#I drew these when I had a day left to do two week's worth of finals work because my brain works like that... h

[mrsnaildood]

Tech is tall. He discovered it can be a tactical advantage in the affairs of the heart

Reference image for first drawing under cut

[urcoolgf]

THE GOOD HOUSEKEEPING SEAL

pairing. bf¡drew && singer¡reader

content. fluff

summary. ever since you && drew started dating, you've been more inspired than ever, so—before your newest album drops—you wanna give your boyfriend a sneak peak (based on 'R.E.M.' by ariana grande)

drew knew dating a popstar was dangerous. one wrong move, and a whole album about his mistakes would hit the shelves in no time, but you were worth it to him. plus, he didn’t intend to make any mistakes with you.

the two of you had met about 6 months ago, and everything had been basically perfect. the type of perfect that had you slightly worried, but—for once in your life—you decided to just go with it. you had bad relationships in the past which left you with a deep mistrust when things were going well, but something about drew just made you feel so safe.

you knew it wasn’t easy dating you—not only were you a popstar (he was used to the fame anyway), but you over complicated things and just made yourself hard to love as a way of protecting yourself. in just 6 months, drew had taken those guards down—and even though it scared you to death—it was refreshing. life felt beautiful again, like you were finally seeing in color after years of living in black & white.

before you and drew met, you were so uninspired, so unmotivated that you were questioning if you even wanted to be in the industry anymore. you thought you had lost your touch. lost your voice. but, drew changed all of that. lyrics had been flowing out of you like a waterfall as the two of you had gotten closer.

your next studio album ‘sweetener’ was set to drop in two weeks. the name implying that drew had been the sweetener to your previously sour life. all throughout the writing and recording process you had left drew in the dark. it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him, or want him to hear your work. this whole album process had been so new and vulnerable, and it made you scared.

you knew you wanted to share at least parts of your album with drew before it released for everyone—the album was for him after all. so, one day, when the two of you had nothing else to do, you suggested a trip to the studio.

you and drew were currently on the couch of your apartment in new york city, he was watching something on tv while you indulged yourself in your current read.

“hey, baby? how about a little trip down to the studio?,” you asked, a soft smile on your face. drew just looked at you—almost like he didn’t believe you.

“the studio? you want me to come?,” he had always respected your decision to record alone, so when you offered to take him with you he was shocked to say the least.

“mhm. jus’ got a few things to wrap up before the release,” the look in his eyes already gave you your answer, but you awaited his response anyway. your big doe eyes distracting drew just a bit before he finally answered.

“yeah, of course, baby. let’s go. i’ll drive,” he said, a huge smile took over his face as he quickly stood from the couch, moving to grab his keys. you giggled as you stood after him, following him to the door to put your shoes on.

on the way to the studio, you told drew where to go since he hadn’t been there. his hand covering your thigh, fingers circling the soft skin with a featherlight touch.

once you had arrived and parked, you led him to the studio door, unlocking it with your key. once he stepped inside, he looked like a kid in a candy shop. he took in all the different computers, speakers, audio boards, and the glass wall separating it all from the artist. you made your way inside after him, closing the door, and taking a seat in a chair by the audio board table.

“this is incredible, babe,” he said, moving to sit in the seat next to you, “so, what’re we doin’ here?”

“i actually don’t need to wrap up anything,” you said sheepishly, “i wanted to let you hear some stuff before the album drops… if that’s okay with you?,” you were nervous to say the least, sure he had heard your other music that was already released, but none of that was about him. you felt like this album was the best thing you’ve made—it was everything you had been striving to create your entire career—so, yeah… there was some pressure on you right now. drew could sense it. gently moving his chair closer to comfort you, placing his arm around your shoulder and rubbing soothing circles into it.

“‘course i wanna hear, baby. wanna hear everything you make,” he said quietly. his warm smile made your heart skip a beat.

“‘kay,” you replied. your voice so soft it was almost a whisper. you moved to open the audio file of the song you had been most proud of. it was the fourth track on the album, and it had turned out exactly how you wanted it to. you called it R.E.M. to insinuate a dream-like state, and the instrumentals that accompanied it only added to the ethereal vibe of it.

you made sure your computer was connected to the speakers in the studio, so that drew could get the full experience, before hesitantly pressing play.

the dreamy beat had started playing, and there was officially no going back. drew just looked down, taking in the beat. he had a focused look on his face that made it seem like he was really listening—which he was.

mm-hmm

last night

boy, i met you, yeah

when i was asleep (sleep)

you’re such a dream to me

you watched as drew’s expression softened. he looked back up at you, wide-eyed, to find you already staring at him in anticipation for his reaction. he didn’t say anything while it was playing, just listened intently, looking back at you every so often so you could visibly watch his heart melt.

before you speak, don’t move, ‘cause i don’t wanna

wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up (don’t wanna…)

wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up

boy, you’re such a dream to me

if you can believe, babe

boy, you’re such a dream to me

excuse me, um, i love you

drew’s soft chuckle rings through your ears, his beautiful smile leaving an imprint on your heart. he still doesn’t say anything, just taking in all the beautiful melodies and adlibs you conjured up in this masterpiece of a song.

i’ll get you out my mind, mhm, i tried to

but i just want to stand and yell

i will never dare to tell

think i heard some wedding bells, shh, keep it to yourself

is this real? (is this real?)

drew’s head snaps up at the last verse—wedding bells? his heart had never felt as full as it did in this moment. he leans over—arm still around your shoulders—and gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek. his mind now clouded with not only your soothing melodies, but images of your wedding—you walking down the aisle in a beautiful white dress, flowers everywhere, slipping a ring on your finger, and making you his forever.

i could buy you anything, but i cannot buy you

before your boy gets smart, i would never try to

you know i’m thinking to myself, "what happened, why you?"

but when i see you in my dreams, psh, i knew

you know how to treat it, you know how to eat it

you know how to beat it (i know how to keep it)

the good housekeeping seal

(bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum)

‘the good housekeeping seal’ is a term for a ‘stamp of approval’ commonly known amongst celebrities. it means a product has been tried, tested, and determined a good product. the line made drew laugh, as if he had gained the ‘stamp of approval’ from you. he laughed on the outside, but inside, his heart fluttered. you had opened up a little about past relationships, and the fact you considered him one of the good ones meant a lot to him.

the song finally came to a cinematic end, your vocals carrying the beat to a close. drew didn’t even know what to say—it was phenomenal. everything about the song was perfect, he could only imagine how the rest of the album sounded…

“y/n… that was—holy shit, that was phenomenal, baby,” he turned his chair so he was facing you head on, his hands coming to rest on top of your knees.

“really? you liked it?,” you asked. your bright eyes made drew swoon. the fact you thought he wouldn’t like it amazed him.

“liked it? it was heavenly. i felt like i was floating,” he smiled, getting all excited to share his thoughts with you. it warmed your heart to see him passionate about something you were so passionate about.

“and the adlibs in that back were just amazing. everything felt like a dream,” he continued.

“yes! that was the goal. i wanted it to feel almost surreal because… well, because that’s how you make me feel,” you looked down as if you were nervous to say the last part. drew brought his hands to your cheeks, pulling your face back up to face his.

“listen y/n… before i met you, i thought my life couldn’t get any better– i had movie contracts i would’ve killed for a couple years ago, friends i never thought i would have, i was working with directors i never dreamed would even know my name. i thought i had it all. life seemed exciting and promising, and i saw everything in vibrant color… at least i thought i did. i never knew how dull my life really was until i met you. these past 6 months have been unbelievable, and now i can’t even imagine how i was satisfied with the life i had before you…,” his blue eyes stared right into yours, admiration consuming them.

his words felt so sincere, something you haven’t heard in a long time… maybe ever—you just lost it. tears began to fall from your eyes. drew’s soft hands immediately moving to wipe the salty drops away.

“i love you… so much,” your words were broken by soft sobs. drew pulled you into him, his tight embrace giving you more comfort than you knew was even possible.

“i promise, baby, i love you more,” he said softly, running his hand down your back, slowly rubbing up and down to calm your cries.

once you finally pull apart, redness staining your cheeks. drew looked at you with the softest eyes you had ever seen, and you weren’t sure he was even real at this point.

“so…,” a breathless laugh escaped you before continuing, “wanna hear some more?”

“c’mon baby, you already know my answer,” drew smirked, moving back to put his arm around your shoulders to listen to the next track you played.

track 2. title: ‘blazed’.

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© URCOOLGF.   est. 2025

TAGS .ᐟ @drewsswifeyy @drewrry @frankoceanluvr11 @dearestmillls

[cvrnelians]

maps - chapter one

Carmen Berzatto is your best friend—well, was. You’ve begun to distance yourself from him, and he is determined to figure out why. When he finally confronts you, he finds it’s not quite what he thinks it is.

depression, angst, 18+ only

CHAPTER TWO // CHAPTER THREE

Chapter One

🐻 Ten years ago 🐻

It went on for months.

You took the same class at different times, or maybe different classes altogether. You weren’t quite sure. All you knew was that the first week of senior year, someone in an earlier class began inscribing little doodles onto your desk. The word “doodles” didn’t do them justice. Not in your opinion, anyway. Whoever this person was, they were a much better artist than you. The amount of detail they were able to create using just a pencil on a wooden desk was downright impressive.

You hated to ruin them, but out of sheer boredom, you began to add onto the drawings. A bit of foliage here, a butterfly or two there. The first time you did so, you were delighted to find the next afternoon that the culprit added onto your doodles. Not only that, they seemed more than happy to continue obliging you when you erased and replaced them.

You had no clue who your anonymous “pen pal” was, but you began to look forward to whatever they would come up with next. You eventually started to make specific requests.

Can you draw a surfboard?

And they would.

Can you draw Jupiter?

And they would.

Can you draw a birthday cake? (It’s my birthday today)

And they did—this time, with a little happy birthday! message and a smiley face along the side.

One day, you got up the nerve to ask the question you’d been dying to ask.

Do you know who I am?

Your heart skipped a beat as the girl who sat next to you excitedly ushered you over to your seat the following day. On your desk was a small, simple sketch. Basic but well done, and very obviously in your likeness.

You had to know.

Who are you?

The next day, you were disappointed to find that they hadn’t responded to your inquiry. Maybe they were absent that day. You underlined the question this time, struggling to sketch a giant, three dimensional question mark underneath.

Days passed.

The lack of response left you with a strangely intense feeling of disappointment. You kept underlining the question, adding more and more question marks to the background of the sketch. And then one day, you got fed up and erased everything.

Maybe they had dropped the class. Maybe they got expelled. Or maybe you ruined it. Maybe they preferred to remain anonymous, and you messed things up by being nosey.

You decided to throw in the towel. You erased the question and drew a very squiggly looking olive branch, tired of waiting. Beneath it, you wrote I’m sorry. None of my business. Truce?

The following afternoon, you were surprised to discover a new doodle. They were back! Your old friend had not abandoned you, after all.

A bear. A bear beside two houses parallel to one another, one marked with an X.

Take a guess.

X marks the spot.

_ _ _ _ _

Your brow furrowed as you stared down at it.

Bear.

Bear?

And then it hit you.

An image of the shy boy who lived across the street from you flashed through your mind.

You smiled to yourself as you etched out the name.

C A R M Y

🧸

💌 Present day 💌

If you viewed anger as a denial of reality—a deeply held frustration with life as it truly was—it was safe to say that Carmen Berzatto was a pretty angry person. Downright miserable, in fact. Carmy simply could not accept the present circumstances. He simply could not accept that you—his best friend since high school—wanted nothing to do with him. It started with a few unanswered calls here, a handful of canceled plans there. And then came the final nail in the coffin: a three word text message, barely even a sentence.

That was really all your friendship was worth to you? Three little words?

Leave me alone.

He proceeded to call you in a panic. Not once, but twice. He then sent several texts, including but not limited to:

Call me.

Please tell me what’s wrong.

If I did something, I’m sorry.

If you need space, that’s fine. Just please tell me what’s going on.

If you need me, I’m here. Alright?

Fine. I get it. I’ll leave you alone.

He didn’t exactly make good on that promise. As the weeks passed by, slowly but surely turning into months, he would send you little texts here and there. If anything, just to remind you that he was still there.

Sorry to bother you. I just saw this and it reminded me of you.

I know you don’t want to talk to me, but Syd invited us all out. She told me to tell you that you’re welcome to come.

Richie is acting like a total asshole tonight. Nothing new or surprising, just thought you should know.

Happy half birthday 🎉

…sorry. That was stupid.

Can you please call me? I miss you.

Sug asked me about you today. She said she hopes you’re doing okay.

The most he would get in response was a heart reaction to his messages, if that. He felt pathetic, continuously reaching out to someone who so obviously didn’t want to hear from him. But he couldn’t just stop. Because, well.

It was you.

He spent an unhealthy amount of time wracking his brain for answers as to why you suddenly despised him. He replayed the last night he saw you in his mind over and over. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed off. You had a drink together at your favorite restaurant, then spent some time together at his apartment; talking, watching tv. As always, you somehow managed to get him to crack a smile. Several, actually. This was just part of what made all of this so much worse, so much more painful. You were one of very few people that could cheer Carmy up when he was feeling sad or anxious, which had pretty much become his baseline mood the past several years.

Not to mention, he was absolutely in love with you.

Everyone seemed to know about Carmen’s little (or more realistically, massive) crush on you. Richie mocked him mercilessly about it.

“Cousin, it’s so fucking obvious. You act like a little puppy or something whenever you’re around her. Drawing her all those weird little pictures.”

Everyone except you.

Or maybe you did know. Maybe that was why you were avoiding him. Maybe he made you uncomfortable without even realizing. He cringed at the thought.

When you didn’t answer any of his calls or texts on your birthday, that was when he finally had enough.

Hey, happy birthday.

Nothing.

I know we haven’t talked in a minute, but I got you something.

Nothing.

Can I maybe come drop it off?

Nothing.

This isn’t like you. Please just tell me what I did wrong.

Carmy was very self-conscious and could be sensitive to rejection, that much you knew to be true. You figured that would be enough for him to stay away. But what else did you know to be true?

When your best friend dedicated himself to something, he refused to give up.

And there were very few people Carmen was more dedicated to than you.

[idekkkjja]

hi ! can i request ningselle and reader being on stage having sexual tension and making a sex tape after ? thank u !

Savoured memories ✩ˎˊ˗ Ningselle x fem!reader

—> In front of thousands and thousands of fans eagerly cheering your group on, interactions taking place with them, and cameras clicking everywhere at every moment sparing no time to shatter your composure—you knew you had to reign it in. The sudden desire.

Ningning and Giselle acted upon them in public shamelessly, when every chance given their warm and sweat-slicken selves shared so-called ‘affection’ with yours, colliding against them out of nowhere. Their eyes didn’t lie that tonight would be a heated one, entangled fully with their bodies.

Heads-up: strap-on used, subtle degradation, a pet names like puppy, slut, bitch and yeah. 3some, this is my first ever smut with 3 people soz if it’s bad and I wrote this while skipping classes behind trees!! Tell if I forgot to mention anything else.

*** Confidence radiated off them in every concert in the world tour, nearing the last ones, they wanted to make this night more special than the rest. Considering that the next day it would be drowning in much-needed sleep and rest, it might as well be worth it.

Giselle strutted over to you, her hips swaying hypnotically, and drew you in immediately as her arms lazily swung by your shoulders.

A smile plastered on your lips, subtly rhyming to the music blasting off the stage and you sang your lines together with her for the cameras in every corner of the huge stadium. Careful she wouldn’t be too close—not to attract any more buzzing rumors—you leaned away and found yourself in Ningning’s possessive arms unintentionally.

The Japanese woman’s eyes flashed in irritation, her shoulders stiffening at the sudden space now lingering heavily beside her. Reminding her of you picking somebody else instead of her which she does not take nicely.

In a manner disguised as ‘playful’, Giselle went over and snaked her arms around your waist, letting her presence lurk by to remind Ningning of her place. And the latter did not take the hint, too busy caressing your ass, erupting shared giggles between you two as if it was an inside joke limited to the outsiders.

The outsiders may be Giselle.

“Seriously?” She whispered, not in the mood to put on fake smiles now. Her throat tightened. She could be seen as overdramatic, but who could blame her right now?

Frustration was outlined in the crease between her perfectly done eyebrows, her eyes dimming, and the white shine not so bright anymore since the start of the concert.

For weeks now, the two of you have clung onto each other like air. Sure, she had Karina and Winter, although they... they were in their own little bubble. Doing things that God unfortunately knew.

So, she was the one left out, and she wasn't used to it! At all. Behind cameras, she was in a corner, isolated by herself and consumed in her phone screen, desperate for a mindless distraction that would fill the hole forming in her heart witnessing you two love birds shamelessly flirting with each other nearby.

Tonight is when she has had enough.

Finally, when the concert eventually wrapped up, she had the opportunity to confront you and Ningning. The latter knew well that she pined after you like a love-sick puppy since predebut, she supported her for God's sake! Now, that bitch dared to steal you from her? Did Ningning forget that Giselle wasn't the type to brush things off so easily?

During the car ride, in the back, she was squished in the corner again. Swallowed by a seething anger bubbling within her, threatening to overflow and cause chaos. She'd rather let that happen freely behind doors, not in front of their manager.

Luckily, she had to share rooms with the two of you.

The moment the doors gently clicked shut, she raised her voice to a shout, "I got fucking enough of this!"

Startled, your eyes widened and looked over at Giselle as if she were the reason for a rising earthquake. Ningning was equally shocked, standing still and letting her lash out with no protest.

"Enough of what?" You questioned, worried rather than curious.

Curiosity killed the cat, right?

"Of this!" She frantically gestured between you two, acting as if an enraged wife stumbling upon a forbidden affair.

Offended, Ningning was taken aback and pressed her palm to her chest. "The fuck? Are you on your period or something?" Oh, the worst question to ever ask Giselle in a state like this.

Aggressively, she slammed her shoulder against the Chinese woman's, backing her up to the wall and jabbing a finger against her chest patronisingly. "No, I'm fucking sick of you trying to steal Y/n from me, as if she's some plushie."

Then Ningning defended herself immediately, her pride stinging. "As if Y/n isn't the one reincorporating it back!" Slowly, Giselle's dark eyes lay upon you, narrowing in anger.

"So, she's just being a greedy slut, huh?" You didn't know what to say, knowing it was the truth stated. But who could blame you? It's Ningning and Giselle after all.

Sneering in mock disgust, Ningning clicked her tongue in disapproval. "She's the problem here, not me." Both women agreed in a few glances, a nonverbal agreement exchanged between them.

They had the perfect idea instore for you, a little lesson about not being so gluttonous!

Next thing you knew, one thing led to another, and now... your brazenly red, bruised ass was perched up obediently, taking the plastic cock without mercy as it slammed in a harsh rhythm from Ningning who held your hips till it hurt.

The camera within the not-so-great lenses somehow captured every humiliating detail in the low-quality recording, perched up on the table in front.

Whenever you see it in use, it was a package full of you and Ningning’s little shenanigans at the back of stages, in dorms, or everywhere else you two had a lasting curse on.

This time, Giselle is involved since she wanted to get involved in this, too!

You moaned pathetically into Giselle's cunt, your puppy eyes hesitantly peeked up and saw her face in pure bliss. The stress is completely out of the picture, at least. She let out a series of moans, clenching the sheets underneath, her hips involuntarily bucking up.

That alone made you unwillingly tighten around the fake cock, your orgasm building up in your stomach.

"Just like that, bitch..." she groaned, her thighs clenching your head suffocatingly. "Ah! Oh fuck... oh God..." she bit her lip, stubborn still to the point she didn't want to give you the satisfaction that you're relieving her aching needs.

The camera, positioned awkwardly, captured every detail through its lenses, the low quality creating a sultry effect.

Ningning let out incongruent grunts, ramming in and out, she slapped your ass again a few times and laughed cruelly at your visible discomfort.

"Stupid puppy... maybe this should be the only way you should apologise, hm? Oh, yeah... is cause you're a slut." She mocked, her voice strained with the excessive effort she put into having your hoarse screams muffled by Giselle's thighs, who's now clamming your ears, your sweat-slickened strands stuck to your forehead.

It would be slick with the Japanese woman's cloying juices, as well.

"Mhh..." you whimpered, your words unintelligible, too focused on desperately attempting to draw Giselle's cum out.

Tightening around the silicone dick, you let out a high-pitched wail from the overwhelming sensation of the intense pounding from the back blurring your vision that went unheard. It was futile, your mouth was supposed to be used for their pleasure only, remember?

The strap-on used at this point was used for inflicting punishments, not pleasure.

Unrealistically, it was an eight-incher, you knew that was way too big for your comfort at all!

Deep breaths couldn’t be taken so well either, her pussy consuming all your breathy, desperate whimpers and cries.

Giselle’s thick thighs clamped on you practically, making you unable to pull away and stay in your aching position throughout the whole punishment.

“Mh… just like that, fuck… fuck!” stiffening, her lower stomach tightened and Giselle moaned so loud that it was for sure that the other poor members could hear through the thin halls of the hotel.

Obediently, you lapped the juices spilling out of her quivering cunt. Unaware that you were making her overstimulated instead, despite the drastic trembling of her thighs and her upper body twitching as she processed her shattering release.

Very soon after, a strangled cry broke out into the air, cumming on Ningning’s cock who carelessly for your discomfort rolled a few, slow and deep thrusts in you anyway.

“A-ah…” you choked when Giselle’s thick thighs finally released your poor head.

The Chinese woman lazily slapped your ass again, pulling out, and showed the dripping cum spilling down from the fake dick and to the floor.

When you tried to relax, she leaned in and captured your hair into a bundle in her hand, yanking your hair back.

“The fuck?!” You tried to protest back, but when Ningning leaned in and her cold breath fanned over your red face, you stayed silent as you should.

“Do you think this is over? Not by a long shot, bitch.” Tauntingly, she smiled at you and pulled it further for another whimper to barely come through.

Giselle simply giggled, throwing her head back.

You were about to have a long night… hopefully the fans wouldn't suspect anything wrong with your legs tomorrow.

Rumors may pop up, speculating about the immense and prolonged training having a toll on you. Or haters mindlessly accusing you’re being a lazy fuck.

Little did they know it was just because of two specific women in your group.

[spiderfunkz]

THE ART OF LOVE

pairings. cho hyun-ju x f!reader

cw. no games au, all fluff, reader is an artist, established relationship, the use of 'y/n' like once.

author's note: hehehe, requests for hyun-ju are still open! please send me some more ideas for her, fluff and headcanons have been doing really well so maybe more of that. and p.s. i write for other squid game characters!! keep in mind to the read the guidelines before sending an ask.

you've always enjoyed art. to be creating intricate pieces that are just so full of love and passion, it's everything you've ever known. you've held it deeply in your heart ever since you were little. it's more than a hobby to you, more than just a form of expression— it had caused such a spark of creativity within you, you were able to create pictures that were straight from the soul.

everything you've ever molded, drew, or painted, they were all so greatly appreciated by your peers and you took pride in it. every single work you've made has held a story you weren't able to say aloud, your portraits spoke the sentences you could've never thought straight.

but you knew the struggles with pursuing an art career. though, you fully believe it'll all be worth it.

however during one rainy night, you were officially rejected from the last exhibition you proposed to. the subway ride back to your apartment was deafening, disappointment lingered in the air, your thoughts suffocated with the stress of the next step you should take.

that's where you first met hyun-ju. she was sitting just right in front of you, her head focused on her boots. you couldn't see her at first, still, you knew she had to be beautiful. her hair is well-kept, bangs neat, she seemed like such a lovely person to be around. your gaze sparked as she tilted her head up, revealing her unreal beauty.

you still had three more stops until yours, so like you always do, you grab your sketchbook to pass the time. you drew, traced lines, perfected the shapes, made sure you got all the right details. you sketched the woman in front of you.

she too had a curious eye on you. you seemed interesting, visually ambitious and passionate. she wondered what you were drawing, she wished she had the courage to speak to you.

she was fooled when you gave the picture of her. your voice was shy, but it held a very warm and welcoming tone, you're friendly, hyun-ju took note.

your stop was coincidentally the same as hyun-ju's, which obviously led to an awkward first conversation. you shared very vague stories of how you started art, you don't want to be vulnerable just yet, that's where your paintings take part.

and that all led to you today.

it was cold, the snow had calmed down a bit since the past weeks. you were sipping onto your last cup of warm hot chocolate. hyun-ju sat close next to you, her head slowly leaning on yours. there was multiple blank canvas' in the corner of the room, it all just came yesterday morning.

"y/n?"

"hm?" you hummed,

"can i ask you a question? or more or so, a request?" hyun-ju asked, you nodded. "could you teach me how to paint? i see you doing it a lot, and i'm very intrigued. you look so professional and i just wonder how you're just so talented.."

you smile, the hot chocolate left a foam mustache on your face. hyun-ju laughs, "please?"

"anything for my muse. come on. i'll teach you."

the rest of your day was spent guiding hyun-ju's hands as she painted the bouquet of flowers placed on a wooden table. it is simple yet a reminder of a memory you two spent. she was a natural. she sat near your lap, your hands held her waist as she began to paint the strokes herself.

"looks beautiful, hyun." your cheek squished hers, you cupped her face like a proud mother. "you think so?" hyun-ju questions, "i know so, when it dries, i'll hang it up in the living room." you place a kiss on her forehead before skipping away in excitement.

[ikbitchssss]

I Just Want Your Heart (Daryl x Half-Walker!Reader)

Warnings/Tags: Major Character Death, Angst, Cussing, Blood, Violence, and Normal TWD stuff. If anymore, please tell me and I'll add it!

Season: In the 30 days between season 3 and 4.

Words: 3K

Plot: Daryl finds a walker, but she can talk. She’s always chewing on gum, and her body is a bit rotten. It’s like she was half dead. He goes ok to help her and take care of her, not knowing why. Until one day, he does something he might regret.

A/N: Hope y'all enjoy;3

(OG BLOG: @idkbishsss)

Daryl Dixon was a man who did not fall in love with anyone. He was a rough around the edges, redneck, quiet, distant, guy. He did not fall in love. He loved only one person, his brother. Lost together somewhere in an apocalypse world and treated him like shit most of the time sure, but he did love him. As much as he wouldn’t admit it because Merle would just scoff and roll his eyes.

Daryl Dixon was not a man of groups. He was a part of one, only because he had to. Merle said it was because they needed him, but Daryl had a feeling that it was because Merle needed them. Daryl didn’t do groups, but he understands the importance of them. As long as they left him only he was okay.

Daryl Dixon was not a family man. He never wanted a family. His only brother was now dead. He didn’t need a family. Sure, he had a small care for the kids in the group, and didn’t want them to die. He would protect them, but it wasn’t his family.

Daryl Dixon was a lair. He was a family man, these people at the prison were his family. It was his group. He lied about it himself and others about those things for sure, but he never lied about not falling in love. Sure he’d love, in like, a family way. He’d never fall in love though, he’d never allow himself to.

.

Rick had ordered Daryl to go out and get more fuel for the cars. They were low and needed more for runs. 

Daryl got in a trunk and rode up to a few big ass rich people houses he’d seen a few weeks ago. They had a lot of cars and trucks in the neighborhood, meaning a lotta fuel if no one raided it already. In fact, a few houses were having parties, so there were more than usual for bug neighborhoods.

He pulled up to the first house and went to go get the fuel out of the cars and trucks. Using the classic suck on a hose until you feel like passing out method, he got nothing. Hence the sucking too long. He decided he’d check the houses later if he had time and moved on to the next set of cars and trucks. These ones look promising, and were very promising. Fuel came pouring out like the rain, he filled two gallons worth of gas from four cars and one truck. 

He put those gallons back in the back seat, and went to the truck bed to grab more fuel cans. However, something stopped him, a loud screaming noise. He grabbed his crossbow and looked around for the source. He heard giggling and saw the house it was coming from.

He slowly approached the home with extreme caution. He turned around the halls that lead him to a bedroom. He could hear the smacking of gum coming from the room. A girl was sitting there on the bed. A girl was graying skin, dead walker eyes, and a few broken limbs. You.

You casually popped the bones back into place. You looked over to him and smiled, he drew his crossbow up and pointed it to you.

“Woah! I’m not gonna bite you, I am not like the other ones.” You made a joke out of it while putting your hands up. He was confused, what the hell is happening? Why is a Walker, a dead woman, talking? And why isn’t he shooting it’s head off?

You got up and walked over to him, still with your hands up. Your smile faded and you looked a little nervous. “Look I was freaked out and confused when I woke up and was… somewhat alive. But I don’t hurt people, and it still hurts when you hurt me… so please just let me go…” You begged for your life as if you were human. Daryl didn’t understand, you aren’t human, you barely look human. Well, you didn’t look like a walker, you still had flesh, but still, you looked dead. It freaked him out.

You knew he was freaked out, it was all over his face after you said those words. But honestly? Daryl was more than just freaked out, a small part of him was intrigued. Which wasn’t like him. He wasn’t an intrigued guy, but he wanted to know you, know what happened to you.

“Why’d ya scream?” He asked gruffly. You didn’t expect his voice to be that deep, he must smoke something. 

You wave it off and shrug. “Walker grabbed my leg, forgot they don’t bite me anymore.” He was even more intrigued by this, you were immune? Or just half turned. He knew the group would shoot you as soon as you got close because of what you looked like. He’s had personal experience in that at the fram, but he wanted to know you. 

“Look… I’ll show you the best water and food and well anything you need! In this area and neighborhood… just let me live… please.” As you begged him again he put his crossbow down. He told himself not to, to put it back up, kill you, threaten you. But he didn’t. He just nodded and let you lead the way to show him things.

.

You were a talker, and walkers didn’t even look at you when you were being so loud. Daryl found it strangely interesting. He’d never been interested in anyone really, let alone a woman. Yet, there was something about you that made him wonder and think more than he ever let himself before. 

You were showing him a map of the area and places that hadn’t been raided already. “Now there’s a horde here, but when you go just tell me about a week before and I can steer them clear from your path!”

He looked up at you, an expression on his face that could only be described as a little confused. “Now why would ya’ help us..?” He asked, quietly, you guessed he wasn’t much of a talker. 

“Meh! If we are neighbors I have to help you right?” You said it like it was obvious. Like people just help one another in these conditions. “It’s what good neighbors do!” You exclaimed, Daryl just nodded. It wasn’t the old world normal people knew any more, but you act like it. Then again, Daryl didn’t know much of normal, so who was he to judge? Besides, the help would be nice.

You altered your smile, your big grin going away into a slight smile. For a dead girl, you seemed happier than most people. Maybe that was the secret, being dead. But Daryl had people, he wasn’t going to leave them. They needed him just as much as he needed them.

After it was all said and done Daryl went back to getting fuel. You stayed around just kind of watching him. It made him nervous, and he felt a strange new feeling he hadn’t felt before. He wished he could place it, but after years of controlling his emotions, they were all over the place. He didn’t know how to pen point the feeling he felt.

After he was all done with one car, he’d move onto the next one. You’d follow him, just standing around, watching. It almost creeped him out at some points, almost. He wasn’t used to people watching him so closely. Maybe this is how people felt about him. But earlier you were so talkative, and now you just watched, quietly.

He put the last two gallons of fuel in the truck and turned around after closing the door. He jumped a little when he saw you behind him. It wasn’t noticeable to you, just him. You just smiled and put a new piece of gum in your mouth.

“I have to… leave.” He mumbled walking over to the truck door. He glanced back at you, seeing that you were no longer smiling. You stood back, looking back at your house.

“I’ll be back…” He said. He thought he was stupid for saying it, but when he looked up and saw your smile, those thoughts faded into nothing. He pulled out of there immediately, why does he feel this way? Questions plagued his mind as he drove back to the prison.

.

He pulled back into the prison and didn’t say a word to anyone, not even to Rick, who’d asked him many questions about the area. He just helped unload his truck and stayed quiet with the small nod a few times. As the sun started to go down over the hills and people started to go inside, Daryl soon followed them. He then walked back into his cell and pulled the thin sheet as a door over the opening.

Daryl put his crossbow down with his stuff. He took his shoes off and threw them next to his boots. Beth found him “nice” sneakers to wear. He only wore them because it made her happy. He took off his vets and threw it on the top bunk

He laid down on the bottom bunk. He was on his back trying to sleep, but he just kept thinking about you. He knew it was a bad idea to think about you this much, but he couldn’t control himself anymore like he used to. You were talkative and almost happy, even though you were dead. 

He has so many questions. Why’d you look freshly dead? Why’d you chew gum? If you bite him, will he turn? Can he even get these answered? Probably not, he’d probably not even go back. A broken promise he gave you based on impulse.

He wasn’t like this. He didn’t let himself be like this, he wasn’t weak. Yet, he was thinking about you. He just wanted to see you, but he won’t let himself. He’s not going to let himself. But then again, what if you didn’t like him?

He switched onto his side and buried the side of his head into his pillow. He groaned, he wasn’t going to sleep with his thoughts racing like this. Why was he so obsessed with you? You weren’t anything other than another traveler he met, a very interesting undead traveler he met. He needed to let it go. 

If he just doesn’t go near the houses, he’d be fine!

.

Unfortunately, Rick wanted to go to the houses to raid them. They needed more food and supplies. He was planning everything out for a few days. He told Daryl to lead the car and truck on his motorcycle. 

He led them there but was far ahead. You were out killing walkers and humming. You turned and saw Daryl, you dropped your knife and ran up to his bike. “Hey! You’re back!” You said joyfully. Daryl looked worried.

“My group, they’re gonna be here soon. Ya gotta hide…” he said. You looked confused, as if you didn’t understand that his group could hurt you. He turned over to the car and truck coming in and shoved you in the pile. He killed a walker and put it on top of you. 

You started to breathe heavily. You started to get scared. It reminded you of your death, but Daryl put you here. And you trusted him. He’s the only thing or person that hasn’t tried to kill you.

Daryl said he’d raid your home, as he did half of it already. The rest of the group went into other houses. He waited till they were out of sight and he picked you up from the ground and walked into the house.

“I said hide, girl.” He shoved you on the couch. And sighed. He picked up a few things and shoved them into his bag. One of two lighters, a water bottle, a few canned foods, and a knife. He then sat down next to you. “Won’t take it all from here...” he mumbles looking anywhere but at you.

You just grabbed some gum and chewed on it. Not paying much mind to him. 

“So. Your group. How come I can’t meet them?” You asked like it was urgent, like somehow you needed to meet them right now. 

He mumbled a little to himself before answering, “I don’t know how they’ll react to ya,” he paused and looked at your eyes, yellow and bloodshot, “hell I still don’t really know what to think…” He said with a grunt. You giggled, giggled at him.

He looked confused by it. “I’m a walker, who would know what to think?” You explained. He smiled a little and nodded his head. He guessed he understood that, who would react well? 

You got up and walked up stairs, you came back down with a bag. “Here. My old bag of supplies before I turned, enjoy your raid of my neighborhood stranger.” She smiled and he noticed that you weren’t chewing gum anymore, why?

He looked down and opened the bag, it was full of food and maps. It had a few knives too. He looked up thank you but you were gone, just like that. He missed his chance to talk to you. He just sat there, what was he meant to do? Go look for you? He had a job, raid this place.

He got up and looked through the house a little more, he found some things others could use. He guessed you didn’t use soap or cleaning things, you were dead. He had your bag and another full one of needs and others of wants. Beth and Carl requested things since they are still too young for runs.

He walked back outside and put the stuff in the truck. Rick and Michonne got done with theirs and walked over, same with Maggie and Glenn. A few new guys as well, but Daryl didn’t care to know their names. He should really learn your name.

Also, you weren’t as talkative as last time… why?

.

The next time Daryl went on a hunt he stopped by that neighborhood, you were nowhere to be found. You just disappeared into thin air. At a blink of an eye you were gone when he saw you last and you never showed up again. What happened? Did you not like him? Lots of why’s with you.

He looked up and down the neighborhood, but it was no use. He didn’t want to give up. You were so; no. He needed to stop, he couldn’t let himself get this close to you. It almost felt like… love.

What if you were dead? 

That thought hit him when he sat on his bike. Dead. No? You? But it was completely reasonable. You were half walker, you almost blended right in. You could’ve easily been killed by someone. What if it was someone in his group? What if his family killed you? 

No. They aren’t his family and you are nothing to him. You talk together only a few times, yet it felt like he knew you longer. 

He got on his bike and headed back on the open road. He was going to the prison again, he got a few rabbits that would be fine for now. 

The breeze was cold, a nice contrast to the hot sun that beat his pale skin to a tan. He always loved taking these bike rides. They were peaceful, especially when he was stressing about stupid things. No more of that, but there was something he the road

He pressed the brakes, hard. You stood in the middle of the road, scared. He got off his bike and ran to you. The whole, not stressing about things always lasts him two seconds.!“Are you okay?” He said, you hugged him.

“Hey stranger..” You just sobbed into his neck. His beautiful, fleshy, biteable neck. You pushed him away. He was confused, why? Did you really not like him? Is what he feared right?

“I’m going to bite you… I want to bite you… I keep wanting to bite people… I’m freaking out! Gum doesn’t help anymore!”

Daryl grabbed your hand. “Then let’s find some asshole to cure that hunger.” You looked at him like he was crazy. Hell, he knew the plan was crazy, but losing you was crazier. He couldn’t lose you, he loved you. Goddamn it, he fell fast and hard, but he loved you. He really did.

You pulled your hand away from his. He wanted to run and hug you, make you stop running from this, he can handle a bite. “It doesn't work like that! I just got hungrier..” You mumble, you tried it already. It didn’t work. He grabbed your hand.

“I’ll find a way. I need you…” he mumbled that last part but it made your heart break. It happened in three swift moves. He kissed you, you bite his lip, you pull back. It was all so fast that you nor Daryl had time to realize what happened. What you both did. A kiss and a bite.

“Stranger-“ 

“Daryl.”

“Daryl… I, you’ll turn…” You mumble, you’d be crying if your tear ducts worked. Goddamn it, he had a family, you were going to kill him. He nodded and laid his head on yours. “And I’ll be yours…” he mumbles. He knows he’ll miss his family, it’s why he sheds a tear, but he wants to be with you. Maybe you’ll both be half dead. Maybe you’ll find a way to live. Maybe his family will accept you guys.

Daryl Dixon was a man of love. Fast, messy, sweet, heartbreaking love. He’d give the world, he’d give himself, for the one he loved. Over and over and over again. He was a lover, because he allowed himself to fall in love. He was all the things he thought he wasn’t, because he was a liar. But he would no longer be a liar, because he knew he was these things. He was just Daryl Dixon. A very half-dead and in love Daryl Dixon.

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[hotchsofficialwifey]

okay hear me out... mike schmidt with goth!fem!reader (be warned: i'm not goth so this might not be very accurate lol)

he met you while he was working at the mall, eyed you from across hot topic. despite your intimidating black clothes, chains, and eye makeup, you had one of the sweetest smiles he'd ever seen, instantly drawing him to you. you said good morning to the worker with one of those perfect smiles and he immediately felt butterflies in his stomach.

he started hanging out at the hot topic more frequently. he began to pick up on your schedule, too. you'd usually come on Saturday's between 12-3pm, circle through the food court and your favorite stores (one time he even caught you at Victoria's Secret, but didn't go in, for obvious reasons). he felt a little creepy, but it wasn't like he was stalking you, just keeping you safe (this was his bullshit excuse). some part of you was simply magnetic, pulling him in like a siren, wrapping him around your finger so tightly he never wanted to be let go.

after a few weeks or so of this same routine, he got fired for beating up a man in broad daylight, and had to get a shitty job at Fazbear's Pizzeria. the only part of that job he missed was you, but his yearning would soon come to an end. he went on various apps, websites, whatever he could to find a babysitter for abby while he was at work, when he found your profile on one of the apps. you were around his age, lived in the same town, and were looking for a job as a babysitter. perfect! he got in contact with you shortly after, and you were fast to reply. you set up a day, time and location, and the next night you were there, knocking on his door.

it was as if the closer he got to you, the prettier you were. pink lips overlined with black liner, flared black jeans paired with a Siouxsie and The Banshees t-shirt, eyeliner so sharp it could probably poke him and black converse covered in doodles. you were more casual than usual, obviously, but god, you were beautiful. you hit him with one of your dazzling smiles, introduced yourself to him and abby (abby instantly liked you), and he went off to work, the scent of your sandalwood perfume on his mind.

you got closer over the months you babysat abby. he came home early in the morning, but you always made breakfast (not only were you beautiful, but amazingly sweet). he didn't pay you as consistently as you originally hoped he would, but you were begin to grow a crush on him, so you didn't really mind. it got to the point where you two even exchanged numbers, using work as an excuse, but you mostly talked and sent memes to each other. but what he admired most about you is how good you were with abby. you guys drew together, watched cartoons together, laughed together, you even did tarot readings for her. abby would fill him in on every little detail of your night together, start to finish. she adored you, and you adored her, which only made him fall harder for you.

the love confession was unexpected, but really sweet. he had invited you over for dinner before he went to work, which he often did, but after you put abby to bed and sat down on the couch with him...

"thanks for everything you do for us." he blurted suddenly. your face suddenly felt very warm, and you bashfully replied.

"it's no big deal, really. i like spending time with abby..." fuck it, you thought. "and with you." you stared at each other for a moment, tension in the air, before he kissed you. slowly, softly, easing you into it. it got heated quickly, and one thing left to another, and he was forty minutes late for work (but it was so worth it).

a/n: okay, this wasn't as focused on the goth part as I wanted it to be, but wtvr. i'll be doing headcannons for goth!reader later!! for now, here's some backstory lol

[windssong]

To Hold The Sun // Astarion x gnTav

series summary: 5 years after the main events of Baldur’s Gate 3, you and Astarion have spent that time searching for a cure that would make it possible for him to walk in the sun again. During one of your adventures, you come across an ancient tome that promises a cure and much, much more.

Chapter 1 - And The Three Magic Words Are…

chapter summary: You are determined to do whatever it takes to make sure Astarion can feel the suns warmth once again. What you didn’t expect, was an ancient spell from an ancient book to do more than that.

words: 3k+

tags/warnings: 18+MDNI, brief smut, romance, high fantasy, canon level violence, fluff, some angst,

authors note:

This is one of my favorite ideas I’ve come up with yet. Just pure, high fantasy fun. Enjoy reading!

If you could only choose one moment to anchor yourself to, it would be right here. Shuddering underneath his dancing fingers, chasing each other's lips forever.

Astarion sucked in a gasp of sweet air, letting out a moan locked deep within his chest. He fell against your body as he came inside you. Legs tangled together underneath sheets that stuck against salty skin.

All that was left were two souls breathing heavily against one another.

He nuzzled his nose into your hair, catching his breath. You ran your hands through his white locks. You were the only person allowed to do that. It was soft falling in between your fingers. Like water in the palm of your hands, he drowned in your embrace.

Both of you had returned to the city late last night. The same city you and your companions saved years ago. You decided to find rest and say hello to some old friends at The SongFire Inn. Lakrissa had opened the Inn a few years back, along with Alfria who was also running her own bardic school.

The SongFire Inn was built near the edge of Rivington. Not too far from Wyrm’s Crossing but far enough away that you had to squint to make out its bridge from your window. For how spacious the Inn was, it still had all the comforts and furnishings of a welcoming home.

It was a nice change of scenery compared to the dingy and questionable Inns and abandoned homes you’d stayed in over the years. Although, sleeping beneath the stars is where you were most at ease.

A fireplace blazed across the room. The flames licked the humid air. Its golden light flickered across your naked bodies.

Since you had known Astarion, you had come to one simple conclusion. That there was no greater comfort than his presence. He was a tattered blanket slowly stitching itself back together. Every day, new patterns formed and colors made anew. You didn’t mind the icy air finding its way through little holes in the fabric. It kept you warm all the same.

He was still inside of you when he started laughing.

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts. Your head was still spinning from the aftermath of your orgasm. “What’s so funny?”

You could feel his smile spread against your shoulder. “Nothing darling. You just feel good. You make me feel good.”

He kissed your neck, lips drunk against your skin. “Thank you.”

His fangs ghosted over the faded marks where he first fed on you all those years ago. Then over the spot where he drank from you last night, when you ripped each other's clothes off, covered in weeks worth of grime and rain from your travels.

The pads of your fingers drew circles on his pale skin. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He grinned, peppering kisses along your collarbone. “I have absolutely no idea. It’s a mystery to me as well.” He paused above your new scar.

His shoulders tensed. You could practically feel the muscles tightening underneath his skin. You continued massaging the nape of his neck, hoping to distract him from the memory you knew he was reliving.

That memory, that fear of almost losing you 2 tendays passed, continued to stick with him. He couldn’t shake it. You knew it still bothered him, even though you had made a full recovery.

His arms tightened around you. He held you like he did then. On that frozen lake thick with snow and blood. Your blood.

The first time you heard him pray was on that cold night. It was more of a plea, to whatever god would listen. He knew it was futile, it had always been for him. But, he continued anyway, waiting for the health potion to kick in and take all your agony away.

His eyes raked over the burn mark right in the middle of your chest as it faded into and around your neck. Maybe if he stared hard enough, it would go away and everything would be okay again.

The skin around the circular mark was still inflamed and showed no signs of healing properly. He hated how painful it looked. He saw how your hands gripped the fabric over the scar, face wincing in discomfort over the past couple weeks.

The amulet left behind its imprint. The design that melted into your skin was a cluster of vines growing on top of each other. He could make out what looked to be a small dagger hidden between the overgrown plants. The thick scar tissue made it difficult to tell.

He became all too aware of his scar on his back.

You brought his lips to yours again, snapping him out of that awful memory. “Astarion.” His name rolled off your tongue in a soft whisper. You licked your lips, tasting yourself there. “I’m okay now. You know that, right? I’m not going anywhere.”

The Vampire Spawn sighed. He slipped out of you, sitting up against the wooden headboard. You missed the fullness of him as he left you empty.

“I do.” He glared at your scar. “Mostly. Doesn’t mean the thought of you choking on your blood doesn’t haunt every corner of my mind.” His face was cloaked in pain, the memory still so fresh.

It was a little over 6 tendays ago when Gale sent you that fateful letter and enchanted amulet that led you to your near doom.

After 5 years of research, The Wizard of Waterdeep had finally uncovered a potential lead for a cure. One that would let Vampires walk in the sun again. And potentially, cure Vampirism as a whole.

What he had discovered was an amulet. One that apparently belonged to one of the very first Vampires. Before her untimely death, Maeve wrote a book titled, To Hold The Sun. It was said to be a collection of spells she created herself in a desperate attempt to walk in the sun again.

After Maeve’s mysterious death, her remains, amulet, book all disappeared. Even her Vampiric Castle, Crimsons Haven, said to be the size of a small country, was all lost to the ever forward momentum of time. No one knew whose hands or what cavern held them. Or where her kingdom had fallen to ruin. Or if they and Maeve even existed in the first place.

That was, until Gale came across the amulet himself while adventuring. His research indicated that the lost tome could be found using the amulet as some sort of compass. Whoever wore the priceless artifact was guided to where the book rested.

Astarion didn’t like the styling of the necklace. Said it was, “too old-fashioned,” for his tastes. So, after teasing him about his sense of fashion, it was up to you to wear it. The circular material was warm against your skin. It glowed a soft yellow. A mini sun in the palm of your hands.

With the enchanted item and another adventure underway, the two of you let the amulet guide you onward.

It was a long shot.

You knew that. Astarion knew that.

Years spent searching countless books, poems and glyphs, investigating every town, cavern, and hideout on The Sword Coast had led to absolutely nothing. You couldn’t even find a temporary spell that worked. Just empty chests and promises.

But, even with all those disappointments and hiding in the dark away from the light, Astarion still smiled as if he already found the cure. He was free and finally able to forge his own path, without a puppet master's strings forcing him to do his bidding.

It was the happiest you’d ever been, on this journey with him. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel jaded after turning over nearly every root and stone in Faerun, only to find nothing but dirt and bones.

But this new piece of information changed things. It gave you, and most importantly Astarion, hope again. No matter how much of a long shot it seemed to be, you would take it. Even if it hurt you.

The amulet led to a cave only accessible across a frozen lake. That night, a blizzard raged. It was so cold, your eyelids refused to shut and fingers and toes went numb.

With an Elixir of Ice Resistance, the potion helped you travel that extra mile over the icy tundra. Astarion complained about the aftertaste and your coat that was apparently, in his words, “warmer than his.” You reminded him he was a Vampire and wore the Hoarfrost Boots Wyll gifted him when they all had reunited. Meanwhile, it took your full concentration not to slip and fall on the ice. Astarion walked past you when you did eventually fall over.

When you finally made your way over the treacherous landscape, you reached a shallow cave, finding To Hold The Sun nestled in the arms of a dead bandit. By the look of the body, it was in a frozen state of decay. It was difficult to tell how long it’d been there. Days, weeks, years, his body was forever trapped in the freezing temperature.

Maeve’s amulet burned like a beacon of light against your chest as you inched closer to the tome. There was no sign of damage on the book. It looked as brand new as a fresh plate of armor or newly forged steel. You would’ve never guessed it was centuries old.

After years of traveling and searching, you finally found something of substance. The relief was palpable. You could see it on Astarions face too. Eyes full of wonder. You didn’t want that flicker of hope to leave him ever again.

This was it.

You were unaware of the dark magic radiating off the tome until you held it in your hands. Astarion was too late to notice to stop you in time.

Darkness enveloped you, covering whatever it touched. The ball of shadow circled you in a violent rush of energy. Faces made up of a vine like substance flashed before you. Dead creatures from the past. They looked like Vampires. The red eyes told you were right.

Then, a blaze of heat moved through your chest. The amulet started melting into your skin, leaving behind its ancient mark. It paralyzed your entire body, but you could still use your vocal cords. The scream that ripped passed your lungs cut through Astarion in ways he’d never been cut before.

He tried desperately to reach you, but the darkness sent him flying back onto the icy lake. But that would not deter him. He tried again and again and was met with the same fate.

The thin layer of ice began to crack. Red tentacles moved their bodies up through the wedges. Those sinister vines bubbled up from underneath, topping the surface. They moved along the cracks like trees in the wind.

Eventually, the magic was sucked back into the book, and you were left on the cold ground, suffocating on blood. It was as if the necklace entered your body just to choke you from the inside out. If it wasn’t for the potion you had left in your bag, you would’ve been dead.

When you picked up the book again, you used part of your coat to store it into your bag. Astarion refused to ever let your skin touch that cursed tome again. He wanted to leave it there or destroy it himself for what it did to you. But, you couldn’t risk another missed opportunity. So, to his dismay, you took it.

You understood his worry. The mark just below your neck still stung with a fiery grip. The closest thing you could describe the feeling too was Karlachs burning hands. But even that felt more like a warm touch versus the searing pain of the scar.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Your fingers found his own, eyes softening. “I put myself at risk, and that wasn’t fair to you. And me.”

Astarion shook his head, meeting your gentle gaze. He squeezed your hand, testing to see whether you were really there or not. He paused, choosing his next words with care. “I… I think we should stop looking for a cure.”

The air exited the room and your lungs. “I don’t understand.” You said.

“You will. Someday.” Astarion slid out of the large bed, hand outstretched towards you.

You frowned. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. And what you want. I thought you wanted this?” You took his hand anyway.

“What I want is you. Right here.” He kissed each knuckle for every word. “Safe. With me. That’s more than enough for me.”

You took your hand away, holding his face with your palms. “But you could have the sun?”

The flames illuminated your bodies in a golden glow as you held each other.

Astarion brushed his forehead against your own. His red eyes matched the embers. “Are you trying to make me say, “you’re all the sun I need,” or whatever? Because if you are, that’s petty vanity I wouldn't even stoop myself so low for. I’m impressed.”

You let out a short laugh, pushing him away playfully. “You wish.”

He grinned, catching you in his arms. “Come on now. Let’s get cleaned up.” Astarion led you into the bath connected to the large bedroom Lakrissa let you rent for free. You made sure to leave some coin behind anyway.

After an hour or so in the water, you returned to bed in comfortable clothing.

Astarion fell asleep in your arms. You, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. You kept replaying the previous conversation over and over again in your head.

Did he really want to stop? Every day, you two put your lives in danger in pursuit of this cure. Why was this incident any different? Why was this the breaking point?

Your fingers brushed against his skin as you watched him sleep. He looked so at peace.

You wanted to give this gift. To walk towards the light without the fear of burning away.

The more selfish part of yourself thought of your old body withering away as he stood there, helpless and ageless.

So, you quietly slipped out of the covers and closed the door to the other room. You sat with your back against the wall, bag in hand.

Since the accident, you tried your hardest to ignore the book. You were going to deliver it to Rolan tonight, to see what he could decipher from the ancient language. His tower held information beyond even his understanding. There were answers to be found there, and Astarion was sure they’d find them eventually.

But, the book was calling to you. It had been since the moment you laid your hands on it. There was a soft whisper in the breeze on the road back to Baldur's Gate. Then another when you entered the Inn, and another one right now. An invisible string was pulling you closer and closer to the tome.

Before you could register what you were doing, the book was open in your hands. The magic stayed at bay this time. It covered each page in a sea of black smoke. The language was unrecognizable. Yet, it was obvious that each spell was written in someone’s blood.

As you flipped through the old pages, the scar on your chest burned. The pain grew worse as you went through the tome. It was almost unbearable, but you couldn’t stop. You were rolling down a cliff and you couldn’t fight gravity. That was, until it ceased as soon as you stopped on a certain page.

There was a large Castle drawn in dried blood. It took up two pages. You assumed it was Crimsons Haven. Dark vines covered the Castle like moss. It looked similar to the twisted tentacle like force that attacked you just days prior. And the pattern on Maeve’s amulet branded to your neck. The details stretched far beyond the realm of any artist's abilities. It was so real, you could dip your hand into the sketch and crawl right into the ancient Castle.

Was your hand halfway through the page?

Then, three words unknown to you, words you’ve never heard nor spoken before, left your lips.

The wind made a ghastly noise, piercing your ears. Creatures dressed in robes of red and black filled the entire room, rushing past you violently. Gathering all the willpower you could muster, you shut the book as the scar burned away at your flesh. The shrieking seemed to last for hours, but it was only a moment later when it stopped altogether.

You took your hands off your ears, surveying the surrounding room. You figured you were the only one who heard the horrible sound given Astarion had yet to come and check on you.

Everything was in its exact place, except for the book. It was gone.

You scrambled to your knees, looking everywhere for the old tome. Only a tiny, red tentacle of smoke remained reaching up from the wooden floorboards. “Shit.” You ran a hand through your hair. And just like that, your hopes of finding that cure were dashed away once again.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stop an avalanche of tears from falling on top of you. When you stumbled out of the bathroom, head low and tail between your legs, you found Astarion staring out the window.

Your blood ran cold. “What are you doing!? Get back!” Before you rushed over to cover the window, you noticed there was no sunlight shining through it.

That couldn’t be? It was still morning.

“What in the hells...” Astarion pointed frantically out the window.

As you walked closer, you saw a large shadow looming over every building as far as you could see.

The whole town was covered in a cloak of red and black smoke, and it ran for miles. All the way from Riventon, passed Baldur's Gate and to the ocean. Didn’t matter where you looked, it was caged in like a wild animal.

Astarion lifted your chin with his finger. “Up, darling.”

Your eyes broadened, taking in the brand new scenery in front of you.

A Castle was floating in the sky, blocking out the sun.

The kingdom-sized Castle was shrouded in a layer of shadow, wrapping around the structure in red and black vines. Similar to the magic guarding the book and the amulet stuck to your skin. Layers of dark and Vampiric magic swam over the ancient stone in a protective cocoon.

The strangest part wasn’t even the floating Castle on its own or sea magic swimming around it. It was the position that left you at a loss for words.

It was floating upside down. The tips of the Castle towers nearly touched the buildings below. It sailed above the landscape, one brush away from crumbling to the ground.

“Oh no.” You said, taking a step back. The realization hit you as hard as the spell did.

It was the same Castle from the ancient tome. Crimsons Haven. Down to the exact details. And now it was here, looming over the city you had saved.

“What have I done?”

Astarion held a finger up. “And what exactly do you mean by tha-” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Your scar. It’s gone.”

Your fingers brushed over the burnt area. He was right. There was no longer a layer of thick skin there. It had healed instantly.

But now an even bigger problem remained. Thanks to you and that book. And it was looming over the entire city, ready to swallow it whole.

—

CH 2 - coming soon

[cinnamon7girl7]

"THROUGH THE SILENCE, I WILL RETURN TO YOU – PART 4."

♡ — Summary: I thought I had it all — Satoru’s love, Megumi’s warmth, and Suguru’s trust. But even the strongest love can break when truth hides behind silence. One betrayal changes everything; pain drives them apart, yet memories and a love still alive won’t let them go. Now, Satoru fights for a second chance, and she must decide if, after all the hurt, love is still worth it. ♡ — Author's note: This is the fourth part of this story. I recommend reading the first three chapters (one, two, and three) so everything makes more sense. Thank you so much to everyone who has been waiting for each part of this story. It was really hard to write, but it was a dream I’ve always had. Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Silence Hurts More

Silence had become a constant guest in the house. There were no more laughs in the kitchen when someone messed up breakfast. No more hurried footsteps in the hallway, or that soft sound of muffled laughter coming from the back room.

Only the echo remained—of what was once a home full of light.

I sat at the edge of the bed, in the room I once shared with Satoru. The blanket was still neatly folded, but his side remained untouched, as if I hadn’t had the strength to undo that half of the world we had built together.

—"Mom…" —Megumi peeked through the doorway, his voice barely a whisper.

I looked up, trying to force a smile.

—"Yes, my love?"

—"Can we have breakfast together…?" —he asked with a new kind of shyness, as if the pain had made him quieter too.

—"Of course. I’ll be right down."

Megumi nodded. He didn’t ask about Gojo. Not since that night.

Not since he saw the suitcase in the hallway, and heard his mother cry for the first time.

The kitchen was quiet.

She was making tea while Megumi watched her in silence, his chin resting on the table, his eyes a little dull.

—"Do you remember when he tried to make us daifuku?" —he asked suddenly.

She froze mid-movement.

The memory hit her like a cold wave in the stomach.

—"He left everything covered in flour… even you," —Megumi said with a small smile.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Because she also remembered how Satoru came over with flour-covered hands and drew a heart on her cheek.

How he said he would make daifuku every day just to see them smile like that.

But now, the daifuku tasted like lies.

Like silence. Like all the things he didn’t say.

Later, I was walking through a park I used to visit with Satoru.

The cold wind slipped through my coat, but what hurt the most was the habit of looking to my side and not finding him there.

—"Why didn’t you trust me?" —I kept thinking over and over.

—"Why did you look me in the eyes all those days and say nothing?"

I remembered a moment with Suguru, weeks ago.

The three of us were having coffee.

Satoru had that calm smile, but his hand wouldn’t stop gripping the cup.

Suguru looked at him with concern, and when we asked what was going on, both of them laughed and said they were just talking about missions.

Now I knew.

Now I understood.

That afternoon, I found Megumi in the small garden we used to take care of together.

—"I'm planting new flowers," —he said, digging the soil with force.

—"Why?"

—"Because the others didn’t grow anymore. And I don’t want the garden to die too."

I approached slowly, kneeling by his side.

—"Thank you for taking care of everything, Gumi."

—"Are you okay…?" —he asked, without looking at me.

I took a while to answer.

—"I’m learning to be."

He nodded, biting his lip. Then he pulled something out of his pocket: a small, wrinkled drawing.

It was a cartoon of the three of us: Satoru, him, and me, hugging.

—"I didn’t want to throw it away," —he said— "But I don’t know where it belongs anymore."

I took it gently between my fingers, like something sacred.

—"Keep it for now. One day we’ll know if it still has a place."

The nights were the hardest.

When Megumi was asleep and there were no more tasks to keep me busy, I was left alone with the weight of my heart.

I would go through old messages I had never deleted.

Voice notes filled with laughter.

Photos from trips, from dinners, from ordinary days where Satoru hugged me from behind while I cooked, saying things like:

—"You know what I want for dessert? You."

I closed my eyes and pressed the phone to my chest.

"How do you move on from something that was part of your soul?" I thought.

Several days went by. One afternoon, someone knocked at the door—someone you didn’t expect.

—"Suguru?"

He looked up, wearing his usual expression, though a bit dimmed.

—"Can I come in?"

I nodded.

We sat on the balcony, where we used to have tea when he visited. The air was cool, and the sky was painted a soft gray.

—"Has he been trying to reach you?" —Suguru asked, direct.

—"Every day," —I answered without looking at him.

—"And you haven’t replied."

—"I don’t know if I could, honestly. I don’t think I could do it without breaking again."

Suguru stayed silent for a few seconds, then said:

—"He didn’t tell you anything because he thought protecting you was more important than trusting you with the truth. I’m not justifying what he did… but I also can’t let you believe it was all selfishness."

When I looked at him, there was restrained sadness in his eyes.

—"Did you know everything from the beginning?"

Suguru lowered his head.

—"Yes."

I pressed my lips together. It hurt, but I wasn’t surprised anymore. What hurt most was realizing that everyone around me had made decisions for me.

—"I thought at least you…" —I whispered.

—"I know," —he interrupted, his voice hoarse— "And I’m sorry. But you have to understand something: Satoru loves you like I’ve never seen anyone love. He was destroying himself to keep you safe. Even if he got it all wrong."

I closed my eyes, holding back tears.

—"He never thought the truth could also make me feel safe. He didn’t get that. He never let me choose."

Suguru nodded.

—"Maybe you can still choose what to do with it."

That night, I stayed in the living room with Megumi watching a movie. He fell asleep with his head on my lap.

I gently stroked his hair, remembering the early days with him. When he came into my life scared, trusting no one, and how little by little he started getting closer to me… until one day, with a trembling voice, he said:

—"Can I call you mom?"

I closed my eyes tightly, holding back the tears.

Sometimes it felt like it was all too much.

And yet, there I was.

Alive. With Megumi.

Moving forward, even though it hurt.

On the other side of the city, Satoru sat alone on the rooftop of a building.

The wind tousled his hair, but he didn’t care.

His eyes were red, his hands trembling, his cheeks stained with dry tears, the beautiful engagement ring in one hand and in the other, an open letter.

A letter he never got to give you.

One that began with: "If I ever hurt you, I just want you to remember how much I love you..."

And for the first time in days, he lifted his head with determination.

—I'm going to win her back —he murmured—. Even if it’s the last thing I do.

[aheathen-conceivably]

Warm air settled over Strangerville as Antoine spent his weeks at home. For days he did little but enjoy the quiet rhythm of life, helping Zelda with work or waiting for Violette to return home from school. All he wanted was to spend every moment that he could with them, storing away memories for the sleepless nights he knew awaited him in the near future. Only there was still one thing he had to do before he went back on the road, so one day in Spring he made the long trek up the hill to Hines Ranch.

Violette was by his side, mostly because she had hardly ever left it since he returned, but also because she never missed an opportunity to visit Hines Ranch now that her days there were few and far between. The whole walk she vacillated between chattiness and moody sighs, trying to make her displeasure about his imminent departure known while still wanting to talk to him. 

Every time she did, his resolve crumbled. Whatever other difficulties he faced leaving again paled next to this: disappointing her over and over again each time her childish joy turned to loneliness right before his eyes. It was all he could do to give her every bit of attention she wanted while he was here, so that there was never any request too big or misbehavior worth reprimanding.

Because deep down, he felt like she was right to treat him this way. He had seen how much her hair had grown and how desperately she needed new dresses. Even if he knew that leaving meant he could give her that and more, it was at the expense of missing so much.

The farmyard was quiet as they approached, the pens where Antoine had learned to wrangle horses empty and the man he sought nowhere to be seen. He took Violette by the hand and walked toward the barn, betting that Abe and his horses were in the cool shade of the afternoon. As soon as they drew near a small voice sang out from the darkness beyond. “Lottie!”

She hesitated briefly, pulling at Antoine’s hand as Will appeared at the stall doors. “I should have known you were near. Silver didn’t seem nearly as angry this feeding. Wanna come and see her?”

Immediately, Violette let go of Antoine’s hand and ran toward Will; but as she reached him she seemed to remember that if she turned her back, her father might disappear. So she kept her face turned even as Will guided her to the horses. Antoine’s heart ached as he looked at her. “Go on, little Princess. I’m right behind you.”

She ran directly into the enclosure without an ounce of fear. Silver neighed happily before looking up toward Antoine; then she brought her ears forward and turned her attention to Violette. As he looked at them, it seemed almost foolish to think of how many weeks he had spent calmy and hesitantly winning the horse over when his daughter's intense energy and loud laugher had immediately done the same.

He wondered what exactly it was that Silver sensed in her that made her so calm. Maybe it was her fearlessness that he himself had come to admire, or the unabashed way her emotions came to her without thought or filter, like a storm in the desert sending clouds of dust through the sky.

Antoine’s thoughts were interrupted by heavy footfall that he would have recognized anywhere. He turned toward the sound while the two children stayed preoccupied. “Judging by that new tie, I take it you’re not here to get back to work, are ya?” 

Forgetting why he had come for a moment, Antoine allowed himself a smile before he took his friend’s outstretched hand. Then he glanced back at Violette, trying to ensure that she wasn’t listening. He knew that any mention of the next tour was guaranteed to send her sulking, but she had already begun to whisper conspiratorial plans to Will while she pointed at the caged horses.

“I’m afraid not.” Antoine cleared his throat nervously, guilt washing over him that he had come here to quit a job that had been given to him in good faith. Before the first tour he had told Abe that it was only temporary, and maybe he had hoped it was. But there was no denying the opportunity anymore. “Jo’s booked up two more tours. I hope I’m not putting you out too terribly by leaving with so little notice."

A bright smile overtook Abe's face, one that Antoine immediately recognized as genuine pride. "Nonsense! I believe congrats are in order. Will's old enough to help now anyhow, and if need be there’s still no shortage of men after a job. No replacing you with them horses though, so might as well give it a go on my own for a while.”

Guilt settled deeper in Antoine’s stomach as he realized what he had already suspected: Abe had never needed his work. He had done it to help him when he had been at his lowest. The bright smile stayed on his face. “Want to come inside for a cup of coffee? Day’s mostly done anyway. Besides, I would like to hear where that guitar has been. Will?” His gaze went over Antoine’s shoulder, snapping Will’s eyes to immediate attention even while Violette’s continued to wander the stalls, “No leaving the farmyard, you know the rules.”

Settled inside the cool wooden walls of the farmhouse, Abe set down a tray of coffee still steaming from the stove. He poured a steady stream of coffee into each mug as he spoke. “So how was it out there?”

Antoine reached out for his cup, letting the scent wash over him like he would after a long day’s work. “It had its moments.”

Abe looked into his cup the same that way Antoine was, his voice taking on a sort of melancholy tone that sounded just as rooted in the past as it was the present. “I reckon alot of folk will act like it should be easier. Making your living playing music rather than working somewhere like here. But it has its own pains. I know.”

Their conversation seemed to flow easier after that, discussing how the mountains grew taller as the road led further from New Mexico, or how this year’s cattle drive just didn’t seem to be getting any better. Eventually their rusted pot stopped steaming and the seemingly endless stream of coffee ran dry, but their shared laughter felt just as warm.

Only the sun beams angling through the Western windows told them how much time had really passed, and Abe looked down at his empty cup one final time. "Come on, I'll walk you out. Lord knows we'll have to go looking for Lottie and Will." Antoine rose to his feet behind him, a good natured laugh leaving his lips as his chair scaped against the floor.

By the time they emerged from the house, the early afternoon sun was shining on the sand and the heat had begun to abate. In the distance, children’s laughter could be heard, most certainly from beyond the farmyard. A small smile played on Abe’s face as he looked out toward the distant voices. “You know he only breaks that rule when your girl is here?”

“I’ll talk to her first thing when we get home…”

Abe waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t. It’s good for them to feel a bit independent 'round this age. Besides,” his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as his voice grew quiet, “I worry he follows my rules to a fault sometimes. Life will hit him hard one day.”

Quiet fell between them as the laughter came closer and footsteps rang out across the mesa. Antoine shuffled his feet, conscious of the lingering words he wanted to say. “‘Suppose they heard our voices, didn’t they? Bet they’ll claim they were only just over the fence.”

Abe looked in their direction, letting the sun hit his eyes. “Sure will. And we’ll pretend like it’s the truth.” He brought his hand up to his face, ostentatiously to shield it from the sun, but also to ensure that it wasn’t visible as he spoke. “Just don’t be a stranger, will you? No need for work if you want to bring your girl by.”

Antoine cleared his throat, the words he had really come here to say finally bubbling to the surface. "Of course. And, Abe - thank - thank you. For the work I mean - for - for everything since we’ve been here. Zelda and I - we appreciate it.”

The quiet that fell between them was one of understanding, and from the corner of his eye Antoine saw Abe give a quick nod of his head. Then, right on cue, their children rounded the fence, their hands interlocked and their faces full of joy.

Previous / Next

[gingerteawrites]

BY THE HEARTH: ARC

A/N: Did I say I was going to be back in a week? yeah.... that didn't happen. I can't even justify such a long absence, I am just so sorry. Disregarding my inconsistent posting schedule though, I was so so happy to read all of your comments on the previous chapter. We're finally there folks! I am excited to explore the king and queen's future dynamics now that they finally opened up hehe. As always thank you for all your messages and love on this series, it truly makes my days. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your week. Kisses.

Read previous part here

Content: Royalty!AU, Nanami x female reader, king Nanami, Princess Y/N, Widower Nanami, Toddler Yuuji, hurt, angst. Not beta read

Word count: ~3K

Banner by: @cafekitsune

ACT XII

Nanami could hardly believe everything that had transpired between the two of you. Not how you had voiced your want for closeness, eyes shining and voice firm. And even less how you had returned his kiss with a fervor that almost broke him. He could still feel the ghost of your figure against him, your lips on his, resenting the moment when you parted and took away the soothing warmth of your body. It had been a long time since he had held anyone this close.

Now in his own room, he still didn’t know what to do with himself. You had wanted to be close to him. You wanted him.

This was real. For once no more pretense, no more appearances to keep. No more illusions of duty.

Real was unfamiliar, and real was scary. But he had made a promise. And Kento was nothing if not a man of his word. What he had thought was a mere soft spot for you had unfurled into a wild torrent of emotions. He now knew that there was little he would ever be able to refuse you.

He shook his head with a chuckle. Reduced to a puddle because of you.

A dangerous thing for a king, that he was fully aware. But maybe love was a game worth the risk. Maybe this was God, or the universe giving him a chance to experience the real thing.

He finally drew from his lovesick haze, standing from the desk where he had been trying to draft some official decree. He chuckled under his breath, looking at the half-formed words that stained the parchment in dark in.

It was funny, now being unable to work for an altogether different reason. How deplorable. But even this bout of unproductivity did not dampen his mood in the way that it usually did. Right now, he had found something else more deserving of his attention. He headed for the exit, pushing through the heavy ebony doors.

Calling for Alma he breathed resolutely. There were things that needed to change.

The sun had long since dipped under the horizon, leaving the castle illuminated in the vermillion hue of chandeliers and candles. You had stayed in the library for the better part of the evening, practically transfixed by the kiss and words shared with the king. With Kento. The fear of being selfish had overwhelmed you the second the words had left your mouth, and the drawn out moments when he had looked at you with unbridled astonishment made your stomach sink with dread.

But all the worries had simply vanished when he drew closer. A wistful sigh, maybe a bit too juvenile exited your lips at the mere thought of the warmth shared within that small vignette of your memory.

You walked back to your quarters, hoping to relish in the feelings that flooded your chest in your bed. Maybe roll around and scream into the pillow with a giddiness only rivaled by when your teenage self had experienced her first romantic venture. But your aspirations were stopped dead in their tracks by an uncharacteristically beaming Alma walking through the halls. Her steps were heavy and resolute, indicative of a clear mission.

As soon as your eyes met, she sauntered over to you. “There you go your majesty!” how had she gotten to your side so quick?

“Good evening Alma,” you greeted, eyes round with curiosity. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, more than alright,” she replied quickly, the lines on her skin easing as they were pulled into a bright smile. “We are past due for a dinner, aren’t we? Please follow me.”

She looped an arm around yours before you had the chance to respond, pulling you along with her. This energy almost reminded you of Yuuji. The kid could rub off on anyone.

She eventually let go of your arm, suddenly embarrassed by her lack of propriety despite you assuring that it was fine. You followed behind the head maid as she led you through the corridors that separated your room from the main royal wing, your curiosity only stirring more deeply upon noticing the change in scenery.

You had not been here since Yuuji’s bout of smallpox. The memory of the sick child soured your positive emotions, but only for a brief moment. As if summoned by your thoughts, the boy emerged from his own room, beaming when his eyes met yours. He immediately launched into a race towards you.

You bent down, bracing yourself for the impact when the boy jumped into your arms. He never failed to remind you how freakishly strong he was for his age, but you were not going to break his enthusiasm with such trifling complaints.

“Mama!” He nuzzled into you as you stood, wrapping his arms around your neck. A laugh, full of mirth escaped your lips, pressing your cheek against his.

“Hello, my little prince.”

“Are you here to eat with us?!” His voice was loud in the night air, but that didn’t bother you. “I have no idea,” you reply with a wide smile of your own, both of your heads turning at Alma who gently cleared her throat. You almost expected a reprimand, but her smile shone brighter than before.

“If you would both follow me,” she gestured to the path ahead before walking again, “you would see.”

And so you followed, with Yuuji discussing what possible dinner options there could be.

“I hope we have chicken! I love chicken,” he gestured with his hands, suddenly diving into an impression of the flightless bird. You nodded in serious agreement. “And lots of veggies too, right? Isn’t there so much to love about spinach too?”

He scrunched his nose, earning another laugh from you.

Alma finally came to a stop in front of a small door, carved with the kingdom’s royal crest . You eyed the door curiously, not sure what room laid behind it. This was the farthest you had ever been into this castle. The matron motioned for you to head in, still beaming at you.

“In here, your majesties. If you need me, just call.”

Yuuji squirmed in your hold, indication that he wanted to be let down and made quick work of pulling the door open, extending a hand to grab yours and pull you in.

The solar that laid beyond the door certainly was a sight to behold. Those you were accustomed to, from your home always felt a bit too cramped with a little too many little things. Most likely than not a reflection of your mother’s semi-hoarding tendencies. They were rooms where you knew to find solace, but only when nothing else was available. Places where your thoughts tended to tangle even more.

But this room exuded nothing but peace. A fireplace crackled on the opposite wall of the room, supplementing the light from the chandelier that hung above the small table at the center of the room along with the various candles all around. The large window that occupied most of the West wall framed the crescent moon, pearly and bright as it illuminated the landscape outside.

Most of all, in the center of the room stood the object of your many thoughts. Sensing your wonder, Nanami gave you a few minutes to acclimate to the area before approaching and bringing your hand to his lips.

“My queen,” he greeted, his warm eyes boring into your in a way that made your entire body warm. You bowed slightly, returning the greeting. “My king.”

“Papa!” Yuuji tugged at his father’s pants, a small frown on his features.

The man chuckled, crouching to ruffle his son’s hair. “I apologize, I made you wait for dinner, Yuuji. I was preparing a little something,” he smiled down at him, and the child’s frown eased as quickly as it had appeared.

Yuuji took a hold of both of your hands, pulling you along to sit around the small table.

“Let’s eat then!”

After helping Yuuji sit down, Nanami pulled the chair for you and then took the seat across from you, an almost shy smile brightening his features. You decided you liked it. Watching this self-assured man be so candid. A little like a shy kid finally breaking out of a mold he was trapped in. He was letting you in. The hard line he had drawn at the edge of himself blurring.

A light chatter carried through the dinner, one that oozed more joy than you had felt in a while. While you were trying to sneak peas into his plate, Yuuji, ever the perceptive kid had leaned in closer to you, a tired smile pulling at his lips before announcing.

“Papa and Mama have made up.”

Putting the child to bed was an easy task; he was basically dropping of sleep already. So much so that even his excitement at both you and Nanami reading him a bedtime story could not keep his little body awake for long. You gave him a kiss on the cheek, contentment blooming in your heart as you exited the room. You took a step away from the door, turning towards the night breeze.

“Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closing. “For tonight, for everything.”

You felt Kento’s hand on your shoulder, hesitant at first, but then relaxing against your skin and giving you a comforting squeeze.

“No, thank you, Y/N,” his breath tickled your neck, the exposed skin erupting in goosebumps. Pleasant.

The air hung heavy with a drawn out silence. Not tense, but still heavy with the weight of words unspoken. You knew he wanted to say more. The way his fingers flexed slightly over your skin, the hesitation. But the tension dissipated, leaving only a gentle caress before his hand slipped down to the small of your back.

“Allow me to walk you back,” the gentle pressure egged you on, walking together in the quiet corridor. But it took little time for your mind to realize that this was not the direction to your room. You were not heading towards the guest wing of the palace.

You looked up at him with a quizzical brow, which he answered with a smile. Slowly, he led you to a new room. One whom you recognized was across from his own. One you had passed many times during your care for Yuuji. Never giving it too much thought. Never allowing yourself to wish.

But as he pushed the doors open, your heart rate picked up slightly, alight with realization. This room, much like the solar where you had shared dinner was illuminated by many candles, casting a warm glow over the velvet covers, silk canopy and soft cushions.

“I took the liberty of having your things moved here,” he explained while you were still taking in the decor, gaze returning to him. “So you could be closer… If you want to, of course,” he added in a rushed breath, cheeks warming slightly at the thought of your possible rejection. One his heart would hate, but he would accept regardless.

You chuckled, bringing a hand to cover your lips. You liked this Nanami. Soft and a bit aloof, but altogether lovely.

“I am happy to be closer,” your words soothed the light tension that was building up in his shoulders, and he exhaled softly.

“I am happy to make you happy,” the words left his lips in a quiet whisper. And there he was again, looking like he wanted to say something more, his fingers twitching lightly by his side, but visibly holding back. You noticed but allowed him the space to come to terms with his own mind, moving away to sit on your new bed, hands resting at your sides to support your body. The fuzzy blanket filled the space between your fingers, warm and buttery smooth.

“I would like to do more,” you spoke after a few bouts of silence, eyes fixed his unmoving self from your position.

His brows shot up. “More? In what way?”

You tilted your head to the side. “I know presiding over ceremonial duties and social events are important things for a queen to do,” you prefaced, suddenly feeling nervous. How was he going to take this? “But I was raised to be a heir in case something happened to my brothers. I am capable. I want to do more for the people of this kingdom.” Your voice, still warm but resolute filled the room. You had spent quite some time learning about the role of the queens in this kingdom. Days on end spent in the library meant you eventually picked up a history tome or two. And while the queens from here played more prominent roles in the social court, the idea of not doing more than that made your being itch uncomfortably. Wanting to reach out for more.

Before uttering any word, the man in question walked towards you. He paused briefly at the foot of the bed, a silent request to sit. You nodded your agreement and he took his place by your side, fingers almost brushing against yours.

“I know you are more than capable,” his smooth voice was still quiet, you both focused on the painting that hung on the wall adjacent from the bed. A castle amid a lonely field, a setting sun whose fading warmth matched that of the candles around you.

"I never properly thanked you for everything you did while I was away. Not just for Yuuji, but for keeping everything running in my absence. It was a burden I unintentionally placed on your hands." He turned to face you, his gaze searching. "I have always shouldered responsibility alone, but the last thing I want is to overwhelm you the way I have before. To put you under unwarranted stress" A sigh escaped him as he glanced down at your hands—close, yet not quite touching.

You sighed in return, covering his hand with yours. Boldly intwining your fingers. “I care for the people in this palace. For the people in this kingdom.” you begun. “If any stress is to come with it, I willingly accept it. Especially if it can take some away from you.” You smiled. “May I say this is another clause of the ‘no line’ agreement?”

The realization hit again. There was very little he would ever be able to refuse you. Nanami brought your joined hands to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “This suits you,” he breathed against them, closing his eyes briefly. When he reopened them, they had taken on a more somber look. “I have something to show you then.”

Yet another unfamiliar room, and maybe you would have expected your wonder to quell after some time. Instead it rose, that feeling of giddiness at the unfamiliar. At this new openness. The king’s bedroom was much like what one would imagine for him. Neat and to the point, no gaudy furniture or excessively ornate vases. A large bed, a small parlor set and an office area. Just what was needed.

Nanami noticed the way you stole glances at everything in the room, trying to but failing to contain your curiosity and excitement. A foreign sense of giddiness overtook him too. A reflection of the joy oozing from you.

But alas, it was not the time for his mind to reel over the fact of your presence here. Distractions threatened to cloud his brain at the thoughts of you in his most intimate space. Vivid visions of you lounging on the couch. Sharing his quarters. Sprawled in his bed… He shook his head lightly.

This is not the time.

He walked over to his desk and grabbed a handful of documents, handing then over to you as you followed closely. You squinted, trying to make out the words on the taupe pages.

“I am certain you have already deduced that a critical issue is afoot in the kingdom at the moment,” eyes still glued to the papers, you nodded.

“Someone or some people are actively fueling conflict in the South. Someone who has power, and a thirst for influence beyond what is afforded to them. ” You frowned deeply, eyes scanning over the rest of the words. A report about dubious activity, reluctant deductions about high treason.

“Do we know who that someone is?”

“I have suspicions, but there is no conclusive evidence,” Kento crossed his arms over his chest, lips pulled tightly in thought.

“How could I help?” The words left your mouth hastily, fired up by the audacity of it all. Treason against what most considered a kind rule. Threats to the peace and lives of a kind people. Anguish added onto the life of your husband. How dare they?

“Next week,” he gently coaxed the papers from your hold, and you noticed the deep wrinkled where your hands had gripped them. “The Northern duchy holds their decennial retreat. It is a time when the entire aristocracy is required to reside in the North for celebrations commemorating the unification of the kingdom a hundred years ago,” he explained. “As per tradition, the royal family will all have to attend,” a deep frown overtook his features. “And I know the culprit will be among the attendees. All I ask of you is to keep close,” worry coated his features. “I am telling you this because I want to be honest. Per our agreement, right?”

If the traitor had taken actions as brazen as trying to strike down a major economic center in the region, there was no telling what they were willing to do to anyone else. Nanami felt another one of those emotions he would rather have bottled away. Fear. Sharp and miserable. He could not lose anyone else. He would not put you at risk.

“Of course,” you gave a tight-lipped smile, recognizing the anguish in his features. But also knowing that you could not just sit and twiddle your thumbs while in the presence of a threat to the entire kingdom. Your new home.

The northern Duchy, the Zenin family. You had heard of them in passing, a recluse family, 'wholly unsociable and stingy' in Mei’s own words.

The ominous feeling of trouble brewing had already set root in your heart. Kamo’s words, Gojo’s interest. They all put you on edge.

If anything was to put the integrity of this newfound family in jeopardy, you would not stand for it. You were the people’s queen. Kento’s wife. You had already made up your mind. If need be, you would act.

Y'all let me know what you think! I also finished writing this at 2am so apologies for typos/other errors.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

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[ihni]

Pictures, baby

For @harringrovemicroficandart's March prompt, "Childhood" (813 words)

(Also on AO3)

~~~

It was Joyce’s idea.

Everyone had been invited to a barbeque at the Byers’ house in two weeks’ time for a night of good food, even better company, and fun. The idea was that everyone attending would bring a picture of themselves when they were a baby, and then then they’d make a game out of trying to guess who was who.

So, Steve was currently in the couch, going through a childhood’s worth of photo albums to find the right one.

“What are you doing?”

He could feel Billy’s breath on his ear as he peered over his shoulder.

Turning so Billy could get a better view, Steve held up the album he was leafing through. “Trying to find a good baby photo.”

Billy huffed out a laugh and pointed at a picture of Steve, aged 6 months, naked and lying on his front on a sheepskin. “You were a fat baby.”

“All babies are fat.” He turned and looked pointedly at Billy’s profile. “Which reminds me, I need one of you, too.”

“One what?”

“A baby photo.”

Billy straightened up, so Steve had to turn around in the couch to be able to see him.

“Why?” There was a wrinkle between his eyes.

“It’s for the barbeque at the Byers’,” Steve said, smiling. “Everyone is to a picture of themselves from when they were a kid, and then we guess who’s who. It’s a game.”

“Sounds lame.”

Steve’s smile turned mischievous. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want anyone to know you were a fat baby, too.”

Billy frowned. “No thanks. I’m not into nerdy games.”

“Come on,” Steve said, cajoling, and reached out a hand. “It'll be fun. We’re all doing it.”

But Billy yanked his hand out of reach and took a step back. “I’m not.”

Steve sighed. Billy had come a long way since the events of last summer, but he was still Billy. Personally, Steve thought that joining in on a few games couldn’t hurt. It’d earn him some brownie points with the Party, that’s for sure.

So, “Please?” he said, batting his eyelashes. “For me?”

But instead of being charmed, Billy’s face closed down. He turned on his heel and walked out without another word. Steve heard the front door open and close before he even got out of the couch.

~

Things didn’t improve over the next few days. Steve tried to breach the topic a couple of times, but Billy shut him down every time. At one point Steve tried to apologize – even though he wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, exactly – but Billy just shook his head and walked off. Again.

It was kind of bewildering, really.

A couple of days later, Steve was sitting in his car outside the Arcade, contemplating just skipping out on the barbecue entirely, when the passenger door opened and Billy got in. Without so much as a hello, he threw a piece of paper into Steve’s lap.

Surprised at being approached first for the first time in a week, Steve picked up the paper.

“It’s a picture,” Billy mumbled, staring out through the windshield. “For your little game.”

And sure enough, it was a picture of Billy. Only, Steve recognized it immediately, because it was Billy’s portrait from the school yearbook – obviously cut out from the yearbook itself.

It was probably supposed to be some kind of peace offering, but as such it kind of sucked. Because, “It’s supposed to be a baby picture?” Steve pointed out.

Billy drew his shoulders up and bit his lip. He was still staring straight ahead as he spoke. “I don’t have any baby pictures.”

… oh.

While Steve was struggling to come up with something to say, Billy swallowed and continued, “I don’t know if there ever were. Maybe my mom took them with her when she left. Maybe Neil threw them out. Or maybe there never were any in the first place. I don’t know.” A one-shouldered shrug, too stiff to look casual. “Maybe they just didn’t want any pictures of me.” He cleared his throat, and Steve ached for him, suddenly. “I mean, I can’t blame them. After all, who would?”

Before Steve could speak, Billy nodded to the picture in Steve’s hands.

“Anyway, that’s the earliest photo I’ve got of me. Take it or leave it.”

The words were barely out before Steve turned and threw his arms around him, picture dropped and forgotten. He could feel Billy tense in his arms, but held on tight, wishing that he could squeeze the childhood trauma right out of him if he just held on long enough.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured in Billy’s ear, not really sure what he was sorry for but being sorry nonetheless. Billy said nothing, but hugged back eventually.

~

That weekend, Steve drove up to Indianapolis and bought himself a camera, and several rolls of film.

[cheriecoke]

hi~! can i rq a scenario with dazai where his s/o finds out he abused akutagawa in the port mafia and gets super pisssd at him because they themselves were abused? thank u!

color me blue

FEATURING. osamu dazai x gn!reader — wc: 3.1k

SUMMARY: mori reveals dazai's true nature as a mentor to akutagawa.

CONTENTS: references to past abuse, arguments, pm!reader, ada!dazai, angst, typical dazai warnings lol, comfort at the end

notes: thank you for the request !! i hope this is okay <3

It’d begun like any other morning. Already exhausted, you woke with an overwhelming list of things to do, tasks that needed to be completed by the evening.

It was a typical routine for you, these days. As a high-ranking member of the Mafia, you never got a break. Not from your job, nor the menial chores you needed to suffer through in your personal life. The laundry, it seemed, wouldn’t do itself, no matter how much your boss paid you for all the illegal actions you’d committed.

And though it was wearisome, everything had been fine. The sun began to set, and you realized that for the rest of the day, you would be free.

That was, until your routine check-in with Mori somehow led to a disclosure of what had been years’ worth of private information.

He’d greeted you as normal, sat you down before his desk with his oily smile, and had you review everything you’d accomplished that week. Though you believed you would be free to go within half an hour, when you stood to leave, Mori released an oh, by the way, and reiterated the unanticipated torment that Dazai had put Akutagawa through.

For the entirety of his story, you sat without so much as a twitch of the muscle, but you couldn’t comprehend why Mori was telling you now. It had been nearly four years since Dazai left the Mafia, and though the Boss had been aware of your relationship as teenagers, he’d never given you any sign that he knew it’d continued after Dazai defected.

You’d both been careful, secretive. You never did anything to draw any suspicion or be labeled as a traitor, and the two of you were successful.

At least, you thought you’d been successful.

Mori had never once mentioned it, had never so much as batted an eye when you spoke about Dazai from time to time. Though, now, his grin was much too conniving, the words made of steel as he drew them out, directing them in a sharp point towards your chest.

He had no intentions of going after Dazai, that much was clear. Nor did he seem intent on killing you for your misdeeds. Already, he’d spun a vile web, knowing exactly how to use you as his best asset. With you still under his command, he had some sort of advantage over Dazai and the Agency.

Perhaps, his comments were just a test of your loyalty. If Mori laid that one tiny seed of doubt in your mind, would it be enough to fracture the bond between you and Dazai that had been unsevered for years?

You wanted to convince yourself, fervently, that the answer was no. You’d been by Dazai’s side for this long and nothing he’d done had turned you away. Yet, you were unprepared for the anger that had risen in you, burning so hot and ravenous that you were unable to think of anything else.

It was all that was on your mind as you returned to the apartment, a barren space that had been used for nothing besides meetups with Dazai since the two of you purchased it. Each wall was entrenched with years of as much sin as there was love. Items that belonged to both of you were scattered across the surfaces, but there was never anything too important.

At the end of the day, neither of you could stay there long.

You paced the apartment, thinking through everything that Mori had said, over and over again. An ache of sorrow fought against your warranted rage, and you stood by the door waiting for Dazai to enter.

As angry as you were with him, as horrified as you wanted to be, there were still years and years of comfort and gentleness that placed a cooling balm over your burning wounds.

Still, a part of you had always been envious that Dazai had managed to escape into something good, and you’d become the enemy to his organization. Now, it seemed, you were the only thing holding him back.

In some other universe, surely, there was a life better for the both of you than this.

Despite your affection, you inhaled, fortifying yourself for a regrettable conversation. You channeled your resentment into logic, rephrasing sentences in your mind until they were perfect, forming an argument that couldn’t be so easily shut down by Dazai’s soothing words.

The door clicked, unlocked by the only other person that held a key to the salacious space. He was humming to himself, an upbeat song that had been stuck on the radio charts for weeks.

Something about that simple action startled you, set you off kilter, and you crossed your arms, protecting yourself. You came here with a purpose, and you refused to diminish the weight of the conversation. A puff of steam left you on a heavy exhale.

Dazai threw the key on the counter and smiled, his eyes softening the moment they caught a glimpse of you. “You got here faster than I thought.” His tone was cheerful, and he seemed relaxed, without the foreboding cloud of misery pushing down on him. It was so unusual that you, almost, regretted bringing up what you’d learned from Mori at all.

Though, it wasn’t something you could just ignore. You straightened, making sure not to deflate under his undeniable warmth.

For a moment, Dazai didn’t realize that anything was wrong. He hung his coat up, stretched his limbs, and talked without facing you. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen one another. I thought about you all day,” he said, drawing out the syllables with a short laugh. “You’re always such a distraction. How will I ever get my work done?”

Dazai seemed so happy, and in all your years together, you’d never thought that would be a word used to describe him. It pained you to ruin that, even as your nails dug into your palm, trying to reconcile the two versions of Dazai that you knew.

You looked away. If you wanted to say what you needed to, you couldn’t bear to see the way his soft expression turned into one of animosity.

For a few more moments, he rambled on to himself, before realizing that you hadn’t said a word at all. You felt frozen in the middle of the room, your mouth dry as you tried to think of the best way to segue into the conversation.

“Hey.” Dazai had grown quiet, and he stopped mulling around the apartment, finally focusing all his attention on you. “What’s wrong, pretty?” There was a pout on his lips, his expression already falling from the bright, joyful one he’d worn when he’d entered. “I still haven’t gotten a kiss.”

You were weak for a moment, questioning if your anger was even worth it. A minute passed of your own silence before you resolved yourself, ending your hesitance. What you’d heard had upset you tremendously; you couldn’t just brush past it like it was nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dazai’s face screwed up, eyebrows pinched, as he tried to remember what he could’ve possibly done to upset you that week. Though you often bickered about ridiculous things, it was rare that either of you lashed out in anger at the other.

Your expression was enough to let him know that this was one of those times. He hesitated. “I’m… not sure what you mean, love. Did I do something wrong?”

At that, you laughed, amused that he could play so innocent. He’d changed while in the Detective Agency, that much was certain, but you knew every bit of his soul and he certainly hadn’t been purified of his sins. “Mori told me about Akutagawa today. I doubted how much of it was true until I thought about it, really thought about it, and it makes sense.”

Dazai stared blankly back at you, his eyes searching your face for any more context. They flicked back and forth, round brown irises full of an uncertainty you weren’t sure was genuine. He was a master of manipulation, and you refused to ever be a pawn in his schemes, no matter how small. “I haven’t seen Akutagawa in weeks. Whatever’s happened to him—”

You stood straighter, keeping your hands tight at your sides. “I’m not talking about now, Osamu. I’m talking about years ago; back when you were training him.”

A moment passed; he didn’t blink. Nothing in his eyes betrayed him. “Would you care to provide me with some context?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” You scowled, clenching your teeth so hard that it hurt. “How could you do that to him? All those years, you and Oda kept it a secret from me. You hurt him. You were so cruel.” Your nails dug deep into your palm. “I told you everything that happened to me before I came to the Mafia. Every way that I was hurt, and you told me you understood. You promised me, and you turned around and did the same thing to him.”

Dazai held his body loosely, surprised by your sudden outburst of emotion. It seemed he was unsure what to do with the confession you’d just handed over. Dazai licked his lips, wetting the dry skin, and searched deep into your soul for the best way to soothe you.

But the betrayal, the hurt, was buried deep within you, and the anger wouldn’t fade so easily.

“I never kept secrets from you,” he said, instead of answering any questions. His tone was cool, unaffected, like you hadn’t just raised your voice as your countenance changed into one of distress. “You just never bothered to ask.”

Silence. You swallowed, hard, each notch of your spine stiffening. “That’s not fair. How was I supposed to know his training was any different from mine? Should my first suspicion have been that you were mistreating him?”

Dazai grew grim, the first twinge of emotion you’d seen since you’d spoken. He rubbed his temple. “You’ve got a right to be angry, but I never hid anything from you on purpose.” He reached out for you, his touch soft as he rubbed your bicep. “I just don’t know what you want me to do about it now, sweetheart. Why are you bringing this up?”

You didn’t want to tell him about Mori, not yet. That was a conversation for another time, and he wouldn’t hesitate to claim that bit of information was the more pressing matter.  

Instead, you inched out of his hold, gazing back at him with contempt. “You can’t be serious, Osamu.” His audacity shouldn’t have been surprising, but it shocked you, nonetheless. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” Dazai held his hands out like you would hand him over a script, a typed apology just for him to repeat back at you. “Never once did you show any concern for Akutagawa’s wellbeing when he joined the Mafia. Suddenly, you care, and I’m not sure why.”

“That’s not true!” you said, your cheeks hot with frustration. “We we’re friends—”

Dazai laughed, though it was mocking, without any true humor. “You expressed an interest in him that wasn’t ever reciprocated.”

You scrubbed your face, drained from his rebuttals, and put enough space between the two of you so that Dazai couldn’t touch you.

“Fine. Maybe we weren’t friends, but I wantedto be because I knew he understood. I thought we could get to know each other well. Then one day, he wouldn’t even speak to me anymore. He looked at me like I knew so much more than he did.” A finger was in Dazai’s face, scolding. “You fucked it all up. We’re just a year apart, Osamu. I didn’t want him to treat me like that just because I was dating his mentor.”

There was a break of silence. Dazai sniffed, recovering some sense of power in the conversation. “I’m sorry.” he said, but it was merely to appease you, no sincerity in the words. “Perhaps my methods of training were inappropriate and unethical, but it’s the Mafia, my love. What did you expect?”

Frustrated tears welled up in your eyes. “And if it had been me? If I had been under your command, would you have done the very same?”

At that, Dazai softened, his lips curling down. The light in his eyes flickered and faded, any happiness in his face muted. “It would never have been you. You know I could never bring myself to hurt you.”

You buried your face in your hands, his sweet comment doing little to soothe you. “He was just a kid—”

“I was too.” Dazai held your wrists gently, prying them away. He was frowning, dark eyebrows pinched together as he looked at you with both concern and betrayal. “You’re going to blame this all on me, when I was a child too, doing what I thought was right?”

“No. But you’re an adult now, and you still treat him the same way.” You shoved him away, putting space between you, never before having felt so cold in Dazai’s embrace. “He’s nothing more than a chess piece to you. That’s something I can’t accept.”

“Is that the case?” Dazai turned hard; suddenly he’d lost the upper hand. “You’ve got a lot of opinions on what’s right. Yet, remind me who’s the one still in the Mafia?” 

It was meant to hurt you, a low blow that stung and went straight to your chest. You hadn’t wanted to stay in the Mafia, but he’d never given you the choice. Dazai had left you with nothing more than a note and a promise, and you were too stupidly fond of him to ever let him go completely.

“It’s so hard to love you sometimes, Osamu,” you said, quietly, trying to keep your emotions at bay. “Your new friends at the agency get to be ignorant about the man you used to be, but I know just how cruel he was. I see him every time I look at you.”

Dazai stared back at you stunned and hurt. He flexed his fingers, but for once, he didn’t reach out for you.

You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

The bathroom door slammed behind you, and you stood in front of the mirror, watching splotchy patches form on your skin from unreleased emotions. The sink ran, a steady stream with no end, to tune out your deep, calming breaths until you no longer felt that immense amount of anger.

You knew what you were getting yourself into by falling in love with a man like Dazai. You’d known it from the beginning. He was no different than all the people that had hurt you, the reason why you’d come to the Mafia in the first place.

Yet, he was so much more loving with you, gentle and patient, and you knew that under every layer of bad intent and regretful crimes, Dazai was a good person.

With a sigh, you turned off the sink and crept back into the room, feeling remorseful and miserable. The knowledge of what he’d done to Akutagawa was something you couldn’t forgive him for. It was horrible and traumatizing, but so were so many other things that he’d done.

You couldn’t place double standards on him for his previous actions. If you had loved him despite all of those things, you weren’t going to be able to stop now.

“Osamu?” you said in a quieter voice, creeping out of the bathroom silently, slinking within the shadows.

He was spread over the length of the couch, his head resting on the arm of it as he stared up at the ceiling. When you approached, he shifted into a seated position, waiting for you to speak.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you began, walking slowly towards him, drawn to him easily. “You’re not a difficult man to love. I’ve never felt that way.”

Dazai smiled, though it was half-hearted, and extended a hand to you. You took it quickly and he drew you into his lap, squeezing you tight. “Well, I certainly don’t make it easy on you.”

You were silent. He kissed your forehead, running a delicate touch across your back.

“I can’t take back what I did to him.” Dazai sighed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “The damage is done.”

“I know that.” You breathed, his calming scent wrapping around you, reminding you that no matter what, he would always be your home. “It’s not fair for me to judge you when I’m still in the Mafia. My crimes are no better than yours. Even if what you did…” you trailed off shaking your head. “No. You’re right, Osamu. It’s not fair.”

He guided your fingers to his lips, kissing each of them lightly with the beginnings of a smile. “I’ll never be a perfect man, but I’m trying to be a better one.” Though he refrained from showing vulnerabilities to most people, he was more open with you, more willing to reveal the parts of himself he despised the most. “I… hope you know that. It may not seem like I’m trying, but—"

“I know you are.” You ran a hand through his hair and swallowed, resting your cheek on top of his head. “Osamu, you’re already so different than you were when you left. You’ve changed much more than I have. It was horrible of me to diminish that.” You squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I said that.”

A minute passed before he spoke again, his breath so steady, a reminder that he was still there, with you, despite all attempts he’d made to leave you behind. We’ve seen every ugly side to one another. It makes it far too easy to be unkind. Doesn’t mean I’d ever love you any less.”

You smiled, though it was sad, but through your hurt you were still devastatingly devoted to him. It was just easier to ignore the damage he’d caused when you weren’t staring it right in the face, a walking, breathing reminder of the person he held inside him. The very type of man that had once hurt you.

You squeezed him tighter, blocking out the cruel memories of your past. Dazai had never laid a punishing hand on you, had never spat demeaning words at you that could never be forgiven. Through it all, he had adored you, treated you with a gentleness you’d desired, and loved you without conditions.

Brushing dark hair away from his forehead, your eyes softened, the darkness in him cracking as the light began to shine through. “I know, Osamu,” you said, your cheeks pinching, warm. “Despite it all, I will always love you without regrets.”

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 12

MASTERLIST

“Yo Parrish, guess what just came in for you!”

Turning towards the office, Delilah allowed the excitement to bubble up inside her knowing exactly what had arrived at her mentor’s doorstep. Accepting the letter from him, she smiled as she opened it up and the details of her new developmental deal stared right back at her. At last, confirmation that in just three months’ time, her life as a struggling Jill-of-all-trades trapped in lowly, boring Pensacola was going to be a thing of the past.

She wanted to share this news with her father. She wished he was here. She would share her joy with her mother, her sister, and the man she loved. She’d already shared with the “other” man in her life, the one that had pushed her this far to begin with. It felt good to tell him, even though every thought of him was plagued with this weird, aching mix of guilt and desire all the time these days.

Ever since she returned from her tryout two weeks ago, Tank noticed there was something off about his star pupil. She was still sharp and solid in the ring and the light in her eyes still seemed to shine for this business. But there was something else weighing her down and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Running his hand over the top of his shorn head, he reached out and snapped his fingers in front of her face, rolling his eyes when she masked her true feelings by playfully blowing a noisy raspberry. "Earth to Miss Parrish. Talk to me. What’s goin’ through your mind right now?" he asked.

With a sigh, Delilah took a seat in the chair across from his desk and crossed her legs in the roomy seat. Letting her eyes skim down the second page of the contract where the finances were detailed, she assessed, "It's a dream come true, Tank. The money's a lot better than I could have hoped, especially for developmental."

Tank nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I woulda killed for this kinda money when I first started out," he agreed, looking over the numbers in the contract. "Fifty-five thousand a year for a rookie, even before tax, ain’t no joke. And with multiple appearances a month on NXT? Not a bad gig, girl. Not bad at all."

"Well it better be, it was hard enough to entice Andre as it is," Delilah said, "The money’s good and all, but I care more about wrestling than anything else. And let’s be realistic. I could spend months, maybe years in the Performance Center before I’m ever let on NXT. It happened to the Rock’s daughter. Other star candidates, too. I’ll just focus on working my ass off until they deem me ready to go."

Tank scoffed at her attempts to downplay her worth. “I might be biased when I say this shit, but them girls can’t lace your boots,” he assured her. “And what’s this talk about enticing Andre? Is he still digging his feet in?” Though she had told him about nearly every fight she'd had with her fiancé since she first stepped through the doors of his gym, Tank had always done his best to keep his professional distance from her relationship. Delilah Parrish was the closest thing he had to a star, and all he was truly concerned about was making sure that she stayed focused and happy.

Blowing out a long breath, she crossed her arms over her legs and drew one knee up to her chest. "In his defense, I am asking him to change his entire life for me," she acknowledged, knowing that it was the only real argument she had. To be honest, she was yet to get a real answer out of Andre since they had started fighting over her dreams, and only left it alone because the fighting had subsided and he seemed to be legitimately putting in more effort for her. He worked out with her when his schedule allowed and accompanied her to a few of her matches. In exchange, she was putting in more effort with their wedding plans, hoping to maybe finally do the deed before the move. Right now, things between the couple were as stable as she could hope for.

Tank, like everyone else she had talked about the situation with, just shook his head. "You a team, right? Ain’t that what gettin’ married is?" When she rolled her eyes, he chuckled. "Yeah, that's why I never did it and never will. Honestly, though, Dee, I think you need to talk to him about it. Ask him, point blank, exactly what his issues are. See if you guys can work through them between now and when you move."

Maybe they could. But did she really want to start bringing up old dirt again now that there was some semblance of harmony between her and Andre? If anything, these days, the burden of their tension was shifted to her. Because two weeks had passed and she still had no answers. The realization was more powerful than ever. Her relationship with Andre had been forever changed by what she did with Josh and it was only a matter of time before Andre found out. And if, when, that happened, there would be no more fixing anything.

Especially not with her currently bookmarking the coordinates to a location just sent by said lover of hers, who was back in town and asking her to come over.

Delilah looked up from her phone, swallowing down the emotion climbing up her throat. "And if we can't work through them? What happens then?" she asked Tank.

Her voice was so fragile, like a little child, that he fought the urge to hug her and tell her it would all be okay. "You'll figure it out. Just know that I’ll be there for whatever you need regardless," was all he offered, fully aware that she was an adult and ultimately, her personal decisions were hers.

Delilah nodded, grateful for his mentorship yet eager to change the subject before she said something she regretted. "Thanks. So, now that I'm using a submission move as my finisher, I think I need more work on my core strength…" 

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“Oh my god, stop,” Delilah panted, her voice stuck somewhere between a giggle and a gasp as he dramatically peppered her face and neck with pecks and kisses, his big hands all over her naked body.

“Mmm, you make the prettiest sounds when you come for me, mama,” Josh murmured, caressing her breast, their little play fight quickly becoming more serious as he switched to slower, much more passionate kisses that had her moaning into his mouth, “So damn pretty, make me wanna go another round...”

Delilah cupped his face in her small hands, her thumbs smoothing over his beard as she forced him to focus on her words, “Babe, chill…I need to recover a bit. You’re a…lot…to take in.”

Josh grinned proudly. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, rewarding her with one more long, charged kiss before tapping her ass and pulling out of her with a quiet groan. Delilah rolled onto her back and stretched out on the plushness of the sofa, watching him slide his briefs back on. The sunlight streaming from the window illuminated his tatted back muscles and toned legs, the scrumptiousness of them making her squeeze her thighs together from lust and seriously tempting her to drag him back onto the sofa and take up his offer for round two.

Slipping into his t-shirt, she followed him out of the conversation pit and to the kitchen island where he was pouring two glasses of Merlot. "This is a really nice place, Josh," she complimented, finally getting to look around since they had barely made it past the front door before they were all over each other like dogs in heat. "I like that there's not much furniture yet. Just the bare essentials but it gives the house a more open layout than it already is."

"Thanks, I love it," Josh answered, handing her a glass of wine as she perched on the stool next to him, his eyes on his iPad showing his backstage promo with Bron Breakker on YouTube. "I can just come in and chill when I get tired of Atlanta. A couple minutes’ drive to the beach, nice little pool outside and gym area. It’s the perfect escape, uce." He gave her a long look. “Shame you won’t be around these parts no more, though.”

Delilah laughed and kissed her teeth. “Not you talkin’ like you don’t got other reasons for coming to Pensacola. And I see me definitely coming back to visit every once in a while. My mama and sister are here. You got family here, too, right?”

“Yeah, but it ain’t the same.” It was a silly thing to say considering the fact that despite her being here with him right now, Delilah was still all about Andre. Josh knew that. Even when she was with him in Orlando, he had sensed that her fiancé was still very much on her mind. But he had to admit that deep down he was happy that Andre was being a giant asshole, that the dude clearly didn't know what he had in this beautiful woman who was going places, that she had ended up seeking comfort in his arms and still was. 

Moving on quickly so she couldn’t react to his statement, he reached into his open carry-on suitcase and pulled out a gift bag. “Oh, by the way, I got you something," he announced. Sliding the gift box labeled Swarovski over to her, he chuckled at the gasp she let out, a bewildered look on her face.

“What’s this?” she inquired, looking over at him with wide eyes.

"Just a lil' sumn to celebrate your brand new contract as a WWE Superstar. We co-workers now, girl," he said with a big smile, watching her loosen the ribbon from the box and remove the lid. Nestled in velvet was a simple diamond necklace with a matching bracelet and earrings, the stones gleaming with flawless clarity. His heart warmed at her facial expressions and her happy smile as she looked up at him.

“You didn’t have to do this. You’ve already helped me so much, Josh,” Delilah insisted, her voice thickening with emotion. “You’re the reason I got this contract, the reason I’m about to start living my dream. I can’t begin to tell you just how grateful I am for you.”

Josh felt a smile of his own touch his lips. “Nah, baby. You did that,” he replied tenderly. “You’re the one who made the decision to follow your dreams. I just…made a few suggestions, ain’t nothin’-”

He was silenced by Delilah flinging her arms around him, her body angling to face him as she tucked her face in the crook of his neck. In turn, his hand lowered down to her hip, holding her close as he brushed his lips over her temple. 

“I take it you like it?” he asked.

“I love it. Thank you,” she whispered back. She would figure out how to explain away the gift to Andre, but right now she was consumed with gratitude, and maybe something else for this wonderful gesture from a man who, despite the complication between them, had grown into one of her closest friends. 

Her phone buzzing from across the room interrupted their embrace. Her reluctance to unhand him for the few seconds it took to retrieve the device humored Josh as he watched her slide off the seat, his gaze fixated on the tantalizing sway of her hips and ass still visible through his shirt that was baggy on her.

Delilah winced as she found her phone face down on the floor by the couch, no doubt knocked off while they were knocking boots. She was relieved to see the screen wasn’t cracked and even more relieved to see that the notifications were only from her favorite wrestling gossip blog and nothing more serious or concerning.

Or so she thought.

Gossip Gworl Piping Hot Tea: Exclusive pics of Jey Uso and his (ex?) wife Tameka.

She should have cleared out the notification, knowing full well of the drama that was about to be unleashed. But her curiosity was too great. With jolted nerves, she unlocked her phone to read the article.

Several pictures, at least six in number, of Josh and another woman sitting cozily in some park. His wife, according to the comments. They were recent pics as well, just last week. Wearing sunglasses and a SnapBack backwards on his head, his arm was looped around her neck with their fingers linked together. Delilah’s heart raced faster, her fingers shaky as she scrolled through more pictures, of him and her sitting in a circle with whom she assumed were their sons…Of him kissing her cheek, a big grin on her face as she adjusted her sun hat...

It was a steep drop, the plummet of her stomach. A dull ache that materialized in her chest and only seemed to grow stronger with each breath she took. Yet somehow, with this suffocating myriad of emotions swelling inside her, she still managed to put one foot in front of the other, her numb legs steering her towards the kitchen in search of answers she already knew she wouldn’t like.

“You ready to eat, bae? I did my best makin’ this chili con carne so don't-” Josh turned around, startled to find her right in front of him with her phone in his face. 

“That’s your wife, right? The one you’re still separated and not divorced from?” Delilah questioned, her tone accusing. She watched his eyes frantically scan her phone, and his reaction told her everything she needed to know.

Josh sighed, reluctantly meeting her fiery glare. “Babe…We was at an event with our kids. We…we had to put up a united front…”

She smiled, the wry stretch of her full lips devoid of any humor. “Mm-hmm. That looks real united to me.” Stomping back over to the living room area, she stripped off his t-shirt and grabbed her clothes. “I gotta go,” she murmured.

“Baby…Dee, wait,” Josh trailed behind her, making one excuse or the other, but she tuned him out, focusing on getting dressed and packing her things and getting the fuck out of there. 

He wasn’t even to blame, not fully at least. This was on her. She had been so enamored with him and his aura, swept up in his sweet talk and his gestures and the dizzying sex that she had forgotten she was messing around with what was essentially a married man. This was the bitter dose of reality that she sorely needed, and she was grabbing onto it tightly with both hands.

Josh was still following her around like a lost puppy; he was starting to babble, his words tumbling over one another as he tried to plead his case. But she didn’t want to hear it. She couldn’t hear it. Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, she brushed past him only to be stopped by his hand catching her arm. “Delilah, look at me, please,” he implored, “Let me explain-”

Delilah shook her head, calmly extricating herself from his grasp. “There’s nothing to explain. I shouldn’t be here. I should never have been here, so I’m going home.” Her gaze fell on the gift box sitting abandoned on the countertop, and she felt like an even bigger fool. She pointed at it as she finally looked him in the face. “And that belongs to your wife. Not me.”

Ignoring the wounded look in his eyes, she made a beeline for the front door, fighting to shake off the burn of his eyes on her as she yanked the door open without another word and fled. Half-expecting him to come after her, she was ultimately grateful that he didn’t; the last thing she wanted was for him to see the anguish on her face.

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Later that evening, Delilah was curled up in the loveseat watching Andre, blissfully unaware of his fiancée’s turmoil as he threw his head back laughing at a Chris Rock special on TV. For the first time in ages, she looked at him, really looked at him. A huge ball of emotion swelled up in her throat, and she had to blink rapidly to keep her tears from spilling down her cheeks for the umpeenth time in just a couple of hours.

She couldn't lose him. She couldn't bear to lose the most stable relationship she had ever had in her life. She had fucked up badly, but he didn't know that, therefore there was still time to fix it.

"I love you," she blurted out.

Andre looked over at her, the confusion in his eyes quickly giving way to a tender smile. "I love you too, baby."

Delilah stood up and pulled her tank top over her head, exposing her breasts. Her shorts soon followed before she made her way over. She snatched the remote from his unsuspecting hands, tossing it somewhere. He looked even more confused now, but she straddled his body before he had time to react. Leaning down, she cupped his face and kissed him with all the purpose and passion she could muster. Her tongue invaded his mouth, catching him off guard. She had never kissed him like that; it was as if she was trying to devour him whole. Her fingernails raked across his bare, toned chest, causing him to wince a little, but she didn't stop. He moaned into her mouth as she rolled her ass against his covered crotch, maneuvering him so that they both fell across the couch with her on top. 

"I want you, Daddy. Touch me," she commanded, breathless.

It was more of an order than a request, one Andre eagerly obeyed by letting his hands roam over her bare breasts down to the silky material that barely covered her plump backside. Impatient, Delilah shoved her hand inside his pants, her grip firm on the long, hard erection that was aching to be inside her. Releasing it from its confines, she stroked him eagerly, lowering her mouth and spitting on the head.

"Whoa, Dee," Andre choked out in surprise, trying to catch his bearings. "This some OnlyFans shit you got goin’ on…"

Delilah ignored him as she continued her oral attack, sucking his dick from base to head and back down. It was a striking contrast between the tight seal of her lips and the pain of her teeth scraping his hard flesh that had him groaning and squirming from pleasure. A couple of minutes passed before she climbed back on top of him and slid his dick as deep inside her as possible. With her hands planted on his chest holding him down, she rode him wildly, their heavy breathing met only with the sound of the worn couch creaking beneath their writhing weights. Her eyes fluttered shut as Andre grabbed her hips and thrust harder inside her, her mouth falling open in a groan as he hit that one sweet spot that made her eyes water. She opened her eyes to look down at him, her heart lurching when instead another pair of eyes was staring back at her.

“No,” she hissed, burying her face in Andre's neck as she bounced on him with increasing desperation, trying to focus on the man groaning underneath her. She grabbed his hand from her breast and guided it down between her legs, making his fingers work her clit like Josh would do. His face haunted her, the memory of him hunting her down until all she could do was let the pleasure consume her as she climaxed hard. Underneath her, Andre’s body jerked as he emptied into her with a strangled moan, his warm seed splashing deep inside her walls. Delilah shivered as her pussy clenched and unclenched, making a mess between them as they drained each other to the last drop. When it was over, she collapsed on his torso, briefly disoriented from the sheer strength of her orgasm.

"Dre…"

Andre ran his hands along her back and kissed the top of her head, weaving his fingers through her hair. "Damn, baby. We been fucking so good lately, so spontaneous. I love it," he lauded her with a kiss on her lips.

Delilah rolled off of him and stared blankly at the ceiling. Now what? This was supposed to fix everything. This was supposed to bring them back to normal. Supposed to erase what she had done with Josh. But nothing had changed. Nothing was different. Everything was very much still the same. And all that was left was a painfully gnawing feeling she was now convinced would never go away.

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Things just took a sharp turn. Thoughts?

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[peachy-panic]

Shared Sessions: Week 1, Part 2

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WARNINGS: Past captivity, therapy setting, attempted suicide reference, difficulty talking about feelings, discussions of insomnia and nightmares

The longer the silence drew out, the more Elijah feared that it would be mistaken for his own unwillingness. He had little investment in Dr. Collins’s opinion of him, but the last thing he wanted was for Grayson to think Elijah didn’t take this chance at reconciliation seriously. He did. 

He did. 

But…

“It’s hard to know where to start,” Grayson finished the thought out loud. “I mean, what do you…? How do you…?

Elijah cut his eyes to him and saw his slumped posture, the way he hugged one knee to his chest. Most of the time he had spent with Grayson in his life had been in various states of distress. If there was one thing about his body language that Elijah knew well, it was what Grayson looked like when he was upset. It was a double-edged sword, to know that he shared in Elijah’s discomfort now.

“I think that’s more than understandable,” Dr. Collins assured them, making sure to include Elijah in the path of his smile. “What you both went through was no small event. It altered the course of your lives in a very real way. It can be difficult to put something so significant into words. Sometimes, the best we can do is to attack it in pieces. There is no expectation to unpack months worth of trauma in a single session.”

The words were meant to be disarming, he could tell, but it ruffled some defensive part of Elijah. The way this man spoke of their ‘trauma’ as if he took on cases like theirs every day. As if he had even a clue just how difficult it was to put this into words. 

Grayson, however, seemed to find comfort in the platitudes. He nodded in Elijah’s periphery. “Okay,” he said, and he sounded so earnestly relieved that Elijah could do nothing but agree with a nod of his own. 

And then they were silent again. 

At least Dr. Collins had the good grace not to look frustrated. He was, Elijah supposed, getting paid either way.

“As I understand it,” Dr. Collins tried again, “the two of you haven’t been in touch much since returning to The States—not until these past few weeks, is that right?”

So, that was his idea of easy beginnings. A sucker punch to the mass of guilt that lived in Elijah’s stomach. The starting point of their reunion. The midnight phone call that had brought Grayson Dawning barrelling back into his life. 

(As if he had ever really left).

“That’s correct,” Grayson said when it was clear that Elijah wasn’t going to (or able to) respond. 

Elijah was holding his breath, but Dr. Collins took a left turn, redirecting them toward safer territory.

“What if you started by catching each other up on what your lives have looked like since coming home,” he suggested. “We can establish ourselves in the present instead of diving straight into the past. What has the adjustment period been like for you?

It was an open question, directed at both of them, but Elijah’s mind was screaming at him to speak. Say something. Don’t make him carry this whole thing on his shoulders alone. 

“Well,” Grayson said first, rubbing his palms over his pants. “I guess we all know how well I coped.” 

There was a heavy beat of silence. Elijah turned to look at Grayson. There was a wry tug at the corner of Grayson’s mouth, but it flattened quickly. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, turning away from Elijah. “I know I shouldn’t make light of it.”

Finally, Elijah managed to dislodge his voice, clearing his throat before addressing Grayson directly. 

“Sometimes it’s easier to talk about it like that,” he offered quietly. “Like it’s a story we’re telling about someone else. It’s not funny, but it’s… Yeah. I get it.”

The look of relief on Grayson’s face almost hurt to look at.

“I think, maybe, that was too broad a question on my part,” Dr. Collins apologized. “Four months of recovery is a lot of ground to cover in a single answer. Maybe we start with something more specific?”

So, they did. 

They began with the first day home. 

For Elijah, that first day had blurred into the next several. In his shaky memory he had been asleep for the vast majority of the whole first week. His body hadn’t been able to get enough of it. He would wake up from a sixteen hour nap exhausted and barely last long enough to eat a few bites his mom prepared for him before he was crawling back to bed. 

Grayson, as it turned out, had experienced nearly the exact opposite. After a single night of a full, twelve-hour sleep in his own bed, he’d suffered through extreme bouts of insomnia for the next several weeks. A couple of times, he’d gone over 48 hours without so much as dozing, until his parents had finally persuaded (forced) him to take sleeping pills. 

That was when the nightmares had gotten bad. On this point, at least, the two of them could relate. 

They didn’t get into the specifics of what the nightmares were about, though it seemed for a moment that Dr. Collins was going to nudge them down that path. Instead, they tentatively moved onto the topic of school. 

Elijah learned that Grayson had decided to take a semester off college—and possibly the full year—in the wake of his incident. He knew, from the various conversations they’d shared in their cell in desperate search for normalcy, that Grayson was already halfway through his degree. School seemed to have been something he cared about—or, at least, something he cared about succeeding in. 

Elijah had already planned to take his own sophomore year off, even before the… before. He had just come off of a lackluster first attempt at community college, feeling directionless, unmotivated, and just as lonely as he had been in high school. He didn’t know what he’d wanted to do with his life, and he didn’t feel comfortable racking up a ton of student debt on a degree that wasn’t going anywhere. 

And after? There was no chance he could handle school in the state he was in now. He tried to explain that out loud, and was horrified to hear how pathetic it sounded inside the small room.

“In the compound,” Grayson spoke up hesitantly. “When we were… you talked a little bit about that. You said you thought about trying to apply to a state school if… when… we came home.”

“I guess it was a little easier to lie to myself then,” Elijah replied. “Maybe I was always convinced we wouldn’t be getting out of there, so I could say whatever I wanted about a future that wouldn’t exist.”

There was, understandably, another pause after that. Elijah began to think that the main benefit to Dr. Collins’s presence in these sessions was to help the two of them recover from the uncomfortable pits of silence they kept falling into.

Dr. Collins asked if Elijah was working currently. Grayson had given him a somewhat startled look, as if it hadn’t even occurred to him that someone could consider balancing a job on top of the full time task of staying afloat in the aftermath of what happened.

Elijah always knew Grayson came from privilege. He didn’t always think that Grayson himself knew just how well-off he was, and Elijah supposed that made sense when you grew up knowing nothing different. So that was a little bit of an uncomfortable bridge to cross, but Elijah admitted to not being able to bring himself to work again since returning home. 

He didn’t quite dive into the guilt he felt about not being able to pull his weight with the household finances, as he had previously done since turning fifteen. But he thought that maybe the sentiment came through anyway. 

As the session went on, Elijah could admit to feeling a little proud of himself for keeping his shit together. On the surface, anyway. His voice was almost steady as he answered questions, but his internal panic was another story. Because he knew his time was running out. 

Dr. Collins was feeding them softballs to break the ice, but Elijah knew the real reason they were there went much deeper than “catching up” on the last few months. Each time there was a pause in conversion, Elijah felt his whole body tense, bracing for impact. Now would be the moment. Now, Dr. Collins would cut the pleasantries, look Elijah in the eye, and say, Why don’t we talk about the time you tried to run while Grayson was still locked in the basement cellar?

What happened after that? 

No, let me rephrase: What happened because of that?

Why don’t we talk about what you did that made Grayson hate himself so much that he would try to take his own life?

Elijah jumped out of his skin at the sudden soft chime of music. He blinked back into the moment to see Dr. Collins reach for a small alarm clock on his desk. He tapped a button and the music stopped.

“That’s our five minute warning,” he explained. 

Elijah’s eyes snapped to the clock on the wall. He had to do a double take. How could a full hour really have passed already? They hadn’t even scratched the surface. 

Anytime the conversation veered too close to the topic of those fifty-eight days of shared captivity, one or both of them clammed up, and Dr. Collins led them gently back into safer territory. How their families were doing, if they had any success with certain coping mechanisms that they felt like sharing, what their daily routines looked like since returning home.

And that… was it?

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He didn’t realize he had until Dr. Collins met him with a small smile. 

“For today, yes. I think,” Dr. Collins said, “that today was an excellent starting point for some very productive conversations. Would the two of you like to continue this talk next week? I left the time slot open, just in case.”

Grayson looked at Elijah at the same time Elijah looked at him. It was one of the few moments of eye contact they’d held the whole session.��

There was something like hope there.

“I think it could be good?” Grayson phrased it like a question, tossing the ball transparently into Elijah’s court to make the final decision. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I think so, too.”

****

In the waiting room, Grayson’s mother stood to greet him as soon as they came out. Elijah shrank back, trying to stay out of her direct line of sight. He left the two of them to their quiet reunion and tried to slip out the front door of the office without fanfare. 

Except he didn’t quite make it. 

“Elijah, wait.” It was Grayson’s voice that made him pause, turning back. There was an uncertainty in Grayson’s expression that made Elijah nervous. “Sorry, I just… you mentioned you took the bus in?”

Elijah dropped his gaze somewhere in the direction of Grayson’s shoulder, avoiding whatever judgment—real or imagined—might be in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. And then, feeling the need to defend his position, added, “The stop is just down the road. So, you know, it’s fine.”

“Can we…?” Grayson glanced at his mother, but didn’t wait for her input before asking, “Would you let us drop you off at home instead?”

Elijah felt his cheeks heat and resented it. There was nothing shameful about using public transportation—even in a city like theirs. “Don’t you live in the opposite direction?” he asked.

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s that far,” Grayson insisted, which was factually untrue. “We don’t mind, right Mom?”

Elijah didn’t need to look at Mrs. Dawning to feel the cool judgment behind her polite facade. “Of course not,” she said anyway. 

Trust that Midwest to overshadow any feelings of resentment. 

Elijah didn’t know how to argue. He was too emotionally raw to push back against the unexpected onslaught, and frankly, remembering that it was nearing rush hour and that the busses would be shoulder-to-shoulder with commuters for the hour-long ride weakened his defenses. 

That was how he found himself in the backseat of the Dawnings’ black Escalade, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap as they drew nearer to his side of town.

Having lived there his whole life, Elijah was never consciously aware of the surroundings he saw everyday: the auto shop with broken down cars parked half-off the sidewalk, the empty strip mall that hadn’t been able to host a store for more than a few months at a time, the houses with plywood boards over the windows. 

Now, he was forced to look at his neighborhood through the Dawnings’ eyes, and it was like finding wriggling bacteria under a microscope. 

“You can let me out here,” Elijah said, a bit too hastily, as they approached the arch over the entry to his trailer park. 

“Here?” Mrs. Dawning said, not quite hiding the judgment in her tone (or was it his imagination? He never knew for sure).

“Are you sure?” Grayson asked. “We can drop you at your… um, unit.”

“It’s okay,” Elijah said quickly. “I can walk.” Without giving them time to insist (again), he reached for his door handle and swung it open before the car had even rolled to a stop. “Thank you for the ride,” he muttered as he climbed out.

Before he could close the door behind him, Grayson leaned back and caught his eye. “Hey,” he said, and Elijah found himself momentarily frozen under his soft gaze. “Thank you for coming today.”

Elijah couldn’t quite find the right words to respond, so he had to settle for a stiff nod and hope that Grayson read his sincerity. 

“See you next week?” Grayson asked. 

Elijah swallowed. “Yeah. See you then.”

***

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