#[peach is away.💌]

[peachsayshi]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table. 

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away. 

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home. 

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to. 

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current. 

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.  

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately. 

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat. 

that student was his responsibility... 

...and he failed him entirely. 

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango.  “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!” 

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day. 

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down. 

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet. 

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her... 

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on. 

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair. 

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles. 

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!” 

she’s only six. 

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction. 

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty. 

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.  

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.  

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.” 

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him. 

the room is dead silent. 

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice. 

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.  

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place. 

he regrets his words immediately. 

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room. 

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next. 

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists. 

“kento?” 

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away. 

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry. 

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement. 

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?” 

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright. 

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug. 

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

[peachsayshi]

I am so so so so soft

.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. it’s late at night and you try to cuddle with sukuna. keyword; try.

wc. 1.2k

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. fluff, angst (+comfort). heian era. size difference (readers referred to as small). sukuna’s a bit mean, but he also has a soft spot for you. miscommunication ? it gets solved. reader gets called ‘woman, doll’.

“what are you trying to do?” sukuna sighs. you’re up to something again, he figures. his red eyes follow your body as it crawls up to him on the bed.

you’re both tired after a long day of fulfilling some duties here and there around the estate. all you need is a big beefy man wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and safe.

the perfect man for that is sukuna. those four arms of his wrapped around your small body feel like heaven.

“it’s called cuddling,” you retort. the sarcastic tone you used triggers a deep sigh from the sorcerer. sukuna holds back the urge to say something sarcastic as well.

he doesn’t utter a single word once you snuggle up to his chest. you’ve taught him how to cuddle during the first time you asked him to hold you. sukuna was awkward with showing any type of affection back then.

. . he still very much is.

“hug, please,” you remind him. the cold-hearted man scoffs, though listens to your polite request. all four of his arms imprison you against his chest, your small body nearly disappearing behind his limbs.

that’s what you like most about those cuddles you share together; how you fit so perfectly in his strong arms. it’s much more comforting than you thought it would be.

a pair of hands rests on your waist, the other pair on your hips. sukuna glances down at you and immediately notices that smile on your lips. even after all this time, he still cannot fathom why you’re so carefree around a monster like him.

and that inability to understand you and your love for him is accompanied by an urge to push you away.

“you got your hug, now get up,” sukuna interrupts the silence. his voice is cold and devoid of emotion—he uses that voice when he talks to other people. not with you, “i have better things to attend to.”

thus, it hurts. when he talks to you like that. like you’re not the person he secretly cherishes most. though, you remind yourself of sukuna’s own words. the ones you heard him say a while ago.

‘love is meaningless’, he said. you remember. and yet you kept hoping that he’d change his mind about that statement. you hoped and eventually saw exactly that: your presence and your affectionate gestures mellowed his heart of steel.

but all that effort seems to go down the drain every time sukuna pushes you away.

you know it’s because he’s unfamiliar with the feelings of love. he may not say it nor show it, but you know that sukuna’s afraid of hurting you. so, he creates a gap between you two every now and then.

you know and yet you’re patient.

“oh, ‘kay,” you nod in understanding. you pull away from his embrace and get up from the bed. your bottom lip trembles.

sukuna is not gullible. he’s anything but oblivious. especially if it’s about how you feel and act. he notices every single change in your mood; whether you mask it or not.

you walk to the sliding doors—ready to open them and step out into the hallway. your eyes are a bit watery, but you quickly blink the tears away and take a deep breath in. you reach for the door.

“come back here, woman.”

sukuna’s booming voice makes you stop. you glance at his form over your shoulder. he’s leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

is he. . . upset?

“why? you said you had better things to attend to.” you answer with a shrug. you try your best to not make it seem like his earlier words had effected you. you turn your head towards the word with a huff, “go on, then.”

sukuna narrows his eyes. he sucks at communicating what he actually desires—what he actually wants. right now that want is for you to stay. even though that completely contradicts his previous words.

the sorcerer doesn’t know what to do. when you’re with him, he pushes you away out of guilt. when you’re away, he wants you back with him.

love is complicated.

“you. . .” sukuna grunts in frustration. all those feelings for you inside of his heart are playing with his rational thoughts. he doesn’t like seeing you upset. he wants the usual you back, “tsk. fine then.”

silence, followed by the creaking of the bed frame. seems like sukuna’s getting up to do whatever ‘business’ he needed to attend. at least, that’s what you thought.

you slide the door open and set a foot outside of the chambers. before the other could follow, you’re suddenly lifted up in the air by a strong pair of hands. your vision turns upside down as your body is effortlessly hoisted onto a shoulder.

“woah!” you gasp and feel the blood go to your head. your eyes are fixed on the back of your lover. you kick your legs in protest, but only get a smack to your ass in response. you whine at that, “put me down!”

“watch it, doll,” sukuna hisses at your fierce demand, a warning to fix your tone. he puts you back down on the soft mattress. he’s surprisingly gentle when he settles you in place—not throwing you on the bed or anything similar, “should’ve listened when i told you the first time.”

your eyes meet sukuna’s and you notice how much they’ve softened. that alone makes the lump in your throat disappear. your love for him isn’t one sided—you’ve always kept that in the back of your mind—yet your thoughts made you overlook the little things he does for you.

his actions speak louder than his words. that’s the kind of man he is.

sukuna’s trying to open up more, though that process is slow. you’re fine with that.

especially when there’s that faint pout on his lips as he stares at you. his eyebrows are still furrowed, his crimson eyes sharp yet warm.

“oh, you want me back in bed this bad?” you tease once you get the opportunity. the man in front of you clicks his tongue and grabs your cheeks with one hand, turning your head up to face him.

sukuna’s eyes are focused on yours. the eye contact is intimidating, but you’re hypnotised. you physically can’t look away. he leans in and bites your lip with his sharp canines, “shut up.”

that raspy whisper alone confirms your assumption. you giggle at his attempt of refuting your point. you’re used to all those intimidating words and actions he pulls to get you to stop your teasing.

those empty threats—it’s becoming rather cute with how hard he tries to deny everything. he fails nearly every time, however.

“come,” sukuna lays back against the pillows after placing a quick and sloppy kiss against your lips. he pulls your body against his and presses your head against his chest, right where his heart is beating, “continue with your.. ‘cuddling’ thing.”

he put your ear right above his heart, because he remembers listening to his heartbeat calms you down. you told him that a while back. sukuna doesn’t understand why you like it, but his fingers massage your scalp either way.

that’s also something that brings you comfort.

you’re surprised by how much he knows about you, but appreciate it anyway. he remembers both the big and small things about you. ‘that’s how he probably shows his love,’ you conclude silently.

[lovinglin]

woag diluc jumpscare i forgot he used to be ur guy (<- current secondary f/o of hers). Considering ur sona is usual pink or softer colors, i think its cute your liking towards redheads... warm hues sticking together.

I FORGOT YOU F/O HIM TOO... HEUARHAHSHDHA take care of him, he deserves someone as amazing as you as a partner :3c

OKAY BUT MOVING ON... you're very right there actually, I love my characters with warm colors (generally a warm color enthusiast)

[buckysleftbicep]

swipe right 𐙚 b.b

pairing: grumpy!tfatws!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: just fluff 💌

summary: sam thinks bucky needs to get back out there. he suggests tinder—and really, who better to ask for advice than you? things change when he asks what you're looking for.

word count: 2.9k

author's note: hi loves, i really enjoyed writing this fic and i hope you'll enjoy it! based on this request | requests are open!

The sky was turning the colour of old peaches—that soft, late-summer blend of pink and orange that washed everything in warmth but didn’t hide how tired the day had become. 

It was the kind of light that settled low on your skin, not burning, just clinging. The kind that said the hard part was over but didn’t promise peace.

The boat creaked as it shifted against the dock, rocked by the lazy rhythm of the tide below. Everything moved slow—the air, the water, even time itself. 

Somewhere deeper in the trees, cicadas droned with that steady, hypnotic buzz that made talking feel like too much effort. But Sam had never been one to leave quiet alone when it started to feel too comfortable.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag that looked like it had already been through three summers too many. Tossed it over his shoulder, then glanced over at Bucky.

The man hadn’t moved in at least ten minutes. Sitting near the stern on a crate that creaked under his weight, arms resting on his knees, jaw tight. Staring at the water like it had something to answer for, the kind of stillness that wasn’t peaceful, just full of something waiting.

“You’ve got that look again,” Sam said, twisting off the cap of a beer with a soft hiss.

Bucky didn’t move. “What look?”

“Like something’s been bothering you for a while and you’re pretending it hasn’t.”

“I’m sitting.”

“You’re brooding.”

A pause. Bucky exhaled through his nose, low and flat. “You want me to smile or something?”

“God, no.” Sam took a sip, then nodded at him. “That’d be worse.”

It wasn’t mean. It was easy. Familiar. They’d gotten used to this—talking without saying much, sitting in silence like it was some kind of truce.

The water lapped gently against the side of the hull. A breeze rolled off the bayou, lifting the heat just enough to breathe again. The air smelled like salt and engine oil and the damp underside of the dock. 

Everything slowed.

For a while, that was enough.

Then Sam spoke again, voice casual like he wasn’t aiming for anything. “You ever think about dating?”

Bucky glanced at him, not sharply—just slow and skeptical, like he was checking if he’d heard right. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I mean—do you?”

Bucky shrugged, more a shift of weight than anything. “Not lately.”

“Maybe you should.”

“You suggesting I go flirt with someone at the grocery store?”

“No,” Sam said, half-smirking. “I’m suggesting you try talking to someone who doesn’t know what kind of ammo you carry.”

Bucky turned his head fully this time, giving Sam a look so dry it could’ve sanded wood. “You’ve got a real romantic pitch.”

“I’m serious,” Sam said, setting the bottle down beside him. “You don’t even talk to people unless they’re on the team or from your past. That’s not living, man. That’s just waiting.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He looked back at the water, but his jaw tightened, a little pulse at the side of it, quick then gone. Whatever was under that silence, it was old. And heavy. And still too close to the surface.

Sam didn’t press, not right away. Just let the quiet breathe a little before nudging again. “There’s apps for this kind of thing, you know.”

“I know.”

“You ever try one?”

Bucky shook his head once. “That stuff’s not for me.”

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say,” Bucky said. “And I don’t really want to explain... all of this.”

The pause after that wasn’t awkward. It was honest.

Sam nodded once. “Yeah. I get that.”

He picked at the label on his beer for a second, thoughtful, before adding, “Still doesn’t mean you don’t get to try.”

Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “I’m not built for that kind of thing.”

Sam leaned back, arms resting on his knees. “You don’t have to be built for it. You just have to show up.”

That was the thing with Bucky—he never said no right away. 

He just let silence stretch out until it either hardened into a wall or softened into maybe. 

This one softened.

Another beat passed. Then, low, almost under his breath—“I’ll ask her.”

Sam looked over, surprised but not shocked. “Who?”

Bucky didn’t turn. “You know who.”

Sam studied him for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, a small smile pulling at his mouth before he spoke. “She’d be honest with you.”

“That’s the point,” Bucky said.

He stood without another word, like the decision had been waiting in him for a while and now it just had a direction. Boots thudded quietly against the dock as he walked toward the edge of the light.

Sam watched him go as he took another sip from his bottle. 

He shook his head to himself, almost a laugh.

“About damn time.”

The sun’s lower now, bleeding into the bayou in streaks of amber and rose. It stretches long shadows across the dock, paints the water in color that looks like it shouldn’t belong to this world, too soft, too still. 

You’re sitting near the edge, back leaned against a weather-worn piling, drink balanced loosely in your hand. Your bare feet nudge the warm planks absently. 

It’s the first stillness you’ve had all day, and you’re not ready to let it go yet.

You hear him before you see him, the solid rhythm of boots on wood, measured and familiar. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just Bucky, moving like he always does, deliberate, quiet and steady.

He sits beside you without a word. 

Just drops down next to you, arms resting on his knees, gaze fixed straight out at the water like it might eventually give him an answer if he stares long enough.

You wait. You’ve known him long enough to know he only speaks when he means to.

Finally, he says, low,

“Sam thinks I should try dating apps.”

You glance over, one brow lifting. “Seriously?”

His mouth twitches. “I said the same thing” He huffs. “Apparently he thinks I’m too emotionally repressed to function without external help.”

You snort, tipping your head back to take in the sky, already turning violet at the edges. “Sounds like Sam.”

“He showed me one,” Bucky says. “Said I needed to ‘get back out there.’ Like I was ever out there to begin with.”

You hum, dragging your finger down the side of your bottle to catch a trail of condensation. “Did he show you Tinder?”

“I think so. There were… bios. And pictures. A lot of pictures.”

You take a slow sip. The drink’s warm now, but it doesn’t really matter.

“Then yeah. That’s Tinder.”

There’s a pause, one of those long, Southern summer silences that stretches without needing to be filled. The heat sits heavy on your skin. Everything is golden and slow.

Then—

“What’s it like?” he asks.

Not skeptical. Just curious, in that quiet way he sometimes gets. Like he’s asking about a world he doesn’t belong to.

You turn your head toward him slightly. “You actually want to know?”

He nods once, eyes still out on the water. 

He doesn’t push. Just waits.

You lean back again, voice dry. “They’re like vending machines. If vending machines were full of unhinged men who think a selfie in a lifted truck is an acceptable substitute for a personality.”

Bucky lets out the barest huff—not quite a laugh, but close enough.

You keep going. “I’ve had guys open with ‘hey beautiful’ and follow it up with a dick pic. No hello, not even a name. Just bam, in your face."

That gets him. His head jerks a little like he wasn’t expecting it, eyes wide, blinking, then immediately looks away again. “Jesus.”

“Right?” you say, half-laughing despite yourself. “One guy put his venmo in his bio. Said I could ‘tip the talent.’”

Bucky shakes his head, a soft grimace pulling at his mouth. “That’s real?”

“Very.”

Another pause. He doesn’t speak, and you let the quiet fill in the spaces between sentences. It’s not awkward, just mutual disbelief settling across both of you like the heat.

You glance over. 

“That’s the nice end of the spectrum. The ones who act normal? Worse.”

He raises an eyebrow, says nothing.

“There was one guy who said I ‘seemed cool’ and then launched into a rant about how feminism ruined dating. Claimed women used to appreciate a ‘real man’ who ordered for them at dinner.”

Bucky mutters under his breath, “That’s one way to die on a hill.”

You grin. “Exactly. I unmatched. But not before he sent me a voice note calling me ungrateful.”

That draws a small breath out of him, you’re not sure if it’s a laugh or just disbelief. Maybe both.

“So this is what people are doing now.”

“Apparently.” You nudge the bottle against your knee. “It’s bleak out there, Buck.

He looks down at his hands, his vibranium fingers flexing once—a small, absent motion like he’s thinking about something he can’t quite say.

“Sam made it sound like people meet that way all the time.”

“They do,” you admit. “But most of them walk away with trust issues and a weird story about someone who brought their mom to the first date.”

His head turns slowly. “You’re not serious.”

“Swear on it.” You pause. “You ever think about trying it?”

His expression tightens—not visibly, not in an obvious way. Just in the way his shoulders shift, his mouth presses slightly flatter.

“No.”

“Not even a little curious?”

“I don’t like the idea of strangers knowing anything about me,” he says, voice low. “And I don’t really have a profile worth putting out there.”

“That’s what Sam’s for,” you mumbled. “He’d probably write something dramatic. ‘Ex-assassin looking for redemption and someone to eat pancakes with.’”

That gets a breath out of him, small and sharp, like he wasn’t expecting it to hit as close to funny as it did. 

You glance at him and catch it, the faint pull at the corner of his mouth.

Not a smile, not really. Just something close.

You watch him a moment longer. “You’re not sold.”

Bucky shakes his head slightly. “I don’t think I was meant for that kind of thing,” he says simply. “Not after everything.”

There’s no self-pity in it. Just fact.

You study him for a beat. The way he still holds himself like he’s bracing, even when he’s sitting still.

“Maybe you weren’t,” you say softly. “Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

That makes him look over. Really look. His eyes catch yours, not sharp, not guarded. Just… tired. A little older, like the fight’s still in him, but so is the weight of carrying it.

“You really think there’s people out there who’d sign up for all this?”

He doesn’t need to explain what this means. The metal arm, the red in his ledger, the quiet rage, that name.

You tilt your head. “You’re asking the wrong people.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then,

“Who should I ask?”

You smile, small, steady. Like it’s already obvious.

“Ask someone who already knows you.”

He doesn’t move right away.

Then he shifts, not away, just forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose. His eyes stay fixed on the water, but his whole body reads different now.

Less guarded. Less armoured.

The air is thick with the smell of wood warmed by the sun, brine, and something else you can’t name. The heat hasn’t broken. There’s no wind, no relief—just the weight of what’s been left unsaid between the two of you.

Then, without looking at you, voice low,

“What about you?”

You glance over. “What about me?”

“What are you looking for?”

He says it like it doesn’t mean anything. Like it’s just conversation. But you hear the shift in his voice—the hesitation, the careful way he keeps his tone level. 

You catch the way his fingers tap once against the dock before going still again. He wants to know. Not because he expects anything. 

Because part of him is terrified to hope.

You breathe in. Let the silence stretch, but not too long. Then,

“I don’t know,” you say. “Someone who doesn’t need to be anyone else. Who’s not trying to sell a version of himself just to get picked.”

You’re not really looking at him when you say it. You’re looking past the water, past the trees. Somewhere further off. But you feel him — how still he’s gotten. How present.

You pause, let the words settle in your chest.

“Someone who’s real. Who doesn’t run when things get hard.”

There’s something brittle in your voice when you say that. Not cracked, just lived-in.

“Someone who carries things, but still shows up anyway.”

You glance at him now. And you mean it when you say,

“I think that narrows it down pretty fast.”

It’s soft and uncomplicated, but it hangs there like a match waiting to strike.

And maybe that’s the moment it lands.

Maybe not all at once—but enough.

Because now he’s turning his head, slow and unsure, like he’s still giving himself time to pretend it’s not what it sounds like.

“You talking about me?”

The question isn’t sarcastic. It isn’t cocky. It’s quiet. Raw. Like he’s afraid you’ll say no, but needs you to say yes.

You hold his gaze. “Yeah. I am.”

It’s simple. Not a performance. Not something meant to fix him. Just truth.

His eyes drop, lashes casting half-shadows. Then he looks back out over the water—not avoiding you, just... trying to breathe with it.

There’s a long stretch of quiet after that. You let it happen.

Because this is the part where people rush it. Where they try to fill the air. But not with him. Not now.

Eventually, voice low:

“I’m not... easy.”

“I know.”

He shifts again. Barely.

“I don’t have much to offer.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“Maybe not to you.”

You go still at that.

His tone isn’t bitter. It’s not sad, either. It’s just matter-of-fact. Like it’s something he’s repeated to himself long enough to accept as reality.

“I’ve hurt people,” he says, not looking at you. “I’ve messed up a lot of things I can’t fix. I don’t sleep much. I get angry. I disappear when it gets too loud. Some days I don’t feel like a person. Some days I don’t want to.”

Your chest pulls, tight and quiet. But you don’t interrupt him.

“And I know I’m not easy to be around,” he adds, almost like an afterthought. “But I don’t want to lie about that. I can’t.”

You’re already shaking your head before he finishes.

“You don’t need to.”

He finally looks at you—and this time, he doesn’t look away.

His eyes are still that same unrelenting shade of blue, something between steel and storm, edged in shadow from the way the light hits.

Cerulean, maybe, if you wanted to get poetic—but the kind of blue that feels lived-in, exhausted, quiet. Tired in a way that most people never notice, and steady in a way that somehow always holds.

You’ve seen them angry. You’ve seen them distant. You’ve seen them blank, shut down so completely they didn’t feel like eyes at all.

But now?

Now they stay. Now they’re looking at you like maybe, for the first time in a long time, he’s letting someone actually stay.

“I’d still pick you,” you say, voice even. “I know what I’m saying. I know who I’m saying it to.”

And something in him breaks open—not shattered, not messy. Just exposed. In a way he hasn’t let himself be in a long, long time.

He doesn’t say anything.

But the way he looks at you—like he’s seeing something he didn’t think he was allowed to want—it’s enough.

You can see it, how hard he’s trying to stay still. Like if he moves, even slightly, it’ll break whatever fragile thread just opened between you.

The water laps soft against the dock. Somewhere nearby, a screen door slams. A dog barks. The world doesn’t know that something quiet and impossible is unfolding in the silence between two people who didn’t think this would happen.

Finally, carefully,

“If I asked…”

He trails off.

It’s not hesitation. It’s vulnerability, stripped down to bone. Not even a full question, just the offer of one.

You let him say it the way he needs to. And you don’t make him say it twice.

You answer without hesitation. Without softness-for-show. 

“Yes. I would.”

That lands, you see it in the way his shoulders shift. Just a little. Like he’s trying to let the weight down slowly, afraid it might hit too hard if he drops it all at once.

So you keep going. Gentle. Honest.

“I’d date you in a heartbeat, Bucky.”

You pause, “you’re not your past. You’re not the burden it left on you. You’re the man who lived through it and kept going. That matters more.”

He looks down for a second, like the words are too much to hold eye contact through. Then back up, slower this time.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ve been sure for a while.”

The breeze moves past, soft through the trees. Neither of you speak for a long minute.

But something’s changed. Something settled. You feel it in the quiet, the kind that doesn’t need fixing.

When he looks at you again, it’s not with hesitation or doubt. 

There’s no shift in his posture, just a quiet steadiness, like he’s finally stopped running from it, like he’s letting himself want this, want you, without pulling it apart or looking for all the reasons he shouldn’t.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

It Was Enchanting to Meet You

✨ summary: where y/n is on a girls trip and meets a man who belongs to the sea.

📝 word count: 11K

⚠️ content warning: mentions of alcohol

💌 support my work

The winding coastal road dipped and curved like a ribbon caught in the breeze, cutting through lemon groves and clusters of peach-colored houses. Y/N leaned her head against the window, eyes half-lidded, watching the glittering line where the sea met the sky. She could already taste the salt in the air, sticky on her lips.

“Okay, I call the room with the terrace,” someone announced from the backseat. It was probably Mia—loud, determined, already half-drunk from the mini bottles they’d smuggled onto the flight.

“You can’t call it before we even see it,” Y/N mumbled, but not loud enough to start a real argument. She was too tired for that.

They’d been planning this trip for months. A last-hurrah kind of thing. Or maybe a break from real life before the next chapter started—jobs, moves, breakups that hadn’t happened yet but probably would. A group of five, crammed into a rented van, their suitcases piled like Jenga blocks in the back.

When they pulled into the little town, it looked like a postcard: crumbling stone walls wrapped in vines, laundry fluttering between windows, the sea stretching out in every direction like a secret waiting to be told.

The villa was even better than the pictures. Sun-bleached and crooked, with arched windows and a path that led straight down to the rocks.

They spilled out onto the patio like kids let out of school.

“Okay, we need spritzes immediately,” said Jess, her sunglasses already pushed up into her hair.

Y/N smiled, but there was a thread of something pulling tight in her chest. That quiet, off-balance feeling. She chalked it up to jet lag.

Still, as her friends laughed and clinked glasses, she couldn’t stop staring at the water.

It looked too perfect. Like it knew something she didn’t.

The club pulsed with music so loud it felt like it was coming from inside her own chest. Colored lights flared overhead, cutting across the haze of bodies that moved together in a kind of careless rhythm. Someone handed Y/N a drink—maybe it was Mia, maybe it was someone they’d just met—and she took it without really thinking, the condensation slick against her fingers.

She had been dancing earlier. Laughing too. Letting herself get pulled into the swarm of heat and perfume and music. But now, sometime past midnight, something had shifted. Her limbs felt heavier. Her smile wasn’t coming as easily. The air inside the club had gone from electric to cloying, like all the oxygen had been used up.

Y/N leaned into Jess’s ear. “I think I’m gonna head back.”

Jess looked over her shoulder, mascara smudged just a little beneath one eye. “Already?”

“I’m just tired,” Y/N said with a small shrug. “I’ll see you back at the room?”

They exchanged a quick hug, followed by a round of half-sincere protests and cheek kisses from the others. No one seemed too bothered. They were deep in the glow of the night, tangled in stories they would half-forget by morning.

Outside, the air hit her like a blessing. It was cooler than she expected, the breeze coming off the water sharp enough to wake her up a little. The town was quieter now. Still, but not empty. She could hear laughter from somewhere down a side street, the low hum of scooters passing by in the distance, the clink of dishes being washed in someone’s open window.

Her heels clicked against the cobblestones as she walked, one hand lightly dragging along the old stucco walls. She should have gone straight back. She knew that. She had her key in her pocket and the villa was just a few turns away. Instead, her feet took her in the opposite direction—down a narrow path she vaguely remembered from earlier that week.

It led toward the water.

She told herself she just wanted to see the ocean. Just for a minute. She didn’t even take her shoes off at first, just stood there at the edge of the rocks with the wind threading through her hair. The moon was high and swollen, and the sea looked almost glassy beneath it. It was the kind of beautiful that made your heart feel too big for your chest.

She stepped out of her heels and left them neatly beside her. Her feet were bare against the cool stone as she picked her way down toward the flat shelf closest to the waterline. It wasn’t smart. She was a little tipsy, and the rocks were slick in places, but she moved carefully and kept her balance.

The sea moved in gentle laps below her, whispering things she couldn’t quite make out. She sat down, tucking her knees to her chest. Her dress slid around her thighs, light and wrinkled from the heat of the club. Her skin was still damp from dancing, and the breeze made her shiver.

For a long time, she didn’t think at all. She just breathed. Watched the stars. Let the stillness wrap around her like a secret.

And then she heard it. The soft ripple of water that wasn’t from the tide. A hush. A shift.

She turned her head slowly.

There, just a few meters out, was someone in the water.

At first, she thought she was imagining him. A shadowy figure half-submerged, reclining like the sea itself was a hammock. The moonlight caught his shoulders, slick and sculpted, and the faint curve of a smile on lips she could barely see.

He didn’t say anything. Just floated there, watching her.

Y/N blinked. “You’re real, right?”

The stranger gave a soft laugh. His voice was low, smooth, unmistakably British. “Suppose that depends on how much you’ve had to drink.”

She tilted her head. “Swimming this late?”

“Could ask you the same, love. Not exactly the safest time to be wanderin’ round out ‘ere.”

Her lips curved slightly. “I needed air. Too many people back there.”

“Mm. Know the feelin’.” His tone was easy. Warm, even. “Too many people everywhere, sometimes.”

The sea lapped quietly between them.

“I’m Y/N,” she said after a pause.

He smiled again. “Pleasure. Proper lovely name, that.”

He didn’t give his own. Not yet. She didn’t ask.

And somehow, that felt right.

Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see him more clearly.

His hair was dark and pushed back from his face, glinting wet beneath the moonlight. Drops of water slid lazily down his neck, catching against the lines of a tattoo on his collarbone. From this distance she couldn’t make it out, but there were more—one just under his shoulder, another curling along the top of his bicep. Ink that looked like it had always been there. Like it belonged.

His eyes—when she really looked at them—were green. Not the muddy kind. Bright, clean, sea-glass green. They sparkled, which sounded like a cliché, but there was no other word for it.

He was beautiful. That was the only word that fit.

They stayed like that for a moment, quiet but not awkward, just letting the air sit between them.

“So,” he said eventually, voice low and lilting. “How long you in town for?”

“A week,” she said. “We got here a couple days ago. I’m here with friends.”

“Ah. Bit of a girls’ holiday?”

“Something like that.” She rested her chin on her knee, watching the way his fingers skimmed lightly through the water. “What about you? Are you from here?”

He smiled like it was a joke she didn’t get. “Sort of.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not really an answer.”

“S’alright,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Most people aren’t lookin’ for proper answers anyway.”

“I might be,” she said.

That made him glance up at her again, a little more directly this time. “You always wander off from your friends in the middle of the night?”

“No,” she said, smiling despite herself. “Just felt like the water was calling me.”

“That happens, yeah.” His tone softened. “Sea’s good at that. Pulls you in before you even realise.”

“I’m from New York,” she offered, folding her arms loosely over her knees. “So this isn’t exactly… normal for me. Ocean that glows under the moon. Air that smells like lemons. Mysterious guys floating in the water.”

He chuckled. “Suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

They went quiet again. Not because there was nothing to say, but because there was no rush to say it. The waves brushed against the rocks with a hush-hush rhythm, and a soft wind lifted her hair off her shoulders.

“What do you do here?” she asked. “You live nearby?”

“Something like that,” he said again. His voice dipped a little lower, like the truth was balanced on the edge of his tongue. “Don’t really live the way most people do. I just… stay close.”

“Close to what?”

His smile returned, lazy and unreadable. “The sea.”

She nodded slowly. “You make it sound like a choice.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just looked at her for a moment, like he was trying to decide something.

Then he said, “What’s your hotel called?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Just wonderin’ if it’s near enough that you’ll come back.” His expression didn’t change, but his voice grew quieter. “Wouldn’t mind talkin’ again. S’not every day someone actually sees me.”

The way he said it sent a little chill up her spine.

“I’m staying in a villa up the hill,” she said. “With the orange shutters.”

“I know the one,” he murmured. “Come back tomorrow. If you want.”

She hesitated, just for a second. “You’ll be here?”

“’Course,” he said. “Where else would I be?”

The villa door creaked open around three in the morning.

Y/N was already in bed, though she hadn’t even tried to sleep. She lay on her side in the dark, sheets tangled around her legs, staring out through the slatted window where the moonlight still poured in, soft and silver.

She could hear the girls laughing even before they made it up the stairs—heels clacking, voices hushed but too loud anyway. A chorus of whispered swearing and giggles.

When the bedroom door eased open, Mia tiptoed in with all the subtlety of a marching band.

“You’re awake,” Jess whispered, even though she was already pulling off her earrings and tossing them into a little dish on the nightstand.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Y/N said quietly, not moving from her spot. Her voice still felt distant in her throat.

They smelled like perfume and wine and something citrusy, like the bar had rubbed off on them.

“Babe,” Mia said, crawling onto the edge of her bed, “you left the club so early. What did you even do?”

Y/N hesitated. The words felt a little surreal now that she was back in the warmth of her sheets, with her friends laughing about shots and bad dancing. The moment down by the rocks felt like it belonged in a dream.

But she said it anyway.

“I met someone.”

There was a beat of silence. Then a sharp gasp. Then a flurry of movement as every girl in the room turned toward her like she’d just dropped a firework in the bed.

“You what?” Jess practically screeched, trying not to trip over her dress as she crossed to sit beside her.

Y/N sat up slowly. “Down by the water. He was just… there. In the ocean. We talked for a while.”

“In the ocean?” Mia blinked. “Like, swimming?”

“Yeah. Just sort of… floating. Watching the stars.” She shook her head a little, still not sure how to explain it. “He was really—he was something.”

“Oh my God, you can have a hot Italian hookup without even trying,” said Liv, flopping into the armchair with dramatic flair. “This is what I said would happen.”

“He had a British accent,” Y/N corrected, lips curling faintly.

Even that sounded unreal now. Like something out of a movie.

“That’s even better,” Jess said, nudging her with one elbow. “What’s his name?”

Y/N blinked. Her smile faded just a little. “I… never got it.”

“You didn’t get his name?” Mia flopped backward onto the bed like she couldn’t believe it.

“I was kind of distracted, alright?” Y/N said, laughing softly. “It didn’t come up.”

“He could be a Prince Harry type for all you know.”

“Maybe he’s famous,” Liv offered. “Or, like, a mysterious millionaire hiding from the public eye. A tortured soul who swims at night and writes poetry.”

“I think he just likes the ocean,” Y/N said. “He asked me to come back.”

“Oh you have to,” Jess said, no hesitation. “That’s fate. That’s, like, beach magic.”

“Summer romance,” Mia added with a dreamy sigh. “Follow it through. What if this is your Italian love story?”

“I told you,” Liv said smugly, pointing at her. “I said this trip would be your origin story.”

Y/N laughed again, but it faded quickly. Her heart still beat too loudly. Her hands were cold beneath the blankets.

She didn’t tell them how strange it had felt. How unreal. How she’d walked back barefoot through the sleeping town like she wasn’t even quite on the ground.

She didn’t tell them that when he smiled, it had made the air taste different.

She only said, “Yeah. Maybe I’ll go back.”

Even though she already knew she would.

The morning sun poured through the windows of the café, catching on the glasses of orange juice and the rim of Y/N’s coffee cup. The girls had picked a spot just off the main piazza—someplace with striped umbrellas and little potted herbs on the table. The kind of place that made everything feel like it could be part of a movie montage.

She stirred her cappuccino with the tip of her spoon, not really listening to the conversation. Across from her, Jess was flipping through a rack of postcards she’d picked up from the counter. Mia had already started bargaining with the waiter about the price of extra toast.

Y/N blinked slowly, sunlight warm on her shoulders.

“So…” Liv’s voice pulled her back. “Are you going?”

Y/N looked up. “Going?”

“Back to the water,” Jess added. “To find your mystery man.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, sipping her coffee.

Mia snorted. “Liar. You’ve been staring at nothing since we sat down.”

“I’m just tired.”

“You’re enchanted,” Liv said, wiggling her fingers in the air like she was casting a spell. “Admit it.”

Y/N shrugged, trying not to smile. “It was just a conversation.”

“An ocean conversation,” Jess said. “With a hot stranger who came out of the sea like some kind of Greek god. Don’t undersell this.”

“You didn’t even get his name,” Mia reminded her. “That’s, like, the most romantic part.”

“Or the most suspicious,” Y/N replied, but there was no bite to it. She was still thinking about the way the moonlight had caught the curve of his cheek, the sound of his voice echoing softly over the tide.

“So what’s the plan?” Liv asked. “You gonna dress cute and walk barefoot into the sea again?”

“I was tipsy. It wasn’t a plan.”

“Tonight, it can be,” Mia said, already reaching for her phone. “We’ll help you pick something. Something mysterious but, like, effortlessly hot.”

“Maybe he’s a fisherman,” Jess said.

“He doesn’t live in town,” Y/N murmured, mostly to herself.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. He just… he said he doesn’t live the way most people do. It stuck with me.”

The table went quiet for a beat. Just the clink of cutlery and the buzz of a scooter passing in the street below.

“That’s kind of deep,” Liv said finally. “Maybe he’s like, an artist. Or a wanderer. Or some guy with too much money and not enough direction.”

“Or he lives in the sea,” Mia said, sipping her juice.

Y/N gave a soft laugh. She didn’t say what she was thinking.

The others left just after ten that night, their heels clicking across the tiled floor, perfume trailing in the air behind them. Mia paused in the doorway to blow Y/N a kiss.

“You’re making the biggest mistake,” she said. “Tonight is crawling with possibilities.”

“I’ve got mine,” Y/N replied with a small smile.

Jess gave a wink. “Text us if you get abducted by a shirtless fisherman.”

And then they were gone, their laughter echoing down the street, fading into the pulse of music and lights that wrapped around the coast like ribbon.

The villa was suddenly quiet.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, towel around her hair, skin still warm from her shower. She moved slowly, not rushed, but deliberate. She pulled on a soft linen dress—simple, easy to slip off if she ended up near the water again. She left her shoes by the door. A cardigan hung loosely around her elbows as she stepped out into the warm night air.

The walk down to the rocks felt different this time.

The path was familiar now. She didn’t hesitate at the turns. Didn’t check her phone for directions. The town was asleep around her, shutters drawn, windows glowing soft with lamplight. It smelled like salt and citrus and old stone warmed by the day.

When she reached the shoreline, she paused. The moon was thinner tonight, a quiet sliver above her, and the water was darker without it.

She stepped carefully down to the flat shelf of rock and sat, legs tucked beneath her, dress fluttering slightly in the breeze. The sea moved lazily below her, the kind of calm that felt rehearsed. She scanned the surface, eyes straining against the dark.

Nothing.

Her hands fidgeted in her lap. The air was warm, but her fingers were cold.

She waited. For five minutes. Then ten.

Still nothing.

She told herself she’d only stay a little longer. That maybe he wasn’t real. Or maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe he’d been a passing moment, like a dream too good to be true.

She stood, brushing off the back of her dress, preparing to leave.

And then she heard it.

Water shifting. The soft shhhh of something surfacing.

“Thought you weren’t comin’,” a voice said behind her.

She turned.

He was there.

Resting against a low rock just off the shore, arms folded over the edge like he’d been waiting too. His hair was wet again, curling around his temples. The same tattoos danced along his collarbone, lit faintly by the low glow of the stars. His eyes met hers, sharp and unreadable, and his mouth lifted into a soft, crooked smile.

“I almost left,” she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice was too breathless.

“Glad you didn’t,” he murmured. “Would’ve been a bit tragic, wouldn’t it? Me, talkin’ to the sea all night.”

She stepped closer to the edge, her heart thudding hard enough to feel it in her throat. “I didn’t know if you’d be here.”

“Didn’t know if you would, either.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the silence thick but not uncomfortable.

“You look different,” he said, tilting his head. “New dress?”

She smiled. “You remembered what I wore?”

“’Course I did.” His voice softened. “Hard not to notice someone sittin’ at the edge of your world.”

She took a few steps closer, the breeze tugging at her hem. The rock shelf sloped down slightly toward the sea, and she stopped just before her toes would’ve touched the water. He didn’t move. Just watched her, eyes reflecting the shimmer of the waves like glass.

“You’re always here,” she said after a moment. “Every night. In the same spot.”

“S’cause I like it,” he replied, voice smooth and unhurried. “It’s quiet. People don’t tend to wander down here unless they’ve got somethin’ on their mind.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

His smile flickered, like a secret tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Somethin’ like that.”

She sat again, this time facing him, her feet just inches from the water’s edge. “You never did tell me where you’re from.”

He tilted his head. “And you never did ask my name.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t want to ruin it. You know. The mystery.”

“ S’ Harry,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “Harry?”

“Yeah.” He grinned a little. “Not quite as dramatic as you’d imagined, huh?”

“Honestly? I was betting on something Greek and tragic.”

He chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You didn’t.” She said it too quickly, and then laughed. “I mean—you haven’t.”

They let the silence stretch again. The waves lapped gently at the rocks. Her dress fluttered softly against her legs. Somewhere up the hill, music played faintly—muffled bass and laughter drifting down from the clubs.

“What about you?” he asked. “You always sit out here alone in the middle of the night? Or is this a new hobby?”

She looked out at the water. “I guess I just like the quiet, too. Everything back there is always so loud. Like I’m supposed to be having the best time of my life, every second, or I’m doing something wrong.”

“And are you?”

“What?”

“Doin’ somethin’ wrong?”

She glanced at him. He was watching her closely now, not teasing, not amused—just listening.

“No,” she said finally. “I just think… sometimes it’s nice not to perform for a minute.”

He nodded like he understood that all too well.

Y/N hesitated. She hadn’t meant to ask. Not yet. But it slipped out before she could stop it.

“Why don’t you ever get out of the water?”

The question hung there between them.

His expression didn’t change right away. But she saw something flicker behind his eyes. Something quiet and careful.

“Would it change the way you see me?” he asked, voice softer now. Almost wary.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then finally said, “Some things are easier to explain with distance. When you don’t have to look too close.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

“I want to look.”

That surprised him. She saw it in the way his mouth parted slightly, the way his body shifted just a little in the water.

“No one’s ever said that before,” he said.

“I’m not like most people,” she replied.

His smile returned—slow and full of something unspoken. “No, you’re not.”

Harry was quiet again.

Not the kind of quiet that meant he had nothing to say—but the kind that meant he was deciding something. Weighing it.

The sea moved around him, soft and steady, and the moonlight painted everything in pale silver-blue. Y/N’s heart was thudding hard, louder than the waves. She could feel something happening. Something about to change.

Then he asked, barely louder than the tide, “Can I trust you?”

She didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

His eyes searched hers for a long moment, like he was testing the truth of it.

Then he nodded once, slow. “Alright.”

He pushed back gently from the rock, gliding further into the water with almost no effort. The movement was fluid. Too fluid. There was something unnatural about the way his shoulders dipped, the way the current seemed to follow him like it knew him.

Y/N stayed still, her breath caught in her chest.

He didn’t go far. Just enough that the moon hit the water at the right angle. Enough that she could see.

A shimmer.

Not a trick of the light.

Not imagination.

His skin shifted just beneath the surface—no longer smooth, but scaled. Not like a costume. Not painted. Real. Soft iridescence that glowed faintly as he moved, like sunlight through deep water. And where his legs should’ve been, there was only the graceful arc of a long, tapered tail—sleek and powerful, the same deep green as his eyes.

She gasped, just a little. Not out of fear, but wonder.

He stilled, watching her. Waiting.

Y/N didn’t move away.

She leaned forward instead.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “You’re real.”

Harry’s voice came low across the water, rougher now, more human than ever. “Told you I don’t live like most people.”

She let out a shaky breath. “You weren’t kidding, you do live different.”

He smiled, just barely. “No one ever believes it ‘til they see.”

“I believe it.”

He tilted his head. “You scared?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good,” he said. “Didn’t want to disappear just yet.”

“You can do that?”

“If I want to,” he said. “It’s easy, when no one’s lookin’. That’s the trick, isn’t it? Keep to the shadows. Don’t let ‘em see too much.”

“But you let me,” she said.

His eyes met hers. “Yeah. I did.”

And then, as if the moment were fragile, he slipped beneath the surface for just a second—scales vanishing, ripples blooming outward—and when he rose again, only his shoulders and head were visible. Just like before. Like it had never happened.

But she knew.

And she didn’t look away.

Y/N didn’t speak for a long moment.

She couldn’t. Her breath felt caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat, as though the air itself didn’t know what to do. The water between them moved slowly, curling in small, glassy waves. Harry was still, half-submerged, watching her with a softness that made her chest ache.

She leaned forward slightly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Can I touch you?”

His expression didn’t change at first. But his eyes brightened in the moonlight, and after a quiet beat, he nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said gently. “’Course you can.”

She moved slowly, sliding forward to the edge of the rocks, her knees grazing the rough stone. The hem of her dress lifted slightly with the breeze, but she barely noticed. Her focus was locked on him—on the space between them. On the surface of the water that rippled like silk.

She reached out.

Her hand hovered for a moment, uncertain.

Then she touched him—just beneath the water, fingertips brushing the place where skin gave way to something else. It was warm. Warmer than she expected. Smooth, almost like polished stone, but alive. The scales shimmered beneath her touch, soft and iridescent, shifting in color as he breathed.

Her fingers moved lightly, tracing a small curve near where his hip would’ve been.

He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he let out a breath—quiet, but real. Like he’d been waiting for this. Like her touch grounded him somehow.

“You’re not cold,” she said quietly.

“‘S the water,” he replied. “Keeps me steady. But your hand… feels different.”

“Different good?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Like I’m not just a thing someone imagined.”

She kept her hand there a moment longer, her thumb brushing gently across the delicate pattern of his skin.

Then, slowly, she let it drift back, her palm settling on the warm stone beside her.

“I don’t know what I thought you’d feel like,” she said. “But it wasn’t that.”

“What’d you expect? Slime?”

“Maybe.” She smiled. “Something less human.”

“Not all that different, really,” he murmured. “Underneath it all.”

Their eyes met again. The space between them felt smaller now. Closer. Charged.

“I’ve never shown anyone before,” he said softly. “No one’s seen me like that.”

“I’m glad you did,” she said.

And she meant it. Every word.

They sat in silence for a while, the hush of the ocean filling the space between them like breath.

Y/N’s fingers toyed with the edge of her dress where it draped over her knee, still damp from the sea spray. She glanced at him—not just at his face this time, but at everything. The curve of his shoulders, the small twitch of his jaw when he was thinking, the way the water moved around him like it belonged to him.

She wet her lips, hesitating. Then asked, gently, “Were you born like this?”

His gaze didn’t shift, but something in him stilled.

“No,” he said quietly.

She looked at him, waiting.

He exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on a spot just beyond her. “Somethin’ happened.”

Her voice was softer now. “What happened?”

He dragged a hand through his wet hair, letting the water drip slowly back into the sea.

“It’s a long story,” he said, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell it. But then, almost to himself, he added, “But I don’t want to lie to you.”

She stayed quiet, giving him space.

He looked at her again. “Few years ago, I went swimmin’ off the coast. Nothin’ wild. Just a dive, y’know? I’ve always liked the water. Used to surf, snorkel… I grew up near it. Thought I knew it.”

She nodded.

“Got caught in a current I didn’t see comin’. Got dragged way off course. Thought I was gonna drown.” He paused. “But I didn’t. Someone—or somethin’—found me. Pulled me under instead of up.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“They didn’t kill me,” he said simply. “They… changed me.”

His voice cracked just slightly on the word.

“When I woke up, I wasn’t the same. Couldn’t breathe right unless I was in the water. Couldn’t walk properly on land anymore. And this—” he gestured toward where his body disappeared beneath the waves “—this didn’t come all at once. It started slow. Bit by bit.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. Not afraid. Just quiet. The way you go quiet when someone tells you something too important to interrupt.

“Don’t know why they chose me,” he said. “Sometimes I think I wasn’t meant to survive it. Like maybe I wasn’t supposed to come back at all. And this… this is just what was left.”

She swallowed. “You did come back.”

He gave her a tired smile. “Sort of.”

“You’re still you.”

“Maybe.” He looked down at the water. “But I’m not who I used to be.”

Y/N reached out again—this time not to touch the strange, shimmering part of him, but his arm. His shoulder. Warm and solid and real beneath her hand.

“I don’t think you lost anything,” she said quietly. “I think you became something more.”

He looked up at her then, his eyes soft, shining faintly in the moonlight.

“Y’know,” he said, voice a little rough, “no one’s ever said that to me.”

She smiled. “Well. Someone should’ve.”

Y/N’s hand was still resting lightly on his shoulder, her fingers half-curled in the damp warmth of his skin. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been sitting like this—time felt different here. Stretched out. Slow.

She tilted her head. “Do you miss it?”

His brows pulled together slightly. “Miss what?”

“Having legs. Being on land. Walking around without… you know.” She gestured vaguely at the water. “Fish stuff.”

He let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “Yeah. Sometimes. I mean, it’s not like I’ve forgotten what it feels like.”

She looked at him, curious. “You remember it?”

“Course I do,” he said, dragging one hand back through his hair. “Still have ‘em, actually.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Me legs,” he said. “Still there. Just—different when I’m in the water.”

Her head tilted further. “You’re saying… you can walk on land?”

He nodded. “If I’m completely dry. No water. Not even a drop.”

She stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“That’s insane.”

He smiled. “It’s a bit inconvenient, yeah. If it rains or I get splashed, it starts changin’ back. It’s not exactly subtle, either. Hurts like hell sometimes.”

Her jaw dropped. “So you’re telling me… you’re like… just like the girls from H2O: Just Add Water?”

He blinked. “What?”

She laughed, the sound breaking through the quiet like the first crack of sunlight. “It’s this ridiculous teen show from the 2000s. These Australian girls get turned into mermaids and anytime they touch water—even a sink, or like, a drink—they transform.”

Harry stared at her for a second. Then he started laughing too, the sound low and warm and surprised. “Never seen it.”

“You’re living it.”

“I’m a real-life teen drama, am I?”

She grinned. “Honestly, yeah. You’re giving very much moody sea prince with a tragic backstory.”

He smirked. “You sayin’ I’m dramatic?”

“I’m saying if you ever cry in the rain, you’re gonna grow a tail and it’ll be so embarrassing.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re mental.”

“And you’re magic,” she said, teasing, but her voice softened at the end.

They sat in the stillness that followed, her words floating between them like a dare or a promise. His smile faded, not because he was upset, but because he was looking at her in that way again—like she was something rare.

The wind had shifted slightly, cooler now, whispering across the surface of the sea like a lullaby.

Harry stretched his arms across the rock, resting his chin on them as he looked up at her. His hair had begun to dry in places, curling slightly at the edges. The shimmer of his scales had dulled just enough to blend back into the dark water.

“You should go,” he said gently. “It’s late.”

Y/N didn’t move at first. She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay perched on the edge of the rocks, watching the sea breathe in and out around him. But she knew he was right.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I should.”

She pushed herself to her feet, brushing her hands on her dress. Before she turned to leave, she looked back at him.

“Will I see you again?”

Harry smiled like it was the easiest promise in the world. “’Course. I’m just a short walk to the beach away.”

Her lips curved, and she nodded once. “Okay.”

He dipped lower into the water, resting with his chin barely above the surface. “Sleep well, love.”

She murmured a goodnight, then picked her way carefully back across the rocks, shoes in hand.

The walk through town was quiet and slow. The kind of stillness that made everything feel suspended, like the night had paused just for her. Her dress clung to her calves, damp from sea spray. Her heart was still thudding with the weight of it all—what she’d seen, what he’d said, what she still didn’t understand.

When she crept into the villa, the lights were dim, but the girls weren’t asleep.

Jess was sitting cross-legged on the bed, hair tied up and a half-eaten bag of chips beside her. Liv and Mia looked up from the other room, where they were curled up watching something on someone’s laptop.

“There she is,” Mia said, voice raised in a soft tease. “The moonlit wanderer returns.”

Jess grinned. “So? Spill.”

Y/N slipped out of her cardigan and hung it on the back of a chair. “Not much to spill.”

“Liar,” Jess said immediately.

“Okay, fine. We hung out on the beach. Talked. That’s it.”

Mia groaned. “That’s it? No mysterious kisses? No wild late-night skinny dipping?”

“Nope,” Y/N said, popping the “p” as she sat at the edge of her bed. “Just… talked.”

They all stared at her, waiting for more. But when she didn’t add anything, Jess sighed dramatically and flopped backward. “Ugh. You’re impossible.”

“Was it at least romantic?” Liv asked, more softly.

Y/N smiled to herself. Not for them. For her. For the memory that only she got to keep.

“Yeah,” she said. “It kind of was.”

They didn’t push further. Within ten minutes, the lights were off and the soft sound of sleep began to settle over the room.

But Y/N stayed awake just a little longer.

Lying still.

Listening to the distant hush of the ocean.

And wondering if, right now, he was still out there, floating beneath the stars.

The next day passed in a blur of sunshine and distraction.

They went to a market in the morning—baskets of peaches and figs and handwoven straw bags, the kind of place that smelled like sun-warmed fruit and fresh bread. The girls tried on linen dresses and wide-brimmed hats, made each other laugh over bad Italian, and spent too long deciding where to have lunch.

Y/N smiled when she was supposed to. Laughed when it made sense. But her mind was somewhere else entirely.

She kept thinking about the way his skin shimmered under the moonlight. The way he looked at her like she was something worth waiting for. The soft sound of his voice, how real it had felt when he said she could trust him.

She told herself she wasn’t watching the clock—but when golden hour hit, she already knew what she was going to do.

When the others dressed for another night out, she stayed behind again. No excuses this time. No teasing. They didn’t even ask. They were half caught in their own night, half aware of something they couldn’t name.

She waited until the house went quiet, then got up and changed.

This time, she brought a blanket with her.

The walk to the shore felt different. She wasn’t nervous. Not anymore. She just… needed to see him.

The sea was darker tonight. Still, but deep. The kind of water that seemed to hold its breath.

She stepped onto the rocks and spread the blanket across her usual spot, smoothing it with one hand before sitting down. Her legs crossed, back straight, hair pulled over one shoulder. She waited.

And he came.

Not suddenly. Not loudly. Just the quiet dip of water, the soft ripple that announced him without needing to.

Harry surfaced a few yards out, the glow of the moon catching in his eyes as he turned toward her.

“You came back,” he said, like he hadn’t been sure.

“So did you,” she replied.

He swam in closer, arms folding easily over a smooth rock just beneath the surface. His hair was wet again, curling along his forehead.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d get bored of me,” he said.

“Not likely.”

His lips curved. “You brought a blanket.”

“Thought I’d stay awhile.”

“I like that,” he murmured. “Like the idea of you waitin’.”

They fell quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty.

She watched the sea curl gently around his shoulders. He watched the way her fingers played with the edge of the blanket, like she didn’t quite know what to do with her hands.

She wanted to ask more questions.

He wanted to say more than he knew how to.

But neither of them did.

Not yet.

Instead, she asked, “Do you get tired?”

He blinked. “Tired?”

“Like… physically. Do you sleep?”

“Not the way you do,” he said. “I sort of drift. Don’t need much.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re always floating.”

“Always waiting,” he corrected. “For something to pull me in.”

Their eyes met across the space.

She didn’t move. Neither did he.

The tension was quiet, but it was there—thin as thread, stretched between them.

“I should bring you something next time,” she said softly.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something from up there. Just to… see you with it.”

He smiled. “You want to make me real.”

“I think you already are,” she whispered.

His expression shifted, softer now. More exposed.

“You’re not like the others,” he said.

“I know.”

They stayed there until the moon slid further up the sky and the breeze turned cool.

When she finally stood, he didn’t try to stop her.

He only said, “I’ll be here.”

And she said, “I know.”

The following night the sea was calm again. Like it was holding its breath with them.

Y/N stood barefoot at the edge of the rocks, the blanket she’d brought still folded at her side, forgotten. Her dress moved gently in the breeze, the hem brushing against her calves. She had one arm crossed over her stomach, the other hanging loose by her side. Her body was still, but there was something in her posture—something wound tight, like she was bracing herself for something she couldn’t name.

Harry floated just a few feet away, chin resting on his arms where they draped over a rock slick with seawater. He looked up at her with that same quiet focus, the kind that made everything else blur out of view.

She hadn’t said much yet.

Neither had he.

The silence between them had grown comfortable—familiar in that way only late-night conversations could be.

Then, without looking directly at him, she said quietly, “I have to go home in two days.”

The words sat heavy in the air between them. The kind of sentence that didn’t need to be explained. It already felt like goodbye.

Harry didn’t respond right away. His eyes stayed on her face.

“Right,” he said eventually, his voice soft but steady. “That’s… not long.”

She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon. The sea was endless and quiet, like it was listening too.

“Back to New York, then?”

“Yeah. Work. Life. Whatever that means now.”

He gave a small, sad smile. “I’ll miss seein’ you up there. Your little shadow comin’ down the rocks every night.”

She looked down at him. “I’ll miss you too.”

He shifted slightly in the water, pushing himself up just a bit so more of his chest rose above the surface. The moonlight caught on the curve of his shoulder, glinting off the faint lines of his tattoos.

“I’ll remember you,” he said. “Promise I will. And if you ever come back—whether it’s next year or when you’re eighty—I’ll be here.”

She swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

“That’s the thing,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to go.”

His expression flickered—just a brief crack in that calm exterior.

“I know,” he said. “But you’ve got a life up there. And I’ve got this.”

“I know.”

Her hands curled slightly at her sides.

“But when I’m with you,” she said, “it feels like maybe… that other life doesn’t have to be everything. Like there’s something else waiting. Something quieter.”

Harry didn’t speak right away. He just looked at her, really looked, like he was memorizing her face.

And then he said, gently, “Then maybe you don’t have to go.”

Her heart stopped.

She looked at him, startled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… what if you stayed?”

Y/N stood above him, arms crossed over her chest, her weight shifting slightly as the wind came in off the water. She didn’t know why it felt so hard to say, but the words pressed at her until she finally let them out.

“Would you ever come on land?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. His eyes were on hers, steady and unflinching, but softer than she’d ever seen them. Like he understood exactly what she was asking—even if she hadn’t said all of it.

“For you?” he said, voice quiet. “I’d try.”

Something in her chest pulled tight.

He kept going, the words careful but certain. “I’m not sayin’ I could do it now. Or tomorrow. But if it ever came to that—if you asked—I’d try. I’d want to.”

Her throat felt dry. “Even if it’s dangerous?”

His smile was faint, almost sad. “I’ve already done riskier things than walkin’.”

They both went quiet, the sea lapping gently against the rocks.

“I’m not asking you to,” she said after a while. “Not right now.”

“I know,” he replied. “But I wanted you to know ‘s in me. That I’d try. If it ever mattered enough.”

Her gaze dropped to the dark, glistening water. “It matters now.”

“I know that too.”

There was a stillness between them. A quiet acknowledgment of everything they weren’t saying.

Then Harry added, “If you ever came back… if things were different… I’d meet you halfway.”

Y/N looked down at him again, at the way the moonlight touched his face. She wanted to memorize it. She was already trying.

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” she said softly.

“Good,” he murmured. “Neither am I.”

Y/N didn’t move. She just stood there, looking down at him, her heart beating in that slow, aching rhythm that only came when you knew a moment was about to become a memory.

Harry’s eyes never left hers.

Neither of them said anything for a while. The silence felt thick with everything unspoken.

Then, softly, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

Her breath caught.

It wasn’t said like a line or a dare. It wasn’t cocky or dramatic. It was quiet. Honest. Almost careful.

She didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him—really looked. At the drops of seawater clinging to his hair. At the slope of his bare shoulders. At the way his mouth had gone still, like he was afraid she might say no.

She stepped a little closer to the edge of the rocks.

“Yes,” she said. Barely a whisper. “Please.”

He moved slowly.

Pulled himself up just a little higher against the stone, close enough now that she could see every detail of him. His hands stayed braced against the rock, careful not to touch her until she leaned down, until her fingers brushed the back of his neck, and she met him there—half in the sea, half in the air.

The kiss wasn’t rushed.

It was soft at first. Gentle. Just the press of his mouth against hers, salt-sweet and warm.

But then something shifted.

His hand came up to her hip, wet and sure, anchoring her. Her fingers curled at the nape of his neck. And the kiss deepened—slow, lingering, full of all the things they hadn’t dared to say aloud.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads stayed close. Breathing together. Caught in it.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first night, love,” he said quietly.

She smiled, still dizzy from him. “Took you long enough.”

Harry’s hand lingered at her waist for a moment after the kiss broke, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress.

Then he pulled back just enough to look up at her, eyes still a little dazed, like he was trying to memorize the way she looked right now—flushed and breathless, moonlight tangled in her hair.

“You should get back to your friends,” he said quietly. “Enjoy your night while  ‘s still yours.”

Y/N nodded, but she didn’t move right away. Part of her wanted to stay. To curl up right there on the rocks and never leave.

But he was right. The night was slipping away.

She took a step back, then another, until she was off the stone shelf and back on the narrow path that led toward town. She didn’t look over her shoulder—not at first.

But just before the curve of the path would take him out of sight, she turned.

He was still there, half in the water, chin resting on his arms, watching her like he’d never stopped.

“Harry?” she called out gently.

“Yeah?”

She paused. The question had been floating at the edge of her mind for days, but now it rose to the surface, clear and steady.

“If I had more time… do you think this could’ve been something real?”

He didn’t answer right away.

The waves brushed quietly around him.

Then, softly—“It already is.”

She held his gaze for one long, still moment.

Then she nodded, her throat tight, and turned back toward the hills—carrying his answer with her.

The villa was dark when she got back.

Y/N stepped in quietly, the door creaking softly behind her. The main room was empty—no music playing, no half-finished drinks on the table, no giggles echoing down the hall. Just the faint smell of perfume and lemon soap lingering in the air.

She flicked on the small lamp by the entryway and glanced around.

Empty.

She pulled out her phone and texted the group chat.

where are you guys?

It only took a few seconds for Jess to reply.

Bar by the steps—where we got those shots the first night. Come meet us 💃

Y/N stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering.

Then she smiled, changed quickly into something clean and simple—just jeans and the soft linen tank she loved—and headed back out.

The bar was a low-lit spot tucked into a corner where the street dipped steeply down toward the sea. Fairy lights hung from the beams, and music floated out through the open doors—something upbeat and familiar. She spotted them immediately: Jess waving wildly, Mia with a spritz in one hand, Liv already halfway through a story.

“There she is!” Mia shouted, grinning. “We thought you’d eloped with a fisherman.”

“She glows,” Liv said, pointing at her like she was an exhibit. “That’s post-kiss energy if I’ve ever seen it.”

Y/N laughed as she slid into the booth beside them. “I’m literally just walking.”

“Walking back from where, though,” Jess said, narrowing her eyes. “And don’t even try to lie. You’ve got that ‘someone held my face and looked at me like I matter’ look.”

Mia leaned in. “Did you finally get his number?”

Y/N giggled, shaking her head. “It’s not like that.”

They all groaned in unison.

“Come on,” Liv whined. “You’ve been sneaking off to the water like it’s The Little Mermaid and you’re telling me it’s not like that?”

She bit her lip, still smiling. “It’s just… different, okay?”

Jess squinted at her. “Different good?”

Y/N looked down at the table, cheeks still warm, and gave the smallest, most genuine nod.

“Yeah,” she said. “Different really good.”

The final day felt heavier than the others.

The sun still warmed the stones beneath her feet, and the scent of salt and lemons still hung in the air, but everything around her felt like it was slipping away. The kind of beauty that couldn’t be held, no matter how tightly she tried.

Her friends were packing. Folding dresses back into suitcases, swearing about lost chargers, asking for just one more round of drinks before the night was over.

Y/N nodded. Smiled where she needed to.

But her heart was somewhere else entirely.

She waited until the sky was bruised with stars before slipping out of the villa for the last time. Her bag was light. She carried only one thing with her.

When she reached the shore, Harry was already there, half-floating, his arms resting on the same smooth rock where they’d met again and again.

He looked up when he heard her footsteps.

“There she is,” he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Thought maybe you’d be off celebratin’.”

She shook her head. “There’s nothing left to celebrate but this.”

He didn’t tease her for it. Just nodded like he understood.

She knelt at the edge of the rock, reached into her bag, and held something out to him—a small silver chain with a charm shaped like a wave.

“Here,” she said. “It’s stupid, but… I wanted you to have something.”

He took it gently, water slipping from his fingers as he turned it over in his palm.

“S’not stupid,” he said. “It’s lovely.”

“I wanted you to have a piece of me,” she said quietly. “Something that doesn’t sink.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at her in that steady way he always did—like her being there was enough.

Then, softly, “Can I do somethin’?”

She nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

A small smile. “Do you mind gettin’ wet?”

She let out a breath of a laugh. “Not if it’s you pulling me in.”

“Alright then.”

With one smooth motion, he reached up, hands firm and sure at her waist, and lifted her off the rock. Her breath caught as she slid into the water, her dress floating around her like petals. The sea was cool, but he was warm, his arms steady around her, holding her against his chest.

She wrapped her arms around his neck instinctively, her fingers threading into the damp curls at the base of his skull. He didn’t speak, and neither did she, not at first.

She let her hands trail down the curve of his shoulder, fingertips grazing over the ink that marked his skin—small details she hadn’t noticed before. A star. A bird. A phrase she couldn’t quite read, half hidden beneath the surface.

“You’re covered in stories,” she whispered.

He looked at her, his voice low and soft. “Yeah, well. Some things are easier to remember when they’re part of you.”

She didn’t ask what they meant.

She just held onto him tighter.

And he let her.

The water rocked them gently, their bodies moving as one. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck, closed her eyes, and breathed him in—salt and warmth and something that felt like belonging.

He kissed her temple.

And neither of them said goodbye.

Not yet.

Harry held her for a long time.

The sea moved gently around them, barely more than a ripple, like it was cradling them too. His arms stayed wrapped around her waist, her chest pressed to his, and every so often he would shift slightly—just enough to rock her in the water, slow and rhythmic, like they had all the time in the world.

Her head rested against his shoulder. One of his hands traced light, absentminded circles at the small of her back. The sky stretched out above them, dark and endless, stars blinking quietly in their places.

Neither of them spoke.

Because there was nothing left to say that wouldn’t break something open.

Eventually, though, the weight of time began to press in.

Harry’s breath deepened, and he shifted his hold, pulling her just slightly closer one last time.

“Alright,” he said softly. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

Y/N didn’t answer, but she nodded against him. She didn’t want to move. Didn’t want this to end. But she felt it too—that subtle turning of the world, nudging her back toward the life waiting for her on shore.

He carried her gently through the water, one hand at her back, the other beneath her knees, and lifted her with ease onto the smooth, flat rock where she’d first met him. Her dress clung to her skin, heavy with saltwater, hair slicked down her back. She looked at him like she wanted to memorize him all over again.

Harry stayed waist-deep in the sea, the water lapping at his chest.

Then, wordlessly, he reached beneath the surface and pulled something from the shadows of the tide.

He brought it to her palm, dripping and glowing faintly in the moonlight—a pearl.

But not just any pearl.

It shimmered like oil and light had been trapped inside it, gleaming with soft blues, purples, and greens that shifted with every movement. It was smooth and impossibly round, no bigger than a marble, but heavier than it looked.

“For you,” he said. “To remember me.”

Her fingers closed around it slowly.

Her throat ached.

“Is it real?” she whispered.

He gave her that small, lopsided smile she’d come to know. “As real as I am.”

She nodded once, too full to speak.

He didn’t ask her to stay.

She didn’t ask him to follow.

But as she slipped the pearl into her bag and rose to her feet, she knew she would carry it forever. Not just in her pocket.

In her chest.

Where the ocean had settled.

And when she turned to look back, he was still there—half in the water, eyes on her, lit by nothing but stars and memory.

She didn’t say goodbye.

Because this wasn’t goodbye.

Not really.

The plane took off just after sunrise.

Y/N sat by the window, forehead resting against the cool glass, eyes fixed on the fading coastline below. The water was still visible in the distance, blue and endless, stretching far beyond what she could see—but not far enough to reach him.

She didn’t cry.

She thought maybe she would. Thought maybe the grief of it would hit her like a wave. But instead it settled deep in her chest, still and silent. A weight.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the small pocket in her bag where the pearl was tucked. She hadn’t let go of it since he placed it in her hand.

Jess leaned over from the middle seat, gently bumping her shoulder. “You okay?”

Y/N gave the smallest nod.

Mia, across the aisle, chimed in with a hopeful grin. “You’ll find another hottie. We’ll plan a girls’ trip to Croatia next summer. Who knows, maybe a sexy bartender or a guy with a boat.”

Y/N smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Not even close.

She didn’t want another “hottie.” She didn’t want boat guys or flirty bartenders or anyone who didn’t make the ocean feel like it belonged to them.

She wanted him. She wanted Harry. 

The plane lifted higher. The sea disappeared beneath clouds.

By the time she landed in New York, the ache had settled so deep in her that she couldn’t tell where it ended.

Her apartment felt smaller than she remembered. Colder.

She dropped her bag at the door and didn’t bother unpacking. Just stood there for a minute, staring at the window, at the buildings stacked close together, grey and humming with life she didn’t feel part of.

Everything looked the same.

And yet none of it felt right.

The pearl was still in her hand.

She clenched it tight and let the weight of it ground her, even as the world kept moving.

And for the first time, she wondered if she had made the wrong choice.

The weeks crawled.

At first, Y/N told herself it was just post-vacation blues. That eventually she’d slip back into her routine—commuting, iced coffee, emails, dinner plans. That the weight in her chest would lift once the glow of Italy wore off.

But it didn’t.

It settled in deeper.

She sat at her desk each day staring at the same blinking cursor, the same pile of untouched emails. Nothing moved her. Nothing interested her. The days passed in soft, grey silence. Her apartment, once warm and familiar, now felt like a shell. She stopped making her bed. Stopped buying flowers. She wore the same cardigan three days in a row and didn’t care.

And every night, she’d sit by the window with the pearl in her hand.

Rolling it gently between her fingers, watching it catch the light.

Some nights she’d cry. Other nights she wouldn’t feel anything at all.

It wasn’t just that she missed him.

She missed herself—with him. The way the world had felt slower. Softer. Like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

One night, two and a half weeks after she returned, she opened her laptop. Typed in the name of the coastal town she still dreamt about. Clicked through photos like she was trying to reach through the screen.

Then, without thinking, she searched flights to Naples.

She stared at the dates.

Then switched to one way.

Her finger hovered over the trackpad. And then, very simply—she clicked.

Booked.

Just like that.

She didn’t know what she’d do once she got there. Where she’d stay long term. How long she’d be gone.

But she knew one thing.

She had to go back.

She told her friends over dinner that weekend.

They’d gathered at their usual spot—a cozy wine bar with candles and flatbread and the same playlist humming softly overhead. Jess ordered a bottle of red. Liv was already halfway into a story about a guy she’d matched with twice by accident.

Y/N hadn’t said much.

When the food came, she cleared her throat.

“I’m moving,” she said, her voice steady.

Four sets of eyes turned toward her.

Jess blinked. “Wait, what?”

Mia laughed. “Where? You’re not serious.”

“I booked a flight back to Italy,” Y/N said. “One way.”

The table went quiet.

“Wait… like back back?” Liv asked. “To the beach? To—him?”

She nodded.

Jess leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Are you going to live there?”

“I think so,” Y/N said. “I sold the apartment. I gave my notice at work yesterday.”

“You—” Mia gaped. “You what?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” she continued, gently. “If I’ll be back.”

They all stared at her for a moment like they were waiting for the punchline.

Then Jess exhaled, slow. “You’re really doing this.”

“Yeah.”

“And this isn’t just… like, a dramatic phase?” Mia asked, but her voice wasn’t cruel. Just scared. “You’re really leaving us?”

“I’m not leaving you.” Y/N’s voice cracked slightly. “I just… I can’t be here anymore. Not the way I was.”

Liv looked at her, softer now. “Is it because of him?”

Y/N smiled a little, but it was sad. “It’s because of me. Because of how I felt there. Because I woke up every day and I felt things. I haven’t felt anything real since I came home. Not until I booked that ticket.”

Silence hung over the table for a beat too long.

Then Jess reached across, placing her hand gently over Y/N’s.

“Okay,” she said. “Then we’ll help you pack.”

Mia sniffed. “Can I cry now or later?”

“Now,” Liv whispered, wiping under one eye. “Now’s okay.”

They all leaned in, four hands tangling over hers, and Y/N let herself feel it—the grief, the relief, the terror, the hope.

Because something was waiting for her across the sea.

And for once in her life, she was ready to swim toward it.

The apartment was small. Barely two rooms. The kitchen sink dripped, and the bed was too firm, and the walls were the color of eggshells left too long in the sun. But it had a window that looked toward the water, and when the breeze rolled in, it smelled like salt and rosemary.

She loved it.

The woman who rented it to her spoke quick, kind Italian and gave her a basket of lemons on the first day. Y/N didn’t know all the words yet, but she understood enough to feel welcome.

The job came a week later—flower shop tucked between a gelato stand and a bookstore with dust on its windows. The owner was an older woman with a sharp sense of humor and hands that moved fast even when she was trying to slow down. She taught Y/N the names of each bloom in both Italian and English, correcting her gently and laughing when she mixed them up.

It was simple work. Honest.

In the mornings, she swept petals from the stone floor and arranged sun-wilted roses in buckets. She wiped chalk from her fingers and tied ribbon bows, and let the scent of peonies and jasmine cling to her hair.

And at night—after the shop closed, after the streets quieted and the sky turned to ink—she walked down to the water.

The first night, her heart raced.

She wore the same cardigan she’d had with her the night he kissed her, and she carried the pearl in her pocket like it might anchor her to the memory. The tide was low, the moon soft above, and the sea stretched out like it was holding its breath.

But he wasn’t there.

She sat on the rocks for over an hour, fingers curled around her knees, waiting.

Nothing.

The second night was colder.

She brought a blanket this time. Made tea in a travel cup. Watched the waves move like they might remember her. Still, no sign of him. Not even a ripple. Not even a shadow.

The third night, she didn’t bring anything.

Just herself.

She didn’t sit.

She didn’t wait long.

She just stood at the edge of the rocks, wind tugging at her dress, and whispered, “Where are you?”

No answer.

No shimmer in the water.

No voice calling her name.

When she got back to her apartment, she didn’t cry. Not really. She just sat at the foot of her bed, shoes still on, and stared out the window toward the sea.

She’d left everything behind.

And now she wasn’t sure if she’d made a mistake.

Days passed. Then weeks.

And he didn’t come.

Y/N kept going to the shore, but not every night. At first she told herself it was to give him space, that maybe he needed time like she had. But eventually, it became about protecting herself. Hope could only take so many beatings before it started to bruise.

She still worked at the flower shop.

She got better at tying bouquets with one hand, and she learned the names of the neighborhood cats that wandered past the door. The shop owner began letting her open some mornings, and she found she liked the quiet of arranging flowers before the town was fully awake.

People came to recognize her. A man with a straw hat who always bought violets for his wife. A little girl who asked every Saturday for “something yellow.” Y/N smiled more. She spoke enough Italian to get by now. Enough to be understood.

But still, the evenings felt like waiting rooms.

Sometimes she walked along the beach instead of sitting on the rocks. Sometimes she just watched the water from her window. The pearl stayed on her nightstand, but she no longer touched it every night. It had started to feel like a souvenir instead of a promise.

She told herself she could live like this. That the ocean alone was enough.

And slowly, it started to feel like maybe it was.

But the dull ache never really left.

It just folded itself into her days—quiet and patient, like the tide.

Then, one night, something changed.

It wasn’t a dramatic moment. No crashing wave, no voice echoing her name across the water. It was subtle. Almost missable.

She was walking home from the shop. The sun had just dipped below the hills, and she decided to take the long way along the shore. She didn’t expect anything. She hadn’t expected anything for a long time.

But when she reached the familiar rocks, she paused.

Something felt… different.

The air smelled sharper. The waves sounded slower.

And there—just barely—was a shimmer.

Not light.

Not movement.

But something.

Something waiting.

She stood perfectly still, heart in her throat.

But she didn’t run to the edge. Didn’t call his name.

She just breathed.

And for the first time in weeks, the ocean felt like it was breathing back.

She stood at the edge of the rocks, her sandals dangling from one hand, toes sinking into the cool sand.

The air was still.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t want to chase it—whatever it was. That shimmer, that shift in the water. She’d done enough hoping. Enough waiting. If it was real, it would come to her.

The tide rolled in once. Then again. And then—

“Thought maybe you’d given up on me.”

Her breath caught.

She turned slowly, and there he was.

Half-submerged, just as he’d always been. Same spot. Same stillness. But everything about him looked… different.

His hair was longer, darker with water. His shoulders broader. The curve of his jaw shadowed. And his eyes—when they found hers—were tired in a way she’d never seen before. Not broken. Just worn.

She didn’t say anything.

She couldn’t.

“I came back,” he said simply. “Took me a bit longer than I meant.”

The words struck her right in the chest.

“I thought…” she trailed off, voice catching. “I thought maybe you weren’t real. That maybe I actually had imagined you.”

His mouth tugged into a faint smile. “Would’ve been easier, wouldn’t it?”

“No.”

She walked toward him slowly, sandals forgotten on the rocks behind her, water brushing at her ankles as she stepped into the surf. Close enough now to see the droplets clinging to his lashes, the way his lips parted like he hadn’t breathed until she moved.

“I looked for you,” she said. “Every night.”

“I know,” he said. “I felt it. Even from out there.”

“Why did you wait so long?”

His eyes dropped to the water between them. “Because I wasn’t sure you’d still want me.”

Her heart cracked clean in half.

“I left everything for you,” she said. “You think I did that just to forget?”

He lifted his gaze back to hers. “I didn’t want to come back just to hurt you again. Or make you wait for someone who doesn’t belong on land.”

“You do belong. With me.”

He blinked slowly. The moonlight shimmered in his eyes like he might cry, but wouldn’t. Not yet.

“Say that again,” he whispered.

“You belong with me.”

He closed the distance.

His hands reached for her, slow and reverent, and this time, when she stepped into his arms, the water didn’t matter. Her soaked dress, the cold seeping into her skin—none of it mattered.

He held her like a man who’d crossed oceans just to feel her heartbeat again.

And she held him like she was never letting go.

The water curled around their waists, warm where it touched skin, cool where the breeze slipped between them. Y/N’s arms stayed looped loosely around Harry’s neck, his hands still resting at her hips like he was afraid to let her drift.

They hadn’t moved since he pulled her into him. The silence between them had settled, heavy but gentle.

Then he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her properly.

“You really came back,” he said, like he still didn’t believe it. “I kept hopin’—but I wasn’t sure you would.”

She nodded slowly. “I didn’t just come back. I stayed.”

His brows lifted a little. “What d’you mean?”

“I live here now,” she said, brushing a damp strand of hair off her cheek. “I found a little apartment. Started working at a flower shop in town.”

He stared at her, stunned. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

He blinked, lips parted. “Bloody hell.”

A soft laugh broke from her chest. “That’s your reaction?”

He shook his head, still staring. “I just—I thought you’d gone back to your life. Your city. Didn’t think I’d see you again. Let alone find out you’ve made a whole new life here.”

She shrugged, but her voice was quieter now. “New York didn’t feel right anymore. Not after you.”

He looked down for a moment, water rippling around them.

“I don’t know what to say,” he murmured. “That’s… it’s mad. Kind of beautiful, though.”

“I thought I made a mistake for a while,” she admitted. “The first few weeks here, I kept coming down to the shore and you weren’t there. I almost gave up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really. I should’ve come back sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He hesitated. “Didn’t know if I’d still fit in your world. Thought maybe you’d get back to New York, settle in, meet someone else… Someone with legs full time.”

She gave him a look. “You think I’d trade you for a finance bro in Brooklyn?”

He laughed softly, leaning his forehead against hers. “Guess not.”

She let out a breath. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he said, voice low. “Every day.”

She wrapped her arms tighter around him, resting her head against his shoulder, letting the hush of the sea fill the space between their words.

“You really live here now,” he whispered, like he still needed to hear it again.

“I do.”

“And you’re alright?”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “But I think I’m starting to be.”

He nodded, his hand gliding gently up her back.

“Good,” he said. “Stay a while longer, yeah?”

She smiled against his skin. “I was hoping to stay forever.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, softly—

“I think I’d like that.”

[peachsayshi]

does my desire to put myself at your will make your uncomfortable

This fucking guy-

"you know I'd do anything for you."

"ken..."

"I mean it," the yakuza boss persists, leaning forward as the two of you sit in the comfort of your shared matrimonial bed, 4 months of marriage with yet no arguments to be seen (to the surprise of everyone around you: maids, friends, your mother, and you). kento has been all the accommodating in this transition. even when he knew half your heart did not want to settle in like this, in this world.

"you don't have to say that," you hope the softness in your voice can lessen the weight of your words, "we don't have to do this... thing,"

"does my desire to put myself at your will make you uncomfortable?"

"i-it's not that-"

"then will you allow me?" he asks, "not as my wife, but as you," the way he says your name makes your heart skip a beat, your throat contracts as he leaves you with a question you were not expecting.

"I don't know what you're asking of me." you almost flinch when he sighs, fearing you've made this entirely worse, but at your question, your husband takes your hands in his.

"allow me to join you for brunch," you know exactly what he means by this. every saturday, you liked to eat outside the porch. with a book in hand or a pen, you used these objects as a means of comfort.

you now realize he was trying to be the same.

"okay," you breathe, sighing shakily as you nod. "do you... want to start tomorrow?" he nods.

"I'd like that, thank you."

[wrldhoon]

I LIKE ME BETTER𑁤 y.jw

┆ ⤿ 💌 ⌗ LOVE SONGS — JUNGWON’S ENTRY

PAIRING. jungwon ༝ reader

WORD COUNT. 4.5k

GENRE. college au ⋆ fluff ⋆ crack

WARNINGS. mentions of alcohol, reader gets wasted, tiny innuendo but nothing crazy

note: not super sure if i like this or not, but it's too cute not to share. first part of my mini series is complete!! i hope you guys enjoy ♡ they're so cute in this i want to die.

TAGS. @ilyunjina

college parties were never really your thing, but a consequence of being best friends with yunjin, the jennifer huh, was that she was going to drag you to one every. single. weekend.

every night, somehow always at exactly eight o’clock, she would barge into your room with that mischievous grin on her face. she would tear your drawers apart, looking for an outfit she deemed fit. occasionally, she would throw out a complaint about how lackluster your closet was. as her best friend, you knew telling her ‘no’ was useless. every attempt you made to convince her to let you rot away alone at home was of no use.

“you look so hot,” she squealed, watching from your bed as you applied the finishing touches of your makeup. she was already dolled up from head to toe, sporting a plain white tube top and ripped blue jeans, her leather jacket laid out beside her. an item she always brought in case it got too cold.

you wore a similar outfit—a black cropped tank and cargo pants, pairing it with a knitted white bolero and sneakers. it was simple, but comfortable. you sprayed an ungodly amount of setting spray onto your face, ensuring that you will not fall victim to frat house makeup tonight.

your desk was full of soju bottles, courtesy of your lovely roommate, and you watched as she reached for a half opened one. “this is gonna be so much fun! heeseung and jay are hosting tonight, which means unlimited booze and the place is gonna be full of eye candy. maybe you’ll get lucky tonight,” yunjin teased, taking another (comedically large) sip of her drink.

you rolled your eyes, but she didn’t miss the quiet chuckle you let out. you reached for a bottle, “definitely not on my bucket list tonight, but i fully support you if that’s what you’re after.” the sweet peach flavor went down easy, filling your chest with a warmth that was reserved for nights out on the weekend.

yunjin responded with a shrug, downing the rest of it in one go. your phone dinged, lighting up with a message notification.

jake (australian)

im here 😋 lets GOOOOOOOO

with a snicker, you quickly typed a response before shoving your phone in your back pocket. “jake’s here,” at your words, yunjin cheered happily before running out of your room to put on her shoes. you quickly fixed your hair before grabbing your bag, filling it up with whatever you might need for the night. lipstick, hand sanitizer, deodorant, power bank, and a pack of tissues.

perfect.

you followed yunjin out of the apartment, meaningless conversation filling the elevator as you headed for the lobby. once you made it outside, you immediately spotted jake’s car. he was filthy rich, and his car alone could probably pay off all of your current bills and grad school tuition.

you slid into the passenger side, the smell of clean leather and cologne filling your senses. you reached over the middle console to give him a hug, his hair brushing against your cheek.

you and jake have been close friends since you started university. you met in your freshman year physics class, bonding over math formulas that didn’t make any sense to you (it still doesn’t), but always seemed to make sense to him. he became your tutor for the remainder of that semester, answering your 3:00am facetime calls just to see you crashing out over another assignment without complaining. since then, you were inseparable.

“whaddup,” yunjin said cooly, dapping up the boy from the back seat. “are you guys ready to drink?” jake sang, his engine roaring to life as he put his car in drive. you let out a soft huff, hand placed over your stomach.

“she fed me enough soju to kill a bull,” the drink provided a slight buzz, and you silently thanked whatever holy being above decided to bless you with a high tolerance to alcohol. your comment earned a hearty laugh from jake while yunjin simply smiled at you, her elbows up against the console as she peered between the two of you. “it isn’t a successful pregame unless you leave juuust a little bit drunk. it’s a pregame for a reason. preparing for the game that is the DAE frat house.”

the rest of the drive was quiet, aside from the sensual rnb playing softly from his car speakers. you watched as the university campus came into view, a short ten minute drive from your shared apartment with yunjin.

there were other students roaming the streets—some returning from their friday night classes and others laughing a little too loud, clearly drunk, and headed to another party. jake parked along the street, turning on his emergency brake and turning off the car with a twist of his key. he stepped out, jogging over to your side to open the door for you, ever the gentleman.

you thanked him with a soft smile, yunjin immediately grabbing your hand and dragging you to the front door. the three of you walked in, loud party music booming through the house and lights turned to a deep purple color. it was warm and smelled like sweat and spilled vodka.

lovely.

you squeezed through the crowd with yunjin pulling you along and jake trailing from behind. you stopped once you reached the kitchen, a loud squeal catching your attention. “you’re here!!” a short brunette came running up, throwing her arms around yunjin’s neck. “chaewon! oh god, you reek of alc.”

the girl giggled, swatting aimlessly at yunjin’s arm. her eyes landed on you, widening in pure glee before she took hold of your arms, pulling you into her own. you let out a shocked ‘oh’, your hands hovering awkwardly over her back. “you must be y/nnie. you’re so pretty.. and you smell good. like.. flowers and happiness,” she slurred, nose buried in your hair.

yunjin cupped her mouth to suppress a laugh while jake watched in amusement. “thank.. you?” you gently pried her off of you, hands on her shoulders to stabilize her. “alright, let’s get you some water.” yunjin chimed in before whisking the girl away, mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ to you as she searched for a clean cup.

“well, she seems cool,” jake chirped, eyes darting from her wobbly figure to your own. “drinks?” you gave him a curt nod, turning towards the counter to scan the endless amount of options before you. vodka, soju, beer, whiskey—you could throw up just looking at it.

you settled on a quick shot of cheap vodka, while jake made himself a mixed drink. he was driving tonight, so he couldn’t allow himself to get wasted.

a few of your friends began flooding the kitchen, greeting one another with cheery ‘hellos’ and offers to take more shots. jay and heeseung soon joined in, dapping up jake with red solo cups in hand. “y/n, you made it!” jay cheered, raising his voice to be heard over ‘beauty and a beat’ by justin bieber that vibrated the walls. he gave you a quick side hug before shaking his cup gently in your direction, a subtle invitation for another drink. you nodded at him, turning your head just in time to lock eyes with heeseung.

“hi pretty,” he wore his signature smile, arms wrapping around your shoulders. you could smell the lingering traces of alcohol in his breath, arm splayed over his waist as you returned the hug. “thanks for hosting tonight.” you pulled away, taking the shot glass from between jay’s fingers and downing it in one go. the boy whooped from beside you before taking one himself.

“you can thank us by drinking~” heeseung sang, filling up his cup for the nth time tonight.

free alcohol is free alcohol, right?

thirty minutes later, you were seven shots deep and leaning drunkenly against the kitchen counter, elbows propped up behind you. jake stood beside you, talking animatedly with heeseung about fifa.

“dude, ni-ki, you’re like… ridiculously tall. you look like a giraffe,” the younger boy raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips. “thanks, dude. i think?”

“you’re so welcome, dude.”

your head throbbed and the room looked like it was spinning. you reached for the cup behind you, grabbing the luke warm brita off the counter and filling it up. you pressed it to your lips, chugging it like your life depended on it. placing it down, your head turned out of instinct as you heard another round of cheers from your friends.

a boy had walked in, greeting everyone with a bright and pretty smile. he had soft blonde hair that caught underneath the dim lighting of the kitchen, pretty cat-like eyes, and a devastatingly adorable dimple on his left cheek.

you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol—no, it definitely wasn’t—he was just gorgeous.

and totally out of your league.

that didn’t stop you though.

“holy shit, you’re so hot.” it came out before you could help it, all of your friends’ heads snapping in your direction in shock. the blonde gawked at you in disbelief before his expression turned into one of amusement, “oh! thank you.. and you definitely aren’t wasted, right?” his tone was teasing, his cheek sinking in slightly as he chewed on it.

you let out a drunken giggle, your head moving side to side. “i don’t even like alcohol..” your hand swatted at the air, elbow slipping off of the counter. jake grabbed your arm, holding you up to prevent you from falling straight onto the kitchen floor.

“jungwon, y/n—y/n, jungwon. not sure if you’ll remember tomorrow though,” jay said, earning chuckles from the other guys. jungwon simply shook his head, smile still evident on his face. he quickly joined in on the drinks, grabbing a cup and mixing up his own concoction.

conversations blurred together, shot glasses clinking, bottles steadily draining.

you didn’t even realize yunjin had disappeared until jake leaned in and asked if you’d seen her. somewhere in the background, you caught sunghoon mentioning her name—something about chaewon, but it was fuzzy. the alcohol was definitely hitting you now, warmth spreading through your body, cheeks flushed, and eyes heavy-lidded.

eventually, you slipped away to get some air. the heat was unbearable, and the packed crowd and blaring music only made it worse—you needed space.

you found an empty pool chair in the backyard and dropped into it with a heavy sigh, letting yourself sink back. a shadow cast over you, and as your eyes adjusted, there he was—the familiar hot blonde from earlier, “you alright?”

“just sleepy. and hot. really hot,” you whined, hands tugging at your bolero to pull it off. jungwon chuckled, crouching down beside you. “do you wanna go home?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

so fucking cute.

yeah, it wasn’t the alcohol.

“not with you, pervert.”

jungwon swore his ears were on fire. his eyes widened so big they might as well pop out of their sockets. he cleared his throat, eyes unable to look at your sleepy figure any longer without feeling bashful, “n-not like that! i meant do you want me to drive you home? like, to your own house. and i leave you there. inside. alone. and i will go to my respective home.”

“oh! yes please,” you dragged on the last syllable, hands pressed against the cool fabric of the chair to push yourself into an upright position. “where’s jakey? he drove me. will he be mad?” your lower lip jutted outwards, a small pout on your face.

“i don’t think he’ll be mad. let me go ask him, okay? don’t go anywhere,” jungwon patted your shoulder before standing, stepping back inside to find your best friend.

a few minutes later, the two boys came back outside to find you fast asleep. they exchanged knowing glances before jake spoke up, “are you cool with taking her back to her apartment? i’m helping sunoo try to wrestle heeseung out of his smelly party clothes and into his pajamas. plus, i still have no fucking clue where yunjin is,” the last part came out a bit strained, annoyance at his missing friend bubbling to the surface.

jungwon let out a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to slap jake’s back. “yeah, i’ll take her. just send me her address,” with that he approached you, dozed off and snoring just a little bit, and scooped you up in his arms. they walked out to his car, jake popping the passenger door open and helping him carefully ease you inside.

once you were secure, they closed the door and bid each other goodbye. jungwon hopped into the driver’s seat, turning on the car and setting the heater on low. once he got your address from jake, he clicked on the link and began the venture to your apartment. occasionally, he would glance over to check if you had woken up.

nothing.

your lips were slightly parted, head pressed up against the window as you slept peacefully. a grin made its way to his face, knowing you’d definitely face a nasty hangover tomorrow.

he pulled up to your apartment complex, parking his car before getting out to help you inside. when he reached to unbuckle you, you let out a sleepy whine. “c’mon, y/n, i need to get you home.” his words were soft, arms moving underneath your knees and back to pull you out. your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the brighter lights of the street lamps.

“oh my god, hot guy. am i still dreaming?” your voice was barely above a whisper, eyes opening and closing at the slowest pace known to man. jungwon grinned, eyes trained on the path in front of him as he walked with you into your building. “nope, definitely not dreaming. hot guy is carrying you home.”

“i knew it. pervert..”

“not like that!”

a few weeks after your first meeting, you two quickly became good friends. he began hanging out with the group more often, simply to see you.

he knew he could’ve just asked you to hang out alone, without prying eyes and teasing comments, but he was scared. it was obvious you were at the least attracted to him, hence the ‘hot guy’ nickname your friends still haven’t let go of. when he finally mustered up the courage (courtesy of jay who threatened to ask you out if jungwon didn’t grow the balls to do so himself) to pop the question, you happily agreed.

score—you managed to bag hot guy.

three months later, you and jungwon had made your relationship official. not a single person in your friend group was surprised at the new relationship.

it just made sense. you were two halves of one whole.

you couldn’t really pinpoint the exact moment it happened—when the way you felt about him started shifting into something deeper, something a little heavier.

something more like love.

of course, you liked him. he wouldn’t be your boyfriend otherwise, but your liking started to twist painfully in your chest, ready to explode at any given moment.

it wasn’t sudden, more like a slow unraveling—but there were signs.

the first time was when the two of you decided to spend the night in at his apartment. the sun had already set, the faint glow of city lights shining through the large windows. you were sat on his couch, scrolling away on your phone as he stood in the kitchen. he stared at the inside of his fridge—milk, a carton of eggs, a few sauce bottles, and a pack of soju.

“babe, i think we should order in,” you looked up from your phone, catching a glimpse of his defeated expression before searching for the delivery app on your phone. “we really should go to the store. we have… like, nothing.”

jungwon sat down on the couch beside you, his side pressed up against your own as he watched you browse through dinner options, “are you craving anything?” you questioned, your free hand landing on his leg to fidget with the extra pockets decorating his pants.

jungwon bit his lip, thinking quietly. “maybe pizza? ooo, or chinese. we can get those noodles you like—oh! or we can get wings? i heard about this crazy deal the other day from jake…” you watched silently as he rambled on, eyes sparkly and hands moving in an animated manner that made your heart squeeze painfully in adoration. he did that a lot.

jungwon, realizing you hadn’t spoken, turned to face you. he blinked, his eyebrows furrowing cutely as you continued to watch him with a stupid little smile on your face, “what?” he quipped, starting to wonder if the hunger was starting to make you crazy. “is there something on my face?”

you shook your head, “nothing. you’re just cute.”

jungwon sat, stunned at your sudden compliment before he grinned, wide enough to make your own cheeks hurt just from looking at it. he threw his arms around you, peppering kisses on your face as you shouted in protest.

it was clear he thought the same thing about you, too.

the second time was when you went out to shop for groceries. yunjin had complained about the lack of snacks in the house, so you took the opportunity to drag jungwon along with you. he was very helpful, aside from when he would get distracted by every little thing that caught his attention.

“babe, look,” you heard from behind you, turning your head to see what your boyfriend was preoccupied with this time. “turtle chips. do you think they taste like turtle?”

you raised an eyebrow at his sudden question, staring in amusement (and a little something that resembled reconsideration of your whole relationship) as he smelled the bag.

the outside of the bag.

strange guy.

“i think it’s just ‘cause of the mascot, won.”

“you never know these days..”

you laughed as he tilted his head, lips pursed and brows lifted slightly before putting the bag down. he gently nudged to you the side with a bump of his hip, pushing the cart as you marched ahead.

he watched as you read off the grocery list, placing things into the cart. he sported a little smile, studying you with gentle eyes. being here with you, shopping for more snacks than real groceries, felt so domestic.

so natural.

it tugged a little at his heartstrings, warmth blooming in his chest.

it was in these quiet, everyday moments that he took the time to really admire you, picking apart the minor details that just made you so… you.

the way you chewed your lip when making decisions, the crease between your brows forming when you couldn’t find whatever you were searching for, the way you blew your hair out of your face when a strand of it fell in front of your eyes.

his mind and his heart were so full of you, and he hoped that would never change.

“jungwon, are you even listening?” your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, shaking his head a little as if forgetting where he was. “um, yeah! definitely.”

you gave him a blank stare, one that he returned with a sheepish smile, “no… sorry?”

you let out a groan before turning around and sauntering off, stomping away like an angry child. he chased after you, the shopping cart bumping into one of the aisles with a loud crash that made you cringe.

”w-wait! babe, i’m listening! for real now!”

the third time was when you were all hanging out at sunoo and riki’s apartment. everyone sat in a circle in the living room, an array of random snacks and drinks littered across the coffee table and floor. sunoo was in the middle of a very dramatic rendition of how he embarrassed himself in front of the group of freshmen he was in charge of during orientation week. laughter flooded the apartment, a feeling of peace settling into your body as you followed along with whatever he was talking about.

“i didn’t even see him coming!” jake bursted into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, doubling over and collapsing into jungwon’s lap who was sat next to him, clapping his hands loudly. you swore you could see tears prick at the corner of his eyes from how hard he was cracking up.

you excused yourself to the bathroom, earning a little nod from your friends before they continued their extremely hilarious conversation. you took the time to clean yourself up, wiping away at the smudged mascara that appeared as a result of your evening with your friends.

a few minutes passed before you stepped out, turning off the lights with a soft click of the switch. as you made your way back, you paused in the hallway when you heard your name come out of your boyfriend’s mouth. you stood around the corner, listening in on their conversation.

“oh my god, it was so funny. y/n came out of her room with this HUGE blue wig on her head. i think i peed myself a little,” jungwon said, his hands moving in that animated manner as if to show just how big your wig was.

“hate to break it to you, but that was my idea. i told her a homer and marge couple costume would be cute. i wasn’t wrong.” yunjin chimed in, failing to hold in the laugh that came spilling out. jungwon stood up suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at his friend, “SO IT WAS YOUR FAULT I HAD TO WEAR A BALD CAP!”

at this point everyone had laid across the floor, rolling over and slapping the person next to them in amusement. “at least y/n looked good! couldn’t fit through the door though. head was too big,” you pressed your fingers to your lips at heeseung’s joke, trying your best not to reveal yourself from where you were hiding.

you remember the moment like it was yesterday. it was a fond one, a story you shared often with your friends.

jungwon rolled his eyes. he sat down with a loud sigh, turning his head with his eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest, “she’s always pretty. but next time, she’s getting the bald cap,” you smiled at his comment, leaning against the wall as you watched him fondly. when he opened his eyes, they locked with yours. they widened in surprise before he returned the smile, the dimple on his cheek that you loved kissing appearing with it.

you walked back over to your seat, squeezing yourself in between jungwon and riki, “i am never wearing a bald cap, thank you very much. that’s all you. for the rest of your life. until you actually start going bald too. then, you won’t need one!”

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

you stared at the photobook in your hands, fingers tracing the edges of each polaroid that sat snugly between the pages. you made it a tradition to snap a photo every time you hung out, a way to preserve your memories forever in colored ink.

one from the party you first met at, another from the pool party you and yunjin hosted last summer, one from your camping trip, and others—all of them serving as a reminder of the joy you experienced with jungwon and your friends from the past year.

you closed the book gently, the soft smile never leaving your face. the gentle hum of music played out of the speaker tucked into the corner of jungwon’s living room.

you heard it—the first song he ever sent to you through text, a little ‘this made me think of you’ message following shortly after. the apartment smelled like warm sugar and the lingering traces of his cologne, a scent you began to consider home.

jungwon was in the kitchen, probably making breakfast like he always did. he knew how you took your coffee by heart, never failing to wake you up with it each morning with a sleepy grin on his face. you placed the book next to your phone, lighting up with a notification from yunjin declaring yet another group hang out you simply could not afford to miss.

you stood up from the couch, your fluffy house slippers padding against the floor as you walked over to jungwon.

leaning against the kitchen island, you stared at his messy morning hair and broad back, clad in the loose t-shirt he woke up in. he turned around with a smile on his face, one that never failed to appear every time he saw you, “hi, angel. what were you up to?”

you returned the gesture, happily taking your favorite mug out of his hands, “i was just looking through our photos. we should buy more film soon, by the way.” jungwon hummed in response, hands moving to plate your food.

“we can over the weekend,” he replied, sliding it in front of you before pressing a long kiss to your forehead. the smell of sweet, buttery pancakes and bacon filled your senses. you noticed the strawberries that were cut up into little hearts that sat neatly off to the side.

just how you liked them.

“i’m gonna go change. yunjin will actually skin me alive if we’re late again,” he grumbled before disappearing into his bedroom.

you watched him walk away, his golden locks bouncing with each step. you let out a quiet laugh, picking up your fork and digging in.

it wasn’t difficult to understand, then.

somewhere along the way, ‘i’ started turning into ‘we’.

his hand started to fit in yours like it was always meant to be there. your mornings were often spent together rather than separately—much to yunjin’s dismay, who swore he had completely stolen you away from her.

your chest ached, but not in a painful way. it was the kind of ache that comes with realizing you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be—right here with him by your side.

because he never said “i love you” like it was something he owned. rather, he meant it like something you had built—together.

jungwon didn’t just love you.

he included you.

in his life, in every word he spoke, every story he shared, and every moment he lived.

you realized you liked yourself more when you were apart of something—something soft, but heavy with meaning and purpose.

something, or someone, like yang jungwon.

jungwon who turned ‘we’ into something more than just a simple word.

jungwon who loved you delicately, but still passionate in his own way, who assured you from the very beginning that he was all in.

he introduced you to a type of love that was soft and easy, but it was one that meant everything.

to put it simply, you liked yourself better when you were with him.

you always had, and you always will.

“y/n, have you seen my sweater? if riki took it again, i swear i’m about to go full jackie chan on that kid,” his voice called from down the hall, sharp and exasperated.

a sudden thud made you flinch, followed by a muffled yelp and the clatter of hangers shifting in his closet.

then, a beat later—slightly winded, definitely bruised ego.

“i’m fine! totally fine... ow.”

yeah, always.

fin.

© wrldhoon 2025

[hey-august]

🎪 4 of 5 - Gifting

WC: ~450 Warnings: nsfw, Buggy x GN!reader, oral (kinda) - reader receiving

💌 #hey-august valentines 2025

First it was a fresh drink of ale. And a hand pie that was still steaming when you bit into it.

After visiting an island with netted seats hanging from trees along the seaside where you spent multiple afternoons, Buggy had hammock chairs installed on the ship’s deck.

One morning you woke up to a notebook and pen. Behind the flyleaf was your name, written in Buggy’s scratchy handwriting. Buggy liked how the pen’s ink was the same color of your eyes, even down to the shimmer that made the stars envious.

Buggy made a meal that you mentioned months ago. Your grandma would make a stew that was swimming with strong flavors and aromas - ginger and black peppercorns, salt from the soy sauce, and vinegar. You only mentioned it because Buggy’s pits were so fragrant that the tang reminded you of how heavy handed your grandma was with the vinegar when she cooked.

That meal tasted like home.

Whenever you visited beaches during the journey’s pause, you would walk with the sea on one side and Buggy on the other. For a while. Eventually the pirate would stop walking and do everything else. He’d kick aside rocks, flip driftwood, pick up unknown treasures only to toss them over his shoulder - all while talking to you about everything and nothing. 

And back on the ship, at the end of the day, Buggy would empty his pockets of all the things he brought back for you. The abandoned home of a sea snail. Small shells with holes drilled in them by hungrier creatures. Wishing stones that Buggy would hold up excitedly and show you the completed stripe. Little fossils in the shape of stars, which ended up everywhere. Sand dollars. Sea glass in all hues. And one time, a cowrie shell with a very confused hermit crab.

There are also the gifts that Buggy benefits from, as well.

All sorts of fresh fruit that he cuts bite by bite, with each slice alternating between your mouth and his. A wedge of apple for you and one for him. Pineapple so juicy that he has to swipe a drop of nectar off your bottom lip with his thumb. Plump grapes with skin that snaps. Peaches that would bruise if you look at them for too long. Bananas that Buggy hands to you - uncut and with a wink.

And the clothing. Especially the collection of undergarments that doesn’t outgrow the storage space, only because of how often they end up ruined. Lipstick marks that won’t wash away. Ones that are torn off by hands, teeth, or blades. Cumstains.

Buggy’s favorite are the ones made of silk. He likes how you shiver against the cool fabric. He watches every goofy dance you do when putting them on, enjoying your silly show of appreciation. He chooses items that are made for your body. Ones that drape exactly where they should. That hug you just right. That show off your assets while still keeping things hidden.

He also likes watching you make a mess of your underwear. The wet spot that grows along with your excitement is a treat for him. Literally. Buggy will get you worked up with hungry kisses that leave you breathless and drooling. He’ll say naughty things and offer the sweetest promises. He’ll make you repeat every word he’s said, until you’re pleading and begging for more filth than what came from his lips.

And when your gift is soaking wet and you're about to take matters into your own hands, the gift changes owners. With his hands on your wrists and his face between your legs, Buggy is sucking your taste from the fabric. Your arousal is replaced with his spit.

The thin fabric lets you feel plenty and not enough. You can feel the heat from his mouth and the vibrations from his moaning, but not his breath. His tongue presses hard and the pressure is delightful, but not better than feeling the rough, wet affection directly.

Yes, Buggy likes to give you gifts. But when it’s his turn to enjoy one, he’s going to take his time.

[evolnoomym]

Valentine, Texas 💌🌹

Neighbor!Joel Miller x F!OC

General Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: The first date with your neighbor falls on Valentine’s Day.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 1.2k

Authors note: Hello MoonSlut’s, this little treat is for the wonderful writing challenge hosted by @msjarvis @i-own-loki @happypedrohours 🩷 It’s also a follow up to “Good Neighbor 🚚” so if you haven’t read that, check it out as well <3

Also biggggg thanks to both @joelmillerisapunk & @sunshineispunk for beta reading. 🫂❤️

Warnings: no y/n, F!OC, Moon as always, food, a sprinkle of OC backstory (based off of real events), let’s pretend it’s warm in February in Texas, teasing, hinting to previous smut, Joel is a perv but also a gentleman, age-gap, Mama Mia is mentioned once and then never again, fluff. If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Shoutout to @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 🫶🏻

You are in the middle of unpacking yet another box filled with more clothes, when there is a knock at your front door. You look through the peephole, it’s Joel, so of course you open.

“Hello Neighbor,” you smile cheekily remembering the events from the previous day, whilst leaning against the door.

“Good Mornin’, hope ya slept well,” now he’s matching your expression, probably thinking of the same thing.

“Wanted to know if ya would like to have breakfast at mine, since, you know, you don’t really have a kitchen.” Suddenly he seemed all shy and nervous, looking at the ground and rubbing his neck.

“It would be an honor to have breakfast with you, Joel.” you step closer to him, touching his arm gently.

“Can I kiss ya?” He asks.

“Please,” you give him the green light and he presses his lips to yours in an instant.

He leads you over to his place and you settle into the seat at his dining table. Joel served you a delicious omelette with Feta cheese, onions, and topped with Parma ham. To your delight, the food is accompanied by a freshly brewed coffee and a herb peach tea infused with chamomile. 100% princess treatment.

When both of your plates are cleared, you and Joel easily fall into conversation.

“So, tell me darlin’, what brought you here?” He sips his Black coffee. “I assume s’ your first apartment by yourself?”

“Yes it is,” you bob your head “It’s difficult to explain everything but I guess I can try to summarize.”

Joel can tell by the way you get quiet that this is hard. “Baby, you don’t have to tell me.” He knows that reassurance is what you need right now.

“No, it’s okay, I think maybe speaking about it can help.” You nod to yourself.

“I was in a deep depression for 2 years, in that time my…” You sigh. “Mother went insane.”

“She started believing in all sorts of wild conspiracy theories and lost herself in that world. I don’t know this person anymore, whoever she was is gone. Apparently she stopped paying rent, without my knowledge, and one day I was awoken by loud banging on the door and that was it.”

“They kicked ya out?”

“Yes, I was in shock. I could only laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation.” And you laugh now too while recalling those traumatic moments.

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been.”

“I try to see good in it, I would have probably never gotten out of there.”

“Moon, ya are incredibly strong for surviving all of this.” He grasps your hands.

“Thank you Joel,” you whisper and wipe away some stray tears.

Luckily, he stirs the conversation to more pleasant topics.

“Okayyyy, let’s talk about somethin’ else, what d’ya like to do in your free time?”

“I love photography.”

“You do?”

“Mhm, I love capturing the beauty in simplicity,”

“Would ya ever show me those pictures?”

“Of course I would.”

He smiles giddily before it’s replaced by a frown.

“You know, we did it all wrong,” he suddenly says and you look at him curiously.

“I mean, I should’ve taken ya out before…” Joel Miller blushing might be the cutest thing ever, “you know.”

You laugh. „Oh, yes, I know,”

“But then, wasn’t this our first date?”

“Excuse me,” he scoffs, “this was not our first date, I’ll be damned if breakfast goes down as our first date.”

“Well, I think the breakfast was already pretty good,” you shrug.

“No, pretty girl, I’m gonna make it more special.”

“Okay and when?”

Joel takes a moment, to deter the best time.

“How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is…”

Joel finishes the sentence for you, “Valentine’s Day, yeah, I know.” He gives you a cheeky smile.

“Mooni, would ya want to be my Valentine?”

No one had ever asked you to be their Valentine, yet here is this stunning man and he wants you. You’re overwhelmed with happiness, having found something good after all these years.

“Ahh, yes, I’d like to your Valentine, Mr.Miller.”

You lean over the table and kiss him with urgency.

The next day, you get ready for whatever surprise Joel has planned for you.

You put on minimal makeup, wine-red lingerie, a black blouse and a simple plaid skirt.

After you spritz a bit of your vanilla perfume on your neck, there’s a knock at your door. It’s Joel in all his glory. When you whip open the door, his jaw drops open at your beautiful appearance. He went with a plain simple outfit but not any less enticing. You think he looks super sexy in his black T-shirt and those dark washed jeans.

You kiss him. “Hi! Happy Valentine’s Day, Texas.”

“Ya ready, pretty girl?” He asks as he holds out his hand.

“Lead the way Joel,” as you put your hand in his.

He opens every door for you up until you are seated in his truck. His hand on your thigh. You could get used to this.

After 30 minutes, you arrive at the destination and find out that what Joel had planned was watching a movie at the local Drive-In Theater.

Joel parks, tells you to stay put, and gets out to prepare the bed of his truck. After 5 minutes, he opens your side of the car, leading you by the hand. There’s a bunch of soft blankets, pillows, some snacks he must’ve brought and 2 cans of Vanilla Coke.

“Oh my god, Joel, this looks amazing. Thank you, this is the best Valentine’s Day and first date I’ve ever experienced.” You turn to him and lean up to kiss him.

“Baby, any good man should’ve treated ya like this.” He momentarily gets mad at those other guys for not treating you with the respect you deserve.

“Okay, come on let’s lay down. Get comfy.” He helps you onto the bed and then snuggles in beside you. Mama Mia starts playing, in the beginning you really try to pay attention but that turns into a make out session with Joel. The kisses are sloppy, his tongue exploring your mouth, teeth clacking together and the air only leaves you two in short huffs. Your hands are all over him, however now paying certainly more attention to his swelling length.

You know he probably wants to fuck but you have a little surprise to make it more interesting.

You pull away, Joel begrudgingly parts ways with your pillowy lips.

“Listen, since we are doing this the old-fashioned way, it would be scandalous to have sex on the first date.” You have to fight laughing at how Joel’s face falls, he looks like a kicked puppy.

“But, you know, I still have a gift for you, since it’s Valentine’s Day and all.” You smile at him sweetly.

“Go on,” words he regrets immediately when you start unbuttoning some buttons of your blouse. Until the wine-red lacy lingerie hugging your chest beautifully comes into view. He’s fucked, you play dirty games.

You make it worse when you grab his hand, slide it under your skirt till he feels the matching lacy thong. He closes his eyes as if in pain and grunts. He pulls his hand away though.

“Ugh, baby, s’ gonna be hard, but if ya wanna wait that’s fine with me.”

Then he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“The way I see it, bein’ patient, makes the reward jus’ so much better,” a dark chuckle tickles your ear, “and I promise ya I will wreck you for bein’ such a tease, naughty girl.”

©️ evolnoomym 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

💌: @thundermartini @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @toxicanonymity @penvisions @604to647 @pinkypromisepascal @mountainsandmayhem @msjarvis @syd-djarin @burntheedges @i-own-loki @happypedrohours

[peachsayshi]

───⋆⋅THE WAY YOU LOVE ME (LINK TO FULL STORY)⋅⋆ ───

summary:  breaking up with your ex-boyfriend left your love life in a rut. so, you decide to start a physical relationship (no strings attached) with your close friend, satoru gojo. despite setting up rules, the two of you can't seem to keep your boundaries in check, and the lines that he's so carefully put in place blurs as your worlds slowly collide the deeper you both fall.

note: the entire fic is available on AO3. I originally had this fic posted on Tumblr, but have decided to stop updating on this platform. I do not use wattpad or any other platforms for my fics. If you see anybody else posting this story it has been plagiarized.

fic status: complete

[thewriterg]

𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭...

pairing(s); john price x gn!reader, 141 x reader

summary; trying to find as most comfort as you could in your predicament youd do what any rational person would… bake, but it was a bit difficult when you had six foot rodents in your kitchen —flufftober day; 4—

word count; 1.0k+

warning(s); readers callsign is peach, papa price, small argument price just cares, fluff, kisses, pet names, and language

playlists; lover, you should’ve come over by Jeff Buckley

A/n:—GIFs; @madesh & @campesine-moved—

When you step towards the door you made sure to knock on the old wood in the rhythmic order agreed on so you wouldn’t be gunned down where you stood or dead before you had a chance to hit the floor

When the door creaked open a gun was put in your line of sight before it was took away so you were able to take a step into the old safe house immediately bombarded with questions as you put down the crate of goods down you body layered in a thin sheet of sweat under all of the clothes essentially tuning out your surroundings after being hyper aware for your hourlong journey

You stripped of one of Ghosts many balaclavas, Prices god awful bucket hat, Soaps pair of sunglasses, and Gazs too big gloves as you began tune back into the conversation that suddenly wasn’t as loud as it was while Price stood in front of you his voice demanding and gruff

“Where were you Peach? I won’t ask again don’t make me pull rank.” You sucked in a sharp breath using your fingers to crack your knuckles at your side before taking in another breath way smoother than the first before you responded

“I want to a market a few miles from here you wouldn’t have to worry so much if you read the note I left on the fridge” You responded voice void of emotion and it was Prices turn to suck in a a breath

“You could’ve been followed, someone spotted you and made the connection and use you as leverage, You had no backup! And no team!” The brunette that was beginning to grey began to get louder his voice carrying a pitch Price hated to yell at you anyone but you but right now it was one of those times where he had to be you captain rather than your lover

“I think you forgot I used to work alone. If it was one of the boys would you react like this please tell me!? We were running outta of food and safety percussion is that you don’t go out for the first 72 hours after locating in a safe house it’s been 96 excuse me for looking after my team Captain” With a snatching of the crate from its position on the floor you stormed through what you all deemed to be the living room with the harder than rocks couch and worn down wood coffee table making your way into the kitchen

Price ran a stressed hand through his hair before making his way out to the porch his boots thumping against the creaking hardwood floor as he went before lighting up a cigar

💌💌💌💌

There wasn’t much for you to work with in the kitchen it wasn’t the worst shelter you’d been in but it certainly wasn’t the best but you appreciated the small things lying around like an old cutting board, a small eating bowl, one stray pan and even a janky but working oven

You cut down on the apples with a little more force than needed using your combat knife as a kitchen utensils after you had washed it god knows how many times to rid of any… unwanted extras in your treat

“You need something Captain?” You questioned and John mentally grimaced at the title as you dumped a small bag of brown sugar over your cut fruit he knew after things like that you needed time but 40 minutes was all he could stand it was one of those rare situations he had to be your captain and your lover even though he strictly preferred being one or the other

“I wanted to apologize I didn’t mean to yell at you but, I need you to understand that that call was risky and not the safest route” The greying brunette stated his voice soft yet still had that gruff underlying accent

“Maybe so, but it’s deeper than that if it was anyone else you wouldn’t have reacted the same… You would’ve praised them for sharp thinking” You shook your head with a the twitch or your lips downward Price straightened up his stance now entering the kitchen fully

“Come one Peaches that’s not true, I would’ve reacted the same for any other it was a risky thing to do and I needed to call you out on it as your Captain the situation at hand just had a little more emotion involved” John just about pleaded for you to understand as you sighed stopping your motion of roughly mixing the apples and sugar together

“I just… want you to know that I don’t need protecting John I’m just as capable on my own than with anyone else” You mumbled turning to put the sugared fruit in the pan the burning eye on the stove giving it heat to cook down before a pair of arms wrapped around your waist eyes peering over your shoulder

“And I know you are, I never doubt you. I do however worry about you because I love you and care for your safety” His tone now matched yours your and he began to smile when you leaned back into him

“I know, I’m sorry for worrying you” You whispered and Price pressed a kiss to the crown of your head in response as you stirred the filling gently momentarily having a second to yourselves before the sound of whisper shouting made its way through the room

“We were wondering if you needed a hand?” Soap questioned bashfully Gaz standing at his side while Ghost stared at the the two from his position at the small dining table with the roll of his eyes

“Tempting boys but, we all know how that would work out” You playfully rolled your eyes and Price chuckled from beside you his heart warm in his chest even if you were younger than Soap and Ghost you still referred to all of them as “the boys”

“Oh come on, that was Soaps fault!” Gaz pleaded and you snickered as the Scott let out an offended noise before the pair began to bicker with one another of who did it as you smiled and giggled at the sight Price watched you with love in his eyes

The sight was as sweet as apple pie.

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[peachsayshi]

tagging my nanami girlies because I can't suffer reading this alone @delirious-donna @honeylavendr @kentonanamisupremacy @sleepygetou

i think nanami takes you shopping for sex toys the first time he’s called away on a mission that might last a few days. you’ve been together for a while now; whilst you two might not have sex every night (sometimes, a cuddle and the beating of one another’s hearts is enough comfort), you’ve grown used to the shape of him in bed - and when the two of you are intimate, nanami is not the kind of man who would ever leave his partner unsatisfied.

so he goes with you to the store, his hand a soothing warmth on your waist as the two of you peruse the shelves. he tightly but politely tells the assistant you will be fine on your own, and in a soft, low voice you discuss the merits of the various toys. he’s a little more extravagant with his purchases than usual - you don’t know what you’ll like yet, whether it might be a magic wand or a suction toy or something penetrative, a vibrator or something without the bells and whistles - but he is as determined in this as he is in all things.

and he makes sure to test them all before he leaves; so you have no shame when he’s gone. holding the wand against you until you gasp and writhe, helping you find the perfect angle to get the pretty silicone cock (awfully similar to the width and length of nanami himself) inside of you, kissing your tears away when the suction toy gives you such an intense orgasm you sob—

and, of course, knowing which ones make you feel the best means that when he calls you four days into his trip, his phone held up in bed, his eyes soft and sleepy as he watches you . . . he can request his favourites to be used whilst he watches.

[deesseshesca]

PAC :What are they gagging about u, again ?

Again… A fucking again. Nothing new, nothing changed. 

Good morning, pretty souls, today we are diving into the same mess people keep their mouth running regarding you. What’s the remix this time ? What have you done to upset the haters ? Like WTF do they want now ? 

FLASH SALE 

For the next 2 weeks all readings on my ko-fi is 20$, only 

GIVEAWAY

There’s one spot left for a free full audio reading

To participate: You must reblog, like and comment. 

Choose the image that’s speak to you and allow yourself to soak ONLY what’s reasoning with YOUR SITUATION 

Rules and Disclaimer 

I am the type of tarot reader to say as it is. Nothing is sugar coated but everything is sent with good intention. If you are not ready to face some truth, you should vagabond somewhere else. 

TW: PANIC ATTACK

Pile 1

Check in : y'all come from a rich abusive household. You are about to run away. Or some of y’all might actually just move. 

What’s the gag ? 

King pentacles 

People are yapping about you,  are  your classmates or close friends . Y’all come from an abundant family heritage and are living the dream some will never get to even grasp. Let’s not forget your amazing composure. You can get anything you want whenever you want. Probably walking around with an Amex card. Book a ticket overseas at least 4x a year. Whole education in private school even high profile nanny. If you  are black, u hear often … « you talk white … ». I fucking hate that statement because what is that supposed to mean 😑… LOSER . They think u must have a very traditional way of thinking. Especially if u are white, they think u lean more towards far right ideologies. And the fact that u call your parents « papa » or « mother » is not helping your case. 

What’s actually gagging ? 

8 swords

Y’all are going through it with your family. I don’t have any vision regarding what’s going on behind closed doors. But I see you pulling a big bright smile after closing the front door of your house. I see y’all acting literally like a robot. The second that your parents ask for something. You do it. No question or critical thinking involved. Y’all are literally suffocating in your household. This time no amount of money, clothes or first class trip is cutting it. 

Bonus💌333, The universe is advising you not to run way. They know you are an individual with good values and you hate acting out of character. But they are giving you the green light to act like a spoiled child and throw a fit. So you can get your own apartment and enjoy a semi independent lifestyle before blowing the big gun. They will hate to see struggle in the real world when u already been through hell in your own home.

FLASH SALE 

For the next 2 weeks all readings on my ko-fi is 20$, only 

GIVEAWAY

There’s one spot left for a free full audio reading

To participate: You must re-blog, like and comment. 

If you want to choose the subject for the next reading make sure to vote on the poll at the end of the post.

PILE 2 

Check in : You guys recently got a face piercing. People around u wondered if u are a sex worker. You come from a small town. Y’all have the perfect hourglass figure or peach. Anyway, your ass is fat. 

What’s the gag ? 

Judgment (reverse)

They feel like too many bad things happen to you. Everyone in town is in your business. Which is not surprising. Like nobody actually minds their motherfucking business ( I’m sorry … I hate when people are in people's business, especially mine . Since I’m a toddler my fav sport is to mind the thinking that pay me … is so annoying when I run around individuals that fucking don’t This is why I never over read in y’all energy even in a collective setting. Like c’mon). I’m sorry pile 2, y’all lost u’re high school sweetheart. Y'all got married but it all scrambles down. They feel like you need Jesus. They think u are bitter, old  and alcoholic women. You need to give your heart to God and turn your life around. 

What’s actually gagging ? 

Queen swords (reverse) 

They are partially right (and i oop-). Nah, I have to stay serious. This is a serious matter. You lost the only good thing in your life. I would be turning bitter myself 2. In that nasty old town, where people never let you be in peace. First because of your mom's reputation then because of your beauty. Out here making fun of u because u gain weight. Bitch people are at the gym killing themself to have your curves. Some are dying on the bed of doctor Miami… for what ? I sense that it is constantly like that. Since you’ve been young they made smart comments about you. When they realize, u only get prettier from there… game over. Now they are calling you fast. Then calling you old, they wish. Y’all are between 25-27 like… ok, yeah ok, pipe down bitch (meme reference). You are pondering on doing a 360 of your life right now. You spend all this time  trying to please people around you and acting according to people's expectations. Now you want to live in a rather carefree lifestyle. Moving to the big city, where nobody cares about you and nobody deem to care. You might want to be a stripper. Not because you are missing funds or don’t have an education. You just want to go wild for a bit. Seeing if you still got it.

 Bonus💌777, When you are ready to share your story that's when great success is going to find you. You might documente your grief on social media or give guideline for other to heal. Some may write a book to help individual going through the trials and tribulations of loosing their ultimate soulmate. Y'all other going to share all the secret tip and tricks of being a stripper.

FLASH SALE 

For the next 2 weeks all readings on my ko-fi is 20$, only 

GIVEAWAY

There’s one spot left for a free full audio reading

To participate: You must re-blog, like and comment. 

If you want to choose the subject for the next reading make sure to vote on the poll at the end of the post.

PILE 3

What’s the gag? 

King cups (reverse)

Y’all must be athletes. The people gagging  are your teammates. They finally saw you crack. Some were even questioned if you were a human being. Because you are always put on a straight face no matter what. I sense that you had a panic attack in front of them. That was the only time you showed emotion and it was this intense. 

What's actually the gaging ? 

Queen swords 

You’ve been carrying a deep sadness since childhood. You guys are extremely disciplined and private. Y’all also give amazing advice. They think you lost it but you actually lost your mind Because you never really had your emotions under control. You barely know how to cope. The only time that this insanity seems to leave you is when you are practicing your sport. You are actually pouring all you have to the only thing that gives you peace. They will never know that.

FLASH SALE 

For the next 2 weeks all readings on my ko-fi is 20$, only 

GIVEAWAY

There’s one spot left for a free full audio reading

To participate: You must re-blog, like and comment. 

If you want to choose the subject for the next reading make sure to vote on the poll at the end of the post.

[sugarandspiceevol]

THE HIVE PROTOCORE [ Zayne x You Fanfic] Chapter One - Blood On the Ground

Chapter 1 Preview [STORY AFTER BREAK]

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»🩸✨ 🩸 When a massive wanderer attack shatters the peace of Lincoln City, you find yourself pinned beneath rubble, the air thick with smoke and your heartbeat a frantic drum in your chest. But then, a familiar hand pulls you from the chaos — Dr. Zayne Li, the surgeon you haven’t seen in two years.

🌙 Old wounds and unresolved feelings rise to the surface as you fight to stay alive, but something darker stirs beneath the city streets. There are secrets in the blood, and nothing is as it seems. The line between ally and enemy blurs, and the past you thought you left behind claws its way back to the surface.

💥 You should have walked away, but it’s too late for that now.

💌 Read the full work on AO3: The Hive Protocore

𓆩♡𓆪 Angst | Friends to Lovers | Action/Adventure | Emotional Reunions | Trauma Recovery | Protective Zayne | High-Stakes Confrontations | Wanderer Hunting 𓆩♡𓆪

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»🩸✨

Blood on the Ground

Growing up, when you were asked, “What’s your greatest fear?” your peers would say clowns or tight spaces. But you always thought of Blue, the class turtle, encased in glass. Trapped. Maybe it was a strange thing for a seven-year-old to fear—but now, with your leg pinned beneath the beam of a crumbling building and your throat coated in ash, you feel that same creeping sensation of fear. The fear of being Blue.

Your eyes are burning as you try to focus on what's in front of you. Rapid blinks produce uncontrollable tears, and you can only make out shapes and colors at first. There is a car on fire in the middle of the intersection, the smell is sour in your throat and, though you are sure it's a safe enough distance from you, you can still feel the flicker of heat on your skin. Traffic has completely stopped, cars piled on top of each other in a twist of metal and blood. A traffic light leans precariously at one corner of the street.

There are people around, lots of them actually, more than when you had first been knocked unconscious by a frenzied wanderer. This wanderer had been a tank of a monster, it sat on all four legs with a shell of armor and a spiked tail that had cut through the side of a building. You had been upright, the steel of your pistol hot from how many times you’d fired into the invincible thing. And then darkness had taken you.

When you had been awake, the streets had been filled with civilians, multicolored clothes gently rustling in the spring wind of Lincoln City, the sun had been setting and the sky was a pretty peach and orange, like a fruit basket. Now, the streets were filled with black and white. The black official coats of hunters, armed to the teeth with disaster-level gear, and the white of combat medics and their assistants.

You still couldn't hear anything. The ringing in your ears was slowly dimming down, and the rest was static against your skull. In addition to whatever state your pinned leg was in, you must have also hit your head pretty hard. This is why you were surprised when a bright light hit your eyes, making you shrink away in pain. The light bobbed up and down in your right eye and then again in your left. When the light went away, you felt your heart thudding hard in your chest. It seemed to be the only thing you could hear outside of the ringing.

Doctor Zayne Li.

He’s frowning and speaking. Perhaps to you, but you're not sure and you can’t really hear what he has to say anyway. It's mostly a muffle. His warm hand is on your face, and you get new views of the scene as he turns your head this way and that. His bright white surgeon's robes are sooted with ash and dirt. He asks you a question, and you blink at him, trying to impossibly read the words from his lips, but he’s speaking too fast, or perhaps you weren't all that good at making out what he had to say.

When you don’t respond, he makes that face that lets you know he’s cursed. His eyebrows furrow and his lips turn down in a harsh line when he curses. You giggle a little, wishing you could hear what the usually so composed man was saying.

He disappears from view, and as you try to follow him with your head, you realize just how painful moving is at this moment. But he’s back in seconds, this time with a mix of people, a blend of familiar and unfamiliar faces. Hunters, emergency responders, and combat medics all crowd your peripheral vision. Zayne is crouched next to you; you can only see the top of his black shock of hair. They all seem to be looking towards the man, and after a beat, their faces stretch into effort as they lift the cement block off your leg.

You instinctively try to scoot out and over, but there is no need. Gentle, large hands are picking you up and sliding you out of the trap. It's your first sigh of relief since this all began. No more being like Blue.

Free at last, you feel your hearing starting to come back—the crackle of the car fire, the shouts of hunters and medics. By the time Zayne has placed you down on the sidewalk, you start to regain some of your senses.

You flinch when Zayne snaps his fingers on either side of your ear, the sound reverberating against your skull. He watches your face carefully.

“Your hearing is coming back.” He says. No Hey, hello, how have you been over the last two years. Just a clinical gaze and a frown.

“Bend.” He says, grabbing your previously pinned leg. You look down and see that it's not as bad as you feared, but not so great either. “Slowly.” He says after you start to try to move it immediately, fear that every bone in your leg has been crushed.

You pause, take a deep breath, and move with him as he checks the mobility of your leg. Your face scrunches in pain and you can't help the gasp that falls past your lips as he brings your leg closer and closer towards your body. He pauses, eyes watching your face intently, and you have to look away.

“It will heal,” he says after a moment, his voice soft but his tone shrouded in something you’d long since given up on figuring out.

He knows you too well, you think. Your fear of your leg being crushed had less to do with pain and more with the real possibility that you’d never be cleared for hunter work again. 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., Monday through Friday, you eat, sleep, and breathe wanderer guts. You hardly take a day off, to everyone's irritation. But you didn't care. Hunters saved lives. Little kids, pregnant women, old men in the park playing chess.

“If—” Zayne’s voice pulls you back to the present. “You let me take a look at it before you go running off.”

You hadn’t said a word to him yet. You weren't sure the right ones would come out. At least he thought you were potentially concussed and hopefully wouldn’t question it.

“High priority patients over here!” calls out a field medic, waving his hand at a group of young-looking emergency workers carrying limp or burned bodies in their arms. They start setting them down near and around you.

“I shouldn’t be in this section,” you say dazedly. You catch that familiar frown on Zayne’s face as you try to move. When he realizes you're trying to stand, a single firm hand presses you down against the sidewalk.

“I understand you hit your head,” he says sharply. “But if you could try to listen to your doctor for once, that would be very helpful, Y/N.”

You huff out an angry laugh. “My doctor?” you bite out. “You haven’t been that for two whole years.”

A shadow of something passes over his face, but it’s too quick for you to read. Before you can process it, someone else is calling his name. He turns, eyes focusing in like a camera on the situation in front of him. He glances back at you.

“Stay here. Don’t move,” he demands, his dirty jacket rustling in the wind as he stands and runs to assist another injured civilian.

You sigh and lean back a little, trying to get your bearings. You’re on Apricot Street and Main—two very familiar streets. As you look up at the still-intact building behind you, you see that this freak wanderer accident is right at the front doors of Akso Hospital. Great.

Pulling your wrist to your face, you see that your hunter-assigned watch is on the fritz, a crack running down the middle of the watch face. You have no idea what time it is, but judging by the moon’s high rise in the sky, it’s been at least an hour since this whole thing started.

Your eyes carefully scan the scene again. Zayne’s white coat is hard to ignore among the black hunters’ uniforms and the now-arriving pencil-skirted reporters. All of this fades into background noise when you hear a sound. You turn, slowly—your head still pounding—to your right, a less trafficked side of the incident, and spot a woman, whimpering and crawling away from what is unmistakably a wanderer.

You don’t think—you just move. The sharp pains in your leg are nothing compared to the panic filling your lungs and throat. One second too late and this woman could be mauled by the mean-looking monster stalking her.

You fumble for your gun as you limp forward, slower than you’ve ever been before.

Bang. Warning shot.

BANG. BANG.

None of your bullets are finding purchase on the hard outer layer of the wanderer. The creature doesn’t turn its attention from the woman, continuing its slow, deliberate approach as she whimpers.

You’re practically dragging your leg by the time you reach her.

“Ma’am, it’s alright—”

Words die in your throat as you see what looks like fire on her face. Her eye is glowing with a strange, unfamiliar symbol, and her lips are moving, but the sound coming out is more like an animal call than a whimper now that you’re closer. The woman is badly injured—cuts and bruises cover her body, though some look faded and healed while others are fresh.

“Ma’am...?” you breathe out, wondering if you hit your head a little too hard. The woman makes a sharp clicking noise, and the wanderer’s head snaps in your direction. You feel like someone has poured cold water down your back as it immediately begins to charge you, its red eye flaring in the moonlight.

Shit.

You raise your gun again, your shoulder screaming in protest. You aim down sights, but your arm, your body, your entire core are too shaky.

Shit.

The wanderer doesn’t get very far. You feel a chill up the back of your neck, and in seconds, the creature is frozen in its tracks, its entire lower body encased in ice. You and the woman gasp. You turn as much as you can to see Zayne, his white coat gone now, his hand outstretched, the crisscrossed jacket patterns of frost snaking up his hands and wrists. He exhales, and his breath fogs in the air, visible even in the springtime.

“You are incapable of following the simplest directions,” he says after a moment, stepping forward. Emergency temporarily solved, you turn back to the woman, who has begun making louder, more frantic sounds. She’s cawing and clicking urgently, the red, glowing symbol on her face burning brighter and brighter. The wanderer, still stuck in the ice, vibrates slightly, the ice cracking as it struggles.

You turn to Zayne, who seems to be watching the scene carefully, a deep frown etched into his face. The woman, still bleeding into the cement of the sidewalk, starts to quiet down again, this time involuntarily. The mark on her face begins to dim as her body weakens.

Zayne surges forward as if suddenly remembering his profession. By the time the strange sounds stop, he’s lifting her wrist, his face grim. “She lost a lot of blood,” he states softly.

As the woman passes, the wanderer, still struggling against its icy prison, stops moving. The red light in its eye flickers out like a dying computer, its body going still, as if accepting its fate as a popsicle.

“Please tell me you saw that too,” you say after a moment, your eyes meeting Zayne’s. His eyes flicker back to yours. Something was... off. Wanderers are hive-minded, practically brainless monsters. They attack. They destroy. This behavior was odd—odd in the way that makes your skin crawl.

“I saw it,” Zayne says quietly. And though your day, possibly your next few weeks, have been ruined, you feel a wave of relief at not being the only one who witnessed this unsettling moment.

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

I'm posting one chapter a day on tumblr; but the fic is already finished! Check the rest of the completed Fic out on A03!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65706394?view_full_work=true

[peachesyeo]

:̗̀➛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞? :̗̀➛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭?

💌｡⋆˚୨=obsession navigation list=୧˚⋆｡☁️

◛ comment to join this series' taglist! [originally posted on wattpad]

»»— MINJAE ׂׂૢ peaches you're allergic to peaches, but your boyfriend seemed to not know that ׂׂૢ broken doll (+yechan) you are the doll in their eyes

»»— JUNMIN ׂׂૢ joker your ex interrupts your sleepover with your friends

»»— SUMIN ׂׂૢ stalker your coworker offers a solution to your problem

»»— JINSIK ׂׂૢ hush — part one you tried to run but you got caught ׂׂૢ hush — part two

»»— HYUNWOO ׂׂૢ perfect your boyfriend is the definition of perfect... or is he?

»»— JUNGHOON ׂׂૢ bully — part one you finally got away from the devil ׂׂૢ bully — part two or did you?

»»— SEEUN ׂׂૢ bullied — part one the nerdy guy is such a pushover ׂׂૢ bullied — part two or is he?

»»— YUJUN ׂׂૢ omega your little omega husband is pretty cute in your eyes.

»»— HUNTER ׂׂૢ foreign — part one the king of another kingdom requests to see you. ׂׂૢ foreign — part two the king of another kingdom watches you. ׂׂૢ therapy (ft. yechan)

»»— YECHAN ׂׂૢ bestfriends your bestfriend loves you way more than you think ׂׂૢ broken doll (+minjae) you are the doll in their eyes

➳ series taglist:

[lostamongthestarz]

Summery: Staci Pratt - a broken man who never saw himself standing in prosperity. He was far from healed - he figured he'd watch the community grow from a distance.

That's until he met you.

════ ⋆★⋆ ═══

Fandom: Far Cry 5/New Dawn

Characters: Staci Pratt, mention of Jacob, Thoams Rush.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma/abuse, Jacob is a warning. Mostly fluff, Staci gets a therapy dog

Pronouns for reader: He/Him - Trans!male reader

════ ⋆★⋆ ═══

❗❗FEM READERS DO NOT INTERACT, DO NOT FETISHIZE MY WRITING, I WRITE THESE HEADCANONS FOR MY FELLOW TRANS MEN❗❗

════ ⋆★⋆ ═══

When the world had seemingly ended - Staci never saw himself standing in prosperity, the sound of children laughing, the sound of dogs barking. Staci seemed to not be able to wrap his head around it, He had managed to survive the explosion - ducking into a empty bunker. The next 15 years were a blur to him.

All he knew was that the deputy he had known was gone, he had lost people - people that he considered his friends. The deputy was the one who risked their life to save him from Jaocb and even then it all seemed like it was for nothing. Staci floated around prosperity - helping when it was needed, doing what he could to be apart of the makeshift community.

Staci did everything he could to ignore his past, he had scars - both physical and psychological. Even after Jacob's death he held some sort of control over Staci, Carmina did her best to help - even having Rush talk with Staci daily. Eventually they found a good dog for him, just as scared. Staci didn't know what to name her, so he didn't. He just called her dog, he refused to even say the name peaches. Just one more thing that reminded him of Jacob's control. Eventually He and Dog bonded - Staci never went anywhere without her, it was odd to him. Staci was used to the wolves Jacob had but having a dog who didn't growl or bite at him felt - comfortable.

One night, prosperity was having a cookout - a celebration of how far they've managed to grow as a community. Sta ci had been given a plate - It felt good to have proper food. Staci was standing off to the side with Dog sitting right by him - the simple name Dog had stuck with Staci, and he didn't plan on changing it. He was surprised when you had walked over to sit next to him, Staci was confused until you introduced yourself. Staci was quiet at first but he slowly opened up to you. He felt comfortable with you, Carmina and Rush took notice real quick.

Over time, You and Staci bonded - Dog seemed you trust you and Staci? Staci enjoyed having you around. More then he would admit out loud to anyone.

He enjoyed your company

Your voice-

Your smile

Staci wasn't going to admit that he had a crush - could grown men have crushes? He didn't know. Carmina liked to tease him, Rush liked to give him advice. Staci always pushed them away - there was no way someone like you could like him. Maybe thay was just his doubt creeping in, maybe that was the fear of opening up about what had happened to him - what Jacob did to him.

Staci was sitting by himself, just thinking about anything and everything. That's when you suprised him - sitting next to him with that same smile. Staci couldn't help but smile back, maybe he could heal - maybe he would be able to open up.

Maybe being staying in prosperity wasn't such a bad thing - especially when he had you.

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