#I hate feeling this dreadful like my heart is about to explode

[bucketbueckers]

HIIIII SEXY

if ur taking requests can i request smth angsty for paige ? i was thinking maybe if you could do something based on ilyis by gracie abrams where reader is in love w paige but doesnt think paige will ever like her back cause paige is always flirting w azzi and then paige comes over and acts all flirty with reader and reader blows up at her and is storms out and paige forces her to admit her feelings cause all along paige liked her but she didn’t know if reader liked gworls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

and it ends happily PLEASEEEE I BEG

I LOVE YOU, I’M SORRY

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, teensy bit of angst, girls who hate communicating, reader might be a lil mean but we ball

wc: 2.4k

synopsis: You’ve been in love with Paige Bueckers for years, just another one of the countless moths drawn to her flame. You’d made your peace with only being her friend long ago, but it’s not until a well-timed blow up at Ted’s makes you realize it was mutual all along.

notes: as requested and in honor of finishing my last fuck ass exam 🫶 thank you sm for the request and im hoping i did this justice for you anon!! im sorry its a lil short 😓 but as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

Ted’s was supposed to be a welcome distraction to cap off a hectic week. Between two back-to-back away games, constant traveling, terrible naps on bumpy bus rides home, and homework that just seemed to keep piling up, you were ready to unwind and tackle the next week with a clearer mind. However, you couldn’t seem to relax, and the jealousy blooming in your chest like hemlock as you stared at Paige and Azzi whispering to each other wasn’t doing you any favors, either.

The team had invited you out with them, intent on celebrating another regular season conference win. You’re one of their graduate assistants, having served as the team manager for a few years before the position opened up, although you’d built incredible friendships with the girls over the years. Well – most of them, seeing as your brain and your heart couldn’t quite agree on how you felt for Paige. Her freshman year was your first year as team manager and she went out of her way to make you feel welcomed, greeting you every day at practice and inviting you out to team get-togethers.

At first, you’d kept it together. You were strictly friends, not even considering anything else. By Paige’s sophomore year – your junior year – you’d realized that she was beautiful. Like, a dangerous beautiful where you’d find yourself staring at her, even when she wasn’t doing anything more than watching film on her iPad. During her junior year, you were finally able to put a name to your confusing feelings and discovered that you were falling for her – hard – somewhere in between ACL recovery and her corny jokes. You realized it was love at the end of her junior year when you told her that Coach agreed to bring you on as a graduate assistant and she almost broke your spine hugging you. Now, nearly a year and a half into your Master’s program, you’re still hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers and dreading the day the NCAA tournament begins – because the end of the season means the end of you and her. Because she’ll be on the first plane to Dallas and you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to find your courage and confess to her.

Ted’s was supposed to be a distraction. But it’s not, because the drink you’re sipping on makes your throat burn every time you swallow, and all you can think about is how you and Paige are a ticking time bomb that’s set to explode in April, and all you see is Paige looking at another girl that’s not you, and all you feel is the sickening mix of jealousy and shame that courses through your veins – jealous because all you want is Paige; shame because she’s your friend and you hate the way she makes you feel. You hate that your love makes you a little insecure and you hate that it feels like she’s choosing someone else over you.

Jana, who’s sitting next to you, throws an almost absentminded arm over your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into whatever conversation they’re having at the table. KK is yapping and you barely catch the gist of it – something about Coach making them run suicides and how the new protein powder she’s trying gave her a tummy ache, but the heat of Paige’s gaze on you makes you glance over at her. Her brows are furrowed, eyes hardened as she stares at Jana’s arm around your shoulders like it’s personally offended her.

What confuses you even more is how Azzi notices. She sighs, an exasperated sort of noise, and stands – not without flicking Paige harshly on her forehead and muttering something about “Talk to her” as she slides her way out of the booth and towards the bathroom. Paige’s cheeks are a little red as she rubs her head forlornly. You’d probably laugh if you weren’t feeling so green.

You go to take another sip of your drink, needing to occupy your hands and your mouth if you wanted to appear somewhat put together tonight, but you frown when you realize you’re empty. Catching Jana’s attention, you motion to your cup and she nods, removing her arm and allowing you to make your way to the bar.

You don’t think too hard about your drink order as you rifle through your clutch for your card. What you do think hard about is the all too familiar voice saying, “I got you. Can I get another Shirley, please?” as Paige slides her card across the bar, her free hand finding your wrist like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Paige,” you deadpan, an amused annoyance lacing your tone. “I can get my own drink.”

She grins ineffably at you, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in her eyes. It’s almost enough to make you forget why you’ve been so off all night. “Doesn’t mean you should,” she retorts.

“Oh?” you ask. “You making decisions for me now?”

Paige shrugs coyly. Her hand trails from your wrist to your waist, tangling in your belt loops – not pushing or pulling. Just holding. The touch makes you freeze. You and Paige had always been close. She was a touchy person, but never in public like this. “Just the important ones,” she murmurs. “So I know you’re taken care of.”

You blink at her, mouth suddenly dry. The sound of glasses scraping against the hardwood counter startles you. Paige thanks the bartender as she retreats, leaving the both of you alone at the edge of the bar, and you reach for your drink to occupy your hands as your mind spins. As unsure as you are about Paige returning your feelings, you’re not dumb. You’ve been flirted with before, been around Paige enough to know what her flirting looks like. The gentle confidence in her voice, the way her eye contact is so intense that strangely, it forces you to focus on her because otherwise, you’re sure that she’d find something she didn’t like if you couldn’t face her. The physical contact and the way she’s leaning into you. She’s flirting with you. Under any other circumstance, you’d probably be jumping for joy, but not now.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Azzi making her way back to the table. You make direct eye contact with her. She glances down, taking in your proximity, and she smiles at you. It sobers you up instantly.

“What the fuck are we doing?” you ask Paige, setting your drink back down on the bar and yanking her hand off of you. She blinks, her jaw falling slightly and confusion twisting her brows. “What are you doing? What, Azzi walks away, so you go and find someone else to keep you entertained? The one person who would run back to you anyway?”

“I – what?” Paige asks, hurt lacing her tone. She reaches out for you again but you take a step back, your thighs hitting the stool behind you. “I don’t understand what you mean. What does Azzi–”

You don’t realize you’re tearing up until you register the burn in your throat and the way your eyes sting. “You flirt with Azzi in front of my face all night. She leaves, and you wanna follow me up here, talking about taking care of me? You wanna touch me and buy my drink, ignore this weird push and pull thing we have, and then walk away like it means nothing to you?”

When she doesn’t say anything, you laugh despite the hurt swelling in your chest. “Sometimes you can be such a dick.” You wipe your eyes, trying not to lose your mind when your thumb comes back smudged with mascara. At the heart of it, sure, you’re sad, but the most pressing emotion is anger. You’d rather not be a choice at all than be a second choice.

The both of you pause, just staring at each other, until guilt and realization blooms simultaneously on Paige’s face. She murmurs your name, her voice cracking a little like what you’ve just said has changed her life, but you don’t let her reach out for you as you turn on your heel and walk out.

You know you can’t leave – Aubrey drove you and you’re not built for walking home at midnight. You lean against the railing, your head in your hands, knowing that Paige will likely be on her way. The two of you weren’t one for arguments. On the rare occasions you got carried away, apologies were swift. Guilt of your own bubbles in your stomach – you blew up for no reason, allowing your emotions to get out of hand. Now, you know that you and Paige will have to have another difficult conversation, and you’re not even sure if she’ll still want to be your friend afterwards. This is something you might not be able to come back from.

You feel her next to you before you see her. She leans against the railing, giving you space, and it’s in this devastating little moment that your anger comes back. It’s muted, not directed at her, but at yourself. You’re angry because as much as you want to be angry with her, you’re not, and all you really want is her. It’s selfish – you’d hurt her feelings in the bar, barely thirty feet away from your friends, but your body doesn’t care about that.

She breaks the silence to ask you, unsurprisingly, “Do you like me?”

There’s a million responses on the tip of your tongue. You consider sarcasm, but you feel as though the weight of this conversation needs something a little more genuine. Maybe genuine communication could have saved the both of you from feeling like this. No more cop outs, is what you tell yourself, so you exhale and admit, “I love you.”

You’re not sure what you’re holding your breath for. Maybe rejection. A small part of you holds out for Paige’s agreement. You’re unprepared for the way her arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into her body, and despite the shock, you sink into her anyways, your head falling onto her chest. It feels like acceptance, like forgiveness. “I didn’t know you liked girls,” Paige confesses, sounding a little sheepish.

At that, you groan, resisting an eye roll. “I literally have a pride flag in my Instagram bio,” you mumble. “You want my coming out in writing too? ‘Dear Paige, I’m gay. I’d apologize but you probably should have known anyway. Love, me.’”

“You’re annoying,” she huffs, but you can hear the amusement in her voice anyway. She tightens her hold on you. “I probably…should have done that a little better. At the bar. Don’t want you thinking it meant nothing to me. It does. And I just–” Paige trails off a little, looking for the right words. “I was really scared. I’ve always been worried about doing too much, scaring you off, and losing you forever. I thought…maybe I could drop hints and let you figure out what you wanted, but I never stopped to think about how that would feel from your end. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say. “For calling you a dick and making those accusations. I was scared and I let it consume me.”

You can feel the tentative smile Paige presses to your temple. “Truce?” she asks, and you nod, your fingers tangling in her shirt as you finally let the tension in your body dissolve. “For the record…there’s nothin’ going on with me and Azzi. She’s been telling me to ask you out for years. She was the first person I told when I thought I was in love with you.”

You pull back a little, meeting her eyes. The earnestness and honesty is clear as day, but you refuse to get your hopes up. “You love me?” you ask, not only to clarify, but also because this is something you’ve spent countless hours thinking about, wondering if it was even possible. To have it so close within reach…you need to be sure.

Paige, in typical Paige fashion, smiles crookedly at you and says, “You want that in writing, too?” She clears her throat dramatically. ‘To my favorite grad assistant, I’m in love with you. I’d apologize, but–”

“You are so fucking annoying,” you seethe, but there’s no real malice in your voice, your smile far too wide to be anything but over the moon. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times – how you’d respond to Paige confessing, or even how your own confession would sound. You’d never planned for it to happen this way. Maybe it was something that was supposed to be a spur of the moment thing. Maybe something out of a rom-com involving rain. Never an argument like this. The realization was never something dramatic with some cinematic soundtrack in the background. It was simple, almost like something clicks into place quietly. It’s messy, but it’s yours. And that’s enough for you. “So what happens now?”

Paige hums, leaning against the railing as her thumb brushes against your jaw gently. “Well…you can let me buy you another drink. Maybe split some fries. And, I don’t know if this is something you’d be interested in…but maybe you could be mine, too?”

You raise a brow, resting your hands over her shoulders. “Oh, really? Is that everything you want?”

Paige grins at you, her eyes flicking down momentarily before finding yours again. Her expression softens. “Not everything,” she admits. “But I’m trying to do this right. I wouldn’t want to assume.”

You roll your eyes, not missing the subtle tease in her words. When her hands drop to your waist, finding your belt loops again, you don’t freeze up. If anything, you melt into her. “Whatever you’re thinking…I don’t think it’s that much of an assumption.”

“Yeah?” she echoes. “‘Cause I’m still thinking about the fries.”

Huffing, you cup her cheeks in your hands, her skin warm against your palms, and you stand on the tips of your toes as you lean in to kiss her. She laughs, although she responds with a mix of softness and eagerness that makes you want more. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, but you pace yourselves, taking it slow and sinking into the feeling.

When you part, Paige brushes her lips across your temple, her arms tightening around you like she can’t believe she has you. And, maybe, the truth is you’ve always been a little bit of hers, just like she’s always been a little bit of yours. That is all you could ever need.

[youngsadlesbian]

hey! i saw you were taking requests so:

a fic where popular!wanda and popular!reader have always been rivals. they love eachother as much as they hate eachother because they were childhood bestfriends, not until wanda left without a word, leaving reader alone.

i think it would be great if they have a scene wherein they get stuck in a bathroom after a couple of friends locked them in there, and they start talking about what actually happened.

ANDDDDD wanda getting pissed at reader's boyfriend, even if she has one as well.

i hope you consider this, thank you!!

BETWEEN LOVE AND WAR

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: rivals since wanda left without explanation, you love each other as much as you hate each other. when you're locked in together, buried feelings resurface. between stolen kisses, jealousy, and secrets, you must decide—keep fighting or finally surrender to love.

a/n: thanks for the request hope u like it <3

word count: 2k

warnings: angst if you blink, enemies to lovers but mostly fuff.

Highschool hallways were your battlefield.

From the moment Wanda Maximoff waltzed back into your life years after disappearing without a trace, she had been nothing but a thorn in your side. The childhood best friend you had once adored had morphed into your greatest rival, someone who matched you in everything—popularity, grades, social influence.

If you threw a party, Wanda threw a bigger one. If you aced a test, Wanda’s score was somehow a fraction higher. It wasn’t just a competition anymore—it was war.

And she played dirty.

“Nice speech, printsessa,” Wanda cooed as she brushed past you after the morning assembly, the smug smirk on her lips igniting a fire in your chest. “Almost convincing. Too bad I wasn’t impressed.”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to take a steady breath. “That’s funny, Maximoff. Because last time I checked, you were watching my every move like your life depended on it.”

Her green eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something else lurking beneath the surface—something almost… regretful? You ignored the nagging thought.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, stepping closer until you could smell her familiar vanilla perfume. “If I wanted to watch something entertaining, I’d look anywhere but at you.”

A slow smirk curved your lips. “Then why are you still here?”

For a split second, Wanda faltered. But before you could dwell on it, she rolled her eyes and spun on her heel, walking away as if she hadn’t just invaded your space like she owned it.

That was how it always went between you two—like a storm brewing just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to explode.

But nothing could have prepared you for what happened next.

It was supposed to be a harmless prank.

The idea was simple—your so-called friends thought it would be hilarious to lock you and Wanda in the girls’ bathroom until you either killed each other or worked things out.

“You guys need to fix your tension!” one of them had laughed before slamming the door shut behind you. The sound of the lock clicking into place sent a wave of dread through your stomach.

You whirled around, heart pounding. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Wanda groaned, banging a fist against the door. “Let us out, idiots!”

No response.

You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temples. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

Wanda turned to glare at you, arms crossed. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” You scoffed, incredulous. “How the hell is this my fault?”

“You have terrible taste in friends.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, and you would know all about loyalty, right?”

The second the words left your mouth, the air between you shifted. Wanda tensed, her expression hardening as if you had physically slapped her.

And maybe, in a way, you had.

A thick silence stretched between you.

Then, Wanda exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I had my reasons,” she muttered.

Your heart clenched. “For leaving?”

She didn’t look at you. “Yeah.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay composed. “You never even said goodbye, Wanda.”

The raw emotion in your voice made her flinch.

You hated the way your chest ached. Hated the way her absence had wrecked you when you were younger.

Wanda finally met your gaze, and for the first time in years, her walls cracked. “I was scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “My father got into trouble. My family had to leave town overnight. I didn’t have a choice.”

Your breath hitched. “You did have a choice. You could have told me. I would’ve understood.”

“I didn’t want you to understand,” she snapped, frustration laced in her voice. “I wanted to protect you. I thought leaving without a word would make it easier for you to forget me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Well, congratulations, Wanda. It didn’t work.”

The weight of the past hung heavy between you.

Then, in the quiet, Wanda’s voice softened. “I missed you.”

Your heart clenched at the admission.

But before you could respond, a loud click echoed through the air, and the door swung open.

Your friends had let you out. But neither of you moved.

Because everything between you had just changed.

\*/

You knew something was wrong the moment you spotted Wanda at the party later that night.

She was standing across the room, her gaze locked onto you like a predator watching its prey. And she was pissed.

At first, you thought it was just the unresolved tension from earlier.

But then you followed her line of sight—straight to your boyfriend, who had an arm draped around your waist.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Wanda’s lips, but there was no humor in it. “Didn’t know you had such low standards, printsessa.”

Your jaw clenched. “Excuse me?”

Wanda stepped closer, her presence overwhelming as she tilted her head, eyes dark with something dangerous. “Your boyfriend. He’s a walking red flag, sweetheart. You can do better.”

You glared at her. “Oh, so now you care about my love life?”

Her expression darkened. “I’ve always cared.”

The words made your breath hitch, but you refused to show weakness. “Funny. You didn’t seem to care when you disappeared.”

Something flickered in Wanda’s gaze, but before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Wanda.”

You turned just in time to see her boyfriend—a tall, broad-shouldered guy who looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine—wrap an arm around her waist.

Wanda’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t move away.

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to acknowledge the feeling.

So instead, you smiled, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Well, isn’t this adorable? You’re acting jealous while you have a whole-ass boyfriend.”

Wanda’s grip on her drink tightened. “It’s not the same.”

You scoffed. “Oh, so you can date whoever you want, but I can’t?”

Her eyes burned into yours. “I don’t want you with him.”

Your heart stuttered, but you masked it with a smirk. “And why the hell not?”

Wanda took a step closer, voice low. “Because he’s not me.”

For a moment, the world stopped.

Then, before you could process what was happening, Wanda grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the crowd, away from her boyfriend, away from everything.

Because this war between you and her?

It had never been about hate.

Wanda’s grip on your wrist was firm but not painful as she dragged you out of the party and into the cool night air. The music from inside was still pounding, but it felt like a distant echo compared to the erratic beating of your own heart.

“What the hell was that?” you snapped, wrenching your arm free the moment you reached the empty backyard.

Wanda didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she ran a frustrated hand through her dark hair, her green eyes flashing with something wild, something desperate.

“You know what that was,” she finally said, voice tight.

You let out a humorless laugh. “No, I really don’t. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just pissed I’m not still waiting around for you like some lovesick idiot.”

Her jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

You scoffed. “Oh, now you care about what’s fair?”

Wanda took a step closer, invading your space. “I never stopped caring.”

Your breath hitched. The heat of her presence, the intensity in her gaze—it was suffocating in the best and worst ways.

“Then why did you leave?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and aching. “Why did you let me believe you just didn’t give a damn about me anymore?”

Wanda exhaled sharply, looking away for a moment. “I told you—I thought it would be easier that way.”

“For who?” Your voice cracked, betraying you. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t easier for me.”

Silence.

Then, so softly you almost didn’t hear it—

“I couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you.”

The confession landed like a punch to the gut.

For so long, you had convinced yourself that Wanda had abandoned you without a second thought. That she had simply moved on. But the way she was looking at you now—like you were the only thing in the world that had ever mattered—made that lie crumble to dust.

She took another step closer. You didn’t move away.

“I missed you,” Wanda murmured.

Your chest tightened. “Then why did it take you so long to tell me that?”

Her eyes flickered to your lips for just a second. “Because I was scared.”

Your pulse roared in your ears.

“And what about now?” you whispered.

Wanda reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingertips lingering against your skin.

“I’m still scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a breath.

But she didn’t pull away.

And neither did you.

You weren’t sure who moved first.

One second, you were standing there, staring at Wanda like she was the answer to a question you didn’t even know you had been asking. The next, her lips were crashing against yours in a kiss that tasted like frustration, longing, and years of unresolved emotions.

It was messy, desperate—more of a battle than a kiss.

Your hands fisted in the fabric of her jacket, pulling her impossibly closer. Wanda’s fingers gripped your waist like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

The intensity made your knees weak, made your mind spin.

But just as quickly as it started, reality slammed into you like a freight train.

You pushed her away, panting. “Wanda, I—”

Her expression was unreadable, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel that,” she said, almost pleading.

You swallowed hard. “I have a boyfriend.”

Wanda flinched at the reminder. “You don’t love him.”

Your silence was all the confirmation she needed.

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Of course. Of course you don’t.”

You ran a shaky hand through your hair, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. “And what about your boyfriend, huh? What does this mean for him?”

Something dark flashed across Wanda’s face. “He was never you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.

For so long, you had been fighting—against each other, against your feelings, against the past. But maybe… maybe you had been fighting for the wrong reasons.

Maybe you weren’t rivals. Maybe you were just two people too afraid to admit that you had never really stopped loving each other.

And maybe… it was time to stop fighting at all.

\*/

You ended things with your boyfriend the next day.

It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pretty. But it was necessary. Because Wanda had been right—your heart had never truly belonged to anyone else.

And as for Wanda…

Well, she wasn’t far behind.

She showed up at your locker that afternoon, her usual smirk replaced with something softer, something real.

“So…” she started, leaning against the lockers, “you free later?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why? Planning on dragging me into another emotionally charged confrontation?”

Wanda grinned. “Tempting. But I was thinking something more along the lines of an actual date.”

Your heart did a stupid little flip.

You pretended to think about it. “Hmm. That depends. Are you finally ready to admit that you like me?”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the blush creeping up her neck.

“Shut up,” she muttered before grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe, after all this time, it finally was.

[xoxxbilliexoxx]

Use Me, I’m Yours

———————————————

Billie comes home angry and you’re her favorite stress relief. You spread your legs, ready to take her strap, but she has other plans

Established Relationship, Strap-on (B receiving), Dom!Billie x Sub!Reader, intense orgasm & squirting

Y/N POV

The soft sound of Billie’s car tires splashing against the wet pavement pulls me out of my thoughts as I lay stomach down across my bed. She’s been gone all day dealing with meetings about tour and other boring things that the outside world forgets she must manage.

She was dreading it this morning, hiding under the covers and pulling me close to her, fake crying about how badly she just wanted to stay next to me all day. I finally made her get up and while she begrudgingly got ready I made us both a protein smoothie and a piece of toast with almond butter- a breakfast we have been fixated on for the last 3 weeks.

I hear the front door open and close and my heart flutters at the excitement of my girlfriend returning home to me. I want Billie to end each of her days next to me, holding her in bed until we’re old and grey, enjoying the warmth of her wrinkly fingers interlaced with mine. My head stays resting in my hand as I anxiously wait for her to greet me, listening out for each of her steps to grow louder and louder as she gets closer.

Something feels different though, sounds different. The way her feet hit the wood floors is filled with emotion. It’s fast and it’s heavy. I lay still and wait, trying not to assume anything.

My door swings open and Billie’s energy fills the room. It’s hard to read, hard to grasp what it is she’s feeling. A small stuffed duffle bag is thrown onto the floor with a harsh echoed landing and within seconds Billie’s hands grab my ankles, pulling me towards the edge of the bed with a low grunt and a loud yelp from my own mouth.

Before I can speak I'm flipped around and pulled into a heated kiss. Billie’s soft lips guide every motion, every push and pull, every hungry drag of her skin against mine.

Moments pass before I pull away with a gasp, dazed and overwhelmed by the sudden passion.

“Well hello to you too, lovey” I say as I gain control of my mind once again.

“mmmmm hi baby, missed you so much” her words purr out of her, their tone rich with need and desire.

“How was your day? How were your meetings?” I question with a smile and intense eye contact that secretly makes my core throb.

She's still in the same position as she was when she kissed me, standing above me next to the edge of the bed, legs on either side of mine as I sit below her. She’s hovering over me and looking down with an intensity that fills my brain with blind anticipation, not knowing at all what might be coming but eager nonetheless.

“horrible, I hated every moment of them. everything is all fucked up and I felt like I was going to explode all day. I got it all figured out but i’m still just as fucking frustrated.”

I feel frozen for a moment, not used to seeing Billie angry, not sure how to engage. Before I can respond, she speaks again.

“I’m fucking pent up. Need you. Need you now”

Her hand wraps around my neck as she talks, biting her bottom lip as soon as she’s done. As her fingers squeeze just slightly I try to speak, my voice only partially able to come out. I feel pathetic, my words sound like a desperate moan.

“Do what you want, i’m yours baby”

“yeah?” she cocks her head as she questions me, a dirty smirk painted across her face, not at all trying to hide how much she wants me.

I fight against her hand as I nod my head and swallow, barely able to do either as she tightens her grip on my neck for just a moment before she pulls away. She grabs my waist with an intensity that makes my blood surge before she throws me onto the bed with a quiet aggression and walks away.

I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as she shuffles around in the inside of her bag. Billie has tons of clothes and toiletries here at my place, just as I do at her place, I’m not used to seeing her bring a bag over anymore and for just a moment my mind is brought back to the beginning of this whole adventure, when things were still so new and nervous excitement constantly raged through my body.

That same nervous excitement tingles against my skin as Billie turns around with the strap-on in her hands. Her eyes glow with desire as she moves towards me with a seemingly intentional slowness, as if she’s teasing. But it doesn’t feel directed at me, it looks as if she’s playing a game with herself, letting her desire build till she can’t control it any longer.

I lay still, letting my brain soak in the image of her now topless figure, hands filled with the promise of pleasure, hips swaying back and forth as she floats towards me. When the bed tips and her hands find my skin I lose my breath for just a moment.

The energy dripping off of her is still that of anger, of frustration that lingers even as she kisses my neck. It’s the anger that leads each of her motions, yet still she meets me with a tender touch, tender yet intentional, tender yet charged.

When her hands find the waistband of my sweatpants she yanks them hard enough to pull my thong down with it, happy to see what she has done. My wetness hits my inner thighs, a clear sign of the way her aggressive hunger turns me on.

My shirt comes off next, pulled up slowly as her hands glide past my newly exposed skin. They move slow enough to feel each goosebump they cause. It all feels like an orchestrated game, like she’s building her own hunger till she’s starving.

The anticipation of the feeling of her strap filling me up is overwhelming, my need bubbling up quickly. I’m pained with a heavy throb from the lack of touch where I need her most, squirming at the thought of her taking her anger out on me.

My mouth pools with saliva as I watch her slide off the rest of her own clothes, my eyes move slowly to take her in. She’s perfect, her body is meant to be a marble statue in a museum, permanently capturing her goddess-like figure.

When her hands reach for the strap-on my heart beats just a bit faster, my slick dripping from my core just a bit more. I’m eager to watch her fit it to her round hips, a sight that always takes the air from my lungs.

I get snapped out of my dazed observations when she slides it up my own legs, tightening the straps snuggly against my waist. Her actions are confident, like she’s following a planned attack.

“Need you so bad, need to use you baby, that okay?” Her question is rhetorical, it’s clear as she nods with her words. I swallow as I nod in response, all words and thoughts gone from my mind- all that’s left is an urgent need to watch Billie use me in a new way.

My hands move underneath my head, back flat on the bed, as I lay naked under Billie. Her legs are straddling me as she guides my plastic dick between her folds, coating it in her arousal before sinking down, letting its thickness fill her entirely. Her head is thrown back and a powerful groan echoes against the 4 walls of my bedroom.

She moans out quiet expletives like a whisper, like she’s only speaking to herself. It’s as if she’s forgotten I'm here, completely and totally focused on her own pleasure, her own desires. It’s something I never knew I needed, the way she’s entirely using me to get herself off.

Her jaw is clenched tight as she begins gliding up and down on my faux cock, closed mouth whines filling the air as she takes in the feeling.

I think about the fact that she planned this, brought these toys here with the intention of fucking herself on me, needing it so badly she went the opposite direction to stop at her house and gather her x rated supplies. It makes this all the more hot knowing it was premeditated, knowing she wanted it this much, thought about it this much.

“oh god, fuck yes baby, needed this so bad, needed to fuck myself on you so bad, feels so good for me, you feel so good for me mama”

Her eyes stay closed as she speaks, her voice is sent straight to the ceiling as her head faces up. Yet still the filthy words fill my ears and send shivers down my spine all the way to my toes. They mix with my blood and throb against my clit, making it feel all the more powerful each time she bottoms out and the base rubs my swollen bud perfectly.

I groan at the sight above me, her curves on full display, fingers toying with her own nipples as her perfect tits bounce with each motion. Her eyes are slammed shut and her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, biting so hard a small drop of blood spills out, an intense contrast against the bright white of her teeth.

“you’re mine, you know that? all fucking mine” It comes out as a growl and again it seems as those she’s saying these words for herself, her own ears and her own pleasure. Her intense ownership and dominance is getting her off even faster.

Billie’s bouncing speeds up, moving her hips up and down faster and faster as her erotic cries grow louder, more whiny, more uncontrolled. Her hands leave her own boobs to grab mine before leaning down against me, forearms pressed against my skin and holding her up as she begins throwing her ass up and down as fast as she can.

I’m mesmerized by her, watching as she continues to use me, continues to fuck herself on me and get herself off, working off her anger while getting closer and closer to her peak.

“fuck y/n! fuck fuck fuck” it comes out as a high pitched whine as her movements grow sloppier. Her lips hit the skin of my neck but they don’t move, they just stay pressed firmly on my flesh, like she can’t focus enough to kiss me.

“need you, need you, gah fuck need you baby” Her words are muffled against my skin as she cries against me. my own loud moans spill out, ones that have been stuck in my chest for a while. I feel completely submissive under her, pathetically bucking up my hips to get as much friction as I can against my needy clit.

“gunna cum! oh my god i’m gunna cum” the end of her words are punctuated by a loud gasp as her movements stutter, unable to keep up the rhythm as her pleasure consumes her. Her legs shutter above me and her boobs push against mine as she collapses on my chest. Right as her moments halt, taken over by her high, I grab her hips harshly with both my hands and continue to move her up and down on the strap at the same rapid pace.

“that’s right baby, fucking cum for me billie, use me just like that, cum all over me, that’s its” my tone is aggressive, knowing it’s what she wants, what she needs, as she moves through her orgasm.

After more than 30 seconds she’s still cumming hard, still crying out and digging her nails into my shoulders. With a sudden scream I’m coated in her liquids as she squirts everywhere, gasping and arching and scratching at my skin.

I finally stop my forced movement of her hips, letting her fully collapse on top of me as she tries to calm her body down. Her nails are still clawing at my shoulders, muscles still clenched, breath still heavy.

“jesus fucking christ” she finally whispers.

I feel her plush lips place tender kisses on my neck when her breath begins to calm. Our bodies stay connected, her pussy still wrapped around the extension of me she just used for her pleasure, for her stress relief.

We stay like this for a few minutes, connected, quiet, intimate.

“feel better lovey?” I break the silence as my nails run up and down her sweaty back, tracing the lines of her back tattoo.

“So much better” she giggles back at me while pushing to sit up. A quiet moan slips out as she lifts her hips and slides off the strap on, laughing slightly as she sees how big of a mess she’s made, the bed all around us completely drenched.

A mischievous smirk slides across her face as she begins to fiddle with the harness still hugging me tight.

“help me get this off of you, wanna fuck my cum into you, wanna make you add to this mess now”

[peachdues]

necrosis

a peach original, I guess??

CW: 1.5k • dark content • dead dove do not eat • body horror/rotting • abusive relationship • gaslighting

Toxic love except it actually rots you from the inside, out.

It starts with a spot of black that appears on your tongue one morning. You scrub at it with your toothbrush, your tongue scraper, yet it won’t budge. You rinse with the most stringent mouthwash known to man until it burns your throat and stings your nostrils, but when you hold your tongue out to inspect it, the black lingers.

You make a doctor’s appointment even though you hate them, but when you sit in the examination room, fingers digging into the armrests of your chair as a metal tool is shoved into your mouth, the doctor cannot give you an answer.

“I see nothing wrong,” she says, sitting back and snapping her gloves off. “It looks perfectly healthy to me.”

But when she turns her back, click clacking her notes into your chart, you find a mirror and stick your tongue out.

The black spot has grown larger.

—

“Do you see it?” You ask him that night, when he comes home later than he should, a hint of perfume that isn’t yours lingering on his neck.

It isn’t the first time. You never mention it.

“See what, love?”

“The spot.” You hold your tongue out for him to inspect. “Thee?”

He studies your mouth and a small smirk curls up the corners of his lips. “I see only my love for you.” He taps his index finger right atop the small black mark and you nearly hiss at the eruption of pain that explodes under his touch.

Out of the corner of your eye, you swear he grins as you wince, but when you look to him, his frown is the portrait of concern.

“Let me kiss it better,” and he swoops down on you before you can protest. His lips feel like a blade sawing back and forth over your mouth and yet, there’s a sweetness to his kiss. A comfort in the violence he bestows upon you that has your hands tangling in his hair, begging for more.

Beneath the pain blooms pleasure, the kind you’d known in the early days of your romance, hot and honeyed and addictive.

When you wake up the next morning, you find your entire tongue is black.

—

Weeks later, he brings home your favorite pastry.

It’s a distraction; one to keep you from asking about the lipstick stain on his neck the night before.

The sugary diversion is unnecessary; you’d learned not to ask him about the trophies he receives from others years ago, when your nagging had been met with the sharp sting of his palm against your cheek.

Do you want me to leave? He’d asked, bitter and cruel. Do you want to be all alone in this world?

Alone.

The word had filled you with dread, made your skin turn gooey with sweat. You’d fallen to your knees, begged him not to go, to stay, to love you.

He knelt down with you, pinched your chin between his fingers, and promised he would.

As long as you apologized.

Your mind railed against you, shouted and screamed that you had no reason to apologize, that it was he who should be begging your forgiveness —

The words rolled right off your tongue, effortless and earnest.

And as he brought his lips to yours with sage smile that was all self-righteousness and pride, your heart had whispered its thanks. You would not be alone.

So no, the bag containing your favorite croissant from down the street isn’t necessary to keep you in check. But it’s there, held out to you like a prized offering, and you tell yourself it’s because he loves you.

“It’s your favorite,” he says with a grin too full of teeth, glossy and sharp. “Go on. Eat.”

You mimic his smile and bring the croissant to your lips. You take a large bite, the layers of crisp pastry and sugar crackling under teeth that sit too loose in your gums.

You make a sound of delight, and his smile only grows.

“Again.” He commands. Like always, you obey, repeating the motion again and again until there’s nothing left but crumbs and powdered sugar clinging to your hand.

His fingers latch delicately around your wrist, and he brings your hand to his mouth. Slowly, sensually, he licks each of your fingers clean.

When he’s done, you bring your hand back to your lap and you try and ignore the way the skin of your knuckles splits; how your fingers swell with gangrene.

He gives you a knowing smile. “Good, right?”

You smile and nod. You always do.

You don’t tell him you haven’t been able to taste a thing in weeks.

—-

The black stagnates for a month after he brings you the pastry. It is kept strictly to your tongue, and no one seems to notice apart from you and him. You decide you can live with it; so what if you can no longer taste anything that isn’t the burning fire of his lips? Food and drink were only necessities; you have all the pleasure you could ask for, sleeping beside you at night.

But then that pleasure disappears for a morning, two, three, before he returns home again. He offers no explanation and you ask for none; you only peel the blankets off your cold body and invite him in to warm you up.

The next morning you sit at your vanity, readying to face another long day at work when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror.

The compact of powder you’d been holding clatters to the floor, its ashes spilling across the hardwood.

Your skin has turned gray; dry in some spots, melted in others. More black whittles its way under your skin, inking the veins that creep toward your eyes.

You hold out your tongue to reveal a dark, shriveled lump. Ink coats the inside of your mouth in place of where your saliva once gathered, staining teeth that now seem too large, too brittle. A maggot peeks out from between them, its pale, fat little body wriggling against your receding gums.

He saunters in a few moments later, undisturbed by your earlier disquiet. He smiles at you through the mirror as he eases up from behind, dropping his head to plant one kiss atop your bare shoulder.

The skin shrivels under his lips.

“Beautiful,” he says as you stare in horror at your reflection. “You’re so beautiful, and you’re all mine.”

He fists the hair at the nape of your neck and tilts your head back for a kiss. When he pulls away, his mouth is covered in an oily slick that he cleans with his tongue.

“I love you.”

Your heart flutters against your thinning sternum, each beat sending small fissures along the porous bone. You smile at him and a fly escapes your mouth.

“I love you, too.”

He withdraws his hands from you and you spy a clump of your matted hair tangled between his fingers.

——

You make another doctor’s appointment.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” she insists even as you stain the thin paper sheet of the examination table black, soddening it down with your rot until it disengages. “You’re as healthy as a horse. Perhaps you need a psychiatrist.”

“Perhaps I do,” you try, but your echo is garbled by the teeth that fall into your lap. “Thank you, doctor.”

She looks at you with something like disgust and at last, you think she might finally see.

But then she turns and closes the exam room door firmly behind her, leaving you and your black alone.

——

By the time you learn the word for your affliction, it is too late.

It’s a necrosis; one that spreads from tongue to lips, until your teeth turn to dust and black slime seeps from your mouth. It drips down your chin, splashing onto your chest where it rots away the skin over your heart.

You’d been taught that the sternum is the most resilient bone in the human body; hard and thick, a near impenetrable fortress that guards the human heart.

If that were true, then how is it that the black slime spilling down your chest sinks so easily beneath your skin? How can you see the weakening beat of your heart pulsing under rotting flesh as though no rampart of bone ever existed?

He lays beside you in bed, unaware or uncaring at the way you seep into the mattress. Flies circle your head, born from the maggots that nest in the corners of your eyes. If you looked down, you would see the emporium of wriggling things that feast on your carcass, have made their home among your bones.

He does not care that he fucks a dead thing; he has loved you into his image. To rot is to be whole for him and you have let yourself fester into perfection.

He lovingly plucks a worm from the gape of your nostril and you almost thank him.

“I love you,” he says, fingers brushing away a flake of mottled, decaying skin from your cheek.

What’s left of your mouth stretches into a smile. Your tongue has long since rotted away, but you try to mouth the words back.

I love you.

divider from @/saradika-graphics!

[rottenpumpkin13]

Inspired by recent events - how would modern AGSZC handle long haul international travel? The airports, the flights and the inevitable jet lag

♯ Angeal always tries to find the positive and bright side of everything, so he's game for anything. He’s the one making checklists, planning every detail, ensuring everyone’s luggage is in order, and being just a little neurotic (just a little) he sees it as part of the fun and a way to ensure everything goes smoothly. Even jet lag can’t dampen his spirits! He views it as just another part of the adventure.

*Angeal kicks the door down*

Angeal: To whoever had the audacity to go up to the packing checklist I've helpfully pinned to the fridge and write 'calm down Angeal', I just want you to know that I'M FUCKING!! CALM! I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO CALM IN ALL MY LIFE—HEY! GENESIS YOU GET BACK HERE AND EXPLAIN WHY I FOUND A WHOLE BOTTLE OF LIQUOR IN YOUR LUGGAGE? WE'RE GOING ON A BUSINESS TRIP, YOU DONUT, NOT TO A RESORT. IF I GET ONE WHIFF OF ALCOHOL ON YOUR BREATH I'M THROWING YOU FROM THE AIRPLANE!

*Sephiroth and Zack are watching from a distance*

Zack: Why is Angeal screaming at the wall?

Sephiroth: Don't look, Zack.

♯ Genesis loves traveling and views every aspect of it as part of the vacation, thanks to his aesthete heart. Packing is an artform to him, creating playlists for the car ride to the airport is essential, selecting books, and planning which episodes of his dramas to catch up on during the flight. Jet lag would be a downer for him, but he's rarely sleeping on vacation anyway, preferring to be out partying. But once he's back needs at least two days to recuperate.

*Genesis is sitting in the briefing room with sunglasses and a cocktail. Zack is fanning him*

Lazard: Commander, this is ridiculous. Your vacation ended two days ago.

Genesis: On the contrary, director. I'm still on vacation.

Lazard: Your theatrics are disrupting the workspace.

Genesis: No they're not.

*Sephiroth and Angeal walk in and immediately slip and fall on the sand that's scattered on the floor*

♯ Sephiroth is convinced that no one in the world hates taking trips more than he does. Work trips are terrible, and the 'getting there' part of vacations is dreadful no matter the 'distractions' he brings to keep his mind busy. Honestly, he'd be a happier person if teleportation were more widely used so he could just appear at places randomly. He's a homebody who loves the comfort of his own space and values his sleep, so jet lag hits him hard.

Zack: Hey, how are you—

Sephiroth: I haven't slept in 22 hours and if I don't drink something caffeinated and release my anger within the next minute, then I will be forced to enlist the help of the shadow that's been following me around all day to tape your mouth shut.

Zack: What shadow?

Sephiroth:

Zack, panicking: WHAT SHADOW?

♯ Zack loves trips, partly because his upbringing in Gongaga made him eager to see the world. He's just happy to be there, though he hates packing and always forgets to bring essential stuff like his underwear and toothbrush. But that's what Angeal is for! Jet lag is nonexistent to him because he can and will sleep through anything, as long as he has a comfortable enough space. The only thing he can't deal with about trips is the sitting still part... yeah, he needs to stretch his legs or else he starts to lose his mind.

*In the airplane*

Genesis: Are you alright? Your eye is twitching and your knees are shaking.

Zack: I can't take this anymore.

Genesis: Read a book.

Zack: I hate reading.

Genesis: Watch a movie.

Zack: I can't focus.

Genesis: Then do one of the two things I do when I'm bored—either poke Angeal with a back scratcher until he explodes or challenge Sephiroth to an arm wrestling match.

Zack:

Zack: Somehow I feel like Sephiroth breaking my arm is the safer option.

Genesis: It is.

Zack: Alright.

♯ IF Cloud survives the motion sickness, he will not be a happy camper during the trip.

Cloud: I feel like I'm gonna throw up.

Sephiroth: Ginger is known to reduce nausea and prevents vomiting. Consuming ginger in the form of tea, candy, or even chopped pieces can be effective to combat nausea and vomiting.

Cloud: Do you have ginger?

Sephiroth: No.

Cloud: Then why the hell would you bring that up?

Sephiroth: It's always nice to learn something new, Cloud.

Cloud: *visibly annoyed*

Sephiroth: I realize I've made a mistake. I'm in the splash zone.

[millermouth]

Part V

no warnings apply except Negan is an ass :)

The walkers along the outer gate snarl and snap, their rotten hands clawing uselessly at the fence as the last truck from Alexandria rumbles through the Sanctuary gates. The late afternoon sun beats down, casting long shadows across the yard. You walk beside Negan, his confident stride matching your own as you circle around the truck. A Savior with a clipboard follows closely, scribbling notes while you mentally tally what’s coming in.

Negan’s smile turns toward you, his dimples sharp and charming. “Quite a day, huh?”

You scoff, barely glancing at him as you keep your focus on the truck. “Yeah, remember how you said it’d be too dangerous for me to be there?”

His grin widens, a playful twinkle in his eye. “I’m just a careful guy, hunny. Gotta make sure my best girl stays outta harm’s way.”

You roll your eyes, but when he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, you don’t pull away. His touch, as brief as it is, is familiar—a reminder of the life you’ve built here, even if it’s been forged in blood and fire.

“Negan,” a voice calls from across the yard, breaking the moment. “Need to talk to you about the redirect.”

Negan straightens, turning toward the man, who looks gangly and uneasy as he approaches. “What about the redirect?” you snap before Negan can speak, your tone sharper than intended.

“It got screwed up,” the man says quickly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “We’re on it now, but it’s a mess out there.”

“And whose job was that?” Negan’s grin disappears, his expression hardening as his gaze bores into the man. There’s more chatter as Negan works through the details, his voice carrying the sharp edge of command that always makes the air around him feel heavier.

Nearby, George pulls at the plastic strips covering the truck bed. “Ah, damn!” he complains, his voice cutting through the din. “Thought they packed this up tight?”

“No worries,” another man assures him with a laugh, peering into the truck. “Plenty more where this came from, right?”

Their laughter grates against your nerves, and you fight the urge to snap at them to focus. The sooner this is done, the better. But then a loud crash shatters the moment—glass breaking, crates tumbling, and a sharp curse splitting the air.

You whirl toward the commotion, your heart lurching. For a moment, there’s a deadly pause, a stillness that makes your skin crawl.

“What the hell?” someone mutters, and then gunfire erupts.

The Savior with the clipboard lunges in front of you, his body shielding yours as chaos explodes around you. Your eyes dart to the truck bed, where a teenage boy suddenly appears, a sniper rifle clutched tightly in his hands.

“Stay back!” the boy shouts, his voice high and breathless. “Drop your weapons!”

Your mind races. He must’ve jumped on at Alexandria. A stowaway. A child playing a deadly game he doesn’t understand.

“I only want Negan!” he commands, his voice trembling but determined. “He killed my friends. No one else needs to die.”

And then, from the left, comes the familiar whistle you’ve come to know very well. For you, it meant security and control. For others, it meant something much more ominous. Negan steps forward, his leather jacket snug across his broad frame, his smirk plastered across his face like armor. The boy’s rifle follows him, the barrel trembling slightly.

Negan pauses, his whistle trailing off as he takes in the sight of the boy. For a moment, he almost looks impressed. “Damn,” he mutters, his voice dripping with mockery. “You are adorable.”

You can’t help but feel the familiar pang in your chest—the mixture of awe and dread that comes from watching him in his element. The way he commands the room, the way he toys with his prey, the way he wields charm and menace in equal measure. It’s dangerous. It’s terrifying. And you hate yourself for loving it.

Negan grabs the back of a new crew member’s shirt, yanking him in front of himself as a shield. His eyes flick to you, a sharp, almost imperceptible shift in his expression. The smirk falters for just a second, replaced by something rawer: a silent order. Get behind someone. Now.

You obey instinctively, stepping behind the man with the clipboard. The boy’s eyes follow your movement, his grip tightening on the rifle, but Negan’s voice pulls his focus back.

“Did you pick that gun ‘cause it looks cool?” Negan taunts, his tone light but deadly. “You totally did, right?” The boy doesn’t answer, and Negan’s smirk deepens. “Kid, I ain’t gonna lie—you scare the shit outta me!”

The boy fires suddenly as men from the front move to ambush him, two shots ringing out, and they drop within seconds. Dwight moves, tackling the kid to the ground, his gun clattering away as he pins him down.

“Dwight!” you call sharply, stepping forward. “Back off!”

Dwight freezes, his hand still gripping the boy’s shirt, a gun pointed directly at his face. The kid’s hat falls off in the struggle, revealing a white bandage wrapped around his head, covering one eye.

Negan steps closer, his grin returning as he looms over the boy. “Is that any way to treat our new guest?” he says, holding out a hand to the trembling teen.

The boy glares up at him, his chest heaving. Negan’s smile doesn’t waver, even as he chuckles darkly. “You do the same stink eye as your dad,” he says, his voice almost amused. “Except it’s only half as good, ‘cause, you know, you’re missin’ an eye.”

Your gaze flickers to the gate, where Daryl stands behind the chain link, his face tight with a mix of confusion and rage. He’s watching everything, his hands gripping the fence as if he could tear it apart with sheer force.

“Really?” Negan says, his grin widening, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. “You’re really not gonna take my hand? ‘Cause you’re lucky you even still have a hand!” His voice is light, mocking, but the sharp edge beneath it is impossible to miss. He looks around, his gaze sweeping the crowd before it lands on you briefly, then shifts to the fence line. “Same as your boy Daryl over here, now that I think about it.”

The words hit like a slap, and you stiffen, your body bristling with tension. You don’t dare look back at the fence where you know Daryl is standing, watching. Your pulse quickens as you force yourself to stay rooted, your mind racing. Of course, this kid is from Alexandria. You can see it in the defiance burning in his eyes, the same fire that’s kept Daryl alive all this time. But goddammit, if the boy or Daryl didn’t turn their focus away from one another, they'd pay for it—Negan would see to that.

Swallowing your unease, you turn and finally face the fence. “Get off the damn fence,” you snap, your voice laced with fury. Daryl’s eyes flicker to you briefly, a storm brewing in his gaze, but he doesn’t move. His attention shifts back to the kid, his grip tightening on the chain link as if daring someone to try to pull him away.

Your jaw tightens, and you step closer, your voice dropping lower, harsher. “If you don’t want to lose your damn arm, I’d turn around. Now.”

This time, his gaze locks onto yours, steady and assessing. The weight of his stare makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you think he’s going to ignore you again. But then his eyes flicker briefly to the men surrounding Negan before returning to you.

“Don’t let ‘em hurt that kid,” he mutters, his voice low, nearly incoherent, meant only for you. The words are rough, but there’s something in them—pleading, a faint echo of the man you used to know.

Your throat tightens, and you respond through gritted teeth, quite and hurried, “He won’t.”

Negan’s chuckle breaks the tension like a knife slicing through a taut rope. He steps forward, his hand still extended toward the kid. “Smart kid!” he praises, his tone turning jovial again as the boy finally takes his gloved hand, his movements reluctant and trembling. Negan pulls him up with a firm tug, his grin spreading as if nothing had happened. “Now come with me.”

He glances over his shoulder at Dwight. “Dwighty boy, why don’t you grab Daryl? Take him to the kitchen, let him do a little grub prep.”

Your chest loosens slightly, relief washing over you as Daryl is led away. But the moment is short-lived.

You step forward, addressing the gathered crew with sharp precision. “New plan,” you announce, your voice steady. “Burn the dead. Unload the truck later.”

Negan spins back toward you, throwing his head back with an exaggerated groan. “Damn! Looks like I’m not gonna have time to screw any of my wives today!” His voice is thick with faux disappointment, drawing uneasy laughter from the surrounding men.

You roll your eyes, the familiarity of his antics doing little to settle the knots in your stomach. As if suddenly remembering your presence, Negan turns back to you, his grin softening as his eyes meet yours. “Sorry, hunny,” he adds, his tone dripping with charm.

You force a small, tight smile, masking the storm swirling inside you. 

The wives’ quarters hum with hushed conversations and the soft rustle of old magazine pages. The room is warmer than most of the Sanctuary, the mismatched rugs and low lamps giving it an almost homey feel—if you ignore the tension that lingers beneath the surface. You’re sitting back in the leather armchair, legs crossed and arms splayed on the arms of the chair, fingers brushing the soft leather idly as you speak to Amber.

She’s curled up on the couch, knees tucked to her chest, her eyes red and puffy from earlier tears. Across from you, Sherry sits with a tattered romance novel in her lap, though it’s clear she’s more focused on the conversation than the story in front of her.

“You’ve got to stop crying every time something doesn’t go your way,” you say, keeping your tone low but firm. The last thing Amber needs is the others hearing this. “Negan doesn’t like it, and neither do the people watching us. You chose this, Amber. Remember.”

Amber sniffs, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m trying, I just— I don’t know how to—”

“Then figure it out,” you cut in sharply, your eyes locking onto hers. You lean forward just enough to make your point hit harder. “You’re here now. No getting out of it. So you need to start acting accepting it.”

“Y/N…” Sherry’s voice is soft, almost cautious. You glance at her, catching the slight furrow in her brow, but you shake your head and push on.

“I’m not saying it to be mean,” you say, softening your tone just a little as you look back at Amber. “I’m saying it because this place’ll chew you up if you don’t toughen up. You think I’m hard on you now? Negan is good to you. All of you. You chose this, he never forces you to do anything, never hurts you, does he?”

Amber drops her gaze to her knees, nodding faintly. “No, ma’am,” she murmurs.

“Then start acting like it,” you reply, leaning back into the chair again. “No one’s gonna hold your hand around here. Negan might be good to us, but he doesn’t put up with weakness.”

The room feels heavier after your words, Amber shrinking further into herself. You glance at Sherry, who’s stopped pretending to read and watches the interaction closely. She doesn’t say anything, though, leaving the space for you to continue.

Amber sniffles softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” you say dismissively, and sigh, looking at the other girls when a gentle purr comes from the door with two sets of footsteps accompanying it.

“Ladies.”

Negan’s greeting drips with his usual swagger, playful and commanding all at once. You twist in your seat, catching sight of him as he strides in, Carl trailing awkwardly behind. The sheriff’s hat is planted steady on his head, the long dark hair and patch over one eye making him look as unsettling as ever.

“Don’t mind the kid,” Negan says, clapping Carl on the shoulder. “This is Carl.” His voice lowers as he leans toward the boy, murmuring something you can’t quite catch. The grin plastered across his face, however, is unmistakable—cocky and full of amusement.

You stand as Negan approaches, moving closer to catch what he’s saying. His voice rises again just in time for you to hear the tail end of his whisper: “--you’re gonna wanna look at their titties. It’s cool, I won’t mind, they won’t mind. Except…” His eyes snap to you, a flash of possessive heat in his gaze as he holds out his arm. Without hesitation, you slide under it, your arm snaking around his waist as he pulls you against him.

“This one here,” Negan continues, his grin sharp enough to carve stone, “she’s mine. No touching, no staring—unless you want me to pop that last good eye right outta your head, kid. But the rest? Knock yourself out.”

Your eyes move across the room, back to Amber. Sherry is at her side now, trying to soothe her. You inwardly cringe as Negan’s gaze seems to follow yours. His grip slides from you, “Can I talk to you for a minute, dear wife?” he calls over. It’s directed at Sherry, who rises slowly, her movements stiff with resistance. You follow them to the corner of the room, where Negan stops at the bar cart, his body relaxed and casual, leaning against it like he owns the world. He pours a glass of whiskey, handing it gently to you before pouring his own, not taking his eyes off Sherry. You sniff the amber liquid before taking a cautious sip, the burn hitting the back of your throat as you watch him eyeing her.

Negan pours himself a glass of neat whiskey from the decanter, his body leaning over the bar cart with cocky ease. He’s smiling at Sherry, and he hands you the first glass of liquor. You sniff it, and gingerly take a sip while he pours another for himself.

“What happened,” he asks Sherry, his voice low and smooth, “with Amber and Mark?”

Sherry’s posture stiffens. “What we talk about when you’re not here is none of your business.”

Your mouth opens, frustration flaring, she shouldn’t be talking to him like that, but before you can say anything, Negan’s voice cuts in, calm and dripping with amusement.

“It’s okay, baby.” His grin flickers toward you before settling back on Sherry. “Ooooh, fair play.” He bites at the air playfully, his grin widening. “You wanna know what I heard? I heard that Mark skipped out on redirect duty to be with Amber. I need to know if it’s true.”

His tone darkens slightly, the playful edge smoothing into something harder. You glance back at Amber, still hunched on the couch, her shoulders trembling faintly. So that's what this is about. It wasn't her having a hard time assimilating into her new quarters, she was worried about punishment, about the man she was with before. If the rumors were true, there’d be consequences, and you already know Negan would expect you to enforce them.

“There are rules for a reason,” Negan says softly, his gaze unwavering. “Nothing matters if you’re dead. You, my dear, are here because you get that.”

Sherry meets his gaze for a long, tense moment before she looks away, shaking her head. With a soft sigh, she finally meets your eyes. “She made a mistake. Go easy on her.”

Negan chuckles darkly, his head tilting as he appraises her. “Calm the hell down,” he says, gripping her chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger. Sherry’s eyes snap back to his, but there’s no fear—only defiance.

“I ever hit one of you? Has she?”

“No,” Sherry says softly, her voice steady. “But I know you. And I know Y/N. There’s worse.” Her gaze flickers back to you briefly, something unspoken passing between the two of you.

“Well, look at you,” Negan says with a chuckle, releasing her and straightening. “To be continued.”

Sherry’s eyes stay locked on yours as he walks away, the low lighting catching the moisture in them.

“I told you–” you whisper.

“I’m doing the best I can,” she hisses, her tone sharp and trembling with emotion. Her fury cuts through the tears, her gaze unwavering as she turns back toward Amber.

You glance at her, taking in the tightness around her eyes and the way her shoulders seem locked in place, holding back something threatening to spill out. “You know what happens if she keeps this up,” you say evenly, your tone carrying just enough weight to make her pause. “It doesn’t matter how hard you try to cover for her. Rules are rules, Sherry.”

Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but then she presses them into a thin line. She looks back toward Amber, who’s still hunched on the couch, Sherry’s own expression softening for just a moment.

“She’s not cut out for this,” Sherry mutters, almost to herself, before turning back to you. Her voice hardens again. “But I’m not gonna let you or him break her, either.”

You sigh, the frustration settling somewhere low in your chest. “If it comes to that, you know I’ll do what I have to.”

Sherry’s jaw tightens, her fury just barely contained. “Yeah,” she bites out, meeting your gaze with fire in her eyes. “That’s the problem.”

The tension between you stretches for a long moment, neither of you breaking the stare. Finally, you glance away, your gaze drifting back to Negan as he moves to sit in front of Amber. His voice is low, soothing, but you know that tone—it’s the kind he uses when he’s driving his point home, putting someone in their place. Amber doesn’t dare look at him directly, her gaze fixed somewhere past his shoulder.

You flinch slightly when Negan leans in and presses a kiss to Amber’s forehead, lingering just long enough to make his control clear. His movement is deliberate as he stands, turning away from her with that same casual swagger, his grin sharp and fixed in place.

“Will you get Carson for me?” Negan says as he approaches, his voice honeyed but pointed. His gaze shifts to Sherry.

“Yeah,” she replies softly, already starting to turn.

“Did you see that?” Negan asks suddenly, halting her. He gestures over his shoulder toward Amber, his grin tugging wider. “Wasn’t hard on her. Even though I am…” His eyes slide back to you, gleaming with mischief. “Very hard in general.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be an asshole,” you murmur, your voice carrying just enough bite to make his grin twitch higher.

“I know, I know.” Negan lifts his hands in mock surrender before dropping them again, his gaze flicking between you and Sherry. “But the messed-up thing is…” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You ladies like me anyway, ain’t that right?”

He moves suddenly, tilting Sherry’s chin up with a single finger. She doesn’t resist as he kisses her, his lips lingering just long enough to make a point. You watch, your expression unreadable. It used to bother you, this part—sharing him with the others, watching him play his little power games. But you’ve learned to accept it. Sometimes, you even encourage it. A Negan who shares himself is a Negan who’s easier to manage, easier to temper when things spiral out of control.

When he pulls back from Sherry, his focus shifts to you. His hand slides around your waist as he pulls you close, the rough scratch of his scruff brushing against your skin as he leans in. A low, contented groan escapes him as your fingers come up to his face, instinctively finding their place against his jaw.

From the corner of your eye, you catch movement by the door. You try to pull away, but Negan holds your gaze, his grip firm. “Still my favorite, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice just low enough for you and Sherry to hear.

Heat rises to your cheeks, your awareness of the room sharpening as you feel the weight of two new sets of eyes on you. Negan finally releases you, stepping away as your gaze flicks to the doorway.

Daryl and Dwight stand there, Daryl holding a tray of fruits and cheeses, his eyes darting between you and Negan with a tension that’s hard to miss. Negan moves toward him with his usual casual grace, his grin plastered firmly in place as he plucks a toothpick from the tray and pops it into his mouth.

“Carl, will you grab this tray for me?” Negan says with an easy drawl.

Carl steps forward quickly, taking the tray from Daryl’s hands.

Daryl’s voice is a low growl as his gaze locks on Negan. “Why you got him here?”

Negan’s grin widens as he straightens, the sharp edge of amusement lighting his eyes. “Woah!” he exclaims, pointing toward Sherry with mock offense. “What we talk about when you’re not here is none of your business!” He throws the words over his shoulder at Daryl, then twists back, his brows shooting up as he catches Sherry’s barely concealed reaction.

The tension in the room spikes as Negan turns back to Daryl, the grin never leaving his face. He holds up the toothpick between them like it’s a weapon. “Do not make me take the only good eye he has,” Negan says, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable threat. He pauses, letting the silence settle before continuing. “Now get outta here. My wife Y/N will take you to get the mop, and Dwighty boy here is gonna go fire up that furnace. I’ll be down in a few. Time for a little deja vu, D.”

Your stomach churns at his words. The furnace. Of course, Negan wasn’t done with whatever went down with Amber and Mark.

Daryl’s jaw tightens, his gaze flicking briefly to you before landing back on Negan. He doesn’t argue, but the tension rolling off him is palpable. Dwight hesitates for a second longer before nodding stiffly and turning toward the door.

Negan’s grin softens into something almost playful as he leans toward you, his voice a low murmur meant just for your ears. “Go on, darlin’. Show our favorite redneck where to find the mop. I’ll handle the rest.”

Your pulse quickens as you glance at Daryl. His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, unreadable, before he looks away and starts toward the hallway. You follow silently, the weight of Negan’s words—and the furnace—pressing down on you as you move to catch up.

[ineedseveretherapy]

Chapter 4: Fading Violet Hue

TW: panic attack

Leo walked down one of the dimly lit subway tunnels. His footsteps echoed as his phone light began to be drown out by the light coming from the Lair's entrance. He turned off his phone light as he walked through the main room. He'd been out searching for about an 30 minutes and he'd already covered all of Donnie's usually scounging spots. He walked back to is bedroom, it'd been about a day and a half since Donnie went missing, he was just triple checking all the subway routes. He was hoping, praying, that Donnie would be back soon, safe and sound, that Leo's assumptions were wrong, and that he didn't drive his brother away. He replayed their argument over and over again in his head, the more he did the tighter the knot in his stomach became. He paused as he walked passed Donnie's door. It wouldn't hurt to check, right? Worst case scenario, he wasn't here and they'd have to think of other options. He opened the doors to Donnie's room, it was still empty and seemingly untouched since the last time he checked. He honestly didn't know how the knot kept getting tighter, his eyes fell upon Donnie's chair. He was just here... This was his fault, he shouldn't have yelled at him... Leo's attention moved up to Donnie's computer as it made a little DING and the screen lit up, there was a notification. Leo held his breath, he raced to the desk frantically trying to open up the notification. He shakily typed in Donnie's passwords when the notification opened up to a message in all caps.

GUYS! ME AND KENDRA GOT ABDUCTED! WE DON'T KNOW WHERE WE ARE! BU

For a slit second he actually thought he felt a bit of hope in his stomach but it immediately went away as he saw the work abducted and the felt the knot reform as the message cut off. His breathing became faster as he felt a feeling of dread spread throughout his body, he felt numb. Tears began to form in his eyes and his heart beat began to accelerate.

"Donni-? Oh. Leo, hi."

Leo's head shot around to see his little brother standing in the doorway looking slightly disappointed. He should be disappointed this was his fault!

"Leo...?"

He felt his knees start to buckle, he couldn't breathe properly, he couldn't think properly. All he could hear was his rapid heart beat and choked breaths, his heart felt like it was going to explode. His fault! This was all his fault! Donnie's in trouble because of him! DONNIE COULD BE DEAD BECAUSE OF HIM! HE-

"LEO!"

Leo snapped back to reality to find himself heaved over on the floor, shaking violently. Mikey was in front of him, both of his hands on each of his shoulders. He seemed to relax at the sight of acknowledgement from Leo. Suddenly, Raph appeared in the doorway.

"WHAT'S WRONG!? I HEARD YELLING! I-"

He paused as he saw Leo and Mikey on the floor. He walked toward them silently looking worried. He kneeled down on the Leo's right, looking at Mikey, trying to access the situation.

"I- I dunno! I came in thinking Donnie was back but I just found Leo standing by his desk in the dark. Five seconds later he collapsed to the floor shaking."

Leo's head sank, they needed to know. Of course they needed to know! But how could he tell them?

"Leo what happened? Are you alright?"

Leo nodded, avoiding eye contact, it only made Raph more worried. Just spit it out! Tell them! They're gonna hate you regardless! Come on! Tell them!

"Um... Donnie's computer... it- it got an alert... He... He..."

Leo's voiced cracked and he felt tears form in his eyes as cupped his hands over is mouth. Raph stood up and turned the computer back on, reading the message

"He's been kidnapped..."

Mikey's head shot up at Raph,

"KIDNAPPED!? WHA-..."

Mikey looked back at Leo,

"Leo...?"

Leo could feel Raph and Mikey's eyes pour into his head. They'll never forgive him for this.

"It's- it's my fault!"

His voice cracked under the pressure of their gaze, tears slowly rolling down his face.

"I-I... I got into a fight with Donnie! He left because of me! And- And now him and Kendra are in danger and it's all my fault!"

Mikey stared at his older brother. The past month hasn't been easy for anyone, and it seems like it was really starting to show. Mikey pulled Leo into a tight hug,

"Shh... It's not your fault Leo... It's not your fault... we're gonna find him, we're gonna get him back..."

Raph bent down and joined their hug, squeezing the two as hard as he could.

"Mikey's right, we already have a clue as to what happened, we know he was with Kendra. It will be alright Leo."

Leo was grateful his brothers didn't blame him, however it didn't stop him from blaming himself, but they were right. He wiped his tears, his body was still shaking.

"Your right. We need to focus on finding Donnie, Raph can you call April, me and Mikey will log into the nearby security cameras and see what we can find."

Raph nodded, pulling out his phone and walking outside the lab. Leo got up, the knot in his chest refusing to go away no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Leo looked over at Mikey who's face shown nothing but deadpan fear.

"Mikey? Are you alright?"

Mikey took a second to respond before snapping back and putting on a weak smile.

"Huh? Oh- uh... yeah. Yeah i'm alright."

Leo looked at his brother with concern, they needed to find Donnie fast. After everything they've been through, they really couldn't afford to lose a brother. Leo, really couldn't afford to lose a brother, to lose his twin. He sat down and started going into Donnie's security camera programs. For the next couple hours they sifted through the footage, eventually it was 1:15 AM and Leo's eyes felt like bricks. He couldn't sleep, he had to find his brother. He blinked slowly, his vision getting more and more obscure, until eventually, he passed out from exhaustion on Donnie's desk.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donnie's eye's fluttered open, his vision adjusting and taking in his surroundings. Kendra was sleeping, she looked so peaceful. Donnie tucked some of her purple hair behind her ear, had they fallen asleep like this? Donnie felt a little knot form in his chest but he chose to ignore it. He carefully untangled himself from Kendra's grasp, trying his best not to wake her up. He sighed, his body feeling a little colder once he finally got up. He rubbed eyes, holding back a yawn, what time was it? He turned to see a box sitting in front of the door with a white envelope on top of it. He walked over and picked up the envelope, it said Donatello, in big calligraphy letters. He ripped open the top with one of his fingernails, like a makeshift letter opener. Inside was a letter and two keys, one with a blue string attached to it and one with a pink string attached to it. He opened up the letter and read it.

Dear Donatello,

A little birdie told me that you and your human spent the night together!

Donnie didn't like the way she phrased that, it made the knot in his chest tighter.

How absolutely scrumpticiolous, I never thought I'd see you with someone, but you turtely boos never cease to surprise me! I just adore young love.

Young love? What she on about? Did she really think that Kendra and him were in love?

I have provided key's to both your rooms so you two can have an easier time accessing each other! Anywhibble, inside the box I have provided some clothes for your human to wear, when you both wake up I would like you both to come down to the private dinning hall and join me for breakfast! There should be a guard posted at the end of the hall that will help you find your way there. You will also find your tech inside the box, although due to the fight you put up it is slightly damaged, but i'm sure you can fix it no problem! We will discuss more during breakfast. See you soon,

Big Mama.

Donnie groaned, what kind of matchmaking shit was she up too. He bent down and picked up the box. He walked back over to where the bed was set the box down on the bed bench. He opened it inside and, like she had said, there were clothes on the top. He took the clothes out of the box, revealing his tech underneath. There was clean underwear, a bra, a blue T-shirt, and some black leggings, at least the clothes were nice. He bundled them and threw it at Kendra's head with a little too much momentum since she made a sharp groan the second the bundle of clothes made impact with her face.

"Wake up Ken!"

She sat up rubbing her eyes, the clothes fell to her lap. She scowled at Donnie,

"Ugh, what the fuck othello..."

She looked down at the fresh pile she'd been hit with. She picked up the bra and looked at it confused and then her face went red.

"WHAT THE FUCK OTHELLO!?"

"THE CLOTHES ARE FROM BIG MAMA NOT ME!"

She rolled her eyes, the red on her face disappearing. She rubbed her eyes once more and yawned, looking like she was about to collapse back onto the bed before she stood up. Donnie looked back down, really taking in the state of his tech, slightly damaged was an understatement. The hooks on his battle shell were completely broken off, and his goggles were basically in pieces, the only thing that remained unbroken was his wrist tech. Still, it was nothing he couldn't fix with the right materials. Kendra walked over next to him,

"What's that?"

"My tech..."

He held up goggles that were barely staying together.

"Yeesh..."

"Yeah."

He sighed in put the goggles back in the box, he turned his head to Kendra.

"You need to get dressed."

"For what?"

Donnie debated showing Kendra the letter, but decided it'd be funnier if she found out at breakfast, and right now he needed a good laugh.

"Big Mama wants us for breakfast."

"Ah."

She picked up the clothes, looking at them blankly. Donnie walked over to the mystery door over by the dresser. He opened it and looked inside. His hunches were in fact correct and it was a bathroom.

"Do I have time to shower?"

"No, I wouldn't. I don;t think it's best to keep her waiting this morning. Plus, I want to discuss the limits of our 'freedom'."

He held up his hands doing makeshift air quotes for the word freedom, stepping out of the bathroom doorway. Kendra's expression sank a little,

"Well-"

She grabbed the pile of clothes, walked into the bathroom, and closed the doors slightly.

"I'll be quick then."

Donnie sat on the bed, his eyes were heavy and his mind every so often drifted over the fact that they had fallen asleep together. He tried not to dwindle on it for too long.

"Dee...?"

"Yeah?"

"We're gonna make it out of here. Right...?"

She sounded so unsure, she didn't exactly know a lot about Big Mama, so it's understandable. She didn't know what to expect, but at this point, neither did Donnie.

"Yes. We will. I promise."

He said it for Kendra, but deep down it was also for him. As much as he hated it, he wasn't sure yet how he was going to get them out. But he was going to find a way, he has have to. The door opened and Kendra stepped out, the clothes seemed to fit fine, except for the T-shirt, which was a little big. She was putting her hair up in a messy bun.

"You look like shit."

"So do you."

"Yeah well your not exactly a comfortable pillow are you?"

She smirked at him and he flipped her off as got up from the bed. He sighed, rubbing his eyes again.

"Alright let's go satan."

Heyy!!!! we're finally back with the rest of the turtle bois!!! Leo's freaking out and... what's up with Mikey? 🤷‍♀️ I'm sure it's nothing. Anyways guys, I had so much fun typing Donnie and Kendra's dynamic. The next update will follow the breakfast, so it might be a little short, but after that I'm gonna do a time skip so stay tuned for that! Hoped you guys liked the update! As always criticism and feedback is always welcome as long as it's constructive :)

Last Chapter | Masterpost | Next Part

[lucifersresources]

taylor swift // the tortured poets department : the anthology rp meme. part one. part two here.

edit/alter/change pronouns etc as you see fit!

fortnight.

i was a functioning alcoholic.

i hope you're okay.

no one here's to blame.

but what about your quiet treason?

for a fortnight there, we were forever.

i wanna kill her.

all my mornings are mondays stuck in an endless february.

i took the miracle move-on drug.

the effects were temporary.

i love you, it's ruining my life.

my husband is cheating.

i wanna kill him.

the tortured poets department.

i think some things i never say.

you're in self sabotage mode.

i've seen this episode and still loved the show.

who else decodes you?

who's gonna hold you like me?

who's gonna know you, if not me?

this ain't the chelsea hotel.

we're modern idiots.

you awaken with dread.

i chose this cyclone with you.

i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.

everyone we know understands why it's meant to be.

who else is gonna know me?

that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding.

my boy only breaks his favorite toys.

here we go again.

my boy only breaks his favorite toys.

i'm queen of sand castles he destroys.

i should've known.

we could've played for keeps this time.

i know i'm just repeating myself.

he runs because he loves me.

i knew too much.

there was danger in the heat of my touch.

he saw forever, so he smashed it up.

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me.

i felt more when we played pretend.

he stole my tortured heart.

told me i'm better off, but i'm not.

down bad.

did you really beam me up in a cloud of sparkling dust, just to do experiments on?

i was the chosen one.

this world is bigger than us.

i knew cosmic love.

for a moment, i knew cosmic love.

now i'm down bad.

everything comes out teenage petulance.

fuck it if i can't have him.

fuck it if i can't have us.

they'll say i'm nuts if i talk about the existence of you.

for a moment, i was heavenstruck.

i was heavenstruck.

i loved your hostile takeovers.

how dare you think it's romantic.

fuck it, i was in love.

fuck you if i can't have us.

so long, london.

i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift.

i pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away.

my spine split from carrying us.

i stopped tryna make him laugh.

how much sad did you think i had in me?

you'll find someone.

so long.

i didn't opt in to be your odd man out.

i founded the club she's heard great things about.

i left all i knew.

you left me.

i stopped cpr, after all, it's no use.

the spirit was gone.

i'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

two graves, one gun.

i'll find someone.

you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it.

my friends said it isn't right to be scared every day of a love affair.

every breath feels like rarest air when you're not sure if he wants to be there.

how much tragedy did you think i had in me?

just how low did you think i'd go 'fore i'd self implode?

you swore that you loved me.

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?

i died on the altar waiting for the proof.

you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days.

i'm just getting colour back into my face.

i'm just mad as hell coz i loved this place for so long.

but daddy i love him.

i forget if this was ever fun.

these people only raise you to cage you.

these people try and save you coz they hate you.

they slammed the door on my whole world.

but daddy, i love him.

you should see your faces.

floor it through the fences.

no, i'm not coming to my senses.

i know he's crazy, but he's the one i want.

growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all.

he was chaos, he was revelry.

stay away from her.

the saboteurs protested too much.

i'd rather burn my whole life down.

i'd rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin'.

i'll tell you something about my good name, it's mine alone to disgrace.

i don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing.

god save the most judgmental creeps who say they want what's best for me.

they think it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me.

you ain't gotta pray for me.

it's just my choice.

scandal does funny things to pride, but brings lovers closer.

we came back when the heat died down.

fuck em, it's over.

time, doesn't it give perspective?

no, you can't come to the wedding.

he's the one i want.

fresh out of the slammer.

i'm running back home to you.

he doesn't understand me.

handcuffed to the spell i was under.

it's gonna be alright, i did my time.

now that i know better i will never lose my baby again.

my friends tried, but i wouldn't hear it.

he kept me going.

i swirled you into all my poems.

ain't no way i'm gonna screw up.

ain't no way i'm gonna screw up now that i know what's at stake here.

florida!!!

they said i was a cheat.

this city reeks of driving myself crazy.

your home's really only a town you're just a guest in.

can i use you up?

me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time.

i'm haunted but i'm feeling just fine.

i did my best to lay to rest all of the bodies that have ever been on my body.

i need to forget.

tell me i'm despicable, say it's unforgivable.

love left me like this and i don't want to exist.

guilty as sin?

this cage was once just fine.

am i allowed to cry?

what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?

i keep recalling things we never did.

without ever touching his skin how can i be guilty as sin?

there's no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk.

we've already done it in my head.

i've screamed his name.

they're gonna crucify me anyway.

what if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?

they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly.

i choose you and me religiously.

who's afraid of little old me?

you don't get to tell me about 'sad'.

if you wanted me dead, you should've just said.

nothing makes me feel more alive.

who's afraid of little old me?

who's afraid of little old me? you should be.

the scandal was contained.

at all costs, keep your good name.

you don't get to tell me you feel bad.

is it a wonder i broke?

i was tame, i was gentle, till the circus life made me mean.

don't you worry folks, we took out all her teeth.

they didn't do it to hurt you.

i wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me.

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

i'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all said?

i'm fearsome and i'm wretched and i'm wrong.

you caged me and then you called me crazy.

i am what i am coz you trained me.

i can fix him (no really i can)

the jokes that he told across the bar were revolting and far too loud.

i can fix him.

i can fix him, no, really, i can. and only i can.

he had a halo of the highest grade.

good boy, that's right.

i'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel.

trust me, i can handle a dangerous man.

loml.

who's gonna stop us waltzing back into rekindled flames?

we were just kids.

i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed.

i felt aglow like this never before and never since.

you and i go from one kiss to getting married.

we're never quite buried.

you told me i'm the love of your life.

you blew in with the winds of fate.

you took me to hell too.

you shit-talked me under the table.

i wish i could un-recall how we almost had it all.

should've let it stay buried.

our field of dreams engulfed in fire.

you're the loss of my life.

i can do it with a broken heart.

she's having the time of her life.

i can show you lies.

i'm a real tough kid.

i can handle my shit.

you gotta fake it till you make it.

lights, camera, bitch, smile, even when you wanna die.

he said he'd love me all his life.

he said he'd love me all his life, but that life was too short.

all the pieces of me shattered.

the crowd was chanting 'more'.

i was grinnin' like i'm winnin'

i was hittin' my marks.

i can do it with a broken heart.

i'm so depressed i act like it's my birthday every day.

i'm so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague.

i cry a lot, but i am so productive.

you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart.

i keep finding his things in drawers, crucial evidence i didn't imagine the whole thing.

try and come for my job.

the smallest man who ever lived.

was any of it true?

now you know what it feels like.

i don't even want you back.

i just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal.

i don't miss what we had.

could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived?

you hung me on your wall, stabbed me with your push pins.

you didn't measure up in any measure of a man.

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?

did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?

were you a sleeper cell spy?

in fifty years, will all this be declassified?

confess why you did it.

good riddance.

it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden.

i would've died for your sins.

i would've died for your sins, instead i just died inside.

you deserve prison, but you won't get time.

you said normal girls were boring.

you were gone by the morning.

in plain sight you hid.

you are what you did.

i'll forget you, but i'll never forgive.

the alchemy.

this happens once every few lifetimes.

what if i told you i'm back?

i'm coming back so strong.

i'm the one to beat.

the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me.

who are we to fight the alchemy?

clara bow.

did you know you'd be picked like a rose?

i might die if it happened to me.

this town is fake, but you're the real thing.

the crown is stained, but you're the real queen.

you're the new god we're worshipping.

beauty is a beast that roars.

it's hell on earth to be heavenly.

[c0ffinshit]

Then I Saw Her (Ellison Oswalt x Reader) PART TWO

Part One

word count: 1,429

warnings: takes place after the events of the movie, smoking, talks about death and condoms, ends with a cliffhanger

It finally happened again. I saw the girl from the bookstore in Seattle again. Honestly, I’m kind of shocked that we saw each other again. Even after I survived that dreaded and frankly fucking terrible house. They made me sign a book deal and, as you might have guessed, another dreaded book tour. This time, at least,  they gave me a paper cup filled with bitter and sad coffee. Which, for Seattle, feels disappointing. The only thing worth noting about the whole day other than seeing her again was the number of people that showed up. People of different backgrounds came to me and asked to sign my shitty book about my trauma. And by all different backgrounds, I mean primarily white women and their bored-looking husbands. When she finally trekked up to me, her eyes seemed to light up the minute we locked eyes. 

"Well, we will meet again." She said, placing the book on the table.

I opened the book for me to sign. Before my pen hit the paper, I noticed the title didn’t match the one I was there to advertise. It was Kentucky Blood, the first book.   

"Yeah, and you’re making me sign the wrong book," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

She laughs, her sweet laugh, and takes the book back, placing it into her navy blue crossbody tote bag. Her hair looked so perfect as she dug around for the other book. My eyes slowly passed along her figure, and the line behind me was slowly getting smaller and smaller as people started to walk out the door and into the busy Seattle streets. Maybe people didn’t come to see me. I didn’t seem to mind, looking back.

"Here’s the right one, sorry." She places the right book on the table, sliding it to me. 

"It's alright, sweetheart, no need to worry." 

Under the yellow light, I could see the embarrassment on her face as I took out my Sharpie. I wanted so badly to ask her who she really was. Is she a morning person or a night person? What’s her favorite movie? 

"So, um," she begins, "this is probably unprofessional, but I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime?" 

The minute I heard her say that, it felt like my heart would explode. 

"Yes, I’ll be free in about an hour. Can we meet outside this bookstore?" 

She looks to the floor, shy. "Yeah, I have something I need to do, but yeah. I’ll meet you here."

A part of me wasn’t surprised that she had a life outside of me, but I wondered what was so important. Maybe she wanted to go home and grab condoms- stop it! 

This girl has been admiring me for god knows how long, and here I am, thinking impurely of her. She probably just needs to get something from the store or maybe her car, totally pure and wholesome, nothing more or less. I may know her name, but that doesn’t mean my mind can wander. I carefully watched her as she winked at me and walked out the door. She would be on my mind for the rest of the day.

___…___

Finally, the day was coming to a close. I stood outside the bookstore, patiently waiting for her to come back. I wanted to apologize to her if I seemed awkward or mean earlier. I didn’t want to offend her. A pack of Marlboro Red sat in my cardigan’s pocket. Suddenly, my mind thought of my now-dead wife. I missed her, sure, but at the same time, I didn’t care. I was about to meet a beautiful girl I’d only known briefly. Her hair felt perfect on her head, and her clothes fit perfectly. It’s what she would’ve wanted. She would’ve wanted me to move on, move to New York, continue my writing, and find a beautiful girl to see often. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark brown car pull up to me. The window rolls down, revealing her in a different, more put-together outfit. This Charming Man by The Smiths played softly in her car, hitting the doors. 

"Hey partner, (Y/N), we met earlier," she said, her voice bubbly.

I was so starstruck, and I hate using that term. Star. Struck.

"Hey," I said. My voice was breathy. Like my words left my mouth with a struggle. "It's Ellison."

She flashes me a smile. "You wanna hop in and take a trip around? Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on kidnapping you. I’m not a murderer or anything."

I shake my head. "Don’t worry, darling. I wasn’t thinking that. But yeah, let’s do some sightseeing."

She unlocked her car and gave me the motion to hop on it. I do, seating myself in the back. I knew if I sat up there with her, I wouldn’t be able to speak. It felt like that movie… I can’t remember the title, but you know the one. She looks at me in the rear view mirror and gives me a disapproving look. My eyebrows furrowed together, wondering what was wrong.

"Why are you back there? You should be up here with me." (Y/N) said, her eyes turning back to the road, still not starting the car. 

"Well, I don’t know. I think I would explode if I looked at you too long."

She giggles, "Come on, I’m not hurting you with my charming good looks. Relax, you’re safe with me."

Relax, you’re safe with me.

When she said that, my heart stopped. It was so flirty and different. Before I could even blink again. I closed the door and sat next to her. 

"See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?" 

I shake my head ‘ no,’ I feel too afraid to speak. I’ll say something stupid and then walk to my hotel alone. God, this girl is so fucking amazing. 

"So, where to go first?" she said, looking over to my lap.

"Anywhere." I plainly said. 

"Alright, I know just the place."

She finally started up the car and pulled away from the bookstore where I sat for hours, hearing the same few words said about my book or me. She passed a few small businesses and street performers before coming to a dirty-looking club. It seemed like a popular place to hang out during the day and into the later hours, judging by the long line waiting to get inside. (Y/N) parked the car and looked at me.

"Are you ready?" she said as she unlocked the doors.

I was scared shitless. Going inside seemed like an okay idea… if I wanted to get stabbed. 

It was reckless. 

My car door swung open, and she grabbed my sweater’s sleeve, dragging me out of the car's warmth. The writing on the wall outside grew enormous as we walked inside. This was it. I was going to die. I am a grown man now getting stared at by a colorful crowd of bikers and women who stared daggers at me. She continues to drag me all the way up to the bar. I look up at the menu. All the drinks are named after obscure Broadway shows or terrible movies. The lights feel like they are going to burn my irises. My eyes lower, looking at the bar itself. She yells for the bartender and looks over at me. She can tell I’m uncomfortable, but I highly doubt she even cares. 

"So, what’s the name of this place? It's very…interesting." I asked politely.  

"Anywhere." She yells, despite the music not being that loud.

"The place is called ‘Anywhere?’" I asked again. Was she being serious or lying to my face?

She nods her head, seemingly pleased by her reply. 

Maybe this was a bad idea. I knew that her taking me here had half a chance of being the best night of my life. All those hopes slip right out of my hand as I look at her again, now chatting with a younger man at the bar. It felt like I wasn’t even there, like a ghost trapped in the empty halls where the ghost’s life had ended. People slowly get up and leave, still looking at me. I want to be angry, wondering when she’ll let me go. Her eyes lean back to me, the younger lad still talking. 

I imagine what the stars look like outside. They sparkle, sure, but the actual stars were few and far between. 

Maybe I was one of those stars. 

Bright, and yet, very few like me.

[plscallmeeren]

HIS ASSISTANT PART 2

Severus Snape x Reader

Request: @Chloelouise02

Summary: Pt 2 of Pt 1

Warnings: maybe some cussing idk

Word Count: 0.8K+

Severus POV:

WhatamIdoingWhatamIdoingwhatamIdoingwhat.am.I.doing!?

I wasn't sure if that was truly the only thought that I had at that moment or whether it was the only one I could consciously grasp, but either way - I was thankful for it.

Mind you, what did I just do? What kind of idiot goes up to and kisses the woman he's been in love with for over a decade (SPECIFICALLY!) when they are fighting? Who? Honestly?

Ah, there they are. The thoughts.

And now I've left them alone in potential danger with the dementors again! I-

Speeding along the edge of the lake I didn't even hear the faint calls of my name. Maybe I wouldn't have reacted even if I had.

And you know what else just made the moment absolutely perfect? The Weasley twins. Setting off a parade of firework that exploded in my wake. It probably looked impressive to any bystanders. But in that moment? I couldn't possibly care less.

...

It was the next day. Monday. I had never dreaded Mondays before. I did now.

She was already waiting in the classroom with the students, leaning casually against my desk and watching them chat, albeit warily due to her presence.

She seemed to have been staring at me even before I entered her view, her gaze piercing as always.

I couldn't read her. At all. But gosh, she's so beautiful.

The way her hair fell perfectly in the dim light, every candle adorning the complexion of her skin, her stance casual yet dignified. Perfect.

"Hullo, class", I drawled. It felt unfitted to the way I felt, but the last thing I planned on doing was showing my students how I felt. Especially Potter.

Potter...

It was a very strange sensation. The one that came over me seconds later. I felt guilty. Guilty for the Potter-boy. And I didn't like it. Not one bit.

I magicked the recipe for a simple protection potion onto the board and stood aside, not having the energy for much more.

"Severus. I have to talk to you", the familiar voice emerged from behind me, defiant but gentle.

"No need", I replied quietly, but she wasn't having it.

"Yes, need. I will dissaparate you out of here if you don't come to me after this class. Trust me." I trusted her. And she knew it.

Even Longbottom and Finnigan didn't mess this one up completely, although some results were questionable.

"I want an essay at least three pages long about what spells this potion can help against and how one can know. Also, bring Huggar Slime with you to the next lesson. Lots. Class dismissed." No one had dared make a sound at the amount of homework, but it was clear they were all thinking it. Everyone hated me anyway - why not make them hate me more?

The class cleared out quickly and I noticed the dread creeping up on me like an invisible tidal wave with ominous intent.

"Sev? Look at me. Please." My feet moved without my permission, and soon I was standing face to face with (y/n). The perfect woman. The opposite of me.

Her eyes were brighter than even the candle's light in the room, but they weren't trying to invade me anymore, they were simply observing.

"I... look, I like you, too. And I feel like a fuckin' high school student saying it, but it's the truth. Damnit, I love you. But you don't let me in, you don't even let me close, so it's up to you now. It always was. Also, I did practice a really good, really long monologue, but I've forgotten every single word within the past minute so you'll have have to do with this."

I don't know what my heart was doing. It felt like it was sinking, but at the same time rising like a hot air balloon, threatening to tug out of my chest or take me with it to rise above the clouds.

Like me? Love me? How?

And before I knew it my arms were wrapped around her and my face was in her hair and I was crying and she was laughing. Not laughing at me. Just laughing.

I love this woman so much.

I thought so many things in that moment I couldn't put them into words, but put it this way; the next class had to wait.

This moment was for us. For me and my assistant.

[skzhocomments]

Broken hearts can heal - Choi Minho SHINee Fanfic - Chapter IX - Losing your temper

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad link

AO3 link

Chapter VIII / Chapter X

---

Chapter IX - Losing your temper

word count: 1.9k words

~5 months later~

You were now completely settled into the motherhood life, and you felt like you were losing your mind.

You denied Minho's request to hire a nanny during the day when he was away, and it went alright at first, but now you regretted it badly and didn't know how to really reapproach the subject without feeling like a failure.

Other mothers are able to take care of their child on their own, so why couldn't you?

You started feeling very overwhelmed, and as usual, your bad coping mechanisms were drowning all your sorrows and pretending the problem is not there, acting completely composed on the outside while breaking on the inside.

Getting Haru to eat became harder, as you had to start introducing him to solids, but you were at least glad he was starting to sleep better during the night, so you managed to get at least 5-6 hours in.

Except for the past 3 nights, because Haru started teething, and was crying non-stop from the pain.

It just so happened that Minho had to be away to film a promotion a few cities over during this horrible period of your life, and you've been alone with the baby getting no rest at all.

You were sick of his crying, and you felt like your head was about to explode, so when Haru started up again, you just felt the need to leave the nursery and just go in the kitchen, away from his sobs, to clear your head.

You cried for a good while, cursing every God in existence, and you felt you were getting bad, all the emotions getting under your skin. You dreaded looking in the mirror and seeing the prominent dark circles under your eyes, you didn't manage to eat anything for the past 2 days, and Minho not coming home meant you've been deprived of all human contact.

It was bad.

You opened your phone and noticed he's been texting, but you quite literally didn't have a moment to yourself to freaking shower.

Whatever, he's going to come back today anyway. You thought, so you instead opened Twitter and started scrolling mindlessly, until something caught your eye.

---

SHINee's Minho spotted cozying next to co-star on film set.

Fans are having mixed feelings after pictures of Choi Minho holding his co-star, Hye-ri, by the waist started circulating the web.

A fan secretly took a picture and shared it on her page on Twitter, with the caption 'And he said he was married!'. The picture started being shared like wild fire around SHINee communities, with many...

---

You rolled your eyes as you stopped reading. The picture was a bit compromising, but you knew the Media had a way to twist everything and make anyone look bad. They surely were just friends, so what were they on about?

Still, curiosity got the better of you and you went down to the comment section, reading what others had to say.

---

"I mean, can we even blame him? Who wouldn't fall for Hye-ri?"

"lol and they said he has a wife and a kid sksksksks"

"come on we don't know what his relationship with his wife OR this actress is, stop assuming"

"he's THE minho, why would want to be with a nameless bitch lol"

"i ship him and Hye-ri!"

"lmfao imagine being his 'wife' at home seeing this what a loser"

"lol stop hating skskks"

"OMFG HYE-RI IS MY FAV ACTRESS I LOVE THIS"

"is this the end of shinee hahahah so many scandals nowadays"

"imagine being his kid and reading that everyone hates your mother lololol"

"what kid he's literally another man's son!?"

"hes just dropping bomb after bomb on us. we cant keep up minho!!"

"what, was the woman at home too ugly? skksksks"

---

Enough hate for today. You sighed. You knew fans were saying nasty things about you, calling you all sorts of names ranging from whore, slut, gold-digger, witch and so on. How dare you fall in love with Kibum and have a kid with him, then marry Minho?

They didn't care to understand that you only did it for Haru.

You felt yourself tear up again, but instead, you dissociated and simply watched the front door from the kitchen table with a blank stare.

~

After 3 long days away from home, Minho finally finished his busy schedule and could come back. He missed Haru a lot, he missed you, but more than anything, he missed resting. These days were so hectic he didn't even know what you were up to. He didn't have time to call, and you stopped replying to his texts a day prior.

He felt overwhelmed from all the stress at work, which was unusual. He's been in the industry for many years and only rarely felt the need to really take a break.

The day went on horribly; everything that could go wrong went wrong. First, he had an emergency meeting with the PR team because dating rumours started circulating between him and his co-star. His reputation already took a hit when he revealed he got married and was caring for Kibum's son, but he didn't care about it. He knew it was going to happen, but Haru's happiness was way more important to him. However, this was different, as it was completely blown out of proportion due to a friendly gesture he did towards a friend.

Whatever, he didn't want to dwell on it. Filming was done, even if it took longer than expected and he didn't get to rest or sleep too much these past days, so he could finally go home.

But then, he started driving home, and someone who didn't see the glaring red light ahead bumped into his car, completely destroying its back. He lost 2 hours waiting for insurance to come and assess the damage, and then had to take an Uber home.

He was supposed to originally get back at 6PM, but it was now well over 9PM and he was cranky, tired, and hungry.

He opened the apartment door only to hear Haru screaming his lungs out, while you leisurely drank a coffee and ate a sandwich at the kitchen table. The house looked like a mess, there were a few things thrown around the place, some half-drunk cups of coffee on the living room table, and a few of Haru's clothes on the sofa.

"Hey." He replied coldly. He didn't want to take it out on you, but what the fuck were you doing?

"Hey. You're back." You replied with a sigh.

"Haru is crying."

"Yea." You nodded. "I can hear him."

"And aren't you going to do anything about it?" He asked, but his tone was almost accusatory, which pissed you off tremendously.

"I will. I just need a break."

"A break? You need a break?" He continued, annoyed.

"Yea. I'm really tired..." You replied, confused by his demeanour. He was normally understanding, so you didn't get where the hostility was coming from.

"You need a break? I'll tell you what, Da-Eun. I fucking need a break. I've worked the whole day, the past few days, actually, and I wanted to come home and rest, not hear the baby cry his heart out while you ignore him, for what, for a nightly snack?! Fucking do something for once."

"Excuse me?" You stared at him in disbelief. "What did you just say to me?"

"What, the crying made you deaf?" He continued. He knew it was wrong, and really didn't want to take it out on you. He was so pissed off, though, and it was hard to contain his anger instead of redirecting it to you, who were there.

"Wow. Okay, sorry I don't do shit while you work sooo hard all day long. Had fun with Hye-ri?" You asked mockingly.

You didn't know why you said that.

It was a low blow, and you knew the scandal didn't hold any truth to it. You said it impulsively.

Minho scoffed. "Don't tell me you believe that bullshit too!"

"I don't. I'm just mad and wanted to get back at you." You affirmed, not wanting to keep fighting him for nothing. It was clear both of you had a couple stressful days, so it was not productive to talk right now.

"Get back at me?! Sooo mature, Da-Eun!"

But why did he keep pushing?

"Can you stop?" You asked him, feeling a couple tears making their way to your bottom eyelids.

"I just can't understand how you can leave him crying like that and simply eat like it's nothing!" He shouted annoyed. "And the house is a freaking mess. I am gone for just 3 days and..." He gestured around him. "Can't you fucking do anything right?"

That was the last drop that overflowed the glass. You felt all the raw emotion pour out of you as you started unloading on Minho everything you felt the past days.

"You know what, Minho? Fuck you! Fuck you for coming back angry and taking it out on me! You think you were the only one with a shitty day?! Haru started teething just as you left and has been crying NON-FUCKING-STOP FOR 3 DAYS STRAIGHT AND NO MATTER WHAT I DID IT DIDN'T WORK. So I finally take a break- after 3 days of no sleep, not showering and not eating- I take a FUCKING break, which all experts advise when you are overwhelmed, by the way, and I come here to get away from his screaming and eat the first thing I could ever since you left – this fucking sandwich!"

You stood up and grabbed the plate and went directly to the trashcan, throwing the sandwich away angrily. You no longer had an appetite. Then, you continued your ranting.

"And THEN, you come back, FINALLY, and instead of being a supportive partner, what do you do? You start fucking screaming at me, basically calling me good-for-nothing, complaining about Haru, about the house. Just 3 days?! Fuck off! I'm fucking sorry I'm such a failure and such a bad mother in your eyes!"

With that, you brushed over Minho and headed to the nursery, tears streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably.

"Da-Eun, wait-" Minho tried to stop you, realising how royally he fucked up, and that he really hurt you.

"If you need a break so fucking bad, then we'll just leave!" You screamed at him again, and as much as you wanted to at least look composed, you were unable to stop the tears.

"No! I don't want you to leave anywhere! This is your home, and-"

"Look, I know I'm failing tremendously, and that Haru isn't happy with me because babies who are happy don't cry all the time, you don't have to remind me!"

"No, I never-"

"I can't do this right now, Minho. I'm fucking overwhelmed, and I don't want to talk to you or see you right now, so let go of me, and leave me alone!" You screamed at him, then went into the room and locked the door behind you.

Haru was still crying, so you picked him up and rocked him, putting a pacifier in his mouth. You were still crying at this point, so you stood down with him and begged him to shut up for once. Of course, he was a baby and had no idea what you were talking about, so he only stopped after about 30 minutes, when you finally put him down in the crib and he fell asleep without much struggle. 

---

(A/N) Oop, the first argument between Da-Eun and Minho is here!

How do you think they'll handle it?

Love,

Storm

---

Chapter VIII / Chapter X

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Desert Flower [Chapter Seven] One Step Toward Insanity [Grimmjow Jeagerjequez]

A/n: it's been a while since I've posted anything for this story. I apologize for that. This chapter took me a while to figure out, honestly. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): AU, oral (f), teasing, slight overstimulation, Grimmjow being Grimmjow.

My stomach is in knots as curfew comes, though based on the endless darkness that surrounds the desert terrain of Hueco Mundo, it can be hard to tell. I only know because Sōsuke had walked me to my room after dinner, insinuating that I should remain locked up at night. He gave me no explanation as to why, but I know it's because the palace isn't safe.

It never has been. 

As much as Sōsuke wants this arrangement to work, some don't. I can feel their anger and their disgust every time I walk into a room. This is one of the reasons I am hesitant to sneak out, in fear of being caught by them. The other is Grimmjow.

It is wrong of me to want to pursue him, especially since Yama might be right; Sōsuke might ask me to marry him. But I do not want to be tied down to a man like him. I feel nothing but fear and dread around him. My heart isn't in it, and that makes my situation much worse because I do not have a choice. 

But this does not warrant my behavior. I can't help it though. Grimmjow makes me feel untamed whenever he's around. And I love it. Should it not be my choice? I do not think about clan politics or nobility when I am near him. I feel free and that is all I have ever wanted. With Sōsuke I can never be free.

With a deep and uneasy sigh, I saunter toward the door, hesitantly easing it open. The air feels thick outside my room as if my mind is warning me: tread carefully. There is no turning back. It is because of this that I take a step forward. The pressure fades the further I continue down the hall until I am left with elation. 

This is exactly what I want. 

The sound of my heeled shoes clacks on the floor as I quicken my pace. My nerves are on fire; I can hardly believe that I am going through with this. As I step into the corridor facing the 10 chamber halls I recall the one Grimmjow had walked down; the number six is etched into the wall beside the opening. But as I take another step, a familiar noise catches my attention. 

The sound of footsteps alerts me that someone is drawing near. But from where? I panic for a moment, searching the darkened halls until a person emerges from the hall marked with the number 8. My eyes widen in fear as I recognize the familiar white robe lined with black.

"Gin!?"

He hums as he recognizes me, and then grins.

"What do I owe the pleasure, princess? It's after curfew if you didn't know."

What should I say? I can't just admit that I came here to see Grimmjow. My face heats up as I search for an excuse.

"I am aware. I might be a bit lost."

It's not a complete lie.

Gin hums.

"Indeed you are. This is the main corridor that leads to the private chambers of the royal family...unless you knew that."

"I did," I admit. "I wanted to see Harribel."

My heart feels like it might explode. Gin walks over to my side and turns, pointing to the corridor marked with the number 3.

"Harribel lives down there. As you can see it is the 3rd door from the entrance. Each of the Familia is numbered from one to ten, though some would argue that it's zero to nine."

Gin laughs as he says this, though I have no idea why.

"It's rather late to be visiting her, however. Was there a reason you needed to speak with her?"

"I wanted to apologize for something I accidentally did," I lied. "It has been bothering me all afternoon."

Gin laughs. 

"That sounds devastating. Well…I suppose it's okay. It's a good thing we ran into one another. Had you gone down the wrong corridor, five or six for instance; Nnoitra or Grimmjow, then you might have been met with hostility."

No kidding. I had no idea that Nnoitra and Grimmjow lived so close. Given their hate for one another, I am surprised, though perhaps it was not their choice.

"It is a good thing. I appreciate it, Gin," I utter.

It is a good thing I remembered the hall. 

Gin grins in response.

"Don't be long, princess. I believe Lord Aizen has something planned for you tomorrow."

Does he? I suppress a frown and nod, watching him walk down the main corridor toward the palace. What does Sōsuke have in store for me? With an uneasy sigh, I wander down the sixth passage toward the end to a door. But as I go to open it, I find that it's locked.

Heat rises to my face as I remember that not all towers are the same. Just because Harribel lives in an abode in a fabricated sandy landscape does not mean that Grimmjow does too. How rude of me. I raise my hand and knock. On the second, the door opens and a man with a long face stares down at me with impassive gray eyes.

"Turn back, miss. You have come to the wrong tower," the man states.

"Um...I am looking for Grimmjow. He knows that I am coming. This is his tower, is it not?" I ask with an utter.

Perhaps I was misled by Gin, or perhaps this tower belongs to Nnoitra. I shudder to think so.

"If he's expecting you, then follow me," he insists.

His tone implies that he doesn't necessarily want me to be there but he steps aside and lets me in. I stand beyond the threshold in awe, staring at the room I walked into. It's dome-shaped with a winding staircase in the center. One of the most common elements in the room is the various plants; it reminds me of a desert paradise with its cream-colored theme.

"This way," the man insists as he brushes past me.

I follow him up the staircase to the top floor, noticing three others including Grimmjow seated around the room; the latter is laid out on cushions and pillows. This room in general gives more of a laid-back vibe; various plants and fish bowls with gorgeous ecosystems decorate the room; it's interesting just how different his tower is from the previous one I have seen.

"Grimmjow, you have a guest. She claims that she is expected," the man announces.

The room turns to me in interest; an embarrassed heat spreads to my face. I should be used to this sort of attention being from a royal family, but judgment has never been a favorite of mine.

Grimmjow grins.

"And I thought you'd tuck your tail and run."

"Better late than never," I retort with a snap. 

Why must he always be so mean? I am here, aren't I? For a moment I consider turning around and walking away, but I doubt he will stop being an asshole. 

"Who is this woman?" A large muscular man with hair styled in a partial shave asks.

"Does it honestly matter, Edrad? She's of no importance to us," snaps the man beside him; a man with short hair. His right eye is hidden behind a cyan-colored bandage, but the other, narrowed and gray, stares at me with uninterest.

The one beside me hums, drawing my attention.

"She is a princess, an honored guest to Hueco Mundo. Show some respect, Di Roy."

Funny, because I don't feel any respect from him either. I don't even know his name.

"Forgive him, princess. He cares little for names. I am Yylfortdt Granz," a blond states, bowing his head. His long hair falls over his shoulder as he does.

I raise my hands.

"Please don't bow. I am not worth the effort."

Grimmjow snorts.

"How noble, princess."

I give him a heated look. Does he think I would go so far as to wave my authority at him and his friends? Not all nobles are stuck up. With an uneasy sigh, I bow my head.

"Please call me Yuina. It's a pleasure to meet--"

"Get out of here," Grimmjow suddenly orders. "Leave the princess and me alone."

I watch in awkward silence as the three men stand up and walk past me; the man who led me follows. Standing near the stairs, I take a look around, unsure of what to do. It's strange being alone with him especially when the sole reason revolves around sex.

"Come here," Grimmjow orders. 

His voice makes me jerk in unnecessary fright. I'm nervous, but as he orders, I walk over to him and sit down on the plush cushions. Silence falls between us as I glance around the room, taking in the decor.

"I'm surprised," I admit. "I never thought your tower would be so comfortable."

"Like I care what you think," Grimmjow retorts.

I hum, turning my eyes to him.

"It's not an insult. I just...when I am near you, I feel chaotic. It is strange, but seeing this puts me at ease."

I wonder if he too feels like this. Instead of an impolite response, he simply snorts.

"You feel chaotic."

I nod.

"Honestly, it's stupid. I can not explain it, but it's not a bad feeling."

Not like how Sōsuke makes me feel. 

A hand on my knee makes me sigh. I turn my eyes to the blue-haired man beside me in curiosity. What does he plan to do next? My face heats up as I hesitantly rest my hand on his, rubbing my thumb across his warm skin.

"I like the way I feel around you. It's messy, but it makes me feel alive. Like I am not bound by these restrictions that have been forced on me. I yearn for it."

Grimmjow grins.

"Then take what you want, princess. Isn't that what you nobles do?"

He has no idea how feral he makes me feel. What thrills me, however, is that for a man who is in control, he hands the reins to me so easily. Perhaps he wants me to make the first move; to be sure I want him. The consent is mutual. 

I maneuver his hand up my thigh, humming.

"I want you."

"This is probably the biggest mistake you've ever made, princess," Grimmjow mentions as he leans closer.

His lips on my neck send shivers across my body.

"Why is that?" I ask with a relaxed sigh. 

"Because I don't fucking share what's mine," Grimmjow utters.

His arm wraps around my back, pressing me tight against his chest. He smells so good, like Petrichor. A soft moan pours from my throat as his warm wet tongue slides across my ear. I should consider his words as a threat and stop this before it gets started, but it feels too damn good. The obvious red flags I ignore as his hand slips beneath my dress.

Thick fingers press against me through the damp cloth that separates us and for a moment, I forget to breathe. Please do not let him stop, not after teasing me like this. I recall the promise he made me; the promise to tear me apart little by little and I hum in eagerness.

"Ready, princess?" Grimmjow asks in my ear. His warm breath scatters goosebumps across my skin. 

I nod in response, easing my legs further apart for him.   

Grimmjow pushes aside my panties and spreads my lips, pressing his thumb against my clit. My arms slip around his muscular chest; fingers grasping at the back of his t-shirt as he makes short deep circles around it. Waves of pleasure roll across my body making me tense up against him. This is it; his pace is perfect. I can feel the rise of my orgasm as it slowly builds. A warmth fills my stomach, but before it can spread and intensify, the blue-haired tease stops and removes his hand from my panties. 

Why in the hell did he–   

"Lie down," Grimmjow orders.

With a glare I untangle my fingers from his t-shirt, leaning back until I am rested comfortably on the cushions. I have no idea what he plans to do, but as long as he continues, I don't care. Spreading my legs, Grimmjow slips his fingers beneath the band of my panties and yanks them down my legs. My face heats up in embarrassment as his greedy eyes take me in. He then leans down and runs his tongue over my outer lips. A sigh of relief escapes my mouth. 

Oral never even crossed my mind, but I am more than eager for this. For some reason, I had thought that he would focus on his needs alone for this short tryst; he doesn't seem like the type of man to care about someone other than himself, but I've been wrong before. 

A finger slides into my pussy, yanking me from my thoughts, and then another follows. The pleasant sensation it creates forces me to tighten my jaw in fear of moaning. I don't want Grimmjow's friends to hear us, though they probably know what is going on between us. 

It feels unbelievable though. 

In addition, he flicks his tongue across my clit, taking it in his mouth for a moment with a gentle suck before he quickened his pace. I grip the cushions as my body tenses in pleasure. It's unbelievable how remarkable he is at eating pussy. I can't imagine how great he is at fucking.

As the pleasure in me grows so too does my resolve. I moan as he easily bounces my body with the momentum of his thrusts. He's hitting all the right spots, in sync with the quickness of his tongue.

"Fuck…please," I beg. 

My hand slides into his soft locks and I run my nails across his scalp. Grimmjow hums in response, faltering a moment, but he quickly recovers and curls his fingers in me. The lewd and wet sounds that fill the air push me over the edge so quickly that I can barely think. My mind goes blank. All I can feel is my body reacting, tensing up as waves of intense pleasure roll over me.

Tears well up in my eyes as Grimmjow continues. Once my high wears off, there is a slight pain from the overstimulation. I gently push his head away from me to gain his attention. 

"S-stop," I beg. 

He does so and turns his electric eyes to me, raising a brow; a thin line of saliva and arousal breaks as he sits up, parting us. 

"It's too much," I utter, completely spent. 

For a moment it feels like I'm on cloud nine. 

"That good, huh?" Grimmjow teases. 

I narrow my eyes, too tired to argue. He has no idea. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I glance down and notice the obvious swell in his pants. So he too enjoyed this?

 "I can return the favor, you know?"

Grimmjow grins. 

"As tempting as having your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock, it'll have to wait for another time."

I raise a brow. He notices my obvious confusion and snorts. Lifting his finger, he motions for me to rise. I do so and he cups my jaw, running his thumb over my lips; teasingly I kiss it.

"You're not the only one having to wait," he adds. 

I widened my eyes, prompting him to laugh.

"Why do that to yourself?"

"Because I promised to tear you apart," Grimmjow answers. He removes his thumb. "And when I do, you're gonna scream my name to the fucking heavens." 

I shiver in response. This man is not sane. But he did warn me.

Leaning in, he captures my lips in a rough kiss before he parts. I barely even moved. With a snort, he flicks me on the nose.

"Run back to your room, princess. You don't want the worms to figure out that you suck out."

He has a point, though I feel like I should mention that I ran into Gin before I came here. Perhaps my lie convinced him, however. With a sigh, I attempt to stand, but Grimmjow stops me.

"Without those," he declares, pointing to my damp panties.

My face heats up.

"You're a pervert."

He snorts. I have a good idea of what he plans to do with them, but I hand them to him regardless. Afterward, I fix myself up the best I can. My legs are still a bit jittery, but It will go away soon.

"When can we meet up again?" I ask hesitantly.

"Already wanting more?" Grimmjow asks with a grin. 

I turn up my eyes. 

"I'm not answering that. It'll give you a big head." 

"Soon," he retorts. 

I want to ask how soon, but I opt not to. There is still some dignity in my left. With a nod, I clear my throat.

"I'll be leaving then."

Saying my goodbyes without making it too awkward, I turn and walk down the stairs. It isn't until I'm at the bottom do I realize that all of Grimmjow's friends are still in the tower. My face heats up in embarrassment as I attempt to confidently walk toward the door. 

"I hope to see you again, princess," Yylfordt states. 

I hum. 

"Me too."

Awkwardly I leave the tower. Once I am certain that I am out of sight, I bury my heated face in my hands. 

That man is going to be the death of me.

I must be insane.  

[magichaddock]

I actually knew that the kiss was going to happen (because i have no self control when it comes to spoilers) but had felt a bit...meh? cringe? "oh no they didn't"? about it before I actually watched the episode?? Like I kind of dreaded it.

Part of the myriad of reasons I hold S1 so close to my heart is that you can see just how much Aziraphale and Crowley adore and care for each other without *any* of the physicals involved. It's all very ace and yet manages to be very lovey-dovey. Kissing is just not the kind of thing that I imagine angels or demons are into. It just doesn't feel in-character for Aziraphale and Crowley (love language etc etc.) (do angels and demons’ human bodies even have erogenous zones??)

It's also just very over-done in drama in general (those shots where the camera zooms in on two character's face and mouth for 30 seconds or more? come on we can do better). And -- I might get so much hate for this -- frankly there's already enough fanfiction of it that putting it on screen would feel too cheap of a fan service.

But man, this scene.

Is it awkward? Yes. Is it out of character? Heck yeah. But that, I feel, is...kind of the point.

Neither of them seem to be particularly enjoying it (or disliking it, to for that matter). Crowley is more desperate and angry than anything, and Aziraphale is very, very shook (and clueless about what to do with his hands, alas). It is sad as fuck. I exploded. I am still very much in shock. And I love every second of it.

But why did they kiss, if it's not a ~romantic~ kiss?? I have several interpretations (each of which can be mutually inclusive):

(1) Crowley is running out of demonic and heavenly arguments to convince Aziraphale, and thus tries one last desperate shot in the dark.

(2) It's one of Crowley's "I've seen humans do this and it worked in the movies so might as well do it". It's him doing a human thing, something that both he and Aziraphale have witnessed and understood over their 6004+ years, to remind Aziraphale what he's going to leave behind.

(3) Crowley is doing the least likely thing he would do in the hopes that it would shock some sense into Aziraphale

(4) Crowley is actually also doing something that we will only learn in S3.

(5) Crowley is doing strange things with his tongue

I don't know. I really need S3. Guess we'll all have to just…wait and see.

[cinemacentral666]

Dancer in the Dark (2000)

Movie #1,123 • Ranking Lars Von Trier #6

[EDITOR'S NOTE: This was one of the first films I watched for my series on Lars von Trier so I reviewed it without the context of his earlier work.]

I didn't know what I was getting into, still don't know, and — as it grows ever more abundantly clear — will continue to never know. When you hear the word trilogy, you think three, three of a kind, a kind of grouping of three things that should be or feel connected on some level. The first film trilogy that comes to mind? Probably Star Wars or Lord of the Rings. It's almost always nerd shit. As I close this first chapter in the book of Lars von Trier (the Golden Heart trilogy), I find myself perplexed and in awe, not so much at the technical or traditional aspects of the filmmaking, but at the sheer audaciousness of the process. This movie, arguably the most famous work of the three if not of LVT's entire career, is ostensibly a musical but for me to think of it, let alone grade it, by those terms, fills me with dread. It's an anti-musical as much as anything else. Björk, star of the film and author of said musical numbers, is a much-needed anchor but the non-singer/non-dancer Actors tasked with performing alongside the genius musician are so terrible that it feels as if she's singing alongside faulty animatronics at a cheap pizza restaurant. It breaches any semblance of good faith one would put in a "musical" right from the get-go, and it's perfect in every way because of it.

The through-line of this trilogy is that each entry "is about naive heroines who maintain their 'golden hearts' despite the tragedies they experience." And that's really not debatable. That LVT would deploy such variance in bringing that to life is what truly sold me on the genius of these films taken as a whole. Stylistically and visually, Dancer feels like a merging of the first two movies: rough and off-the-cuff like Idiots but exploding in color like Waves during the musical excursions. If one were to watch these independent of the others, without knowing that the same man made them, they'd likely never see the connections. That's a masterful use of subtlety. Though there isn't one damn subtle thing about any of these works on an immediate level. In fact, they work constantly to hit you over the head, potentially offend and leave you swirling with a head full of questions.

Björk, who was sadly turned off by the experience making this film (another story altogether), is outstanding in this. One of the reason the uncanny valley of the musical numbers is such a discordant delight is that it truly feels as if she's on another planet if not light-years ahead of the culture when it comes to her songwriting. I honestly feel like she'll be one of the few artists from this time period that humans will talk about if the earth is still around in a couple centuries from now, and her work here is no exception. Early in the film, her character makes a statement that she hates the big last song of a musical because it means that the musical is about to end. It's a poignant thought on its own, but it comes full circle with the actual big last song of this "musical," which she sings with a noose around her neck just before being executed…

For thirty years, Men's Wearhouse founder and executive chairman George Zimmer wowed audiences with his commercial tagline, "You're going to like the way you look. I guarantee it." And, three films down, I feel that Lars von Trier could offer a similar marketing campaign for his motion pictures…

But sometimes we need to feel that way, to maintain our own 'golden hearts'.

SCORE: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

PS. They're all 10/10 from here on out, folks. So "ranking" them was especially hard.

I’ll be counting down all of Lars Von Trier’s movies right here at @cinemacentral666 every Thursday through September 2023

[casspurrjoybell-28]

The Alpha's Addiction - Chapter 21a

*Warning Adult Content*

Touch - Part 1 - Koa

It doesn't take any words from me for Cyrus to send the guard away and eagerly approach.

"May I come in?" he asks, voice hopeful.

I hesitate for a moment, wondering if this is a good idea but then give in, backing away from the door to make room for him to enter.

I suddenly feel shy.

What do I say?

How do I act?

He must notice because he says...

"Please do not be so tense, my moon."

"Okay," I reply softly, wringing my hands.

I decide to walk to the bed, sinking down on it.

He settles on the chair near the desk, careful not to get too close, presumably after how I reacted when he found me naked and trembling from Rex's assault.

So he's just there, intense gaze set on me.

I feel my cheeks flush against my will.

Moon Goddess, why does he always have to look at me like that?

"I have wanted to see you. It is all I could think about, these past few days," he confesses.

My heart stutters.

"W-what stopped you?"

His face is apologetic as he processes my words.

"You... fear me."

He looks absolutely dejected at the notion and I can't help the guilt that overcomes me.

But I can't be bothered to outright deny it anymore.

I am scared.

Of Alphas.

Of Cyrus because he's one of them.

How can I not be?

Look at what they have done.

But that does not mean I want him to think it's personal. 

"I don't fear you. You have never given me reason to, Cyrus. I... I fear your kind. B-But it is nothing against you, I promise."

"I know this," he sighs, shoulders slumping.

"If I could change what I am, I would, my moon. If the Moon Goddess allowed, I would choose to have been born as a Beta, an Omega. I'd do it in an instant."

Now that... I was not expecting.

"You would give up being an Alpha? I don't understand. Why?" I ask, confused.

It's like being handed a feast on a silver platter and wishing you got the scraps that the birds were fed instead.

He's silent for a moment, giving me an overwhelmingly loaded look.

"You know why."

'Oh... My stomach explodes with butterflies.'

He'd give it all up for me.

The power, the strength, the status of an Alpha.

Just so I could feel safe around him.

I curse the waterworks that threaten to burst, keeping my head down so he can't see.

"Cyrus, I...." I trail off, feeling stupid.

What can I say to that?

"I do not want to make this about me. I have been sick with worry, so please, tell me how you are. Did my mother attend to all of your wounds?"

"She did. Really, I'm okay," I insist, hating feeling like a burden.

"Are you?" his tone is grim, as if he knows what I am keeping inside.

The sadness, the anger, the hurt.

The utter hopelessness that I will ever be able to accept myself, after all that has happened to me.

Why me?

Why is it always me who has to suffer, to ache from wounds long gone?

"Koa?"

I chew my lip, the feeling of dread settling in the pit of my stomach.

Now that he's here, it's so hard to keep blocking it out.

To run from those feelings that threaten to suffocate me.

"Koa," my mate's voice filters through the swirl of negative thoughts, breaking me out of my spiral.

I didn't realize that he'd gotten up from the chair and come before me, kneeling with one knee on the ground and the other leg bent to support his weight.

Even with him in this position, we're at eye level with each other.

Instinctually, I recoil, my heart rate rising in what I tell myself can only be fear.

There's no other reason I'd be affected by his proximity, no reason at all.

"My moon. Can you look at me?" his voice is pleading and I realize that on instinct I avoided his gaze, like I have been lately.

I don't understand myself, the way my face gets hot when our eyes meet and my hands get all sweaty.

It's not normal.

But upon his request, I force myself to raise my chin and face him.

"W-what is it?" I ask.

"You called for me."

"Huh?"

"I felt you, through the bond. Your wolf called to mine."

He must mean when I was struggling under Rex, screaming for Cyrus.

I had no idea that had occurred.

Though, looking back, that was the first time I had so boldly allowed myself to need help.

To need him. 

He told me he was made to protect me and my pride disregarded that at first.

I guess that, deep down, I was still relying on that promise for him to come to my aid.

I allowed myself to be saved, for once. 

"I did," I acknowledge breathlessly. It feels strange to admit. 

"Is it wrong for me to think this means something?" Cyrus's voice is low, unusually raspy as he searches my expression for an answer. 

I'm surprised at the surge of affection that washes over me as I reach out, taking his hands in mine.

I nearly gasp, my skin singing at his touch that can only be described as delicious.

His hands are huge, completely cocooning my own but that doesn't stop me from holding them firm.

I hear the audible hitch in his breath at the sudden contact.

"No one... no one has ever been there to save me. And I'm so, so thankful that you did," I tell him sincerely, giving his hands a heartfelt squeeze.

"You are a brave, honorable man and Alpha."

His eyes widen, face coloring as he stares back at me in awe.

It's my fault that he's so surprised now because I never gave him enough credit before.

"You do not need to be grateful for what I do for you..."

"But I am," I stop him.

"I am, Cyrus."

I give him a warm smile, probably the most genuine I've had in a long time. 

Cyrus is frozen, as if I've just grown two heads.

His mouth is parted like he wants to say something but cannot find the words.

Abruptly, then, he stands up, pulling from my grasp.

The flood of disappointment hits me almost immediately.

Was I too bold?

Did I scare him off. 

"Cyrus?" I question in a small voice. 

"Forgive me," he rubs a hand over his face, turning slightly away from me.

"I appreciate your words, immensely. But I am not so strong right now.  Your skin on mine is a... dangerous thing. If you keep touching me, looking at me like that... I will want more."

I feel a delightful kind of tingle in my core, growing over-conscious of my effect on him.

Am I really that desirable?

Maybe it's just... just his wolf driving him crazy. 

"You're cute," I smirk, hiding my vulnerable state behind my usual demeanor with him. 

"I would much prefer my Omega to think of me as 'handsome' but that will do," he sits back in the chair, amusement in his eyes.

My wolf growls lowly in order to stop me from pointing out that I have in no way agreed to be 'his' Omega and I, for once, listen to him.

The mood has lightened, which is a relief.

Cyrus is right... that whole thing earlier was getting a bit too intense. 

"Oh, stop. What's the fun in pointing out the obvious?" I roll my eyes.

When he goes quiet, I realize I basically admitted that I do, in fact, find him handsome.

I mean, look at the guy. 

I glance over at him and he looks rather prideful, chest puffed and grinning knowingly back at me.

I raise an eyebrow, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him.

"Don't let that go to your head," I exclaim in embarrassment. 

"I would not dream of doing so," he teases, turning from me to open one of the desk drawers and plucking a piece of parchment from it. 

My brows crinkle in confusion as I watch his fingers fly expertly over the page, folding it and flipping it in various ways.

Curious, I get up from the bed, striding over to him and watching as he finishes up his craft.

When he's done, I see that the paper has been transformed into the shape of a rose. 

"For you, little wolf," he hands it to me and I take it, feeling myself flush at the gesture.

'Gah. Do not be wooed, Koa. Keep your wits about you.'

"Wow," I laugh.

"I bet you use this on all the Omegas that come after you." 

Cyrus frowns slightly.

"I don't."

His eyes find mine again, so serious and filled with a swirling abyss of emotions that I find myself mesmerized.

He's so thoughtful, so sweet.

My wolf whines, begging for me to close the gap between our bodies.

I cannot deny that the thought is appealing.

As I lean in slightly, his scent wafts over me and I nearly moan at how good it is.

I could climb on him, right here.

He would take me into his arms, I know he would.

Those big, strong, muscular arms...

The door flings open, a tearful Oliver running into the room and a frazzled-looking Morgan following close behind. 

"Mama," he cries, burying his face into my stomach as he wraps his arms around me.

He snivels into my shirt, soiling the fabric with tears and snot.

'Oh, my poor baby.' 

[rm-lionheart]

Cal turned to his right, slashed horizontally with spin backward. Gathering all the momentum of his weight and accelerated speed as he swings his sword of white flame to Hood's neck. Thud. An arrow sticks out of Cals right forearm. Cal stumbles, missing Hood's neck to cut his chest instead. Blood splatters. Hood jumps backward. Cal is screaming. Arrow in deep. Cal struggles to pull it out without feeling a lot of pain. Hood touched the cut on. 

Nearly.

He looked for where the arrow could have come from. Hood sees a figure. About 6 feet. Grey brown, over-worn tunic that could white long ago. Hastily made boots of old leather. He holds a bow in hand and a quiver on his back. Curly black hair. Although his skin is of a dark hue, a semblance of a farmer tan persists. Hood's face.

You can't be serious…

Drac waves then point to Cal. 

Oh, that’s right.

With Cal exhausted and injured, this is the best chance of winning Hood has had all the fight. But he must make this chance be worth it. He cannot call for his copy for any more than 5 seconds more. He can't let such an opportunity escape his grasp.Now it's the time to finish this. 

Hood sprints back in. Hood leaps and hammers down his short sword. Cal grabs Hood’s arm with his open hand before it could reach. As if his arm was in a vice, hood cannot pull away. Another arrow shoots close to Cal's grabbing arm. Cal lets Hood's arm go, before almost being hit by a loose arrow. Cal evades another arrow by his head. He steps back. Cal looks between Drac at the doorway and Hood in front of him. Arrow still in his right forearm, he gave his sword to his left hand. 

“This will be enough to thwart you away.”

Blade up, Hood runs back in again. Slash at the throat, stab at knee, strike from under. Cal was blocking all until another arrow came. Its target, the left side of Cal's chest. Cal blocks, leaving him open for a Hood’s stab at Cal's body. Blade meets meat. A scream comes from Cal; he strikes at hoods with renewed fervour. Sword aura edge blazing with white heat. Hood stayed to block the blow with his vambrace. It shatters inside his jacket sleeve. Searing heat cleaves through Hood's skin, muscle and the bone. Hood pushes his sword into a tricep. Cal’s face fills with terror. His flame explodes the stone beneath. 

“HOOD!” Drac screams.

Hood’s arm is cut through. The flaming white sword reaches Hood's shoulder. Sword slicing through the body like cake. Blood splatters like raindrops hitting the ground. An arrow flies towards Cal’s head. Caught but his right hand.

“It's too late for your friend, Drac.”

Hood’s copy materialises in a crouched position. From below, he leaps with every portion of strength his body could muster. Hood's gleaming short sword pierce through the sternum to the heart. Cal looks down stunned. Eyes wide. A face of dread. Hood pushes the sword in deep then dematerialised. Two figures stand bloody, close to death. 

Cal turns to Drac and points with a trembling finger. “You…You are done.” He collapses to the ground. Hood wobbles to the wall to rest. Drac runs after him.

“Hood! Hood!!” Drac holds Hood and lays him down gently. Tears come out from his face. “I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!

Hood pulls down his mask. 

“No.. No. I didn't have that much time left, you see. Us copies, our lives were going to end when we joined up together. We were taught and trained to expect it. Just di- ” Hood coughs blood. “Just didn't know the end would come this quick.” Hood's voice is like gravel. Drac sobs, wiping tears away. 

“I was envious of you.” hood says

“What do you mean”

“Exactly what it means, I was envious of your life here. I spent ten weeks spying on you when I could have picked you up on the very first day. I saw your life. How… content you were. I saw your friend. Made me think of bad things. Things like… what having a friend would feel like. Having a family.

Drac listens.

“The envy turned into hate. “He shouldn't be here” I thought to myself. This peaceful life isn't for us. Then you were to be sacrificed. What I kept delaying was finally happening. It was out of my hands. So I convinced myself I wasn't taking you by force.”

“It wasn't your fault” Drac smiles with red teary eyes. “You saved me. You were my hero.”

Hood finally looks at Dracs' eyes. 

“And besides, I would join you if you had asked. Who doesn't love an adventure”

Hood laughed heartily. Smile radiating. “Yes, who doesn't. I remember when I was a child I used to read books about… heroes…” Hood lies still. Blood dripping to the ground. Eyes empty of life. 

Hood's body heats up. A bright glow as he disintegrates in white specks leaving Hood’s clothes and equipment behind. Drac looks around dazed at the lights dancing around him. Then all of them fuse into him. The pain is excruciating. Like a hot rod poking every part of his body. Then it ends a moment later. Drac looks at his body. It feels unfamiliar. Movement is more snappy and responsive. Legs fit less in the breeches. Forearms look much more toned. Drac looks at Hood Clothes and weapons. Hood’s Short sword, although bloody, shines as it lays on the ground. 

Go on then. And I know you want to test it.