#<- someone remind me that's my tag for this

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity (Part 4)

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, confused sylus, non-mc reader, mentions of death/dying, cursing

taglist: @fcknblsht @aboobie @nin10doo @ixloom819 @damatically @sylusgirlie7 @stellisangelicus-world @kira-loves0905 @wanderlustingcastaway @browneyedgirl22 @lumieresdreams @babygirl-panda19 @picnicinthegarden @96jnie @xxfaithlynxx @wrimaira @reni502 @lazypostfandomer @augustdxjiminx @hey-airam @vevlvtcherie @marquitas-en-verano @ma-cherie-lovely @zeskyzed @imnikki @shiorihoshino @mentaltrouble2201 @sylustoru @imaginarytheatre

note: OMG hi here's the promised update. ALSOOO BIG THANK YOU to all your reaction/comment/reblogs huhuhu im so happy reading your comments and im glad that you liked this little piece of mine. i hope you enjoy this one as well (i actually want to hide in a corner lol)

Series Masterlist

Sylus can't shake the eerie feeling that's been bugging his chest since he left you in Elysium. He knows that you're upset. He can see it in your eyes, he can feel it in his bones.

But what can he do? Miss Hunter is in danger and his body just autopilots to go to her. Does he want to? No. Not really because if he were to choose, he'd rather be beside you all the time but the bond is not letting him. Whenever he's trying to resist, the energy linkage on his wrist would constrict and a painful sensation is shooting up on his chest making it harder for him to say no to her.

It's been a pain in his ass and he didn't know what to do especially when he first met her. Past memories, past emotions, past tragedies suddenly flooded him and for a moment he faltered.

For a moment, all those feelings came back. He missed her, honestly speaking after all, she has half of his soul and finding her again in N109 Zone felt like his soul is whole again.

It was like he was in a daze. All his goals were reduced to mere thoughts and he was obligated to make a connection with her that he got too busy helping her get the aether core and making her remember everything, too busy resonating with her and he made you wait for him every day only to be given a mere fraction of his attention.

But when he's alone and he's contemplating the decisions he has been making as of late, he will be reminded of you. Of how you slowly grew quieter and your gaze was always on him, waiting and anticipating for him to initiate something that would make up for the time he's been wasting with Miss Hunter.

It did cross his mind to let you go. He understands that what he's doing is completely unfair to you, but when the thought of you leaving and potentially finding someone else crosses his mind, he almost went crazy.

He can't. He just can't.

He won't allow it.

He won't let that happen.

You're the only thing in his life that he can call his “voluntary choice". Ever since he lived all his lives, everything seemed out of control, it seemed like everything was a cycle.

Sylus, I curse your soul to never fade away. You'll always be tied to me. This is my curse. Only I can grant you true death.

Soulbound. That's him and Miss Hunter. The first few lives he lived, he can accept dying in her arms as long as it's with her. That's how powerful his love is and he doesn't mind waiting even if it takes a couple of millenia he wouldn't mind because it's her. He even put traces of her in every corner of N109 Zone, even sent Mephisto to stalk her every move when she first became a hunter. So it's safe to say that in the earlier years in this life, he did wait for her.

But then, YOU came.

Someone unexpected. Someone so pure despite the filth in this underworld. You saw him like a normal person and made him feel human. You didn't treat him like the leader of Onychinus.

You treated him as Sylus. Just Sylus. A weak, vulnerable and could-be-hurt Sylus.

In you, he found his humanity.

In you he found love and peace. For the first time in eons, there is tranquility.

He wanted to deny it at first. He can't entertain the thought of you and him together. He knows he can't have you. He can't have that luxury because he will have to let you go eventually when Miss Hunter comes to the picture, the cycle will repeat again. He will die in her arms and he will live another life only to be met with the same ending.

He had given up on anything and everything at this point, so little by little he's letting you go.

But when you came to his rescue, fighting for him even with your limited fighting experience when he was caught off guard by one of his enemies he let himself indulge in you.

Maybe this time will be different.

He let himself be under the shade of your warmth. Happy that in this life he gets to experience this. To experience a love that felt like it could last forever. A love that makes him want to live for as long as he can.

So when he made sure that Miss Hunter is alive and breathing, he is quick on his feet to leave.

“Sylus, can you stay with me for a while?" her voice begging.

And there it was again. The tug on the energy linkage in his wrist. At the mere thought of him denying her request, he can feel it tighten in his wrist that it hurts almost like his hands were going to be cut off.

The sensation in his chest is there again.

But no. He can't stay.

He won't.

“I can't," he answered not even looking back at her. “Y/N is waiting for me.”

He steadied his breathing. He needs to calm himself despite the overbearing pain.

"I will find a way to sever our connection and put an end to this curse. I want to live a life for myself not tied down to any of this destiny bullshit.”

He left after saying that. He's sure that she will understand what he meant.

If she doesn't? Then that's on her.

But for now he wants to come home to you.

To make things right. To tell you everything to ask for more time to figure things out. To tell you that he's been trying to figure out how to sever the connection that he and Miss Hunter have.

To explain that what he did to you was beyond what he can control. That he is under a curse and his choices are influenced by the repeating cycle of his lives. Clouded by the thought that there's no way out of this mess and sooner or later he will find his lifeless body in Miss Hunter's hands.

To tell you that this time he wants to fight back.

He wants to own his life again. He wants to make a decision for himself again.

Sylus respects the idea of soulmates. He even loved the idea of it before. But now it's different. Because if being soulmates with Miss Hunter means losing you, then he doesn't want it.

He will die trying as long as he's with you.

In record time, he's back in Onychinus’s base and the air feels different. It feels heavy. Something is not right.

Sylus is quick on his feet to walk (run) to your shared bedroom and you're not there. He felt a lump on his throat.

No. No.

“Sweetie? Where are you?" He called out. The mighty Sylus’s voice quivers at the end of his sentence. He roamed around the base trying to find you.

“Darling?"

In the bathroom? None.

“Little fox?"

Kitchen? It's empty.

"Baby?”

The guest room? Deafening quiet.

“Y/N?"

He searched in every corner but you're not there. He tried to call you but it seemed like your phone was off.

He called Luke and Kieran, they quickly answered his call and their words made his world crumble. “Boss! The Madame is gone. We can't find her anywhere. Elysium's owner told us she left quickly after you were gone. We searched everywhere we could but we couldn't find her.”

“Keep patrolling the area. Find her."

He dropped the call and quickly sent Mephisto to wander all around the N109 zone.

His mind is reeling back to the events that happened before he left. It can't be.

What happened? Why did you run away? Did someone take you?

Did you leave him?

No, gods please no.

You can't be gone.

No. Not now. Not when he figured out what he wanted.

“Please, come back.”

Part 5 the next day if im not busyyyy (no promises) reaction and comments are welcome 🤗

[vxnuslogy]

━━━━━━ truth, dare, spin bottle.  ̊ ̟ ꒷꒦

☆    |     or in which you fall in love with the stereotypical school athlete, council secretary, and your class president on campus⠀    …

꒰ including ꒱ ⠀! ⠀phainon, anaxagora & mydei.          ୨୧          ꒰ warnings ꒱ ⠀! ⠀modern!au, school!au, ooc, just very stereotypical school tropes, highschool awkwardness.

“      tags     ⟡     .    @mikashisus @https-sourlimes @powchakko @somjuie @gl4di0lus ; if you'd like to be tagged please don't be afraid to send in ask or fill out the forms on my pinned!

✶ : PHAINON 

 jersey no. 7 of amphoreus' football and basketball team—you'd be living under a rock if you don't know his name and the reputation that follows him. his matches are a sight for sore eyes. when he’s on the field, amphoreus is automatically getting that gold medal regardless of the opponent. you manage to watch one of his basketball matches during prep season for the school festival. it’s a friendly rematch against an old rival school and to no one’s surprise, phainon emerged as the mvp. in that match alone, you see why everyone is endeared by him—he reeks of sportsmanship that no student athlete in this school could ever dream of. he approaches every opponent with determination but never underestimates them, he always wants to play a fair game and even voluntarily forfeits if the game shows signs of rigging.

you don’t deny your fellow classmates who ask you if you think he’s cute because he is. he reminds you of an excited puppy during games and a loyal guard dog when it comes to his studies. he’s rather tall for his age–just a year below you but he’s far surpassed your height–and he has a good build, befitting for someone as sports orientated as him. phainon also has this magnetic pull to him that makes everyone want to befriend him, and you don’t mean it in a bad way. 

after classes, you usually go home without a fail, but this time around, you make a beeline towards the gym to watch another one of phainon’s matches. when your friends catch sight of you, they all give you playful looks that scream “you’re here for phainon right?” and you can only roll your eyes at them. but before you can take a seat at the spot they reserved for you, something collided with your head and your world is suddenly spinning.

“oh god, are you alright?!” 

someone shouts as you groan in pain. your vision spotting as you try to make out the messy blob of white and blue in front of you. someone takes your hand and you’re forcefully yanked up to your feet, making your headache worse with how quickly you stood up.

“i’m so, so, so, sorry. this is my fault i wasn’t paying attention. does your head hurt badly? do you want to go to the infirmary? someone get me ice packs—”

“will you calm down? you’re making my headache worse!” you don’t mean for your voice to sound so cold but it was nothing but the truth. you appreciate this mystery person’s concern, but god does he talk too much.

“right… right! sorry.”

you sigh and massage your temple. when your vision starts to clear up again, your mouth is left hanging as you realize who’s in front of you. that signature white hair and blue eyes combo is practically thrown at your face as phainon tilts his head in mild curiosity at your expression.

“i… need to go. sorry.” you quickly say, gathering your things from the floor and speed walking to the exit. you faintly hear the athlete heartthrob call out to you but you don’t pay him any mind. you were not getting into a cat fight with his fans with that cliche encounter.

that following night, your friends betray you by leaking your phone number to phainon. after a few heated and teasing messages in the group chat, you steady your breathing as you open his messages. you didn’t necessarily know what to expect on how phainon messages his friends or acquaintances, but you certainly find some childish endearment.

he sent a lot of messages—broken up into multiple sections explaining his worry and regret of hitting you instead of one single text box. phainon also used excessive amounts of exclamation marks, a lot of misspelled words, uppercases, and surprisingly enough, kaomojis. you let out an exasperated smile as you finally come to understand how cute this kid was.

you only planned to reply with a single message explaining your condition but that quickly spiralled into him chatting up a storm—a never ending stream of topics. you indulge him, using this as an excuse to find out even more on why so many people are so gravitated towards him. you surmise it’s because of his easy-going nature; he never leaves you hanging with his replies and speaking of replies, he sends messages at an ungodly quick speed. one thing turned to another before he ended the conversation with a message that read: “would you like to get a cup of coffee as an apology? it’ll be my treat ofc!!!!”

✶ : ANAXA (GORAS)

you see, if there was one person that made your blood boil like lava, it would be the student council secretary, anaxa. always so curt, blunt, and rude, he makes all of your accomplishments seem small when put side by side with his. it infuriates you to no end when the test scores for each year is posted on the bulletin and you spot him dead center of the crowd. you already feel a scowl forming on your face as you pass the bodies of other students and mentally prepare yourself for his berating voice.

you frown in dismay when you see his name on the number one spot with you a few spaces below him. your lip sews themselves shut when you hear him cough into his fist, quiet enough to not disturb the other students' excitement but loud enough for you to hear. as if wanting to rub more salt onto a fresh wound, anaxa peers into your line of vision with a smug smirk on his lips. with your pride hurt, you quickly turn away from him and begin walking away to save face. you didn’t need him to rub it in your face that he was leagues better than you.

anaxa won’t admit the swirling in his gut when he sees your figure get smaller and smaller. the oddest thing of it all, you don’t show your face to him at all since the test scores has been posted. he’d rather die than admit he missed your presence to anyone—your banters, nudging each other in quiet retaliation, and the time spent on the rooftop trying to study. anaxa would rather swallow a thousand needles than openly admit he felt jealous of his junior–the school athlete–and how you always seem to get coffee with him every morning. wasn’t that your thing with him?

 

“pray tell,” you flinch at the voice–failing to pack up your things quick enough to avoid anaxa who frequented the small cafe near campus. “why is it that you find the time to pick up coffee with our junior, but not me?”

if you were any other student, you’d think he sounds jealous—but that was a ridiculous thing to think. anaxa, jealous? you’re very sure the only emotion he’s ever felt in his life were spite and pride. as if to insinuate that you’ve actually replaced him with your usual routine, you ignore him. fight the twitch of your lips when anaxa visibly frowns at your silence. though a part of you—a tiny, tiny part—does feel a bit guilty. you weren’t one for the silent treatment, but anaxa deserved it. (you try to convince yourself at least).

“look if this is about the test scores, i’m…”

you walk past him but before you can fully exit the establishment, anaxa is running after you and catching your wrist with a firm grip. you turn to glare but the initial pettiness that fueled your heart quickly evaporates into thin air when you see his expression. lips pursed into a thin line, eye darting here and there–avoiding yours at all cost–and posture rigid but not in his usual secretary way; he looked almost vulnerable.

“i… apologize, for always belittling you whenever exam seasons are over. believe me, my intentions weren’t to bring you down. i just…” he trails off. a heavy frustrated sigh leaving his lips as his other hand comes to cover half of his face in shame. “wanted you to continue competing with me.”

by the following day, it was anaxa avoiding you like a plague. you still get coffee with phainon every morning, but today, you bought an extra cup—medium, iced, with only two teaspoons of sugar. the snowy-haired boy questioned you but you only replied with a cryptic “it’s a sorry gift.” he dropped the topic with a hum. you have a faint idea that phainon already knew who you were talking about.

the two of you separate on the second floor of campus—phainon heads straight to his classroom while you make a beeline to the council office. you rise up to the stairs in quiet contemplation on how to give anaxa his usual cup of coffee. with you being so lost in thought, you don’t realize that you’re now standing face to face with the classroom door. if you take a quick peek at the crack, you’d see anaxa with his head leaning back the chair he sat on with a book covering his face. you chuckle in amusement and as quietly as you could, tip-toe your way around the desk and place the coffee cup right by his notes. you graciously pull off a piece of sticky note and wrote down a short message before sticking it on the book on his face before leaving.

when the door finally closes shut, anaxa carefully removes the book obscuring his vision and takes the note you had written. ‘sorry for avoiding you! no matter what, you’re still my rival. remember to always take care of yourself, okay?’ anaxa snorts in amusement as he takes the cup of coffee in his hand, swirling the liquid before taking a sip. you still remember how he likes his coffee.

✶ : MYDEIMOS

if phainon was the cute junior that reminded you of a puppy and anaxa was the annoying bird that’s always perched on your shoulder, then mydei is that intimidating class president who quietly cares for his class. admittedly, you, among many others, had the wrong impression of him on your first meeting. initially, you assumed mydei was the type of student who always picked fights with other students and got into trouble with the student body. he does do those things—you see him butt heads with phainon during pe class and see aglaea scolding him during meetings every now and then. but nothing can prepare you when you first ask him for notes.

to say it’s a nerve wrecking situation would be an understatement—you were shaking in your shoes as your classmates cheered you on. with one final sigh, you find his contacts on your phone and repeatedly draft a message, delete it, then start over again and again until you grow frustrated and give up for the time being. you throw a defeated expression at your classmates and promise them to ask mydei for the notes later today. the school festival has been taking up so much of everyone’s time that you can’t find enough time to actually pay attention and write down notes in class. everyone was either sleeping or dozing off with exhaustion and you were no exception. you were sleeping during the first two periods of class and they each had their respective quiz some time this week.

you massage your temple in stress as you mumble about how you can ask mydei about his notes.

“what about my notes?”

you freeze on your spot. the hand massaging your temple rigidly drops back to your side as you awkwardly smile at the only person who can help your entire class pass manifests into thin air. 

“uh… well, you see…” you fumble with the words on your tongue and curse yourself inside your mind for appearing nervous. you just want to ask if he had taken notes during the first and second period, simple right? wrong!

you shift in your spot uncomfortably, eyes falling to the floor and to your shoes to avoid his burning gaze while your hand rubs at your arm—a nervous tick you developed over the years. you open your mouth to finally reply but the feeling of something soft hitting you in the head has you looking up and meeting his gaze by accident. you don’t miss the quiet amusement that courses through him as you stumble to grab the stack of papers he graciously put on your head.

“if you wanted to borrow notes, you could have just said so. it’s not like i’m going to bite your head off.” his voice is stern but if you listen closely, you’ll realize there’s an undercut of playfulness in them as you beam at him.

“thank you so much, mydei!” you express your gratitude as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“go share them with the class, i still need to catch up with the council on something.”

mydei turns to leave but you call out to him. he slightly turns his head to look at your almost flustered smile, “what is it?”

you hold his notes close to your chest as you grin at him, “thank you, really! you don’t understand how much everyone needs these right now.”

he huffs in response and waves you goodbye and you turn to run back to your classroom to spread the good news that no one will be failing this year.

when mydei enters the council meeting with the other class representatives, castorice greets with a curious tilt of his head—she questions the smile on his face as he sits down at his usual spot but he only shrugs it off. mydei plays it off as finding something funny on the internet, which was strange. mydei rarely finds anything funny, let alone if they came from the internet.

he takes tentative sips from the coffee agalaea had generously provided for everyone, and he doesn’t miss the way a pair of eyes follow his every movement. he catches phainon from one corner staring at him with furrowed brows as he twirls the pen in his fingers while the council secretary at the front scowls at him. you may not remember, but back in middle school, when no one wanted to share a table with the delinquent, you sat next to him without question and offered him a spare pen when you realized he didn’t have one. to this day, mydei still use that pen even if the ink had long run out—he just wants to show off the item with your name on it.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[flaminhotlili]

you make me wanna blush.

synopsis — telling your lads boyfriends that you have a crush on them <3

warnings — just disgusting fluff i fear

featuring — xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, & caleb (separate fics)

notes — this is my first fluffy work and it's reminding me how single i am irl 😀 also if u want to be tagged in my future works don't forget to send me an ask asap! anyway have fun reading and lmk what yall think!! love u lots <3

lili's navigation

After receiving a weirdly ominous text from you–we need to talk, ASAP–Xavier was relieved to notice the shy smile on your face. It didn’t seem that important after all, but his curiosity was already piqued. As he sat on the empty chair next to you, he smiled when you tucked in a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m here. What did you need to tell me?” he asked you.

You glanced at your boyfriend and immediately looked away, your face heating up. “I have something to tell you…” you muttered. 

Xavier waited for you to continue talking, scooting closer to you. He leaned closer to you and blinked curiously. 

“I… have a crush on you, Xavier.”

Xavier let out a laugh and grabbed your hand, kissing it firmly and then letting it rest against his cheek. “That’s what got you so worked up?” he teased, contradicting the quickening of his heartbeat. 

“Hey! Confessing to you like this takes hard work!” you protested and squished your boyfriend’s cheek in your hands. Xavier chuckled and kissed your palm, “Don’t worry, I have a crush on you too.”

Zayne could already tell that you were up to something from the way you were trying to stifle your grin. He sat across from you on the dining table, where you kept stealing glances at him. Zayne wiped the corner of his mouth for any crumbs and focused his attention onto you.

“Okay, what are you up to?” he asked directly. 

You grinned at your boyfriend, “I… have a huge crush on someone.” you replied.

Zayne raised an eyebrow at that; that was not what he was expecting. But he finally knew what you were up to. He then smiled, picking up an uneaten macaron from the box you bought for him earlier. “Is that so? Tell me who this person is.”

You giggled, glad that he was playing along. “Well, he’s a really good doctor at Akso Hospital… and he’s super smart…”

Zayne hummed, “He sounds familiar. Is he a colleague of mine?”

“Hmm, does a Dr. Zayne Li ring any bells?” 

Zayne chuckled and gestured for you to open your mouth, where he then gently placed the macaron into it. “That’s good to know, because I believe this Dr. Zayne Li has a crush on you too.” he said. You laughed at his reply, kissing his fingertips as you chew down on the macaron. 

Rafayel thought he’d gone deaf, “What did you just say?”

“I said, I have a crush on somebody.” you repeated, your smile growing wider. Rafayel frowned deeply; why would you have a crush on somebody else when he was right there? 

“You’re being ridiculous, cutie. I’m literally right here! Why would you have crushes when I’m right here?”

You rolled your eyes, letting out an exasperated laugh. “I have a crush on you, dummy!” you said.

It takes Rafayel a while to register what you had just told him. By the time it sinks in, you were already bent over laughing at him. Rafayel whined, “Hey, this isn’t funny!” he protested, pulling you into his arms. You continued to giggle, “It’s a little funny–you got so worked up!”

Rafayel affectionately rolled his eyes at you, opting to place a thousand kisses over your face to shut you up instead. 

“Sylus.”

Sylus looked up from his phone with a hum. You walked into your shared bedroom in just his shirt, your face still wet from washing it. “What is it, sweetie?” he asked, holding out his hand for you to take. He pulled you into his embrace, placing a gentle kiss to your head as you sat with your back to his chest. 

“I… have a crush.”

“Oh?” Sylus smirked, instantly getting what you were up to. You nodded, your face hilariously serious for such a tiny thing. “Yeah. I’ve had it since forever.” you replied in a hilariously serious tone.

“Is that so? On who?” he asked, playing along. You let out a breathless laugh as his large hands began massaging your back. “I’d like to know so I can… have a little chat with this person,” he added.

“Well, how are you going to have this little chat with yourself, then?” you asked, turning your head to face him. Sylus let out his signature expensive laugh and kissed your nose.

 “Alright, you’ve outsmarted me, kitten.” he said fondly.

Nothing can ever truly bypass Caleb, not even your harmless pranks. He could already see what you were up to from miles away, but he pretends to be oblivious about it anyway. 

“So, Caleb…” you said, grabbing his arm and letting it rest over your shoulder so you could be closer to him. Caleb welcomes this skinship, trying his best not to smile. “Yeah, Pipsqueak?” he asked.

You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip as if you were actually nervous. Caleb chuckles and slides his arm down to your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. 

“I… have a crush on somebody.”

Caleb scoffed, “Really now? Who is this lucky person?” 

You pretended to think about it, “Mmm, I don’t wanna tell you… you might know who he is.”

Caleb smirked, of course you wouldn’t tell him right away. “Aw shucks, I wanted to tell you who my crush is if you had told me yours.” he said with a faux pout. 

You immediately snap your attention to his words, trying to find out if he was messing with you or not, “You’re not being fair!” you whined. Caleb laughed at your reaction, hugging you with both of his arms around you this time. “Then just tell me who this mystery man is and I’ll tell you who my crush is!”

“It’s you, obviously!” you said, pouting up at Caleb. He cooed at your flustered face and kissed the apples of your cheeks. “That’s great to know, Pipsqueak, because I have a crush on you too.” he sighed, his lips against your flushed skin.

[ahsokatroi]

My brain made me suffer and now I have to make all of you suffer with me.

Imagine 9-year-old Dick Grayson, newly orphaned and sitting in a group home while the courts take their time deciding whether Bruce would make an acceptable guardian. He goes to school and hears people call him “that orphan kid” and “circus freak.” He gets bullied and picked on, and most of the time he’s able to keep his temper limited to words.

The incident that gets him thrown in juvy happens at a birthday party. One of the older kids invited him (him!) to their party. He’s skeptical, but he’s lonely. He’s used to being surrounded by family and friends and animals and crowds that cheer. Now, the only positive relationship he has is with Bruce, and that got taken away by the foster system. So, he goes.

He has fun. He plays tag and tug-of-war and cornhole and duck-duck-goose with the other kids, and for once, he doesn’t feel so lonely. Then the piñata comes out. A few kids take half-hearted swings at it, and then it’s his turn. He giggles and smiles when the blindfold comes down over his eyes and the baton is handed to him. He listens carefully, sticking his tongue between his teeth, tracking the motion of the piñata. He raises the baton to swing—

—the baton is yanked out of his hands. Someone yells “get him!” Several pairs of hands roughly grab him. He’s not smiling anymore. He reaches for the blindfold to pull it off, but his arms are being held too tightly. He can’t see. They yank and push and grab and bruise his skin. A rope ends up around his waist. He tries to move, tries to escape, but there’s too many. It’s so loud, so many voices shouting.

The rope suddenly digs into his stomach and his feet leave the ground. The hands finally let go and he’s able to tear the blindfold off his face as he feels himself sway. He opens his eyes—briefly blinded by daylight—to see himself being hoisted into the air, and all the other kids laughing and hollering. The piñata lay on the ground, discarded.

He’ll later remember in perfect detail every face, every laugh, every pigment on the birthday cake, every color on the decorated box of candy. Most of all though, he’ll remember the leering chants of “circus freak!” as the rope digs painfully into his skin, and the baton as it gets passed around to kids who take turns swinging at his legs.

Never again will he recall feeling such a horrid combination of hurt, embarrassment, and cold blinding rage. He won’t fully remember what happens, but he will remember being pulled off of the birthday kid, his fists soaked in the blood from their broken nose, his eyes stinging with tears, his throat hoarse from screaming. He will remember being dragged into a police car in a daze. He will remember the ride to the group home, then the ride to the detention center after his “guardian” flung her arms up, shooed away the officer, and stomped back inside. He will remember being booked. He will remember the barred door sliding shut as he sits on the cot, pulls his knees to his bruised chest, and sobs.

Bruce of course doesn’t believe it was simply a violent outburst, no matter what the warden says. This is the first time the public has seen their beloved Brucie Wayne genuinely angry.

When Dick is finally home, Bruce is able to ask him about it without people listening in on tapped phones. He’s able to gently grasp his shoulder and softly ask what happened. Dick tries, oh god he tries to hold himself together, to pretend it was nothing. But he’s been effectively isolated for months, and his resolve breaks the moment he gets that physical reminder that he’s not alone anymore, and he breaks down. He can’t find it in him to care that his tears are staining Bruce’s tux. Bruce couldn’t care less about the tux. He wraps his arms around the sobbing boy, stroking his hair and rocking slightly.

[mentallyadinonugget]

✮soulmate!ellie x soulmate!reader

tags: sfw, some fluff, vvv vague loser ellie, slightly deranged/feral reader, & soulmate au obvs.

word count: 2.3k

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Growing up, you never quite grasped why people believed that having your soulmate's very first words permanently etched into your skin was so undeniably romantic and a true blessing. Perhaps it offered them hope that there’s someone destined to love them, their other half. Meanwhile, most of the folks you encountered had the sweetest meet-cutes and even more charming phrases like, “I’m sorry to say, but you have the most beautiful eyes ever” or “Hi, I saw you from afar and simply couldn’t resist introducing myself.” Your parents, on the other hand, had the most cringe-worthy first interaction imaginable, and heaven forbid you ever bring it up; it only inflates their already inflated egos. Maybe you were just a tad jealous.

Even the more common lines felt agreeable to you, like “Hi, what’s your name?” or “And that’ll be $9.99, tax included.” You knew it would’ve been confusing to receive something like that, but God knows you’d prefer it over what your “soulmate” actually said to you. You scoffed every time you glanced at your right arm, a constant reminder of how the person who’s supposed to love you eternally uttered, “Are you actually deaf, or is your head just wayyyy too up your ass all the time to hear anything?” Ah yes, folks, that’s the love of your life right there.

Whenever someone would mention their insipid, showy, dense soulmate’s first words like “You smell like tulips” or “Mister, wait, you forgot your wallet,” you couldn’t help but feel that pang of jealousy. But could anyone really blame you? People often tried to convince you that maybe it would be funny when you finally met or something vaguely similar, but you always silenced them with a glare, not wanting to hear another word about it.

Today was probably the worst day of your life. You got into a huge fight with your parents about something so silly that you couldn't help but laugh right now. You dropped some good manchow soup on your white T-shirt while getting up to get your plate to the dining table. You weren't sure what you were angrier about, your T-shirt or your soup. Just as you thought things couldn't get worse, your teacher sent a text in the group chat assigning all students extra work so late at night, ruining all the plans you had for the weekend. You couldn't pinpoint what pushed you over the edge or the reason why you were sneaking out to get fried shrimp at 4 in the morning. It was just one of those days.

You were out in your Hello Kitty pajamas and even comfier sweatshirt with your headphones in. You mumbled to yourself, "I would rather lick my tongue with a cheese grater than have someone I know from school see me like this." You texted your best friend, "Should I get the sweet chili or BBQ sauce?" But before you could get a reply back, you were tackled to the ground by someone on possibly a skateboard. Your palms and knees were scraped and bloodied. RIP Hello Kitty pajamas.

You got up to see this pale girl with short brown hair, a baggy T-shirt, and shorts. Her nose was bleeding slightly. Honestly, you would have found her quite attractive under any different circumstances, but right now you couldn't give less of a fuck about what she looked like or what she was wearing. You were having the shittiest day in the history of shitty days, and now your Hello Kitty trousers were ripped and you were covered in blood. Your sweet dreams of getting fried shrimp were shattered. So before you could even think about something reasonable, some vile words left your mouth. To your surprise, she didn't hold back either.

"Can't you see where you're going, you bumbling shit muffin?" you shrieked.

"Are you actually deaf, or is your head just wayyyy too up your ass all the time to hear anything?" she yelled with the biggest sneer on her face, getting way closer to your face than you'd like her to be. You could now clearly see the freckles on her face, her bloodied button nose, her green eyes, and the way her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Maybe you would like that, tbh.

It took you a minute to realize what just happened.

oh

Oh.

What the fuck

What the absolute fucking fuck, this can't be happening. Not when I look like this, at least you thought, and by the looks of the girl's expression, you were so sure that she was thinking the same thing. Her features softened slightly, and she let out a small chuckle, faintly blowing air in your face. “Oh my god, it’s you,” she exclaimed, her smile getting bigger. But once again, you couldn’t register what you were about to say and started screaming, “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE YOU RUINED MY LIFE!” as you lunged at her, trying to punch her. She caught you with such ease you would’ve considered it hot if you weren’t so angry at the moment. “I’M THE ASSHOLE??? When YOU’RE the one who called me a shit muffin?” She barked a laugh. “Do you know that all my friends call me shit muffin now? I guess I do have to give you points for creativity.” She amused, and guilt took over you. All your anger vanished. “I’m sorry, I guess,” you murmured, avoiding eye contact. Before you could react, she grabbed your chin and enforced you to look at her. “What was that?” She leaned in, cupping her ear, pretending to hear you better, smirking a bit. “Oh, eat cock,” you rolled your eyes and pushed her away. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t swing that way.” She beamed. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she grinned ear to ear. “Why? I let down your expectations?” You half joked now that you finally started to believe that this was indeed happening. God, you were so nervous. What if she thought you were ugly, like a troll, or you frightened her by trying to knock her teeth in? God, how could I be so fucking stop, you introspected.

“W-what? NO, absolutely not. You’re beautiful,” she went on apprehensively, her cheeks quickly reddening as she said it.

“Please forget that I’m not this much of a loser on a daily basis,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands and sitting down on the sidewalk. You couldn’t help but giggle. God, she was cute. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were hot before I punched you,” you said. “TRIED to punch me. I dodged that actually,” she boasted, wiping fake dust off her shoulders. This time you actually laughed. “Oh my god, you’re so lame,” you exclaimed. “NO I’M NOT,” she put up a performance which made you laugh even harder. You didn’t get it, but the girl was staring at you with the biggest smile on her face. “I’m Ellie, by the way, Ellie Williams,” she put her hand out for you. “(y/n)(y/ln),” you replied while shaking it. You got up and pulled her with you, both of you walking for no reason. It was quite peaceful, honestly.

“Well, miss y/l/n, what are you doing here at 4 am? Early morning run?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, as if,” you scoffed and started telling her about your appalling day, and to your entertainment, she made stupid expressions, exaggerating her emotions on everything you said, putting a fake sword through her heart when you told her about how she’s the reason you don’t have your delicious fried shrimp with you right now. And in return, Ellie told you about how much she likes skateboarding, and she was trying to learn this new trick but kept making a lot of noise, so her old man Joel told her to take it outside. She told you how cool the trick is and even attempted to show it to you, failing miserably and making you laugh once again. You then noticed the blood on her face was beginning to dry up, so you asked her to come with you to some public bathroom.

You took out your pocket hanky and began to wet it, putting it on her face, cleaning all traces of blood, while she continued to yap about her other interests, which included dinosaurs and space, and it weirdly didn’t surprise you. You cleaned yourself up too and came out.

“I’m truly sorry for ruining your super awesome pajamas,” she forged an apology, her smile unwavering. “I’m sorry for almost breaking your nose; there’s nothing I can do about that.” You bowed to her, mirroring the energy she had given you, though deep down, you felt a twinge of guilt.

“Well, there is something you can do about it,” she said slyly. “And that is?” You raised an eyebrow. “Your number, maybe? And a date, but only if you want to, of course! You totally don’t have to hang out with me just because we’re soulmates. I mean, who even believes in that anymore? You probably don’t want to; we just met, so it’s reasonable. I could be a serial killer for gods sake.” She laughed nervously, glancing down as she played with her fingers anxiously. “Yes, I’d love to go out with you, Ellie,” you interjected, stopping her from rambling further.

“Oh, thank fuck” she exclaimed, relief washing over her as she pumped her fist in victory. “Ellie, what the hell? Just give me your phone, and I’ll type my number in for you.” You chuckled at her excitement. “So, where are we going?” you asked Ellie.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that; I know exactly what you’d love,” she smirked to herself. “Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. But right now, I have to leave and get back home before my parents figure out I snuck out, okay?” you said, glancing at the time.

“What? No goodbye kiss?” Ellie teased, and before she could make another witty comment, you kissed her cheek and dashed away. “You better make it worth my while, Williams!” you called back as you fled.

As you neared home, a funny feeling crept in—maybe this soulmate business wouldn’t be as awful as you had imagined. Meanwhile, Ellie stood there in shock, her hand caressing her cheek where your lips had just lingered. She was utterly confused, yet her radiant smile remained unyielding.

Ellie Williams was utterly, truly, and tremendously fucked up over you, but luckily, so were you. _____________________________________________

Hi pretty ppl! this was my first ellie fic and I know this is a bit too long but I was having so much fun writing it I couldn’t stop im sorry okay 😞 if yall like it ill make a part two I just know

once again constructive criticism is more than appreciated but if you want to be mean do not interact with this at all

[writingforstraykids]

Missed Calls

Pairing: Changbin x gn!Reader (short mention of Chan/Jisung)

Word Count: 1232

Summary: Changbin overdoes it before the upcoming tour and ends up in hospital. You're busy and miss the many notifications blowing up your phone until you finally realize you should get going.

Warnings/Tags: angst, fluff, comfort, fainting, very short mention of blood, shitty communication skills, happy ending

A/N: Thank you, my love @zehina for helping me out with a prompt for this fic🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The sound of your ringtone is muffled beneath the blanket of music pouring from your headphones, bass-heavy and loud enough to match the mood clawing at your insides. You’re three hours into a long-overdue deep clean of your apartment- more rage-scrubbing than actual tidying, if you’re being honest - and your phone is buried somewhere under a pile of laundry and passive-aggressive to-do lists.

It’s been a day.

Actually, it’s been a week. Maybe a month. Too many deadlines, too many people asking for too many things. And on top of all that, the emotional whiplash of being half in a relationship with someone who belongs to the world and barely has time to belong to himself, let alone you.

Changbin.

Your thumb scrapes a smear of dried toothpaste off the bathroom mirror, and you glare at your reflection like it’s responsible for everything unraveling. You hadn’t meant to ignore him, not really. You’d just… needed a break. From the constant notifications, the packed schedule reminders he kept sharing, the tension you felt in every message that sounded like a goodbye disguised as a status update.

Still, you probably should’ve picked up.

The music cuts out suddenly, a faint vibration making your heart lurch in your chest. You yank the headphones off and fumble for your phone, finally digging it out from under your sweatshirt. The screen lights up with missed calls—fourteen of them. Nine messages. One from Jisung. Two from Felix. The rest are all Chan.

And then the most recent one: "Call me when you see this. It’s urgent."

Time slows. Your pulse pounds in your ears.

You swipe through the notifications with trembling fingers until you find the one that matters.

Chan [4:12 p.m.]: He collapsed at the gym. Hit his head. He's in the hospital. They're running tests now.

You don't remember grabbing your keys, or your jacket, or locking the door behind you. The world outside feels like a dream - sharp, unreal, smeared with the smog of city life and the blur of regret.

-

The hospital smells like antiseptic and stress. Bright lights buzz overhead as you make your way to the reception desk, barely managing to say Changbin’s name before someone’s guiding you down a too-white hallway.

Jisung’s waiting in the corridor, slumped in one of the plastic chairs, phone clutched in both hands like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth. His eyes widen when he sees you. “You made it.”

“What happened?” Your voice is hoarse, breathless.

He stands, eyes flicking over you, and then pulls you into a hug you don’t realize you need until you’re already in it.

“He was at the gym. He overdid it, I guess. Barely ate, hadn’t slept. You know how he gets before tours. He just—” Jisung breaks off, swallowing hard. “He fainted. Hit the back of his head. There was blood. He wasn’t waking up for a while. Scared the hell out of us.”

“Is he—” You can’t finish the question. Your throat tightens around the words.

“He’s awake now. Groggy. Still in the ER while they check for a concussion or worse. You can go in.”

Your legs carry you down the corridor before your mind catches up. Your heart is pounding so hard it’s painful. The moment you push through the curtain, everything stops.

Changbin is lying on the bed, pale against the stark white sheets, a bandage wrapped around the back of his head. There’s a bruise forming just above his ear. His eyes are half-open, unfocused, but when they land on you, something shifts in them. He tries to sit up. “You’re here.”

You rush to his side. “God, Binnie—stay down, you shouldn’t—don’t move.”

His smile is weak. “You finally checked your phone.”

“I-” Your voice breaks. You clasp his hand, fingers trembling. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I was… cleaning. And angry. And ignoring everything. I should’ve-”

“It’s okay.” He squeezes your hand. “You’re here now.”

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, and you don’t know if it’s guilt or relief or both. Probably both.

-

The nurse tells you he’ll need monitoring overnight. That the scans look okay, but concussions can be tricky. That he’s lucky.

You don’t feel lucky. You feel like you’ve failed him.

Later, when the nurse steps out and it’s just the two of you again, you sit by his bed, still holding his hand. His eyes keep drifting shut.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “So much.”

“I didn’t mean to.” His voice is soft, laced with exhaustion. “Just… wanted to be ready for tour. Felt like everything was on me, and I had to push harder. Guess I pushed too far.”

“You always do.” You say it gently, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “You carry too much.”

He exhales a shaky breath. “I thought maybe you were done. With me. You didn’t reply, and I figured… maybe I pushed you too far too.”

Your heart cracks wide open. “No. I was just tired. Frustrated. I thought you were shutting me out, again. I didn’t think - God, Binnie, I didn’t think something like this would happen.”

“Guess we both suck at talking,” he murmurs.

You nod. “Yeah. But we can get better. If you let me in. If you stop trying to do everything alone.”

Silence stretches between you, not heavy, but full.

“Will you stay tonight?” he asks, voice small.

You nod, already pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. “Always.”

-

That night, you don’t sleep. You sit in the hospital chair with your hand in his, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, listening to the quiet beeping of machines. Your phone buzzes again - Chan checking in this time. You reply briefly, letting him know Changbin’s resting, and then turn your phone over.

You think about how easily you could’ve lost him. How close you came to not getting this second chance.

The tour’s still happening, and you know the pressure won’t go away. But maybe, just maybe, the two of you can start showing up for each other in the moments that matter most.

One Week Later

Changbin’s better. He’s not cleared for full rehearsals yet, and it’s driving him up the wall. You catch him trying to sneak in push-ups in the living room, and you threaten to hide all the dumbbells.

“You know,” you say, leaning in the doorway with crossed arms, “if you pass out again, I’m not taking you to the hospital. I’ll just duct tape you to the couch.”

He laughs, the sound bright and welcome. “I’m fine.”

“You weren’t. And I don’t want you to forget that just because you’re stubborn.”

He looks up at you, serious now. “I haven’t forgotten. Trust me.”

You walk over and sit beside him, grabbing his hand. “Next time something’s wrong - anything - I want you to tell me. Even if it’s just a bad day. Even if it’s small. Deal?”

He links your pinkies together. “Deal.”

-

The night before the tour, you help him pack. You find yourself lingering in the hallway as he zips up his suitcase, your stomach twisting. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself on tour.”

He walks over and cups your cheek.“Promise me you’ll pick up your phone next time.”

You nod, cheeks flushing. “Deal.”

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

His lips brush your forehead, soft and grounding. “Then we’ll both be okay.”

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9

[zoloft3]

godly summer

☆彡eijiro kirishima x reader

tags -- > summer camp AU, found family, confessions, alcohol and weed mentions, ex! bakugou and best friend! bakugou, its a little poetic don't be mad guys

a/n : this whole fic was inspired by @rueclfer and their evergreen smau series. I read like one sentence of one of the chapters and had war flash back levels of inspiration and somehow... this was born. hope u guys enjoy :p

-------༚☆༚-------

The water was cool against the skin of your ankles. You listened to the sound of the dock beneath you, wondering how something so completely dead, could make so much noise. Funny how certain sounds are always there, and you only notice when you’re alone with them. 

That was how you felt about Eijiro too. 

You’d spent almost every summer of your life together. But it wasn’t until this one that you noticed him, when you were the only two who came back. Out of that original group of ten, just you and him were left. 

His face was lit by the glow of the fireflies, soft and tinged slightly green. His shoulders back as he rested against the wooden planks. You had never known his silhouette, his neck and face, like you do now. Never yearned everyday and begged to your gods, the gods that ruled this summer, for someone like you did for him. Unending, searing heat, that ruled every year and softened the blade of time. Like the stove determines every dinner, the click of the burner signaling the start, summer wouldn’t be the same without him. 

He was always there, right next to you. Playing with the tadpoles you’d catch in your bright blue bucket, chasing after you on your bike as everyone raced to the dining hall for dinner. You’d push him in the pool and he’d beat you in every game of volleyball. Always pushing and pulling, a tidal reminder of your friendship, he’d never been anywhere but next to you. 

The moment you realized that, it was like fate whispering in your ear. Like an invisible hand had turned your head ever so slightly, right in his direction. You wondered how you’d never thought to look that way before. 

༚

He had been chasing the kids around all day. Unfortunately, one of you campers had caught a cold and you'd been cooped up inside, leaving Eijiro to take over many of your duties. When the day had finally come to a close, dusk sweeping over the valley, he'd returned to your shared cabin. Collapsing beside you on your bunk, he let out the biggest sigh before turning to you whispering, “Don’t ever let me go out there alone without you again.”

You glanced over at him from your book, and immediately your heart stopped. Pupils dilating, you watched his chest move with each breath and realized how beautiful he’s always been. Big eyes looking up at you like there was no one he’d rather be staring back at. 

“I wouldn’t dare.”

༚

The dock sighed under his shifting weight and the memory was gone, slipping down to the bottom of the lake. 

He was leaning forward, your shoulders now touching. You watched him as he looked out to the tree line decorating the mountain you grew up under. 

“Do you think you’ll ever stop coming back?” He asked and finally turned to look at you. 

“I don’t think it would be the same if I did.” You answered, “My life would be completely different. Everything revolves around these three months, if I stopped coming I… I don’t know.” 

You looked away, the black lake water consuming you. What would you do? Live in a city for the rest of your life, dreaming about this place like someone yearns for their first love? Pathetic and boring, working some dumb office job you’d never be happy in? If there was no summer, there wasn’t anything else. 

“It’d be like loosing a piece of yourself, right?”

You turned back to him, surprised that he knew the answer. 

“Yeah,” You nodded, watching his hair in the wave breeze, “That’s exactly it.”

You were silent for a few minutes, gathering your thoughts and listening to the swaying of the reeds, “How come it’s only been you and me together… now? Why were we so far apart for so long?”

You noticed his chest deflate, eyes widening “You’re not seriously asking me that.” 

“What? Why wouldn’t I?” The thought of him being upset with you, was almost heartbreaking.

“You know,” He looked so tired, like this was a topic he’d spent his whole life studying, but you’d never even heard of it before.

“I don’t,” You pleaded, “Please, tell me.”

“Katsuki. It was always Katsuki to you. I was just… never enough. Whatever we were was never enough compared to you and him.”

Your heart crumpled. Mostly because he was right. 

Ever since that first summer, when you were all 6 years old. Too young for the sleep away camp, but all your parents had decided to stay in the rentable cabins for a few weeks. You and Katsuki had been the first to meet. From first glance, and then first tree fort, you were inseparable. Everyone else came after that, and you made the best friends you’d ever have in your lifetime. But no one could compete with you and Katsuki. 

You all had come together to form one of the strongest friend groups, pulling the parents in too. It became a tradition. Every year, the same place. A big family that everyone made together. The gods had been stitching the quilt for centuries, and you all had no choice but to be stitched alongside one another. 

The year you all turned twelve, everyone was old enough for the sleep away camp. That’s when it became inevitable. Some of the parents still came, nervous about their babies being all alone, but by fourteen it was the ten of you against the world. Ochako had stopped coming by fifteen. She needed a summer job that paid more, and nobody could be upset about that. At 16 most of you became counselors.

The summers kept getting longer and the friendships too. Campfires and drinking until sunrise. Smoking under redwoods and sex on the forest floor where no one was watching. Phones tossed in the lake and break-ups so tragic they threatened to tear everything apart. Until the next game night, or scavenger hunt, or drunk birthday party had everyone stuck together again. Nobody could stay away for long. You’d be texting all year, sending memes and creating snapchat streaks larger than your bank account balance at times. 

It was only a matter of time though. Before everything began to fall apart. 

The summer before senior year was the best and the last good one. Everyone was there. Ochako, who had negotiated a raise with the camp director. Hanta, who's mother had threatened to never let him come back after last year’s laced weed incident.

It was the summer you kissed Eijiro for the first time. A game of truth or dare had put the two of you out on the lake, naked and in a row boat (don’t ask). He was gorgeous and staring at your naked body like he wanted to swallow it whole, so you thought 'why not kiss him?'  

Unfortunately, it didn’t lead very far, his knee between your legs shifted the weight of the boat a bit too far. You both had to swim back naked and in the pitch black with only the stars to guide you. The whole situation was too dark and wet to search for your clothes, so you both scrambled back to your respective cabins as quickly as possible, forgetting the whole thing. But not really. 

You never forgot how his lips felt, or his hands pulled on your waist and then your hips. How easily he pried you open, and scraped you clean. 

You did forget about Katsuki, though. 

༚

The two of you had been best friends since day one. He was your first kiss, first boyfriend, first time, first love, first breakup, and first life long friend. 

But after senior year, only half of you returned. Most too busy prepping and moving away to college. Mina was moving to Paris, Denki and Hanta off to california for school, and so on. It left the next summer with just you, Izuku, Katsuki and Eijiro. It wasn't inheirantly terrible, the four of you getting along fine for the most part. But that didn't take away from the feeling that your whole world was falling apart. it was as if summer was crumbling under your feet and attempting to drag you down into the lake. The weight of it's loss forcing you to sink into its depths forever. 

Now, it was just the two of you, alone. Izuku had finally landed a job, and Katsuki was off traveling with his new boyfriend. It was all terribly perfect for everyone else. You could barely open your phone, without being bombarded with pictures and messages about how wonderfully everyone's lives were going. How easily they managed to move on without you, without summer.

You’d dated the loud blonde when you were 14, but it only lasted two years. The two of you had eventually realized that you were not good as partners and decided to just be friends again. Somehow, the romance had replaced your best friend, and you needed him more than you needed a boyfriend. 

It was very amicable, but not without tears. You were terrified that the break up meant losing him. Which was part of the reason you held on for so long. But luckily it did the opposite, You were closer than ever. He’d burn the world for you, and you’d always call him first before anyone else for anything. Summer had that effect. A soothing and thick honey that healed over burns and cuts like no other medicine. Something about this place, its humid air and smokey breeze made it impossible to remember your grievances and hold onto grudges. Under the gaze of the mountain and beneath the faceless moon, you were home. Nothing could destroy that, as long as you were here. 

༚

Coming back to the conversation you sighed, “Right, Katsuki.”

Looking at it from an outsiders perspective. You were a bit untouchable. Katsuki was very overprotective and you guys did everything together. If someone was trying to get your attention, without Katsuki noticing, it would be near impossible. 

“Yeah,” Eijiro smiled in exasperation, “You know he punched me in the face for that night on the boat right?”

You gasped, “Really? That’s what that black eye was from?” 

You completely forgot but now distinctly remember Eijiro gaining a black eye soon after the boat kiss. 

“Yeah,” He sighed, “But you see now, don’t you? He was always first, and it was hard to be second.” 

You remembered his and Mina’s cute but very short relationship that transpired a few weeks after that kiss. It ended quickly in the fall, but you remembered how strange it was that he was with her. They got along well, sure, but you couldn’t help but wonder why her, and not you? 

Now you know. 

“I’m sorry,” You put your hand over his, “If I’d known, It could’ve been different.” 

“Oh no,” He smiled, reaching up to smooth a thumb across your cheek, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

You were whispered to once again, the gods pushed your head forward, connecting your lips. 

༚

The next day, you picked up the old payphone outside the office and called Katuski. It rang only once before he picked up.

"Hello, you," You called into the receiver, smiling fondly.

"Hello," You could hear the smile in his voice, "I was just thinking about calling you."

"Oh really? Why's that?" You and Katsuki could go weeks without speaking. Often times only calling or texting when something important was happening. But as soon as you reached out, all the pieces fell back into place, and it was like no time had passed at all.

"You'll never guess who just got proposed to. In front of the Eiffel Tower no less, I almost said no," He answered and you could practically see the smirk on his face

"Katsuki!" You shouted for joy, "I'm so happy for you. Really, you've no idea."

"Yeah, the whole thing is ridiculous, but unfortunately I love him," He sighed dramatically, "Now, what did want to talk about?"

"Well I have some news too," You bit your lip, attempting to contain your exictment and preparing for the onslaught of questions, "Eijiro and I are dating."

"What?!"

There was a loud bump, followed by a thud on the other line, "Sorry, ahem, when the fuck did that happen?"

"well it's been going on for a while, but officially, its only been since last night. We kissed on the dock over the lake and talked for hours. It was so romantic I'm sure you would've had a heart attack."

"I think I'm having one right now."

You laughed, truly happy. In that singular moment as you leaned against the old yellow plexiglass of payphone box, listening to Katuski rant about the responsibilities of a real relationship and safe sex, summer was back. Patting you softly on the shoulder, you closed your eyes, letting it's heat fully embrace you.

Then the dinner bell rung, and the moment passed, carried away on by the evening breeze.

"Listen, 'Tsuki, i've got to go, but I love you, congratulations, text me later okay?"

"Love you too, idiot. Go give Ei a slap on a back for me. Don't tell him it was me though."

You smiled, imagining him slapping Eijiro so hard he started coughing, "Wouldn't dream of it."

༚

You returned to your cabin that night, happier than you'd been in years. The weight on your chest was light and unthreatening. There was something different in the air now. A change of perspective, perhaps.

You knew now that summer would always be there. No matter who joined you, it was something you built over years of loving and laughing. You still knew this place, its trees and streams and fireflies. The memories would never leave, the friendships wouldn't cease to exist. Even if it's not the same, even if it's over, it still happened. Summer would always follow, as long as you made sure to look back from time to time.

The second you walked in the door he came to meet you. The love on his face was enough to ease any remaining worries. Everything else fell away as he held your face in his hands.

You wrapped your arms around him as he kissed you. Summer never tasted so sweet as it did on his lips.

When you were with him, it seemed to never end. 

-------༚☆༚-------

a/n : leaving notes and rebloging helps me to keep writing, so please don't be shy if you liked what you read :)

thanks again to @saemeret for being my beta, couldn't have gotten the courage to do this without you <3

[lilfoxay]

oh fuck now I gotta sit here and think about if there's anything I could talk about for hours. I don't think I've ever actually just yapped at someone's face about a single thing for that long? but uh...

1. sex. and not like the science of it or anything, I can just steer any conversation into the direction of sex jokes and it's a blessing/curse that my friends have to constantly remind me is maybe not best exercised over dinner

2. video games. specifically story-heavy ones. I'm hoping to be a video game writer after I graduate because life back home was really boring (small town anyone) and I coped by playing a lot of games for escapism. I want to be able to do that for other people too. I still play a lot of video games, even ones that aren't as lore heavy because those tend to be really fun with my online friends :>

3. dragons. I don't know as many dragon facts as I probably should but I've loved dragons since I was little and if something has a good (or morally gray) dragon in it, I will want it. that's how my brother convinced me to try Skyrim, cause there was at least 1 good dragon. also my mom told me when I was a kid if you told me dragons weren't real I'd start crying and arguing with you. so...

4. complaints. does this count? I'm really pessimistic so I complain about things a lot. don't even get me started on how people act at my college, it frequently makes me want to punch things.

5. cats. cats ive had, cats back home, my emotional support cat here at college (shoutout to Honeybee), other people's cats, i like cats. sometimes I visit my friends dorm to check on her but mostly to pet her cat because he has a silly face (imagine a white Scottish fold with so much anxiety. he looks like a really lanky autism creature. I love him)

thanks so much for tagging me in this! no pressure tags: @mizzingyou @realbigpodcastslut

Thanks for the tag @whodoesnataliehave !

I was tagged to list 5 topics I could talk about for hours.

1. Yellowjackets all day every day!

2. Arcane ofc!

3. Music, esp Paramore or Lights but open to most things

4. Visual Art/Design/Comics/Graphic Novels etc

5. History and politics. I’m always about learning something new

No pressure tagging @firelilysky @mars-all-over @lais-a-ramos @lesbianforlottie @kings-paintbrush

and anyone else who wants to!

[for-a-longlongtime]

WIP on Wednesday Thursday

Well, first of all, my WIP folder is currently looking like this:

But fuck it, we ball right?

I got tagged by @din-cognito and @avastrasposts this week, and @the-blind-assassin-12 and @lotusbxtch last week, so I've got some catching up to do! I've been all over the place working on different docs, so you're getting a few tidbits this week.

I've posted snippets of this before (and lo! a hozier title! I'm gonna have to change that though because the story ended up going differently than planned), and after it having been on hold for months, the pieces are coming together at last.

let me wrap my teeth around the world (working title) | Santiago x Frankie “You think we did the right thing there?” Santiago says, staring at the ceiling as he avoids Frankie's eyes. Unsure he really wants to hear the answer, because of how likely it is that he is the only person who can’t answer that with a decisive yes. Fish was the only one on their team - besides Tom - who'd had a family to take care of, who needed that money probably more than any of them did because of his pilot license being suspended. “I mean... Following his lead with the money.” No answer. The deafening silence lasts for much too long. Santi grimaces as he closes his eyes. Shit. Why did he even ask? He keeps fucking up like this.

Next we've got a WIP that I haven't worked on in a bit (it wanted to go on break, bummerrr) but that I'm hoping to pick up very soon.

Untitled | Reynaldo x Matthew It’s those large hands that draw Matt’s attention first.  That, and the golden chain partially but-not-quite hiding under that checkered golf shirt, glistening every now and then in the bright afternoon sun. It’s almost as bright as the gleam in Sophie’s eyes when she throws back a shot and listens to the older man introduce himself as Reynaldo. Matt is only vaguely aware of the prepared talk that the man launches into, a few words standing out, such as ‘exclusive members only’ and ‘the best golf club in all of Arizona’. Things that everybody wanted to hear, and that gave Sophie all the more opportunity to coo at the man how this was ‘one of the best premium golf clubs’ she’d ever been at. It probably isn’t all that premium though, considering the Scotts and Dale had been able to book this place on a budget. And truth be told, it’s still unclear to Matt why they are here on a ‘vow renewal bachelor staycation’, which seemed a contradiction on its own. Or even why Sophie showed up here, acting like one of the guys, just long enough until she found someone who was willing to give her the attention she was clearly looking for. He’d seen the pattern before, especially with the girls on the Kel-squad. None of that matters though, he tries to remind himself as they make their way up to the golf course. He’s simply glad to get away from Kelsey for a couple of days - not just for some peace and quiet, but also so he doesn’t have to wonder if she’s talking to Domingo every time she smiles at an incoming message on her phone.

Finally, this last one is still in the VERY early stages, but ngl... I'm excited. Thank you to the folks who encouraged me to keep going with it! This is hella out of my comfort zone but what the hell, that's where the fun is, right? This one is going to more filth than I'll probably be able to shove into an one shot... so it may end up becoming two or three parts. We'll see.

for glory (working title) | Harry Castillo Harry is speechless, shock painted over his features, and it takes him a moment to find his voice. "You wouldn't dare to," he finally manages to say, and what had previously been surprise in his eyes has now flipped into unmistakeable rage. "Mmm, is that so, Harry? What - you think I've got morals or something?"

EDIT: WAIT!! I forgot to add one final excerpt! This is from a yet to be decided chapter from Joel and Marcus Moreno' story. I spent way too much time trying to find the right face claim moments for them at different ages, and this is what I settled on for their mid-twenties:

Joel in his mid-twenties (a.k.a. Zach Wellison in Brothers & Sisters)

Marcus Moreno in his late twenties (a.k.a. looking like Comandante Veracruz from the Burn Notice movie).

Yes, I'm as shocked as y'all are about the latter, but I promise it'll make sense. As for the excerpt:

Untitled series | Joel Miller x Marcus Moreno Marcus folds his arms as he leans back against the wall, looking every bit the charismatic guy most people know him to be. But Joel has known him a long time and can see where the varnish has cracked, and the parts he so desperately tries to cover up.  "So you don't like it. How I look. You don't like me anymore," Marcus says after a moment, and there’s something about all that combativeness on display - as well as the bitter irony of those words - that hits Joel much harder than he was prepared for. He doesn’t have the same defense system that Marcus clearly is equipped with; the mask that he can put on and off so easily after years of practice. So he just shakes his head. "Think it's been too long since you've had someone push back against you, M." "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Joel tries to hide his sigh by drinking from his coffee, but the beverage has gone cold, the stale taste of it now bitter on his tongue in a way that feels oddly specific to this situation. "Don't pick a fight with me because you're unhappy, Marcus," he says softly.

I know a lot of y'all already posted a WIP Wednesday, so I'm just gonna link a couple of folks, no pressure as always (apologies if you've already made your weekly WIP update):

@perotovar @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @mountainsandmayhem @qveerthe0ry

@letsgobarbs @gothcsz @milla-frenchy @guiltyasdave @oliveksmoked

@magpiepills @arcanefox207 @reallyrallyauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @clubsoft

@romanarose @the-blind-assassin-12

[bittertincture]

Turn My Eyes | Chapter Four | Words are a Honeycomb | Priest!Joel

The Rating: Explicit (18+)

The Chapter Summary: A lighthearted exchange between you and Father Joel reveals a fleeting moment of connection, despite your guarded nature.

The Tags: I would like to withhold some tags for the sake of the story. But I will tell you that this story will deal with the following: Religion (which may be offensive to some readers), Religious Imagery, Religious Trauma, Violence, Explicit and Consenting Sexual Acts between Adults, Forbidden Relationship, Power Exchange, Mentions of Death, Angst. There is much more but those are the pertinent ones.

The MC:  The female character of “You” is able bodied with hair long enough to be grabbed. She is English speaking and while I wrote her from a white, former Catholic woman’s perspective, I hope the language I use is inclusive enough that many walks of life you can imagine themselves as her.

The Author’s Notes: It's been really lovely seeing all the hearts on here for my tale. It's been restrained so far but we have some dark and twisted lust on the horizon. Thank you so much for the wonderful response to this story! I’m truly grateful for your support and for taking the time to read along. If you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and feel free to re-blog. Your feedback and shares mean the world to me.

The Credits: The Line Dividers are by @saradika-graphics The Story Image is made by myself. If you would like to use it please give proper credit.

Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones - Proverbs 16:24

The morning light filters through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns against the walls of your childhood bedroom. The bed is soft; the scent of lavender lingering on the pillow from Nana’s careful hands that feels like homecoming, but the weight in your chest reminds you that you don’t belong anywhere right now.

You roll onto your side, staring at the ceiling, your mind circling back to yesterday’s potluck. To the way Father Joel carried himself; poised, unreadable. You don’t trust people like that. The ones who hold themselves too still, who keep their words measured like they’re afraid of what might slip if they let their guard down. You saw it in his hands, the faint scars on his knuckles, the way his fingers twitched ever so slightly when someone spoke to him. He’s hiding something.

They always are.

You exhale, rubbing your temples, trying to shake him from your thoughts. It doesn’t matter. You won’t see him again.

The sound of dishes clinking from the kitchen downstairs reminds you that Nana is awake. You force yourself up, stretching your aching limbs. The bruise inside you, metaphorical, but no less painful, throbs dully. Your ex’s voice still lingers in your mind, twisting the truth until you don’t even trust your own memories. You wonder if you’ll ever feel like yourself again.

Downstairs, Nana greets you with a warm smile and a plate of biscuits. “Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

You lie, because she deserves that much. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t believe you, but she lets it go. Instead, she starts talking about yesterday, about how happy she was to see you at church, even if she must have known you didn’t want to be there. She talks about the way things were when you first came to live with her, when you were just a grief-stricken teenager trying to make sense of losing everything. You love her for the way she tiptoes around the hurt, for the way she lets it settle without poking at it.

Then she brings up Margaret.

You don’t need to hear much to know Margaret already dislikes you. You could see it in her pursed lips, the way she sized you up like she’d already decided who you were before you even spoke. The kind of woman who thrives on rules and unspoken expectations. The kind you’ve always seemed to disappoint.

“I never did take to Margaret,” Nana admits, in the closest thing to gossip you’ll ever hear from her. “But she means well.”

You hum noncommittally. You aren’t sure you believe that. “She doesn’t like me.”

“You don’t know that,” Nana insists, stirring her coffee with slow, deliberate motions.

Sure I do. Women like her are all the same.

“Has she read my books?”

Nana sighs, pressing her lips together. “She knows about them.”

And there’s your answer; Margaret, self-appointed morality police of St. Vincent’s Catholic Church, would sniff out any perceived scandal like a bloodhound. You let out a short, humorless laugh.

“I don’t write them anymore,” you say, more for Nana’s benefit than anything.

She nods, taking a sip of her coffee before setting the cup down with a soft clink. “I know. And I think that’s for the best.”

Your jaw tightens. You know she never approved, even when the royalties paid your bills better than your ex ever could.

“But you used to love writing. I know you did. You got that scholarship remember? For that short story?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you just need to write something like that again, something more wholesome.”

You swallow hard, fingers curling into your palm beneath the table. How do you tell her that the ugly, the taboo, the twisted are what flow so easily from your fingers? That the darker corners of the mind are the only places where the words come naturally? How do you tell her that purity feels like a lie when the world is anything but?

“Maybe,” you lie instead. So many lies so early in the morning.

Nana watches you, eyes warm but knowing. “You won’t know unless you try.”

She says it with such conviction, such unwavering faith in you, that for a brief moment, you almost wish you could be the person she wants you to be. But you aren’t. And you don’t think you ever will be.

"So, what did you think of Father Joel?" she asks, her voice full of expectation. You hesitate, the memory of the potluck still fresh, the way he felt just a little too polished. But Nana is watching you, waiting, her smile unwavering. You force a polite nod, unwilling to dampen her enthusiasm, but deep down, your opinion hasn’t budged.

“Seems nice.”

“He’s done so much for St. Vincent’s,” Nana beams at you, her eyes alight with admiration as she stirs a generous spoonful of sugar into her tea. “Just wait until you hear him preach during Easter. Wowee.”

She expects you to join her in that church full of people with forced smiles. They make your skin itch. You can’t imagine sitting through another sermon, pretending it means something to you when it doesn’t. You tell her as much, bracing for the disappointment in her face.

She nods, taking it in stride. “I understand, sugar. I do.” There’s a pause, then, softer, “Would you consider helpin’ with some volunteer work instead?”

You could say no. You should say no. But Nana asks for so little, and right now, she’s the only solid thing in your life. You owe her more than you can ever repay.

Nana is quiet as she waits for your reply, her hands wrapped tightly around the caramel-coloured drink in its chipped floral mug. The same mug she’s had since you first lived with her after the car crash that claimed your parent’s life. The car taking them to Sunday Mass of all places while you lay in bed with a fever, unaware that only two miles from home they lay unseeing in a fiery wreckage.

How can you deny her anything?

“Alright,” you say, the word heavy on your tongue. “What do you need help with?”

Her face lights up, and despite yourself, you feel the smallest flicker of warmth.

“On Tuesday we make up baskets for the needy,” she says. “Could always use an extra set of hands.”

You take a breath, letting the weight of it settle over you. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She pats your hand, small but steady. “I knew you would.”

And just like that, you are tethered to something again, whether you want to be or not.

Father Joel had noticed you the moment he stood behind the pulpit that Sunday morning. Not because you carried yourself with reverence, not because you bowed your head in quiet contemplation, but because you didn’t.

You sat stiff-backed in the pew beside your grandmother; arms crossed over your chest, mouth curled ever so slightly into what could only be described as a smirk. You weren’t here for God. You were here for her. That much was obvious.

When he spoke his homily he observed that his words crafted with care and meant to uplift did not reach you.  Forgiveness would not reach you that morning. He knew this not because of any grand revelation but because he heard you scoff. A small sound, barely there, but in the cavernous quiet of the church, it may as well have been a shout.

Fascinating, he had thought, if not a little frustrating.

At the potluck you confirmed his suspicion. You had no love for the Church, no reverence for the men who donned collars and spoke of sin and salvation. You met his gaze too directly and your sharp words laced with a dry amusement that should have irritated him.

And yet Joel was no stranger to disdain. He had seen anger, grief and bitterness. He had counselled the lost, the faithless, the doubting. But you weren’t searching for answers, you weren’t looking for peace. You had built a wall, brick by stubborn brick and you had no intention of letting anyone inside.

The way you spoke to him was churlish, dismissive, yet edged with something lively, something almost teasing. It lingered in his mind longer than he cared to admit. And though he knew he should have been perturbed, he found himself amused instead.

You had not returned to mass since. Had he driven you away? Or had you simply indulged your grandmother’s wishes for one morning, never intending to come back at all? The question needled at him until, after the following Sunday service, he found himself approaching your Nana.

She smiled when she saw him, small and knowing, as though she had been expecting this conversation. After the casual greetings and enthusiastic praise for his sermon was over, Joel felt he could broach the subject of you more casually.

“Was that your granddaughter I met with you at the potluck?”

“Yes sir. My one and only.”

"She hasn’t been back," he said, careful to keep his tone neutral. “I worry my sermon scared her off. Or perhaps she was just visiting.”

Your Nana looked disappointed, sighing softly as she adjusted the gloves on her delicate hands.

"She’s here to stay for a while, though I doubt she’s happy about it.”

“Oh?” 

“She’s been through a lot, Father. The divorce, for one. Cleaned her out. The way that no-good s-” she catches herself, her weathered cheeks pinking. “Well, I can’t say exactly what he is in polite company.”

Joel can’t help but grin. He’s heard it all.  “Sure you can.”

“No,” your Nana insisted with that brittle immovability. “I can’t.”

Joel remained silent, allowing her space to speak, though the mention of your divorce sent an unbidden twist through him. He wondered if it had hardened you or if you had always carried that sharp edge, but before he could ask, Nana continued, her voice quieter now.

“But it’s more than that, really. Life hasn’t been kind to my granddaughter. She knows loss better than most. It started young, you see."

Oh.

"The Church used to be her refuge, once upon a time." Nana’s voice was wistful, her eyes drifting toward the stained glass windows. "But something changed. Now it feels more like a wound she can’t stop pressing on. She’s severed from it."

He had seen it, in the way you had sat in that pew, like an outsider, like someone standing at the edge of something once beloved, now foreign.

"She’s a lovely woman," Nana continued, and there was that small, amused glint in her eye, like she knew something he didn’t. "Smart as a whip, funny and a heart as big as all get out. She just doesn’t make it easy to see."

Joel chuckled under his breath.

“She’s gonna volunteer here with me on Tuesday night though,” your Nana said with a renewed enthusiasm. “With the hampers for the needy.”

“That’s wonderful,” Joel replied, a little taken aback by this He had assumed your distaste for the church would extend to every branch of it.

"Be patient with her," Nana said, her voice gentle but firm, as if she were bestowing a great piece of wisdom. "Not everyone finds their way back so easily."

Joel nodded, though he was not sure what patience would accomplish. He could not make you return. He could not make you see something in the Church that you no longer believed in.

And he could not, should not, dwell on the way your sharp tongue and unreadable eyes had lodged themselves into the quiet corners of his mind.

The evening air is crisp yet warm enough to kiss your cheeks as you and your Nana step inside the church hall that Tuesday evening. The scent of wax and old wood lingers in the space, mingling with the warmth of brewing coffee and the faint sweetness of donated pastries. Around the room, folding tables are lined with cans of soup, boxes of pasta, and bags of rice, all waiting to be packed into hampers for families in need.

Your Nana, determined as ever, rolls up her sleeves, though the weariness in her movements don’t escape you. She is smaller than she once was, her energy dipping in a way that worries you. Still, she smiles at you as she sinks into a chair at the head of the table, insisting she can manage just fine from there. You don’t argue. You know better.

The other women are already gathering, the ones you remember from the service, kind, gentle-faced, welcoming in a way that leaves you unsettled. You are an outsider in this world, yet here, they act as though you belong. Mrs.Clifford pulls you into a sweaty hug that you return, hiding your grimace.

“I was worried we might have scared you away,” she says with a jovial laugh.

“No. Not at all,” you lie.

Margaret, of course, is present too, standing like a sentry near the door with her arms folded over her chest. She is all tight smiles and sharp eyes, her voice coated in saccharine sweetness that does little to mask the steel beneath.

The group of you load the items onto the large folding tables creating an assembly line of perishables, socks and of course, a bible for each package. Chattering voices are on either side of you, your Nana giving you a sly wink from one end of the table. You return it, still feeling out of place.

"Well, let’s get organized, shall we?" Margaret’s voice carries over the quiet hum of conversation. "We’ll start at this side-"

She pauses as the doors squeal open and in he strolls.

Father Joel.

The room shifts around you, the air subtly changing, though you can’t quite explain how. In your mind he is not meant to be here. He is a figure of the pulpit, of hushed confessions and quiet authority. But here he is, rolling up his shirt sleeves like any other volunteer, stepping forward with that same steady warmth that unsettles you more than anything.

"Ladies," he greets, nodding to the group before his gaze lands on you. "Good to see you here."

“So wonderful to see you here, Father Joel,” your Nana says surprised.

"I hope y’all don’t mind if I join," Father Joel says, flashing a charismatic grin around the room. The women all give fluttering shakes of their head, their coos like the sound of a loving dove. You want to roll your eyes but hold it in.

“Of course not, Father,” Margaret gushes with delight, motioning to the space between the two of you. “Here, there’s a place right next to me.”

And you realize with an internal groan, right next to you. 

You hold your breath as he moves to stand beside you at the table. He’s taller than you, his profile striking when you spare a brief look his way.

“I didn’t think we’d see you tonight,” Margaret coos, the hampers on the table forgotten. “I thought the schedule said you would be at that seminar in Round Rock?”

Joel shifts his broad frame to look over to her, his shoulder bumping yours in the process. You pull back instinctively, your face twisting in irritation.

“Decided to skip it,” he murmurs. “Feel’s hypocritical to go to a meeting about volunteering in churches and then not do it with mine.”

The others, especially the older women, beam at him, their fondness apparent. Even your Nana brightens, sending you a look as if to say, See? Isn’t he lovely?

Margaret goes on to explain how the assembly like will work. Each partnered couple will place their items in the hamper and slide it to the next. Not rocket science and not all that interesting to you.

“You wanna partner up?”

Joel’s voice is low and warm, surprising you. You glance up to see him watching your face, his gaze unreadable. You shrug, aiming for nonchalance.

“Sure.”

His lips twitch, as though he’s suppressing amusement.

As the assembly line forms, you and Father Joel work quietly with one another packing canned goods, stacking boxes, ensuring each bag is filled evenly. You don’t speak much at first, but as the rhythm of work settles in, the stiffness eases.

The rhythmic sound of cans clinking together echoes softly in the church hall as you and Father Joel work side by side, your hands moving with practiced precision yet the air between you feels thick.

“So when did you move back here?” His voice is low, warm, the kind that lingers in the air like sunlight catching in a morning fog.

His eyes, steady and searching, don’t demand a response, but you feel them on you, and the question hovers between you like a weight.

You barely glance at him, a small shake of your head as you clip your reply, “A few months ago.”

There’s no elaboration, no invitation to know more, but his quiet persistence doesn’t let the silence stretch too long. He tilts a little closer ever so slightly, though not intrusively as he grabs the loaf of bread and tosses it into the bag.

“And how long will you be stayin’?”

He asks it gentle, measured, as though testing the waters of your reluctance.

You catch yourself for a fleeting moment, considering your words. You are tethered here only by the tenuous thread of your grandmother’s hope, but saying it out loud feels too raw. Too much of the truth for a conversation like this.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your voice softer now, the edge dulling, just a little.

 Your hands hover over the pile of cans, arranging them with deliberate slowness. He nods, as though expecting nothing more, but there's an underlying note of quiet understanding in his gaze, something that makes you feel seen, not as a stranger or an outsider, but as a woman wrestling with more than she cares to admit.

You continue your work, and the rhythm settles again between you, but this time it’s different. The silence is not heavy with judgment or discomfort; it’s simply the space where things are left unsaid, and yet, in that space, you feel a strange kind of ease. He is warm in his presence, steady but not overbearing. He does not pry, does not push. And somehow, that makes it easier.

Father Joel’s hands pause over the cans, his eyes flicking to you with a glimmer of mischief.

“You know,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a soft chuckle, “I’ve always wondered why canned peas seem to find their way into every single hamper. Are they some kind of universal cure-all?”

His question hangs in the air, lighthearted, inviting a spark of humor. The corners of your lips twitch before you can stop them, the tension from before starting to loosen just a fraction. You meet his eyes briefly, the briefest flicker of amusement passing between you like a secret. It’s the first time you’ve truly relaxed since you walked into the room, and for some inexplicable reason, you find yourself responding just a little.

“You’d think they were the holy grail of vegetables,” you reply, your voice quieter, but with a touch of playful sarcasm you hadn’t intended to let slip.

You almost laugh but bite it back, letting only the slightest exhale of amusement pass, the sound surprising you more than him, but the way he smiles at you genuinely and without a hint of mockery makes it feel like you’ve been let in on some quiet, shared joke.

For a moment, you forget to guard yourself, and the weight of everything else; your past, your doubts, your walls, lightens just a little.

 He chuckles in return, a sound that resonates deeper than you would expect. You don’t know why, but the way he’s looking at you now, as though you’ve just cracked open the door to something more, unsettles you. Still, you let it linger, this small shift, this brief connection.

Until Margaret decides she’s had enough.

"My, my," she says, her voice too loud, too pointed as she curls around Joel to look your way, like the serpent testing Adam. "Look at you two, workin’ together so well. It’s lovely to see.”

Joel gives a brief nod by way of reply as he places the large ham into the hamper, his eyes focused on the task. You don’t bother looking over from what you’re doing, your mind elsewhere.

“It’s so nice to have new folks pitchin’ in, helping others.”

You glance over with your hands stilling over the box of pasta you were about to place in the hamper. You know that tone. It is the tone of a woman looking for a crack to widen a wound to press.

Joel, however, remains perfectly composed. “She must take after her Nana.”

“You’re right about that!” Your Nana laughs at the end of the table, her face pinking delightedly. “Now if y’all will excuse me, I’m gonna go powder my nose.”

Nana gives a soft grunt as she pushes herself from her chair. You watch her hunched form move out of the kitchen, her cane tapping away until it diminishes altogether.

As the assembly line continues to take shape, the older ladies hum in quiet conversation, their hands moving with an ease that comes from years of doing this work.

“It really is so lovely to have you here,” Mrs. Clifford says from across the table, her upper lip wet with sweat. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman.”

The words linger in the air longer than you’d like, hanging like delicate threads of praise that you’re not sure how to untangle. A flush creeps up your neck, your cheeks burning beneath the weight of it.

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table from the older women. You feel your face heating uncomfortably and you hunch your shoulders as you mutter out your thanks.

You clear your throat, shifting uncomfortably as you glance down at your hands, suddenly aware of their slowing movements of the way the air feels heavier around you. That familiar, awkward feeling stirs inside you, but it’s quickly followed by something else, something more guarded, a prickling sense of self-consciousness.

Your eyes flicker over to Father Joel, his body close enough that you can feel the subtle shift of his presence beside you. Is he thinking the same thing as they are? Does he see it, too? Your breath catches in your throat, but you force your gaze back down to the hamper in front of you, unsure of how to move past the sudden vulnerability that has overtaken you.

The question hangs there, unspoken, but you feel it, his proximity, the quiet energy between you, the way his hand brushes just slightly against yours as you both reach for another can. You wonder if he notices it, too, or if it's only you who feels the fluttering pulse of something unexpected.

Margaret’s sharp gaze never strays far from you, her eyes glinting with a predatory watchfulness. She’s been hovering at the edge of your conversation, and as you and Father Joel continue working side by side, her attention shifts toward you with a kind of deliberate timing, as though she’s been waiting for just the right moment.

Her mouth, always tight, curves into a too-sweet smile as she curls around Father Joel to gaze at you like the serpent tempting Adam.

“The rest of us so little about you,” Margaret offers.

“Not much to know,” you say quickly.

You think you feel Joel’s eyes on your profile but you don’t give into your curiosity to make sure.

Margaret tilts her head, her smile polished to a gleam. “I never asked you at the potluck. What is it you do for work, dear?” she asks, her voice thick with the kind of saccharine interest that makes your stomach twist.

You hesitate. Not for long, but long enough for her and the other women to notice. The truth isn’t something you parade around town, especially not in a place like this, surrounded by insincere platitudes and old morals.

“I’m a writer,” you say carefully, hoping that will be enough to placate her today. “Or, I was a writer. I don’t really write anymore.”

Joel makes a noise of interest, but you barely notice because Margaret’s eyes have lit up with something that isn’t quite delight.

“Oh, how wonderful! We don’t get many writers around here. What do you write?”

The words are laced with meaning and the way she says it, so innocent and dripping in false politeness that it makes your skin prickle. She knows damn well what you used to write.  

You clear your throat, shifting your weight as another bag of rice goes into the hamper. “Romance,” you admit, keeping it clipped. “I used to write romance novels.”

You feel the temperature rise in your chest, your pulse quickening, as Margaret continues, her words laced with a thinly veiled edge. Her smile deepens, just a fraction.

“Oh, I thought so.” She folds her hands primly in front of her. “I remember hearing about your books a few years back. You did quite well for yourself, didn’t you?”

Your fingers tighten around the loaf of bread you package. You did do well for yourself back when sales were strong, before marriage, before the messy divorce that left you too drained to write anything that didn’t feel like pulling teeth.

“One book. Yeah.” You raise your head to give Mrs. Clifford a warm smile. “Mrs. Clifford, could you pass me the-“

“I remember hearing about it,” Margaret continues with a little giggle to herself, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

Father Joel’s posture stiffens beside you as Margaret’s gaze flicks to the other ladies, who are now listening with curious interest, like hens pecking at a scrap of gossip.  Her voice lowers dramatically, but not so low that everyone can’t hear.

“It was similar to that… Twenty Shades book, right?”

You want to shrink, to disappear, but instead, all you can do is stand there, feeling the sting of her words like an open wound being scraped raw. You can’t reply.

Margaret’s expression is all warmth on the surface, but there’s a glint in her eyes, a quiet triumph, like she’s just coaxed a confession out of you without ever having to ask. “You must let us know if you ever write something… more wholesome,” she adds, her smile never wavering.

Margaret’s thin smile widens, but you catch the faintest flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. She’s relishing this, the discomfort she’s causing, the way your past is spilling into the present, tainting everything.

You feel the heat of Joel’s body press a little too close as he shifts, his hand hovering near the edge of the hamper. When you finally raise your eyes Father Joel is watching you. Not with pity. Not with amusement. Just... watching. Waiting to see how you will respond.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hands over the table. Then, with deliberate ease, you pick up the pasta, drop it into the hamper, and meet Margaret’s gaze head-on.

 “Sure, Margaret. I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Wonderful,” she says about to say something to Sadie across from her when you cast your own syrupy grin her way.

“But it’s nice to know you enjoyed my book,” you say, voice light, lilting, just enough of a smirk curling at the edge of your mouth.

She stops dead in her tracks, her pale eyes widening as she stares at you. “P-Pardon me?”

“You mentioned knowing my book,” you say with a casual air of indifference. You place the can of green beans into the paper bag. “So I just figured you were a fan of my work.”

Margaret’s face is pink and splotchy. From your peripherals you think you see Joel’s mouth twitch into a suppressed smirk under his facial hair.

“I don’t… I don’t read dirty books,” she says the last two words in a whisper. You’re gratified to see her face has turned a deep maroon. It takes everything in you not to laugh out loud.

“Oh, I see,” you give her a thoughtful look. “So then you’re just a fan of me.”

A pause. A beat of silence. And then Father Joel laughs. It’s not a chuckle, not a restrained, polite sound. It’s a full, rich laugh, genuine in a way that sends heat curling through your chest.

Margaret purses her lips, clearly un-amused but the other women chuckle as well, shaking their heads in amusement. Clearly Margaret is not the beloved figure she thinks she is. You watch as her polished face morphs and she gives a false giggle, something that feels like nails on a chalkboard.

“Oh you are so funny,” she says with a toss of her silky hair over one shoulder. “Just like your Nana. I bet the both of you just sit up there all alone in that big house laughin’ all day and night.”

Your smile and amusement dies in an instant and Margaret sees the change. Her eyes linger just a moment longer, as if savouring whatever small victory she thinks she’s won, before giving you a final, knowing smile and sweeping her gaze away toward the other women.

Father Joel takes a slow breath, his gaze soft but steady as he turns toward Margaret. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, almost paternal in a way that carries weight without needing to raise itself.

“Today I was thinkin’ about this weeks homily,” he begins, his tone calm and measured as he continues to work on the hamper. “There’s a verse in the Bible, from Proverbs 16:24, that says, Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones. It reminded me that the words we speak can either lift someone up or tear them down.”

His eyes shift briefly toward you, though he’s careful to keep his focus on the group as a whole, ensuring no one feels singled out. “It’s wonderful to know how words have this powerful ability to soothe or hurt.”

His words hang in the air, thoughtful, but not reprimanding.

"A kind word is a sweet thing, like honey in the heart," he says as he smiles, the corners of his plump mouth softening with understanding, but his gaze never wavers from the group.

“I don’t recognize that verse,” Mrs. Clifford says softly.

“That’s alright Helen, it’s because it’s not from the Bible. It’s from a poem. "A Garden of Peace by John Masefield.”

With one final glance around the table, he lets the silence linger for just a moment longer before turning his attention back to the task at hand. “Now, shall we get back to building these hampers, so we can spread some of that sweetness around.”

There’s no accusation in his tone, no judgment, only a quiet reminder of the grace that should guide their words and yours. A flutter of soft laughter like the wings of a butterfly sounds around the table, the tension broken as busy hands get back to the task in front of you. You don’t bother looking over at Margaret.

He tilts your way, shoulder against yours only now you don’t pull away. You accept it, your hands busy working. At this closer distance you observe he smells incredible. Something clean, fresh, with a whisper of something deeper. Sandalwood, maybe. It clings to him, just as the hint of warmth from the night air lingers on his skin.

You hate that you notice. You hate that the sight of him, sleeves pushed up, forearms dusted with fine hair, does something strange to your stomach. Unaware of your inner turmoil Joel leans just slightly closer, voice lowered so only you can hear.

"You think you’ll consider comin’ to Mass on Sunday if I bring canned peas? They are the holy grail of vegetables after all."

[lovergirlnoir]

Rafayel | Spilled Wine (part 1)

tags: angst, comfort, mention of death, Rafayel being a meanie for a bit, defensiveness, MC’s self-esteem took a nose dive, happy ending

wc: 4.2k

summary: misunderstandings cause emotions to ride high, tears are shed and apologies shared

author's note: good cry, reblog if anyone's interested in a smutty pt 2 where Rafy boi makes up to reader for being a dumb dumb. also not proof read <3

You sat on your idling bike for a minute until the numbness in your thighs from the engines rumbling settled down. Sighing, you took of your helmet and stared up at the night sky. It was a cool spring night. The length of the day didn’t hit you as much as it settled on you, the heaviness weighing down your limbs till you had to take another long breath to begin walking through the gates of Rafayel’s villa.

Rubbing the soreness from your shoulders, you opened the door to be met with startling chaos. Thomas and Rafayel were arguing in the painting room, their voices carrying over to the main hall where people scurried about, wrapping up large paintings, hauling packed suitcases, and two just fighting over a vase of flowers. Nobody spared you a glance as you made your way through the mess, leaning against the doorway, shaking your head at the booming voices, enjoying the remanent of the calm you had collected on your late-night drive here before it would be shattered by one of the two men dragging you into another meaningless argument.

“There you are! I called you nearly an hour ago! Where were you?” Rafayel’s sharp voice cut through your mental prep.

Sighing, you stepped in the room, crossing your arms, “I was occupied. Is there an issue?”

“Of course, there’s an issue! Who would you be occupied with this late at night? Oh, I’m sorry, did your role as bodyguard ruin your date-“

Thomas interrupted for the safety of everyone involved, eying the tick in your jaw and the glare that you levelled at Rafayel, “Sorry, he’s being an ass because as usual, he doesn’t want to deal with his responsibilities.”

“As usual?” Rafayel turned on Thomas, “Can I remind you that I am a painter, and you are my manager. My job is to paint, and your job is to do everything else. You told me to make 10 paintings for the next exhibition and I have. My job is done.”

“And I told you, I explicitly asked you if you could be present for the next show and you said yes. We’re having it here because you agreed to it!” Thomas turned around to yell at Rafayel, you forgotten.

You went over to the window and opened it, to let the billowing breeze blow away the stuffiness of the house. The memory of what happened earlier today drifted back to you, as you sat on the windowsill, looking up the blinking stars, completely tuned out the background din.

The bang of a door shutting brought you back to the present. You turned around to see no Thomas and Rafayel glaring at you with his arms crossed as if you had vaporized Thomas.

“Oh don’t mind me. Please don’t let your job distract you from your day dreaming.” Rafayel turned away his nose from you, a move you hated because it made him look like a snooty dog.

“When did the security risk happen?” You deadpanned, unaffected by attempts at making you feel guilty.

“What?” Rafayel raised his brows haughtily.

“Was there an intruder? Did someone try to harm you?” You continued.

“So that’s it? That’s the only reason I can call you?” Rafayel’s voice rose again, sharp with accusation.

Pulling out your phone, you read the text you got from him in a monotonous voice, “Miss Bodyguard, get here ASAP. Crisis. Three exclamation marks. I am going to die.”

“I sent that message four hours ago and you’re just getting here now. You must be okay with doing your job poorly and totally fine with walking up to my dead body if you only found the time to investigate now!” Rafayel seethed, the wine in his cup sloshing and splattering on the marble floor.

Your lungs seized at his words as you zoned out to the spreading red liquid on the ground. You struggled to maintain your composure and tried to draw a shuddering breath in.

“Hello? I’m saying something to you and you just don’t care. Typical. Sometimes I even wonder if you care about me? Am I boring you? Do you have your date to get back to?”

Rafayel’s booming voice cut through the haze in your mind and pierced something in your chest. You raised a shaky hand to rub your chest, trying to focus on breathing normally. Jesus, today was a day from hell. Tears pricked your eyes but you kept your gaze lowered.

“I sent that text because I woke up to my house being invaded by Thomas and a whole crew to set up a party. Apparently at some point when I was half awake Thomas got me to agree to holding a dinner party of sponsors and some rich assholes at my place and he knew that if I had remembered that, I would've taken it back immediately.” Rafayel turned to pour more wine in his glass, still shouting and you looked up at his back and felt as if it was just so far away.

You hadn’t been planning on talking to anyone today because the details were to be confidential till after the funeral tomorrow morning. You just wanted a quiet night to unravel by yourself. You had narrowly escaped Xavier’s searching gaze, and cancelled the appointment with Zayne. You knew it was a matter of time before the two found you and would extract what’s wrong from your stubborn silence so you barely had any time to break down and pull yourself together so as to not burden them with the pressures of your job but today of all days… this.

“But no,” Rafayel continued, “apparently all I can do now is run from my own house before it gets invaded by shallow mindless culture vultures and I wanted to tell you to pack so we can go on a small trip together but who knows what all you had to do before you got here-“

“Rafayel, it’s the middle of a work week. I can’t just pick up and leave town.”

“Well, I have to leave and of course, you’d be okay with me being god knows where all by myself. Clearly, you don’t care what happens to me. I told you, that all I need is a text from you saying I’ll be late but if even that is too much for you then what’s the point of me waiting. I always knew your job was your priority and I was fine with it but I see that there’s no space for anything else at all, right?”

A painful lump grew in your throat and you turned your head away to face the window. You held the sobs in because you couldn’t fall apart here, not now.

“Ah, I must be boring you,” Rafayel’s voice grew softer, dejected, still cold, and it was much much worse. You’d rather hear hate, anger, anything but disappointment but what he said next crushed you, “I shouldn’t keep you. There’s nothing here for you. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

So you just sat there and cried, feeling your friend walk away.

You screwed your eyes shut and tried not to breathe as you sobbed. You heard nothing in the silence that followed until he sighed and set his glass down. You gasped and your eyes shot open to catch the reflection of Rafayel leaving and shutting the door softly behind him. You frantically spun around, reaching for the door but the shame from today froze your feet. Despair taking over, you sunk to the ground, gasping for breath as you sobbed your heart out.

Maybe it was for the best he left. You were too incompetent to keep him safe. And based on what you must be coming across, you weren’t much of a friend either.

Rafayel couldn’t sit still in the cab, nausea rolled his gut and he pressed his knuckles in his eyes at the starting of a painful headache. He was utterly ashamed. There was no reason for him to blow up on her. Frankly, he didn’t have a reason to blow up on Thomas either and he knew that but he really couldn’t stomach the thought of deplorable people who tended to throw money at their problems to sit, break bread and laugh in his home. His home was his territory, sacred to Lemurians.

Thinking back, Rafayel knew he had blown up because Thomas had suggested hosting the dinner on the terrace thanks to the pleasant weather and he didn’t have the heart to tell Thomas why that could never happen. Rafayel scoffed at himself, finding his actions as despicable as the people he hated.

He had worked for three months setting up his rooftop garden so that the vines framed the sea perfectly from the dining area. He had set up the fairy lights himself so that they would resemble the bioluminescent fishes that would swim around the palace in Lemuria. Now that spring was approaching, he hoped the blooming flowers would look like corals and shells, nestling the chairs where she would be sitting, sipping the wine he had decanted the year he had first walked across her in Linkon University, signifying a fraction of his long journey to her.

He had been shortlisting recipes to cook for her a week from now when Thomas suggested hosting the dinner party there and Rafayel had panicked, unable to confess to Thomas and instead growing steadily defensive as Thomas grew more and more upset. And then she had walked in, and rather than looking worried about the text he sent her earlier today, she just appeared bored. Rafayel cursed himself for spiraling further, thinking that she was tired of him. He didn’t know what he had been thinking, trying to push her into a corner so she would defend him, voice his concerns for him. It was so childish. Rafayel hunched over, elbows on his knees as his tears came faster than he could wipe them away.

He had been needlessly ugly to both his friends, and he was sure she would think of him as a child, his own need to be loved suffocating her until she grew sick of him. How stupid, to wait for eons only to fumble now because he was too starved, too pathetic.

As he wallowed, his ringtone cut through the awkward silence of the cab. His heart picked up, thinking it was her but it was Thomas. Rafayel sniffed, wiping a hand over his face to compose himself. He should make amends with the one person who could still tolerate him after all of this.

“Thomas, I know you’re mad but I really can’t be in front of all those people. I’ll make it up to you-“

Picking up he started, “Hey I’m sorry for-“

“Where are you?! Get back here right now!” Thomas’s voice cut through the cab loud enough for the cab to swerve slightly before the driver settled and coughed in apology.

“What? Fuck the event! I don’t know what happened between the two of you but you need to get back here right now.” Confused, Rafayel listened closer until her heard your voice in the background. Specifically, you crying.

Rafayel’s heart missed a beat. Then two. What in the world had he done. Fear washed over him and he yelled at the driver, “Take us back right now. I’ll triple your fare if you get us there in under five minutes. Don’t worry about cops and don’t stop no matter what.”

“What happened?” Rafayel clutched his phone with both his hands, willing Thomas to speak faster.

“I don’t know man. I just came back because I left my wallet and the staff just dragged me to the room you both were in and she was just crying on the floor. What did you do?”

Realization knocked the breath out of him, “Thomas put me on speaker right now! Make sure she can hear me. Honey, can you hear me?”

“I-“ Rafayel tried to swallow his fear and disgust at himself for having caused this, trying to think back, “I don’t know. I just-“

You started sobbing louder at his concerned voice but Rafayel spoke loudly and clearly, “Listen darling, I’m sorry for everything I said. I just realized that it might have sounded like I didn’t appreciate your company but that’s not true at all. I was just being annoying, please don’t cry. I’m gonna be right there. I’ll be there in a minute. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t respond, just further curling into yourself, hugging your knees and still crying. Rafayel’s heart broke in a thousand pieces. He did this. He made you cry like this. He made it sound like he was leaving for ever, he made you feel that he wasn’t perpetually honored by your company. He choked up as tears sprung fresh in his eyes.

“Baby I’m so sorry. I didn’t even ask you how you were doing. I’m sorry for being so rude and demanding. You know I was just being annoying right? You know I lo-“ Rafayel hiccupped through his tears.

Would you even want to hear that? Like this? Now? From him. Wincing, his ground the phone into his forehead as the driver picked up speed in the last stretch before his house.

“Get her some water,” He instructed Thomas, voice hoarse.

“Yeah. How far are you? She’s inconsolable. I- Rafayel, she can’t even hear me. Get here fast buddy, you’re the only one who can help her. I’ve never seen her like this. I’m worried.”

“I’m here. I’m almost here. I’ll be there in a minute.” Rafayel took out a few notes from his pocket, threw them in the front seat and stepped out the car while it was slowing down at the last corner and just ran. Luggage and all forgotten, he ran through the gate, slamming open the front door and drifting to stop at the doorway where Thomas was hugging and rocking you on the ground as you cried into his shoulder. Sliding to his knees in front of you, he gently cradled your cheeks and turned your face to his.

You tried to hide, snot and all, but Rafayel wouldn’t have it. You just hiccupped and threw your arms around Rafayel, both of you dramatic crying all over the floor as Thomas got up, sighing.

“What happened darling? Was it me? I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I’ll never do that again. I’ll never leave again.” Rafayel put a hand on your head, slowly stroking your hair, tears still streaming down his face.

You groaned, trying to get your hysterics under control as you clutched at him. There was a faint murmuring at the door but you didn’t care.

Thomas waved his hand at the staff, “Please give us some privacy. Unload the luggage from the cab. Leave some water by the door.”

Feeling a bit calmer now that Rafayel was in front of you, you grew slightly conscious of yourself. You looked up at him to answer, but the sight of him crying made more tears well up. Ironically, that made you huff out a small laugh, embarrassment seeping in at what you had just done. You felt relief too, that you had cried some of today’s heaviness away.

Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths to get your breathing under control you pulled away a little to answer Rafayel but he wouldn’t let you. In a choked up voice, you gasped, “No Raf, it’s- it’s okay. It wasn’t you. It was just what happened today.”

“What happened?” Rafayel suddenly pulled away, looking up and down, trying to find any signs of injuries on you. You wiped your face with your sleeve, hiccupping.

“Are you okay? Are you injured?” Rafayel was still looking all over you but stilled when you put a hand on his shoulder.

Shaking your head you tried, not bothering with confidentiality protocol anymore, “I’m fine Raf. Nothing happened to me but-“

You looked up to Thomas, who was looking down at you with equal concern and you did your best to seem marginally more put-together.

“It was just work. Bad day. Very bad day. But I’m okay.” Looking up at Thomas, you tried to give a comforting smile, “I’m sorry for making you both worry. I want to explain but it’s confidential right now. I’m sorry Thomas.”

Huffing, Thomas swept a hand over his face then placed an analyzing look at you, “I understand. Are you- Can you tell me if you’re fired or something because I can help you work around it. I know some pretty influential people-“

He quietened down as you shook your head, your heart swelling at his comforting words, “No Thomas. I’m not fired. I’m okay. I just- Someone got hurt on the field today. I can’t talk about it right now.”

Nodding, Thomas placed a hand on your head and you felt him relax through the weight of his palm. He threw Rafayel a meaningful look which you missed, Rafayel tightening his hold on your hand and nodding back up at him.

“Okay. I’ll be right outside if you need me. I’m glad you’re not hurt. And I’m glad it wasn’t something stupid this idiot said.” Thomas said moving away, flicking Rafayel’s forehead, which caused you to huff out what actually did sound like a small laugh. Normally, this would have Rafayel rolling on the floor, clutching his head in ‘pain’ but he just looked at you fondly, the sight of you trying to smile through your tears making his chest throb.

You nodded at Thomas, letting him leave and shutting the door softly to the two of you. You finally looked at Rafayel and drew in a shuddering gasp. Lemurian eyes are already insanely beautiful and expressive but all of Rafayel’s worry, guilt, and pain was clear to see. His eyes were already bloodshot, and you wondered what mess he must be staring at so fondly on your face.

“I’m so sorry for what I said. I hate myself-“ Rafayel started but you placed a hand on his lips. A small part of you focused on the feeling at your palm. Normally, Rafayel’s lips looked insanely soft but right now they felt chapped. He must’ve been crying since he left.

Shaking your head, you decided to come clean. You trusted Rafayel. And you needed this. You needed to explain yourself, he needed to know so he wouldn’t tear himself up over this as he already was. And you just needed a fucking friend at the end of this horrible day.

“We got an early emergency call this morning. I hadn’t even gotten to my gear, and it took me some time to report to the incident site. By the time I reached-“ You winced at the memory. Drawing in a deep breath, you soldiered on for Rafayel’s sake.

“By the time I reached, the first responder-“ You broke off again, unable to keep the tears from streaming again. Rafayel’s grip on your arms tightened as you curled up on yourself again.

“He wasn’t even equipped to handle a Wanderer of that level. He was just on a routine investigation in an area that had been declared safe.” You stuttered through the sequence of events, trying to force it all out so that the despair wouldn’t settle down within you again. You couldn’t bear it anymore.

“It was the first time I saw- I saw-“ Rafayel roughly pulled you to him, letting you sob into his shoulder.

“I- I know- what my job is and- and that this- would happen a-at some point,” You hiccupped through your bubbling grief and shock, “I thought I could keep it together.”

You felt his hands rub up and down your back, getting some feeling back into your shot nervous system as you babbled, “It was deemed as a suspicious death because Wanderers weren’t supposed to show up and it was a seized private property so there’s no news yet but they’ll report it tomorrow after the funeral so I had to keep it confidential so that they could conduct an emergency investigation today. I didn’t see your message till I got out of questioning and I called Thomas to ask if everything’s okay so I went and showered at home before coming here. I’m sorry for getting here so late. I didn’t want to make you feel like I was ignori- “

Rafayel took your hand in his, slipped his fingers between his so he could stretch your palm out taut and lifted your hand and brought it down hard on his face in a resounding smack. You barely registered the sting in your palm, staring at his wide-eyed. His eyes were determined, focused on you as his face reddened where he had hit himself.

“If I ever behave the way I behaved with you today, I need you to hit me like this. In fact, hit me harder-“ He moved your hand away but you quickly slipped your hand from his gasp and cradled his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the red area that was heating up under your palm.

“Rafayel!”

“I know you let me get away with a lot. And I know you know I behave like this so that you would have someone to kill time with, someone to relax with, and let your mind drift away from your work. You let me tease you, let me drag you places, you let me annoy you. But please,” His voice broke, and both of you started tearing up again.

“PLEASE, don’t ever let me treat you like I did today again. Please promise me. Please.” He begged, bowing his head.

In that moment, all your qualms, all your worries about being a bad friend fell away.

“Raf… I- Okay.”  His desperate gaze searched yours and you felt the superficial anxieties melt away to feel at the core of what is between you both.

You took a deep breath and with as much resolution you could muster you said clearly, “I promise.”

Rafayel crumbled until his head was in your lap, your fingers softly combing through his hair as you drifted in the new found foundation between you two. He nuzzled his face in your thighs before sitting back up, wiping his tears and taking a few deep breaths to gather himself.

“Thank you. And I promise to do better.” He hugged you.

Thomas took his ear off the door and tiptoed to the staff. He gathered them around with a gesture and whispered, “Take all event décor out of here. Just let it sit in the truck for now. Make sure the pantry is stocked and someone order some comforting snacks. The recommended items are on a list on the fridge called ‘For Miss Bodyguard’. Also, please maintain discretion about what you all witnessed today. It is a stressful time for everyone. Thank you for your cooperation. Ah, don’t worry about the décor, I’ll confirm a venue tomorrow. But leave the flowers here, it’s fine. I’ll put in another order tomorrow. Yes, yes, goodnight.”

You let him shoulder the burden you’d been carrying all day. Today was not the usual kind of… safety… that you normally explored with Rafayel but. Things were clearer now. You knew you had no reason to worry about disappointing him. And you allowed him to comfort you, to find his comfort in your company as you both melted into one another, a tangle of limbs and sniffs on the ground.

Sighing, Thomas stood in front of the floor to ceiling bay windows as soft murmurs drifted to him from the other room. Smiling softy, Thomas thought about how he had been working with Rafayel for years now, but had never seen the man so shaken up. The great artist Rafayel’s paintings were famous for making even a teenager understand what love felt like through one glance. Even when Rafayel used to teach in Linkon University, his classes made all sorts of feelings erupt in students and staff alike and now, as a commercial painter, Rafayel paints as if he’s trying to put an indescribable saga into a 2D canvas of set dimensions.

And yet, Thomas smiles, he had a feeling that when he would finally see the renowned painter fall in love- because Rafayel always looked ready for it, ready for the fall into the abyss called love, but never stepping in. Thomas knew Rafayel was human enough to blunder. Despite the high emotions coursing through everyone today, Thomas felt like something in him had settled. It was inevitable, after all, watching his most cherished friend finally step into the maze with the bravery (even if Rafayel would deny it) of being certain of doing it right.

The night breeze carried in the scent and sound of waves endlessly crashing on the shore, forever trying to climb the sands in endless toil, softly, softly.

[joshuamj]

Hero.

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

did I ever mention how much I love these two?

(based on @birb-boyo’s wonderful post)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Alas, this beautiful dream could not last.

[gray-warden]

I just realized I never posted photos of this really pretty harvestman i came across a while back. Note the green pedipalps and the dark and light spots on its back.

[kagihirapotato]

i want kagihira to KISS for valentines day