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lucyrose191 · 2 months

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BROKEN DECISIONS: HEALING| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x fem!Schumacher!reader

Summary; You had learned to channel the pain from Toto’s actions into the need to protect and love your child. You were healing but will that be affected by Toto finding out the reason you suddenly disappeared?

Warnings; Age gap mentioned but not specified. Fluff.

Author’s Note; I know I said I’d post a Seb fic before this but this was so much easier to write and I had a lot more motivation for this. Possibly a part 3 if you want.

F1 Master List, Part 1

September 2024

The pain that had consumed you so overwhelmingly all those months ago had seemingly disappeared as you stared down at your daughter who lay in your lap, eyes closed as she slept peacefully, subtle puffs of air released as her chest raised every few seconds.

The thick tufts of bright white hair that sprouted from her head marked that little Alina Elisabeth was most certainly a Schumacher.

Maybe you should feel guilty for the relief that settled in you at the lack of resemblance she shared with her father but the love you felt in your heart as you stared down at the person you cared the most for in this world shrouded any negative emotion you could possibly feel.

The loneliness you had felt was also no longer lingering in your chest, your family had been your rock since the moment you arrived in Switzerland, your mother especially. Mick ensured her was there for you too, even though he was busy with the world endurance racing, he made sure he called frequently and tried to visit when he could.

You sent him a photo of his new niece as soon as you could after giving birth to her and he was already besotted and excited to meet her.

The pain from birthing her had also long been forgotten, unlike the memory of holding her for the first time.

It was hard to describe the rush of emotions that were bursting beneath your skin. You would go to hell and back again if just to experience this for the rest of your life, to continue living in this bubble of warmth and completion.

There was the slightest bit of lingering sadness towards the knowledge that Toto hadn’t been by your side yesterday and witnessing his daughter being brought into the world, maybe it was even unfair that he had been robbed of that opportunity but then you remembered how you had tried to tell him the news of your pregnancy before you left and how he refused to listen.

You weren’t going to beg and plead for him to listen to what you had to say, no matter what there news was.

You had a lot more respect for yourself than that.

It didn’t matter anyways, you didn’t need him and you’d ensure that Alina didn’t need him either. You have full confidence in your ability to raise her alone and give her the best life she could possibly have, a life that would provide her with opportunities others could only imagine having.

November 2024

Alina Elisabeth Schumacher was now two months old and each day it felt as though your love for her multiplied.

Even through the rough patches where you seemed lost in knowing what she needed or what was wrong, it didn’t deter you in the slightest. You had smiled more in the last two months than you had in the last ten years and it felt riveting.

Never would you have thought that a child could fill a gap in your life that you didn’t even know existed but here she is and your heart is full.

Your life felt whole and complete and you owed everything to her, to your little girl who had fixed your healing heart without even trying, just by simply existing.

Today was an important day, Mick was coming home after finishing the world endurance season, which he had performed amazingly in, and it was going to be his first time meeting his niece in person.

You had FaceTimed so much in the last few months, Mick hadn’t wanted to miss any part of his niece growing and so every night at around six he’d ring so that he could say goodnight to her, no matter what time is was where he was at.

Alina loved her uncle already.

It was around 2pm when you heard the front door open followed by the sound of bags dropping to the floor and Mick walking into the kitchen.

You didn’t waste any time in wrapping him into a hug. "Hey, how are you?"

Mick tucked his head into the crook of your neck and tightened his arms around you. "I’m great, it was amazing but how are you, are you okay?" He asked, pulling away and holding onto your shoulders as he looked you up and down.

You smiled at him in pure happiness. "I’m amazing, she’s amazing. Come and see her," you told him and grabbed his hand, pulling him upstairs to your room.

Alina was napping which is all she ever did at her young age but you didn’t care if she woke up because the look of awe on Mick’s face as he set his eyes upon her would make it worth it.

"She’s tiny," he whispered, reaching a finger inside the cot and smiling as she wrapped her fist around it. "She looked so much bigger over the phone, she’s beautiful, Y/N, really." He looked up at you and smiled.

"That’s because she takes after me," you smirked and he rolled his eyes, slowly pulling his hand away before turning to you.

"Do Mum and Gina know?" He asked.

You didn’t need him to emphasise, you both knew what he meant, the unspoken topic that neither of you brought up throughout your entire pregnancy and even after.

"No," you replied honestly, swallowing uncomfortably.

"Y/N-" he sighed.

"Don’t," you cut him off. "He didn’t want to know, Mick. He didn’t care and I’m not going to beg him to."

The sympathetic look he gave you in response to the defeated words you spoke filled you with the need to cry but you didn’t.

You simply stood there for a moment before sighing. "I think I’m going to quit."

Mick gave you a look of horror. "What!?" He whisper shouted. "You can’t, you’ve been with Mercedes for nearly a decade!"

You shrugged. "I don’t want to work for him anymore, not when he is adamant on acting as though he didn’t give me the wrong impression, as though I don’t have his daughter at home who he doesn’t know about because he didn’t care enough for me to tell him."

He didn’t say anything, knowing that your point was completely reasonable. He just hoped this didn’t ruin everything you had worked for.

December 2024

You walked side by side with Mick through the pits of the Yas Marina circuit in Abu Dhabi, drawing quite a bit of attention to yourselves, not only because this is the first glimpse anyone has seen of you all year but because of the three month old you held in your arms.

You walked into the Mercedes garage as though you weren’t about to reveal why you hadn’t participated in this season, pretending you didn’t notice how everyone paused what they were doing to stare as soon as you crossed the threshold.

Their stares burned into your skin but none more than Toto’s, you felt the trail his eyes left across your entire body and the way they settled on the sleeping baby in your arms.

You ignored the burning sensation he was leaving on your skin, instead focusing on the mechanics and other team members that were approaching to speak to you and introduce themselves to Alina.

It was around twenty minutes later before you were left alone, Mick took this opportunity to take Alina to go and show her off to anyone who would give him the time of day, you loved how much of a proud uncle he was.

"Can we talk?" His voice was low and gravelly in your ear as he spoke in a hushed whisper, startling you momentarily.

You scoffed and shook your head. "You weren’t up for talking in January, I’m not up for talking now."

"It’s important," he tried to reason and you laughed.

"What I wanted to say was important but you didn’t care, what was important to me wasn’t important to you. It’s not nice being on the receiving end of that, is it?"

You had hit the nail on the head with that one and by the stunned silence Toto was confined into, he knew that as well.

"Please, I know I don’t deserve it but can you please just come and have a civil conversation with me in my office," he pleaded, knowing that he really had no leg to stand on because he was the one that was completely in the wrong.

You wanted to make a comment about how poetic it was that he wanted to go and talk in his office, just how you did all those months ago and yet you had no luck but you didn’t.

You relented and agreed but that did not mean you were going to be easy on him.

You sighed and stood up from your seat, following him to his office.

You refused to speak first as he shut the door which resulted in a thick, heavy silence for a couple of minutes as you both stood there, Toto staring at you whilst your eyes strained on the ground.

"What happened in Abu Dhabi last year-" he started causing you to look up at him, not expecting him to even bring that up considering how certain he was to avoid it before.

"It wasn’t a mistake, I just- I spent two years fighting my feelings for you because you deserve so much more than I am. The baggage I come with- I’m divorced twice and I have kids and I’m so much older than you and you deserve so much more than to be with a man that comes with all that and can’t give you everything."

You stared at him blankly though you were surprised that he had supposedly felt something for you for an entire year before you noticed anything.

"I never thought of you as anything but my boss and a friend but then last year, the way you looked at me and the way you acted, I thought you liked me and it confused me, my mind was baffled the entire season but no matter what you caused me to feel, I fought against it but then with his forward you were in Abu Dhabi, you made me think you actually wanted me and even if you didn’t then that’s fine but what isn’t fine is leading me on with your stares and your touches and then leaving me alone in a hotel the moment I gave in and even after that when I tried to speak with you, you ignored me and dismissed me. Do you know how used and disgusted I felt?"

You knew the look of guilt on his face wasn’t fake but that didn’t change anything, his guilt was nothing compared to what he had put you through.

"I thought I was doing what was best for you," he replied defeated, knowing how pathetic he sounded and how weak his response was.

"I couldn’t look at myself without feeling the urge to throw up after the way you left me there and it was all down to your insecurities which are ridiculous by the way. I can’t believe you think I’d care about how many times you’ve been married or how many kids you have or how old you are, I only ever wanted someone who loved me and treated me right, you could’ve done that but the man that spoke to me in January, I’ve never seen you like that and that man is not someone I would ever be with."

"You didn’t deserve that," he replied in agreement. "I was overwhelmed by the guilt I felt for leaving you there and trying to ignore my feelings for you which I thought were wrong to be feeling but it is not an excuse for the way I spoke or dismissed you, it was wrong of me. I’m sorry."

"I know," you shrugged. "But I don’t forgive you, not right now at least."

Toto shook his head. "I’ll earn your forgiveness." He said confidently.

"Okay." You whispered.

The air between the two of you shifted as Toto looked at you apprehensively, shifting on his feet. "Your baby-" your heart thumped loudly in your chest. "Is she?" He asked, not needing to continue.

You weren’t going to deny the truth and so you replied honestly. "Yes, it’s what I tried telling you in January."

The look of anguish that appeared on his face was heartbreaking to see because you could tell he truly regretted his actions but it was simply the consequences of his decisions, he was still able to make up for it.

"What did you name her?" He asked quietly.

"Alina Elisabeth Schumacher, Elisabeth after my grandmother."

"You chose well…. Could I meet her?" He asked carefully, not wanting to overstep with you but of course you would allow him to see her, not only because your daughter deserved a chance to have a father but because you knew he was a good father and he would’ve been there had you been given the chance to tell him of her.

"I’ll go and get her." You told him, swiftly walking passed him and out of the door.

It was George that happening to be holding her as you re-entered the garage, the man looking up at you with a pleased smile. "Y/N! I’m happy your back, am I getting my beginner back next year?" He asked as he handed her over to you.

You smiled weakly and shrugged your shoulders. "I’m honestly not too sure yet, George but I’ll let you know."

"No worries," he waved you off. "She’s beautiful by the way."

You thanked him before turning away and heading back to Toto’s office.

Alina was wide awake now and her dark eyes were looking around curiously as you walked through the small corridor.

As soon as Toto’s eyes laid upon her you practically saw how he immediately fell in love with her, his eyes softened as they took in her features, probably trying to find anything that resembled himself.

"I think she has your eyes, but that’s about it," you commented lightly causing him to laugh.

He stepped forward and held his hand out for her, smiling and laughing as she reached out and grabbed his finger before shoving it into her mouth.

He looked at her in awe, as if he couldn’t believe she was a part of him. He reached out with his other hand and tickled her cheek with his finger causing her to gurgle around his hand.

"You can hold her," you told him, lifting her out towards him. He looked at you unsurely but you encouraged him with a nod and that was everything he needed to take her into his arms.

Alina threw away her grip on his hand as he held her and instead pressed both of her hands into his cheeks and pressed her face up against his causing you both to burst out into laughter which resulted in her copying you.

"She’s so small," he muttered almost to himself but you heard him.

"She didn’t feel it when I was pushing her out but she does look it," you joked but also serious, it had hurt like hell.

The mention of her birth spiked a sudden interest. "When was she born?" He asked.

"September 3rd, she was two weeks late, didn’t want to leave I suppose so I had to get induced."

He looked at you worried. "You didn’t do it alone, did you?"

You shook your head, "No, don’t worry, my mum was there with me."

"That’s good," he replied, pulling away from Alina’s grabby hands and instead brought her into a hug, resting the side of his head against hers.

God did he look good holding her.

Alina cooed and babbled as she lied her head on his shoulder and reached her hand up to grab his ear and pull on it.

The immediate connection between the two was impossible to miss and it was sad they had both missed out on this but you refused to let yourself feel guilty about it.

"Thank you for this," Toto’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. "I know I don’t deserve it."

You shook your head. "You deserve a relationship with her, no matter what I wouldn’t have kept her from you."

He smiled and tightened his hold on Alina, still struggling to believe she was really his.

He had four kids. Wow.

He did not want to think about how he was going to explain this one to them.

"We should probably go back out there, there’s still a race that’s about to start." You mentioned, hating to break him out of his bubble but he had priorities.

After much coercing, you managed to get him out of his office but he kept his hold on Alina, he didn’t think the team would suspect anything, they probably just thought he wanted to hold her but even if they did have suspicions, he didn’t care.

Everything felt right as he held her, now he just needed to make it up to you and he would do everything needed for you to forgive him because he wanted this, he wanted you and this family you had created, no matter how long it took.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

People who asked to be tagged or asked for a part 2:

@pear-1206 @luckyladycreator2 @urmotheris @lightdragonrayne @viennakarma @woozarts @carolloliveerr @nuggetvirgo @myescapefromthislife @minkyungseokie @oatmealandsugar @hc-dutch @arieltwvdtohamflash @grayxiu @bigsimperika @emilyval1 @eternalharry @msbyjackal

#formula one x reader #f1 fanfiction #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fluff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x oc #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #f1 fic

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lovebugism · 2 months

Note

if you're still looking for shy reader ones (with a hint of smuttiness) maybe Eddie finds shy reader's sex toys?

ty! — eddie munson stumbles upon your sex toy and shy!you learns to cope (shy!fem!r, fluff, allusions to smut 18+)

Twisted in thin sheets and Eddie’s Hellfire shirt, you fight for slumber in the honeyed haze of your bedroom. You rest on your stomach, arms wrenched around the pillow you clutch to your face. A heavy, comforting weight smooths over your back in the familiar shape of Eddie Munson. A lazy smile tugs at your lips.

“How are we supposed to nap if you won’t stop touching me?” you mumble as the boy sprinkles chaste kisses to your jaw and neck.

“Can’t help it. You’re too pretty,” he slurs, still sleepy but trying to fight it.

The tip of his nose traces your pulse point when he moves down to kiss the bare skin of your shoulder — where the neck of your shirt has fallen slightly down. Chill bumps erupt beneath his touch. You feel his smile contort against your skin.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Eddie teases. “I know you do.”

“Hm,” you hum, writhing slightly between the mattress and his body. “I do like it,” you confess in a half-muffled murmur.

“Yeah?”

You nod against the pillow. “Very much…”

His bare stomach settles flush against your back when he rises on his forearms. His crotch ruts subtly (only sort of unintentionally) against your ass — cock already half-hard and aching. His plush mouth brushes the shell of your ear. You fight back a shiver.

“Have any rubbers?” he mumbles.

“Top drawer. On the right.”

Eddie scoffs and sits back on his haunches, taking his warmth and the covers with him. He swats your ass with a rough, but not unkind hand, before rising off the squeaking mattress. “You minx,” he chuckles. “What the hell do you have a pack of rubbers here for?”

You giggle weakly into the pillow. “The same reason everyone has ‘em, Eds.”

“Who else are you using them with, huh?”

You’d roll your eyes at him if they were open. “No one,” you scoff. “You’ll be pleased to find them unopened.”

With your eyes still shut, you only hear the squeaking of an opened drawer. You wait for the sound of Eddie ripping the box open like a total maniac, but it never comes. The strange silence makes your chest ache.

“Well…” Eddie scoffs in a teasing lilt. “What is this?”

You lift your heavy head from the pillow to glance at him over your shoulder. Squinting with tired eyes, you find the boy on the exact opposite side of the dresser you pointed him towards. Your veins flood with an ice-cold horror.

“I said on the right!” you shout, rising from the mattress and rushing towards him with a newfound life.

“This is the right!” Eddie argues, then makes an L shape with both his hands. His brows raise beneath his fluffy bangs when he realizes he’s gotten them backwards. “…Oh.”

You slam the drawer shut, as if the damage hasn’t already been done.

You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing, actually — the fact that your boyfriend’s just seen your drawer of sex toys, or the fact that they’re audibly jostling against one another while you try to hide them. Both equally make you so mortified you could die.

“Hey!” Eddie shouts. “I was looking at those!”

You glare at him. “Don’t make fun!”

“I’m not making fun!” he assures through a set of boyish giggles. He gestures wildly with ringed hands and tells you, “You’re a girl with needs, babe— I’m actually glad you’re taking care of yourself when I’m not around.”

“Eddie!” you shout, equal parts scolding and whining.

He laughs again, louder now but no less sincere. “I’m serious! You don’t have to be embarrassed about it, okay? It’s normal. And it doesn’t bother me. Alright? No big deal.” He tilts his wild head to his shoulder and smiles lazily down at you. “Well. As long as you’re not planning on trading me for Mr. Sparkling Pink Vibrator in there—”

You swat half-heartedly at his chest, face screwed with a distant horror. “I said don’t make fun!” you grouse and try to step back from him.

Eddie pulls you back by your wrists, making you stumble into his chest. He ducks down until the tip of his nose brushes the bridge of yours. With a bright pink and crooked beam, he tells you, “I’m kidding, alright? I’m just messin’. I’ll leave you alone about it, okay?”

“Promise?” you murmur in a mousy voice.

“Mhm. I promise,” he nods once, then can’t help but smirk. “Unless, you know, you ever wanna use ‘em together…”

Your nose scrunches at the offer. Not because you don’t like it (your stomach is warm and swirling at the thought), but because you didn’t like he would. “You’d wanna do that? With me?”

“Yeah. You know, whenever you want. No big deal…” he shrugs and tries to be cool about it.

But the thought of pinning you beneath his body, piercing you with his cock, and holding the pretty vibrator to your clit while you scream for him — unable to decide whether you want more of his merciless pleasure or if you can’t take any of it anymore — makes his hands tremble with yearning.

“Though… Now would be preferable.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things imagine #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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melzula · 1 month

Note

I JUMPED WHEN I SAW REQUESTS OPEN

zuko unintentionally saying something he doesn’t mean to reader (ex. ur clingy/annoying) and makes the reader like kinda distant cus they don’t wanna be annoying or clingy yk? then he comforts them and says sorry and it’s very much a angst to fluff moment!

a/n: i love this trope

summary: your sudden disappearance makes zuko reevaluate his behavior

The apartment is empty when Zuko returns from the tea shop. His bones ache from standing all day and his mood is sour from having to serve customers, but it doesn’t distract him from the fact that something is missing. The place feels dull and lacks its normal warmth, and the change unnerves him.

“It seems y/n has not yet returned home,” Iroh observes as he flicks on the lamps to rid the room of darkness.

“Where did she go?” Zuko murmurs, doing his best to mask his anxiety over your absence. It’s not like you to stay out late, especially considering your apartment isn’t exactly in one of the safer rings of Ba Sing Se, and it worries him.

“I’m not sure. She seemed to be in a hurry when she left this morning,” the older man recounts as he scans the room to look for any trace of her left behind. “She didn’t even have her morning tea!”

“She could be in danger. I’m going to search for her.”

“Would you like me to come with you?”

“No, one of us should stay here in case she comes back,” Zuko states before making his way out the door. “I don’t want her to come home to any empty apartment.”

“Be sure to watch your temper if you do find her, nephew. Y/n is struggling to adjust to this new life just as you are, and it is important you are patient with her.”

The Prince says nothing in response to his Uncle’s words, but he immediately feels the guilt and shame that they bring him. His warning serves as a reminder for his recent behavior, and Zuko is then able to figure out why you were nowhere to be found.

You’d been eating breakfast together that morning before he had to leave for work, and despite his irritable mood you seemed to be eager to start the day.

“I was thinking of visiting the market place to buy fresh groceries for dinner tonight. Maybe I could stop by the tea shop and bring lunch for you and your Uncle,” you suggested with a pleasant smile.

“Sure,” Zuko had grumbled in response before forcing another spoonful of bland porridge down his throat.

“And after dinner we can visit the fountain,” you had said with an excited smile. “I’d love to take a walk through the city and get some fresh air. We hardly ever leave the apartment.”

“This city is nothing but dirt. There’s nothing to see out there.”

“Oh,” you had murmured, your features deflating slightly at his negative comments. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe we can just stay in and play a game of pai sho instead. I’m not exactly sure how to play, but I bet you could teach me! It could be fun!”

“Don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself speak?!” Zuko had finally snapped harshly, his patience finally having been worn thin by your ceaseless suggestions. He didn’t want to take a stroll or play pai sho or have any sort of fun, and he didn’t understand why you couldn’t get that. “This isn’t some little vacation. I failed to capture the Avatar and now we’re stuck here, do you understand? Go play pai sho with someone else.”

The room had grown deathly silent after Zuko’s outburst, and he was too annoyed to notice the way you kept your gaze glued firmly to the table to avoid him see the welling tears in your eyes. Without another word, you quietly excused yourself from the table and made your way out the door without an explanation or a goodbye. Zuko hadn’t seen you since.

“I’m such a jerk,” he curses himself as he roams the streets in search of you. You’re not in the market place and you’re not by the fountain, so where could you be? He’s beginning to worry, his mind conjuring up multiple scenarios where you’re in trouble and he can’t help you. It’s pure torture.

A familiar laugh floats through the air, and Zuko feels the hairs on his neck stand up at the soothing melody. He’s quick to follow the sound, and as he shoves his way through the crowded streets he finds himself coming to a stop at a small noodle shop. The shop is practically tucked into a corner and isn’t much to look at, but the inside is full of life as patrons eat and converse and enjoy the camaraderie. At the heart of the restaurant sits a table full of people focused on the game of pai sho before them, and at the center of the table you sit with a large grin and a white lotus tile in your hand.

“I can’t believe I won!” You exclaim with an excited clap of your hands before looking to the older woman sitting next to you. “Thank you so much for teaching me how to play. This is the most fun I’ve had in months!”

“Y/n?” Zuko calls, garnering the attention of you and your new friends at the table. The airy laughter and pleasantries die down at the sight of him and the room is suddenly filled with tension.

“Oh, hello, Lee,” you greet dully, your cheerful demeanor immediately disappearing when you make eye contact with the boy.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home?”

“You said to go play pai sho with someone else, so that’s what I’m doing,” you state bluntly, and Zuko looks away guiltily after hearing his own words repeated back to him.

“Can you please just come home? You shouldn’t be out on the streets this late, it’s dangerous.”

“Why do you care?” You retort harshly. “I’m having fun here. These people actually want my company.”

“Y/n,” Zuko says with an irritated sigh, doing his best to remain patient. “Please. If not for me then for Uncle. He’s just as worried for your safety as I am.”

You hesitate at his words, but after a moment of contemplating you finally excuse yourself from the table. You bid your new friends goodbye and promise to return for another game sometime before following Zuko out of the restaurant and beginning your walk back home.

“The moon is out tonight,” he notes quietly in an attempt to make small talk, but you don’t reply. You keep your gaze forward and maintain a respectable distance from him as you walk. “Maybe I was wrong about this place.”

“Congratulations for figuring that out,” you retort sarcastically with a roll of your eyes. Having finally had enough, Zuko grabs your wrist to stop you in your tracks and force you to look at him.

“Y/n, please talk to me,” he begs earnestly. “I feel horrible for what I’ve done.”

“Good, you should feel bad!” You exclaim angrily, harshly yanking your hand away from him. “You’ve been nothing but a jerk since we got to Ba Sing Se, and now that I’m finally giving you the space that you wanted you come and ruin my fun!”

“I don’t want space from you,” he insists desperately. “I was being an idiot! Y/n, I didn’t mean any of what I said. I was just feeling irritable and I took it out on you, but that isn’t fair of me.”

“I’m not going to be your punching bag for the rest of my life, Zuko,” you relent quietly, blinking back the tears that begin to form. “All I want is to start over, but you’re making it so difficult. Why did we even come here?”

“We came here because I realized you deserved better than to constantly live your life on the run,” he admits softly, carefully taking your hands in his own. “I know I’ve failed to make you happy or treat you the way you deserve, but you have to know that I care for you. The best part of my day is coming home to you after work, and I never want you to feel like a burden because you aren’t.”

“Thank you for saying that,” you sniffle with a meek smile, and when he pulls you into his arms for a hug you don’t protest. “I know this has been hard for you, but you have to understand that all I want is to support you and make the change as easy as possible for you.”

“I know, and I’ll forever be grateful for everything you do,” Zuko says before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Now let’s get home before Uncle begins to worry.”

You say nothing more as he puts a protective arm around you and guides you through the streets of Ba Sing Se. The move has been tough, but he swears then that he’s going to do his best to improve his attitude and give you the support you need.

He has a lot of making up to do.

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @lora21 @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

#melzula writes #request #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #atla #atla x reader #atla imagine #avatar the last airbender

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illyrianbitch · 3 months

Text

Death and His Reaper

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper.

Warnings: angsty fluff?, brief mentions of battle and injury, lil convos about life and its meaning, Azriel without his shadows, lowk love at first sight

Word Count: 13k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel could feel the hot, metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, the sharp sting of pain shooting through his body with each ragged breath. A pounding, almost unbearable, pain in his head consumed him, a relentless throb that pulsed with every beat of his heart– each pulse sending waves of nausea washing over him. He tried to move, to shift away from the agony, but his limbs felt like stone, heavy and unresponsive. His muscles screamed in protest with every attempt to shift position, every movement met with waves of agony that radiated through his battered form.

Dark spots filled his vision as the ringing in his ears grew louder. Everything was fuzzy, hazy, blurs of movement and moving color. Azriel could hear sounds around him. Loud sounds, piercing sounds. Distantly, he could make out what he assumed were screams. He wasn’t sure though, and wasn't able to think about it too hard. His shadows were whispering to him, louder and louder, but he couldn’t hear them. The sound rattled in his brain as he blinked. Once. Twice. His vision became more unfocussed.

With a final, shuddering breath, the world dissolved into darkness.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

There was a humming in his ear when Azriel came to, a light vibration he wasn’t familiar with. The ache in his body grew duller with every blink— his eyelids still heavy with pain, or exhaustion, he wasn’t quite sure. One of the same, he guessed. He let a moment pass, taking deep breaths as he oriented himself. He laid in a bed, soft white sheets placed upon him gingerly. Had Feyre tucked him in? He thought for a moment. Why would Feyre tuck him in?

Another moment passed. Azriel became aware of his clothing, his body still strapped in his illyrian leathers— leathers that were eerily clean. No smudges, no stains. Pushing himself upright, Azriel glanced around the room, his movements slow and unsteady. There was no one else in sight, no familiar faces to provide him with answers. He frowned, his brows knitting together in a puzzled expression. With a hesitant sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his muscles protesting at the sudden movement. He wavered for a moment, grasping for balance, before taking a cautious step forward.

He casted a casual glance towards the bed, rubbing his hands across his face in exhaustion as made a move towards the door, his thoughts scattered and disjointed. But then he stilled, his head quickly snapping back. Instead of an empty bed, Azriel's gaze fell upon his own body, lying prone and unmoving— paled, almost colorless, wings hanging limply at his sides. He blinked, a flicker of confusion and fear knitting his brows as he registered the scene before him.

“Quite strange, isn’t it?”

Azriel whipped his head around, his hand instinctively reaching for a dagger at his hip that he failed to find. His wings flared out angrily, fully extended with curled ends, each single claw at the apex poised and ready to strike. His eyes were wide as they focused on you.

You let out a quiet laugh, a gentle sound that caressed him like a comforting hand. He felt himself falter, a sense of confusion washing over him. Yet, within that confusion was a warmth that spread through him at your presence, at your voice— soft, like a faint ray of sunlight breaking through a storm cloud.

He fought the sudden urge to stand down, an odd sense of safety wrapping around him, unnerving him with the ease in which it filled him. He struggled back, pushing the feeling away. Stay guarded, stay ready, you are a threat. Yet even in his attempts, he recognized a slight release in the tension surrounding his shoulders, a small release in the stance of his wings– decisions he hadn’t consciously made. With his eyes still trained on you, his hand searched the side of his thigh, his hip, the backside of his waistband. He patted frantically, fingers itching to find a form of protection. When his search came up empty once more, he settled for holding his other hand out towards you in warning, his palm facing you as his body fell into a defensive stance. The blue siphon on his hand glowed aggressively.

The corners of your mouth tilted into a small smile. “You do that everytime.”

Azriel didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he narrowed his eyes as he properly took you in. He scanned your body; the way you stood comfortably in front of him, your hands clasped together, placed delicately in front of your waist. It almost hurt to look at you, he observed. He had to squint to make out your features. And when he did, he was hit with one thought: you were beautiful.

He cursed himself for recognizing it, for letting the thought echo in his head. You were a threat, he reminded himself, a stranger in his home. He was confused, disoriented, and yet you stood in front of him, presence dripping in a calm ease. You stared at him with a look he couldn’t discern, not when his mind was a muddled, confused, blurry mess. But the way you were looking, so expectant, so patient– it made him slightly nauseated.

“Who are you?” Azriel’s voice was loud and rough. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, a twitch in his wings, still extended wide. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Azriel scrambled for words, his head aching as he searched it for answers, for explanations. His confusion exposed him in a way that made him feel naked— at risk. None of it was right, not him standing over his own body, not him conversing with, what might possibly be, the most gorgeous female he’d ever seen, not the empty room around him. Was he dreaming? Was he being tortured?

You slowly lifted your hands in defense, remaining careful of how fast your movements were. “I’m not here to cause you any harm.”

A skeptical expression crossed his face. “Then why are you here?” He eyed you intently, his gaze scanning you as if sizing up a potential threat. His outstretched hand stayed unmoving, still on the defense. But you recognized a subtle shift in his posture, a slight calm flickering in his moving eyes.

Azriel was always the more difficult of the three to soothe. You had noticed this the last time, his wings shredded with ash arrows, his blood coating the floors beneath him. Even then, even through the exhaustion that bled into his unconscious mind– into his soul– he had fought you, acknowledged you with apprehension and distrust. You never blamed him, though. You understood. You would be fearful, confused, and defensive, too.

“I’m here to help you.”

Your voice was lower now than it was before. A soft murmur. He recognized the cadence, the words. It felt like a voice he’d heard before but couldn’t quite place.

"Who are you?" Azriel demanded as he frantically looked between his own body and you. He felt a sense of fear he wasn't accustomed to, a worry that either body would vanish were he to take his eyes away for too long. "What the hell is going on?"

You took a step forward as he turned to look upon his body, reaching an arm out to touch him, to begin to explain, when his head swiftly turned back to you. Azriel recoiled, taking a step away from you, his eyes scanning you again— wide and wild. There was a rustle as his wings mirrored his actions, still extended aggressively, unmoving. You quickly stilled, realizing your mistake of initiating contact too soon. Your brows furrowed as you gave him an apologetic smile. You took a step back, settling to stand a bit further from him than you were before.

Hazel eyes watched your every movement, his body tense as you fixed yourself into place, standing in front of him with the small smile still on your face– it reeked of pity, he thought. It didn’t feel right. No matter where he was, or who you were, he wasn’t supposed to be this off guard, this jumpy.

His face fell as the realization hit him: he couldn't feel them. His companions, his protectors, his shadows– there were no whisperings in his ear, no cool trail as they snaked around his body. He hadn’t noticed before, too distracted by you, by his lifeless form. The absence of his shadows explained this sudden vulnerability– he was receiving no information on you. No intel about who you were, what weapons you may have, who was around to witness. As quick as the realization settled into his stomach, Azriel called out to them. He dropped one of his hands lower as if to make it easier for them to find him, to reach him, but nothing came. No cool touch on his body, no whispers. Instead, silence enveloped him as he took notice of motion around him, black wisps of smoke scattered throughout the room.

You watched his movements, watched as he examined himself, as he craned his head to scan his body. "They can sense you," you explained, gesturing towards the shadows that seemed to be bouncing around, slithering on the ground like they were blind and confused. Some rested on his unmoving body, some around his feet, but not quite on him. His wings began to retract and slump as Azriel’s face slightly fell, his mouth open and brows furrowed.

He looked down, observing his hands tentatively. “Why aren’t they with me?” Azriel asked. His voice was slightly strained. He didn’t look up at you, his vision trained to his scarred hands, to the floor below him where shadows circled aimlessly. He felt an ache in his heart, a longing to be covered again, to be with them, to be protected. He felt too naked, stripped of every layer that protected him— no shadows, no intel, bare before you.

“Your shadows are sentient,” you explained, “they don’t die with you.”

His head snapped up, hazel eyes meeting yours instantly, widened with disbelief. "Die?" he repeated, his eyes scanning yours. "What do you mean die?"

In a slight moment of shock, Azriel took an unconscious step forward. His body tensed, and you watched as the rest of his frame followed suit, the muscles in his jaw clenching. There was an evident unease in his face, tension etched into his features.

You maintained a stillness, a deliberate choice not to intrude further, to remain respectful of his boundaries. Your gaze held a mixture of understanding and patience, offering him a moment to process the information without feeling overwhelmed. Then, you softly asked, “Where do you think you are, Azriel?”

His name sounded foreign on your tongue but he didn’t have the space to acknowledge it, instead rummaging through his other thoughts. He blinked, taking in your question. A dull ache in his head creeped up on him, but your voice soothed it instantly— soft, comforting.

"I... I don't know," he stammered, voice low and quiet, void of any assertion it held moments prior. His eyes darted back and forth, attempting to piece together fragments of memory. His wings now mirrored his defeated state– limp and listless, curled in, the membrane hanging dejectedly.

Sensing his growing distress, you adjusted your approach. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Your voice, smooth like honey and warm like tea, flowed through him. For a moment, he allowed it to sit, allowed it to spread, letting it calm him in a way that he was fighting before.

"I…" Azriel muttered to himself. Slowly, fragments of memory began to resurface, faint but discernible. He looked back at his body, examining it as if trying to find the missing pieces, memories popping up like distant echoes, flashing in the corners of his brain. The ache was back, slowly spreading throughout his head. “I was fighting.”

He looked back over his shoulder, twisting his body to peer at where his physical body lay in the bed, the colors of the room now registering with a strange clarity. Tandem disembodied flashbacks surged through his mind—flashes of fighting, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, and the cacophony of clashing weapons. Each image hit him like a sudden jolt, disjointed and chaotic.

In one fragment, he could almost feel the weight of a blade in his hand, the strain of muscles as he swung it in a frenzied dance. Another flash brought back the distant echoes of shouted commands, the clash of metal on metal, and the acrid scent of sweat and blood lingering in the air. The blurry memories continued, each scene disconnected yet vivid in its brutality. He shivered as the ghost of each sensation trailed his body, a twitch in his wings as he recalled the injuries they had sustained.

Then, a searing pain in his head, a sharp and sudden ache that brought him to his knees in his mind's eye. The pain lingered in his skull like a phantom sensation, and with it, a realization began to form. His eyes met yours with a cold, distant understanding. A wave of sadness hit you.

"I'm dead,” he stated, his voice quiet, “Aren't I?"

A sympathetic smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Not yet," you clarified, taking a step to move closer, the movement slow and deliberate. "You're in between."

"In between? In between where?"

You took a moment to look at him, your gaze lingering on his face. His eyes were darker now, troubled, as he stared back at you. “Your body,” You started, gesturing towards his sleeping form to guide his attention back to where it lay, “It's still fighting.”

Azriel nodded slowly, taking in each of your words, digesting them, letting them sit. There was a shift in his expression—a solemn understanding replacing the earlier confusion he once held. You continued.

"Madja, she's a brilliant healer. She has brought back many from this same brink."

When Azriel looked back at you, you shifted your focus to his head, motioning with a gentle sweep of your hand, then directed your fingers towards your own temple. "And your mind," You said, "it's fighting too."

Azriel frowned. He was a soldier. He sustained many injuries before, had fought in battles that left him with gaping wounds, with his organs rearranged. This was nothing new— so why was this different? Had he always been out this long?

You watched him intently, observing the way his thoughts seemed to churn beneath the surface, how he began to blink rapidly, how his brow furrowed. He was still confused– you could feel it. You let out a small sigh, running your eyes across his face.

"The injury you sustained was worse than any you've ever had," you explained, your voice steady. Flashes of his memories interjected—him fighting, soaring into the air only to be shot down, engaging in combat once again, his head colliding with something hard, the sickening sound of a crunch. "Not only to your body but to your head. You cracked your skull open completely, Azriel. The trauma of the infliction itself… well, let's say it damaged your brain. Heavily."

As Azriel looked directly at you, his hazel eyes glazed over with deep contemplation. He nodded absentmindedly, "Okay.” He said. He looked over to his unmoving form again.

With his attention fixated on his proper body, you took the time to observe him more closely, scanning his face and his body, taking in the details of his fighting leathers. Azriel was a vision— your favorite male to visit, your favorite soul to see. You can’t remember the first time you saw him, the first time he laid on a bed, a grasp away from death. You suppose it was centuries ago, when he first became a soldier. But even then, time escaped you.

Your gaze wandered to the wings adorning his back, now freed from their earlier alarmed nature, not fully extended but not fully kept back. You thought back to their wide and impressive extended form, the membrane between each robust wing bearing a faint sheen, casting a subtle shimmer in the ambient light. Even now they were mesmerizing– the leathery texture, the powerful structure, the way they naturally framed his form. The tips of the expansive wings curved slightly, giving Azriel an imposing yet graceful appearance, even among current circumstances. Azriel's voice brought you back to attention.

"So I'm stuck here?"

"For now." You responded, your voice carrying a gentle reassurance. The look on his face, only beginning to finally process his reality, pushed you to postpone any further explanations. Time was not an issue, not now.

"And you are..." Azriel's voice trailed off.

"Y/n," you answered.

He let the name sink in, repeating it with a slow, deliberate pace, "Y/n."

“Yes.” You nodded.

“And you’re here to help me.”

Another nod. “Yes.”

He rolled his shoulders as something that resembled a skeptical scowl slowly made its way through his face. Then, Azriel squinted his eyes at you. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

You couldn't help it—a small laugh escaped you, echoing softly in the room. The sound made Azriel jolt back slightly, caught off guard. Dying it down with a small, genuine smile on your face, you caught Azriel’s uncomfortable gaze, his wings now extended slightly, the corners of his lips downturned in confusion.

"I’m- I’m sorry,” You said, clearing your throat. “It's just... you are curious this time around.”

Azriel's hazel eyes widened in shock, his brows furrowing in confusion. "This– this time around?” His eyes rapidly scanned your face with a deep intensity. Faintly, he recalled your earlier comment, the laugh when you said that he reacted the same way every time. “Have we met before?"

You offered him a small smile as you said, "Many times.”

Azriel let out a deep breath. Here he stood, suspended between life and something else entirely, facing someone who knew him in a way that he couldn’t even remember. A sense of anxiety filled his chest. He wished for his shadows now, for them to wrap themselves around his arms, around his neck, to offer some calm. He searched you for any sign of deception, looked at the way your eyes followed him, the stance that you held. But all he found was a sense of sincerity and tenderness.

“Your family tends to face death a lot more than others in Prythian,” you explained, “You and your brothers especially."

At the mention of his brothers, Azriel's heart dropped, a heaviness settling in his chest. Thoughts of his family rushed in—wondering who had found him, the worry that surely gripped them. He straightened up, a sense of urgency urging him to survey his surroundings. His family… His gaze moved beyond you, taking in the details of the room. It was his guest suite in the River House, the room he’d stay in when he came to visit Rhysand and Feyre, the room they would drag him into when he needed to rest or heal. It was his room. Yet, there were no sounds of people, no familiar voices—just the quiet emptiness that surrounded him, surrounded you both. Surely they would be near him, Azriel thought, Madja at the least.

"Where is everyone?" He asked, still scanning the room. He walked towards the large windows, taking in the nighttime view, gorgeous and still— mountains covered in snow, a city lit by moonlight.

“Here, it's just you," you said gently.

Azriel turned to face you once more, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. He didn’t ask for any further explanation, a sense of exhaustion heavily weighing on him. His eyes bore into yours. "And you. You exist here too.”

“I do.”

He took a step towards you, wings rustling in their position behind his back. Azriel scanned your face, hazel eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and weariness. He wasn’t afraid of you, didn’t believe you were a threat– not anymore, at least. But you were still here, in this state of existence that only he was in.

“Why?”

The question was pure curiosity, not a hint of distrust or malice within it. You observed him, noting how he seemed to have settled, the tension in his frame easing. Instead, a subtle sadness lingered, a reflection of longing. Azriel loved his family, this much you knew. He was a devoted male, devoted to serving those he loved, devoted to his position, to his duties. Of course he was missing his family. Your heart ached.

"I'm here to help," you assured, "I’m to stay while you heal, or until–"

“Until I stop…” Azriel finished the sentence, a quiet acceptance in his voice. "And then you guide me."

You were taken aback as Azriel's hazel eyes locked onto yours, a moment of realization passing between you. Usually, it was you who revealed your purpose to those you reaped, explaining the meaning of your duties, easing their worries. You blinked, your head tilting back slightly as you clasped your hands together. Azriel continued, stating with a quiet certainty, "You're a reaper."

You nodded, titling your head as you took in his face, his brows slightly knitted. “I am.”

You weren’t supposed to be doing this. In situations like these, where they were stuck between the life before and the life after, you were to leave them in peace– wait until they decided or their body decided for them. It was never intended for you to stay with them during the waiting period, to keep them company. No, this was something you felt inclined to do. You couldn’t leave Azriel if you wanted to, it felt wrong— and you didn’t want to. Not one bit.

"You weren't what I expected," Azriel admitted.

Azriel had a faint idea of your kind, of your duties. He heard accounts of near-death experiences, tales of encountering a radiant light, foggy memories and beliefs of meeting a beautiful entity—whatever that meant. He always wrote them off as distant narratives, existing in the realms of folklore and imagination. He would have never imagined something like you – something so… delicate.

Curiosity lingered in your gaze as you asked, "What did you expect?"

"I don't know," Azriel replied honestly, his head beginning to throb and ache again. A hand instinctively rose to the back of his scalp, fingers rubbing at the tension that surfaced. The ache radiated through his skull as he massaged his hairline. You recognized the discomfort with a small frown, playing with your hands as you observed him for a moment.

"Azriel,” You spoke, drawing his attention back to you, “I'm going to give you some time to process everything. Explore, think. When you're ready, and if you want to, you can find me then."

Azriel looked at you, uncertainty drawn across his features. "How will I know where you are?”

"You’ll know.” A soft smile played on your lips as you reassured him. “Trust me.”

As you left, Azriel took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the quiet expanse embrace him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You were right. Azriel knew exactly where to find you. How we knew, he didn’t know. He wasn’t even aware of how he got to you, how he managed to move. One moment he was wandering, taking in the quiet halls of the house, the next he was thinking of you, seeking you out— and then he was here, watching you.

It was dark out still, a fresh night breeze in the air. Azriel stood for a moment, taking in his surroundings—a small clearing nestled between two towering mountains covered in snow. The landscape was rugged, the terrain too harsh to be in the vicinity of Velaris. Somewhere beyond the borders of Illyria, he concluded. He turned his focus back to you. Draped in a simple cream-colored dress, you stood at the edge of the clearing, your silhouette softly illuminated by the glow of the full moon that hung in the sky. The moonlight painted the terrain around you with a soft, silvery hue, casting long shadows that danced across the uneven ground.

“Hi, Azriel.” The words left your mouth before you turned your head to look at him. When your eyes met his, you gave him a smile. He faltered for a moment.

“Hello… Y/n.” He said your name quietly, adding it onto his greeting tentatively, as if he was testing how it felt on his tongue. He liked it, he decided. It tasted sweet.

You turned your head back to the view in front of you, and Azriel took it as an unspoken invitation. Slowly, he found himself walking towards you, the snow crunching beneath his boots. You both stood in silence, and Azriel found a sense of calm rolling through him. Taking a deep breath, he let his wings unfurl slightly, not having noticed the tension they had been carrying, tucked tightly behind him.

Azriel turned to gaze at you. You stood still, eyes trained forward on the view before you. Your focus prompted him to take in the sight once more, bringing his attention back to the vast expanse ahead.

"Where are we?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

It was now your turn to look at him, to observe the side of his face as he looked forward. The faint glow of the moonlight casted shadows on the contours of his face. He looked almost holy, something devout and ethereal. "You don’t recognize it?”

Your question led to a contemplative frown creasing his brow and he turned his head, taking in the soft smile on your face. “Should I?”

You turned your body fully to face him, craning your head to look up at him. There was a subtle shift in his expression as your eyes met. You nodded toward the view, a gentle encouragement.

“Look again.”

And he did.

Then, his gaze softened, a hint of recognition flickering in his eyes. Azriel's shoulders fell, a subtle release of tension, and his wings shuddered softly. "I used to come here," he said quietly, "A long time ago… I used to come here."

His eyes shifted between you and the view. You met his gaze, nodding in silent understanding, leaving a space of silence that invited him to continue talking if he desired to— if he was comfortable.

"I found it flying one night," he continued. His memories now seemed to dance in his mind, distant yet vivid, a time before Amarantha, before Koshei. A faint smile ghosted his lips. “I'd find time between missions to come here and just breathe. Now I could never validate wasting time to be here, doing nothing."

You let out a small hum. “Taking time to breathe is never a waste.”

Azriel turned to look at you. "How did you..."

"Know about this?" you finished for him. He nodded.

You smiled, the expression warm and animated. Holding your arms in front, one hand cradling each elbow, you continued, "I could feel it. Part of our duty," your voice carried a gentle honesty. "The Mother helps us to find your peace."

Azriel's gaze scanned you again, a subtle curiosity in his eyes. His attention shifted to your arms, and then to the snow-covered surroundings. "Are you cold?" he asked, concern lacing his words. Instinctively, he placed a hand on your bicep, but quickly retracted it when he registered the movement.

You kept your gaze locked with his, unfazed. "No," you replied calmly, and then added, "Neither are you."

Azriel blinked, and then he looked down at himself, his eyes scanning his own body, his arms. He wasn’t cold. He thought back to every time he had visited this place, this lookout. Being so high up made the air nippy, made the breeze cold– he always wore an extra layer. But here he stood, alongside you, and all he could feel was a sense of warmth. Interesting. It was all so interesting to him.

Azriel nodded to himself, turning to face forward again. He traced the tops of the snow-covered mountains, the valley below. You remained sideways for a moment, watching him as he processed the image before him. Another moment passed and then you, too, turned to face forward, mirroring his contemplative posture.

“So, what does it all mean?” He asked, his voice a low murmur.

You stilled, rubbing your lips together as you took in his question. You glanced to the side, his eyes still trained before him. It wasn’t the view he was talking about, you knew this. He was asking the question many before him had, wondering about the purpose of life, the answer to their troubles. You thought for a moment, pondering on what to tell him. There were no right responses here— at least, none that you thought would satisfy him. So, you answered from your heart.

“Does it have to mean something?”

Azriel’s head turned to you. “Yes,” He said, all too fast. It had to mean something. His entire existence, his suffering, every life he had taken— it had to mean something. He needed it to mean something. The agony he had lived with, the anger he wore as second skin, it was all for something… for some reason. He needed it to be. So he continued, “It has to.”

You studied him, watching the subtle shifts in his demeanor, the weight of his gaze lingering on you— there was something in his eyes, a sense of desperation, of fear. You took a deep breath, and then you offered an understanding smile.

“Then it means whatever you need it to mean.”

Azriel frowned.

“That isn’t an answer.”

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him for a moment before you responded. “Well,” You said, "Perhaps you asked the wrong question.”

“What do you mean?” His brows knitted together, forming a furrowed line of confusion on his forehead. Faintly, in the back of his head, an ache gnawed at him.

Facing each other now, you maintained eye contact as he looked at you intently. “Ask me what you really want to, Azriel.”

”I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was a tinge of frustration in his voice, delicately mixed into the confusion that laced it.

You simply shrugged, giving him a close-mouthed smile. “You will.”

In normal circumstances, your elusive answers would have driven him crazy— he would be suspicious of you, find a sense of guilt in your failure to give proper, concrete responses. But he wasn’t in a normal circumstance, and you weren’t a threat. These were two things he knew, now, for sure. So he took your answers, as ambiguous as they were, and let them sit with him in the comfortable, cool, silence.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel found you again by the Sidra, walking along the cobblestone streets of Velaris. It was the same again, him being able to find you without so much as a second guess. It was daytime now, he noticed. The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow onto the city streets, filling his body with a comfortable, familiar, warmth. A few steps ahead of him, you stilled, turning around gracefully to face him.

“Hello Azriel.”

He stopped, making a motion to look around as if he were to find someone else, another person you might be referring to. Quickly he remembered that it was just you and him in this plane, in this form of his existence. He cleared his throat.

“Y/n,” He greeted, with a small nod of his head.

He walked towards you, stopping into place in front of you, a few feet ahead. The sunlight hit your back, creating a soft, radiant glow around your silhouette– it outlined your figure, forming a subtle halo around your head that seemed to blend with the warmth of the sun. It almost looked as if the sunlight itself was embracing you, framing your presence with a touch of radiance. Azriel took a moment to admire it.

He realized seconds later that he’d stared for too long, that you were now gazing up at him expectantly, eyes scanning his face.

Azriel wasn’t much of a talker, not around strangers, and sometimes not even his own family. It was never that he didn’t have things to say— quite the opposite, really. Az thought about everything, and he thought about it all very deeply. He had too much to say, too much that he’d observed. But now, in front of you, his mind was drawing blanks. He thought back to how, not long ago, you both stood on a snowy mountain, looking into the comfortable darkness of the night. How time worked here, with you, he didn’t know. It didn’t bother him, however, not like it did when he first woke up. In fact, he had begun to enjoy it. To enjoy how free it was, how there were no rules, no expectations, no missions.

Azriel paused, his thoughts swirling, and then, almost as if caught off guard by his own words, he blurted out, "I would like to show you something."

You blinked in surprise, your mouth parting slightly as your heart seemed to skip a beat, carefully falling back into a rhythmic melody. A smile spread across your features– a broad, teeth-revealing smile. The corners of Azriel’s lips turned up in response. If you didn’t know any better, you would have described the smile as almost awkward in its delivery. Though modest, it still held a certain beauty as it graced his face. The lines that had once etched across his features seemed to smooth out, replaced by silent calm evident in the softening of his gaze, the subtle curve of that smile. Your own smile settled into a close-lipped one, and you gently pulled your bottom lip with your teeth before nodding your head.

“Lead the way, Azriel," you said, and he began walking, but not without a quick glance back at you, ensuring you were following his lead. As you walked beside him at a comfortable pace, his wings fanned out comfortably. Their immense size allowed them to extend behind you, and even though you walked at his pace, you could feel their presence above you.

The streets of Velaris unfolded before you as you walked alongside Azriel. You took it all in– the beauty of the city, its intricate architecture and vibrant atmosphere. It was always a pleasure to experience it, to breathe in its life. Even amidst the circumstances that brought you here, there was a sense of appreciation for the privilege of experiencing such a place. A sense of jealousy welled up within you. Envy for those who could lead a normal life here— those who could wake up, take a walk by the Sidra, greet their friends in the morning light. It all seemed so mundane, so easy. You pushed the thought away, not wanting to give it the air to breathe, the space to fester. You looked towards Azriel.

“Where are we going?” You asked, as you both rounded a corner into a small alleyway. The space was narrow, causing you to fall into line behind him, your vision focusing on his wings. They were beautiful before, in the nighttime glow, but seeing them in such close proximity, with the sun casting through their membranes, it was a different experience. Such beautiful, beautiful things, you thought. You ached to run your fingertips across them.

He responded over his shoulder, "Aren't you supposed to know everything?"

You sensed a slight playful tone in his voice, letting out a small laugh at his question.

"That's not how it works," you replied, "I'm not The Mother."

Azriel stopped for a moment, causing you to skitter to a stop as well. He looked back, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he uttered a simple "huh."

You suddenly felt a vulnerability settling in, an awkward awareness of yourself and your proximity to him. Before it could fully take hold, Azriel resumed walking and you followed. The alleyway began to open up to a bigger road, allowing the space for you both to begin walking side by side once more.

"Azriel,” You said, casting a glance up at him, “If you're leading me to some private area to kill me, I hate to tell you that it won't work."

He stopped, and then craned his head down to look at you. A nervous flutter danced in your chest as a sense of self-consciousness crept in. What a stupid joke to make, you thought. What if he believed you were making a crude reference to his duties as a spymaster– assuming the worst of him and his abilities? Had you inadvertently touched on a sensitive subject in an attempt at humor? You weren't friends, you reminded yourself, there was still an expectation of professionalism to uphold. Azriel looked at you for a moment. And then another.

And then, he laughed. The sound, small and amused, radiated through your chest. You awkwardly joined in, unsure if your joke had landed or if it was something else entirely.

"Why would I kill the one who will bring me peace?" he asked, his words delivered with a touch of sincerity.

You let out a breath, taking in his face, the hazel of his eyes as he stared down at you. You smiled back at him, letting out another laugh, this time more certain and lighthearted. "Right, that would be foolish of you.”

You knew that Azriel was talking about your duties, about the job of a Reaper, not you specifically. But for a moment, you let yourself live in a fantasy, one where you weren't simply The Mother’s hand, where you didn’t only exist here, in a space where no one remembered you.

Azriel beckoned you to walk into the bigger street. It was only a few more steps before you stopped, taking in the sight of a quaint shop before you, adorned with small tables and chairs, surrounded by hanging plants and flowers. The window boasted a delicately hand-painted logo: Fillings & Emulsions.

Azriel took notice of the silence surrounding you both, no hum of the usual Velaris life, no laughter, no murmured distant conversations. Yet, the shop still smelled like its usual self— a sweet, buttery aroma of delicate treats and pastries. Azriel breathed it in with a smile. He opened the door, a small jingle sounding above him where a tiny bell rang. He held it open for you to enter.

Your gaze swept across the interior, taking in the small tables and the glass display filled with pastries of various shapes and colors. Behind the counter, loaves of bread sat neatly on wooden shelves.

"I like coming here, when I have the time."

Wandering around and exploring the cozy pastry shop, your gaze casually shifted towards Azriel, who remained by the doorway. "You're a dessert person?" you asked as you continued to meander through the charming space.

“Sometimes,” Azriel replied, walking further into the store. He looked around, taking in the familiar environment, the comforting decor. “But they have these sour candies that I love. They come in this little gold box-”

“You mean these?”

Now behind the counter, you turned around to face him, a small delicate gold box in your hand. The plastic cover revealed 12 small square gummies nestled inside, each in their own white wrapper. You looked up at him for confirmation. Azriel met your eyes before his gaze traveled down to your hands.

“Yes,” he breathed, a small smile forming on his lips, “Those.”

You smiled at the response, slowly making your way back around the counter, a few feet away from where he stood. You surveyed the store, eyes bouncing to the different tables and mismatched chairs. “Where do you usually sit?”

“I, uh, I don’t.” Azriel cleared his throat. “I never have the time. And when I do, I usually just head home.”

Azriel didn’t explain further, didn’t tell you his real reasons. It was true, he usually didn’t have time to sit and leisurely enjoy a box of candies. But when he did, he was often too afraid to stay in the store itself.

Azriel knew he called attention, that his wings stuck out in stark contrast against the gentle streets of the city, the quiet hum of life. He’d conditioned himself to appear smaller when walking around, to avoid direct eye contact so as to not intimidate those he passed. But even then, his presence was offputting– he’d catch citizens avoiding him, creating more distance between them or switching to the opposite side of the street. It was part of the job, he told himself. He was a large male, fully aware of how terrifying his stature could be, how frightening his own wings could be— especially when fully extended. Not even to mention his scarred hands, ones that he was sure fae could imagine easily drenched in the blood of his enemies. He wore gloves when he could. He wasn’t ashamed of them– his hands– not as much as before, but he was always acutely aware. Aware that they weren’t normal, that they drew attention, that for the comfort of others, he hid them away.

He came to, his thoughts slowly dissipating as he registered his surroundings once more, his gaze landing on you. You looked at him with a small curiosity in your eyes.

“Well,” You said, taking a glance around, “Would you like to sit now?”

“I would.” He nodded, offering a small smile that carried a touch of timidity. It wasn't like before, no uncertainty or awkwardness, but rather a gentle expression that hinted at a reserved warmth.

“Inside or outside?”

Azriel looked over his shoulder, towards the small door and the seating outside.

“Outside,” he replied.

A hum of agreement escaped your lips as you gave him a smile, taking a step to the side in order to walk around him, leading the way. The gentle jingle of the little doorbell echoed delicately as you stepped outside.

Azriel followed you, watching as you approached a small steel table. The white paint was chipped, flaking off at certain areas of the legs, but you didn’t seem to mind. The air felt crisp and clean, rays of sunshine peeking through alleyways and the tips of the stores that lined the street. Azriel took a moment to breathe it in, savoring the clarity that hung in the atmosphere, the silence. You pulled out your chair, the movement emitting a small screech as it slid against the cobblestones. Azriel walked to the table, standing opposite of you, and carefully took a seat.

As you slowly opened the box, Azriel adjusted himself in the seat. It was small, the steel back stiff and straight, making it hard for him to sit comfortably with his wings. After a small struggle, he settled into a position sitting up right, wings draping across each side of the chair. The frustration melted away as he took in his surroundings once more. He felt a certain peace he’d never felt before. A lightness in his movements, in his touch. The fresh air kissed his skin, a soft breeze whispered into his ears, threading itself through his hair.

“Is it always like this?” He asked.

You pulled the lid off the box, casting a glance up at him. Azriel’s head was turned sideways, his gaze following the curve of the streets.

“Like what?”

He looked at you, catching your eye. His face held a graceful calmness, brows slightly furrowed, and the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly. With a soft, velvety tone, he replied, "This peaceful."

Turning to the side, you quickly scanned over the streets, registering the simple beauty that surrounded you both. Turning back to him, a tender smile played on your lips.

“Yes,” you replied, “It is.”

Azriel's response was a simple silent contemplation. Leaning back with a subtle adjustment for comfort, his wings gently folded and his gaze fixed on the table. Azriel loved Velaris. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the peace of an empty city that graced him now. Sitting with you now, at a small table by the streets, was something he was never able to do— not truly, not to this extent. He held the feeling close.

"Which are your favorites?"

Your voice pulled Azriel back to reality. He blinked, and then he looked at you.

"The green ones.”

You picked up one of the green candies nestled in white wrapping and offered it to him. Your hands briefly touched as he gently accepted the candy from you. You felt the texture of his skin against yours, the small ridges formed by the scarred tissue that extended to his fingers.

Azriel waited for it– the expected recoil from unintended contact, his body having been naturally accustomed to jump at the slightest of touches. However, this time, there was no involuntary withdrawal, no rush of icy embarrassment.

He was always so careful of his touch with Elain, acutely aware of how his hands looked against her immaculate skin. Although he refused to admit it, it bothered him deeply, how obvious it made his differences appear. Yet, that caution wasn’t found now, in his movements with you. Instead, a sense of certainty filled him, a gentle nudge to his heart, a contentedness with himself and his presence. You were beautiful, graceful, kind– and he didn’t feel guilt when touching you, didn’t feel as if he were about to taint something too beautiful for his hands.

You observed him as he stared at his hands, now resting on the table, the candy still in between his fingers. With a small movement, you gently cupped the side of one of them with your palm.

“Azriel,” You softly said, pulling his attention to you. “They didn’t feel this type of peace— didn’t feel peace at all, actually.”

Azriel stayed quiet, his gaze now trained on where your hand touched his. You pulled your hand back, and Azriel's gaze followed. Then, almost imperceptibly, the hazel of his eyes brightened. There was something about the way you spoke to him, about how kind your voice was. They didn’t feel peace. Your words rang in his head, a wave of relief passing through his body. It healed a part of him that he swore was broken, warmed his body like a summer's eve. He gave you a small smile.

You worried for a moment that you had forced thoughts onto him, ones that harbored pain and loneliness. But you felt it in your gut, a need to tell him, to let him know that they had suffered the way they deserved— that his hands were solely a part of him, a body part, natural. And from his response, it seemed as if he understood what you were saying, and most importantly, that it resonated with him the way you wished it to. You returned your attention to the sour candies before you.

"Can I ask why you like these so much?"

Azriel looked at you, a close-mouthed smile forming. His eyes crinkled a bit, and then he explained, "My mother used to give me candies just like this when I was able to see her. I never figured out how she got them. She..." He trailed off, readjusting how he was sitting. His gaze met yours as he finished, "That's why."

You could sense the sadness now evident in his face, his wings rolling in closer to his body. You let out a small breath as a sudden pang of sympathy hit you.

"Let's talk about something else," you suggested, subtly shifting the focus as you played with the edges of the candy box

Azriel leaned forward quickly, his hand reaching out to gently rest on yours before either of you had the chance to register the movement. "It's alright,” he said softly. “I'd like to talk about this. I don't talk about her much.”

Your gaze lingered on his hand touching yours, on the warmth that spread through your skin at the contact. Be professional, you reminded yourself. This is not real.

With a genuine smile, you nodded, careful not to move a muscle, not wanting to disrupt the moment, to risk the chance of him retracting his hand. "Then please, I'd love to hear.”

And so he did. Azriel spoke of his mother, of growing up admiring her long hair and the way she smelled of pine and snow. He realized that he had never talked so much about himself, never shared such intimate details about his life. He realized, too, that he quite liked it. He liked talking to you. He liked you.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Days and nights had passed, Azriel was sure of it, but he was never tired, never slept. Time worked so differently here– he wasn’t aware of it passing, wasn’t aware of what he’d done the day before or even hours prior. All he was aware of was the peace in his heart, how it radiated throughout his body, relieving him of centuries worth of tension. Amidst it all was you, a companion Azriel had grown to enjoy— to adore, if he was being honest with himself.

You were kind and patient, welcoming in a way that had him opening up to you, telling you stories that he’d never dared to share with anyone else. There was no fear of being vulnerable here, with you, no threat he had to worry about, no anxiety regarding a new enemy or an evil to defeat. It was all so easy.

Azriel walked through the hallways of the House of Wind, taking in the familiar sense of home that filled it, the beauty of the sun-warmed stone. He found himself outside of his own room, staring in at the space. It was strange to think that his body, his real body, lay in another bedroom, in another home— in a form of existence that he no longer held. It was all so very strange. But he didn’t mind, not anymore.

He felt you before he heard you, a gentle breeze fanning over him, a smell of sweetness filling his nose. He turned to face you, taking in your presence, the cream dress that adorned your figure. It was there again, the subtle halo around your head, framed by faint rays of sunlight.

“Hello, Azriel.” You greeted with a large smile. He mirrored the gesture almost instantly.

“Hello, y/n.”

You took a few steps forward, craning your head to peer into the room behind him, past the doorway he stood under.

“Is this your room?”

“Yes,” He said, taking a step aside to allow for you to pass him as you entered. “One of many. My family, they have many places to call home.”

“Do you miss them?” You asked, casting a glance over your shoulder as you moved around his room, “Your family, I mean.”

Azriel stilled for a moment. He hadn’t thought of them as much as he would have expected, a part of him felt guilty for not being as heartbroken. He did miss his family– he was worried about them, about how they were doing, if his help was needed. But he didn’t feel a rush to return to his life, no nauseating need to fix his current situation, to be healed and awake.

“Yes.” He replied. He watched as you walked around, carefully taking in your surroundings. His room wasn’t very interesting— simple decorations that had already been placed before he took residence, various random books.

“Where do you disappear to?” Azriel asked.

You turned to look at him, taking him in for the first time since you entered. It was still there, you noticed, the sense of calm on his face, the evidence of a serene ease. His eyes held a lightness that you’d seen grow since he first came to you. His shoulders were relaxed, his wings comfortably fanned out behind him in an open and unhurried sprawl.

To do your job, you thought. The duties of a Reaper. Visiting souls in distress, leading them to their peace swiftly– efficiently. Not staying with them, not keeping them company. No, those were things you’d reserved for Azriel. You only hoped that The Mother wasn’t angry, that your affinity for him didn’t disrupt a delicate balance.

“As much as I enjoy our time together, I still have duties to fulfill,” You replied. “Did you miss me?”

You intended for it to be a joke, a lighthearted comment that would make him laugh– a melodic sound you had gotten used to recently, one that you savored and replayed in your mind. Yet Azriel’s eyes met yours with a serious gaze.

“Yes,” He answered, his voice sincere. “I did.”

Something in your chest fluttered and your mouth parted, a pleasant shiver rolling through your body. There was a small heat that rose to your cheeks. For a moment, you looked at the floor, composing yourself before meeting his gaze again. A genuine smile graced your lips as you softly admitted, "I missed you, too."

A few moments later, you walked along Azriel as he shared stories about his home, his brothers, and the various experiences he'd had, absorbing each narrative with hungry ears. It was a beautiful thing to see, Azriel open and laughing, the smile on his lips as he recalled favorite memories. This house, The House of Wind as Azriel had called it, was filled with life– his life. You could feel it everywhere as you walked. There was a small tug at your heart. He had a life. A beautiful, real life.

Eventually, you both stopped at a large window, the outside world spread before you in a breathtaking view. Azriel found his gaze dropping to the streets below, devoid of the usual bustling life he was used to. Faintly, a small ache hit the back of his head. He blinked it away. Then, he frowned slightly, a realization hitting him that he didn’t enjoy seeing the streets empty– that something felt missing. He turned to look at you, brows furrowed.

"Do you ever get lonely?"

The question lingered in the air for a moment, stealing the air from your lungs. Why it seemed to strike, you couldn’t tell, but it left a burn in its wake. You let out a deep breath as you looked up at Azriel.

“The Mother blessed me with a duty that is fulfilling.”

Azriel looked at you, studying your response. A sense of sadness filled him, a gentle ache in his heart at the idea, at the image of you alone, wandering the empty streets. Softly, he spoke, "That's not what I asked."

A wave of emotion washed over you. There was a sanctity to your duties, to the job that you held. You were honored to help The Mother, to be the one that granted such peace. You never knew that you could feel such longing, such a desire to be someone else, something else, until you met Azriel the first time he crossed. And then the time after. And now.

"Yes, Azriel,” you admitted, “I do.”

As you both stood in the quiet moment, the stunning view from the window still visible in your peripheral vision, you looked at Azriel. You took in his details—the tousle of his hair, the gleam in his eyes—committing the scene to memory. This was an image you wanted to save forever, one of him so close, so connected.

Azriel broke the silence with another question, "Why do you do that? Say my name so often?"

You didn’t realize that the frequency in which you used his name was noticeable. It rolled off your tongue so easily, so naturally. You thought about it for a moment, thought about the feeling you got before you said it.

"Would you prefer me to call you by something else?" you asked, tilting your head slightly as you observed Azriel's expressions. "Shadowsinger, or Spymaster?"

His response was immediate and he took a step forward as he spoke. "No," Azriel said, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "I-I like it."

You smiled at him. "I suppose I do it to make sure you feel seen."

A flicker of confusion crossed Azriel's face, his brows knitting together. "Seen?"

"To show you that you're not just what you do," you explained, your voice carrying a quiet sincerity. Your words trailed off softly. A beat passed, and then you added, "At least not to me."

In his hundreds of years of life, Azriel was never seen. He had been perceived, observed, even known, but never truly seen. Not like the way you looked at him, the way you allowed him to breathe, allowed him to exist as nothing more than simply Azriel.

Your gaze held seemed to see beyond the layers he had meticulously built around himself for so long, beyond the titles and responsibilities that often defined him. For the first time, he felt a sense of vulnerability mingled with relief—a feeling of being understood in a way he hadn't experienced before, in a way he never felt he deserved. A warmth spread through his body, starting from the pit of his stomach and radiating outward, enveloping him in a comforting embrace.

Without even realizing it, his hand moved towards you, lifting a strand of your hair and gently holding it between his scarred fingers. In the past, he would have hesitated to touch another person so intimately, but in this moment, there was no hesitation, no sense of reluctance, only a pull to you and you only. Was this part of what it meant to be a Reaper? He wondered, to cause such comfort in those you kept company? To make them feel like this?

He watched the way the strand of hair caught the light, twirling it between his fingers with a tenderness he had never known himself capable of. He met your eyes, slightly widened, observing him intently. With a soft smile, Azriel spoke, "I see you too, Y/n.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

His view was filled with rolling hills, vibrant in green hues, a gentle afternoon sun in the sky. In the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of babbling brooks and streams, a soothing melody that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rustle of the wind through the grass, through the leaves of the trees that surrounded you. Azriel understood why Mor was so fond of her estate, why she ran off to it when she could. If it was surrounded with views like this, with such quiet life, beautiful life, he would escape to it, too. Beside him, you lay on the soft grass, your hair spread out around you like a halo.

Despite the open air, Azriel felt groggy, his eyelids heavier than they’d felt in a while. Something felt strange, a trickling sense of anxiety within his body. The wind in his hair and the air on his arms, on his wings, didn’t feel the same— it wasn’t as lively, wasn’t as strong. There was a sharp throb in the back of his head, sending a sudden wave of pain crashing over him. He grimaced and let out a low groan.

Instinctively, you jumped up at the sound, angling your body to face him, concern painting your features. Your heart dropped as you watched him bring a hand to the back of his head, brows furrowed in discomfort.

Amidst pained groans, Azriel turned to you with a frown. "I’m sorry. I just- I keep having these horrible headaches.”

You let out a small breath.

"It's because you're healing," you murmured softly, your voice tinged with sorrow. Your gaze lingered on him, sadness flickering across your features. When Azriel’s eyes met yours, you quickly blinked away any evidence of it, calling forward a gentle, unassuming, face.

His hand dropped slowly from the back of his head. "I am?" he echoed.

You extended your hand, hovering it gently over the back of his head where his hand had been moments ago. "This is where you damaged your skull," you explained softly,. "The injury that got you... Well, here. With me." Your gaze swept around the tranquil surroundings, a small, bittersweet smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Any progress in your physical body, you feel here too," you continued, your voice tender yet matter-of-fact. "The ache is calling you back."

"Back to my life," Azriel murmured, the words barely audible as they slipped from his lips, softening and fading before they fully formed.

You nodded, a lump in the back of your throat.

Azriel's expression shifted abruptly, a flash of tension replacing the settled calmness that had graced his face for quite some time now. "I don't want to go back," he said. It was a tone of voice you’d never heard from him before, a sense of desperation that didn’t fit him.

You shook your head gently. "You don't mean that.”

But Azriel remained resolute. Moving closer, he reached out, his hand coming to rest atop yours on your thigh. "I do," he insisted, his tone unwavering. “Y/n, I do.”

“Azriel,” You said sternly. “You have a life waiting for you, a long life.”

“But I’m so tired. All the time,Y/n” he admitted, his voice heavy with weariness. “And this,” he gestured around him, his eyes lingering on the rolling green hills, "this is the most at peace I’ve ever felt."

You felt a selfish impulse, a desire to indulge in his fantasy, to urge him to stay, to fight against the inevitable pull back to reality. But you knew it wasn't fair, that it wasn’t right. If you truly cared for someone, you had to be fair to them. And you cared for Azriel– cared for him in a way you’d never felt before.

“But it’s not real,” you interjected softly, leaning in, your brows furrowed, your forehead creased with concern. "This isn’t a life.This isn’t a reality— this is an in-between. Sooner or later, you will find yourself on one end.”

Azriel couldn’t understand. His heart hurt. Why weren’t you agreeing with him? Why weren’t you telling him to stay, convincing him it was worth it? This peace he felt with you, this quiet life you lived, he could stay. He would stay.

“You’re real,” he whispered, his voice tinged with desperation. “And right now, this...” he trailed off, his gaze sweeping over your face, "this feels real to me.”

You took a deep breath, feeling knots tightening in your stomach, a lump forming in your throat. You swallowed down the words you wanted to say, replacing the ones on your tongue with those he needed to hear.

"I'm a Reaper," you said, reminding him of the inevitable separation it entailed. His eyes, a dark, almost sad brown, met yours. “Reapers aren’t meant to stay.”

The knots in your stomach were twisting now, weaving themselves through your ribs. It was hard for you to breathe, hard for you to look at Azriel as he stared at you with such clear hurt on his face. He couldn’t stay. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t the plan. Azriel was going to return to a life where he would not remember you, a life in which you didn’t exist. And you would remain here, waiting in a form of existence that had no time.

"Your family misses you," you continued, your gaze unwavering as you locked eyes with him. The knots now wrapped around your heart, squeezing. "You still have things to do. They need you. You need them."

Surely your heart was about to burst, the pressure in your chest now overwhelming– crushing you, your heartbeat erratic.

“Come with me.” Azriel said.

You let out a small breath, a soft laugh escaping your lips at the absurdity of his suggestion. It sounded so simple, so easy, but you knew better. It wasn't that simple, life was never that easy. You were a Reaper. He was a soul. Before you could respond, Azriel continued, his voice still gentle but earnest.

"You'll love them. And you'll love Velaris when it is filled with people. With life."

His eyes bore into you, seemingly searching for something, trying to memorize every contour of your face, every flicker of emotion that danced across your features.

"I can't," you replied softly, your heart heavy with the weight of your duty. You shook your head again as you tightened your lips for a moment. "That's not how this works.”

Azriel's demeanor softened, a small breath of defeat escaping him as his wings drooped slightly. He took in everything you said, his gaze flickering down to where his hand still rested atop yours before meeting your eyes again.

"I don’t want to leave you here," he said quietly.

Here, alone, he thought. It was true, everything was so beautiful in this form of existence. It was quiet, serene, and calm. The nights were beautiful, the days were glorious. But without you, it would have been empty. Void of life. He didn’t want that for you, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you in such a vast space. It felt wrong.

You recognized the concern in his eyes, realizing that his desperation stemmed from a place of caring– caring for you. It struck a chord within you, stirring a bittersweet pang in your chest, right beside your rapidly beating, tied up heart. Somehow, knowing that he cared for you only made you care for him more, deepening the sorrow that lingered in you, the feeling that now coursed through your veins.

Tilting your head, you offered him a soft smile, a gesture of reassurance, you hoped. "Azriel," you said gently, your voice tinged with a warmth he had grown to love, "I'll be alright. I'm happy here. It's where I belong."

It wasn’t all a lie. This was where you belonged, and you would be alright. But you weren’t sure if you’d be happy. Happiness wasn’t something you used to think of. You had a duty, a sacred, important duty, nothing else really mattered— not yourself, not your desires, not your heart.

Azriel took in your answer, swallowing the urge to fight it, to convince you further. But the pleading in your eyes, coupled with the ache in his chest and the heaviness in his stomach, left him feeling defeated. With a resigned nod, he looked at you, his voice soft but determined.

"I'll find you," he whispered.

You blinked, caught off guard by the soft declaration.

"I'll find you," Azriel said again, his tone firmer, as if he were making a promise that he intended to keep.

You understood the sentiment behind his words, recognizing the determination in his eyes. You knew, without needing to discuss it, that as a skilled spymaster, he possessed the ability to find people. Yet, deep down, you also understood the inevitable truth—that soon, he would forget you, forget the time you spent together. The thought caused a sharp ache in your heart, one you preferred not to dwell on.

So, with a heavy heart, you simply nodded and murmured, "Okay." And offered him a smile.

You sat there in silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air around you. Breathing in the crisp, fresh air, you let the sounds of nature wash over you, grounding you in the present moment. Your gaze lingered on his face, committing every detail to memory, as if carving it into your very being. You wanted to remember this. Remember him, his touch, his care for you.

Azriel—the shadowsinger, the spymaster, a skilled killer. And then there was you—the servant of the Mother, a guide for souls, bound by duty and devotion. Death and his Reaper. What a poetic pair you made.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was time.

You had been right, when you talked him down before, sitting on the beautiful green hill. Azriel had a life to return to, a family he missed– a family that missed him. He didn’t belong here, no matter how much he wished he could. He could feel it, nestled within his ribs, a deep pull to his body.

Azriel stood in the familiar confines of the River house, his gaze fixed on the bed where his physical form lay peacefully. He took in the sight of his body, now filled with color, vibrant and alive, a stark contrast to the pale, lifeless form he had been when he first awoke.

A sense of disorientation washed over him as he realized he was back here, in this room, though he couldn't recall making the conscious decision to return. From behind him, he felt your presence, a familiar energy that always seemed to embrace him with a comfortable warmth, the sweet smell in his nose.

"I didn't even realize I was coming here.” Azriel said.

Without turning, he heard your soft voice. "You never do," you replied simply, “Your body calls and you answer.”

Azriel nodded slowly, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He breathed out heavily. He longed to turn and look at you, to embrace your presence, trace the features of your face. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not yet. He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to confront the truth that lay before him—that he wanted to go back, back to the land of the living, to his family, to embrace his life once more. But he wasn't ready for what he needed to do in order to return– wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you.

“Azriel,” You said, as you gently placed your hand on his arm. He turned to look at you, his heart skipping a beat.The faelight cast a soft glow on your body, illuminating the delicate features of your face, dancing through your hair like shimmering strands of moonlight. And there it was—the small, reassuring smile that you had offered him so many times before. The smile you had given to him when he first woke up, afraid and alarmed, in the same place he stood now.

He couldn't help but feel a flicker of happiness at the sight of your gentle smile, but just as quickly as the feeling washed over him, it was replaced by a bittersweet pang of realization. The reality of why you were here, why you were looking at him with such tender affection, why he could barely feel your touch— and why his head throbbed with searing pain. He glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping form, and then looked at you again.

“Y/n, I-”

You gently shook your head, a soft shushing sound escaping your lips as you reached out to calm him. "It's okay," you reassured him, your voice gentle but firm. "You won’t feel a thing."

But Azriel shook his head too, his expression filled with concern as he took your hands in his. "That's not what I'm worried about," he admitted quietly.

You met his gaze, taking in every detail of his face, breathing in his scent. Your gaze drifted towards his wings, so beautiful, so powerful. And then you looked back at him.

"I'll be okay."

It was a promise, not just to him, but to yourself.

Azriel's senses dulled and the pain intensified, a sense of desperation washed over him. He thought back to your conversations earlier. He never figured out how time worked here, perhaps the conversation had been days ago, even weeks. But, to him, it felt like hours prior. Maybe a day, if he was being generous. Still, his mind raced with thoughts, with things he wanted to tell you, to ask of you, things that hadn’t been there before. Ask me what you really want to, Azriel, you had said, so he did.

“Am I worthy?” His voice rang out, unsure, afraid— of the answer, of what the question meant. “Am I worthy of this life? Is… is it worth it?”

You smiled. A broad, bright, and kind smile.

You felt Azriel's hands tremble slightly in yours, guiding them to your lips. With tender reverence, you pressed a small, tender kiss upon his scarred flesh. “Yes,” you whispered, “If only you knew.”

You understood now, why The Mother always urged for a swift journey. You weren’t supposed to spend such intimate times with your souls, you weren’t supposed to grow comfortable in their presence, to learn about their favorite candies and the way their mothers smelled. You weren’t supposed to because it distracted you from your duty– and more importantly, you weren’t supposed to because it prevented you from the heartache you felt now. A piercing pain in your chest, a heaviness in your stomach.

You lifted a hand and gently placed it on his cheek. The warmth of your touch radiated through his body, sending a wave of indescribable sensation coursing through him. The world seemed to blur around him, the ringing in his ears drowning out all other sound. He squinted against the growing brightness, his head throbbing with a relentless ache. He heard your voice, soft like honey, sweet like tea, whispering in his ear in perfect clarity.

“Goodbye, Azriel.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel jolted upright, his body propelled by a surge of adrenaline that left him momentarily breathless. With a deep inhale, he struggled to steady his racing heart, his surroundings swimming into focus with agonizing slowness.

Each detail of the room seemed to materialize before him in excruciating detail, from the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window to the faint murmur of voices drifting from the doorway. His hand instinctively went to the back of his head, a gesture born of instinct rather than any physical discomfort. Confusion furrowed his brow as he tried to recall why he had woken with such a start, where he currently was, why he laid on a bare bed, but the memory seemed frustratingly out of reach– blurry and unfocused.

As Azriel's eyes adjusted to the soft light filtering through the room, the door creaked open, a distant sound barely registering in his slow mind. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, a blur of motion filled his vision and Cassian was upon him, bounding forward with a crushing embrace. "There's my boy!"

With a startled gasp, Azriel felt the air rush out of his lungs as Cassian's hug engulfed him, the force of the impact momentarily disorienting him further than he already was. A small, involuntary sound—a mixture of surprise and amusement—escaped his lips as he tried to regain his bearings. Azriel's gaze flickered past Cassian’s broad shoulders, to where Rhysand stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and amusement.

"Okay, Cass," Rhysand said, walking towards the bed. "Let him breathe. We don’t want to give him another head injury."

Cassian released Azriel from his enthusiastic embrace, though a joyous gleam danced in his eyes as he stepped back, offering Azriel a sheepish grin. "My bad," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment, “I just missed ya.”

Rhysand stood casually, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. "If you were seeking attention, Az, you could've simply asked," he said with a wave of his hand. "No need to resort to dying for it."

The comment elicited a shocked blink from Azriel, his brows furrowing in confusion. "I- What?" he echoed. A few of his shadows slithered up his arms, wrapping themselves across his shoulders, the cool trail of them relieving tension in his upper body.

Rhysand let out a small laugh as he clapped him on the shoulder with a reassuring grin. "You have a lot of catching up to do, brother," Rhysand remarked, “Let's get you back to the land of the living.”

Azriel offered a small, uncertain laugh in response, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a hesitant smile, his mind still cloudy, disoriented. Rhysand and Cassian began talking, referring to him, attempting to fill Azriel in, but he wasn’t paying attention, their voices blending into a distant hum.

Instead, Azriel's attention was drawn to an inexplicable warmth on his cheek. Instinctively, he lifted his hand and gently touched the spot, feeling the comforting heat beneath his fingertips. He frowned, trying to make sense of the sensation, but the warmth seemed to soothe his lingering disorientation, grounding him in the present moment with a sense of…ease.

Azriel's attention shifted towards the corner of the room, where a soft beam of sunlight filtered through the window. A handful of his shadows floated and twirled, their graceful movements dancing within the warm glow. He smiled, tilting his head at the sight, his hand still on his cheek. What a beautiful sight, Azriel thought. And then he was turning his attention back to his brothers, a wide smile now on his cheeks.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

y'all... imagine meeting ur soulmate but u can only see her when ur dead and cant remember her otherwise lol sucks for azriel.

#azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotarfandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel/reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel one shot #acotar oneshot

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too-deviant · 2 months

Text

The incessant ringing of loneliness (or three weeks part two).

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader

Summary: Luke is back, officially. But you can’t find it in yourself to be happy about it.

Content: angst, loser!luke makes an appearance, a lil fluff, this one is probably happier than part one

Word Count: 4k

Notes: i can’t thank you guys enough for the love on three weeks :( it really means the world, and i hope you enjoy this one too! i don’t think there’s gonna be a part 3 just because i want the rest of luke and r’s story to be up to your own interpretation - especially since his path to healing is such an important factor and it could go in any way. hope that’s ok with you guys :)

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

You weren’t very popular at camp.

Despite the fact that you’d been there for longer than most of its occupants, and that you’d bandaged up some of their gnarlier injuries, you just didn’t have what it took to have people know your name upon first glance.

Clarisse had her unbridled aggression — she scared people into knowing who she was. Charles Beckendorf was the guy you went to when you broke a sword and didn’t want Chiron finding out about it, plus he was six foot six and kinda hard to miss. The Stoll Twins were behind pretty much every crazy scheme that ended up in Hermes losing desert privileges. Luke was…well, he was Luke. Need I say more?

Point is, while everyone knew everyone, not everyone really knew you. They knew your face, your parentage, and your overall skill set. But they didn’t know your name, or what made you tick.

Which was fine, really. You liked the alone time you got in the infirmary when your sister would run out to gossip with her friends in Aphrodite whenever she saw them walk by. You didn’t mind that, when your cabin got their hour of free time each day, your siblings would rush off to their friends and you would simply settle down with a good book.

It’s not as if you were entirely lonely — you had your fellow Apollo kids. You, Alina and Lee bonded especially, being the older kids of the group. So you had them — the only difference was that they had other people, too.

Which, again, was fine.

Except when you started to take care of Luke, you finally felt like you had a person. You looked forward to seeing him after meals each day, and you found excuses to linger in his room whenever possible. Call it odd, but you grew to enjoy the fact that nobody else knew he was back. Because that way, you had him, he had you, and that was that.

But then Luke got better.

You didn’t even have time to worry about it — one minute you were scarfing down your breakfast, eager to bring that second plate up to the Big House, and ignoring the strange looks your siblings sent you. Then in a split moment, everyone was cheering, people were standing and suddenly you didn’t feel so crowded anymore.

You heard murmurs of excitement, but people were practically standing on the table around you — unhygienic, much? People are eating here — and you couldn’t see what they were looking at. You tugged on your brother’s leg and he glanced down at your raised brow, then he said, “Luke’s back!”

It was like you were sucked back in time. No — it was like you were sitting in a waiting room, shivering from the cold breeze that whisked in through the automatic doors. And then the doors closed, and you could release the tension in your body because the warmth was already reaching your fingers — only for someone to walk past and make the doors open again, sending the sharp sting of the cold right back to where it was before.

Yes. That’s what it was — the warmth Luke’s eyes on you had provided was suddenly ripped completely from you the second your brother's words reached your ears. Replaced with the blistering cold of nobody ever knowing your name.

So it was back to normal for you. The normal you had grown accustomed to — the normal you liked. The normal you thought you liked, anyway.

You didn’t even catch a glimpse of Luke’s face as you stood and left the Pavilion, focusing on the floor beneath your feet rather than the crowd forming around him. Oh, but you couldn’t forget that he was back, it was all anybody could talk about. Once they’d done the math and realised he was the patient you’d been taking care of for three weeks, you locked yourself in your cabin to avoid all the questions, and didn’t see him until the very next day.

The chatter of Luke’s return had died down when you woke up the next morning — a little later than you usually did, Lee having to shake you so you wouldn’t miss breakfast. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and pulled a clean camp shirt over your head, stumbling a little due to the fact that you hadn’t fully woken up yet.

When you were ready, Lee was waiting by the door. A few of your siblings were still getting themselves into a line after his loud Fall in! had woken them up, so you had time to stretch your arms and let out a sigh once you had taken your place beside him. You and Alina always walked with him to mealtimes, even though neither of you were counsellors, and you greeted her with a smile.

The air was stuffy again — so much so that even Lee let out a wince when the shining glow of the front door hit his eyes. Then he stepped out of the cabin — his usual routine of checking the garden and cabin for pranks before letting them out coming into play. But he stopped.

“What?”

He swung his head back at you, brows raised and smile growing, “Luke’s back.”

Out of instinct, you rolled your eyes, “Pretty sure we all know that, already.”

“Yeah, but —“ He turned fully then, hands on the doorframe and grin shining, “He’s back, which means the Hermes kids are finally under control again, which means we don’t have to worry about being pranked first thing in the morning!”

“Holy crap.” Alina was grinning now, both of your siblings looking at you and each-other with this excited expression that made you sort of angry – why are they perceiving Luke? They’re not allowed.

You huffed a sigh as Lee started to lead the line outside, “He got back yesterday, there’s no way he’s already –”

But he was. As you stepped into the sun, the skin on your thighs already forming an uncomfortable layer of sweat, you looked to where the Hermes cabin was filing out of their door, led by the one and only Luke Castellan. You paused.

He’d been back a day. Sure, his scar had healed nicely, but it was only three days ago that he was struggling to hold his own in a sword fight – if he was back to his counsellor duties, was he going back to teaching sword fighting? You were unsure he should even be in charge of all those Hermes and unclaimed kids so soon, but going back to teaching only days after coming back to camp? There was no way he was ready for that.

Should you say something? Or would he dismiss you, now that he was done with you?

You watched as he walked with Chris, chatting idly as if nothing was wrong. But you saw Chris glance occasionally at the jagged line through his brother’s eye, and you saw Luke attempt to ignore it.

Should you say something?

You tripped. You were so busy staring creepily at Luke that you tripped over your own feet and tumbled into Lee’s back. He stumbled slightly but righted himself with a huff and a chuckle, turning and asking if you were alright.

But you had looked straight back in Luke’s direction – he was still talking to Chris. He wasn’t looking at you.

He wasn’t your person anymore.

Luke was unsure.

Which didn’t happen often — as one of the oldest campers, and the one everyone else looked to in times of peril, it was sort of essential for him to be sure. He needed to know what to do, to have a solution for every situation, and to be completely calm about it. Otherwise, camp would go to shit.

That much was obvious — he didn’t know why you hadn’t told him this in the three weeks you spent together, but camp had turned itself upside down in his absence. Apparently nobody was prepared for him to be gone for so long, and they kind of all lost their shit.

He was happy to be back, don’t get him wrong. He lit up when he saw his brother’s faces again, when he felt their arms wrap around him. He laughed when Travis joked about thinking he was dead, and when Connor quipped that the camp was seconds away from starting a revolution. He nodded at Chiron, smiled amusedly when Mr D rolled his eyes, he scooped Annabeth into his arms, whispered to her that yes, he was alive, and he let himself be whisked to his table, the crowd following like moths to a flame.

It was slightly overwhelming, but he was well-equipped to deal with it. He liked the feeling — if he ignored the throbbing on the side of his face, it could be like he’d never even left. The quest never happened, the dragon never happened, and people are just happy to see him because he’s their counsellor. Of course they would be. Everything was fine.

Everything was fine — so he ignored the urge to scan his eyes across the crowd in search of a familiar head of hair. He stopped himself from glancing at the Apollo table, from looking in Lee’s direction, just in case he wasn’t standing alone.

Because he didn’t need you anymore. Not that he didn’t appreciate all you did for him, but the healing was done. He was better, he was back at camp — he was Luke Castellan again. If he looked for you, if he met those eyes and returned that smile, it would be admitting defeat. Admitting that he wasn’t better, that he still needed his doctor.

But he didn’t. Because he was back, baby! And he didn’t need to think about that stupid quest, his stupid dad, or his stupid scar ever again.

He had a short chat with Chiron, who looked a little uneasy when he expressed his readiness to get back to camp duties. He told him that it was fine if he needed time to settle in, but Luke was firm. He didn’t need to settle, he didn’t need to wait. So Chiron sighed, and told him to escort his cabin to the climbing walls for their morning session.

And that’s how the rest of the day went — climbing wall, arts and crafts cabin, strawberry fields, archery practice. Luke did it all, just like he used to before he left. If people would just stop looking at his damn scar, maybe he could pretend he never left at all. If they stopped murmuring about him being the secret camper, hidden from them this whole time, he could avoid thinking about you and the sweet touch of your fingers on his face.

The fact that he hadn’t seen you at all since his return helped him on that front — you weren’t around at breakfast, lunch or dinner. You weren’t in the infirmary whenever he peeked through the windows. You weren’t with the rest of your cabin when they were paired with Hermes for hand-to-hand defence practice.

Not that he was looking for you, or anything.

“Hey, man.” Chris clapped him on the shoulder as they walked up to breakfast. It had officially been twenty-four hours since Luke’s return, and the chatter had died down significantly. That was good for him, helped him ignore the fact that he was ever not there.

All he had to do was keep his eyes off you — who had magically reappeared in camp — as you also walked up to breakfast, the Apollo kids trailing behind you, Lee and Alina.

“Listen, you did great yesterday.” His brother was saying, and he zoned in on it. “It was like you never left.”

Cool, that was the plan.

“But it’s sword fighting today.”

Luke raised a brow, “So?”

“So…” Chris sang, awkwardly waving a hand, “You don’t have to jump right back into training us, is what I’m saying.”

He scoffed, running a hand through us curls, “Nah, bro, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? Because —“

“Y’know, Chris,” Luke sent his brother a cheeky look as they took their seats around the Hermes table, “if you’re scared to get back to my gruelling training sessions, just say that.”

Chris’ face fell, appalled, and he put a hand on his chest, “Scared? Dude, you’re the one who should be scared. I’ve gotten good since you’ve been gone.”

And there it was — a reminder that it wasn’t the same. That he couldn’t pretend he had never left, because nobody else was. Whatever, it’d be fine. A couple of weeks and this would all blow over and he would never have to think about it again.

The Amphitheatre, unlike the rest of the camp amenities, was familiar to him. He didn’t need to stand and take it all in like he did with everywhere else, because he’d been here not even a week ago with —

No. Stop. You aren’t in his life anymore. He never went on his quest. Everything is how it should be.

The kids gathered around him were letting off a range of emotions as Luke stood before them, sword in hand. The younger ones were giddy, eager to get back to training with their favourite teacher. Some of the older ones, however, were only slightly confused that he’d bounced back so quickly. If he had to spend three weeks in the Big House before even going outside, was he ready to jump right back into sword training? Maybe he’d go easier on them today, take it slow.

“Alright — if there’s anything I've learnt over the years, it’s that sword fighting is all about reflexes. So, today, we will be working on y’all’s dodging skills. Oliver, get up here!”

Luke was back on Mount Tamalpais. The fiery breath Ladon was shooting at him seared his skin and burnt holes into his shirt. He was ducking out of the way, but there was no room to breathe when another one of his hundred heads came at him with a fierce snarl. His sword felt useless in his hands, every swing being deflected and every jab proving useless compared to the dragon's swift movements.

He blinked, and he was back at camp. Sparring with an unclaimed kid who’s name was lost on him. Sweat dripped down his brows but he wiped it away with shaky fingers. He gave an off-handed comment on the kids form before calling a water break.

“Yo— woah, man!”

Chris looked wide-eyed at Luke. He had tapped him gently on the shoulder and he had responded with an aggressive swing towards him. He stepped out of the arc just in time, but Luke still dropped the sword like it had burnt him. He stepped back, hands shaking, and stared at the ground.

It was odd — being at Archery in the mornings. You’d spent three weeks skipping the hour in favour of taking food to Luke and ensuring his dressings were changed. Which for most cabins, was what? Three classes a week?

Not for the Apollo kids — who have always and will always have their first hour spent on the Archery fields. Mainly because it’s when the sun is rising, shining on them in the early mornings and giving them their power to hit the bullseye. You included, even if healing was more your purview.

So you’d missed probably around twenty classes, give or take a few. Your form was, well, subpar at best. Lee had to spend the entire hour making sure you didn’t accidentally hit one of your siblings — and that was after he had to re-teach you the basics.

You probably would’ve been better had you not been so distracted — your mind whirring with thoughts of Luke. You wished your brain would just leave it alone, but apparently you weren’t done mulling over the situation. You wanted to slap yourself across the face and say hey, idiot. The three weeks is up, he’s healed. It’s over. But your siblings would probably look at you weird, so you decided against it.

Instead, you threw yourself into your duties. Archery was a bump in the road, but now you were smooth sailing. You didn’t focus on anything else but what you had to do that day — not taking a moment to breathe because if you did that, you’d start thinking about Castellan again. You didn’t want that, you really didn’t want that.

It was going really well, too. But then Chiron just had to interrupt your canoeing session, asking you to clear out any medical supplies you left over in the spare room of the Big House since nobody was staying there anymore.

Oh, great. You were thinking about him again.

And then all the thoughts you’d been suppressing since ten in the morning were overflowing your head, and you thought you might have had to ask Mr D if you were going mad because when you cracked open the door and peeked your head in, Luke was sitting on the edge of the bed like usual and you had to blink to make the hallucination go away.

Except it didn’t go away. Instead it looked at you and smiled, “Hi.”

Your lips parted, and you stepped in. Your eyebrows curved in on themselves, “Uh, hey. What are you…”

You were still about seventy percent sure that he wasn’t real, but nobody was there to listen to you talk to air, so you replied anyway. Luke clicked his tongue, let out a chuckle, then sighed, “I don’t think I can do it.”

Okay, fifty percent sure.

“Do what?”

“Go back out there.” He gestured a hand to the window that pointed outside, although it was still covered with the curtain. “I thought…I dunno, I guess I got too excited yesterday. Thought I was ready to jump back into it.”

You stepped fully through the threshold, and he followed you with his eyes as you walked over to the desk. Nothing but a few spare bandages that you scooped into your arms before looking back at him. You tilted your head, “Healing isn’t linear. It’s perfectly normal to feel like you’re on top of the world one day and then like it’s crumbling around you the next.”

He stood, walked over to you. Thirty percent.

“I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“You won't.” You shook your head, “You made a big step, coming back to camp. That's it for now, you don’t need to take any more big steps for a while.”

He nodded, “No more big steps.”

“Not until you’re ready.”

Luke’s hands reached out, taking the bandages from where you cradled them to your chest. He put them back onto the desk behind you. Ten percent.

His eyes bore into yours, “I don’t think I’m done healing.”

You shook your head surely, “I don’t think you are, either. And that’s okay.”

He nodded, lips clicking when he parted them, “Which means you’re not allowed to leave me yet. You have to stay with me until I’m fully better.”

You shook your head then, stammering, “It’s — that’s not how it works. What you went through, it — you might not ever be fully better.”

But Luke just nodded like he knew that already, taking a step closer, “I think I’m okay with that.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. What the hell do you say to that? “Okay.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together, “So you’re not gonna leave me.”

Five percent.

A shake of your head, “Not until you ask me to.”

“Good.”

He wrapped his arms around you, and you froze. Okay, he was real. He was really there. You were sure. You hugged him back — he buried his face into your neck and whispered something about you never leaving him again and you whispered something in return about how you wouldn’t dream of it.

So, apparently, you severely underestimated what it was like to be friends with Luke.

You’d thought about it — of course you had. You would imagine what perfect golden boy Luke Castellan was like when he didn’t have to be a perfect golden boy. When he could just be a boy, hanging out with his friends like a normal person would. What jokes did he tell? Did he still keep up that Luke Castellan Grin or did he relax into an easy smirk? Did he make his friends follow the rules even when they were alone? Did he follow the rules when he was alone?

You wondered, although you never thought you’d actually find out. But he’d made it clear you were never leaving his side so long as he still needed you — and he was sticking to that. Firmly.

The summer sun was hot on your back — only this time your dad seemed to be going easy on you, as you weren’t completely uncomfortable under the warm cotton of your camp shirt. You still wafted it every now and then, proving some cool air to your chest, but overall you were feeling good.

You walked into the Amphitheatre with the rest of your siblings — who were less than amused that, despite Luke’s return to camp, Tyler P from the Hephaestus cabin was still running sword fighting practice. They heaved themselves onto the tiered seats with dramatic groans, but he simply grinned at them.

You paused from where you were about to sit down next to Alina when a waving hand caught your peripheral. It was Luke, tucked into the very top corner of the steps, smiling at you from the shadows.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked when you reached him, raising your brow in amusement. He patted the spot next to him and you sat down, just as Tyler began to talk. Luke leaned in.

“I’m watching.” He muttered into your ear, then he smirked at you, “You can’t stop me from doing that.”

“I wasn’t going to.” You murmured, leaning back on your elbows and watching as your siblings paired up reluctantly. “Thanks for pulling me away, though. Gives me an excuse not to take part.”

Luke huffed a laugh, “He can’t be that bad, right?”

“Just you wait.” You smirked.

Turns out, Tyler was that bad. Every ‘new skill’ he tried to teach them either (a) they already knew, something Luke liked to whisper at you with a shake of his head, or (b) he couldn’t even do it himself, let alone teach others how to. Another thing Luke commented on from where he sat beside you, hands aching to get in there and show him what was what.

“Just one tip, and then I’ll go.” He begged under his breath as Tyler dropped his sword for the umpteenth time. “Please.”

“No.” You didn’t even look at him, “Because one tip turns into a demonstration. And a —“

“— a demonstration turns into a class, yeah yeah.” He rolled his eyes, but you just grinned at him. He smiled, “You’re mean.”

“I know.” You said in a faux-sympathetic tone. You pouted at him, “I’m just so cruel, aren’t I?”

His eyes narrowed, and his mouth stretched into a disbelieving grin, “Damn, doc. What happened to you?”

You scoffed amusedly, “You did.”

His mouth dropped open and you smiled, looking away. He poked your side and you shuffled away with a giggle, attempting to ignore his riled up smile. He didn’t relent, for every inch you moved away from him, he scooted right back towards you. You looked at him with a narrowed gaze, “I miss when you were too miserable to talk to me.”

“No you don’t.” He shook his head. He was right, you didn’t.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, and you felt it on your face. That was when you realised how close your faces were — mere centimetres apart. You swallowed thickly, but you didn’t move away. Luke’s smile stretched, and his hand began to inch up your arm.

You squinted, “What are you doing?”

It was his turn to feign confusion, pulling his lips into the same pout you did only moments earlier, “What are you talking about?”

His hand was at your elbow now, sliding higher. You shook your head, a minute movement, “Doctor Patient Fraternising isn’t allowed.”

He gasped, pulling his hand back in favour of placing it dramatically against his chest, “It’s not?”

“Nope.” You grinned amusedly, “Sorry.”

“Damn.” He leaned back, glancing at you for a second before looking back towards Tyler’s shitshow of a sword lesson, “Guess I’ll have to get another doctor.”

You snorted, “You’re a loser.”

You stood up and went to rejoin your siblings, and Luke shouted after you, “I’m your loser!”

“What was that?” Lee asked when you stopped beside him.

“What? Oh,” You glanced back at where Luke was sat, and he averted his gaze from where he had been looking at you. You looked up at your brother, “He’s just happy to be back, is all.”

He chuckled, “Sure.”

Whatever. He was your person again and Lee could suck your dick if he had anything to say about it.

🏷️ @aceofswordsandarrows @cowsandcomics @number-onekidqueen @kestisvrse @m00ng4z3r @mischiefmoons @how2besalty @iinlovewithfictionalppl @lilacspider @l0ve-dov3 @coffi-cake @ironmanbaldes @onecojg @hiraethavis @freaking0utficrecs @delphifarms @wildlyfreemoon @candylandy8173 @sinnercry @featherofthecrow @babellucci @telliette @totallynotnic

#i hate this #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan is a loser and i love him #percy jackson #luke castellan x you #pjo

1K notes · View notes

onlyswan · 3 months

Text

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

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

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

> in which masterlist!

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“good morning!”

“oh! wait there for a moment!”

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

upon your return, his face lights up again.

“here you go!”

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

“w-why are you-?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, curse the hopeless fluttering of your heart.

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

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

“jungkook, why are you so cute?!”

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

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

“i told you— it’s my rest day.”

“you did?”

“while we were texting last night.”

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

“you? what are you doing today?”

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

“nothing special. just chores the entire day.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“well, now i know.”

—

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

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

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

“are you wearing toe socks?”

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

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

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

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

“yeah, you should!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“but it’s embarrassing…”

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

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

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

this is an entirely different world through your lens.

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

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

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

“not because they’re nutritious?”

“that’s the bonus!”

“what is this?”

“cranberry juice.”

“and this?”

“oyster sauce.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

“you never give up, do you?”

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

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

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

you sigh, looking at him from head to toe.

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

“fuck, okay. that’s fair!”

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

“what’s my height then?”

“aren’t you six feet?”

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

“yes, you’re ri-”

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

and he winces, guilty as charged.

“you hesitated!”

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

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

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

he calls out your name.

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

“want to hear a fact about me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“what’s your ideal type?”

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

“why do you want to know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

because you are so pretty, especially when you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“but i want to hear you say it.”

“you’re very beautiful, ____.”

“but that’s not-”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“hi!”

“hi.”

“what are your plans for the holidays?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh, that’s right! gayo daejeon?!”

he nods in confirmation.

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

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

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

“i’ll watch you too!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“this is tough love!”

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

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

jungkook is interrupted before he can form a response.

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

“what are you talking about?!”

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

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

“maybe you got a bad batch!”

—

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

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

“shit, how heavy is this?”

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

“i’ll come with you!”

“well, hopefully not more than twelve kilos.”

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

“let’s go.”

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

“this thing is bigger than you.”

an extremely obvious exaggeration.

“i’ll be the one to carry it.“

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“seriously?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“i’m serious!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we can’t…”

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

your lips form a pout.

“my panties…”

you bring a finger to point at the basket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh, oh, oh! an eyelash!”

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

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

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

a wish…?

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

“did you do it?”

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

“what did you wish for?”

“i’ll tell you when it comes true.”

—

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

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

you gaze switches from him to the living room.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“jungkook?”

“yes?”

“are you cold?”

“freezing.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you looked so cool on stage ☺️

merry christmas jungkook ❤️

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

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

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

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

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

he allows a moment of silence.

his expression goes blank and he avenges himself.

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

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

—

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

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

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atrirose · 4 months

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ahhhh can u do the trend where you call them your husband?? plsss <3

𝜗𝜚 DEAR HUSBAND

HEESEUNG : "nothing I'm just with my husband, yeah okay i will call you later" looks at you with big doe eyes, did you just called him husband really, his face was filled with warmth "your husband? really you mean it" looks at you anticipation "yeah who else would be my husband" gives you his hands "okay put a ring on it" you burst into laughter at his cuteness "you want me to purpose to you hee" bambi eyes stared at you with excitment "yes, call me hubby yn" kisses you softly "hubby" giggles arupts from him.

JAY : "can i get a coke with that oh and my husband would like a strawberry leomenade with extra ice" jay was scrolling through his phone but as soon as he heard husband , you swear you have never seen him turn so fast "husband? me" points at himself with wide eyes "yeah you" you said with smile "yeah bro you heard that, would you like to come to our wedding" he asked the person taking your order "JAY YOU DON'T KNOW HIM" "AND THE POINT? WE ARE GETTING MARRIED, oh wait let me tell my dad" and you just sat there with red face as he went on and on about the wedding

JAKE : "yeah that will be all, babe what do you want" jake looks at you while snuggling with layal "can i have chicken wings please" you nod in response "and my husband would like to have chicken wings" he was shocked but that was only for a spilt second "yes and please give us newly married discount please" screams loud so the persons taking order hears "babe calm down what would you like to drink" he looks at you with puppy eyes "a coke please" you went on ordering "and he would-" doesnt lets you finish "who he? who is he? am your husband, wifey" at this point even layla is concerned about him "my wifey", so mainly he was very loud and then called your mom spilling all the tea looking all proud, he is the favorite child try hard yn

SUNGHOON : "can you call me, my phone is lost" dials you number "oho my heart huh? hoon so cringey" you said pulling his cheeks "shut up yn" he saw your phone buzz under the table "there i will bring it" as soon as he saw the contact name with a heart and written husband he couldn't help but bouce "babe whats this" he shows the phone with giggles "you are my husband hoon" bounce pt2 "wait you meant to write it, like you saved this right, did you misspell it" — "how can i misspell it, and yeah of course i mean it" hugs you tight pressing kisses on your head "okay lets get married soon"

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sjyuns · 3 months

Text

HEAVENLY ┆ A PARK SUNGHOON ONESHOT

SYNOPSIS! park sunghoon has put a curse on you after smashing you heart into a million pieces — that you’d never be able to find anyone comparable to him. and now he’s back, cocky and flirty as ever to prove that he’s the only one you’d ever need.

GENRE! playboy! sunghoon x fem reader, kiss his face with an uppercut romance, exes to lovers, fake dating, mutual pining, fluff, angst

CAUTION! cursing, party, attempt of writing heartbreak angst, slightly toxic (?) behaviour, make out scenes, cheating allegations, sunghoon douchebag, sunghoon has major confrontation issues, smoking

WORDCOUNT! 9.5k

MIKAELA’S! IM BACK, he’s back. playboy hoon! finally writing after like three months, it’s not the best so please forgive me. written to CIGARETTES AFTER SEX’s discography. feedback and reblog are appreciated! NOT PROOFREAD

TEASER SERIES MASTERLIST

WHERE IT’S SO SWEET AND HEAVENLY

THE VERY definition of sin and salvation, Park Sunghoon brings out the best of you in the worst ways. The first, your first — your first kiss, your first boyfriend, your first love.

He pulls you in and invades your senses, every careless whisper, every note passed in class, every make out session in dim empty classrooms, Sunghoon makes you yearn for him and you would be able to tell him apart from everyone else by touch and smell alone.

You still remember the summer two years ago, when you sat in the passenger seat of his convertible, wind in your hair as you had the greatest time in your life.

“Frozen?” You say as the radio in his car starts blasting ‘let it go’, and Sunghoon looks over to you with a boyish grin on his face.

“Why not?” He says, one hand on the steering wheel and the other moving to brush a strand of your hair back, “Elsa and Anna are pretty cool.” He holds your hand, thumb caressing the smooth skin of yours as he watches you throw your head back, laughter ringing through the air at his words.

“They are,” you agree with a giggle before your other hand fists to your lips as a microphone. And you sing with him, at the top of your lungs. That summer, in his passenger seat, you fell irrationally and irrevocably in love.

He looks at you, trying to catch his breath, and he adores — the way your lips curve up into the prettiest smile, the way you radiate warmth, and the way you’re you, intoxicating, captivating, and all together godly.

And he kisses you like his life depends on it. It’s soft, hot, desperate, and tender all at once. Your lips smooth, falling open at the brush of his tongue and Sunghoon can’t seem to get enough, teeth tugging at your lips, fingers twined into your hair before he breaks it only to barely press his lips onto your again, shifting from the corner of your lips to the centre, and then to the rest of your face, tiny pecks everywhere, as if he was worshipping you.

“Let’s do this again when we’re eighty,” he whispers, eyes locked onto you and forehead pressed against yours.

“You really think we’d make it till eighty?” You ask, and Sunghoon wears that infamous grin of his. A scoff leaves his lips as he replies, “baby we’d still be together even if you’re in heaven and I’m stuck in hell.”

“You don’t think we’d ever break up?” You question, and he chuckles at your innocence. Him? Breaking up with you? And he wonders if you realise the way he looks at you, how he kisses you like your lips are heaven.

“No way, princess,” he murmurs, bending over to place a ghost of a kiss on your lips, “I could be clinically insane or have the worst memory lost but I’d never forget how in love with you I am.”

How stupid you were to indulge in such empty promises. You should have known, been more aware that you could never change him — his habit of losing feelings fast.

How quickly he threw away a year of memories, how he kissed it off you and how you couldn’t help but comply, tears rolling down your cheeks. And you hated the way his face flashed a glimpse of regret — as if he was sorry he got caught.

“She pushed herself on me, love. As soon as she heard footsteps approaching.” Sunghoon pleaded, and you truly wanted to believe him. The way his hair was unusually dishevelled, his eyes full of pain. Yet all you could envision when you saw him was the picture of his body against one that was not yours, looking at her the way he looked at you.

“I really can’t handle this right now Sunghoon,” you cry, twisting your wrist out of his hold. Sunghoon feels his heart crush — he hears it. It chips off piece by piece as he watches you crumble to the ground, hands over your face and he wants to go over to console you yet his feet are glued to the ground.

“I swear,” he whispers, soft yet it shakes both hearts in the room, “you and me.”

Your head hurts and nothing matches up. Maybe you’re a coward for not choosing to fight or maybe you’re just too tired. “I can’t,” your voice cracking uglily, “I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“I love you,” you say, vision stuck on the floorboards, too scared to look at Sunghoon’s expression — was it pain like yours was, or was it joy and excitement at breaking yet another girl’s heart, “so much Hoon,” you manage to croak out.

“And I’d always trust you, but I need some time to process this, alone.”

That was the breaking point, when his heart shattered into small sharp shards of fragile vulnerability. It just seemed like yesterday when the both of you laid side by side and swore your forevers. He was never one for love and romance but now he gets it.

There wasn’t any point living if it’s not with you.

And he blames himself — his previous actions and deeds that cursed him for life, the karma that haunted him for his unrighteousness. Maybe he does deserve it, he thinks, if this was what every other girl felt like when he had broken things up with them.

“Please,” he muttered, eyes red and tears running down. Sunghoon doesn’t know who he’s talking to anymore; if he was begging you to stay by his side or begging himself to stop inflicting pain on your precious heart.

“Not now,” your chest squeezes and your rib cage traps your ferociously beating heart to hold it in its place as you make a rash decision, “I don’t want to see you.”

Sunghoon thinks he could’ve turned into a grotesque monster the way you shunned him out. All bloody and contorted, far away from the charm he once used to hold. And he wants to disagree, yet he murmurs the heavy words of agreement.

You only hear the shuffling of feet — one that you can recognise from miles away, before the door clicks close and your throat burns from the loud sobs emitted from your heart.

As much as you wanted to indulge in such a cliche that you could be the one person who changed his way, this was sadly reality. That Park Sunghoon never belonged to you the way you belonged to him.

He’d always be wanted everywhere he went, and you don’t know if you’d ever be able to handle that.

ONE YEAR LATER

You’re kissing a boy whose name you don’t remember. Is it Park Jaemin or Park Jaeon? Is his surname even Park? Eyes closed and lips on lips, and it isn’t very polite of you to rate a boy’s kiss, but it’s all you can do to satisfy your boredom as his teeth carelessly bites down on your tongue. Fucking hell, you think, as you break the kiss only to meet the boy’s apologetic expression, it’s a two out of ten.

Dreading to tell your friends about yet another terribly gone blind date, you force a tight lipped smile as you wave goodbye to the boy whose cheeks are flushed red. As cute as he looked, you wished you would never see him again.

“God, why are men like this,” you complain right as you open the doors to your dorm room. Karina, your dorm mate and self proclaimed best friend sits up on her bed, patting the spot next to her in eagerness, ready to listen to yet another night of whining.

“It can’t be as bad as the lifeguard guy,” she says, tilting her head to examine your fatigued expression, “how was the kiss this time round?”

You don’t even bother saying it out, you didn’t even want to think about it again. Simply raising two fingers up at her, your back hits the soft cushion of Karina’s bed, a loud sigh leaving your lips.

“Still not comparable to,” she pauses, looking at you warily before continuing, “him?”

Him. God, it’s insane that he’s still stuck in your mind a year after he mercilessly stepped on your heart. You stay silent, and that’s all it takes for your dorm mate to flop down beside you, a big sigh leaving her lips as well.

You’re over him. You’re over Park Sunghoon. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. But despite days and nights of going out again and again with different boys to forget about him, changing habits and sleep schedules to leave memories with him behind, deep inside your heart you know that you’ll never get over Park Sunghoon.

He’s the reason why any blind date your parents set you up with doesn’t go smoothly. You’re picky, and you can’t seem to find a boy comparable to him. And you fault Sunghoon for making you like this — overly obsessed with the composition of people.

Like every boring blind date starts, the boy picks you up, drives you to your favourite restaurant and asks you the same questions, “what do you study?”, “how are you liking school?”, and oftentimes questions of more substance like, “how was your day today?” At least with those kinds of questions your answer could vary.

And everytime you get asked such questions you can’t help but remember him. Park Sunghoon, who told you that he practised knotting his tie an hour a day to prepare for your very first date together. How he likes KitKats so much but he’s boycotting Nestle so he doesn’t buy them, and how he absolutely hates the taste of coffee, but drinks it to look cool.

Your eyes start to burn slightly, and you squeeze them shut, trying to stop the collecting tears from trailing down the apples of your cheeks. You hate Sunghoon, you despise him so much you wish you could punch him and his god awful handsome face a couple times. Why, you wonder, why did he have to be such a good boyfriend? Maybe if he wasn’t you’d be content with a boy who wasn’t experienced in kissing, maybe you’d be fine with a boy who asks you how your day went just for the sake of asking.

And it doesn’t help that you’ve grown the exact same habit as him, that you had to restrain yourself from telling every single boy you sit across the table from small details about you like you used to tell Sunghoon.

Hands moving to furiously wipe the tears streaming down your face, you open your eyes to see Karina, who looks at you with sympathy. It’s become too common of an occurrence, and she hates that she can’t do anything about it other than offer you comfort.

“He was a good boyfriend, but there are better out there,” she says this time round, moving over to lay beside you. There are better boys out there, everyone is better than a boy who broke your heart. But he’s the one you want. Park Sunghoon.

No words are exchanged but a tight hug before you shuffle back to your bed. Your nighttime routine begins as your head hits the pillow and you start thinking about Sunghoon. You always think about Sunghoon before you fall asleep, you did since the very first time you met him, and you do now. The words he said, the way he looked. The inside jokes you had, the silent moments you shared. And if you ever dream, you dream about him. Because it’s Sunghoon, and everything in your life seemed to revolve around him.

It’s strange, how the moments the both of you shared felt like forever. Until suddenly you’re nineteen, and he’s halfway across the world. The earth becomes an hourglass, and you’re watching the sand pile up at the wrong end. And you’re thinking about how when you first met him, when you dated him, and when you were just beside him. Then your heart was like a kick drum at a rock show. But now, it is merely a ticking bomb of pain and anguish.

The arrogance and beautiful glory that shined with him — and you can still never forget the time it blinded you. How you were supposed to be the main character yet all you could focus on was the godly playboy who stole your firsts.

“I’d kiss you but your boyfriend’s watching,” Sunghoon mumbled, and he was so close you could feel his breath on your lips.

He held your gaze confidently, with a tinge of arrogance as his tongue darted out to lick his lip. You remember thinking that Sunghoon was the most annoying person in the world, because how could he have looked so devilishly handsome and have such an intoxicating effect on you.

It all started when he showed up unannounced and uninvited to your birthday party — still in his school uniform, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up with his blazer hanging over his shoulder.

And you should have known better than to let him charm his way into your house. “What are you doing here, Hoon?”

Sunghoon loved the way his nickname rolled off the tip of your tongue, so addictive that he wanted to record it — to play it again and again, even if your tone was one of spite.

“Happy birthday princess,” Sunghoon completely ignored your words, taking steps closer towards you, “now, where’s my birthday kiss?”

He’s at it again, aimlessly flirting with you. You rolled your eyes, a deep sigh exiting your mouth, “it’s my birthday, Hoon.” How did he even know where you lived? You were sure you told everyone you invited not to bring him along.

“So I’ll give you a birthday kiss,” he grins, eyes glinting with mischief as he watches your facial expressions fall, ears burning red as you quickly turn around.

You hated Park Sunghoon and the unimaginable hold he had on you. “I’m going to find my mother. Do not, I swear to god, cause any trouble.”

“Your mother? It’s a little early in the relationship,” he moved swiftly to your side, arms casually slinging over your shoulder as he pulled you closer into him forcefully. “But it’s okay, I’m ready.”

Where in the world did Sunghoon get his cocky attitude from, you think as you try your best to pry and lift his arm away from your shoulder. Despite your surface indifference towards his advances, there were millions of butterflies invading your stomach at his every single action.

Before you can even try to escape, a voice calls your name and you stop to talk to Yunjin. “Park Sunghoon? What are you doing here?”

Sunghoon steals a glance at you, and he thought you looked absolutely adorable as you pouted at the image of multiple people seeing you with him; given how you always seemed to have complaints about his overly flirty nature and playboy ways.

But Sunghoon hadn’t fooled around since you transferred into Decelis two months ago, a personal record for him. At first all you were was a form of entertainment, someone who had cute reactions to his smooth pick up lines.

Then it all came crashing down, when he started to feel the need to bicker with you everyday and mess up your hair every time he saw you in the hallways. And somewhere in between the blurred lines, he fell in love.

“Here to celebrate my girl’s birthday,” he cocks his head towards you, who’s palms now cover your face in sheer embarrassment. God, now it’s going to spread like wildfire. His girl?

Yunjin’s eyes widen and jaw drops, “really? You guys are together? But I thought you were with Choi Soobin.” She asked, nudging you.

Sunghoon frowns at her words. Choi Soobin? Since when? Sunghoon literally followed you around school whenever he saw you, and he’s never seen you ever talk to that boy.

“Soobin and I are just friends,” you clarify, “also we are not a couple,” your finger gesturing to you and Sunghoon as you answer the girl.

“We’ll be one by tomorrow,” Sunghoon cuts back into the conversation, voice loud, and he catches your surprised expression as he smirks slyly.

Though he continues the conversation without a single stutter or break, Sunghoon’s feeling utterly disgusted. Is that the kind of boy you like? Nerdy losers who can’t do anything for the life of themselves? He doesn’t really like the thought of turning into those types of boys, but whatever you want, he thinks — he’s already practised abstinence for you, he might as well go all the way.

At the same time Sunghoon wonders if you’re really that oblivious to his obvious advancements towards you. He’s made it crystal clear: dumped his girlfriend, followed you around, talked about you literally all the time, and yet you’re still clueless.

And he whisks you away before you find the chance to clarify his words again. He’s determined this time round, to make it extremely straightforward for you.

“Hoon why in the world would you say stuff like that,” you groaned, hands slapping his chest. And he grins like an idiot at your touch, if this was what it took for you to initiate skinship with him, he’d be more than willing to proclaim himself as your boyfriend any day.

He placed a hand on the place you’d just hit, “it’s painful,” he pouted, and you almost feel a little guilty at your harsh actions, “can you kiss it better?”

Until that. You huffed, “I'm leaving,” you announced as you turned away, ready to walk right back into the crowd. Sunghoon quickly clasped his fingers around your wrist, pulling you into his chest.

Your eyes become those of a deer caught in headlights as your body is pressed firmly against his, his arms finding their way to your waist; a gentle but firm hold as he bent down.

“Wasn’t done yet, princess,” he smirked, and you feel some sort of danger looming over because Sunghoon looks like a devil enticing you to commit sin. His black hair styles perfectly like always and his red tie, due to his excessive movements, is now dropping down even more to expose his honey skinned collarbones.

The most you can muster is a mumble, “what,” and your eyes are glassy as you stare up at him, he thinks he might go insane — to just move in to place a kiss on your invitingly soft lips.

“I’d kiss you but your boyfriend’s watching,” and he literally spat the term out, unable to believe he’s labelling someone else other than him ‘your boyfriend’. He knew you guys weren’t together, but just for the comfort of his heart he had to hear it again.

It took you a while to process his words. “He’s not my boyfriend, Hoon,” and it’s that short statement coupled with the way you said his name that really did it for him.

Sunghoon moves in just as you finish your sentence, and he sinks into your pillowy lips. It’s paradise on earth and he thinks he will never be able to get enough of this feeling.

“Sunghoon,” you mumbled when he broke the kiss, slightly out of breath as you looked up with hazy eyes.

He chuckled, “sorry, baby, my bad. I’ll return your kiss back,” and Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate to give you another kiss, fingers caressing your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

This time it’s you who breaks the kiss, way too out of breath to even form full sentences without a few breaks in between. “You just kissed me.”

“Right, I just did that baby,” he smiles, those tiny fangs of his showcased as he gazes adoringly at you. “Actually, I’m looking for a girlfriend.” He pauses, eyeing your flushed cheeks and pink lips, “Are you looking for a boyfriend by any chance, princess?”

Now that you’re literally glued onto Sunghoon, you take the chance to look at him. Sharp nose, pretty moles that you could probably trace along all day, and his eyes which contrasting to his calm demeanour, held anxiousness as he waited for you to answer.

You’ve thought about dating Sunghoon before. Multiple times. Way more than you should’ve. And you never wanted to ever confess to it, because he was everyone’s crush. And not only that, he was annoying — constantly teasing you and making you flustered by his actions. You’d curse every time your heartbeat started to accelerate at his flirty words. You had thought that there was no way he’d ever like you back.

“I’m looking for a boyfriend,” you admit, letting out a soft giggle at Sunghoon’s overjoyed expression. And you decide that maybe now’s the time to get back at him, tease him a little to get him to stay on his toes, “maybe I should go find Soobin.”

His shoulders downturn almost immediately and his arms wrap around your waist securely, chin resting on the top of your head. “No fucking way,” he grumbles, “you’re my girlfriend now. And I’m your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, you are,” you say, voice muffled in the embrace of Sunghoon. And you hear him giggle slightly, the rumble of his chest exposing the boyish feelings your boyfriend was currently going through, “for now.”

Sunghoon lifted his chin from your head, fingers brushing over your cheeks before they landed themselves on your jaw. He tilts your chin up, “too bad my intention is forever.” And he placed chaste kisses on your lips again and again.

What a joke. What a liar, you think as you feel the cords of your heart tug at the memory. He haunts you and you wish you were here with him in his arms, fresh perfumed scent from Tamburins that he always used wafting into your senses, intoxicating you, consuming you.

Sticky cheeks and bloodshot eyes adorn your face as Karina shakes you incessantly, bringing you back to reality. “What,” you groan. You weren’t in the mood for whatever gossip she had to tell you — Sunghoon consumed your mind in ways that made it ache; you barely have space for any other thoughts.

She thrusts the phone into your face, the blaring screen making you squint as you recognise the familiar school news forum website. The big bold title of the post names ‘guys help me find this guy i saw on campus in omfg’ along with a picture attached.

You’re left speechless as a wave of emotions hits you and you feel like you’re drowning. This is not a dream, it’s real. And you don’t know if this was the universe’s way of pushing you to get over him or if you’d just managed to anger the world with your incessant wailing about the boy.

Because Park Sunghoon is back and he’s looking ten times hotter than you’d remembered.

Sunghoon sits with his long legs comfortably spread open and arms resting on the cushions of the couch, as if he was the owner of the house.

“So,” the girl straddled on his lap says, twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes at him, “what’s your favourite fruit then?”

They’ve been at it for minutes that felt like hours and Sunghoon doesn’t think he can withstand the urge to push her off his lap for any longer. Sunghoon grins cockily, “wanna know, babe?”

He watches with dark eyes as the girl, who’s name he can’t seem to remember, nods bashfully. It’s the fifth girl in three days, and Sunghoon’s getting a little tired of the same old expressions to his flirty behaviour.

“Strawberries,” Sunghoon tells her, “I could live on strawberries my whole life.”

“You like them that much, huh?” He almost visibly cringes at the sultry tone of her voice. That’s too much. But he doesn’t say anything, nodding his head at her words. “Why?”

He freezes up for a while. Why? Well, Sunghoon has never had a care for strawberries, but that summer, your lips were so stained with strawberries it was all he could ever taste.

And he remembers how your hands traced the veins of his neck, limbs tangled with his as he kissed your strawberry lips goodnight and good morning.

“Tastes nice,” he shrugs, and the girl moves on to her next question. Sunghoon, however, tunes her out like he had wanted to since she pounced over onto his lap.

He almost curses the girl for asking him such a harmless question, cursing himself for answering it the way he did. Sunghoon doesn’t have a favourite fruit, so why did his thoughts have to travel there, to the back of his mind, where he kept all his memories with you untouched.

Ironically, Park Sunghoon is here to see you. Despite having a girl planted on his lap, he finds his eyes constantly wandering every time people enter the house — it’s an unfamiliar game of waiting, one that Sunghoon’s never played before.

Hell, Sunghoon doesn’t even know if you’re going to come, but he’s bagging on it because he knows your parents wouldn’t let you skip the chance to network with your schoolmates. And now that he’s back as your schoolmate, Sunghoon swears that he wouldn’t miss the chance to ‘network’ with you.

Speaking of the devil, you walk through the door, and Sunghoon is in awe. Pretty little black dress with black heels, and god you still looked the same, maybe even prettier — yeah, definitely more prettier.

And his heart is thumping against his rib cage, nostalgia flushing through him as Sunghoon remembers the very first time he saw you in class after he came late. One look at you and he thinks all his efforts are in vain, Sunghoon wants to touch you, call you pet names and see your cheeks flush his favourite shade of rosy red, but the weight on top of his lap stops him, and he can only watch as you walk into the kitchen without a glance towards the couch.

Then he hears your voice, it's loud and smooth like it was back then, and he remembers because every single time he hears the nickname ‘Hoon’, he hears your voice. And Sunghoon will never forget the sound of your voice calling his name over and over.

“Soobin,” you call out, “Choi Soobin,” and his shoulders drop. Soobin? Out of everyone you could move on with, you got together with him? He’s better, Sunghoon knows he is, and he can’t believe the fact that you would downgrade to a second class nerd.

Sunghoon shifts in his seat, the poor girl on his lap thrown to the side as he attempts to get a view of the open kitchen where you stood alluringly. He disregards the scoff thrown at him from the girl, who walks away with hips swinging.

God it’s that effect again, and without even a look you have him wrapped around your finger unknowingly. Sunghoon suddenly feels the need to kiss you again, and he realises how much he misses you.

How selfish of him though, to crave for you as though you were his to miss at all.

Sunghoon clears his throat, arms folded and muscles bulging, trying to be discreet about the toll you take on his mentality. He’s here and you’re just a walk away — yet why does he feel so undeserving of being next to you.

The past was just a misunderstanding, and he wouldn’t have been at fault if he didn’t just hop on a plane to the other side of the world just as you were ready to talk it out.

But there you are now and he feels as if it’s his final opportunity before you slip through his fingers. Sunghoon wants to call your name, blurt out his feelings and kiss himself better; hell he’d never admit it over his pride but he had been thinking of what to say to you when he would finally see you again.

The lump in his throat’s the size of a cherry pit as he shifts awkwardly, finding himself on the way to the kitchen, on the way to you.

And he hates it — how fidgety you make him feel, how his palms turn sweaty like a teenage boy, how out of character you make him feel.

You’re just another girl now, an ex, a stranger. Sunghoon knows he’s just lying to himself, because you’d never be a stranger to him, not when you’re in everything he sees and does, not when he’s never had the confidence to tell his parents who constantly ask about you that you’re no longer together.

Filtering through the crowded room, he prepares himself, rehearsing the words he’s always wanted to tell you. Yet a flame in his heart burned luminously green at the sight of you laughing, with a boy that wasn’t him, with Choi Soobin.

“New boyfriend already? I see the princess has downgraded from a prince to a knight,” Sunghoon looms over you, a look of distaste all over his face as he looks pointedly over at the other tall boy.

You knew he was here watching, you could feel the gaze of Park Sunghoon from a mile away. And now he’s right behind you, chest pressed against your back as Soobin looks away from you to meet his gaze.

“Sunghoon?” Soobin murmurs in confusion, and Sunghoon smirks, waving him off as a gesture to leave the both of you alone.

That was one thing you’d always hated about Sunghoon, how he used his influence to control everyone around you, as if they were unworthy of your attention.

“Stay Soobin,” you say, before you turn around to meet Sunghoon’s gaze for the first time in a long while. Your heart slams against your chests like fists on a punching bag and feelings overwhelm you. You wouldn’t label yourself as someone emotional yet whenever you’re around Sunghoon you can’t help but drown in your feelings — love, hate, anger, and longing.

Sunghoon shoots you a sharp glare before returning his gaze to Soobin and cocking his head to the side. “I think I should leave,” he mumbles, tripping over his words before he steps out of the kitchen.

And there you find yourself, face excruciatingly close to Park Sunghoon’s as you try to choke down your feelings. He looked a little different, less playful and more mature, yet he still has the same sharp features you loved, and the multiple moles peppered across his face that you used to kiss every night.

“Is this fun for you, Sunghoon?” And he winces at your tone, loaded with disappointment and frustration but he remains quiet, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

You can’t stop yourself from leaning into it, his warmth and familiarity. “Hm?” Sunghoon hums, his voice deeper than it was back then, “I don’t know, is this fun for you, princess?”

You’re taken back to highschool, when Sunghoon would press you up against the cool metal lockers and tell you how pretty you are, like a princess hence the nickname he has for you. Then, you couldn’t control the vibrant red that ruled over your cheeks and ears at the sound of that nickname and now, you still can’t seem to.

“You can’t just barge in here and act like you know me, Park Sunghoon,” you seethed, “like nothing ever happened.”

“I don’t know, princess, maybe you can refresh my memory,” he grins at the way your eyebrows squeeze in irritation, “a kiss for old times sake?”

You place your palms on his chest, using force to push him away yet he doesn’t budge. “Hey sweetheart, I know you’re excited to see me but it’s a little early to be feeling me up don’t you think?”

Immediately retracting your hands, Sunghoon lets out a laugh. It’s just as melodious as you remember and you can’t help but sigh at the familiar feeling of bickering with him. “Get the fuck off me, Park Sunghoon,” you groan.

“Woah, full government name? Baby I thought we were in love.” God, you think, how you wished you could kiss his face with an uppercut. It didn’t help that he was exactly the same as he was before and everything more, because you can feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into him, more than before.

And you hated how he looked so good, like he never ghosted you and gave up on your relationship, like he wasn’t crying constantly over the memories you shared together.

“Why are you back Sunghoon,” you sigh, at least you were prepared — having cried your heart out, panicking over what to do when you’d finally see him with Karina. “Why are you here disturbing me, why can’t you just go find another girl to bother?”

It hurt you to say this, yet the clear image of Sunghoon with other girls was painted clearly in your mind. He was a player, and you felt hopeless trying to change him.

“It’s always been you, love.” He bends closer towards you holding your gaze, “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I wake up in the middle of the night calling out your name.”

“Will you please stop joking around,” you scoff at his unbelievable attempt at wooing you yet your heart pounds against the blooming flowers of your rib cage.

“Who says I’m not being serious,” he says, “besides it’s hard to find another girl to bother when you’re all everyone around me talks about.”

Your heart stops and your stomach dips as though you’ve just tumbled from a great height. It’s the closeness between the both of you that makes your knees weak, and his skin brushing against yours that jolts you like a spray of hot sparks. It’s how he knows exactly what gets to you, even if you’d never meant for him to.

His words pierce your heart, half agony half hope. And maybe if you loved him less you’d be able to bite back.

“We are long over and you know that,” you answer, so softly yet the pain drums against your whole being, “you made sure of that when you left without a word.”

Sunghoon feels constricted, and his shoulders feel the heavy weight of his guilt as he breathes. And since a few months ago, he’s always thought that the wound from your relationship had festered yet here, right in front of you, it still bleeds fresh.

“We never officially broke up,” Sunghoon points out. And he feels like such a desperate douchebag hanging onto the thinnest thread that could snap at any given second.

You scoff as you feel annoyance rise up in you, “you’d think that leaving your girlfriend to live across the world at the lowest point of your relationship literally shouts break up in every single angle.”

Sunghoon, for once, doesn’t have a cocky comeback to your words as they fizzle down his throat in silence. He opens his mouth yet bites back his tongue, guilt ridden.

You look at him, begging for an explanation that never seemed to come, “forget it, I’m an idiot for thinking that you’d ever waste your breath explaining yourse-”

“I get it, you hate me,” he groans, cutting you off as you fidget awkwardly at his words. No one could ever hate Park Sunghoon, even you — especially you. He sucks in a breath, ready to embarrass himself, bracing himself for rejection.

He can’t let you go like this, not when your heart blackens at the sight of him, not when he’s still madly in love with you.

So he does what he does best, he plays. And this time, it’s a game that he needs to win.

Park Sunghoon has a way with words, or maybe that’s just his charm — where every sentence and every word entrances, putting you in a state where you can’t seem to do anything but oblige to his commands.

You stand in one of your favourite dresses at the entrance of the restaurant, Sunghoon beside you as you try your best not to take a peek at him for the nth time.

You’re not here for him, you’re here for his mother.

At least that’s what you’ve been trying to tell yourself.

And you’ve been dreading it all, the feeling of familiarity — remembering how much you’d loved his parents, how well they treated you, and how you’d always meet up with them with Sunghoon.

Yet here you were again, a year later, trying to convince yourself that this was the closure that you needed to move on. It’s just an hour or two.

“Oh my gosh Sunghoon, you brought her,” a flowery voice cheered as you watched Mrs Park push back her chair to throw her arms around you, “I’ve been asking Sunghoon to set up a date for us to meet for the past year but he always claims you’re busy with Uni. How are you doing?”

You wrap your arms around her, a real smile blooming on your face, “I’ve been coping well, it’s much busier than I could’ve ever imagined. But I’ve never been better.”

Lie, lie, lie. It seemed like that was all you could do around things that surround your ex boyfriend; lying about your feelings, lying to his mother, lying to yourself.

“I can imagine,” she smiles, gesturing to the both of you to sit, “now that Hoon is back, I’m sure he’d look after you well.”

“Not even a hello to your own son and you’re already putting words in my mouth,” Sunghoon complains, rolling his eyes at his mother’s usual antics.

And at times like this he remembers how you’d squeeze his hands, as if warning him to listen to his mother, yet right now his hands lack the warmth yours radiate and he only has himself to blame.

After all he was the one asking you to join him, and he couldn’t have expected you to actually act like you used to. You weren’t his to touch anymore.

“It’s great that you’re back next to him,” Mrs Park comments, completely ignoring her son. “You’re the only one he listens to. He’s changed a lot since he met you.”

You let out a forced laugh, one that goes unnoticed by Mrs Park but not Sunghoon. And he questions if you actually believe his mother’s words.

Sunghoon used to think it was foolish to believe that people could truly change for the better — life was made to be a cycle, and no matter how long summer radiated, winter would still send a chill down your spine. Yet with you his world felt like constant summers in paradise, peace and comfort he hasn’t been able to find anywhere but in your arms that wrapped around his flaws and never let go.

“Barely any parties overseas, always studying,” she points out and you’re shocked at the new revelation you’d just made, “but he’s started smoking, maybe now that you’re back by his side you can fix that up.”

Sunghoon groans, “whatever.” His fingers run through his hair as you finally cave in, taking a glance at him. His sculpted features that followed you to your dreams, the rustic looking leather jacket that hugged his figure perfectly and just everything; from the way he breathes to the way he speaks. He’s everything.

Time ticks away as you find it harder and harder not to hold Sunghoon’s hand like you used to, holding yourself back from purposefully hitting his leg with yours under the table cloth just for the fun of it. And it wasn’t that you weren’t enjoying yourself — it was just how minutes felt like days being so close yet not being able to touch him.

The cold breeze of the night bites your cheeks, turning them a frosty red. You shiver as you blow hot breaths on the palms of your hand, rubbing them to keep warm only to find the weight of a jacket draped over your shoulder.

“I don’t need it,” you say to Sunghoon, without having any intention to give his jacket back, “I’m not that cold.”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from a mile away, princess,” he says, lips twitching.

“Sure,” you comment, “and when you’re cold later on don’t ask for the jacket back.”

Sunghoon lets out a laugh, it’s animated and excited as his head rolls back and his mouth widens. “Don’t worry about me, love, I’ve got it covered.”

Reaching into his pocket, Sunghoon pulls out a box of cigarettes, smoothly lighting one up before he breathes out a cloud of grey smoke. And you can’t help but look.

You hold your breath at the sight — his dark eyes alight under the moonlight and his jaw tilted a few angles up, hair messy from the night’s breeze, and finger clad rings that hold such death.

It makes you scared: scared of the love you have for him. Because it has ruined you once and it will ruin you again, you’d let it ruin you again.

“You shouldn’t smoke, you know,” you start, “it’s bad for your health.”

“You’re bad for my health, sweetheart,” he answers, “yet you seem to be everywhere I am.”

The silence of night engulfs the both of you, and the chatter from the restaurant tunes out as you meet his gaze.

It’s insane, you’re going insane. “You know you can’t just do that,” you say, trying to keep yourself calm.

“Can’t just do what, love?” He hums, smoke wafting around him. And it really should have disgusted you, the way he chose to blacken his own lungs yet it didn’t. It could never.

“That,” you point out, tearing your gaze away from him. “You can’t just return out of nowhere and pretend like everything is fine. Calling me pet names, making me meet your mother because you failed to tell her about our breakup. You can’t just rope me back in after I’ve spent all my time and energy grappling out of the hold you have over me.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you desperately try to blink them away. Your vulnerability on full display for Sunghoon to read — not that he ever needed you to tell him, he could read you like an open book.

“Stop playing with me Sunghoon. I’m not just a toy you can throw around and find when you’re bored.”

Only the soft cackle at the end of Sunghoon’s cigar can be heard as he stills. And he wants to tell you that he loves you, he wants to scream it to the world. You were never a toy to him and he has always been fully devoted to you, like a religion of his.

Sunghoon doesn’t know how to say it, he can’t really put it into words: the feeling he has when he’s around you. He’s addicted to it — the feeling of being alive, like he’s known you for lifetimes after lifetimes, like he’s free.

His proclamation gets stuck in his throat as he fumbles on a thorough response. It’s always been hard for him to show his true feelings, much more to actually say it out loud.

He’s never really been an emotional person, much less a confrontational one. It was why he liked playing around; baseless actions without reason, there wasn’t any need to show his true feelings or even feel much to begin with. He never had to explain himself, not once.

And at times like this when Sunghoon’s utterly scared, he can’t do anything but accept; that maybe you and him were just meant to be a precious memory.

Maybe it was time to let you move on.

Friends with deep history. That’s what Karina decides to title your relationship with Sunghoon. And you’d never thought it’d hurt this much, given you and Sunghoon were never once considered friends.

It’s a whole different type of pain and worry that gnaws at your heart — like an emerald monster of envy as you watch him interact with other girls in ways he once did with you, to hear him call others by pet names like he used to call you.

Sunghoon lets the word ‘babe’ roll off his tongue without a second thought, it’s the only pet name he could ever bear saying without much thought of you.

‘Babe’ was conventional, normal. It was everything you were not.

And he wonders if you realise it, if you pay attention to his every word like he does to yours, if you’d really moved on and accepted the fact that the two of you were friends.

It’s weird, Park Sunghoon has never hated any word more. The sour aftertaste it left on his tongue and the tension surrounding it. Fuck friends, he thinks, it’s only been a week of such an arrangement and he can’t take it any longer.

There’s only been two types of days throughout the week — ones where you’re beside him and he can smell the familiar scent of vanilla and honey and others, where seconds felt like months and minutes felt like years.

This isn’t what he came back for. He didn’t come back just to torture himself with close proximity, he came back to touch you, kiss you, to feel your breath on his lips, to feel your heart beat against his.

It’s been a week since Sunghoon swore to himself that he’d let you move on, give you space, and finally let you go from his grasp. Yet whenever he spots you with another boy that wasn’t him, his being burns.

His heart scalds as if it’s drowning in fiery hot lava. And Sunghoon doesn’t sob or wail, his grief horribly discreet, persistent, and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound. It feels unspeakably lonely, draining and his mind’s a blank state. A sickening wet feeling.

How the memories haunt him everywhere he finds himself to be; your favourite cafe, a poster of the movie you’d made him watch multiple times he could recite half the movie script, the bitter coffee he forces down his throat just to torture himself.

“Because it’s kinda cool,” he remembers telling you, “stuff like coffee runs, or caffeine adrenaline that runs through my veins after the bitter taste coats my tongue.”

The heavenly laugh that you let out, the one that makes him want to keep on loving you. “Caffeine adrenaline, really Hoon?” You said with a grin on your face, “I don’t think there’s such a thing.”

“Yeah there is,” he insists, mirroring the goofy grin plastered on your lips, “and it makes me want to kiss you.”

Now all time does is pass and he finds himself in front of your favourite cafe, wondering if you still order your favourite chocolate pastry and get it all over your lips; if there’s someone else who kisses the stains of chocolate away like he did once.

And he shouldn’t have been surprised to see you there, in your glory, a plate of your favourite chocolate pastry in front of you half eaten.

At least some things don’t change.

He watches you intently, as you take another bite of the chocolaty goodness, nodding inattentively at the words spouted from your company’s mouth.

Sunghoon thinks the boy in front of you is doing it all wrong. If he was in front of you now he would’ve teased you for being a messy eater, bent over the table just to kiss the chocolate away from your lips as you tell him to stop while laughing.

You find your attention dwindling from the boy in front of you. He was good looking, for sure, defined features and a nice smile. But Sunghoon’s more handsome, Sunghoon looks good with and without glasses but the boy in front of you would never be able to pull glasses off.

If Sunghoon was here, he’d have already made me laugh at least thrice, he’d have planted a kiss on my lips, calling me a messy eater, he’d have already changed the topic to keep to your interests.

You look away from the boy, scanning the interior of the familiar cafe, one that was supposed to be your favourite yet you’ve never really thought much about the interior or their food. Everything’s dull and you figure that maybe it’s the company you’re around that matters instead.

The cafe wasn’t your favourite, Sunghoon was. With his witty comebacks and chivalrous smirk, the tall figure and eyes you could stare at for days.

And then you see him, and he’s just there. You don’t know what to think anymore. Just that you’re here and he’s here. That you’re supposed to hate him for leaving yet you can’t find a tinge of hate in your heart. That moving on was clearly for the better but everything’s mundane without him.

Sunghoon’s already looking at you, and when you meet his gaze he lets out a string of curses under his breath. This wasn’t a good idea. You and him in a place scattered everywhere in your memories, just a few steps away yet miles apart at the same time.

He can’t take it any longer. So Sunghoon leaves, fingers clenching the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

You frown at the sight of his back, turning as he left the cafe without a second thought. A sense of déjà vu encompasses you. Is this how it’s always going to be — turning away from each other without a smile, seeing him everywhere yet not being able to talk to him, holding the label of friends but never having a proper conversation?

“Hey, you okay love?” You grimace at the name he calls you, looking back at the boy who did nothing but blabber away all this while.

“Uhm, I think I have to go,” you say, chair pushed back hurriedly as you make your way out without a second thought. Head turning to find a boy in a denim jacket, the boy that held your heart in his hands.

“Sunghoon,” you call once you spot him, puffs of smoke wafting over and around him as he leans gorgeously against a wall. “Is this really how it’s going to be?”

Sunghoon lifts the cigarette between his fingers, cold eyes that once held no emotion seemingly brightening at the sight of you. “What are you doing here princess?” He asks, small puffs of smoke exiting his mouth as he talks, “boy not to your liking? He seemed bland.”

“Why are you doing this Sunghoon,” you say exasperatedly, “why are you everywhere that I am, why do you follow me in everything that I do.”

“Am I distracting you from your dates, love?” Sunghoon laughs, and you’re annoyed at how he dodges your questions perfectly, how he manages to twist everything yet hit the nail on the head.

“You promised me that you’d let me move on,” you pause, catching your breath, “you owe me that. You owe me space.”

“You think it’s that easy to give you up?” Sunghoon’s eyebrows furrow as the cigarette in his finger dims and drops to the ground, “I wasn’t lying when I said that you’re all around me. I can’t even-”

“Then why,” you cut him off, vision already blurry, “why did you leave without a word, why did you leave just when I was ready to talk, why didn’t you answer the thousand messages I left you, why did I have to find out you were gone from someone that wasn’t you. Why?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Sunghoon says shakily.

“You didn’t have a choice?” You scoffed, “I cry myself to sleep wondering who you were talking to instead of me, wondering why you did me so wrong and everything that was wrong with me. I checked my phone, Sunghoon, every fucking ten minutes hoping to see your name on the screen and if it wasn’t I would cry again and again. You always come and go as you please, whatever is convenient for you. I bet you’ve never once thought of my feelings, yet all I could think about was if you were coping well on the other side of the world.”

Sunghoon stands and he marvels, your words striking him like a final knockout blow. And its realisation all over again that he loved you, he loves you, and you still loved him.

He’s always thought you’d hate him for what he’s done, the suffering he’s brought into your life. Being serious never yielded him much results so he kept pretending, passing it over.

“And you think I didn’t,” he wails, and it’s the first time you’ve seen perfection with flaws, “you think I didn’t look at your texts and cry? You think I’ve never had any sleepless nights thinking if texting you back would be the right choice? I thought it would’ve been the best for you, I wouldn’t have been able to treat you the way you would’ve wanted to be treated and I didn’t know how long my father would’ve made me stay there if I didn’t beg to come back.”

“But now that you’re here in front of me, I’ve realised how stupid I must have been to make such a decision. I missed you and I still miss you even when you’re here — and it occurs to me that I’ll probably never move on from you because you’re the first person I’ve ever truly loved unconditionally, the only one that’s ever mattered.”

A strangled sob of tears leaves your throat as you bury your face in his chest, trembling wildly as tears travel down your cheeks. “I hate you,” you croak out, fists clenched, “I hate that I miss you.”

“I missed you everywhere.” He says, fingers running through your hair to your back. And for the first time, Sunghoon lets the pain and ache bleed into his voice.

“Here,” he says and his lips brush against the place your heart beats, “and I’ve missed you here.”

Once Sunghoon kisses you, your heart slows and everything seems so dreamy. How much you needed him terrified you, and you couldn’t imagine that this was what love was like for everyone. Maybe it was just you, just you and Sunghoon. Maybe together you were just a volatile entity that would either implode or melt together, thrilling and exotic, sweet and heavenly.

It’s silent for a minute and you miss his voice again.

After a period of sadness, happiness doesn’t just jump in your life. It grows slowly into the cracks and fissures of you, like small plants that sprout in cracked concrete.

“Can I kiss you, princess?” Sunghoon mutters into your mouth as his arms wrap around your waist. Your arms around his neck as he hoists you up in the waters of his swimming pool.

It’s weird, how it feels like he’s never left. And ever since you’d cried your hearts out in each other's arms, you’ve both been making an effort to communicate with each other.

“You just kissed me, Hoon,” you laugh, water droplets harmonising with the sound of your laughter. And Sunghoon just stares like he did last night and the night before. He isn’t obsessed, yet when your fingers run through his hair he can’t help but think he is.

“I know, but I want to,” he grins, “I want to kiss you again.”

“You don’t have to ask,” you say in slow tenderness. His star mapped skin, cacophony of laughter, and his smile that makes you feel a little less alone — it makes you feel like the sun’s out in the middle of the midnight sky.

“Consent is what hot guys do,” he smirks, and you almost fall back in laughter.

“Really?” You reply, “I don’t see any hot guys around here?”

Sunghoon groans, “I’m right here? You’re saying that as if you don’t want a piece of me.”

You don’t think twice before leaning into Sunghoon, thoughtlessly holding him as you fall in love all over again with all your heart.

“You know who I want a piece of,” you sigh, head buried in the crook of his neck. “This new hot guy in school, everyone’s been raving about him for the past month. Bet he kisses well.”

“Oh,” Sunghoon gasps, “what is his name?” You roll your eyes at his facade of obliviousness.

“I think it’s Park Sunghoon,” your lips raise as you turn to look at him.

“That’s me baby,” he chuckles, “too bad I already have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you frown.

“Yeah, too bad I’m all hers,” he mirrors your frown, “now can my girlfriend allow me to kiss her?”

You giggle, nodding your head before Sunghoon presses his lips on yours. And it’s everything and nothing at once — heartbeats merging as one, heaven’s on your lips and Sunghoon feels the need to repeatedly repent his sins. He wants to touch you until his palms burn.

And unlike the rollercoaster of emotions his heart once felt, it feels calm, it feels as though he’s finally returned home.

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