#this is a WONDERFUL beginning of the year

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (9) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F ! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael now live parallel lives—close in distance but distant as strangers. After a school field trip to the zoo, you get injured and are rushed to the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, straight to Michaels ER.

Word: 4971

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/Early 50s), Head Injury (Factured Skull), Bleeding from the ear, and Vomiting

Authors Note: Hello! Thank you for all the love on the last part. Lol I love seeing your guys comments and reactions. They crack me upppp. Couple more parts and this fic with come to a end🥲. Depending on season 2 maybe I'll write a spin off/Continuation of some sort 🤨??? or maybe I'll leave a good thing be. Idk this is all up in the air and just ideas. If I did continue it won't be until next year YIKES. Long way from now. But if you guys want it i'll prob do it lol very much a people pleaser 😭 also determined to finsihed eyes on me lol okay anyway. enjoy!!! - ryn

3 Months Later

Since that day—that morning where it ended—you and Michael had kept your distance. It wasn’t easy. Living across the hall meant you still saw each other constantly. You crossed paths in the elevator, passed in the lobby, caught glimpses through cracked doors. But it was different now. Cautious. Careful. The warmth was gone.

It was like reverting back to how things were in the beginning—only worse. Not acquaintances. Less than that. Strangers.

There were no more lingering glances, no more easy conversations or shared errands. No more moments where he helped you without being asked, like he just knew. Now it was all stiff nods and the occasional muttered “hey” or “hi,” as if everything between never happened or existed.

Your lives—once a single, tangled line—had split. Still running close, still crossing the same thresholds, but no longer connected. Now they moved in parallel. Close enough to feel, never close enough to touch.

You missed him. Not just being around him—but him. The version only you knew. The one who stayed late, who looked out for you, who let his guard down when it was just the two of you.

Now, it was like he barely looked your way. Just quick hellos, if that. And even those felt heavy.

Still, every time you saw him, you wondered if he missed you too.

And maybe—just maybe—you knew he missed you too.

But neither of you said a word.

Michael had been the first person to remind you what it felt like to be truly cared for. Losing that connection hurt deeply. But even without him, you were learning how to stand on your own. You are in a better place

After years stuck in a toxic, neglectful relationship with Aiden, you finally chose yourself. No more waiting to be seen or heard. You were rebuilding, piece by piece—stronger, quieter, more certain.

It was something Michael said the last time you saw him that stayed with you. His voice was calm but firm: “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

Those words gave you the push you needed to walk away.

After breaking up with Aiden, the silence was deafening at first. No shouting, no blame, no empty promises—just quiet. And for once, that quiet felt like space you could breathe in, not suffocate.

You weren’t completely free yet. There were days when memories clawed at you, when loneliness crept in like a shadow. But with each morning you woke up without him, you felt a little stronger. A little more whole.

And Michael? Seeing him after everything—it wasn’t easy. There was a tension, a distance between you that hadn’t been there before. You still felt guilty for how things ended with him. But beneath it all, you knew one thing: his words had helped you find yourself again. Even if your connection had changed, that truth remained.

—

This morning, you had left your apartments at the same time, walking side by side in silence. No words. No eye contact. Just the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway—too close, too quiet.

He let you step into the elevator first, then slipped into his usual corner—like always. The space between you felt heavier than it should’ve in such a small box.

And every time you rode the elevator with him now, your mind drifted back to that morning. The one where everything shifted. The one where he had looked at you like he couldn’t wait another second. Where his hands trembled on your skin and nothing else existed. That morning where—for a moment—you both stopped pretending.

Now, you only pretended. Pretended not to miss it. Pretended not to look at him out of the corner of your eye. Pretended he wasn’t right there, close enough to touch, but choosing not to.

Then, suddenly—you don’t know why—you turned your head and glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a small, uncertain smile on your lips.

Michael stood there, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, AirPods in. He didn’t respond. Didn’t nod. Normally, he’d say hello—or at least acknowledge you—but today wasn’t one of those days.

Maybe he hadn’t heard you.

But he had.

Because the truth was, he missed you. Every time he saw you, felt your presence so close yet unreachable, it tore at something inside him.

But talking—to break the silence—meant opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close. It meant risking everything he’d been trying to hold together.

The silence in that elevator was suffocating.

The doors slid open.

You stepped out first, heart pounding, words caught in your throat. By the time the two of you made it through the lobby and out to the street, you found yourself saying, “Have a good day.”

Still, he ignored you.

Without a word, he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

—--

It had been a good day.

There was a field trip to the Philadelphia Zoo, and the fifth graders had been buzzing with excitement since they got off the bus. They darted from exhibit to exhibit in loose clusters, calling out animal facts they half-remembered from class, pointing at the gorillas, giggling at the flamingos, and dramatically gagging when they passed smelly enclosures. 

You smiled through the chaos, constantly scanning the crowd, reminding them to walk—not run—while answering a steady stream of “Can we go there next?” and “Do we have to stay with our buddy?”

By the time the group began gathering near the exit to prepare for departure, the kids were hot, tired, and still somehow full of energy—trading animal facts, snacks, and complaints about the long walk back to the bus.

You turned to check on one of your students—and your foot caught on a backpack left sprawled across the pavement.

You didn’t even have time to brace yourself.

You went down hard.

Your head hit the ground with a sickening crack.

Everything went black for a moment.

You passed out for a few minutes before slowly waking up. When your eyes opened, your other 5th grade teachers and your students gathered around you, worried. 

A sharp pain pulsed through your head. When you touched the side of your face, your fingers came away wet—your ear was bleeding.

You tried to sit up, but your body felt heavy and unsteady. Panic flickered in your chest.

“Are you okay, Miss?” a student asked, voice trembling.

You forced a small, shaky smile. “I’ll be okay,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure.

One of the teachers noticed the blood coming from your ear when you touched it. They knew something was wrong—you needed to get to the hospital.

You tried to protest, insisting you were fine, but the other teachers wouldn’t hear it. Their concern was firm—they knew you needed medical attention. They called an ambulance, and took care of your kids as you headed to the hospital.

“Okay, we’re headed to PTMC,” the driver said to his partner in the back with you.

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. No. You didn’t want to go there. Michael worked there.

“What? N-no, can’t you take me to Allegheny?” you asked, your voice shaking as you glanced up at the paramedic trying to stem the bleeding from your ear.

“Miss, PTMC is closer. Allegheny is too far,” the paramedic replied, his tone calm but unyielding.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit you hard. Before you could stop it, you threw up—your body reacting to the pain and shock.

The paramedics quickly handed you a bag, their expressions gentle but focused. Your head throbbed fiercely, and the thought of seeing Michael at PTMC made the room feel even more overwhelming.

You swallowed hard, gripping the stretcher tightly as the ambulance doors shut and the vehicle started moving. Outside, the world blurred past the windows, but inside, your mind spun with pain, fear, and an ache far deeper than the injury itself.

—-

It was busy in the ER today—loud, chaotic, the usual blur of motion and noise. Monitors beeped steadily in the background, gurneys rolled down hallways, voices called out orders and vitals in clipped tones. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the sharper tang of adrenaline and urgency.

Michael worked hard and efficiently, his hands steady and his voice calm as he checked charts, issued instructions, and answered questions. Every task was precise and practiced. But despite his focused exterior, his heart wasn’t fully in it today. Beneath the surface, his mind drifted elsewhere.

For some reason, you were heavy on his mind—ever since he saw you that morning in the elevator. Though he went about his work with his usual efficiency, every time he glanced up or caught a quiet moment, his thoughts slipped back to you. That brief encounter stirred something beneath his calm exterior, making it harder than usual to focus.

Even as he moved through the chaos of the ER, you lingered in the corners of his mind—a quiet weight he couldn’t shake. Each task felt automatic, mechanical, like he was running on autopilot 

At the nurses’ station, Dana glanced toward Michael as he passed by, pausing briefly. His eyes scanned the triage monitor for a moment before he continued on his rounds.

“What’s his vibe today?” Dana asked, peering over the top of her glasses as she flipped through a stack of charts.

Jack didn’t look up from the computer. “Full-on rain cloud.”

Dana let out a quiet laugh. “That bad?”

Jack finally glanced up. “Yeah. Barely talking. Just doing his rounds like a ghost.”

Dana frowned slightly. She hadn’t had a real catch-up with Robby in a while.

“I don’t think I’ve heard him say anything beyond patient loads and charts in weeks,” she murmured.

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. He’s been keeping things tight. You can tell he’s holding something in… and it’s not just stress.”

Dana sighed, looking up from the computer. “It’s been—what? Three months since they stopped talking?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, watching Michael enter an exam room. “He’s doing okay. Better than a few months ago, for sure. But I think today’s one of those days where he’s really missing her.”

Jack added quietly, “It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. He’s always been good at hiding what’s really going on.”

Dana didn’t respond right away, distracted by the faint sound of sirens growing louder in the distance.

“Looks like a bus just pulled up,” she said, glancing toward the ambulance bay.

Jack turned, following her line of sight. Through the glass doors, he spotted the rig backing in, its lights still flashing. The paramedics moved quickly, unloading a gurney from the back, getting ready to wheel someone inside.

“I got it,” he said, already moving toward the doors.

“Alright, what do we got?” 

Jack reached the stretcher as the paramedic began briefing him. 

“Mid-20s female, teacher on a zoo field trip. She tripped over a backpack and hit her head on the pavement. She lost consciousness briefly after the fall. There’s blood coming from her ear. She vomited on the way here and reported dizziness and nausea and is currently somewhat disoriented.”

“Exam Room 13’s open!” Dana called out as she overheard part of the paramedics’ briefing.

The gurney rolled past the nurses’ station in a blur of motion—wheels rattling, footsteps fast. Dana glanced up from her charts and files to get a quick look at the incoming patient… and froze.

Her eyes widened, recognition flickering across her face as she stood up straighter, instinctively stepping out onto the floor. Her heart skipped. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

It was you.

You looked pale, out of it—a plastic bag clutched in your hand, vomit on your shirt, and a smear of dried blood trailing from your ear. But it was unmistakably you.

The same woman she’d seen, playing around with Michael in aisle 9 of the grocery store fighting over cookies. 

Jack was already directing the paramedics to Exam Room 13, calling for trauma supplies as he moved alongside the gurney.

Dana stood abruptly, eyes darting around the ER. Looking for Michael.

Shit. Where’s Robby? Which wing did he go? She thought.

“Jack!” she called, rushing after him. She fell into step beside him as they wheeled you. 

“What?” he asked, not slowing.

“It’s her!” she hissed, voice low but urgent.

“Who?”

“The friend-neighbor-almost-something-—her,” Dana said, eyes wide. “Robby’s girl.”

Dana watched as Jack’s head whipped to face her. His expression shifts—from confusion to clarity, then to something dangerously close to dread.

Jack stopped short, turning just in time to see the gurney disappear into Exam Room 13. His expression changed instantly.

He looks at Dana again “That was her? Are you sure?” 

“Yes!”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“What do we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jack didn’t hesitate. “We need to tell him.”

Dana’s brows knit. “Are you sure? After everything… you know how torn up he was…well still is” she trailed off, uncertain. “I mean, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “He still cares about her, still feels things for her. You know he does.”

Dana hesitated, lips pressed into a line.

“He’s not over her, Dana. Not even close. No matter how messy the fallout was, he’d want to know. And if he finds out she was here and we kept it from him…”

“He’d never forgive us,” Dana finished, already nodding.

Jack’s jaw was tight. “Exactly.”

“Look I’ll take care of her, find him as soon as you can and tell him. Okay?” 

“Alright” they quickly went off in different directions. 

—

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead felt like too much—too bright, too sharp—cutting through the fog in your skull. Your stomach churned again, sour and unsettled. You’d already thrown up in the ambulance, the evidence smeared across your shirt, and the nausea still clung to you, heavy and unrelenting. It was like your body couldn’t decide if it was in pain or panic.

The nurse—Princess, according to her badge—helped you onto the exam table from the gurney, guiding you gently as you sat down.

“Let’s get you settled,” she said calmly.

You nodded, though the movement made your head throb and your stomach turn.

Princess moved with calm precision, wrapping a cuff around your arm to check your blood pressure and attaching monitors to track your vitals. She was already prepping the IV, her hands steady, practiced.

“Pressure’s a little low,” she murmured, mostly to herself, then offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You closed your eyes as the needle slid into your arm, trying to focus on her calm voice instead of the pounding in your head.

She grabbed a damp cloth and gently began wiping the vomit from your shirt, doing the best she could to clean you up while keeping you comfortable.

“You’re doing okay,” she said softly. “Just stay with me.”

Princess noticed the shift in your expression—the way your face paled. Without a word, she grabbed a plastic basin and placed it gently in your lap.

“Just in case,” she said softly.

A moment later, the door opened and a man stepped in, wearing navy scrubs and a calm, focused expression.

“I’m Dr. Jack Abbot,” he said as he approached. “I’ll be taking care of you today.”

Jack

The name stood out. Michael’s friend—he’d mentioned him a couple of times. Quick stories, casual references. You never met him, but the name stuck.

Now here he was, standing in front of you. And suddenly, it all felt just a little more real.

To Jack, you were more than just another patient. You were her—the neighbor, the teacher, the one Michael couldn’t stop thinking about. The one who shattered him.

He was torn. Part of him wanted to resent you. Another part couldn’t help but feel sorry—for both you and Michael. It hurt watching Michael suffer in silence, burying his feelings under layers of composure. But there was sadness for you too—because Jack knew you were still clinging to something broken. A relationship that should’ve ended long ago.

But none of that mattered now. He needed to take care of you—not only because it was his job, but for Michael. 

You and Jack locked eyes. Neither of you spoke, but something passed between you—an unspoken recognition. You both knew each other through Michael, even if you’d never met before. And in that silence, there was a quiet acknowledgment of everything that wasn’t being said.

“Let’s get you checked out,” he said gently.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He pulled on a pair of gloves and waited patiently as you gathered your thoughts.

“I tripped over a student’s backpack. I fell… hit my head on the side,” you said, your voice a little shaky.

Princess, at the computer nearby, typed quickly, capturing every detail.

“You passed out? For how long?”

“I don’t know. No more than 5 minutes?”

“And you feel nauseous?” Jack takes notice of the dried blood from your ear. 

“Yes” He brought his hands up, feeling your head, and then he felt it. A squishy part on the side of your head. 

Shit. 

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he gently pressed around the swollen area, careful not to cause more pain. His mind raced—without a CT scan, he knew the injury was serious. How severe, though, remained uncertain.

“Okay, stay still for me,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We need to get a CT scan to find out exactly what we’re dealing with.” He says to the Princess, but also to you.

You nodded, swallowing hard, the dizziness and nausea pressing harder with every breath.

Princess looked up from her computer. “I’m alerting neurology and radiology now.”

Jack forced a steady breath, trying to stay composed though inside, worry tightened its grip.

Your stomach lurched, and you vomited into the plastic basin Princess had handed you earlier. Jack stepped back slightly, giving you room but keeping his eyes locked on you, watching for any sign of worsening condition.

Princess moved quickly to help, she handed you a clean towel and quietly assured you as you wiped your face.

Princess stepped over, grabbing a pair of gloves and a warm saline wipe.

You flinched as she dabbed gently at the dried blood near your ear, trying not to let it sting. 

“Sorry,” Princess murmured, careful and quiet.

Jack watched closely but because the signs were impossible to ignore. The dried blood near your ear, the squishy spot on the scalp, the nausea and dizziness—they all pointed to something serious. Possibly a skull fracture.

Until the scan came back, there wasn’t much he could confirm. But in his gut, he already knew this wasn’t minor.

He reached for a chart from the counter, flipping it open and beginning to write. His pen scratched quickly across the paper, but he kept looking up every few seconds—checking your breathing, your pallor, the way you struggled to keep your eyes open.

Princess adjusted the bed slightly, propping it up so you could sit comfortably. She hands you a new plastic basin. She takes the used wipes and throws it in the trash along with her gloves and goes to wash her hands. 

You glanced at him, searching. “Did… did Michael send you?”

Princess moved to gather the extra materials they hadn’t used, placing them neatly on the supply rack. Her movements were quiet, efficient, but her attention never strayed far. She listens closely. 

Jack shook his head. “No. Robby doesn’t know you’re here… at least not yet.”

At that, Princess froze for just a moment. She didn’t know the full story, but it was clear you and Michael were connected. Her eyes flicked to Jack, widening slightly. A silent exchange passed between them—brief, but unmistakable.

Jack sighed inwardly. He knew exactly what she was thinking—the bet she and several other staff had made a few weeks ago at the bar about Michael having a girlfriend. Now was not the time.

His eyes locked onto hers, sharp, silently warning: Don’t even think about it. He shook his head slightly.

You hadn’t noticed the exchange. Your eyes closed, feeling dizzy, your head throbbing. The words slipped out before you could stop them. “That’s the last thing I want.”

Princess gave an innocent, almost playful raise of her eyebrows, but beneath it was something calculating. She grabbed a chart out of Jack's hands and scurried out of the room, leaving a faint echo of footsteps behind her.

Jack remained still, watching her retreat. His jaw tightened, mouth pressed into a hard line. In the ER, whispers traveled faster than code blue alarms—money and rumors would be swirling in less than a few minutes. 

Jack exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second. He’ll deal with it later he tells himslef.

Jack leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you—pale, clearly worn down.

You swallowed hard, the dizziness still buzzing faintly at the edges of your mind.

“I don’t want to make things harder for him.”

“He’ll know,” Jack said quietly, his voice flat with certainty. “He’ll come rushing in here once he finds out—I guarantee it.”

“He likes you—a lot, cares for you deeply” he said, matter-of-fact, like it was the plainest truth in the world. “I’ve seen him talk about people before—patients, colleagues, even exes. But never like this.”

Your eyes flicked open. Jack wasn’t looking at you anymore.

You didn’t interrupt. His words caught you off guard—soft but heavy.

“With you… it’s different,” Jack said. “He’s not the guy who makes big declarations. But his actions? Loud as hell.”

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours—not confrontational, just honest.

“That day—after everything fell apart—he barely said a word.”

Jack’s voice dropped. “He didn’t say much. But I’ve known him long enough to read between the lines. Michael’s the silent type. Shove it down, suffer alone. That’s always been his way. He doesn’t fall easily. And he sure as hell doesn’t bounce back quickly.”

And didn’t you know it—you ruined what you two had. You looked down at your hands.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you said.

Jack finally met your eyes. There wasn’t anger—just a tired kind of clarity. “Maybe not. But it still happened.”

There was no heat in his voice. No judgment. Just the truth.

“He’ll handle it. He always does.”

He backed toward the door.

“My instinct is to tell you to continue stay away from him... keep the distance. To protect him.”

A beat.

“But even with all that… there’s a part of me that still hopes it works out between you two.”

He held your gaze.

“If there’s even a small chance you feel the same—don’t waste it.”

Then, firm again, “But don’t show up in his orbit unless you’re sure.”

“I’ll be back to get you for the CT scan. If you need anything, press the call button.”

And with that, he was gone.

—

Dana had spent the last several minutes searching—looking for Michael. The constant rush of the ER had kept her moving nonstop, priorities shifting by the second as new cases rolled in. Between the noise, the pages, and the demands of back-to-back emergencies, she hadn’t had a spare moment—until now. Finally able to look, she peeked into each exam room as she passed, also scanning for Michael.

Finally, she spotted him. 

Standing in the doorway, she called out, “Dr. Robby?”

Michael was looking up from the chart he was filling out while Victoria Javadi, the med student currently shadowing him, checked the patient under his supervision.

“Can… I talk to you outside?”

Michael glanced at her, then back at Javadi.

“Hold it down here. I’ll be right back,” he said, giving her a nod before stepping out into the ER floor with Dana.

“What’s up?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest.

Dana swallowed. “Robby, she’s here. Exam Room 13.”

“Who’s here?” His brow furrowed, clearly not understanding.

“She’s here,” Dana said again, slower this time, her eyes locking onto him.

Then it hit him.

His stomach dropped.

You’re here.

“W–what?” he said, hard and sharp, disbelief cutting through his voice.

“The bus pulled in a while ago-"

“How long ago?!” His voice rose, sharp.

“Half an hour—she hit her head. Took a fall during the field trip—”

Michael’s heart skipped, then kicked into overdrive. He didn’t wait for the rest.

He turned on his heel and bolted, weaving through the ER, past gurneys, staff, and startled patients.

He barely registered people calling his name.

Didn’t care about the chart he’d left behind, the patient waiting for him at 7 with Victoria, or the conversation he’d been having seconds ago.

All he could hear was Dana’s voice echoing in his head.

She hit her head.

His hands were already trembling. Thoughts circled like vultures—loud, fast, frantic. He didn’t know how bad it was. Was it minor? Maybe. But probably not—Not if the ambulance brought her in.

And then another thought struck—hard and bitter.

He’d ignored you this morning.

You’d smiled at him. Said, “Good morning.” Told him to have a good day.

And he hadn’t said anything back.

He’d brushed past you like you didn’t matter. And now—now this.

His chest felt tight. His feet moved faster.

Room 13. Room 13. Room 13.

Nothing else mattered. Not now.

Because you were here.

And you were hurt.

 He rounded the corner too fast, nearly slipped—caught himself—nearly crashing into Jack as he stepped out of Exam Room 13.

“WOAH!” Jack exclaimed, throwing an arm out to steady them both.

“Robby—”

“I gotta get to her—I” Michael said breathlessly, trying to push past him.

Jack grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place. “Stop, she’s gone.”

Robby froze. His heart plummeted, eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face. He couldn’t breathe—he just stood there, stunned, like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

Jack’s eyes widened as he realized. “Oh—shit—no! Gone as in, not in the room! I took her to her CT scan!”

Michael’s breath shuddered out of him. He stumbled back a step, dragging a hand down his face.

“FUCK, Abbot!” he snapped, voice hoarse. “Next time, maybe lead with that!!!”

Jack winced, “Yeah. Okay. Fair. Sorry!” He says quickly.

Michael looked like he was about to break. Without hesitation, Jack grabbed his elbow and pulled him inside your exam room, closing the door behind them.

Jack softened. “You want to sit for a second?”

Michael shook his head, jaw tight. “No. Just… give me a minute.”

His chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He turned away from Jack and leaned heavily against the wall, one hand braced flat against it while the other gripped his thigh. For a long moment, he stayed like that—bent slightly at the waist, eyes squeezed shut—trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

Then, with a trembling hand, he reached under his scrub top and T-shirt and pulled out the gold Star of David necklace he always wore—small, worn, and mostly hidden. He rubbed it between his fingers, clutching it tight in his calloused palm like a lifeline.

With his eyes still closed, he drew in a shaky breath, as if trying to summon strength from somewhere deep inside—something steady, unyielding.

Jack said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched, quiet and still, letting Michael have the space to come back to himself.

Michael straightened slowly, collecting himself.

“She’s okay?” Michael finally forced out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s conscious. Talking. But I’m pretty sure she has a skull fracture—I just don’t know how severe yet. We’re gonna have ro wait on the CT to tell us more.”

Michael’s face went pale. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Jack softened his tone. “Listen, Robby… I know this sucks. It’s scary, but you’re not alone here. We’re doing everything we can, as fast as we can. She’s tough, and she’s got the best care possible.”

He paused, then added, “It’s us. This team, this hospital—we make it work. You know that. You’ve been part of holding it together more times than I can count.”

Michael’s jaw twitched, but his eyes flicked up—just for a second—as Jack continued.

“She’s in good hands. Our hands.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.” But there was no real conviction in his voice. 

Jack glanced at Michael, his expression firm but not unkind.

“There’s nothing you can do right now, Robby,” he said quietly. “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

Michael’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw still tight, hands flexing at his sides.

Jack’s voice softened. “And as much as I hate to say it… you’ve got to pull it together and do your job. For now. Until she comes back from CT. We’ll know more soon.”

Michael closed his eyes for a beat, breathing through the heaviness in his chest. Then he nodded—barely.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

Jack glanced around. “It’s busy today. You know how it is—we’ve got to stay on top of everything, keep things moving.”

Michael knew Jack was right. As much as it tore at him, there was nothing more he could do right now.

So he did the only thing he could—he took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and began to shift the panic into focus. Into control.

He would see you when you came back from CT. Until then, he’d do his job. Just like he always had.

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[orellazalonia]

His Soft Spot

Summary: You’re a sunshine-hearted barista in a dangerous city, all smiles and soft edges. Unaware that the quiet, brooding man at your café table is the most feared name in the local mafia. But when Bucky Barnes starts carving gentle moments into his brutal world just to be near you, even he begins to wonder if someone like you could ever love someone like him. (Mob Boss!Bucky Barnes x Sweetheart!reader)

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: Been wanting to do a mob AU with this pair for a while now. I finally got to it, and they’re so cute! (Imo lol.) Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | His Sweetheart Masterlist

The corner coffee shop was nothing special. Chipped counters, secondhand mugs, and a bell above the door that only worked when it wanted to. But you loved it. The soft clink of ceramic, the low hum of conversation, the smell of roasted beans.

You’d worked there for a little over a year now, always opening at 6 a.m. sharp, rain or shine. Most of your regulars were kind, or at least kind enough. Grumpy people in suits needing caffeine, half-asleep artists sketching in the window, moms with strollers and tired eyes. And then… there was him.

He wasn’t a regular in the traditional sense. He never came at the same time, never stayed too long. But you noticed him. Of course you did. Broad shoulders under expensive coats, a deep-set frown carved onto his face, and stormy blue eyes that rarely met anyone else’s. He always sat in the corner booth, never used his name, and always ordered a plain black coffee with two sugars.

You’d started calling him Quiet Guy in your head.

And he was. Quiet. Still. Intense. He didn’t smile, not once. But he tipped well, never complained, and never forgot to say thank you even if it came out in a low, quiet murmur that barely reached above the hiss of the espresso machine.

You didn’t think he noticed you much, not really. Especially not the way you always added a little extra whipped cream to his coffee, even if he didn’t ask for it. Not the way you smiled at him even when he didn’t smile back.

To you, he was like one of those paintings you stare at in a museum. Sharp, beautiful, and just a little sad.

Meanwhile, you were just the girl behind the counter. Apron stained with chocolate syrup, hair tied in a messy bun, a bandaid on your knuckle from an unfortunate knife-vs-avocado incident. Too smiley, too soft, too… naive, according to your friends.

But Quiet Guy never looked at you like you were silly. Never talked down to you and never flinched when you ended up rambling about your new cookie recipe or your dream of maybe, someday, opening a bakery with pastel tiles and big sunny windows.

If anything, he listened.

Really listened.

But it wasn’t until the third week of October that he spoke more than a sentence.

Rain was pouring that day. It was real ugly rain that soaked your shoes and stuck your hair to your face. You were closing up, locking the front door and tugging your jacket tight, when you saw him outside. No umbrella. No coat. Just standing there, rain dripping down his face, his shoulders hunched like a man carrying something heavier than water.

You hesitated. Then, without thinking, you held out your umbrella. “You’ll catch your death out here,” You said, half-joking, half-worried.

He looked down at it, then at you. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he spoke, voice gravelly, “You always this kind to strangers?”

You smiled, sheepish and soft. “Only the ones who don’t complain about the coffee.”

A ghost of something flickered at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile as he took the umbrella, his fingers brushing yours.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” He said, eyes lingering for just a second longer than they should have.

You watched him walk away, the umbrella bright yellow against the gray street.

You didn’t know you’d just handed protection to the most dangerous man in Brooklyn. And he didn’t know he’d just started falling for someone who wore bandaids with cartoon fruit on them.

You didn’t see him for a week after the umbrella incident.

The streets were rougher than usual that week. There were more police on the corner, more closed signs on family-owned businesses, and more whispered rumors behind half-lowered blinds. You heard someone mention the O’Rourke deal and someone else murmur about a warehouse fire that wasn’t an accident. A few people joked nervously about the mob running wild lately– Who’s in charge now, anyway?

You didn’t pay too much attention to that kind of talk honestly. Not because you weren’t curious, you were. But you’d grown up in this city. Danger was background noise like sirens or subway screeches. You learned to stay in your lane, smile when it was smart to, and never ask too many questions.

Besides, you had your own problems: the espresso machine started leaking, your paycheck bounced for the second time this month, and you accidentally burned your fingers on a pan of fresh croissants.

You were wiping the counter, cursing under your breath and cradling your wrapped-up hand, when the bell above the door jingled.

He was back.

And this time, he looked different. More tired like he hadn’t slept. His coat was darker than usual, collar turned up high. There was also something stiff in the way he moved, like something hurt under the surface.

“Hey,” You said, immediately smiling despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “Rough week?”

He looked at your bandaged fingers first.

“What happened to you?”

You blinked. “Oh. Just being clumsy again, it was the pastry tray versus my hand. The tray won.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t find that answer as harmless or humorous as you did. He stepped forward, slow and quiet, placing a twenty on the counter.

“Black. Two sugars.”

“Same old?”

“Some things don’t need changing.”

You bit your lip to hide the smile that tugged at your mouth. He was… oddly comforting, even with the way he made your stomach flutter and your thoughts skip.

You turned to prep the coffee, carefully working around your bandaged hand, when he spoke again.

“This neighborhood isn’t safe lately.”

Your back stiffened slightly. “I mean… it’s never really been safe, has it?”

“Worse now,” He huffed. “Too many people trying to prove they belong at the top. They’re reckless.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “You sound like you know something.”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he said, “You always walk home alone?”

“Sometimes,” You admitted. “I usually take the back route past the laundromat. It’s better lit.”

He looked genuinely displeased by that. “Don’t.”

You blinked. “Don’t… what? Walk home?”

“Don’t go through that alley again.” His voice was low and serious, like it wasn’t a suggestion. Like it was law.

You nodded slowly. “Okay. I won’t.”

You set his cup in front of him. He didn’t take it right away. He simply looked at you and for the first time, it didn’t seem as guarded as usual.

“You ever wonder why no one messes with this place?” He asked.

Your brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, two blocks down, there’s a diner with bullet holes in the glass. There’s a liquor store that got torched. But your little coffee shop? Untouched.”

You looked around like you were noticing it for the first time and he wasn’t wrong.

“I guess we’re lucky,” You said, quieter this time.

He finally took the cup.

“Not luck,” He murmured. “Some places are off-limits.”

Your stomach did a slow flip. Before you could ask what he meant, he slid a small piece of paper across the counter. His handwriting was sharp and deliberate. There lied a number.

“If you ever feel unsafe,” He said, “Call. Don’t hesitate, just call.”

You looked up at him. “What should I save it under?”

He met your eyes, and for the first time, he smiled. Small, crooked, but real.

“James,” He said. “But you can keep calling me ‘Quiet Guy’ if you want.”

And then he was gone, the door jingling behind him, a gust of cold air in his wake.

You flushed, knowing he must’ve overheard you talking about him to your colleague. You stared down at the paper in your hand now and thought, James. Huh.

You didn’t know that name came with weight. You didn’t know that in certain circles, that name made grown men flinch. And you definitely didn’t know you’d just become the softest secret in James Buchanan Barnes’s world of blood, power, and control.

You never really called the number.

Not that day, not the next. You stared at it for a while. Once during your lunch break, once before bed, but you never dialed. You didn’t need to since nothing had happened. The streets were loud, the rumors kept circling, but your world stayed small, safe, and ordinary.

But something changed after that.

The Quiet Guy – James – started coming in more often.

Sometimes in the early morning, when the city was just beginning. Sometimes in the quiet lull between lunch and dinner. He never stayed long though, but he started talking more. Asking questions and not the kind people ask just to be polite; it was the kind that meant he was actually listening.

He’d ask about your recipes, about the books you liked, whether you preferred cats or dogs. One time he even noticed the way you hummed to yourself one of your favorite songs when you were focused, and he asked what the song was.

You told him it was nothing.

But the next day, he left a little radio on the counter when he left. It was old, scratched, but with the exact song loaded onto a USB inside.

You didn’t ask how he got it. And he didn’t ask what you thought of it. But you smiled a little bigger the next time he walked in, and that was enough.

Then, one afternoon, he came in without a coat. No shadows under his eyes. Just him. Solid, real, and standing in front of you with a calm you hadn’t seen before.

“Are you free Friday night?” He asked, like it wasn’t a question that made your heart trip over itself.

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.”

You smiled. “I mean– yes. Yeah, I’m free.”

He nodded, like he’d already planned everything. “Wear something warm.”

You didn’t know what to expect.

He picked you up just after dark in a sleek black car you didn’t recognize the brand of. His jacket was pressed. His shirt was ironed. And when he offered his hand to help you inside, you hesitated just long enough for your cheeks to flush.

He noticed but he didn’t tease.

Instead, he said, “You look beautiful,” like it was the only truth he knew how to say.

You didn’t know that three hours earlier, he’d been standing in a warehouse near the docks, quietly threatening a man with a broken nose not to let a whisper of trouble near your neighborhood tonight. You didn’t know that Bucky had postponed a weapons shipment and moved a backroom poker game three blocks east just to clear the air around you.

All you knew was that the rooftop he brought you to had a string of soft, glowing lights, a space heater, a tiny table with mismatched chairs, and two steaming paper bowls of your favorite takeout.

You gasped when you saw it. “Is this…?”

“I remembered you said you liked the dumplings from Ling’s.”

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

“I’m always listening.”

You sat, half-nervous and half-stunned, watching as he poured you a cup of tea from a little thermos he brought himself. It was clumsy, imperfect, but somehow… it made the gesture sweeter.

“Why up here?” You asked curiously.

He shrugged. “I don’t like crowds and it’s quiet.”

“Do you always go to this much trouble for dinner?”

He hesitated. “No.”

You looked up at him and found he was already looking back.

There was something different in his eyes now though. It wasn’t cold or guarded. It was more like a storm had passed and left something warm in its wake.

You ate slowly, talking about everything and nothing: your favorite cartoons as a kid, the weirdest thing you’ve ever baked, your theory that the city pigeons are evolving to become smarter than humans.

He laughed at that one. Actually laughed. It was rough and low, a rare sound that made your chest ache in a good way.

Later, when the wind picked up, he moved closer. His arm barely brushed yours.

“Cold?” He asked.

“A little.”

He draped his jacket over your shoulders like it was instinct and maybe it was.

You glanced down at your tea, heart pounding, and asked softly, “James?”

“Yeah?”

“Why me?”

He didn’t answer right away. You thought maybe he wouldn’t but you’d asked anyways.

But then he said in voice low and almost vulnerable, “Because you're the only good thing I don’t want to ruin.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you reached for his hand and to your surprise, he let you hold it like he didn’t want to let go. It all felt like the beginning of something neither of you could name just yet.

[cheftsunoda]

HIII omg i love your work!! you lwk made me an alex albon stan (i alr love lily, she’s so iconic) with the wag x 3 fic.

i was wondering if you could please write a poly!fic but with isack hadjar and oscar piastri? i know it’s a weird pairing but they’re two of my faves. it’s ok if not!! 💗💗

mentor or more? — op81 + ih6

smau + blurbs

oscar piastri x reader x isack hadjar

they were the couple no one saw coming. yn—loud, radiant, effortlessly magnetic. a globally adored model with a laugh that turned heads and a presence that owned every room she walked into. and then there was oscar—quiet, sharp, always a little awkward in interviews but impossibly endearing. somehow, the two of them just worked. they were happy. solid. untouchable. until the new season arrived—and with it, isack hadjar. fresh faced and full of ambition, isack comes looking for guidance, and oscar—ever the reluctant mentor—takes him under his wing. it is harmless. friendly. until isack discovers feelings for oscar and then lays eyes on yn and finds himself completely undone.

there’s only one problem— they only just belong to each other…right?

fc : isabelle mathers

(a/n) : omg hiiii. glad i could help bc everyone needs to be an alex albon stan. thank you for the love and i am sorry this took so long- i am behind on requests and i had to be real creative with this pairing- but i do not mind!! i like to be challenged. hope u love!! loveuuu

—

yourusername

france📍

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and 5,010,553 others.

yourusername : paris + cannes w my man before the season begins 💋

tagged : oscarpiastri

—

view 187,090 other comments.

charles_leclerc : the city of love looks great on you both! (pls stop making the rest of us look bad)

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

olliebearman : when i grow up i want to be just like oscar.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : only 4 years older than you mate.

↳ olliebearman : still old.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

georgerussell63 : give us a travel vlog or we riot

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : was oscars mukbang with french pastries i sent not enough???

liked by georgerussell63, oscarpiastri and carmenmmundt

↳ georgerussell63 : the audience has spoken and they want MORE.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

hattiepiastri : you are sooooo hot and then there is oscar.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : can't even argue. she is stunning.

liked by yourusername and hattiepiastri

↳ yoursername : my hattie 🥹 my oscy 🥹

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

lando : that is the face of a man who knows he is winning in life 😏

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

nicolepiastri : since oscar is about to go into full race mode and ignore me...weekly pilates where we gossip about him?

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : weekly pilates AND i will get him to call you at least once a week.

liked by nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ nicolepiastri : my god, i love you. i always wanted a daughter in law who keeps my son in line and wants to be my best friend 😘

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ hattiepiastri : one thing oscar did right

liked by yourusername, nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : yet again, surprisingly not insulted. it's true.

↳ username000 : god yn's relationship with oscar's family is the cutest.

↳ username0 : did you see the video from the race where nicole hugged yn before she hugged oscar???

↳ oscarpiastri : i tend to lack importance with my family when yn is around.

liked by yourusername, hattiepiastri, username0 and nicolepiastri

—

The first Monaco morning after the off-season always hits different. The windows are cracked open, letting in the early sun and the sounds of the port—distant engines humming, boats clinking in the water, birds that clearly didn’t get the memo about your need to sleep in. But you don’t mind. Not when you’re wrapped up in his bed, limbs tangled with Oscar’s, skin still warm from sleep. He’s curled around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go—one arm under your head, the other draped lazily across your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip under the blanket.

"You awake?" he mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep.

"Mmm. Kind of." You stretch against him, pressing a sleepy kiss to the underside of his jaw. "We should stay here forever."

Oscar laughs, low and soft. "Tempting. Very tempting. But I did promise I’d meet up with a new rookie today. Isack. Doing some training together—get him settled in, you know."

You blink up at him, amused. "Oscar Piastri willingly doing social interaction? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?"

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a grin. "I can be social. When absolutely necessary."

"Right. You just happen to prefer doing it in gym clothes and under the guise of cardio."

"Exactly."

You trace little circles on his chest with your finger, pretending not to notice how he shivers slightly at your touch. "Isack… that’s the...French one? Racing Bulls? Almost ran someone over with a scooter?"

Oscar chuckles. "Yep. That’s him. Kid’s fast though. And a bit chaotic, but in a good way. I think he’ll be fun to have around."

You hum in response, already picturing Oscar trying to wrangle a hyper rookie while also trying to pretend he’s not as soft as he actually is.

"What about you?" he asks, shifting so your faces are closer, nose brushing your cheek. "What’s on your Monaco agenda today?"

You grin. "Brunch with some of the girls. Carmen, Lily, maybe Kika. Haven’t seen them in ages. And we’re probably doing a little shopping after—someone said new collections dropped in that tiny boutique on Rue Grimaldi."

Oscar groans dramatically. "So I’ll come home to you with ten new bags and an ‘oops’ face."

"Exactly. Consider it my version of training for the season."

He leans in and kisses you—slow and sleepy and so full of affection it makes your chest ache. “Just don’t fall in love with a handbag while I’m out bonding with the rookie.”

You smile against his lips. “Could never love something more than you.”

“Good. That's what I like to hear.”

You giggle and pull the covers tighter around both of you for just a few more minutes of quiet before the season chaos begins.

—

You sip your oat milk latte as you walk down Rue Grimaldi, arms linked with Carmen and Lily, the three of you gliding past boutique windows like you own the place. Your sunglasses are oversized, your sneakers are overpriced, and the breeze smells like sea salt and money. Monaco in pre-season is the calm before the storm, and you’re soaking up every second of it.

“I’m just saying,” Carmen starts, pointing at a display window, “if you wear that to the paddock, Alex is going to crash into the pit wall.”

Lily snorts beside you. “He is going to crash anyway, but sure. Let’s blame the dress.”

You laugh, taking another sip of your coffee. “You two are menaces.”

“And yet,” Carmen says sweetly, “you are friends with us.”

You chuckle and the three of you walk into the boutique. Inside, the boutique smells like fresh leather and delicate perfume. You let your fingers skim over silk dresses and tweed jackets, the kind of pieces that look like they belong in a Vogue editorial—not an F1 paddock. But Carmen’s already in the back holding up shoes that could kill a man, and Lily’s trying on sunglasses in the mirror like she’s about to walk a red carpet.

You snap a few mirror selfies, mostly for yourself, but you know Instagram will get them later. The three of you float from rack to rack, gossiping, laughing, indulging. It feels easy. Familiar. Normal in the way your life never used to be, and yet somehow is now. There’s brunch after, on a little terrace tucked away from the main street. You order fruit and flaky croissants and something bubbly. Lily tells a story that has Carmen spitting orange juice, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in sunlight and friendship. You’re happy. Settled. Loved. What you don’t know—what you can’t know—is that across the city, your boyfriend is meeting someone who’s about to turn all of that upside down.

—

third person pov

Oscar had almost forgotten how loud training facilities could be when rookies were involved. He spotted Isack immediately—chatting animatedly with one of the trainers, all restless energy and too big ambition packed into a very fast, young driver.

“Piastri!” Isack called the second he noticed him, practically jogging over. “Hey, man. Thanks for doing this.”

Oscar raised a brow, amused. “Didn’t know I had a choice.”

Isack laughed, and Oscar noted the nervous edge to it. The kid was eager—not in a bad way. Just... hungry. The kind of energy Oscar remembered having himself not too long ago.

“Seriously, I appreciate it,” Isack continued. “It’s been... a bit overwhelming. Everyone’s either too busy or too intimidating.”

Oscar handed him a water bottle. “You’ll get used to it. The key is pretending like you belong until you actually do.”

“Fake it till you make it?”

“Exactly. And don’t crash. That helps too.”

Isack laughed again, this time looser. “Noted.”

They began the session with light drills, a bit of cardio, some quick coordination work. Isack was fast, sharp, and relentlessly chatty, peppering Oscar with questions about car setups, simulator quirks, and pre-race routines. Eventually, during a break, Oscar leaned back against a bench and took a sip of water.

“So,” Isack said, stretching his arms behind his head. “You live in Monaco with your girlfriend, right?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”

Isack gave him a look that was half curiosity, half admiration. “She’s the model, right? YN?”

Oscar smirked. “That’s her.”

Isack let out a low whistle, eyes wide. “Damn. She’s... she’s amazing.”

Oscar chuckled, not unkindly. “Yeah. She is.”

And that was it—just a comment. Harmless. But something flickered behind Isack’s eyes. Something curious. Something that hadn’t quite formed yet, but would. And Oscar—cool, composed, always two steps ahead—missed it completely.

—

your pov (2nd)

By the time you get back to the apartment, the sun has dipped low enough that the buildings outside are tinted pink and gold, and your heels are in your hand because you gave up on the idea of suffering five minutes ago. You open the door with your hip, already smiling.

“Oscar?” you call out, voice echoing softly down the hallway.

“In the kitchen!” comes the reply, muffled, cheerful, followed by the sound of cabinets opening and closing in that way he insists is not chaotic.

You kick off your shoes fully, drop your bags in the entryway, and pad in barefoot, finding him exactly as expected-in a McLaren hoodie, socks half off his feet, hair slightly messy from wherever he flopped earlier. He’s standing in front of the fridge like he’s forgotten why he opened it. He turns when he sees you, face brightening instantly.

“There’s my favorite person.”

“You say that,” you grin, walking over to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “but you haven’t even asked about my day yet.”

“I’m just assuming it was amazing because you were in it,” he says, smug, before wrapping his arms lazily around your waist. “Was it?”

You hum, leaning into his touch. “Carmen and Lily are a terrible influence. I bought a pair of shoes that might require their own seat on the flight to Australia.”

He laughs, pulling back slightly to look at you. “How much damage did you do?”

“Enough to boost the economy.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Sounds necessary,” you shoot back.

You move over to sit on the couch as he grabs two glasses of water, joining you a moment later and kicking his legs up beside you like he hasn’t trained all afternoon. You take one look at him and raise an eyebrow.

“You look like someone who ran five miles and answered rookie questions for three hours straight.”

Oscar groans. “Pretty much. He is quite special.”

Your interest immediately piques. “Oh?”

He nods, passing you the glass. “Kid’s fast. Like… Max-level fast. And talks more than Lando after too many Monsters. But he’s cool. I think he’s nervous, but in a charming, I have no filter way.”

You take a sip, smirking. “You made a new friend.”

Oscar frowns dramatically. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

He nudges your knee with his. “He asked about you, by the way.”

You glance over, surprised. “Me?”

Oscar shrugs, casual. “Yeah. Just asked if you were the model. I said yeah, that’s her. He looked kind of stunned.”

You laugh softly. “Well, that’s flattering.”

Oscar grins, leaning back. “Yeah, enjoy it now. Wait until he sees you in person. He might short circuit.”

You roll your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I’m just preparing myself for the moment my girlfriend becomes a rookie’s emotional support fantasy.”

You chuckle, eyes fluttering shut. “If he’s anything like you were your rookie year, he’ll be too busy trying not to throw up before races to flirt with anyone.”

Oscar hums thoughtfully. “Fair point.”

You both fall into a quiet, comfortable silence after that. Outside, Monaco glows. Inside, it’s just the two of you—legs tangled, matching heartbeats, the season creeping closer by the minute. And somewhere in the distance, fate takes one small step forward.

—

several weeks later...aus gp...rewriting history bc in my mind osc won his home race (im delulu)

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, isackhadjar and 7,001,008 others.

yourusername : oscar doubted me when i told him that i bought new heels bc the universe said he was gonna win his home race if i bought them...he made fun of me...but he won and i looked great in the heels. never underestimate the power of a good shoe. also i love australia.

tagged : nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri and lando

—

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oscarpiastri : okay fine. i’ll never question the shoe gods again.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : mhm mhm that's what i thought piastri.

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : how about i buy you 5 new pairs to make up for it?

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : deal.

nicolepiastri : australia LOVES you. i missed you so much, my pretty girl.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : love you moreeee

lando : can you tell the shoe gods that lando needs help too?

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : shoe gods say no...unless you buy me a pair.

liked by lando and oscarpiastri

↳ lando : ...what size are you?

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

franciscagomes : goddess. kiss me.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : on my way!!

liked by franciscagomes

hattiepiastri : the way that oscar literally did nothing to deserve your level of beauty is insane. so fun to see you sista:)

liked by yourusername, nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : love you to the moon and back hattieeeee

isackhadjar : it is insane how beautiful you are in person. so nice to meet you, yn!

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

↳ yourusername : haha thank youuu. it was nice to finally meet the man who has been stealing my bf from me;)

liked by oscarpiastri and isackhadjar

—

third person pov

The hospitality suite buzzed with the usual pre-session tension, engineers huddled over screens, press staff darting between schedules. Outside, the sun was bright but not yet cruel, and the paddock was alive with noise—fans cheering just beyond the fences, radio chatter filling the air, tires squealing softly as cars rolled out of garages. Oscar and Isack were tucked away on a low couch in a shaded corner near the back, both of them in their race suits, helmets resting on the floor like sleeping animals. They had been hanging out a lot lately. More than Oscar probably realized. Training sessions, video games back at the hotel, quiet dinners when everyone else scattered after briefings. It had started as a mentor-rookie thing. Now, it was something else—something easier. Something closer. And yet, for the past few days, Isack had felt… off. He couldn’t quite name it. Not out loud.

Oscar nudged him with a water bottle. “You look like you’re buffering.”

Isack blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve just been staring at the garage for like two minutes,” Oscar said, smiling faintly. “You okay?”

“Oh—yeah. Just zoned out.”

He wasn’t lying, not really. He had zoned out, mostly because Oscar was leaning back against the wall, hair still slightly messy from his helmet fitting, eyes bright and full of that quiet determination Isack was beginning to know all too well. And that was the problem. Because lately, when Oscar smiled at him like that, Isack felt his chest tighten. Not in the normal, adrenaline fueled way. In the oh shit I’m not supposed to think that way.

Desperate to shake it off, he cleared his throat. “Where’s YN? Looking forward to meeting her.”

Oscar glanced up from the schedule in his hand. “Pilates class with my mum,” he said, voice casual. “Something about grounding her nervous system before the season starts.”

Isack blinked. “With your mum?”

Oscar laughed. “Yeah, they’re close. She loves YN more than me, I think. You’ll see her tomorrow. She’s coming with mum and my sisters.”

“Oh.” Isack looked away quickly, a little too quickly. “Cool. That’s… cool.”

Oscar reached down to grab his gloves, then looked over again, brow furrowed slightly. “You sure you’re good?”

Isack nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just hungry, probably.”

Oscar didn’t push. Just stood and offered a hand to pull him up, his grip firm, warm, grounding. The kind of touch that made Isack’s heart stutter a little too sharply in his chest. He let go as fast as he could without it looking weird. Oscar slung his towel over his shoulder and started toward the garage, talking about the car setup, something about corner exit speeds and throttle response. Isack heard every word—and none of them.

His brain was stuck on one thing- YN. And Oscar. And them.

He’d barely met her, had only seen her on Oscar’s phone screen. But she was magnetic—gorgeous, smart, somehow both intimidating and welcoming all at once. And now she was in Pilates with Oscar’s mum, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They weren’t just dating. They were entwined. And he liked them both. Not just liked—he felt something. The kind of something that made his chest ache and his thoughts scatter. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Oscar turned back, grinning, the sun hitting his cheek just right. “Come on, rookie. Try not to crash into the wall this time.”

Isack forced a laugh and jogged to catch up. “No promises.”

But as they disappeared down the paddock tunnel together, something in his chest twisted—equal parts awe and confusion, affection and panic. Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a crush. It was two.

—

2nd pov

You arrive with the sun at your back and Oscar’s sisters clinging to both arms, talking a mile a minute about anything that comes to their minds. Nicole walks ahead with purpose, sunglasses on, carrying a huge cardboard cutout of Oscar's face, her protective energy leading the way through the paddock like she’s still half in mum mode, half in PR mode. You love being here—at the first race, in Oscar’s home country, surrounded by the buzz of something about to begin. The nerves haven’t hit yet, not properly. For now, there’s just warmth and momentum. You adjust your sunglasses and exhale, soft and content. And then you see him. Isack.

He’s standing just outside the McLaren garage next to Oscar, shorter frame half casual in his suit, towel slung over one shoulder. He looks distracted at first—until Oscar nudges him and the two of them begin walking toward you. You’ve seen photos. Heard stories. Watched him ramble his way through press duties with a charm that’s either accidental or scarily calculated. But in person, he’s different. Softer. Quieter in the face. There’s something curious in the way he looks at the world. In the way he looks at you.

Oscar grins and slides a hand around your waist without even thinking. “YN, this is Isack. Rookie. Bit of a menace. You’ll like him.”

You step forward slightly and offer him a smile, already amused by the boyish hesitation flickering behind his eyes.

“Nice to finally meet you, Isack,” you say, your voice warmer than you intend. “Oscar’s told me a lot.”

He stares for half a second too long before blinking out of it. “Only the good stuff, I hope?”

You drop your sunglasses just enough to meet his eyes. They’re brighter than you expected—like he hasn’t quite learned how to hide what he’s feeling.

You smile, slow and honest. “The very good stuff.”

Oscar gives your hip a gentle squeeze, grounding you. And still—still—you feel Isack’s gaze lingering.

It’s not creepy. Not even bold. It’s quiet, observant, almost reverent in a way you’re not used to. You’ve been around drivers for years—used to cockiness, confidence, bravado. Isack is none of that. Or maybe he is, just not with you. And that unsettles you more than it should. Oscar’s joking again—something about Isack being a fanboy—and you laugh, leaning into him, chin on his shoulder for a second. But you feel it. That tension in the air. That something.

And when you glance back toward Isack, you catch him looking again. Like he’s trying to memorize the moment. Like he knows he shouldn't be thinking what he’s thinking. And, god, part of you is thinking it too. Just for a second. You shake it off. Smile wider. Turn back to the girls and let Oscar lead you toward the garage. But the impression lingers. Like the heat of someone else’s stare clinging to your skin.

—

You’re wandering. Oscar’s still caught in media debriefs, and you’re killing time before dinner, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, sneakers scuffing along the pavement as the sun starts to dip behind the paddock buildings. The air smells like rubber and champagne residue, like adrenaline that hasn’t quite settled. And then you hear it—footsteps behind you, a shuffle, a clearing throat. You glance back. It’s him. Isack.

He’s changed out of his suit, hair still damp from the shower, black t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, backpack half-zipped over one side. He looks surprised to see you—but not in a bad way. Just caught off guard.

“Hey,” he says. “Didn’t think I’d bump into you.”

You smile, casually slowing your pace so he can fall into step beside you. “Oscar’s still stuck with media. I’m avoiding fluorescent lighting until absolutely necessary.”

He laughs softly, glancing sideways. “You look different out here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Out here?”

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish. “I mean—not in the paddock. Less cameras. More… real?”

“Is that your polite way of saying I looked intimidating earlier?”

“No,” he says quickly, then grins. “Okay—yeah. A little. You walked in like you owned the place.”

“I walk like that everywhere,” you tease.

And he looks at you again—really looks. Like he's searching for something beneath the joke. There’s a pause, too long to be friendly, too quiet to be normal.

“Isack,” you say, breaking the silence, “are you always this intense with people you’ve known for two days?”

He flushes, just slightly. “Not usually.”

You don’t know what possesses you to say it, but you do—soft, playful, and just a little dangerous.

“Must be something in the air, then.”

Another pause. Another look. And then—

“I think you’re kind of incredible,” he says, quiet, like it’s a secret he didn’t mean to tell out loud.

You stop walking. Just for a beat. Not because you’re shocked—but because of how genuine it sounds. Like he doesn’t even want anything from you. Like he’s just saying it.

You meet his eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he replies, steady now. Bolder.

The tension curls between you like a wire pulled taut. And somewhere deep in your chest, you feel the twist of it, the ache of curiosity you’re trying hard to ignore. But it’s there. And it’s growing.

You break the moment with a smile—cool, composed, the way you’ve trained yourself to be. “You’re trouble, Hadjar.”

He shrugs, smirking faintly. “Only on weekends.”

You walk away before either of you can say anything else. But you feel him behind you. Still watching. Still wondering. And the worst part? You are too.

—

You’ve been flying for two hours, and Oscar is asleep. Not just half-asleep, either—fully knocked out, mouth slightly open, arms crossed like he’s trying to convince himself he didn’t lose consciousness mid-movie. You glance over your shoulder from your seat, already biting back a grin. The in flight light above him glows soft against the corner of his jaw, casting him in a kind of peaceful shadow. You’ll tease him about this later. You always do.

Isack chuckles from the seat across the aisle. “Out cold?”

You nod. “He made it exactly 27 minutes into Heat before he gave up. Record breaking, honestly.”

You turn back around, letting your head fall gently against the plush leather of the seat. Your legs are tucked beneath you, one of Oscar’s hoodies drowning your frame, headphones still tangled in your lap even though your playlist ended twenty minutes ago. Across from you, Isack shifts. Not fidgety—just restless in the way of buzzing with energy and nowhere to put it. He has one AirPod in, but you’re pretty sure he hasn’t played anything for a while either. He’s been stealing glances at you ever since Oscar fell asleep. And you haven’t stopped noticing.

It’s not weird. Not really. You’ve spent the past month getting closer. Training days. Dinners. Stolen jokes in the paddock while Oscar gave interviews. You three have become a unit—something unspoken and unlabelled. Something tight-knit. But it’s also not not weird. Because sometimes, Isack looks at you like he’s trying to commit you to memory. And other times, you catch yourself looking back. Right now is one of those times.

“You ever get tired of traveling?” he asks suddenly, voice low.

You blink yourself out of the haze. “Of planes or of never really being anywhere?”

“Both,” he says, eyes soft but serious.

You think about it. “Sometimes. It feels like living in between places, you know? Like you’re always packing a suitcase, but never fully unpacking one.”

Isack nods slowly. “Exactly.”

You shift a little in your seat, pulling your knees closer to your chest. “But then… there are moments like this. Where it’s quiet. Where everything slows down.”

He’s looking at you again. Like you’re saying something important even if you’re not.

“You make the in between feel kind of… okay,” he says quietly.

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s the kind of thing you should laugh off. The kind of thing that should sound like a compliment and nothing more. But it lands heavier than that. Like he meant it more than you were supposed to hear. You glance back toward Oscar. Still asleep. Still peaceful.

And then—“You’ve gotten close to him lately,” you murmur, eyes on Isack now.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. “Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow, inviting more. You’re not sure why.

“He’s... calm,” Isack says. “In a way that makes you want to be better. Not louder. Just… better.”

You nod, understanding in your chest like a pulse. “Yeah. He does that.”

Silence settles again. But this time it’s not awkward. It’s charged. And when you meet his eyes again, something shifts. There’s something fragile and curious hanging between the two of you, held together by the sound of the engines and the soft rhythm of Oscar’s breathing. Not quite guilt. Not quite tension. Something else. Something like possibility. You’re the one who breaks the stare first, heart hammering a little too loud in your chest. You tug your hoodie sleeve over your fingers and look down at your hands.

“We’re landing in about an hour,” you say.

Isack doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything right away. And then—

“Okay,” he says. But it’s not just an answer. It’s full of things unspoken.

Things that won’t stay quiet for much longer.

—

yourusername

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yourusername : spain just got an oscar piastri masterclass

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username000 : everyone say thank you, oscar. and also… hello, isack?

oscarpiastri : the pre-race kisses from someone as beautiful as you really tends to help

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↳ lando : kissing is banned from the garage. oscar cannot win anymore.

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↳ lando : did you even talk to the shoe gods after i bought you those manolos???

↳ yourusername : you won monaco, did you not?

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nicolepiastri : my favorite chaos. my babies

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↳ yourusername : oh yes my b. isack is now my professional photographer everyone ;)

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—

Oscar’s still flushed from the podium. Gold champagne dried into his collarbones, hair messy from the cap, medal still in his backpack. You barely made it through the hotel room door before he had his hands on you. Before he kissed you like the win still hadn’t fully hit him — like he needed you to ground it. To feel it. To come down from it. His mouth is on your neck now, slow and warm. His hands memorizing your waist like he hasn’t touched you a thousand times before. Your shirt is somewhere on the floor. His is tugged up and bunched under your palms, and the laugh that leaves his mouth when you whisper something smug. You pull him down on top of you, tangled in the hotel sheets, everything a blur of skin and warmth and wanting. It’s not rushed. It’s crackling. That kind of need that comes after months of tension and three back-to-back podiums and one long plane ride where you didn’t touch once. Oscar kisses you like he’s starving. You’re about to slip your hands into his waistband when the door opens. Not knocked. Not warned. Just… opened. You don’t register it at first. You think it’s room service. Or housekeeping. Or maybe your head’s just too foggy to care. But Oscar freezes. You glance over your shoulder. Isack.

He’s standing in the doorway, a bottle of champagne in one hand, wide-eyed, stunned, and completely silent. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something—anything—but he doesn’t. He just stares. At Oscar’s hand on your hip. At your lips, kiss-bruised and parted. At the space between your bodies — charged, half-naked, completely unbothered. You should panic. But you don’t. You just stare back. And something about the way he doesn’t look away — something in the way he’s still there, not leaving — twists deep in your stomach. Oscar looks at you, then at Isack, then back at you again. Waiting. Reading. Wanting. You reach down slowly, tracing your fingers up Oscar’s chest, your gaze still locked on the boy in the doorway.

“Are you just going to stand there,” you ask softly, voice like velvet, “or are you going to come in?”

Isack doesn’t move. Not at first. But then— He does. One step inside. Then another. The door doesn’t close. Oscar’s hand finds your thigh again. Yours slides to the waistband of his sweatpants. Isack lingers at the edge of the room, like if he breathes too loud he’ll wake up from something. You sit up slightly, hair falling down your back, pulse hammering behind your ribs.

“You don’t have to,” you say gently. “But if you want to…”

Isack’s eyes flick from your mouth to your hands to Oscar, who is watching him now with a look that borders on something between challenge and invitation.

“I—” he starts.

Then stops.

You tilt your head. “You trust us, don’t you?”

His breath catches. “Yeah.”

Oscar nods once, his voice calm but electric. “Then come here.”

And just like that, the space between you vanishes. Not hesitation. Not shame. Just three people— buzzing with want, burning with something unspoken, and no longer pretending it isn’t there.

—

The first light of dawn slips through the curtains, casting gentle gold stripes across the room. You stir awake to the steady rhythm of two sets of breathing—Oscar’s arm draped protectively around you, and Isack lying just a little apart, eyes closed but peaceful. The quiet morning feels like a warm, soft blanket after the intensity of last night. Careful not to wake Oscar, you slip out of his embrace and move toward Isack. His eyes open the moment you settle beside him.

“Morning,” you whisper.

He blinks, shyly smiling. “Morning, YN.”

For a long moment, you both sit in silence, the comfort of each other’s presence filling the space. Then he speaks, voice low and sincere.

“I wasn’t sure how to say it last night,” Isack admits, eyes searching yours with nervous honesty. “But... I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while. About you.”

Your chest tightens with warmth.

“It’s not just the moment, or the surprise of last night,” he continues steadily. “It’s you. The way you laugh, the way you care. I’ve admired you from afar, but being here... like this... it feels right.”

You reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Isack... that means more than you know.”

He swallows and smiles, the kind of smile that lights up his whole face. “I was scared I’d mess it up, or that it was just a fantasy. But now... I want to see where this goes. With you. With Oscar too.”

Your heart swells at his honesty. This isn’t just a fleeting moment—it’s real. Messy, complicated, but beautiful. Oscar stirs then, rubbing his eyes, his gaze falling on you both. His smile is soft and knowing. “Morning, loves.”

You lean back between them, feeling the steady warmth of two people who fit perfectly with you.

“Good morning,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around them both. “Let’s figure this out together.”

Oscar stretches and grins. “So… I take it last night wasn’t just about the champagne and celebration?”

Isack chuckles nervously. “Definitely not.”

You smile, warmth spreading inside you. “We all surprised each other, didn’t we?”

Oscar’s gaze turns gentle but serious. “I want to be sure this is what we all want. It’s new for me, but I’m willing to try if you both are.”

Isack reaches out, taking Oscar’s hand. “I’m in. I don’t want to lose what we started.”

You squeeze both their hands. “Me too. I think this could be something really special.”

Oscar leans in, forehead resting against yours. “We’ll take it one day at a time. No rush, no pressure. Just us.”

You close your eyes, breathing in the moment and the quiet promise of something real and new. “One day at a time sounds perfect.”

Isack’s smile brightens. “This might just be the best race I’ve ever been part of.”

The three of you laugh softly, a laughter full of hope and tenderness. Together, in the soft morning light, you begin writing the first chapter of your story.

—

It wasn’t planned—none of this ever really was. But somehow, that made it better. Oscar had mentioned it offhand, leaning over the kitchen counter that morning with his hair still wet from the shower. “There’s this island off the coast. McLaren used it once for a shoot. Barely anyone knows about it. We could go.”

You’d looked at Isack, who was already perking up. “A secret island?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “You’re joking.”

Oscar grinned. “Completely serious. Private beach. No media. Just us.”

And just like that, you were packing sunscreen and a couple of towels, grabbing whatever food you could find and piling into a small rented boat. The sea was glassy and blue, the sun already high, and Isack leaned against you the whole ride, humming softly to the playlist Oscar had thrown on.

The moment your feet hit the sand, it felt like another world. The island was wild and quiet—nothing but dunes, stone, and open sky. Oscar dropped the bags onto the beach with a satisfied sigh.

“Told you it was real,” he said, casting you both a smug look.

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, fine. You win.”

Isack was already barefoot, running up the slope toward the ruins like a kid. “This place looks like something out of a dream,” he called over his shoulder.

You spent the day tangled up in each other. Exploring barefoot along the cliffs, your hand in Oscar’s while Isack lagged behind, taking photos of the way your fingers fit so easily together. He caught up to you eventually, sliding his arm around your waist as you both leaned into Oscar’s side, three shadows falling across the rocks in the warm afternoon light. At one point, you all ended up lying on a blanket that Oscar had miraculously remembered to bring. Isack was curled against your side, his head on your stomach, while Oscar laid beside you, feeding you grapes.

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, laughing as he popped another one into your mouth.

He grinned. “Say that again after I feed you strawberries later.”

Isack groaned. “God, I’m third wheeling the softest couple.”

You looked down at him with a teasing smile. “You’re literally cuddling us, Isack."

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, grinning up at you, “that doesn’t mean I’m not dramatic.”

When the sun began to dip low, painting the sea in orange and gold, you all swam in the shallows—laughing, shouting, splashing each other until your cheeks ached. Oscar launched Isack into the water at least three times- you tried to help him retaliate, only to be swept up in the chaos, soaked and breathless. By the time the sky faded into pink, the three of you were wrapped in oversized towels, perched against the old stone wall of the villa ruins. Your legs tangled with theirs. Oscar’s fingers laced through yours. Isack nestled on Oscar’s lap, absently drawing circles on your knee.

“This is the happiest I’ve been in a really long time,” Isack said quietly, his voice almost lost to the wind.

You glanced at him, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Me too.”

Oscar rested his chin on your shoulder. “I wish we could freeze this moment.”

You smiled. “Who says we can’t come back?”

Isack tilted his head, giving you a sleepy, sun-warmed smile. “Yeah... we should make it our spot.”

“Our island,” Oscar added.

“Ours,” you echoed.

And in that soft hush of a Spanish sunset, with the waves below and the warmth of their bodies around you, you felt something settle—something whole and terrifying and beautiful. Whatever this was, it was real. And it was yours.

—

oscarpiastri

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[nicromancytarot]

WHAT WILL YOU LOOK LIKE IN 5 YEARS?

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides what you will look like in 5 years time, pick a picture to find out what they had to say!

PILE 1

Golly gosh, my sweet pile number 1’s, I must tell you the cards I got for this.

2 of pentacles, 8 of cups, 4 of cups, Moon, Page of cups, Tower, 10 of swords, High priestess, 2 of wands, Queen of swords, 5 of pentacles, Lovers.

We’re a little bit hectic over here if you can’t already tell. I wouldn’t say this is anything to worry about however.

Starting off! I feel that your physical appearance is going to change a lot during this era of your life, whether that be you go through a bunch of phases, try new things, receive procedures etc. I feel that a lot of you may feel stagnant in how you look during this time, you may find that you’re right on the cusp of looking how you want, but are struggling to get there. Some of you may begin to notice features of your own mother poking through, others may start to look more mature and possibly take on a more maternal appearance — this could be seen in having a little more maturity to your body perhaps after childbirth, or even just beginning to put your appearance on the back burner if you have kids that must take the forefront of your mind.

I have a feeling that a lot of you will go through a major glow up around this time, which is great, however! The motivation will arise around some sort of betrayal or major shake up like heartbreak, whatever it is will instantly get you feeling like you need to take more care of yourself, and becoming much brighter and just looking happier because of it.

The change in your appearance during this time will certainly mark a new beginning and major change in your life, it will really be that first step to a fresh start.

You may begin taking more care of your body, and specially your skin, perhaps spending more money on the highest review products, or just even investing in some long term serums that you know work wonders for your skin. (Please be careful with how much you spend on this stuff lol, you can definitely find cheaper stuff with amazing properties if you look hard enough) This could also imply that many of you will begin working out and eating healthier around this time as well, ensuring that your self care is the top of your priorities.

And finally, our lovers. Now I would say this will bring a new love opportunity to you, but when I first thought this card was present, it was actually the king of wands that caught my eye in the middle of the deck. You’re going to love yourself a lot more, love looking at yourself in the mirror, and just overall feeling more like yourself. You will love who you have become. Good luck my lovelies, get that beauty on!

Physical features: Intense eyes/eye makeup, wearing lots of black and mysterious colours, becoming skinnier or leaner, muscle building could be applicable, stubborn features you can’t quite get rid of (perhaps a bit of flab on your thighs, something that just makes you look more mature, still hot as hell by the way), some of you may stop shaving for a period of time, black hair, spiky jewellery, silver jewellery, cold toned makeup, clothes, gems etc.

PILE 2

Hello my pile number 2’s, how’s it going? Starting off strong we already have the two of cups, so I’m sure this appearance will be highly negated by the status of your relationships, specially those that we deem romantic. I’m seeing that during this time you are trying different things and may even be getting advice from family and friends about what to wear or what things to CONSCIOUSLY consume — I cannot stress it enough that money is big talk here, I need you to be very aware on what you’re spending your coins for, I wouldn’t recommend any expensive surgeries that could end up going wrong, specially lip injections/filler.

Anywho! You could be being very intentional about the way you appear, perhaps with ensuring you do enough research into new products before purchasing them, or even investing in a personal dermatologist, colour coordinator, personal trainer etc — it’s all very well thought out.

Your glow up, if there is one, may be motivated by some sort of competition, so perhaps just ensure you don’t get too deep into all of that. Knight of pentacles appears twice here, so I’m definitely getting the message that you will be investing a lot of time and effort into your appearance, liking the way you look could be a long time coming.

You’ll have a lot of tips to share with people around this time for sure.

God damn it, I flipped the deck for more info and we got the tower. Ok! Dramatic changes. PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH PROCEDURES!!! I really feel like this is something I need to say with all seriousness. You go for lip filler, you’re coming out with sausages glued to the absence of your lips, also heavy chance you can get scammed when trying to get something done. I would absolutely not recommend any plastic surgery of that kind — however you can get away with waxing (I’m specially getting your bikini line lmao), eyebrows threaded, hair done professionally, professional makeup, nails etc — that’s all fine, but I’m getting a really big feeling to tell you to avoid any plastic surgery, specially if you’re from the UK.

I’m being told you need to embrace your natural features, things that you’ve hidden before can be very alluring when you learn how to harness them. A lot of you may look young for you age, honestly embrace it, you’re going to look twenty at fifty, and the rest of the world will sag, so good on you!

Physical features: doe eyes/very loving expressions, unconventional features that make people look twice (perhaps drawing on moles, or not covering up already existing ones), you could thrift most of your clothes (and get really good at it), may lean into more blues for colours, spending a fair bit money on accessories or hair/makeup etc, whimsical clothes, wearing reds/red lipstick, leaning more into the traditional looks from your culture.

PILE 3

Hello my wonderful pile number 3’s! Ok firstly, this is YOUR time for real, if you grew up without being conventionally attractive, this is your justice coming straight in and giving you that unthinkable glow up. Now this won’t be entirely easy, you will have to put in a fair amount of effort to receive this effortless look, which is fairly ironic given the name. Anyways, I’m seeing the need to take control and allow yourself to focus on your own appearance, people may tell you “looks aren’t everything” or “personality matters the most,” and while they are not far off, it’s not hard to assume they grew up with the privilege you yourself may have not been lucky enough to hold badge of. As it always goes, money is of the essence here, and you may need to spend a fair amount to get that look you desire — obviously do it with a conscious consumer mindset, and don’t go overboard.

I’m seeing that you may join a community of sorts, like a subreddit with the best tips, or perhaps confide in a super cool witch that makes bank off people requesting beauty spells — something of the sort anyways. The people you meet through this community, whatever it is, will help guide you to harnessing your best potential. Now I will say that you may meet some that are a little misguided or too deep into it all, so be aware of what you consume and who you listen to, ensure it’s all ethical and worth your while.

Some of you may actually have to have a glow up for work, like it could be something so minute like having to do something nice with your hair, or having to wear a specific uniform that will just make it all pop and you will receive an abundance of compliments and attention. I’m also getting the message that you could have a new job with/or new uniform that like lowkey makes your eyes pop and you have that moment of realisation to what colours work the best for you.

My main message however is to make sure you don’t lose yourself in echo chambers that end up spewing shit about lookmaxxing or some weird ass phrenology. Like please be aware lol, I’m sure you’ll be fine.

Physical features: Looking intimidating or unapproachable, looking more expensive, glow up that will 100% make people wonder how the hell you did it, appearance change through work (new uniform, hair, makeup), wise appearance, type of person someone sees once and never again but always thinks of, wearing warm palettes (yellow, orange, red, brown), tired/experienced eyes, thrifting clothes/making something old look new

[groovyfrenzypantheon]

This was me on my birthday yesterday. I wondered if you would care if you found me dead in the bathtub from pills or slitting my throat. And I thought about how you might just laugh and tell the guy from the very beginning that I'm finally not a problem or in the way anymore.

And I won't let you have that satisfaction. You're not worth losing my life over. Or catching a charge for because he wants to fight me for your amusement.

I fucking loathe you. I want to dig my long fingernails into my eye sockets and yank down as hard as I can until I fucking scream from the pain of my eyes coming out of my head. I feel fucking ugly and stupid. I ignored so many 'friends' on Snapchat that were ex's or fuck buddies. Ignored the video of you sucking a guy too within the first month, and now you tell me he gave you a ride shortly after we started dating too? Just to piss me off? You're a fucking cunt. And I'm glad I hit on your sister and your best friend's hot MILF mom after all that. Even they want nothing to do with you. Or your mother. And your father is dead and would be ashamed of the slut with daddy issues you became. You literally showed me you wanting to hook up with older men on Craigslist and other apps before you met me, saying you were in a 'kinky hoe phase'

But now you're just gonna tell everyone at our job half of the story, crush on the manager you complained at home to me about that you written up, accuse me of having an affair with a coworker and now you're best friends because you told her bad shit about me.

You're the worst bitch I ever knew in my life. You told me that you added Jaison on Snapchat because you got mad I was asleep when the landlord came with your mattress at 8:00pm instead of 9:30, and you woke me up screaming on the phone to go downstairs.

So that makes you want to add the guy you sucked off on video when we started dating? The video you 'forgot' about? And you think I didn't expect you to hit him up again? Out of the four dudes the one you had sucking on video is probably gonna be the one you hit up. I just didn't think your 'reasoning' would be that lmao.

Yeah. I wish I was dead. I got gaslit and manipulated into supporting someone for years. While being treated like shit and being held to hypocritical standards and living like roommates but not allowed to break up. But when the rent is cheaper because we move and you get mad about me taking a nap before a delivery for your free mattress from the landlord... You hit that dude up?

Yeah you're fucking nuts dude. That's some mental gymnastic.

[classytiti]

i wonder what Stack is like during sex. Rougher, deeper, meaner. The kind of man who doesn’t ask... just takes. (18+, MINORS DNI) Masterlist Here Discord link Here

he’s got your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, the other gripping your ass. his voice is a growl right up against your ear, hot breath coating your skin.

“you knew what you were doin’, wearin’ that little dress,” he mutters, hips slamming into you so hard the headboard slams the wall. “wanted me riled up, huh? well, now you got it.”

you can barely breathe. each thrust is painful, almost punishing. you arch, moan, claw at the sheets.

“stack—”

“say it right,” he bites down on your shoulder. “say my name like you need it.”

“stack,” you gasp, broken. “fuck, Stack, please.”

He pulls your leg higher around his waist, fucking deeper. your back bows. pleasure coils low in your belly, threatening to snap. his thumb drags over your clit in tight, rough circles, and it’s almost too much.

“i said please,” you whimper.

“and I said I ain’t done.” his eyes are sharp, hungry, eating you alive as he watches your fucked out body beneath him. “you’re gonna take every fuckin’ drop I give you, girl. every inch. every damn time.”

you don’t know where you end and he begins. there’s sweat, teeth, breath, bruises blooming on your hips. he flips you over like it’s nothing, hand on your spine, pressing you down.

“look at you,” he mutters behind you. “back arched like you lovin' this shit.”

and when he finally lets go, when he grabs your hips and slams in so hard your breath gets knocked out, you cum with a cry that echoes in the dim room, raw and wrecked.

he groans, low and deep, spilling into you like he’s been holding it back for years. his weight drops against your back, chest heaving.

a beat passes. Then:

“don’t go thinkin’ this was just tonight,” he says into your neck, lips brushing your skin. “next time, I’m takin’ my time with you. gonna make you beg for it slow.”

[eeriesilkworm]

Why I think the flashback scene in ST5 is about Lonnie (and Mike and Jonathan's complicated relationship...)

CW: This post discusses potential spoilers and mentions implied abuse (It's about Lonnie, after all...) proceed with caution!

So, we already know about the casting call for a scene featuring 8-year-old Mike and Will, and 13-year-old Jonathan.

I've had multiple thoughts about what this scene could be (so many possibilities!) but after reading a leak regarding this scene, I've finally settled on (an admittedly speculative) theory.

(Of course, not all leaks are accurate, so take this with a grain of salt. And if you’re avoiding spoilers, consider this your cue to stop reading!)

Based on the leak, here’s what we know about the scene so far:

It is not a supernatural or horror-based memory (unlike Will’s 1983 flashbacks of the Upside Down).

It takes place on a school set (likely Hawkins Elementary, which makes sense if they’re reusing sets e.g. Holly Wheeler’s school).

The scene includes multiple parallels to Season 2.

This made me wonder: what Season 2 themes involving Mike, Will, and Jonathan could be echoed here—without needing the supernatural?

It’s difficult to answer because Will’s entire plot in Season 2 revolves around the supernatural. Namely, his possession by the Mind Flayer. But if this flashback isn’t supernatural, maybe the show is drawing on what the Mind Flayer represents: trauma, fear, and abuse.

The Mind Flayer as an allegory for trauma and PTSD

I don’t need to make this section long—most fans are acutely aware that the Mind Flayer is associated with trauma and PTSD. This is supported by the fact that these hauntings begin when the anniversary of Will’s abduction approaches, and that Will is diagnosed with PTSD by Dr Owens. The only thing that people may need convincing of, is that the Mind Flayer (and Upside Down) serve as allegory not just for trauma, but for Will’s specific trauma concerning his father. @greenfiend has an excellent series which delves into this theory.

Will is good at hiding

Season 2 also clearly shows us what Will's primary trauma response is: He initially freezes, be he also runs and hides. The way Will ran and hid behind the stairs on Halloween seemed practiced to me. Like he had done this before. He doesn't panic, and he doesn't keep running. He chooses to close his eyes and hide in a self-soothing position.

In fact, Jonathan himself has said that Will is good at hiding:

He wouldn't know this if he hadn't witnessed Will hiding before. In fact, Will being good at hiding implies he is also difficult to find.

It would make sense for us to see this play out: Will hiding, and Jonathan attempting to find him. And if Mike is also there, and we're paralleling Season 2, then that means...

Mike is good at finding

Despite Will being good at hiding, Season 2 also showed us that Mike is good at finding him. There are three Mind Flayer associated scenes in which Mike is the one to find Will, and in two of them, he's also the one who breaks him out of the visions.

He spots him outside the arcade:

He's the first to find him at Halloween: "I couldn't find you!"

And he's the first to find Will outside Hawkins Middle on the field: "I just found him like this!"

The 1979 Theory

If we're able to acknowledge that the Mind Flayer serves as an allegory for trauma and PTSD, then the gates which allowed the Mind Flayer to penetrate Hawkins (and Will by extension) are also relevent.

Interestingly, the first gate was opened by El in 1979. In this flashback—if Mike and Will are aged 8 years old—that means it also takes place in 1979.

I've made a fairly visual (rather than analytical) post about what I think may have happened to Will in 1979 and how it parallels the Hawkins Lab Massacre.

(Content warning: while nothing is explicit, the subject matter involves implied child abuse).

TL;DR: I believe Lonnie’s abuse escalated in 1979, and it marked a significant trauma for Will—one that he likely repressed or fragmented, much like El did with her memories of the massacre. That would make 1979 a foundational year for both of them: the year their “gates” were opened.

Jonathan’s guilt (the Mike vs Jonathan argument leak)

Additonally, there is a leak which claims Mike and Jonathan will get into an argument about Will's safety this season.

If this ends up being true, I think it will feed into this flashback scene as well. Specifically, Jonathan's guilt and possible quiet resentment of Mike.

I say resentment because Jonathan has made it clear that he views Will as his best friend. He also took on a somewhat parental role helping to raise Will, despite only being 4 years older. He likely feels that Will’s safety and wellbeing is his responsibility.

However, the show has also told us that children aren’t always honest with their parents/ family, but they usually tell their friends everything:

Once again, I’ll point to my previous post about 1979, and the fact that I believe there is something concerning Lonnie’s abuse that Mike is somewhat privy to, that Joyce and Jonathan are not. Because Will told Mike things he didn't tell anyone else.

Jonathan on the other hand, is concerned and insecure that Will no longer comes to him when he needs help or advice.

He said so himself in Season 4:

Jonathan also has a track record of not being around when bad things happen to Will—or not being the one to "rescue" him—but Mike usually is:

Will was at Mike's house before he went missing, and Jonathan was supposed to be waiting at home for him. While Jonathan was focused on capturing the Demogorgon, Mike was focused on finding Will.

Will was trick-or-treating with Mike when he was chased by the Mind Flayer, and Jonathan was at a party when he was supposed to be supervising Will. While Jonathan was partying, Mike brought Will home to his place.

When Will was possessed by the Mind Flayer, Mike stayed by his side the entire time, while Jonathan met with Murray to expose the Hawkins Lab scandal.

It was Mike's memory of meeting Will for the first time that allowed Will to (partially) break out of his possession and use morse code.

None of these are Jonathan's fault, but he has clearly expressed guilt:

If an argument does break out between Mike and Jonathan this season, I think it will be fuelled by exactly that: Jonathan’s quiet resentment and frustration that Mike keeps “butting in,” keeps (trying) to protect Will in ways that Jonathan believes should be his responsibility.

And if emotions run high, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mike snaps back with something like, “Well, I’ve actually been there when Will needed someone. Can you say the same?”

Likewise—Jonathan, who is aware of Will's romantic feelings for Mike—would find that quite rich coming from him, as he's witnessed his brother's heart break.

So for Mike to throw Will’s emotional well-being back in Jonathan’s face? That would cut deep. It would feel hypocritical. And that’s what would make the fight so compelling—two people who love Will deeply, clashing over how to protect him, while unknowingly tearing open wounds they both helped shape.

In this post I point out that Mike and Jonathan's "heart-to-heart" conversations with Will in ST4 were very similar: they were both seeking reconnection with him and expressing concern that they have become distant.

This tension will culminate in Season 5.

How it culminates (my actual theory regarding the flashback)

I speculate that the flashback will show Jonathan arriving at Hawkins Elementary to pick Will up from school, only to find out that Will isn’t where he’s supposed to be. But not because he got lost—because he’s hiding.

The reason why Will is hiding may not be explicitly stated, but it's because he's scared to go home—scared to see Lonnie.

Jonathan will search for Will, but it will likely be Mike who finds him first, or Mike who is already with him (and alerts Jonathan).

Mike also might already have an inkling as to why Will doesn’t want to go home. Because friends don’t lie. Because friends tell each other things they don’t tell parents.

He might even offer to let Will come stay at his place—a callback to what he does years later in Season 2, when he says he’ll "take him home" and brings him to the Wheeler house instead.

This flashback will be seen from either Mike or Jonathan's perspective, as Will's memories of 1979 are likely spotty. It will also highlight the dynamic between the three: Jonathan and Mike are both similarly protective of Will due to their affection for him. But this also creates wounds:

Because Mike feels helpless to protect Will from harm, even if he is always there for him, and Jonathan is frustrated by Will's habit of repressing and hiding his pain.

Well, that's my theory. What do you guys think the flashback scene will be about?

[ntmx8783]

Episode 18: Lost Stars B's-Log Translation

Disclaimer: This translation is done by a non-professional TLer. There may be inaccuracies in it, so please use it as a reference and not law. Measures were taken to ensure accuracy, but I am only human! I have chosen to use the ENG terms whenever possible; please see TL notes for more information.

Please do not repost my translations.

Plain text and TL notes under the cut!

Undergoing Tentei's Trials at the Star Festival[1]! For a single day each year, the Hotarubi rain stops for the Star Festival. As part of the festival rites, four students are selected to take part in Tentei's trials together as 'Hikoboshi' and 'Orihime'[2]. Further, it's said that if you're able to overcome this difficult undertaking, Tentei will grant you a special wish...?!

◦ ❖ ◦

As the MC waits in front of the large bamboo, the ghouls arrive one after another. But, as soon as Towa spots her, he pulls her into a hug?! Later, Lyca seems to be enjoying the festivities! He takes a particular interest in the 'Lightbulb Soda'[3]. "T-Towa!! For you and her to do such a thing in public...!!" "Hey, you get one too. What colour d'you want?"

◦ ❖ ◦

Take on the trials bestowed by Tentei! For this year's festival, Towa, Lyca, and Subaru have been selected to take on the role of 'Hikoboshi' by the anomalous Star Lottery[4]. The MC, designated as this year's 'Orihime' by the three ghouls, wonders if the trial's reward could be used to undo her curse. According to the scroll bestowed by Tentei, there's a total of five trials to complete. Under the assumption that the riddles can be solved at the festival itself, the group begins to look for clues around the area, and--.........

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Translation Notes:

[1] While the original calls it 'July 7th', it's genuinely just referring to Tanabata, aka the Star Festival (according to the official ENG TL). This is a traditional Japanese festival, and many of the things referenced within this B's-Log is taken from that myth, so if you don't know anything about it, I highly recommend looking into it! ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [2] Tentei, Hikoboshi, and Orihime are all pulled from the myth. While the TL for Tentei should be accurate (天帝 is just... Tentei), I am unsure if they will be called Hikoboshi/Orihime or Cowherds/Tanabata Girl (牽牛役・織女). The JP used are epithets for Hikoboshi and Orihime, and it would match the myth, but. I truly truly do not know, so I chose what I think is most likely. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [3] I don't know what else to call this. Electric Soda? The JP, 電気ソーダ, comes from 電球ソーダ which are the lightbulb shaped sodas. Since the focus is on the lightbulb / electricity theme, I went with Lightbulb Soda, but I am hoping the ENG has a better TL than that.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [4] 星みくじ. The JP says either the process of the lottery or the lottery itself is anomalous, and it gives this a title, so I just chose to translate it directly. There's a good chance this won't be the real name in the episode, but the idea is that the three 'Hikoboshi' are selected randomly, which could explain why Hotarubi aren't the ones leading this mission fully! While there's no explanation on why Zenji is there yet, it seems he's once again just tagging along. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ Side note: This episode takes place in Hotarubi. The image of the building on the water is in Hotarubi! Neat!

[thaylepo]

you can also pre-emptively darn to reinforce areas you've noticed tend to wear thru more quickly! AND darning can be combined with patching for extra heavy duty reinforcement!

Sincerely, a fellow thick-thighed pants-wearer who has been patching/darning/reinforcing the same pair of work jeans on the inner leg for six years now like a disaster relief worker desperately stacking sandbags against an oncoming flood lolol

(When the other 90% of those jeans is as worn out as the crotch is i'll finally call it quits, but until then I will ship-of-Theseus these pants because they are otherwise sturdy as hell)

((I'm learning how to darn holes! I'm tired of wearing through my clothes quickly because of my work boots or thick thighs, so I'm finally learning how to properly darn a hole. First vs second attempt, and I think I'm already getting the hang of this!))

[capseycartwright]

7 for the prompts xx

hello this got wildly long and out of control and is also on ao3 here. thank u pal and hope you enjoy

7: i can’t go on like this

Aaron didn’t mean for it to happen, him and Robert. He knows how it sounds, how it would look to the rest of the village if they found out – how they’d tut, and sigh, and wonder why Aaron didn’t just leave John at the altar if he was going to end up back in Robert Sugden’s arms again – but the truth was, Aaron didn’t mean for it to happen again. He’d tried, he’d really tried, he’d kept Robert at arm’s length, he’d been cruel, and unkind, and he’d told Robert to go, over and over, and over, but Robert hadn’t listened.

Or maybe, the truth was, Aaron hadn’t wanted Robert to listen – when Robert had started to stay away, shoulders slumped as he tried his best to keep his distance, to let Aaron move on with his life, with John, Aaron had felt this strange sense of panic take over: if Robert listened, and he left Aaron alone, maybe he’d move on too. He knew Robert had been going on dates again – the first one had sounded like a bit of a disaster, frankly – but weeks after, Victoria had let it slip that Robert was in Hotten on a first date again. Aaron wasn’t supposed to know, and Victoria had begged him to keep it to himself, so Aaron had gone home to his husband and sat and spiralled about who the date might be with, if Robert was having fun, if Robert might go home with them, if he might fall in love, and move on and forget all about Aaron.

He should have wanted that to be the case. Aaron should have wanted the story to go that way – for Robert to meet someone new, and for him to leave Aaron, and John, by association, alone – but he hated the idea so much it had him up until all hours of the night, his sleeping husband completely unaware as he snored next to Aaron.

(John snored so fucking much – it made Aaron long for Robert’s tendency to kick in his sleep, remember those nights when Robert would toss, and turn, and the only way to stop it was to wrap his own legs around Robert’s restless ones, Robert more delighted by being wrestled into being the little spoon than he’d ever admit).

Aaron hadn’t meant for it to happen the way it did – but a week after he saw Robert on a third date in the Woolpack, he let himself into Victoria’s house, and he kissed him, and just like the last time, the rest was, well, history.

“Robert?” Aaron squinted, groggy as he roused himself from sleep. The right side of the bed was empty (the right side, not the left, John insistent from the beginning of their relationship that he had to sleep on the left, leaving Aaron disjointed as he slept on the side he’d come to know as Robert’s, regardless of what bed he was in), Robert sitting by the window, jumper pulled down over his wrists, his pale legs bare and glowing in the moonlight sneaking in the gap in the hotel curtains.

“Robert?” Aaron repeated, swinging his legs out of the bed, padding across the carpet to where Robert was sitting. The hotel was a far cry from the plush hotels they’d met in the first time around, Robert still married to Chrissie, but Aaron couldn’t spend that much money without John noticing, and Robert had only managed to get himself parttime hours with Caleb, so it wasn’t as if he was flush with cash. Life was different, now. “Are you alright?”

Robert turned his head, and Aaron’s heart sank as he realised that those perfect blue-green eyes he’d come to love so much – the ones that looked like the sparkling waves of the Welsh coast where they’d gone for a week every summer, when they were together – were filled with tears.

“You know,” Robert heaved out a breath, a different man to the one who’d gone to prison all those years ago – tired, and frightened, a lot of the time, but more open, in a strange way, honest in a way that still unnerved Aaron sometimes. “I never appreciated how hard it was for you to be on the other side of the affair, all those years ago.”

“Robert…” Aaron trailed off, chewing the side of his lip. It was sort of uncharted territory, this, neither of them willing to address the John-shaped elephant in the room as weeks turned into months and this rendition of their affair ran as long as it had the first time around.

“I never understood how much it must have hurt you, to watch me leave, and go back to Chrissie, over, and over, and over,” Robert wiped roughly at his eyes, looking younger than his near-forty years old, his hair free of product and flat against his forehead. Aaron was trying to forget all the times he saw that same hairstyle on Robert from across a prison visiting table. “But it hurts – it’s like this ache, deep in my chest, and I can’t do anything about it. I feel – I feel powerless. Is that how I made you feel?”

Aaron didn’t think about their affair – their first – all that often, anymore. His memories of stolen kisses in barns and clandestine meetings in hotel rooms had long since been replaced with sweet kisses in the Woolpack and a shared nightly routine in the Mill. The affair wasn’t what Aaron missed, about Robert, when he was inside – Aaron missed the version of Robert had had married (twice), the one who loved him so openly, unashamedly.

But if he thought about the affair, about the younger version of himself who had been so desperately in love with Robert that he had been willing to accept scraps, then –

“Yeah,” Aaron admitted, his voice hoarse. “That’s how it felt for me then.”

Robert offered him a sad smile. “I guess I finally know how you felt. Maybe it’s the universe finally getting me back for all the ways I hurt you, back then,” he said, and Aaron hated that there was so much truth in that – as much as he and Robert had loved each other, and Aaron loved the bones of Robert Sugden, even when he pretended he didn’t, they had always been just as good at hurting each other as they were at loving each other, knowing what words would hurt the most, how to dig the metaphorical knife in and make each other bleed.

They deserved each other, for better, and for worse.

“Every time I have to watch you go back to him, it feels like a part of me dies,” Robert admitted, glancing out the hotel room window. “And yet, I still keep coming back for more, Aaron.”

Aaron knew how that felt, too.

Crouching in front of Robert, Aaron placed his hands on Robert’s knees, the touch slow, and gentle. Slow was the most important thing, about this new version of Robert, Aaron had discovered – he needed to know there was time to get away.

Robert didn’t move.

There was a scar on Robert’s knee that hadn’t been there before prison – long, and jagged, the scar went as far as his calf, the skin silvery, and white, as though the wound was long healed. Maybe it was, physically, but Aaron knew the emotional scars ran deep, that Robert went through more inside than he’d even admitted to Aaron – and Aaron was the one person he had been unfailingly honest with.

Taking one of Robert’s hands in his own, Aaron pressed a kiss to the cold skin of the back of Robert’s hand. He was always cold, was Robert, hands and feet icy. It had annoyed him, once upon a time, but he missed it now, craving the way Robert used to shove his hands up Aaron’s pyjama top at night as he lay next to John, his current husband an unbearable furnace to sleep next to. “I’m sorry,” he said, and maybe that wasn’t entirely honest either – Aaron wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel sorry about wanting Robert, about taking what he wanted, what he needed, from the man he’d once promised to spend his life with.

“You’re not sorry, Aaron,” Robert returned, and the tone wasn’t accusatory – it was sad, more than anything, accepting of the reality of the situation they were in, a situation that wasn’t at all unfamiliar: it was just that this time, Aaron was married, and Robert was the one begging for more.

Maybe that was just what they were destined to be – mirror images of each other, good and bad, destined to repeat their mistakes over, and over, and over, until finally, someone caught in the crossfire of the great Aaron and Robert love story has enough, and burns it all down on their behalf.

(Sometimes – sometimes Aaron worries that John might be that person. That their luck has run out and the man who’d put the gold wedding band on Aaron’s finger might be the one responsible for his downfall.)

Robert gave his hand a squeeze. “I can’t go on like this, Aaron,” and Aaron knew it was the truth – that Robert was tired, was exhausted of the sneaky kisses and secret hotel stays, of their love being hidden all over again. Aaron knew, because he’d felt it all before, when he was in Robert’s place – and that’s how he knew, that as truthful as it was, as much as Robert meant it, Robert would still come, when Aaron called. He knew, because he’d always come when Robert had called him, once upon a time.

In a strange way, doing this, sleeping with Robert behind his husbands back – it made Aaron feel oddly sympathetic to a version of Robert he’d once hated, the one who’d kept going back to Chrissie, who had worn the weight of a wedding ring on his finger even as he’d used those clever hands to take every inch of Aaron apart. It hadn’t been easy to be the dirty little secret, but it wasn’t easy to be on this side of it, either.

Leaning in, Aaron pressed a soft kiss to Robert’s already kiss-bitten lips, the other man relaxing into his embrace. “Come back to bed,” he pleaded, because talking about this was never going to get them anywhere – Aaron had lived through it all before, and he knew how this ended: with him, and Robert, standing amongst the wreckage of their lives, of all the lives they’d managed to ruin because they’d never learned to love each other the easy way.

Aaron didn’t know how to fix it, how to end it with John, how to want to end it with John and chose Robert, knowing Robert had never been the safe choice – but had always been the best choice he’d ever made.

Nodding, Robert allowed Aaron to pull him up out of the chair, and led back to bed, Aaron sneaking his hands under Robert’s jumper as they burrowed underneath the duvet, palm pressing to the curve of Robert’s belly, the skin there warm.

“I love you,” Aaron said, and he knew Robert wouldn’t say it back – Robert never did, these days, and Aaron didn’t begrudge him that either, not when he’d done the same himself all those years ago. “I love you,” he repeated, burying his face in the space between Robert’s face, and shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of Robert’s cologne, the same one he’d worn before he’d gone to prison.

(Some things never changed).

Love wasn’t enough, Aaron knew – but for now, it was the only answer he had.

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Seven) (18+) / SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 7.3k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

A/N: a second spring fling update in 2 weeks??? and a long one???? we're so back, baby. this one's juicyyy i hope you like it >:) <3 day two is finished! thank you for sticking around and being patient with me, and I hope you enjoy :) <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You hadn’t exactly tuckered yourself out while mini-golfing, but you’d certainly exhausted your brain and your emotions while thinking through the sunset with Jake, so you’re eager to get your hands on a drink. 

It’s late, past what you’d normally call dinnertime, but not late enough to sleep after getting buzzed. Your only hope is the bar food, and you wonder if you’ll be able to choke down garlic knots after downing three drinks. That’s your plan for the night- three, no more, and hopefully no less. Three is the magic number, the one that will make you forget about your inner turmoil while still leaving you conscious enough to remember the night’s events tomorrow. You’re not the biggest fan of blacking out, but you’re glad you’re with Jake if you do.

You’re snacking on appetizers during your first drink, letting Daniel hand-feed you mozzarella sticks during your second, and by the third and final drink you’d planned for the night, you’re clumsily locking hands and arms with Danica, whirling around the small square of tiles they’re calling a dance floor. You’re whooping, cheering, and laughing as each of you stumble around each other, but you’re having fun, far more thrilling fun than you’ve had thus far and it’s pleasing your buzzed brain to not be thinking.

Jake’s tried to inject some Texan flair into your dancing, seizing the opportunity to teach you what he swears up and down is a ‘simple’ line dance when Fake ID begins blaring over the speakers. 

You think he’s full of shit.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen Footloose, you’re no Julianne Hough.

You and Danica both decide that the footwork is too difficult in your inebriated states, and your shoes just don’t click on the floor when Jake’s do, no matter how hard you try. Although, that might have something to do with how distracting he is, swinging his hips around while turning on his heels, extra pronounced to show you how it’s done.

Not that you’ve been looking at his hips moving, and if you have, it’s totally the drinks’ fault. And it’s especially their fault that- not that, if, it looks good.

You’re enjoying the atmosphere of the bar much more tonight than you were last night, which you feel guilty for, because Daniel had been a dream not even 24 hours ago. But things seem more solid now, more real, more comfortable despite your two left feet.

You’re not sure how, because your entire perception of Jake is widening, deepening, shifting. But one of the perks of being stuck together for years in a work environment where your lives depend on each other is that you happen to trust him, at least a little. 

He might not be the first person you’d choose for this particular endeavor, or the second, or the third, and maybe he wouldn’t have even been the last, before Danica had gotten to you, but you know you can fall back on at least being his friend while you’re trying to rhythmically peel your shoes off of the sticky floor of a bar.

Your brain had been buzzing with uncertainties last night, would Daniel kiss you, when would Daniel kiss you, how would Daniel kiss you, would it be as good as it was in the elevator, but here and now, you can predict Jake’s every move, even if Danica swears there’s new meaning behind it.

“No, darlin’, that’s not- that’s not it.” Jake shakes his head, and the speakers nearly drown him out as he studies your form, “You’re trying to jump, all you need to do is pick one foot up. It looks fancy ‘cause you’re turnin’ too, but it’s just one foot up and a spin, then you’re landing on the raised foot and doing the same with the opposite side.”

He demonstrates, and you stare blankly.

“Like this.” He offers, reaching for your waist with both hands, “Right foot up, heel against the floor.”

You let him shimmy your hips into position, and prop your heel up against the linoleum.

“Good. Now step back this way with the other foot,” He instructs, tugging at your hips, “And you’re gonna turn yourself to the right. Quarter-turn-” He calls, when you give it all you’ve got and nearly end up backwards, “Just a quarter-turn, darlin’. And then you’ve gotta come back the way you came, do it all this way. Left foot now, kick-ball-change.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” You yell to be heard over the music, your shoe slamming against the floor when you nearly lose your balance trying to imitate Jake’s impressive footwork, “Jake, I don’t think I’m made for line dancing!”

“You’re not.” Jake concludes, his voice deepening as he watches you try to keep pace with the song, but it’s useless when the last chorus ends and the music dies down, “But that doesn't mean we can’t try again.”

“The song’s over.” You point out, out of breath and grateful for the single second of silence before the next one plays, “I guess I’ll never learn.”

“I’ve got it on my phone.” Jake informs you, “And if we aren’t gonna have sex we’ve gotta be gettin’ some other exercise. You and me, darlin’, line dance drills first thing in the morning.”

You stuff your face into Danica’s bare shoulder, the strapless cut of her dress giving you a perfect expanse of skin to groan into. She laughs and you feel it where your nose is pressed into her neck- her perfume’s really nice. Elegant but sweet, something you’d want as an air freshener hanging from your rearview mirror.

You rest there, feeling her hand make contact with your waist as she tucks you against her. You sway slowly to the much more subdued song over the speakers, something about love and marriage and babies in the carriage. 

You remember last night’s haze- as much as your brain allows, and you recall being spun in a barstool by Daniel. You’d enjoyed it at the time, but this slow dance doesn’t make you nearly as dizzy, which you give Danica a point for. 

Perhaps a scoreboard would help you figure out what to do here?

Your head’s no longer in the clouds from Daniel’s allure, but thanks to your drinks your feet aren’t firmly on the ground anymore, either.

It’s actually Danica that lists sideways, but the way you’re pressed up against her means that you lean into it instead of against it, and the both of you tumble with startled yelps. You’re not so far gone that you don’t know you’re falling, but you’re too tipsy to balance yourself, and you resign yourself to breaking your nose against the dance floor as you fall for the second time in 24 hours.

Deja vu is not being kind to you on this cruise.

Danica goes down first, and you’re both lucky that Jake is there to chase after you, because he manages to lunge and slip his hand beneath her head before she can crack it against the tile, and he winds up clutching your back to his chest, keeping you upright against his own body. He’s hovering over Danica on the floor, one hand beneath her head and the other wrapped around your middle. It seems almost effortless, the way he keeps you upright, and you find that none of your weight is resting on your feet with the way they’re limply resting on the ground between Jake’s own. You’re just- hanging there, saved by Jake’s strong arms. You can see muscles bulging in his forearms as he tries keeping his center of gravity grounded without dropping either of you, but Daniel’s made his way over by now, mere seconds too late to catch you, and takes Danica’s head from Jake’s palm.

“I got it.” Daniel mumbles, neutral as a combination of gruff to Jake and crooning to Danica. She looks just as shocked as you are at your sudden change of perspective, and she lets Daniel haul her up into a seated position, resting her weight against his side.

“Jesus. You two can’t handle the damn dance floor.” Jake pants, his breath puffing against your ear as he straightens up. He’d been crouched over, and you’re impressed that he’d been able to stay upright himself with the way he’d hung onto your languid form, practically dangling you from his chest.

“Are you okay?” Daniel ducks to meet Danica’s glassy gaze, his voice soft and his eyes concerned. 

She nods, scrubbing a hand over her eyes, “I think so. Jake- did you catch me?”

“I hope I did. Does your head hurt?” He frowns, and now that you’ve remembered how to use your feet again, you attempt to. You stand, trying to squirm out of his hold around your midsection but he doesn’t let go, only squeezing you tighter to his chest like a silent reprimand.

“Jake-” You grunt, trying to pry his hand off of your waist but he swats you away, eyes still worriedly locked on Danica.

“No, it doesn’t hurt.” She decides, “I’m just dizzy. And- um, a little sick.”

Daniel moves much quicker this time, standing and bending over to meet her instead of having his entire body in the splash zone, “Can you make it to the bathroom? Or do you want to just sit for a while and see if it passes?”

She swallows experimentally, and grimaces, “Bathroom. Please.”

“I can take her,” You offer, but Jake’s other hand flies to your waist now, and he manhandles you around to face him. You nearly lose your balance again when he spins you, and you’re so intimidated by Jake’s eyes staring directly into your own that you don’t feel steady despite your feet being on the ground.

“Wait. What about you?” He asks, peering into your eyes like he’ll find signs of a concussion in them, “Did you hit anything?”

His scrutiny reminds you of earlier in the pool, when your bikini had come untied and you’d seen genuine concern from Jake for one of the first times in your life, unmarred by amusement, scorn, or his ego. It had been raw, real, and you see the near-permanent cocky glaze clear from his eyes like clouds drifting away from the sprawling light of the sun. Underneath is Jake, really, truly Jake, and you don’t know how to act when you find yourself met with nothing but sincerity.

“I’m fine.” You manage, your protests melting into a feeble hand on his wrist, not pulling, not pushing, just holding, “Jake, you can- you can let me go, I’m okay.”

He takes a breath, then releases the pressure on your waist, but his hands don’t lower and yours doesn’t drop from his. You stay there for a moment, by choice, and then a soft groan comes from Danica and you remember there’s things going on outside of whatever vortex you and Jake had been sucked into just now. The music comes flooding back into your senses, you remember you’re standing in the sticky remains of dozens of spilled drinks on the dance floor, and Daniel’s eyes on you and Jake blaze, not warm like Jake’s sun but scorching, burning, painful.

Jake drags his hands off of your hips and your arm falls back to your side.

“Come on,” Your voice is almost shaky, something weak and frail as you let Danica drape herself over your shoulders, “It’s not that far to the bathroom. You think you can make it?”

She nods, but her response is more of a grunt than anything else. You feel for her- there’s nausea roiling in your own gut from where Jake had inadvertently squeezed your stomach.

You help her move slowly and carefully into the bathroom, trudging under her weight as she rests her face in the crook of your neck. It’s comforting, but now you’re marveling even more at how Jake had kept you both suspended, your tired limbs sluggish and struggling to hold another person’s weight.

Jake hadn’t been knocking back drinks like you had, but you have to hand it to him; he’s got military muscles.

Jake watches carefully as you and Danica cross the threshold of the bathroom, feeling the same urge to barge in as he had the night prior. This all feels like a time loop, where each day gets more confusing and complicated than the last. Same bar, same people, same drinks, but wildly different feelings in the air.

He wonders if Danica’s advice has been paying off- sure, you’d been receptive enough on the golf course, but he’s unfamiliar with doing anything but needling you, and trying to puzzle out your reactions to things while also engaging in an entirely new set of behaviors is a lot for him to handle.

He wishes he could read your mind.

This cruise gives him the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s an isolated environment that encourages sex without complications and people he’s never going to see again in his life-

Except for you.

Of course you’re here too. 

Of course he couldn’t have just taken Coyote’s advice in peace, of course he couldn’t have gotten away from all the buzz of the San Diego port and fucked his feelings out on some random woman, using her as an outlet for all of his conflicting feelings on getting older and settling down. He’s in his thirties trying to live at twenty-one, used to the bachelor life but watching all of his friends get married and have kids right before his eyes. Each one is a wake up call, and waking up to a stranger in his bed opens a chasm beneath his heart that he digs deeper every time.

And it doesn’t help that he’s found himself drawn to you. At a time he’d have called you enemies or rivals, and even just a day before this cruise he would have described your relationship as something pitted against him. But you’re his favorite to mess with, you’re the one whose side he drifts to unconsciously, even if it’s just to knock you around by your helmet, and he slides into a comfortable routine of giving you a hard time every time you work together. Perhaps it was born out of contempt or jealousy but as he’s grown, shifted, deepened, it’s become something he does by default. The actions have stayed the same but the man has changed, and Danica’s suggestion that the actions may have to change along with the man thrusts Jake into highly uncomfortable territory.

No one has ever called Jake Seresin a vulnerable man, and giving anyone the opportunity to do so now makes him feel like he’s spinning out behind the controls.

Luckily for him, an agitating snarl comes from over his left shoulder to oh-so-kindly snap him out of his reverie.

“Are you just gonna stand there and wait for them to come back?” Daniel asks, his voice rough and jagged, “You can relax- they don’t need their guard dog right now.”

Jake turns, his face hardening into the smirk he wears so often, “Well staying alert was what just saved the day, wasn’t it? I noticed you didn’t get there in time.”

Daniel’s eyes flash dangerously, something steely in them that Jake notices every time something interferes with his faux-chivalry.

“You know what else I noticed? I think you’ve got a problem with me.” Jake pushes, edging into Daniel’s space like he’s practiced with dozens of opponents before. His signature move- push just far enough to get the other person to start the fight.

“Now is it the height,” Jake inches forwards, looking down at Daniel with his shoulders squared, “Or the muscles?” He doesn’t even have to accentuate those, “Or, is it that you thought you were gonna be gettin’ it on with two women tonight, and it’s looking like you’re down to none?”

“She doesn’t like you,” Daniel seethes, “Neither of them do.”

And maybe he hits his mark, maybe it’s ‘like’ instead of ‘want’- love instead of sex - maybe it’s the way he believes what he says, the conviction in his tone and in his tensed shoulders, but Jake bristles, jaw tightening and muscles tensed.

“You’re a cocky, self-centered, arrogant douchebag,” Daniel declares, “And that persona’s a dime a dozen straight out of high school. She wants- she deserves something better than that. She deserves someone better than you. A real man, not some frat boy who thinks one smirk can win him whoever he wants. And even if you manage to ‘get her’, even if you wear her down and coerce her into giving you what you want,” Daniel exhales heavily, reminding Jake of a stubborn, vicious bull, seeing red in the apples of Jake’s cheeks, “You’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing you made hers worse.”

Jake’s only silent for a few seconds, and then his voice is lower and more dangerous than it’s ever been, “Get out of my face before I knock your teeth out, son.”

“You know I’m right. And that’s why you’re mad,” Daniel goads, unafraid of Jake even if he should be, which is infuriating to the hotheaded pilot in and of itself. Jake leans forwards, fist itching, begging to drive itself into Daniel’s jaw but he restrains himself with the last shred of his self-control as Daniel keeps running his mouth, “You’re learning for the first time ever that some women won’t spread their legs for you just ‘cause you ask, and that you might actually have to care about them.”

“I do care about her!” Jake snaps, nearly shouting now, and the last thing on his mind is whether he’s drawing a crowd or not. It’s all-out, here and now, Jake vs. Daniel, onlookers be damned.

“No you don’t. You care about sex. You care about getting laid and you care about winning.” Daniel’s chest heaves, and Jake feels that almost insatiable itch to cock a fist back and slam it into Daniel’s nose so hard it breaks, “She told me that last night. She’s too good for you, man.” Daniel warns, the sneer on his face so disgusted you’d think Jake was a slug he’d trodden on in the middle of the sidewalk, “And whether you admit it or not, it’s true. Whether she forgets it or not, it’s true. So do whatever you want, fuck her or don’t,” Daniel scoffs, “But you’ll never deserve her.”

The only reason Jake doesn’t knock his teeth loose right then and there is because Daniel’s had the good sense to step back a few feet, and compose himself like he’s not about to fight back. There’s a few wary onlookers who eye them cautiously, edging away from the pair just in case they snap, but Jake’s not stupid- he doesn’t start fights, he wins them. He falls into old habits, abandoning sight of what the ‘new Jake’ would do and goading, smirking, pushing.

“And you do? You deserve her?”

“Maybe not. But I do more than you do.” Daniel’s clenched fist comes to rest on the back of one of the barstools, “And even she knows that.”

“It don’t matter what you think we’re worth.” Jake scoffs, breathing heavily, “She decides what she wants. Now who’s trying to win?”

“I am winning!” Daniel seethes, his voice roaring over the music as his fist slams into the upholstered cushion, “Just because neither of us have had sex yet doesn’t mean we’ve lost! All you’ve done so far is stepped on people’s toes and bullied your way into every conversation Y/N has with anyone. You think that’s attractive? She wants a real man, and you’re not one.”

“For once,” Jake narrows his eyes at Daniel, slits that ooze contempt and disgust, “I ain’t trying to win. And seeing you throw another one of your little temper tantrums about it makes me glad I’m not the man I was five years ago. If that’s what I looked like,” Jake spits, “No wonder she doesn’t wanna trust me now. But the difference is, Daniel, that one of us is changin’, and the other one’s punching a hole in a barstool because he’s coming in second.”

“Stay away from her.” 

Jake laughs, a dangerous sound that he hopes Daniel takes as a warning, “No, asshole. You stay away from her. I mean it. She may deserve better than me,” Jake breathes, his jaw clenched firmly, “But whatever that is, it’s not you.”

If Danica hadn’t let out a weak, slightly wet cough from the door to the bathroom, Daniel would have lunged at Jake. But he doesn’t, and they turn to watch you shuffling out with Danica still draped over your shoulder.

“She wants to go to bed,” You glance warily at Daniel, “Just- don’t jostle her too much. Walk slow and don’t take the elevators.”

“Come here.” Daniel hums, hoisting Danica’s limp form off of your frame and cradling her in his own, “Are you feeling dizzy still?”

“Just from the drinks.” She nods, “And- sick. But nothing more than that. I should have eaten better before this.”

Jake hums sympathetically, and you feel your own near-empty stomach roil in indignation that you’d sicced liquor on it before food. Nothing sounds good now, not that you’re full of alcohol, but eating will be better than not eating, so you let yourself drift to Jake’s side and wait for him to notice you.

When he does, his entire focus shifts, and he cranes his neck downwards slightly to peer at you closer, “You okay?”

“Fine. Just- a little sick, too.” You admit, “Can we get something to eat?”

“Of course.” Jake nods, his hand flying to the small of your back whether consciously or not.

“We could all go,” Daniel offers, but the way he leans towards you makes Danica whine in discomfort as her head spins. He’s quick to correct it, but you shake your head at his offer.

“No, she needs to get to bed. Do you want us to bring you something later?” You offer, “We can ask for to-go boxes.”

“You can order room service.” Jake grins, a sneer in intention but not by looks, “Danica, honey, feel better.”

“Thank you.” She croaks, and Jake’s hand around your waist tugs you pointedly towards the door.

You try throwing Daniel and Danica apologetic looks, but you’re dragged out of the bar too quickly.

You feel irritation rising in your chest at Jake, something he’d been getting good at not triggering in you for the last couple hours. You side-eye him, but you let him continue leading you to the elevators instead of wrenching yourself out of his grasp, “That was rude, Jake.”

“He’s rude.” Jake states, his eyes forward and refusing to meet yours, “You didn’t hear what he was saying about you while you were in the bathroom.”

Your brows furrow, and when you enter the thankfully-empty elevator, you turn to face him instead of standing by his side, “About me? What did he say?”

“The kinda thing I would’ve said a few years ago.” Jake frowns, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that’s meant to come off as lazy but really just shows his tensed muscles.

“That bad?” You laugh nervously, trying to diffuse the tension while being eaten alive by your own nerves. Daniel? Sweet, perfect, caring- okay, slightly complicated and anger-prone Daniel? 

24 hours ago you’d have called Jake a liar. Now you notice the stiffness in his jaw as he gnaws on the inside of his cheek and wonder how many times he’s tried to tell you something and you’ve assumed he was messing with you.

“What do you want for dinner?” You try, and he glances carefully at you where you stand across from him. Apparently he appreciates that you’ve dropped the subject, because his shoulders deflate slightly.

“I don’t know what’s open.” He checks his watch, finding the hour a little too late if the wrinkling of his nose is any indication, “The restaurants stop taking reservations after 7. And all that’s left is fast food and ice cream. We might have to order room service.”

The thought of gorging on half-cold room service beside Jake, crammed into the same bed while trying desperately not to touch each other, makes your stomach hurt worse. There’s too many things happening, too many things to think about, and you regret having stopped yourself at three cocktails.

“I want another drink,” You groan, leaning against the wall behind you as the elevator climbs steadily towards the top decks, the ones with the most food service, “Can we go to the buffet?”

--

The buffet is closed, but the bar is not. Drink number four wasn’t planned, but neither were the revelations you’ve been having, and taking care of Danica had really sobered you up. You’re in need of a good old-fashioned margarita, and once you’ve got one in your hands you let Jake parade you around the pool’s deck, peering at menus to quick-service restaurants that are already closed for the night.

“Wings?” You ask, but the kiosk is closed.

“We could do sushi.” Jake offers, but the neon sign is no longer lit.

It’s several twists and turns to investigate every little storefront, and several sips of your margarita to bring back your buzz, but it quickly becomes apparent that there’s only one sign left lit this late at night.

“I guess it’s pizza. Again.” Jake hums, “Is that gonna be okay on your stomach?”

“It’s fine. It’s still better than room service.” You have visions of reheated buffet food, “Let’s just get different toppings and pretend we didn’t have this six hours ago.”

What you decide on is veggie, hoping that the bell peppers and greens might do something kind to your stomach even if they’re soaked in grease from the cheese and bread beneath them.

You beeline for the table you’d sat at earlier as a party of four, but Jake catches your elbow and drags you closer to the edge of the deck.

“Let’s look at the water,” He urges, “Now that the lounge chairs aren’t all taken.”

“We should-” You start unsteadily, having chugged half of your drink in order to not spill it while balancing your pizza as well, “We should get up really early tomorrow to get a spot.”

“Tomorrow we’ll be docked,” Jake reminds you, “We can go to a beach instead of a tiny swimming pool.”

“Oh, right.” You hum, cramming pizza into your mouth to soothe the ache in your stomach, “What are you gonna do once we get off the ship?”

“We can try some excursions,” Jake shrugs, folding his pizza in half so that it doesn’t droop, “The website said something about a golf cart tour, and snorkeling off the coast, if you wanna do that.”

“You don’t have to do everything with me, y’know.” You hum, onions leaving a bitter taste on your tongue, “If you want to do something you don’t have to do it with me.”

He rears back, faux-offended, “Yeah? And what if I want to?”

“Then we can,” You chuckle, “Just- don’t let me hold you back more than I already am.”

He’d been raising his pizza to his mouth to take a bite, but he stops short and watches you instead of eating. You’re turned towards the sea, stray hairs blowing around your face as the nighttime wind pushes across the deck. He’s not sure what you’re seeing in the waves, but probably something induced by your mostly-empty margarita.

“You’re not holding me back.” He hums, soft and low, “I like doing stuff with you. Remember? You’re fun sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” You nod, “Right. Well, I’m just letting you know.”

“I know.” Jake assures you, nudging his knee into yours, “And if I’m ever- y’know, too pushy? You can tell me to kick rocks and eat-”

“Dolphins!” You shriek.

“Dolphins?” Jake’s brows furrow, “Why would I eat- oh. Dolphins.”

You’re pointing frantically off the side of the deck, and Jake quickly maneuvers himself onto your lounge chair to grab you from behind before you can launch yourself over the railing. There is, in fact, a pod of dolphins beside the boat, weaving over and under each other, breaching the surface to showcase their silvery skin that glints in the moonlight. The rational part of Jake’s brain suggests that they’re feeding off of any sea life being churned up by the boat’s trajectory, but the margarita part of your brain seems to think they’ve come to show off for you. 

“Jake, look!” You gush, enthused, and then your ass is in his face.

Jake’s eyes widen when you prop yourself up on all fours, your knees now grating against the rough mesh of the lounge chair as you lean even further over the railing. It puts your ass right at eye-level, and the shorts you’re donning are loose enough that they offer him a rather salacious view of what’s beneath them. He tears his eyes away as soon as his brain comes back to him, even if he feels a rush of blood travel south. In order to stop you from tumbling he has to stand and grab you, rolling onto his own knees on instinct to grab hold of your shoulders and hoist you upright. It means that your ass is firmly, snugly flush with Jake’s crotch, and you don’t seem to notice because you’re too caught up in the dolphins swimming beside the boat.

“Jesus, please don’t fall.” He begs, his lips beside your ear as the wind blows cold against both of your faces.

“I won’t fall! But look, they’re jumping!”

Jake ensures you’re secure in his grip before peering down over the railing, and it really is a sight to behold. There must be five dolphins visible, jumping and diving through the churning water caused by the boat’s motor. They’re not vocalizing much, but every once in a while a click or a screech floats up on the ocean breeze and Jake hears you laugh the way that only someone who’s had four cocktails in a row can laugh.

As nervous as he is that you were going to plummet into the sea, he can appreciate the way you’re leaning into the wind and watching the dolphins below. You’re genuinely excited, something he hasn’t seen on this trip so far, and rarely gets to see on the tarmac. He catches a glimpse of your eyes when you turn your head to watch a dolphin to your left, and they’re shining like the moonlight is on the water. He doesn’t miss the way you melt into him, either, and he’ll take credit for this one instead of letting the liquor.

You let him hold you around the middle, though he’s sure you haven’t noticed that you’re nearly grinding against him when you stick your ass out to lean further over the railing. He’s trying really valiantly not to let himself be affected by this, but he’s fairly certain that at least half of something is going on downstairs from physical stimulation alone. Hopefully it won’t be visible when you pull away, and if it is, hopefully you won’t notice.

“This is like,” You start, your voice nearly lost to the wind as you face away from Jake, “-that scene in Titanic.”

You throw your arms out, and Jake has no problem curling his further around your belly.

“I’ve never seen it.” He admits, shouting to be heard over the noise of the ship and the whipping of the breeze.

“Me neither!” You laugh, and you fall back against him, nearly knocking him off of the chair altogether.

“Hey!” He yelps, but he’s laughing when you squirm at the way his fingers dig into your side momentarily. You’re not a fan of being tickled, and he knows this from painstakingly earned experience, (a kick to the balls), but he tests a few gentle squeezes at your side to get you giggling again.

“Stop! Stop,” You gush, laughing and panting, and he does, his fingers stilling on your waist. He’s on his butt now, with your weight against him, and he reclines the wrong way against the lounge chair to let you rest comfortably.

“That pizza was cold.” You muse, “But it did help. I don’t feel as sick anymore.”

“That’s good. Drinking on an empty stomach,” Jake scoffs, “Are you trying to black out?”

“Kind of.” You admit, your voice taking a quiet, somber turn, “I’ve had… a lot to think about, recently.”

Jake nods slowly, carefully, “Yeah. Me too.”

“And you’re not drinking about it?” You crane your neck to chance a glance back at him, that shimmer in your eyes dulled but not gone, “You’re braver than I am, Jake.”

“No, I’m smarter than you are.” He teases, “Someone has to make sure we don’t fall over the side of the deck.”

“I wasn’t gonna fall!” You whine, “You’re so dramatic. And besides, that’s not fair. I should take a turn being sober so that you can drink.”

“You should, Miss Margarita.” Jake agrees, “Just don’t let me get too smashed before snorkeling tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to try and befriend a stingray.”

You giggle at the imagery, your cheeks flushed and hot where they brush against his bicep briefly. Your grin is toothy and infectious, carefree from the liquor and- dare he say love.

Not for him, of course, or- not like that for him, it’s just that he’d like to think that eight years by your side constitutes some feelings of fondness towards him, and that maybe you could perhaps, possibly say it’s love. Even if it’s completely platonic. Just- you could use the word love, probably.

He wishes he was drunk.

“We should go to bed.” You hum, sounding almost sad, “I’m tipsy and I want to be up early tomorrow for the excursions. We can beat the morning rush and get a head start on exploring.”

“Sounds like a plan,” He lets your waist go as you stand from his grip, righting himself after you’ve proved yourself steady on your feet. You gather your trash slowly but surely, and you only miss your shot at the garbage can with one balled-up napkin stained with copious amounts of pizza grease.

Neither of you say anything about the way his hand gravitates towards your waist again while he’s walking you back towards the elevators. Maybe it’s because you’re too buzzed to have a meaningful conversation, or maybe it’s because he’s doing a good enough job at pretending it’s just so that you don’t tip over again. Whatever the reason, Jake’s grateful for it when you pass by a closed piano lounge, and the tune of your favorite song makes its muffled way through the doors.

“Jake,” You breathe, that same shining excitement in your eyes as before, “I love this song.”

“I know. You put it on in the car every time we drive somewhere,” He grins, letting the hand on your waist serve as a leader as the other grasps at one of your hands, “You’re into them cheesy love songs, aren’t’cha?”

“Not all of us can be line dancers, cowboy.” You inform him smartly, your feet a slight second out of tune with your brain as you begin a slow, clumsy waltz. You reach for his shoulder, letting your other hand melt into his own,“Some of us enjoy the quiet things in life.”

Jake’s never been quiet for a second. He’d ridden saddle bronc in rodeos since he was old enough to, and even then he’d refused to use the smaller, more tame horses that they’d offered him. No, he wanted the biggest, the meanest, the best, and he’s always tried emulating those same characteristics so that no one can ever tame him.

But here, now, you’re swirling him around outside of a closed bar, tipsy and dizzy, stumbling over his feet and your own alike. Your eyes are closed and your face is curved in a soft, serene smile, and he feels your grip on his shoulder loosen comfortably as you ease into a rhythm with him that you’d failed to achieve only hours prior.

Perhaps, like Danica had been suggesting, Jake’s fast-paced, cocky routine might have to wait for a slow dance first. Maybe you’d both be better off waltzing before grapevining, in case one of you twists an ankle or breaks a heart. 

Maybe he needs to appreciate the quiet things in life, if you’re willing to share them with him.

Your nose nestles into his neck at some point, and he feels your breath puff warm down the front of his shirt. Your arm is draped lazily over his shoulder now, not a grip but a presence all the same, your fingers ghosting feather-light over the nape of his neck. It tingles, gives him the urge to shudder but he doesn’t dare, not now that you’re sighing against him and swaying like you’re dancing at a ball animated by Disney.

He’s quiet, and so are you.

When the song ends you keep humming lazily against the collar of his shirt. It takes a solid ten seconds and the beginning of the next song to realize that you’re not harmonizing with anything anymore, and your eyes flutter open as you lift your head from his shoulder.

You’re close.

Very close. 

Your nose nearly brushes his chin, and when he angles his face subtly, almost imperceptibly downwards, your lips are on a crash course. It’s a perfect trajectory, a little down for him and a little up for you. But you’re frozen in time, your eyes locking onto his and getting lost in what they reveal.

There’s vulnerability swirling in both of your gazes, and it’s so striking to see that you’re each rendered speechless. There’s nothing to say, there’s nothing that could properly convey your feelings on what’s happening to you both, there’s only your eyes and his, and your interlocked hands.

Then Jake sees something eerily close to stone cold, sober fear flash through your stare, and you slowly detach yourself from him.

Your hand slips out of his own, you step backwards to free your waist from his grip, and your hand is no longer raking through the wispy hairs on the back of his neck.

You step away, one foot at a time, and stare at him with that almost-petrified gaze, your chest heaving visibly.

Then your face falls into something more neutral, and you back towards the elevators, “We should go.”

“Right.” Jake murmurs, following behind you with lead feet that would very much like to stay planted right where they were a minute ago, with yours stepping all over them. But he follows, because he thinks he might be magnetized to you, even if sometimes you’re oppositely charged.

The elevator ride is silent and awkward. The type of silence that you thought was gone between you and Jake, the thick, tense kind that you’d suffered for years up until just hours prior.

Despite having years of experience sitting in heavy silence with Jake, this bout makes him feel like a stranger compared to the man you’d just been slow dancing with.

You’re sobered now, from the shock of being a second away from kissing him, and from staring at the floor in the elevator until it had dinged and let you out on your cabin’s floor. It gives you enough hand-eye coordination to dig your keycard out of your pocket, and you push first into your room, Jake hesitantly, silently on your trail.

You duck into the bathroom to change and Jake doesn’t tease you like he did yesterday. He doesn’t try to break in once, which is a comforting thing, but your reality check had reminded you that eight years of irritation can’t be solved in a few hours worth of chivalry.

Still, you’d had fun tonight. And you’d felt safe, secure- happy in Jake’s company, comfortable with his arm around your waist and giddy when he’d held you in his lap by the railing. Are you caving? Are you doing the one thing you’d sworn only a day prior to not do? Are you giving in and letting him win?

That’s why you’d stopped yourself. In that moment, you’d wanted nothing more than to press your lips to his and let your fingers sink into his hair, let his hands grope at your waist. And it scared you. You’d wanted to cave, to give in, to betray yourself, and all of the fear that had been momentarily silenced by Danica’s token live advice roils fiercely in your gut like liquor has been all night.

If he’s trying to win, you can’t lose. And he’s doing a good job at convincing you he’s not trying to win anymore, but old habits die hard. How can you be sure he’s not?

You stuff yourself numbly into a nightgown, the most chaste one you’d brought, and you avoid meeting Jake’s eye when you step out of the bathroom.

You’re reminded now, standing barefoot in the walkway, that there’s only one bed. Last night had been a blur, and you hadn’t woken even when Jake had changed you into your nightclothes. You’re still mortified about that, really, and remembering that you’re going to have to crawl into bed beside Jake, who’s already there waiting for you, doesn’t help.

“Um,” You start, your voice dull, “I’ll take the couch.”

“What?” He asks, trying to tamp down some of the brashness that typically inhabits his tone, “That’s silly. There’s enough room for the both of us.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t. I’d better-” You try, and he kicks the covers off of himself, standing and revealing that he’s once again wearing nothing but boxers.

“No, I’ll take it.” He mumbles, not surly, just subdued, “You can have the bed.”

“No, that’s not- that’s not fair.” You finally look at him, your eyes wounded and guilty, “Just- you take the bed.”

“Only if you do.” He looks similarly defeated, standing there in just his underwear, “C’mon, Y/N. You know I won’t do anything to you.”

And even despite the hesitation that had clawed at your heart only minutes ago, puncturing your lungs and making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to stay, you do know that. Because it’s always been true of Jake; he’s cocky, but he’s not a monster. You knew it last night, and you know it tonight. So you cave, you give in, you betray yourself, and you trudge towards the side of the bed you’d been laid in last night.

You feel restless as Jake buries himself under the covers again, and you know sleep won’t come easy. So you keep yourself upright, lounging back on two pillows stacked behind your back and reaching for your book.

“Mind if I keep a light on?” You hum, and Jake shakes his head, peering at your book.

“Late-night reading?”

“Can’t sleep.” You admit, “I’m not even gonna try.”

He inhales- it’s an audible thing, not a gasp but a long, steadying breath. Then he lets it out, and you tug your book so close to your face that it obscures him from your vision.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He hums, his voice barely more than a whisper. You can’t see it, but he keeps himself turned towards you, studying the way your fingers twitch against the cover, wishing he could see the face obscured behind it.

You speak into the pages of your book, hoping your words get lost there, “Goodnight, Jake.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[wordssoonforgotten]

I was wondering if you could do a jinx x either piltie reader or a reader that works for silco too where jinx falls HARD for this girl but readers oblivious so jinx has to make it very very obvious just some cutesyness

Jinx x Piltoveran!reader. Hope you like! Honestly one of my favorite things I’ve written so far. No content warnings. 735 words.

Jinx is so over Piltoverans.

In all honestly, she'd been over them since birth. It was simply the Zaunite way; but there was one she simply couldn't manage to hate lithe rest. You were like a guilty pleasure, except there was no guilt concerning how she felt at all. The pleasure you gave her was more rebellious than anything. However, that doesn't mean you didn't get on every single one of her nerves.

Jinx has been sneaking to see you for a year. It started as cat-like curiosity turned infatuation, but now, every time you so much as look at her a certain way, she feels herself teetering closer and closer to the edge; dangerously close to falling in love. It's new, exciting, and gives her that rush she thought was only possible from watching something explode. (It almost makes her wants to jump right off, just to see if you catch her.) Much to her annoyance, she wasn't sure if you felt the same way she did.

She likes to think she's making it stupid obvious; laying it on thick every time she comes to see you. With the way you just laugh at her, or simply don't pick up what she puts down, she's beginning to think she's not so good at all. It's either that, or you're infuriatingly slow for someone so smart.

For the second time this week, Jinx has weaseled her way through your window and made herself comfortable in your silky sheets. The two of you sit closely together on the bed as you recount every event of your day to her. You speak so softly that your voice almost gets lost with the wind. She uses it as an excuse to lean closer. Every few sentences, your eyes drift to your bedroom door, as if you expect someone to knocking it down any moment. Despite how long the two of you have gotten away with your late-night-rendezvous, you still get nervous. She tilts her mischievously. Her fingers crawl up shoulder and stop on your chin, turning your head to face her. You blush; but continue talking like normal.

That was her very last straw. She deserved more than simple a blush.

"Soooo….princess. Still not seeing anyone?" She keeps her voice light. Like she doesn't care about the answer at all. You raise your eyebrow at the seemingly out-of-the-blue question. "Not currently. Why?" Jinx smiles with false nonchalance

"Just kinda seemed like you would be by now."

"…Well I'm not."

"Are you interested in seeing someone?"

You snort and shrug your shoulders hopelessly. "Who would I even see?"

"Me." She answers immediately. Your brain short circuits and you just stare at her. For a second she thinks she's broken you, but then you very hesitantly narrow your eyes. "Are you..serious?" She barely manages to hold back a loud snort, but she nods quickly. "Very serious. Most serious I've ever been, actually." You nod slowly as if you're still processing her words so she continues. "I've been serious for a while now, you've just been too dense to notice." Playful frustration fills her tone as you suddenly become more alert. "A while!? How long is a while!?" She doesn't stop the chortle that erupts from her.

"Months."

"Months?!" You shout before quickly covering your mouth and glancing at the door. Once You're sure no one heard, you turn a fierce glare at her. "Why didn't you say anything?!" Now her brain short circuits. She looks at you in hysterical exasperation, shaking her head so quickly you're scared she'll get dizzy. "I've been very-obviously flirting for—this whole time!" You roll your eyes as your face begins to heat up. "Well you should've been clearer."

"I couldn't have been any clearer without tattooing it on my forehead!" She scoffs. "Typical dense, unaware pilties. Never noticing the extremely obvious truths right in front of their dumb faces—" She's cut off by your lips crashing into hers mid Piltover hating tirade. It doesn't take much for her to lean into it, her hands coming up to grip your hair. After a full minute of all but inhaling each other, she comes up for air. "Guess that means the feelings' mutual, huh?" You huff and give her a cheeky smirk.

"See how I made that obvious?"

She flips you off before pulling you back into another, harder kiss.

"I'll work on it."

[justmymindandstuff]

all the miles in between get in your head- Garrick Tavis x Reader

summary: your boyfriend Garrick had to go to Basgiath, he had to leave you behind. One year without any contact. Your heart breaks a little more every day. Even your friends don't offer you any comfort. Until the moment the distance between Garrick and you is not so far anymore.

words: 4.233

titel: Hollywood Hills by Sunrise Awenue

warnings: angst, long-distance relationship, talk about cheating, talk about character death, thinking about cheating, Reader has kind of bad friends (OCs), kissing, fluff

requests are open / main-masterlist/ the empyrean- masterlist/ A03

You open your eyes and stare at your ceiling. Tears gather in your eyes as cold fear grip your entire body. Your nightmare haunts you. You try as best you can to banish the images of a blood-stained, dying Garrick from your mind as you breathe through your panic and blink away your tears.  

You hate these nightmares, but nothing helps. They keep coming back. At night, your imagination paints your worst fears in vivid colors.

The fear slowly leaves your body, retreating until it only wraps itself around your heart. You know it won't get better than this. These feelings, fear and longing never completely go away. They accompanied you since Garrick was forced to enter the Riders Quadrant. Forced to leave you behind. 

You crawl out of your bed, still tired. You pull back the curtains from your window. Outside, the sun shines down on you, reflecting off the soft blanket of snow. Annoyed by the beautiful sight, you turn away. It doesn't match your mood.

You miss Garrick. You miss your boyfriend every day.

You knew the year would be tough until you enter the Healer Quadrant and see each other again.

However you never thought it would be this hard.

You miss him so much. His voice, his laughter, his hugs, his kisses, his humor. Everything about him.

A year without contact, without letters. Your heart aches painfully at this thought, as it does every time.

Today is especially bad. Your nightmare is gnawing at you.

You would love to go back to bed, pull the covers over your head and cry. Wallow in self-pity, and only crawl out from under the warm sheets when it's time for you to head off to Basgiath. But of course, you can't do that. So you turn away from the window, not before glaring angrily at the sun as if it could do something about your bad mood.

Your first stop is the kitchen. You start making your tea. Your gaze goes to the kitchen table, thinking of the countless times you've sat there with Garrick. The death stare he gave his breakfast, Garrick has never been a morning person. The rider Quadrant gets up early. You wonder if Garrick got used to it? Longing tugs at your heart. 

Your mother comes into the kitchen, already dressed for the day and in a great mood. "Good morning," she greets, presses a kiss at the top of your head before she gently ruffles your hair.

"Morning." you don't even try to make your voice cheerful.

"Did you sleep badly?"

"I had a bad dream," you grumble. "About Garr."

Your mother sighs, and that familiar pitying look comes to her face. You hate it when she looks at you like that. She comes over to puts her arm around you. "He's probably fine. He's probably flying through the skies on his dragon." she tries to cheer you up. "Garrick is tough and he has trained for this."

Despite her doubts at the beginning about the marked one boy you introduced to her as your new boyfriend, she warmed up to Garrick over time. Showing genuine interest in him and his life. It's thanks to your mother that Garrick was allowed to come and go from your house as if the place belonged to him.

Tears burn in your eyes again. You blink them away quickly. You feel like you've already cried an entire ocean since he left. You're pathetic. Despite that, there is nothing you can do about the heaviness in your heart.

If only he could write you letters. Then you would know how he's doing. Have his fears come true and most people in the Quadrant want to kill him? Probably! It's not like he can hide who his parents were; the relic on his arm gives him away. Even if he could, Garrick would never hide who he is.

"I miss him so much."

Your mother kisses your forehead. "I know. But it's not forever. You'll see him again."

If he doesn't die first.

You quickly push these thoughts away. No, you can't and don't want to believe that Garrick is dead.

And what if he doesn't want to see you next year?

You sometimes hate your own thoughts. Nevertheless, your mood sinks a little further. Fear tugs at your heart. 

A year without contact is a long time. What if Garrick forgets that he loves you? What if he's already left you long ago?

The front door swings open, tearing you from your thoughts. The next moment your best friend Mara comes into the kitchen.

One look at you makes her cheerful smile slip. The next moment, determination takes over her expression. "No! We're not in a bad mood today. No more heartbreak! We're going to the Festival of Lights!"

You groan in annoyance. In your current mood, you don't have the nerves for the crowded market, loud people, and crowds. "I don't want to."

"No arguments. Hop, hop. Get dressed, the others are already waiting."

You have known Mara your whole life, and that's why you know that arguing with that look on her face is pointless. So you obey.

Obviously, you're too slow. When you get back downstairs Mara is already waiting at the door. "Come on, we have to pick up the others. And I bet Jace is still asleep."

You take your jacket and pull it over your, Garrick's, hoodie before following Mara outside.

She is right. Jace is really still asleep as you arrive. So is Terry. Only Ella is already waiting for you when you show up at her place. Considerably late.

Your mood doesn't improve despite the boys' constant stupid jokes, the new gossip from around town, and Jace's long story about his nephew's first attempts at horse riding.

You barely participate in the conversation. Just trudge along beside your friends while your thoughts jump back and forth between worrying about Garrick and the desire to finally see him again, to hug him, to kiss him.

Only when you hear your name do you look up from the path in front of you. "What?" you ask.

Ella looks at you confused. "What's wrong with you? Are you not feeling well?"

Mara answers for you before you even have a chance to take a breath. "She's just brooding over Garrick again. Broken heart and all."

"Still?" Terry interjects.

"Yeah, still!" you snarl angrily. Your friends have never been Garrick fans.

A marked one, a child of the rebels, his family is responsible for the deaths of so many loyal citizens. Blah blah! None of this is Garrick's fault. And your friends are just too blind to see his big heart, his compassion, his kindness.

They judge him even though they haven't even bothered to get to know him.

"And you think that will do any good?" you know Jace doesn't mean any harm. Still, you have to swallow down your anger.

"He's probably already forgotten about you," Terry interjects.

As if the mean voice in your head that keeps telling you that Garrick is done with you wasn't bad enough. No, now your friends are saying things like this too. 

"Well, my brother said he had never been fucking around again like he did in his first year the Rider Quadrant." Jace leans past Ella to look at you. Ella slaps him hard in the side for his stupid comment.

"You're so stupid," she whispers to him.

"Garrick isn't like that," you say firmly, ignoring the pitying looks from your friends. They think you are naive. A stupid girl who's been lied to and cheated on by Garrick.

"You once said he was acting strangely. Suspicious. You even thought he was cheating on you. Now he has it even easier. No need to sneak away anymore," says Mara.

You suppress an eye roll. That was ages ago. When you first noticed Garrick disappearing for a few days every now and then.

You're angry with yourself for telling Mara about your worries before talking to Garrick about it.

"I wish I could explain it properly, but I can't. You have to trust me. If it were safe for you, I'd tell you everything. Please trust me." And you trust him! He's not cheating on you!

"I told you he was meeting his friends," you defend Garrick. Even though you know it's a hopeless battle.

"Friends none of us have ever met. Neither do you, by the way," Terry points out.

"I know Xaden," you defend yourself immediately. It's an exaggeration, you only saw Xaden once for five minutes. But that's not the point. You don't even want to imagine how your friends would have treated Garrick's childhood friends from Tyrrendor.

Let them think what they want. You know it's not the truth. You know he would never cheat on you. He loves you. Just as much as you love him. One year. You can do this. Your relationship can survive. 

"You don't even know if he's still alive."

"He is!"

The most dangerous thing in the first year is Threshing, and this was months ago. If Garrick survived that, he can survive anything! You wish you could see him for just a brief moment. You wouldn't even have to talk to him. Just seeing him for a brief moment would be enough. His smile, his bright eyes, his dimples.

Your hand goes to your necklace with the small heart pendant. The small package arrived for your birthday a few weeks ago. Garrick left it with Bodhi before his departure, with strict instructions to send it on time.

At least, that's what Bodhi's letter to you said. You only know him from Garrick's stories. But he sent you a birthday greeting and a gift from Garrick. You will be forever grateful for that.

Every time you touch your necklace, the distance to Garrick doesn't feel quite so far. You feel close to him again.

The card that came with the package is in your nightstand drawer.

So you don't forget me.

As if you weren't thinking about him every second. And every second it hurts more.

Does he miss you as much as you miss him? The next moment, your thoughts seem silly. Of course not. He has enough to do just to survive.

You're sure he is still alive. Someone would have told you! You cling to that hope. You repeat it over and over in your head when fear for Garrick keeps you awake at night. He's alive.

You finally arrive at the marketplace, your hands already frozen solid. And Garrick isn't there to warm them between his. 

As you feared, it's crowded, but Ella still digs her arm through yours and pulls you through the crowd. You stroll from stall to stall, buying lottery tickets even though you know none of you will win. You take a long break for food. You warm yourself up with hot cocoa.

The day flies by. Still, even though you really try, the cheerful atmosphere around you doesn't make it into your heart. For the first time in your life you are glad for the short winter days. The sun is slowly setting, and when it's time to gather in the middle of the marketplace, you are almost relieved.

"Three. Two. One." sounds over the place. In the next moment the lamps are lit. All around you, small flames in colorful glasses ignite. The lights illuminate the dark sky above you, casting sparks and shadows across everything and bathing the snow-covered roofs in bright colors.

It's beautiful. Nevertheless tears well up in your eyes again and your heart grows heavy.

Last year you were here with Garrick. Just as the lights came on, he kissed you. His hand on your cheek was warm as he pulled you close. A whole firework of happiness exploded inside you. "I love you," he whispered against your lips and then kissed you again.

Mara nudges you in the side, bringing you back to the moment. When she sees your tears, she sighs, half annoyed, half sympathetic. When she puts her arm around you, you are still grateful and lean against her shoulder.

You manage to get through the rest of the afternoon with a forced smile on your lips, but as you step through the front door, tears stream down your cheeks. Annoyed by everything and yourself, you wipe them away. 

You could have had a nice day with your friends, but your stupid heart had to remind you especially strongly today how much you miss your boyfriend. Probably because you know the day would have been a thousand times better if Garrick had been by your side.

Without really talking to your parents, you go upstairs, take a hot bath, and then retreat to your room. You light a few candles, draw the curtains across your window to shut out the outside world.

Maybe you can sleep away your bad mood and your aching heart. You slip into comfortable clothes and sit in front of your mirror and start brushing your still damp hair. The mirror in front of you shows sad eyes that look back at you tiredly. You take a deep breath. You ask How much longer can you endure all of this?

Maybe it really would have been wiser to break up before Garrick had to go to Basgiath. Then everything would be easier now. You wouldn't worry so much, you wouldn't be so sad.

You shake your head slightly at this lie. You would probably be even sadder, worry even more. Your love for Garrick wouldn't have disappeared just because you broke up.

You put your brush aside, close your eyes and sigh sadly. Today was a shitty day. But tomorrow will surely be better! And soon you willl be able to see Garrick again. This separation, this distance, is not forever. 

A dull thud behind you makes you flinch. You open your eyes and spin around.

Your eyes play a cruel trick on you. Garrick is standing in your room, handsome as ever. Your heart starts beating wildly in your chest. You're surely dreaming. This can only be a dream. Garrick would never just show up in your room like this, hundreds of miles away from Morraine.

"Hey, Honey." his voice is soft and warm, a slight smile dances around his lips. Your heart leaps.

You blink,  stare at him. You can't believe he's really standing in front of you. The next moment you jump up and throw yourself into his arms. Garrick immediately wraps his strong arms around you, pulls you to his chest, buries his nose in your hair. You feel his warmth, his heartbeat, breathe in his pleasant scent deeply. He's real. This isn't a dream. Garrick is really standing in your room, really holding you in his arms. This fact hits you, and you can't suppress a sob.

"No, Honey. Don't cry. Everything's fine." your boyfriend gently strokes the back of your head. You pull away a little, just enough to look at him. His hazel eyes shine warmly at you, flicking over your face as if he wants to memorize every inch of it. He gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. When he smiles, dimples form on his cheek. You take half a step back, reaching for his hand as you study him closely.

He's always been fit, but his muscles are even more pronounced now under his black clothing. A nearly healed wound stands out on his cheekbone, his knuckles are scraped, and there's a new scar on his neck. His black hair is shorter than you have ever seen it.

But he is alive. And he is standing right in front of you.

"How?" you ask, confused. Your mind is having a hard time keeping up with all the feelings swirling around inside you.

The smile on his face widens even a little. "Signet. But shhh." he puts a finger to his lips. "I've been trying to come to you for days. Xaden said it was a bad idea, but I just couldn't resist. Gods. I've missed you so much."

His hand goes to your hip and he pulls you back against him. Your heart begins to flutter as he slowly bends his head and your lips meet. Fireworks explode inside you as his lips gently move against yours. You wrap your arms around him, savoring the feeling of finally being able to kiss Garrick again. You never want to be separated from him again.

"Better than I remember," he whispers against your lips. You giggle, but Garrick's lips capture yours again and he pulls you closer. Only when you both run out of breath do you separate.

"I missed you so much," you say, snuggling up in his arms and burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Garrick's hand finds the back of your head, gently strokes your hair, and he kisses the top of your head. "Me too. I think of you every day, Honey."

You breathe in his scent deeply before looking into his beautiful eyes again. Warmth and love spread through you. For the first time today you are truly, completely and unconditionally happy.

"How are you?" you ask, checking for injuries again.

"It's gotten better since Threshing," he answers. You frown your eyebrows. Garrick places a hand on your cheek again, gently caress it. "Don't worry. They are not seriously trying to kill us anymore."

You have to swallow. You knew it would be hard for him, but real assassination attempts? Rage burns beneath your skin. How dare they! Garrick has done nothing wrong. "I hate them for this," you say, squeezing his hand. You're not a violent person, the sight of blood makes you sick. Still, you want to kill them all just because they're trying to kill your boyfriend. "I wish everyone would leave you alone."

Garrick laughs mirthlessly and shrugs. "I got used to it." you hate that he's gotten used to assassination attempts. You're afraid that one day your kind, cheerful, gentle Garrick won't be there anymore. That they will break him. "But that's not important right now. I want to show you something." Garrick raises his hand, and a few colorful mage lights appear around you, casting soft rays onto the walls. Fascinated, you watch as the colorful lights dance in the air around you. It's a thousand times more beautiful than the Festival of Lights.

"That's damn cool," you say laughing.

"I know," Garrick grins like a little kid. No, noone will ever be able to take your Garrick away from you. "I can do more." another twist of his wrist, and your door lock clicks softly as it locks. You giggle softly at the proud grin on his face.

 "So you use your magic for little party tricks?" you grin at him.

"What else? That's the only positive thing about the whole Rider Quadrant," he grins, and then suddenly flinches. Is he in pain? Before you can ask what's wrong, Garrick speaks again. "Chradh disagrees." he then laughs. A gentle smile now appears on his face. "I wish you could get to know him. He's, after you, the best thing that ever happened to me. As soon as you get to the Healer Quadrant, we'll sneak away and you'll get to know him."

"I would love that," you say, swallowing your fear. As long as Garrick is by your side, nothing will happen to you, even if you were facing a fire-breathing dragon.

Garrick pulls you closer again, kissing your forehead gently. "Enough of this. How are you?"

"I miss you terribly. All the time." you admit.

Garrick sighs softly, resting his chin on your head while his arms wrap around your body. "I miss you all the time too," he says.

You swallow your tears before whispering, "Mara thinks you're cheating on me. And forgot about me."

Garrick snorts derisively. He dislikes Mara as much as Mara dislikes him. He takes a half-step back to look you in the eyes. "You know I would never do that! I love you and only you. The mere idea of ​​being with anyone else is ridiculous."

You beam at him. "I told her that too." you stand on tiptoes to kiss him. "I'm sorry I sometimes doubt."

Garrick sighs again. "It's fine. I know it's hard. I'm sorry you have to go through this. That I can't be by your side."

"You were forced," you say. Then you shake your head. "But you're here now. I don't want to talk about us being apart for so long when you are standing right in front of me."

Garrick smiles again, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips and then to the necklace around your neck. His smile widens even further.

"I see Bodhi did what I asked," he says, gently stroking the piece of jewelry with his finger.

"Yes," you grin. "Thank you. The necklace is beautiful. I was very happy." Garrick tries to suppress it, but a yawn escapes. "Would you like to rest a bit?" you ask immediately.

"No. I want to spend every second we have with you."

Your heart flutters and warmth spreads through your entire body. You take Garrick's hand and pull him over to the bed.

You cuddle up tightly. It's a little tight, especially since Garrick has gained a lot of muscle since the last time you were here. It doesn't bother you, just one more reason to snuggle even closer to him. You breathe in his scent, finally feeling like being home again. Garrick's hand gently strokes your back.

Garrick talks about Basgiath, Xaden, and Sgaeyl, about flying and how good it feels. About his lessons, sparring. He only tells you the good things, and you're glad for that. You don't want any more fuel for your worries. Again and again, he steals a kiss from your lips. The whole night passes like this, and you wish time would stand still.

But at some point, he sighs sadly. Immediately, your body tenses and your heart clenches. You know it is time to say goodbye again.

"I don't want you to leave." you bury your face in the crook of his neck, pressing a quick kiss to the skin of his neck.

Garrick presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I don't want to go either," he says, his voice husky. You feel him swallow before he takes a deep breath and then sits up with you in his arms. You clutch your shirt, wanting to hold on tight. He shouldn't go back to this death factory. He should stay with you. Tears burn in your eyes.

"Hey, Honey. Please don't cry. I'll be back as soon as I can," he says, but his grip on your hip tightens.

"Promise?" you ask, giving in to the urge to lean in and kiss him before he even can answer. Garrick pulls you close, kissing you as if you'd never see each other again. But then he pulls away, quickly swinging himself out of bed.

"Don't look at me like that. How can I leave when you look at me like that?"

"You're not supposed to leave." you grip his hand tighter, as if he wouldn't be able to tear himself away easily. You get out of bed as well. You're slightly tense from lying cuddled up to Garrick for hours. You don't care.

A quiet laugh shakes his chest. You walk over to him and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. "I don't want to go. But I have to," he whispers.

"I know," you say. You hold on to him for a moment longer before you manage to pull away.

Garrick twists his wrist, and all the mage lights around you, except for a small, warm, shimmering one, go out. They simply disappear as if they were never there.

"I'll be back. Until then: Whenever you're worried, look at my mage light. As long as it's lit, I'm alive.”

You stare at the soft glow and nod. "Okay," you whisper, tears gathering in your eyes again, but you stay strong. You know it has to go. Iif his absence is noticed, he'll be in big trouble.

Deserters die by dragon fire. The thought makes you shake yourself before you turn your attention back to Garrick.

You look at him closely, trying to memorize him exactly. His smile, the dimples, his warm hazel eyes that look down at you full of love.

He leans forward again, your lips meet. You try to pour all your love and longing for him into this kiss. You let the warmth in your body carry you away as his lips move perfectly against his.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

You blink and he is gone. You're alone again. What's left is just his small mage light. Your heart is a little lighter than before, and you breathe deeply. His scent still lingers in your room. You can't help but smile. Garrick has found a way to make the distance between you less painful until you finally enter the Healer Quadrant.

Confidence spreads through you. When you can see Garrick from time to time, the months of separation don't feel so bad anymore.

[jigglyjeon]

all the things she said -> jjk (three)

summary: no matter how much you want to completely disappear, you still have a bachelor’s to complete and life to uphold— you try to reach out to your friends as am attempt to piece the relationships you have with them back together, taehyung is the only one that’s willingly to meet with you.

rating: R18+ MATURE, minors please do not interact

genre: roommate au, angst, fluff, eventual smut

word count: 4.7k +

warnings/tags: taehyung is a FLURT, titty playyy, tickle attackkk, like this is just a lot of touching and jk literally blue balling himself bye, literally oh my god just kiss already!!!! things are getting hot in here aurrr

notes: i'd like to know if you guys like seeing the physical texts or if you prefer me to keep it strictly writing? does it make things confusing? would love to know cause lowkey i'm just doing it to fuck around with using smau apps LOL. thanks for all the love so far bbys <3

soundtrack: your best american girl - mitski

⋆ ࣪.  masterlist  ˖ ࣪⭑ 

<- prev | next ->

Were you that much of a drag last week?

You think you made things worse by going to that dinner, because the group chat you had with Jia and Hanna has been drier than it ever had, typically being the source of reason behind why your phone blew up with messages. But your notifications have decreased, most of your messages coming from Jungkook or your mother, but even today you don’t get the usual morning text that he usually sends you.

With your cheek pressed against the desk, you drown out the voice of your lecturer, he talked too slow for your attention span anyway and scrolled on your phone waiting for someone to reply to you. You drag your empty home screen down, waiting for something— anything.

You puff in disappointment, lock your phone and roll your head into the crook of your shoulder. A few minutes go by before your phone buzzes to life. Your head snaps up, bringing the screen to your face with hopeful eyes. Taehyung?

Unusual, but you weren’t going to be picky. You and Taehyung weren’t that close; you’ve interacted with him a lot less than you have Jimin. You only knew them through Jungkook; all his friends were older than you by a few years and there would have been no reason for you to befriend if not for him. Still, when you open up the chat you wince; you forgot that your first text comes off completely desperate for someone to validate you.

You were beginning to wonder why your actions were so painful to everyone, especially when it was your reputation that was being squandered with, not theirs. Truthfully you thought you were going to be showered with support from them, you still refused to be mad at them. You just wanted them back in your life. Maybe you were desperate.

Was it so bad to want a friend to rely upon?

You spend the rest of the lecture chewing on the back of your pen, twisting the rings around your fingers and braiding small strands of your hair. You’re one of the last people to leave the lecture hall because you hate the traffic that ensues the moment the room is dismissed; you absolutely hate pushing past people, knocking shoulders with someone who’s subconsciously fighting to get out the door before you do. You never understood why people did it, but all you knew was that it was something you hated. Patience came easy to you, but it was a foreign concept in the eyes of most, you’d noticed.

You don’t expect Taehyung to be waiting in the courtyard, cigarette between his lips as he sits on one of the benches. He nods and grins politely when someone gives him a dirty look and mutters something under their breath. He salutes, “Have a fantastic day, darling.” And she carries on by him with the same judgemental looks on her face.

He finds you soon after, coming toward him with your arms folded shyly against your chest. He raises his brows in greeting, tossing the cigarette to the concrete and putting it out with his shoe. “Hey doll, how you holdin’ up?”

You lift your arms, returning them in their crossed position. Taehyung motions you over with an outstretched arm, his other sitting cooly in the pocket of his jacket as you turn into the side hug he offers. “I feel like I’m being punished, probably.” You shrug, “Jungkook told me last night that he has feelings for me, and this morning he was gone before I even woke up, which is weird because he doesn’t start work until nine-thirty in the morning and I woke up at seven for my morning lecture.”

Taehyung lets out a low whistle, he turns, walking slow alongside your small steps. “Must’ve been some confession.”

“It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant moment.”

“How did it make you feel? Y’know, like…what did he say?”

You suck in a breath when you think back to that moment. How with each word spoken, hidden feelings and truths revealing themselves, the volume climbed, and the tone of the moment had intensified. You’ve fought with Jungkook more in the past week and a half than you have in almost two years of knowing him.

“He just–“ Your hand slithers to the back of your neck, you don’t know where to put them; your cold fingers rubbing against the warmth of your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “We were sort of arguing, and he sort just… I have feelings for you Y/N!”

Taehyung pinches the bridge of his nose, “That man has absolutely no game when it comes to you.” He mutters to himself before he looks back up at you. “I’m sure he’s just avoiding you because he’s embarrassed, too.”

You hum, “Perhaps.”

He shuffles in front of you to stop you in your tracks. “You look like you need coffee.” He says after a best of silence, “We can sit, and you can vent, and we can figure it all out together.” He removes a hand from his pocket to tap your arm, letting it swing back by his side. “Wanna?”

You look up at Taehyung curiously, searching his features that are hard, yet the gentle smile he offers you softens them subtly. There are parts of him that remind you an awful lot of Jungkook when you first met him. Jungkook was a little more sensitive, had a shorter fuse for lack of better words; it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, to feel so much— it was one of the things about him that you appreciated.

Here’s what you knew about Taehyung: He and Jungkook worked out together, like a lot. You know so not only because you’ve watched his build change from slim and fit to lean and bulky. Not only that, but Jungkook would return from the gym boasting about how much more weight he bench-pressed than Taehyung that day. Competitive— Taehyung was competitive, and you think that’s why he and Jungkook had so much fun together; because Taehyung didn’t give up and he’d put up a good fight. Taehyung was a silent observer. He spent a lot of time watching interactions between other people, his group of friends included, rather than involving himself in the interaction. He dissected body language, could read others like a book. That was slightly intimidating.

He did it now; sitting across from you, as he watched you sip on the iced coffee that he’d offered to pay for. Another thing about Taehyung was actually quite a gentleman, you never thought anything of it though. He pulls out your chair whenever you’re around to let you sit down before him, he had done so just moments prior when he handed you your drink and ushered you toward a nearby table. You’ve seen the way he offers up his spot in line for the elderly, children or women. You’d never seen anything quite like it, in all honesty. He’s nonchalant about it, too. Like it was normal. You’re starting to think that he’s a time traveller. Your eyes widen at the prospect.

“What?” He kinks a brow at you.

“Nothing.” You flash him a cheesy grin, “I sometimes just think you’re not even real.”

“…What?”

It’s not kind to compare people, is the thought you have following the one you have the moment he glares at you like you’re strange— Jungkook would have indulged you in a moment like this. He would’ve barred that charming half grin of his, lean in closer like you’re about to tell him the most interesting secret. He would’ve laughed with you, not at you.

You set down your coffee, releasing a defeated puff through your lips. “I want you to be straight with me, Tae.” You cut right to the chase. “Was what I did really that bad?”

“The way I see it, it’s been the ultimate test of friendship and loyalty.” He shrugs like it wasn’t the most hard-hitting thing he’s said to you all day. “Weeds out the fake ones.”

“I honestly think you’re the victim in all of this, it was your body and your picture after all.”

You look down, slowly nodding as you take in the weight of his words. A part of you already knew he was right, but the people-pleasing part of you wanted to see things from another point of view. “I don’t know, I think I still wish I made different decisions.”

“I get it, shits hard. Feelings suck; people suck— life’s unfair.”  His fingers tap against the table, pulling his back off the chair. You whine, your face falling into your hands. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

The moment he stops the car; he’s already getting out and rushing over to the passenger’s side before you can even reach for the door handle. You snort, slump back into the seat, when he opens the door, he offers a boxy grin that makes you roll your eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of opening a car door, you know?”  

“Sure you are, doll. But look at it this way; why do anything if someone else can do it for you?”

With that you climb out of the car, inhaling deeply when the air hits your face again, there was nothing quite like it; when you’re starting to feel a little too warm, and the freshness of the air is crispy and clean against your hot cheeks. It makes you smile, and you take slow steps toward the front door to the complex, Taehyung stops just below the few steps, holding onto the railing.

“I know we don’t know eachother that well, but” He moves up the steps, inching closer, stopping just below where you stood.  “–I’m here if you ever need me.”

His scent was soft; aldehydic and comforting in a way a storm was on a Sunday night, curling up in bed with your window cracked open just slightly. You take a step back, but he fills the space you leave the moment you move. You blink up at him as his eyes flicker over your features.

A car door slamming shut makes you jump, pulling you both from the moment. Strange.

Taehyung turns with a furrowed brow, but it relaxes the moment he sees who comes toward them, satchel slung over his shoulder, the sleeves of his dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows. He shakes his hair with his hand, stops in his tracks when looks up at the two people blocking his way inside.

He blinks, first at Taehyung and then at you. He deflates, looking like a kicked puppy when you look down the moment his eyes meet yours. “What are you doing here?” Is the first thought that slips out.

“Y/N needed a friend.” He shrugs cooly, moving past Jungkook with a pat to the shoulder. He flinches at the contact, a hand coming up to rub at his shoulder.

“That hurt…”  He mumbles. Jungkook back at his friend with a frustrated expression.

“Catch ya.” 

Taehyung is already walking over to the driver’s side, halfway into his car when Jungkook replies, “Yeah, see you…” He shakes his head, squeezing his shoulder. “Weird.” He mumbles.

You’re leaning against the railing with a red tinge on your cheeks. You only look up at him when he brushes your arm, opening the door for you to walk through. He had no choice but to look at you when you don’t move from your place. He regrets it the moment he sees you gleaming up at him.

“It’s getting cold,”  He breathes out. “Let’s get inside.”

With that you obey, beelining for the stairs instead of the elevator. Jungkook sighs and clambers after you.

He turns to face his steps when he catches himself watching the way your hair swayed effortlessly behind you, the way your hips followed in unison. When he notices that your dress is quite mini and how smooth your legs look, and–

Jungkook’s had a long day.

It starts when he rushes out of his bed, throwing on clothes and heading out the door ten minutes before seven in the morning to pound on Jimin’s door.  

Jimin never answered his call last night, or his texts. He left a hefty number of messages only for them to go unread. He already knew his night would be a sleepless one, but Jimin’s message only weighed on him even more. He rushed out the door that morning, his socks mismatched, his hair unruly and he throws a vest over a t-shirt, and he just looks awful.

Of course he looks lively, refreshed and put together at seven in the morning. Jimin grimaces at the poor sight of his friend, ushering him inside claiming it’d be a social nightmare if his cute neighbour were to see him at his door looking like that.

“You weren’t answering me, why?” He cuts right to the chase, propping himself down at the stool by the kitchen island. “You can’t just say you know who it was and then just… vanish?”

“I believe they call that ghosting, Jungkookie.” He doesn’t appreciate the joke; he blinks at him boredly. Jimin sighs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, so no light humour before ten in the morning–“

“Hyung. This isn’t just some lighthearted thing?” His eyes follow his older friend as he scurries through the kitchen, grabbing a tea towel and wiping down the spot in front of Jungkook. He tosses the towel aside with a huff.

“You’re right, it’s not. It’s all fucked up and ironic and honestly, I enjoy holding such a valuable piece of information.” He shrugs.

“Are you about to blackmail me?”

“No, no–“ He shakes his head and hands with brief upside-down smile. “I just think it’ll cause more harm than good for you to know right now.”

“Don’t tell me we know this person?” Jungkook leans forward against the tabletop, a stern look on his face. “How do you even know who did it in the first place?”

Jimin looks away, anywhere else really, besides Jungkook. He scratches the back of his neck as he peers at the ceiling fan.

Jungkook sighs, rubbing harshly at his tired eyes. “I told Y/N how I felt last night, after we got home.”

“Wait,” He’s moving again, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet above the sink, the clink against the marble an unpleasant sound. “You mean to tell me that you dropped your feelings on her, after she committed social suicide by showing up when it was way too soon for her to face her friends?” Jimin raises his brow.

“Hyung.” He runs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Shit, I– yeah, I did.”

“You haven’t changed one bit, Jungkookie.” He laughs dryly. “How did she take it?”

“She sort of dodged it all, to be honest. I still don’t know how she feels, just said she doesn’t know.”

“Yeah dummy, how can she figure how she feels about you when everyone she loves thinks she’s a desperate slut?”

“Can you watch your mouth, Jimin?” He scowls at the blond, who just clicks his tongue in return. He turns his back to make the both of them coffee.

He returns in front of him with a black coffee, the way Jungkook liked it, sipping on his own. “Do you want my advice, or what?”

“Please.” Jungkook snorts, bringing the steaming liquid past his lips.

“Just keep showing her you love her, stop hooking up with that Yuri chick and show her you mean what you said. I promise you won’t die if you don’t have sex.”

He’s right, and he knows that already. How can he expect you to love him when he’s running around with other girls, one you know from college no less. “I guess you’re right.”

Jimin nods, petting the top of his head “Let’s do better, Kook-ah.”

He clicks his tongue, slapping at Jimin’s wrist. “Alright, alright. Cut that shit out, though.”

The breath you let out is heavy with content the moment you walk through the door, toeing off your shoes beside the mat. You shuffle your way into the kitchen, humming to yourself softly as you scan the place for food. You hadn’t been to the store since Jungkook had gotten sick so there wasn’t much left.

Jungkook’s still near the door after he closes it behind him. He watched the way you jut out your bottom lip, murmuring curses under your breath that aren’t directed at him.

“Hey,” He calls out to you. You straighten, look over at him with your eyes all big and hopeful. “Sorry about last night, I didn’t mean to make it about me.”

You offer him a curt smile. “It’s okay,” your voice comes out as a whisper, not completely trusting what was going to come out the moment you realise he’s speaking to you. Not avoiding you

like you thought he was.

“I feel like I haven’t been a very good friend to you lately.” He throws the strap of his bag over her head and plops it onto the couch, himself following shortly after. You lift a hand, shaking your head.

“I just want to go back to the way life was before this all happened.”

Jungkook bites his lip and nods, his boba eyes don’t hide that your words feel personal, and that sting when he thinks about the fact that you want to forget about everything. Do you mean you want to forget his confession, too? Was it selfish that he didn’t want you to forget that part?

“Wanna get takeout and watch Sleepy Hollow?” You beam at him, as if you didn’t just chew up his chances and spit them back out. But it wasn’t like Jungkook to give up. So, he doesn’t.

“Can we get pizza?” He counters with a cheesy grin.

And it feels nice, snuggled up beside him beneath a warm blanket and a belly full of cheesy carbs. It does however make you sleepy. Jungkook doesn’t want to ask you to move so he can grab another slice, and besides, when he looks down at you and you yawn softly, he forgets all about the pizza. He drapes his arm over you, pulls you closer, and you drop your head into his lap, turning to face the screen in hopes he would think you’re watching.

His hands do that thing that drives you crazy. They soothe up and down your arm, touch feather light yet magnetic, leaving a tingle on your skin beneath his fingertips. You feel him, as his fingers graze over the goosebumps, when he reaches your wrist, he’s sly in the way he transfers his hand onto your hip instead and squeezes tenderly. You shift, peaking up at him but he’s looking straight ahead, biting on his thumb like he’s not paying attention to you, but he is. You move onto your back, and he slides his hand beneath your shirt and stops on your tummy. You let out the smallest whimper, and the deep chuckle he lets out vibrates through you, as well.

“What is it, dove?” His eyes are heavy, dark when they peer down at you. “You wanna play?”

You moan at his words, hips bucking up just the slightest, but it’s more than enough to answer his question. His hand continues up your torso, his other pushing back your hair as he admires your pretty face. He tugs your bralette up, revealing your breasts not to his eyes but for his hands to touch, his thumb swiping over your already hardened nipples. “Jungkook…” You whine.

“Yeah, baby?” He keens when you push your cheek against his hardening cock, hidden beneath his sweats. He hisses, licking his lips as he watches your features contort in pleasure. “Wanna get you nice and wet...” He drags your shirt over your chest to reveal them, cursing under his breath when you arch your back when the air hits you. Your chest feels tight, your nipples are stiff, and he joins his other hand to squeezes and touch on you, adding to the sensation.

He looks so deeply at your tits, his lips parting. “So pretty. You my pretty girl?” He drags out, dipping his head forward, the tip of his tongue flicking at one of the stiffened peaks to garner a reaction from you. He gets it, your hand comes up to the back of his neck, carding through his hair and he hums at the feeling. He wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks, squeezing your other breast as his other hand trails down your stomach again.

“Yeah…m’your girl…”

“Y/N…” Your eyes are screwed shut,

“Hm?” You tense your brow, too focused on the pleasure he gave to you— too focused on the way his mouth felt on you, how his fingers played with the drawstring on your shorts.

“Y/N?”

“What?” You ask impatiently.

“Hey,” He shakes on your shoulder and your eyes shoot open, blinking up at him.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“You knocked out there for a little.” He smirks with amusement, light but knowing. Your cheeks begin to burn when your mind falls back to the moment you had with him prior— a moment you thought was real. You push yourself up from his lap so fast it makes your head spin. “You good?”

“Yep!” The pitch in your voice is a little too high for it to sound normal. The movie’s been paused since the moment you dozed off, you notice. You tilt your head, wondering what Jungkook has been doing if the movie was paused. Your eyes dart towards his lap, one hand grasping onto his phone. When you look up at his face, he’s biting on his lips to try and hide the smirk on his face. “So, you have a nice dream or what?”

You look like a deer in the headlights, the bellowing laugh he lets out is comical, but you’re too horrified to tease him about it, you don’t even have the time to react when he leans over to poke into your side. You yelp, but he’s too fast and he catches your waist to tickle you.

“Oh, Jungkook~” He teases you, and you slide onto your back, trying to wriggle out of his grips but you’re out of breath and laughing like crazy.

“Stop,” You nearly scream at how sensitive you are as he wiggles his fingers into your waist, “Stop that! I ca–can’t breathe!”

You knee him in the stomach by accident, he winces, curling in on himself and grabs at his stomach. You think he doesn’t notice that his head is far too close to your breasts than you’d like. Or maybe you’d like. Shit, you don’t know.  

Fuck.

You’re panicking. Your eyes widen again, chest heaving. You feel the throb in your panties. You gasp, pushing on his shoulders, so that you’re sitting up, but you lean too far forward as he’s trying to recover from the hit. His face is inches from yours, your hands gripping onto his shoulders because you think you’re going to fall. Jungkook’s eyes are blown out, you get lost in them; deep depths where his thoughts swim in the circles of internal battles on what to say— what to do.

His fingers twitch when he raises his hand, his movements are unsure, but he knows he’s itching to touch you. He tucks your hair behind your ear, lets his fingers graze your warm cheeks. You blink at him, the tilt in your head makes it known that that there’s cogs turning in your head. You don’t move; you don’t react at all when his hands begin exploring you in a way he never had before.

He moves down, lifting the pendant of your necklace between his fingers, letting it fall back against your heaving chest. He only lets his eyes linger on the swell of your breast for a second, but he notices the way you shift, tucking your legs gingerly beneath where you sat, propped up on your knees. The apartment is silent, bar the sound of his breaths melding with yours, the way your let your eyes drop, following his wandering hand.

Now yours move, too. From his shoulders, up his neck and to cup his face. He doesn’t look at you though, even when you move his head to face you. He just watches the way his hands drag down your arms. Relishing in how soft you feel against his slightly rough hands.

 “Kook,” you whisper. “You never pursued me.” It’s more a realisation than a question. He looks up at you now. Your eyes are asking him why he chose to sleep with Yuri, pursue Yuri in such a surface level way. Jungkook was always respectful, a nice guy— but he wasn’t impartial to casual sex. It was clear in the late nights you’d accidentally run into Yuri in the kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt. It wasn’t like there was a new girl in his bed all the time, but if he claimed to like you, why sleep with her when you were in the room next door? But alas, you settle for a simple. “Why?”

He leans into your palm, shutting his eyes for a moment as he inhales sharply through his mouth. “It’s complicated, Y/N.”

Your hands slip from his face, sliding down to his chest. “Is it?” You wonder, “Is it really that complicated?”

Jungkook licks his lips, but he lifts one of your hands from his chest just to intertwine your fingers. “You’re not just another girl to me.” He admits, “I’ve had girlfriends, situationships, hell I’ve had plenty of friends, even.” You snort at the way he flexes that, and he chuckles shyly. You know he didn’t mean for it to sound like some sort of boastful thing. “None of them have seen me the way you’ve seen me. The way you listen, you retain, and you remember. You comfort and you nurture and you’re so full of love.”

You chew on your bottom lip, not anticipating how much his words would hit you straight through the heart. “No one else does it for me, dove. That’s why I’d do anything to keep you in my life. Even if that meant I never got to have you that way I want.”

“What if you can?” You rise from your knees slightly, shuffle closer to him.

“I can what?” You’ve never seen his pupils get so big, but to be fair, you’ve never really allowed yourself to look so deeply into them. Even though you knew they were beautiful, knew how welcoming and full of warmth they were.

“What if you can have me the way that you want?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, you don’t think he’s going to as you lean closer, dip your head at an angle as your lips brush his. But the moment you send it, think you’re going to feel his lips for the first time, he pulls back, only a little but enough to create space. “Then I’d want you to be sure.” He whispers, looking down.

You must admit that it hurts to be rejected this way. You wonder if this is how Jungkook has felt with you for so long. “If you really mean that, then you can have me. Hell, you already do—

always have.”

“I just…you’re too important to me. I wouldn’t want to rush anything and risk losing you altogether.” His expression is sorrowful when he looks at you again. You try to hide the way your face naturally expresses itself and replace your pout with a smile instead.

“Don’t be sad, dove.” He huffs an amused breath, tilting your chin up when you look down. You feel embarrassed.

“I want to kiss you, so bad it hurts.” He assures you, he leans in, and you close your eyes. Wince when his lips touch your cheek. “So, let’s make a deal. If you still want to kiss me by the end of next week, then I’ll know you meant what you said.” Because was two weeks more? That felt like mere moments to him.

But to you…

“Okay.” you fall back, plopping down onto the couch begrudgingly.

“What happened to patience is a virtue, hm?” He bops you on the nose and you roll your eyes.

“Can we just finish the movie?” You grumble, "I'm tired." He hums softly as he scoots closer to you, even when you lean away from him, pretending that you don’t melt when he pulls you back into his side.

It was the most normal you had felt in days, even if you were venturing into new territory with your roommate.

©jigglyjeon 2025 all rights reserved

taglist: @bhonbhon, @rikifever, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @songbyeonkim @ttanniett, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @songbyeonkim, @busanbby-jjk, @justsomoneliving, @supercoolchem, @jeeykey, @toosweetforyall, @nikkinikj, @prxdajeon, @whoa-jo, @kelsyx33, @bugbxte, @army7-013, @jmsrealgf, @elimelbe, @yunhoswrldddd

[rainrot4me]

The hc on Clockwork drawing Toby makes me wonder. What IS your opinion on Toby x Clockwork/Ticciwork?

Oh, where do I begin. To me, Ticciwork is like a gunpowder x lighter situation. They’re definitely exes who keep getting back together and splitting up again, but I feel a deep love for one-another that nobody else really gets.

Nat’s calculated, hardened, with a tight grip on her emotions—but she feels deeply. She’s the kind of person who would scoff at feelings while secretly craving stability, protection, someone who sees her scars and doesn’t flinch. She works with control—mechanical precision, trauma that forced her into maturity far too fast.

On the other hand, Toby’s chaotic, impulsive, and often out of touch with his own emotional landscape. He’s rough around the edges, but there’s this raw honesty in him that Nat would notice—and might even crave. His tics, his temper, his noise—those could unsettle her at first. But over time, I think she’d see the vulnerability beneath all of it.

Howeverrrrrrr, they’re manic. Put two crazy, traumatized people together and you’ll get an explosion before you get anything kind.

They break up at least three times a year. And every time, it ends the same way: with bruised lips, sharp words, and one of them slamming the door. But they never stay away. Toby throws things. Not at her—never at her—but around her. He can’t handle the silence. Can’t handle the thought of losing her. Natalie stands like stone, arms crossed, eyes burning. “You always ruin this. Why can’t you ever just be satisfied?” But two nights later, he’s outside her window, soaked in blood and rain, shivering like a kid. And she lets him in. Always.

They’ve seen each other at their worst. Not the messy proxy shit—the real stuff. The things no one else knows. She knows about the way he cries in his sleep but never lets the tears fall. He knows she doesn’t wind her clock when she’s overwhelmed—lets the ticking stop because she can’t bear to feel the time pass. They never talk about it. But they both remember.

Most nights, he finds her in the bathroom, floor tile cold against her legs, trembling hands trying to hold herself together. He sits beside her. Doesn’t say a word. Just slides a hoodie over her shoulders and rests his head on her knee.

Now for everyone’s favorite part, the sex.

It’s angry. Gripping. Desperate. Like they’re trying to punish each other for still loving this much. She claws at his back like she’s digging through all the silence between them. He leaves bruises on her hips like he’s trying to prove something—like maybe if he marks her up enough, she won’t leave again.

Afterwards, she curls into his chest, breath hitching.

“You’re the worst fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yeah?” he rasps, lips at her neck. “Then why do you still co-come back?”

“Because no one else sees me like you do.”

He goes quiet. Pulls her closer. “Shut up.”

They date other people. Clockwork flirts to make Toby jealous. Toby fucks someone else to prove he’s “over it.” But it always feels wrong. Off. Like they’re wearing someone else’s skin.

They can be halfway across the country from each other and know when something’s wrong. She’ll wake up with a tight feeling in her chest. He’ll get that electric buzz in his bones. And eventually one of them shows up.

No matter how bad it gets, how many times they blow up, if someone else lays a hand on the other? They’re dead.

It’s toxic. But also? No one else has ever loved them like this. No one else ever will. They’re both so fucked in the head that nothing normal or soft would satisfy them. So, sure, they’re horrible and awful to be around, but no one else sees them the way the other does. That still doesn’t mean that Natalie won’t beat the absolute shit out of him. She has shot him before, she will do it again.

꩜ .ᐟ

[kakeashi]

the lovers between forevers ─ words kept still. ⠀⠀⠀⠀boyfriend!itachi, the simplicity of you.

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who still doesn’t believe that you two are together. it seemed like a dream, a fantasy that tried to distract him from realizing how difficult life was. it seemed like an illusion, farces created by the gods to play with itachi’s heart. but it was true, the purest reality: you and itachi were dating. and it wasn’t just that — no. you and itachi shared such an enviable complicity and a bond so strong that every night the stars made a point of engraving your love in their constellations. itachi still wondered what he had done to have you by his side. in this life, itachi thought he had only made mistakes and misfortunes and nothing of his was worthy of being loved; therefore, he believed that he had met you in a past life and that your story was so brief, but so intense, that the gods gave him a second chance in this life. an opportunity to love you more, better, for as long as you needed. how was it possible for him to be with you? how was it possible for you two to be together? how fantastic the universe was. how lucky it was for him to have met and loved you at the beginning of time. ‘i confess that there are still days when i get too lost in your essence to think about anything other than why you are with me. sometimes i feel like i am not enough to love you, as if you needed a field of affection and i could only give you a plant of desire. but i hope you know that this plant is just the beginning of the garden that i will create for you, for us.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who pretends not to know that incredible story you heard on the street. it was impossible to have secrets in that village, especially if they were secrets linked to the various people who gave life to konoha. as such — it was only normal for itachi to know almost all the gossip and incredible stories that escaped the mouths of the villagers. but you didn’t know that. you didn’t know that because itachi always asked you which stories were holding your attention. as such, in your curious innocence, whenever you heard or saw something worthy of being reported and analyzed by you and itachi, you were quick to go and meet him and tell him everything you knew. itachi would like to hear you talking about the various stories that made the village an interesting place to live. your eyes shone with anticipation and the possible theories that could exist; your voice was adorned with interest and amazement in those stories; you all shone talking about fights and dinners, festivals and picnics. for a few moments, while you lost yourself in memories and stories, itachi lost himself in your smiles and looks. you were always beautiful to itachi, endowed with a beauty so unique that he couldn’t find it anywhere else. and when you were wrapped up in something, completely lost to pay attention to your surroundings, itachi only marveled once again at you. beautiful in every way, funny with all the jokes, simply unique. ‘i don’t think i’ve ever told you, but i really like listening to you talk. telling all those stories, you know? i don’t know, you seem like a happy child sometimes and it warms my heart. knowing that you’re happy, I mean.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who knows every timbre of your heart. whether you want your heart to play a lively melody, wrapped in pure joy and love, or you want it to just sing a melancholic poem, completely empty or dark, itachi knew all your symphonies. studying the songs that played in your heart for as many years as he loved you, it was easy for itachi to decipher what was in your soul. as if his ears had been developed only to pay attention to your heartbeat, itachi was quick to notice any change in them. your heart reacted faster than your words and it was in it that itachi could read what was in your soul. always ready to listen to your outbursts when your heart was beating faster, and always ready to share a kiss when your heart skipped a beat, itachi listened to your soul as if it were his favorite song. ‘i think i was raised listening to your heart asking for love. that’s why i came into this world and that’s why i know you so well. i hope you know that you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. words aren’t important to me. not when i can read you like you’re an open book.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who feels so warm when you laugh. itachi had to admit that among so many of your laughs, his favorites were the ones caused by him — obviously. your laugh was itachi’s favorite sound; feeling the joy in your voice, seeing you so happy that you couldn’t contain all the joy to yourself, was like finding the first ray of sunshine in a stormy winter. whenever you let out a laugh, itachi would stop for a brief moment, looking at you and remembering how you, the most beautiful person in the universe, really existed. you were not a vision of itachi or an invention created by the gods; you were not a lie told by itachi or a fantasy read by him; you were real. and, just like his love for you, you would be eternal. your laughter was heard by the stars and kept in a celestial drawer that contained the secret to happiness. it was so cozy to hear you laughing, as if your joy covered itachi with a small security blanket and helped him get the sleep he needed so much. ‘happiness looks good on you, i won’t lie. you shine brightest when you’re too lost in life to notice your disappointments. it’s amazing how beautiful you can be without even trying. you’re fascinating.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who treats the night as his confidant. lying beside you, one of his hands caressing your face and his eyes memorizing every perfection and imperfection of yours, itachi loved you most at night. it was as if it were a secret between you. only the stars knew your words, keeping all the promises and confessions in their eternal flames; only the moon knew of your love, bringing darkness to our world to give you the space to devote yourself to each other; only the night understood your relationship, watching throughout lifetimes your souls falling in love with each other. in its darkness, itachi found the light of his essence and was constantly guided back home, to your arms. the tenderness of itachi’s touch mixed with the delicacy of his words transformed the night into an ethereal paradise where your vulnerability was the bed you lay in. ‘i never thought i would like anyone, much less like this. sometimes i’m afraid i’m feeling too much, as if the excess of my love could drown you. but then i look at you and feel what’s in you, what you feel for me, and i understand that nothing i feel for you, nothing we feel for each other, will be too much. what we feel is our refuge, our home, and we will never tire of feeling safe.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who is sure that your touch has healing powers. itachi had to confess that he was not a simple person. inside him, storms collided with galaxies and worlds were created at the same time that stars died. he was complex: what was in him, in his mind, heart and soul, was a labyrinth of pure confusion. but all the chaos that existed within him was tamed in your presence. all the caresses you gave him on the most boring days, or the massages you tried to give on the most tiring days; your handholding and your little pushes; your hands, your heart, your soul — you had the power to calm the storm inside itachi and heal all his wounds. it was magic, a gift that only you possessed. with a small smile and a tender kiss you were able to calm itachi’s very existence. ‘it’s fantastic the tranquility you can give me with a simple look. to tell the truth, just your presence is enough to silence all the screams that break my heart. you are simply incredible and i am so lucky to have you by my side.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who knew it was love, just needed to hear it coming from you. ‘you don’t even know the relief of hearing those words. don’t get me wrong, i’ve always felt that coming from you. but you have to admit that saying it instead of showing it is an immense comfort. god, i love you so much. i really love you. since day one. until now and other lives, i know that i will always love you. and it’s so good to know that it’s reciprocal. to know that this dangerous and unique feeling is really felt and lived by us. i love you so much. god!, you know how to say it so well.’