pulled back the curtain that would seperate your side of the room from CJ's, it was late, and you didn't want to wake him.

With a moments hesitation, you pulled your mask over your head, the device making a familiar chime as it powered on.

Using your guantlet, you selected the file you wanted to listen too, and closed your eyes as your papa's voice washed over you.

"How the hell does this thing work Donnie."

"Wait, it's on? Fffuuuu- I mean- frick."

You smiled as Papa cleared his throat, and continued.

"Hey there, birdy, if you're listening to this I guess that means you miss me."

"But, hey, I know you and Casey are fine. Because you have eachother."

"And where ever I am, I miss you too, so much."

"If you're listening to this 'cause- well, ya know."

"Then just know, I am so, so proud of you, birdy. You made it! Yay, confettii and streamers..! Youuu probably don't know what those are..."

Papa chuckled, and you giggled, you'd learned what those were yesterday from Mikey.

"Listen, my little gremlin, I gotta go now, Uncle Tello is being a bit of a diva- what do you mean you heard that? You're all the way over there!"

The sounds of banter and a low thump could be heard, then Papa shouted, "Love you, (Name)! Bubbye!!"

The recording ended, and you went to click on the next one, when you felt someone tap your shoulder.

You sat up and pulled up your mask, relaxing when you saw it was Donnie.

"Hey." you whispered, "What... are you doing here? What's up?"

"I made something for you." He whispered back, and you looked at him confused.

"Just follow me." He said, pulling you up from your bed.

Reluctantly, you allowed him to pull you along behind him. He led you into his lab, where he dropped your arm, rushing over to his desk.

He snatched up a small chip, then held out his hand, "May I see your mask?"

You hesitated for a moment then, removed the tech and handed it to Donnie. You watched as he inserted the chip into your mask, you were certainly curious.

He handed it back to you eagerly, and you took it, confused, "What does that do?"

"It upgraded your systems, now when you play an audio file, you have the option to project that same file through your mask. Kinda like virtual reality." He explained, clearly proud of himself.

"So, you mean like..." You trailed off, and clutched the mask tighter, "I can... see.. the recordings?"

Donnie nodded and you took in a shaky breath, "Thank you. I... don't know what to say, I-"

"Go test it." Donnie said, waving his hands towards the door, "Come let me know how well it works whenever you're ready."

You nodded, a small smile on your face as you speed walked out of the lab and into the main room of the Lair.

You debated returning to your and CJ's room to test it, but decided against it. Instead, you sat in a secluded corner of the room. After one last deep breath, you slid your mask over your face and selected a file.

Your mask made a ding ding! sound, and you clicked on the play button that appeared infront of you.

You gasped as Uncle Tello's lab appeared infront of you, it was exactly the way you remembered it. Down to the small, clear bowl filled with rocks on his desk.

Sitting in the chair infront of the monitors was Papa, who was talking to someone off to the side and out of frame. You turned your head in the direction Papa was speaking, and there stood Uncle Tello, back facing the camera as he worked on a small machine.

Papa turned back to the camera with a grin and you smiled back. Instinctively, you reached out for him, your hand stopping where he would be.

Your shoulders tightened and your hand dropped pathetically to your side as Papa started to speak.

"Man. I've been making alot of these huh? Can't tell if that's a bad thing."

"You better be taking care of yourself my little star child. I'm sure you are, because you're a good kid."

"It's... weird, knowing that if you're watching this, I'm not there to watch over you."

Papa smiled, leaning back in the ratty swivel chair that ususally rested at Uncle Tello's desk.

Slow tears started flowing down your face, most getting caught on your bittersweet smile before falling down your chin.

"I wish I could make these longer, birdy, but sadly, they gotta be short and sweet."

"Just know I am so so proud of you, yeah? Just take care of yourself for me. When I'm gone."

With a small wave, Papa leaned forward, and the recording ended with a soft click. Papa faded away. You pushed your mask up your face, a sob building in your throat.

This was the first time you'd actually seen him since...

Since...

Casey.

You needed Casey. Really really bad.

You stood quickly, speedwalking to your shared room. You'd tell Donnie about how well the chip thingy worked later. 'Cause boy did it work.

You hesitated for a moment when you reached Casey, but you knew that if you chose to just leave him be, and comfort yourself, he'd be more annoyed than if you woke him up.

So, you gently shook him awake, "Casey?" you muttered.

Casey blinked his eyes open tiredly, but that sleepinesz dissapeared the second he saw the tears running down your face, "What? What happened? Are you okay?" he asked quickly, sitting up.

You sniffled, shaking your head, "Nothing's wrong. Just-" your voice cracked, and Casey didn't wait a second longer to pull you into a tight hug.

"Thank you." you whispered, clinging to his shoulders tightly.

"Anytime, (Name). Anytime." he said, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

You spent a good part of the day with Casey, seeing your Papa for the first time since... well it threw you through a loop of confusing emotions.

On the one hand it brought you a comfort. One of your biggest fears up until now was that, eventually, you'd forget what Papa looked like. That no matter how hard you tried to remember you would never again invision his smile.

But, on the other hand, it was a shock. To see him so close, but not be able to reach him. It hurt. You knew that wouldn't last forever, the same feeling of hurt filled you when you first dicovered the audio files.

But now they simply brought you a comfort you'd been missing since you saved the world. This new tech would do the same.

And goodness knows you'll need that comfort.

Now that he's gone.

....................................

It's bittersweet, but this scenario has been running around in my head for SO LONG-

I based it off your little headcanons you sent me about Donnie's gifts to reader (I still have yet to answer that one, I'm getting there I swear-)

I just really needed to write this out or I probably would have lost my sanity-

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #x reader #rottmnt #leonardo x reader #donnie x reader #tmnt x reader platonic #casey jones junior #casey junior x reader platonic #sibling reader #little star child #i also really like the nickname Birdy for reader #i dunno why #i just do #peepaw leo #peepaw leo x adopted reader #future leo #future leo x reader

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Living in My Head

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.  Specific Warnings: Male masturbation, inability to come, Allusions to childhood abuse, Mommy issues, Parental abuse, Coersion, drinking, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, angst, heartbreak, stepcest(in bold, this is *again* heavy on the issues around this),Manipulation/gaslighting, traumatic childhood, parental neglect, angst, grief, regret, depression, Allusion to violence/past SA, abusive relationships, Strained parent-adult child relationship. Let us know if we missed anything! Thank you again, as always to my co-author, @angelofsmalldeath-codeine - This would not be the series it is without you.

6.7k words.

AO3 link <- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

Nancy returned from helping Danielle to an empty home. Dave’s car is gone and you’re not picking up your phone, but she’s already over it by her second glass of wine. She sits at the kitchen island, brightly manicured fingers drumming on the polished countertops as she looks over the glossy photographs the PI sent across.

She’s pouring her third glass of wine as the frustration prickles under her skin. She knows it can’t be later than six, but she doesn’t care. She needs this drink, and the two that came before.  

“So,” she asks, annoyance clear in her tone as she looks them over, “What am I looking at?”

“My guess? A lover’s spat, maybe he forced himself on her and she bolted? But there’s some high emotions there. Poor girl’s crying her eyes out.”

“Well, it’s a start,” Nancy sighs, she was expecting something a bit more titillating than this, “Keep up the good work, Philip. Let me know if you get anything good.”

“Yes, Ma’am, happy to help.”

The line goes dead and Nancy lifts one of the photographs to study it closer. Your eyes are red and puffy as you scream something from the passenger side of a car Nancy doesn’t recognize. Your cheeks are wet and you’re angry.

There’s a small, quiet part of her brain that pities you, makes her feel bad for whatever it was Dave did to upset you. But it’s quickly glossed over, forgotten, as she hears the front door open and close. Her lips curl up as she hears Dave’s voice from the hall.

“Hey, honey, I’m home.”

“Hey, babe, I’m in the kitchen.”

Dave saunters in, perfectly practiced smile on his face as he approaches her. Immediately he senses something is off, from the photographs on the table to the smirk on Nancy’s face. It’s obvious something big is going to go down.

“Care to explain these?”

~*~

You pace the small length of Ash’s spare room frantically as you wait for her to come home from work. It’s been a month since she took you in, and you realize you really need to come clean to her. About everything. You’d told her about the cam work the morning after she’d picked you up. Like the super star she is, she’d taken it incredibly well. So, you’d kept working, making more content than ever.

Yet there’s another reason you need to have a chat. You’ve finalized the rental of an apartment in the city, so you’re moving out. But you feel like you owe Ash an explanation, she hasn’t so much as pushed the issue since you arrived. Besides the initial ‘Did someone touch you?’ ‘Are you hurt?’ ‘Do I need to call the police?’ Ash had let you grieve, wallow, and recover at your own pace.

She only had to make you shower once, and that was in the first week, when everything was just too much.

You hear Ash before she’s even through the door, singing Wham!’s ‘Last Christmas’ at the top of her lungs as she struts through the apartment building. You roll your eyes, it’s not December for another week, but there’s no arguing with Ash over it being too early.

Your phone vibrates and you snatch it up, a small part of you hoping to hear from Dave, but you’re glad it’s not. As much as you can’t admit it out loud, you miss him, and you’re regretting the call for radio silence now. The fact that he’s still respecting your boundaries only makes you ache even more for him.  

Mom: Hey, sweetheart, I’m just checking in again. I’m worried about you, please just let me know you’re alive.

You shake your head as you pocket the phone, you’ve been posting on your socials, and she follows you on every platform she knows about. She knows you’re alive, she just wants you to cave, to give in to her pestering. You focus back on the issue at hand as you hear Ashleigh announce herself from the front door.

“Hey, bitch, I’m home!”

“Hey, good day?”

You ask as you take a steadying breath, trying to quell your nerves as you step out into the modest open plan space of the kitchen-diner-living room. Ash is mid-flop onto the sofa as she looks up at you, whatever she was going to say lost to the way she’s now frowning at you.

“It was fine, what’s wrong?”

You wince as you take your place next to her on the threadbare sofa, you’ve never been able to hide your feelings from Ash.

“I’ve got something I need to tell you,” you start, knee bobbing up and down as you try – and fail – to get comfortable, “about Dave, my stepdad.”

“I know who Dave is,” Ash’s tone is guarded, you can almost hear the gears grinding away in her mind as she stares you down, “What did he do?”

“He didn’t- I mean, that’s not how it went down-,” you fumble, caught off guard by the judgement in Ash’s tone.

“So, what did happen?”

“We fucked.”

You blurt it out, covering your eyes as you wait for the verbal abuse to start flowing. You feel your gut twist in knots as you brace yourself for the shame, the disappointment you know is coming.

“Well, shit, that explains a lot.”

Ash says finally and you look up to see an incredulous look on her face. No anger, not even a hint of disgust. She just looks like Ash always does when she’s figured something out. A satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“What do you mean?” you ask, lips pinched together as you track every move Ash makes, watching for sudden movements, changes in body language.

“That night, the one where you went home with that douchebag, was it then?”

“God, no! He’s NOT like that, Ash, he was just doing what any good guy would do,” you shrug, knowing how unconvincing a statement that is.

“Hey, chill, it was just a question,” Ash raises an eyebrow at you, “So he picked you up, and he just took you home?”

You nod slowly, chewing your lip as you take a beat to compose yourself.

“Did he at least kick that guy's ass?”

Ash’s tone is a little defensive and you look up to see her jaw clenched.

“I think he beat the ever-living shit out of him,” you smile despite yourself, “but I was pretty out of it, the guy did a number on me and I’m pretty sure his friends would have helped themselves if I’d stayed.”

“He beat on them too?”

You shake your head, you hadn’t really thought about it until now, but Dave must have really fucked Tristan up for the other two to have stayed put.

“No, they backed off when Dave carried me out of there.”

It’s still so fuzzy but you remember flashes of Tristan’s crumpled form on the floor. The way his friends looked like they’d seen something horrific.

Maybe they had.

“Jesus! Is he some kind of James Bourne?” Ash says with a scoff and you both laugh at the ridiculous nature of it. Dave, a super soldier government assassin.

“So, he’s been looking out for you, when did you guys fuck? Was it just one time?”

“Three times,” you say as heat prickles under your skin, from embarrassment but also from the memory, “and it’s been almost two months since the last time.”

“Is it more than sex?”

You hesitate, too long really to deny it, but you still can’t say it aloud.

“It can’t be,” you mutter as you look down at your shoes.

“So, that’s a yes,” Ash says with a sigh as she grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you in for a tight hug. You flinch at the contact initially, but you lean into her strong embrace.

“It’s so fucked up, Ash,” you shudder as you weep into her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she hums as she continues to hold you, her tone musing, “but we don’t always get dealt the best hand, right? I mean, this is probably one of your healthiest relationships to date.”

“Ash!”

You pull back, trying to sound angry as you know she’s not wrong. You can’t even recall a single stable, remotely healthy relationship.

“If you could remove your mom – figuratively – from the situation,” Ash asks as she rubs the edge of her jaw, her thinking face on, “Would you pursue him?”

“Yes.”

The word is out of your mouth before you can stop it and the realization sinks in. You finally allow yourself to admit to the feelings you’ve been shunning for weeks.

I have feelings for him.

“I like him, Ash, more than just for the sex. I asked him to halt contact, and he has, and he even stopped watching my streams.”

“He watched your streams?” Ash is back on offence now, concern twisting her face into a scowl.

“He didn’t know it was me,” you say, and you cringe as you hear it aloud, “He’d been watching for months before he found out.”

“He let you keep streaming after you fucked?”

“Let me? Come on Ash, I thought you’d be more open minded than that,” You can’t help but scoff at the notion of Dave letting you do anything, “Dave has been nothing but supportive, he made sure I knew it too.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to get a read on this man. This is a man who jumped at the chance to fuck his stepdaughter,” you cringe at how blunt she’s being, but Ash keeps going, “You can’t expect me not to think there’s some coercion here, some manipulation or shitty attitudes towards this kind of work.”

“I love that you care about me to worry so much, I really do,” you shake your head, “But Dave isn’t like that, he respects me, my boundaries. I hate to say it, it’s so fucking cliché, but he’s not like anyone that came before, Ash. He actually gives a damn about me beyond sex. He’s not once tried to control or dictate my actions. In fact, he goes out of his way to make sure this is on my terms, always.” You take a long-overdue breath and Ash looks at you, eyebrow raised as she waits for you to continue.

“The stepdad thing is just,” you pause, trying to find the right word, “unfortunate.”

“It’s more than unfortunate, you idiot, it’s a fucking Greek Tragedy. God, you really are into him, aren’t you?” Ash smiles, her face softening as she shakes her head.

“Yeah,” you feel your shoulders slump, a tension you hadn’t realized was there finally easing.

“What a shitshow.”

“Yeah, and you’re right, it still ranks up there as one of the healthiest relationships I’ve ever had.”

You meant it as a joke, but it hangs in the air between you. Ash knows everything, she’s been there through everything. There’s a pregnant pause as you both mull over the conversation, neither of you quite knowing what to say.

“So, what are you going to do?”

You go to answer when your phone buzzes continually and you know who the caller is going to be before you even look.

“Let me guess,” Ash sighs, “The Wicked Witch of Central Texas?”

“Of course it is,” you sigh, declining the call, “I need to at least text her back, she’s becoming more persistent.”

“Just don’t say anything you’ll regret,” Ash shrugs.

“I’ll answer it later, there’s something else I needed to tell you.”

You throw your phone back down and take a deep breath.

“Fuck, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

“No!” You say panicking, the mere thought of it making your insides twist.

“Nothing like that, I’m moving out.”

“Ah shit,” Ash sounds genuinely disappointed, “I kind of liked having you around.”

“I love living with you, your shitty singing aside, but I need to do this, for me.”

Ash sneers at the singing comment but you can see the genuine sadness in her eyes at the news.

“When do you get the keys?”

“Monday, going to need some help getting my shit from Nancy’s,” you say, hoping that Ash gets the hint.

“That’s the first time you’ve called her by her first name,” Ash says, nothing but observation in her statement but you realize it’s a big deal.

“I guess it is.”

You sit on that for a moment, not sure how to feel about it when your phone buzzes again. This time another text. You look down to see one from your dad too and a twist of guilt in your gut makes you bite your lip.

“I gotta look at this or she’s going to be calling me all night.”

 “Alright, well I’m hitting the shower, don’t let her sink her claws back into you or get you involved in whatever current MLM she’s pedaling.”

Ash kisses you on the top of the head before getting up from the sofa and stretching out dramatically.  

“Is there a difference?”

Ashleigh doesn’t respond as she heads into the bathroom at the other end of the room, the door clicking shut behind her as you hear her start to sing once more. This time it’s Mariah Carey’s ‘All I want for Christmas is You.’

You open the text from your dad, and you roll your eyes. Your guilt is assuaged as you see the clear evidence of your mom making him text you.

Dad: hey, your mom told me you’re not returning her calls. She said you left the house, no note, nothing. What’s going on? Are you ok?

You’re just surprised it’s taken this long for her to enlist him to her cause. Usually, she’s under his skin much sooner than this. You open your mom’s conversation thread and sigh. There are over thirty messages there. Ranging from guilt tripping sob stories, to angry ‘Where Are You?’s’ and incoherent gibberish from where she was clearly drunk at 8pm and desperate.

Mom: Hey darling, I’m really sorry you felt you needed to leave the house. Dave won’t tell me what he did, he says you just needed space. Space from what, honey? What did he do? Do you need me to come and get you? I’m just so worried about you, please just let me know where you are and that you’re safe. Just a text would be enough, please?

I love you, honey, and I would do anything for you, you know that right? Xxx

You sit for a while, trying to convince yourself to ignore her but you’re tired of the incessant messaging, the constant pressure to respond. Then you think of Dave, of how he’s not contacted you once, not logged into Cam Dolls for the whole time. You bite your lip as you make the decision to call her.

You pad back into Ash’s spare room and shut the door. She answers on the second ring. You sit down at the foot of the bed as you brace yourself for the spiel you know too well by now.

“Oh, baby is that you? Are you ok? Where are you?”

“Hey, mom,” you sigh, already pinching the bridge of your nose as you try not to sigh outwardly at the fake concern lacing her tone, “I’m fine, I’m with Ash, I’m safe.”

“Baby what happened? What did he do to you?”

You clench your jaw at the insinuation, but you try not to let it bleed into your voice as you respond.

“Nothing, mom, I just needed space, things with you and Dave are too weird for me right now.”

“What do you mean weird?”

The fact that you keep pushing the angle that he forced himself on me for one. Doesn’t exactly scream marital bliss.

You think to yourself as you flop back down onto the modest single bed. You’re already exhausted by her shit, less than two minutes into the call.                                                                                                                                        

“I know there’s something going on between you, it’s been clear since I moved in.”

You confer if you’ve been too forward as your mom goes uncharacteristically silent on the other end.

“We’re having issues yes, but we’re working on them.”

You fight the urge to scoff as you nod along.

“I think me being there makes it awkward,” you say as you nod to yourself, “You and Dave need your home to be yours, especially if you’re working on stuff.”

“You’re always too selfless. You know that, kiddo?”

“I’ve been told.”

There’s a silence as you have genuinely run out of things to say, you’re bored by the predictability of your mom’s behavior.

“I was thinking,” your mom breaks the silence, uncertainty clear in her voice, “Would you come to dinner tomorrow night, just so we can talk about all of this, so I can make things right?”

Your first thought is whether Dave will be there, but you don’t press the issue, there’s no point raising suspicion now.

“Sure.”

You agree too quickly, but you know it’ll buy you her goodwill. She’ll back off if you can survive one evening in her home. Eating her food, being provided for.

“Really?” Your mom cries out, clearly expecting you to decline.

“I said yes, didn’t I?”

“Don’t be like that,” your mother’s tone changes to scolding, “You don’t have to be a bitch about it, don’t come if you don’t want to-,”

“Mom,” you snap, not willing to put up with her speaking to you like this, “I said yes, I’ll be there. What time?”

It’s almost comical how quickly she changes her tone, brightening up like she hadn’t just flipped her lid on you.

“Come round for six, I’m cooking a roast.”

“Wonderful, see you then.”

You remove the phone from your ear and as you’re hovering over the End Call icon you hear it:

“I love you, darling.”

You hang up quickly, not wanting to say it back, but you hope you can play it off as having hung up just as you heard her. You drop your phone onto the bed, not bothering to look at the message that comes through, nor the next. You’re already emotionally spent as it is. Your thoughts drift to Dave and you realize you need to let him know you’re coming. You know for sure Nancy won’t tell him.

~*~

Dave bolts wide awake, the sounds of Panama City’s nightlife weaving through the humid air. He looks down at his cock as it tents his sweatpants, and he groans. He frees his throbbing length and slowly jerks himself off. Trying so hard to just reach climax but like every other time, something holds him back.

He’s covered in sweat and panting profusely by the time he finally gives up. His dick leaking and sore as he lets it flop against his bare abs. He can’t stop thinking about you, and it is making him distracted. In his line of work, it could get him killed. But he’s worried about you, worried that he’s hurt you and jeopardized any chances of something ever happening between you two. He just needs to know you’re ok, safe, happy.

He pulls out his phone and opens your contact, no photo, just your number and the contact's name: Princess🌙.

He sighs, locking his phone before tossing it on the nightstand. You told him not to contact you, so that’s what he’s doing.

He rolls out of bed and pads into the shitty hotel bathroom to turn on the faucet. He can’t even count on a cold shower here, so a lukewarm one will have to do. Eventually he manages to calm down enough to try and sleep. He flops back on the bed, and he crosses his arms over his head as he stares without looking at the impotent ceiling fan as it idly rotates above him. His head throbs and his chest aches as he tries and fails to get some sleep. It’s not the first time this has happened.

Every time he dreams about you, which is painfully often, he wakes up with a raging hard-on and a guilty conscience.

It’s been almost four weeks since he last saw you fleeing from his home. Fleeing from him. He can’t get you out of his head. He’s plagued by the grilling Nancy gave him after she got the photos back from Resnik, or Philip, as she knows him.

“What did you do to her, Dave?”

Nancy had cornered him on the Wednesday following your departure. He was still dazed from the concussion and fumbled through excuses.

“I didn’t do anything, Nancy. She was upset, I tried to make her stay. Have you talked to her?”

Nancy paused, shock on her face at the question. Clearly the answer was no.

“Did you touch her? Force yourself on her? Is that why she left?”

“Jesus Christ, Nancy, no! Of course not!”

“Then what was she yelling at you about huh?”

“She told me not to call her, to leave her alone, that she needed space!”

Dave hadn’t even tried to keep his temper in check. His head still burned from the concussion, his mood sour from the mission he had just been assigned. He just wanted to come home, have a beer and go to bed. Not this shit.

“And why does she need that, huh?” Nancy was up in his space again, just like that night when she struck him. Dave could feel the rage simmering under the surface as the smell of rosé invaded his senses.

“I don’t know, Nancy, maybe because she heard you hanging our prenup over my head? She is a lawyer; she knows how serious of a threat that is. But maybe, just maybe, it’s because you forgot her birthday, because you rushed off to spend time with Danielle on her birthday weekend. Maybe because every time you’ve addressed her since she’s been home it’s like you’ve been speaking to a child. She’s thirty years old, Nancy, she deserves some goddamned respect. Or could it be that she had to drag me, bleeding and unconscious, to the hospital after you hit me? Maybe she just needed to be away from this broken fucking home.”

It all came out in a surge of bitter hatred, so unlike him, so unlike the man he wants to be. But everyone has their breaking point.

“How dare you?” Nancy spits and Dave stands his ground as she tries to square up with him.

“She covered for you that day, she took me to the hospital and lied for you.”

That shuts Nancy up, her eyes wide as she takes a step back.

“Yeah, she made up a fake cat, said I fell down the stairs tripping over it.”

“She’s a good daughter, of course she’d defend me,” Nancy mumbles but Dave’s heard enough. He’s already walking away, heading down into the one room in his house that still feels like his own. Not another beige, soulless room. Nancy calls something after him as he goes but he’s just not paying any attention to her anymore.

He locks the bedroom door behind him, the cramped space is practically the only place he sleeps now, sleeping beside Nancy was out of the question. Hell, she might even try to smother him in his sleep if he did.

He opens his safe, checking the temperature controls are correct as he makes sure the candlestick is still there. Wrapped up in a sandwich bag and kept at the right temperature. The first thing he had done before stumbling into your arms was secure the evidence. Later he made a copy of the security camera footage, which sits in another safe in the garage. He wasn’t going to take any chances with this.

The moment Nancy comes for him – legally speaking – as he knows she will, he’ll be ready.

The buzz of his phone on the nightstand brings him back to the present as he rolls over and picks up his phone. He’s waiting on a lead for the hit he’s pulling down here, but what he’s greeted with makes his mouth curve up into a fond smile.

Princess🌙: Hey, sorry it’s late, or early? Not sure if you’re home? Mom’s having me over for dinner tomorrow, just wanted to let you know.

Dave groans, he needs to talk to you properly before you see your mom again. To his luck another text comes through, details of an address two streets over followed by a message from Ari.

A: Target is enroute to airport, will be at location in twenty minutes. We Green?

Dave texts back “Green” as he springs out of bed, throwing on his clothes as he snatches up his go bag. Before he leaves the room, he texts you back.

Duke🎷: I’ll be touching down in Houston in a few hours, can we talk then?

To his surprise you start to text back straight away, but he doesn’t look, stowing his phone as he storms out of his dingy hotel. He fastens the silencer to the end of his pistol and pulls on his lucky black beanie. He has a job to do.

~*~

You’re getting dressed for dinner when Dave’s call comes through. You’d agreed to talk beforehand and as much as you had been anticipating it, you feel nerves jostling around in your chest.

“Hey,” you say, your voice breathy and full of unwelcome unease as you try – and fail – to keep your cool.

“Thanks for reaching out, I appreciate it,” Dave says with a softness to his voice you’ve only ever heard a handful of times before. It’s calming and scintillating all at the same time. You want to feel his breath on your skin as he talks to you like this. You shake yourself mentally as you focus on the reason you agreed to talk.

“Thought we should be on the same page for tonight,” you say with a shrug, even if you know he can’t see you.

“So,” Dave takes a deep exhale on the other end of the line, and you hold your breath waiting for what comes next, “I told your mom that you left because you needed space.”

“I mean, that’s pretty much it.”

“Yeah,” Dave chuckles low over the line and you find yourself smiling despite yourself, “She asked if I touched you.”

“Fuck,” you wheeze down the phone as you look at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your makeup for the millionth time tonight, “You denied it, right?”

You almost laugh, finally seeing the angle your mom has been trying to play the whole time. She knows that if you so much as confess that Dave harmed you, prenup or not, he’ll be screwed if she files for divorce. You never thought she was looking out for you; you just assumed it was some weird jealousy thing. But now you see it clear as day.

“Of course, and the way she framed it, it didn’t come across like she was asking me to admit anything shy of me outright assaulting you.”

You actually laugh now. Humorless and bitter as you try not to think about your mother’s previous partners. About how they could flirt and eye-fuck you, how they would linger a little too long in their hugs and kisses. As long as Nancy never caught them doing it outright. As long as it was never obvious enough to bring out her jealous streak.

Where was this probing inquisition then?

“I’m not surprised, but I have your back Dave, always.”

“Hey?”

“What?”

“I didn’t do that, right? I didn’t force myself on you?”

You take a moment to reflect, searching your feelings before you speak.

“Never,” you say in a hushed whisper as you feel a tension easing in your chest, “I never felt that way with you Dave, not for a second.”

“Not even when I fucked you on stream? Threatened you with outing you to your mom?”

You pause at that, really considering the scenario in your head before answering.

“It wasn’t an ideal way to start things, but you were playing to the scene,” you sigh, “But no, you didn’t take advantage of me Dave. I knew what I was doing, and I keep private recordings of all my streams, for posterity and for when I need to plug content. If I wanted to fuck you over, I could have.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“If you had made me do anything I didn’t want, you’d be fucked Dave. Fucked so hard.”

There’s a pause before Dave laughs aloud on the other end of the line and you can’t help but smile at his reaction. You’ve missed that sound. Missed him.

“You’re a fucking clever woman and I’m glad you’re looking after yourself.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. You want to take the praise, take the win, but there’s an unease to it all. You’ve only learned to protect yourself because you’d done it all on instinct. You know that no-one else will look out for you if things go wrong.

“It’s all I know,” you say as you take a deep breath, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes, “But I need to finish getting ready.”

“Of course, I won’t keep you.”

You almost hang up then and there, sever the connection before it has chance to take root once more. But there’s something you can’t continue to ignore.

“Thanks for giving me space, Dave. It meant the world to me.”

“No need to thank me.”

“Yeah, ok. See you soon?” you say, hesitation making you linger on the line, you don’t want to stop talking to him, not after so long with no contact.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

The call drops and you feel a hollowness to your bones. Like hearing Dave’s voice after so long had ripped open a half-healed wound. Your fingertips burn and your chest heaves as you set your phone down on the bed. You look at yourself in the mirror and try to hype yourself up a little.

You’re in a loose sweater and jeans, low heeled boots, nothing fancy. You just want to get through the night with as little drama as possible. Turning up in anything but something comfy would only set your mother off, you just know it.

“You ready to go?”

Ash asks as she leans against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest as she looks at you. You know she wants to say something, disapproval written all over her face.

“Yeah, let me just get my purse,” you respond, stowing your phone and slinging your bag over your shoulder. You check that you’ve got your key to the apartment and your wallet before nodding feebly to Ash.

~*~

Dave jumps up from the sofa as he hears the doorbell, his heart thundering in his chest as he hears Nancy open the door. He stops himself at the bottom of the basement stairs when he hears a masculine voice in place of your own.

“Hey there, Nance,” Dave bristles at the nickname, Nancy never lets him call her anything but her given name. Something about the stranger at his door immediately has him on edge. He heads back into his office to check the porch camera.

A mousey looking man, maybe ten years his senior stands at the front door, wringing his hands before stepping in to hug Nancy just out of frame. He immediately checks the rest of the security cameras are working as expected, tracking Nancy and the mystery man into the kitchen before making sure the feed is being recorded and backed up to the cloud.

“Oh Andy, you know I hate that nickname,” Nancy giggles and Dave almost scoffs at the playful flirtatious tone.

“And you know I hate Andy just as much. Kiddo here yet?”  

“No, she’s due any minute. Dave, stop sulking and help us lay the table,” Nancy hollers down the hall.

Dave rolls his eyes and does as he’s told, even if he already feels like something is amiss. He doesn’t like surprises and he pulls out his phone. He tries to call you, but it goes straight to voicemail. He types out a quick text.

Duke 🎷: Some guy called Andy’s here. Just wanted you to know.

The doorbell rings a second time just as he hits send. His stomach drops when he hears Nancy ask Andy to answer the door. He’s taking the stairs two at a time in an attempt to cut him off, but he knows he’s too late as he hears the door open.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Andy’s voice is softer when speaking to you, more familiar.

Then Dave hears it, a word that takes his breath away like he’s been winded.

“Dad?”

~*~

The whole ride to Dave’s house had been filled with tense silence, your stomach doing flips as you tried to mentally prepare yourself. But what you hadn’t anticipated was your father being the first person you see. He looks good, short hair a shade lighter, fewer greys and more white hairs streaking through.

“What are you doing here?”

Ash is still parked at the end of the drive, waiting for the signal for her to leave. You turn over your shoulder and you see her peering out of the window to assess the situation.

“Good to see you too, sweetheart,” he chuckles as he tries to pull you into a hug. You step back, throwing your hands up defensively as you shake your head.

“I think I made a mistake, I’m sorry.”

You’re already backing up, mouth dry and heart threatening to burst from your chest when you hear Dave say your name. Your eyes dart up to see him, standing at the top of the stairs to the basement, he’s deathly pale as he lingers there. His dark eyes are wide, filled with horror laced with compassion. A ghost in his own home.

“Shut the damned door, you’re letting the heat out,” your mom huffs as she comes to see what the fuss is all about.

“Oh honey, come on in, you’ll catch your death standing out there like that.”

She pushes your father out of the way, and you feel like your body isn’t your own as she ushers you inside. The hollowness inside you grows, a dark, dank maw threatening to tear you apart as you hear the door shut with a thud behind you.

“What can I get you to drink? Some wine?”

Your mother guides you to the kitchen, practically pushing you into the stool as she heads to the fridge. She pours you a glass of rosé and you take it without thinking. Your ears are filled with a droning buzz, saliva pools in your mouth as you feel panic rising in your throat. You want to scream, to get the fuck out of there. But all you can do is comply.

“Sorry, I need to hit the bathroom,” you mumble as you get up on shaky legs, your wine untouched as you practically run upstairs.

“Dave,” your mother’s voice grates on you as you hear him screech at him, “Where is that man?”

You know where he is, you’re looking at him, leaning back on the wall. Eyes locked with you as he shakes his phone at you. You nod slowly as you ascend the stairs, fishing out your phone as you hurry towards the room you once called your own.

You unlock your phone as you close the door behind you. Three unread messages from Dave.

Duke 🎷: Some guy called Andy’s here. Just wanted you to know.

Duke 🎷: I didn’t know, I’m sorry.

Duke 🎷: Are you ok?

You bring up his contact and hit call. You don’t care about anything else right now, you just need to vent, and texting just won’t cut it. You lock the door and sit down at your desk, logging in by sheer habit as you wait for Dave to pick up. You hear him shout something about a work call to your mom and you allow yourself to smirk. You know she’ll hate that he’s taken a work call in the middle of her all-important dinner.

“This is risky,” you hear Dave growl down the line, but you don’t care about the risk, not right now.

“What the fuck is going on, Dave?”

You hiss down the line as you pull up your browser out of instinct and the homepage is all wrong. You should have saved folders on the bookmarks bar, links to your online banking, your social media links. But it’s all gone.

“I told you I didn’t know,” Dave grunts as you hear him flop down with a sigh, presumably at his desk.

You’re only half-listening to him now, your fingers typing furiously as you bring up an app on your computer. You’d installed it back when you started cam work, a tamper-proof software that tracked logins, provided antivirus protection amongst other things.

“I can drive you home if this is too-,”

“That fucking bitch,” you snap, not listening to Dave anymore as you read through the logs. Over the last four weeks your computer has had over twelve incidents of failed login attempts. Next to every failed attempt there’s an attached image. Every time it’s a picture of your mom, brow pinched, thin lips set in a hard line.

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s been trying to access my computer, Dave.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, too long for it to mean nothing but you’re already taking screenshots and attaching them to emails. You’re documenting everything you can, yet another learned behavior kicking in, protecting yourself from her.

“She’s been snooping in your room a lot lately,” he says, guilt evident in his tone.

“You knew? How?”

“I have motion sensors and security cameras all over the house, my job makes it necessary.”

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“What? No,” it’s Dave’s turn to get defensive, “I only have them on main access points, the kitchen, hallways, the kind of stuff to make sure no-one is intruding without being… Intrusive.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was doing this?” You snap, shutting down your computer before turning to look around your room. If she’s been on your computer she must have been snooping around the rest of your space.

“You asked me to not contact you,” Dave reminds you with a sigh, but you’ve already moved on, you’re not really mad at him.  

“She’s been through my prop box,” you groan as you pull out the plastic container from under the bed, two of your masks are missing, along with your favorite vibrator.

“How’d you know?”

“My vibe is missing, two masks too.”

Dave hisses down the phone in anger as you hear your mom hollering downstairs and you know you’re on borrowed time already.

“Your mom is calling me.”

“Go, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Hey,” Dave’s tone softens and makes your heart ache, “I’ve got your back tonight, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” you want to say more, but you stop yourself. You don’t need to make tonight any more awkward than it already is. But it’s there, the treacherous thought, the ghost of a word you can’t dare think, let alone say aloud.

The call ends and you gain your composure with a cough and a roll of your shoulders. Your emotions are threatening to spill over, hemorrhaging from the gaping hole in your chest. Anger, betrayal, sorrow, love, loss, despair. They strain like water assaulting a sluicegate after a flood.

But it’s time to face the music, so you stand up, smooth down your sweater, and prepare yourself for whatever hell awaits you downstairs.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #fanfic #smut #dave york pit #dave york #dave york fanfiction #equalizer 2 #dave york smut #dave york x female reader #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x ofc #dave york x oc #The Princess and The Duke #Princess Luna x Duke Silver #forbidden romance #tw stepcest #stepcest cw #stepdad #stepdaughter #soft!dave york #dom!dave york #soft dom!Dave York #vi writes #my writing #dave york did nothing wrong #dave york apologist #cw trauma #tw abuse mention

[her-power]

Fixation on the Darkness (Part Two: Dark Romance! e.m. x fem! reader)

‼️❌🛑18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🛑❌‼️

Trigger/Content Warning: Dark! Somewhat Souless! Eddie! Strong sexual content, blood play, unprotected p+v, choking, hair pulling, rough intercourse, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (f receiving *for now*), fight or flight responses, grief, thoughts of unaliving self & others, manipulation, violence, smut, some fluff, angst.

Summary: Full Summary on Part One

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: There will be mentions of Vecna and El throughout the series, but I'm also going to be putting my own little spin on things where a lot of the ideas will be original. Thank you all for reading!

“I didn’t run away this time, right?” The pain was unbearable, his teeth clenched. 

“No. No. No. You didn’t run.” Dustin sobs. 

“You’re gonna have to look after those little shits for me, okay?” He was fading…he could feel it. 

“No, you’re gonna do that yourself!” 

“Nah, man. Say I’m gonna look after them, say it.” It hurts so bad. 

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna look…after them.” 

“Good.” He tastes blood. “I need…I need you to tell her…tell her that I’m sorry. And that I’ll always love her, and to…” He choked on his tears and blood. “Tell her to just live her life…she was the best…part of mine.” 

“I will…” Dustin sobs, Eddie lets out a choked breath. 

“I love you, man.” 

“I love you too.” 

He didn’t feel the pain anymore, he was fading away…the darkness was swallowing him whole. 

Thunder booms, an electric shock rumbles the ground. The bats that were still alive circle around him, watching, waiting. They would’ve feasted on the rest of his dead flesh, but something was happening. His hands twitch, the red sky glinting off his metal rings. His body jerks violently, his limbs twisting at odd angles before setting back to normal, a painful groan escapes his lips, and he inhales deeply, his lungs expanding. He stares up at the dark red sky, tilting his head as his vision adjusts and he was seeing things…differently. 

The sky was beautiful, he thought. Before, this was a place of his nightmares, a place that was the cause of the death of an innocent girl. A place that inhabited creatures of the unknown, a monster that controlled those creatures. 

He felt at home here. 

He sits up straight, craning his neck to the side, he grunts when he feels his neck readjust and the bones make a loud sickening crack. He gazes at his hands, unusually pale, bloody. Lifting his shirt, he sees that the fatal wounds that took his life were now scarring, and his skin healing. 

He chuckles, and he’s surprised at the mania behind it. He died in Dustin’s arms, crying like a little girl, making him promise to tell you all those stupid fucking things that made him want to puke. He pulls the bandana off of his head, tossing it to the side. His throat burned, and his ears rang. He gracefully gets to his feet, his eyes gazing up at the sky. 

Those fucking bats. 

One makes a nosedive towards him; he snatches the thing out of the air by the throat, he grins widely at his quick reflexes. The bat screeches in his hand, he tightens his hold on its neck, hearing a crunch and something animalistic escapes his throat. He feels a rumble in his chest, the ringing in his ears getting louder. He growls, ripping into the flesh of the bat with his teeth, feeling the black blood drip down his chin, flowing to the back of his throat. He drops the limp creature to the ground, sighing loudly. A pain hits the depth of his stomach, and he falls to his knees; his whole-body jerks, he feels like he’s been branded by a hot iron. He screams loudly, his fingers digging into the solid ground underneath him. It feels like his heart is beating out of his chest but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a heartbeat. He groans again, feeling a shooting pain go through his veins now and he collapses to his back, screaming loud. Something was happening to him, was he dying all over again? He grits his teeth, trembling in pain as another wave slams into his entire body. 

As quickly as it started, it stops. His skin becomes smoother, his muscles become tighter, and he feels stronger. He sits up straight, gazing at his hands. They were his hands, but pale, and…

Whoa. 

He laughs, his fingernails grow into claws, black as night. He wills them away and they disappear, back were his normal fingernails. He flexes his fingers, and the claws extend again. He grins, feeling something sharp nip at his bottom lip. His incisors were longer, but they weren’t just a second ago…or were they? He drags his tongue over his teeth, feeling the remnants of the blood from the bat and those sharp points disappear. Mmm. Who would’ve thought they’d taste so good? 

He was hungry for more; not for the bats but something else, something he could nurse…something he could…savor. Your face appears in his mind, and he grins. 

Oh, the poor thing. He laughs. I’m dead and now she’s lost forever. Poor…poor thing. I wonder if she still dreams of me, I wonder if I fuck her blind in her dreams, or she rides me until she can’t feel her legs. Mmm, she was a good fuck. That I remember. I know whatever is left of the old Eddie inside me is desperate to return to her, to hold her, love her. Ugh. 

I wonder what her grief tastes like. 

One year before the Upside Down…

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” You feel warm lips on your cheek, and you groan, burying your face deeper in the pillow. You feel his hands caress your hair, gently kissing the soft spot on your neck. 

“Go away.” You mutter. 

Eddie laughs. “You invited me to stay, sweetheart. Come on, I promised you breakfast.” 

You open one eye to look at him, his head is tilted at you, his dimples prominent with his smile. “Blueberry pancakes?” 

“Gross but yes.” He leans down to kiss your lips. “Anything for you.” 

You move onto your back and stretch, your shirt rising up your stomach. He grins at you, kissing your stomach and you laugh as his hair tickles you. He rests his chin on your belly, staring up at you, and you curl your fingers through his hair. “If you want us to get breakfast so bad, you probably should stop staring at me.” 

“Nah, I can bask for a few minutes.” He grins, reaching his hands up to caress down your arms gently, entwining your fingers. You close your eyes, savoring his warmth, his gentle kisses on your navel. He slides up your form, catching your lips in a passionate kiss. He holds your waist, his hand glides down to your thigh and squeezes the meaty flesh tightly. You moan and giggle against his lips. 

“What about breakfast?” 

He pins your free hand on the side of your head, gently squeezing, his mouth going to your lips, and you sigh. “Mmm, we can still make brunch.” 

Your eyes snap open, tears were in your eyes as you dreamt a memory. A memory that seemed so long ago now. It was dark, you slept longer than you intended, although you needed it. You sit up in your bed, your hair a wild mess, your body sore. 

Pleasantly sore. 

You had no idea what you were dealing with. You had no idea what he was…what he wasn’t. All he did was touch you, taste you, in places you were used to with him, but there was a different feeling behind it. Like he was feeding off you, feeding off your essence, your happiness, your euphoria. Your body shudders at the memory, you feel yourself clench, pleasant tingles dance in your belly. What he did; what you let him do…

You couldn’t take his teasing anymore while he fingered you against your front door. He was taunting you, every kiss of his cold lips, every thrust of his fingers. You had gotten sick of it, twirling yourself in his grasp, pushing your body against his, molding your mouth with his. You could feel him stiffen at the change, but he only groaned, his tongue entered your mouth with such urgency that it took you a minute to catch your breath. His cold hands tug painfully at your hair, but you welcomed it, you couldn’t stop touching him. In one swift movement, he has you pinned on the floor next to the fireplace. The flames reflected off his discolored eyes, making them more vibrant, more beautiful. He leaned back on his heels, staring down at you with that same sinister smile. He peeled off his shirt and jacket, his muscles so much more defined, his skin pale. He squeezes your thighs, roughly pulling off your jeans, leaving you half naked in your underwear. A growl rumbles in his throat; and your breath hitches as you stare at him. 

He looked so sinister. 

So evil. 

But you couldn’t look away. 

Not from him. 

Not when he curls his fingers through the band of your underwear, pulling it between your sex, adding pressure to your clit with the fabric, and your back arches. He laughs, tearing the thick fabric away from you painfully, and you wince. His cold hands massage your thighs, pushing your legs wider apart. 

“Look at that.” He says, his voice low, his finger strokes the wetness at your cunt; you were so wet. He brings his finger to his mouth, sucking it gently and groaning. “Fuck.” 

He scoots back on his stomach, roughly pulling you towards his face by your thighs. 

“Eddie…Eddie…wait…” You don’t finish. Instead, a loud moan escapes you as he sucks onto your clit, pulling it between his teeth, the sensation painful but oh so fucking…wonderful. “Oh god…”

You lean up on your elbows to watch him, and he spreads your legs wider, his tongue flicking out to that sensitive area. He fucking devoured you. He meets your eyes, a smile on his face as he licks you from your hole, taking your clit into his mouth again. Your head falls back against the rug on the floor, the heat from the fire causing you to sweat, your nipples peak through your shirt and it suddenly felt so much tighter on you. You awkwardly pull it off of you, and his hand automatically reaches up to tug your nipple and you gasp loudly. He continues his feast, his grip tightening on your thigh as his tongue moves faster. He groans again, pulling his face away with a grunt and he moves up you like a snake. He grips the side of your face, while the other hand dances with your clit. His mouth was so close to yours, and he grins. 

“I wanna taste you.” 

“You already are.” You breathe out. 

He smiles wide, shaking his head, his eyes wide with lust, his cold fingers moving to your lips. “No, sweetheart. There’s something else I want to taste.” 

Your heart rate picks up, and you stare at him confused. He grins wider, pressing his ear to your chest, and something clicks. The other night…he had bit you. Bit you hard enough to draw blood, but when you had told him to stop, he seemed scared that he had hurt you, his entire demeanor changed, but before you could do anything else he had disappeared. The words are locked in your throat, the questions, you don’t know why you couldn’t tell him no, you don’t know why you didn’t want to tell him no. 

“I won’t hurt you.” He meets your eyes, and you swear you see a flash of the real Eddie for a second. “Just a little taste…right…here.” His fingers move down to your inner thigh, gripping you in his hands, and you tremble underneath him. “Please, baby. I’m craving you.” 

Your chest heaves as you stare at him wide eyed. You still couldn’t form words, but you nod, your body shaking. His cold fingers rake down your skin, he runs his tongue a long your inner thigh and you whimper. He gently nips the skin and your back arches; you meet his eyes; and you almost scream. His discolored eyes turn a shade redder, his circles under his eyes darkening like webs and you see the points of his teeth. 

“What…ohhhhahhhh…”

You moan, feeling his teeth bite into your flesh, but…it didn’t hurt. It was a bizarre sensation. It stung a little, you felt your cunt become wetter as his tongue laps up around the bite. He moans, and a hot growl escapes him. 

Warmth from your blood drips down your thighs, and you swear you felt like you were floating. His tongue traces circles over your mound, before dragging his teeth along your clit. You didn’t feel the sharp points as he sucks the bundle in between his teeth. Your orgasm was approaching, the warmth from your blood, the coldness of his lips, was enough to send you spiraling into a puddle of pure ecstasy. 

“Oh…oh my…f-fuck…” Your body jerks, feeling the peak of your orgasm hit your belly and he coos against you, his licks getting faster as your back arches, and you explode with a scream into his mouth. His hands hold down your thighs tightly, you felt a little more of your blood spill from his fingers as he continues to suck you dry, you desperately try to close your legs around his head, but he keeps them open. The orgasm was too much, but it was so damn good, you kept screaming in pleasure until he finally pulls his face up with a gasp. His lips and chin were covered in your blood, your juices, and his saliva. He licks up your navel, you watch as a trail of blood snakes up your stomach and cover your breast as he sucks your sensitive nipple. You groan, pulling his face up to yours, crashing your lips against his. Not caring about the blood, not caring about anything really. You could taste the iron from his mouth, the sweetness of you. So intoxicating. He cups the side of your face, pushing his body against yours as his tongue fucks your mouth and you devour every second of it. He pulls away with a lick to your lips, and your chest heaves as you stare up at him. He grins, like the Cheshire Cat ready to fool you with a riddle. His cool finger goes to your chin, gently wiping away something from your chin. He pulls his finger away, and you tremble seeing a little pool of your blood on his finger, he licks it clean and chuckles. His eyes still a shade of red; full of lust and a hungriness you’ve never seen before. His lips move to your ear, his breath cold as he says lowly, “Now and forever, you belong to me.” 

He made you feel things you’ve never felt before. Even when he was…himself. You swore you could feel his love for you with every kiss of his lips, the way his cold hands touch your cheeks, but you’re probably just wishful thinking it. And at this point, you don’t believe it’s love, but hunger. You were trying to convince yourself that the sharp points of his incisors that bit into your flesh weren’t real, that you’re just imagining this whole thing. You didn’t know where he went when he disappeared. Before he left, he had taken a shower, and you heard him hum Moonlight Sonata. Something about the way he was humming it had sent shivers down your spine; it sounds so haunting, and it was almost like he knew it was a scaring you. His clothes were different when he came out, he was in all black. The contrast of his skin with the darkness made him look so much more beautiful you didn’t know how to look away. You felt an energetic pull towards him whenever you met his eyes; it brought you back to a time where you could just stare into those chocolate brown eyes and get lost in them. 

It scared you that he said that you were his, now and forever. 

But it also made you crave him and desperate for answers and what exactly he was. What exactly he meant by that. The following day at work was a drag, you spent most of the day organizing the records alphabetically. Your boss could tell something was off with you, but he didn’t ask questions, you knew he probably figured you were going through a weird grief thing and kept his distance. 

“Hey.” 

You gasp, almost toppling over, but Steve Harrington grabs you by your forearm. You held your hand to your chest as you gaze at him. 

“Whoa, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He says gently and you shake your head, trying your best to smile. 

“It’s fine. Just been jumpy lately.” You chuckle. “I’m surprised to see you. You’re either slaving away at Family Video or holed up in your house.” You didn’t mean for it come off the way it did, hurt flashes in his eyes and you sigh. “I’m sorry. Are you doing okay?” 

He shrugs, running his hands through his hair. “Hanging in there, I guess. I saw Dustin the other day; he said he saw you.” 

You nod, filing through the records to place Pat Benatar in her respected spot. “Yeah, I try to see him as much as I can.” 

You could feel his eyes burning into you. He used to be your best friend, someone that was like a brother to you, now he felt like a stranger. You hated that feeling, hated how alone you felt, and how he probably felt that way too. “Are you okay?” He asks you gently. 

You smirk, looking up at him. “No.” 

“I’m sorry…I know I should be there for you more…it’s just…there’s things…”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “What things?” 

He shakes his head, sighing. “Nothing.” 

You almost laugh. “I swear you and Dustin are notorious for keeping things from me. I didn’t find out you guys were protecting Eddie from the cops until a month after his death. I didn’t know he literally died in Dustin’s arms until Wayne told me about the necklace and even though he died in his arms, there was still no body…”

“The earthquake happened…Dustin was hurt…”

“Yeah. I get that.” You snap. “What I don’t get is why he or you or anyone else couldn’t have told me any of this. Why he didn’t come to me when the murders happened, why he went and got himself killed for a town that still hates him.” 

That Eddie is still dead. Your heart aches at the thought, because you had him back in some sense, but not all of him. He wasn’t whole. He was just an evil entity inside a body that looked like the man you were in love with. 

Steve sighs, gently taking your hand, you try to pull away, but he tightens his hold. “Listen to me. He didn’t want you involved. The way Jason was acting after the murders, he was afraid he was gonna find you and hurt you. He was willing to hurt 14 year olds. He couldn’t stomach the thought of something happening to you.” 

“He should’ve just told me.” Tears fill your eyes, and you rip your hand away. “I would’ve gladly given my life to save him. I still would.” 

Steve groans. “That’s why he didn’t tell you! Because he knew exactly what you would do.” 

“Well, too bad it wasn’t me. He’s dead. And I’m here, living, breathing, while he’s rotting somewhere.” 

Steve flinches, and he sighs. “He really loved you.” 

“If he loved me, he wouldn’t have risked his life for this shitty town.” 

You turn away from him but freeze when you overhear the reporter on the small television speakers:

…unfortunately there is not enough information to label this as an animal attack or an attack by a human. What we do know is that two bodies were found by Lover’s Lake, in brutal condition. Crime scene investigators are doing a thorough search of the area as well as getting updates from the medical examiner. No names have been released on the identities of the two bodies…

Steve was stiff behind you as he stares at the screen. You felt the hair raise on the back of your neck and bile rise in your throat. Was he capable of this? Was he capable of murder? 

Not back then, but now you had no idea what he was capable of. 

Steve seemed to be shaken up as well as you turn to look at him. “Steve?” 

“I…I have to go.” He turns away from you but stops at the door as you stare at his back, you watch his shoulders slump. “Give me a call in a few days. Please? I want to catch up.” 

You nod but you couldn’t shake the feeling something was scaring. “Steve…what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, it’s good. It’s all fucking good.” He leaves you standing there; you’re not entirely sure what just happened. What spooked him, why he seemed so cryptic. Either way, you planned on finding out, even if the information you got was from an undead version of Eddie. 

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