#I put some coffee grounds there and now I cannot smell it anymore

[rodolfoparras]

Being an adult and moving into your own place sucks I spent the whole day mapping out things that don’t smell to me (bc I live here) but probably smells to a stranger and went out my way to eliminate the smells. Tip of the day if you have a smelly area bc lots of pipes and what not put coffee grounds in a little container and keep it there such a pleasant scent remover

[accioprocrastination]

His girls

Jake hangman seresin x reader

A/N: Pure fluff; he has such girl dad energy

TW: slight reference to abuse

You've got your headphones on cooking while your daughters sleep upstairs, too distracted by your Spotify playlist to hear your husband unlock the door. Jake immediately takes off his jacket, hanging it on the back of the door as he throws his bag on the ground - too tired to think about putting it away properly.

"Sweets?" He asks hesitantly, wondering where you are. He expects you to whisper shout your response as per normal but is instead met with silence. He peers his head into the living room to see whether you've fallen asleep waiting for him. No not in there.

But he sees drawing on the coffee table which draws him into the room. A smile blossoms on his face as he looks down at the paintings his youngest has clearly made while he was at work. It's you three on a hill and a little stick figure in a plane that he knows is him.

He instantly heads to the kitchen - momentarily abandoning his search for you as he goes to stick the painting on the fridge.

"Here you are!" Jake exclaims at your presence as he glides past you to the magnets. You jump out of your skin only just registering that he's home.

You slide off one ear of your headphones. "Hi Princess." you tease giving him a smile which he instantly reciprocates before his arms find your waist. He squeezes you into a tight hug as you turn to give him a kiss hello.

"Dinner smells amazing." he comments peering over your shoulder to see what it is. "What did the girls have?" he smirks knowing they're still the world's fussiest eaters. "Thing one had chicken nuggets." You roll your eyes, that's the only thing your youngest will eat at the moment. You have both introduced her to countless foods trying to combat her fixation, but it's a losing battle.

"What about Abbie?" He nuzzles your shoulder. "She's been a little off today. Came home from school and demanded cereal, has not been back downstairs since taking it to bed." You inform him and Jake's smile falters. "Is she awake?" He asks. "Her light is off so I think she's gone to sleep." You shake your head.

"Since when did we have a teenager?" You remark thinking back to when she was your little angel. "I know." He smiles. "I kind of love it though-" You cut him off by saying, "she is such a little you." Jake smiles wider but does not open his mouth to deny that claim.

"She is isn't she?" He giggles reaching to take a swig out of your wine glass. He winces as he does so. "Are you cooking with that?" He looks to you for confirmation. You nod. "Yeah, why, does it taste bad?" You ask instantly. He nods grabbing a glass to fill up with water. You take a sip and confirm he is just being overly dramatic. "All wine tastes the same. I don't know what you're on about." You state. He shakes his head at the sentiment.

"I'll go check on Abs quickly before dinner." Jake says arms untangling from your body. "Some genius allowed her to get a lock on her door so I can't go check on her" You cross your arms and turn towards your husband. He kisses your forehead, the closest thing you'll get to an apology on that front before he turns on his heel and sprints near silently up the stairs.

Jake has experienced an abusive home growing up and will do anything to make sure your kids are happy. Including giving Abbie a lock on her door. Theoretically you thought it would be nice to give her privacy, now you just worry about her more because you can't check in on her anymore. You check the lock every night before bed to see whether you can make sure she's alright before sleeping. It is beyond rare for her to leave it open.

*

The morning is as crazy hectic as normal. You're woken up to your youngest jumping on the bed before Jake's seven thousand alarms begin. You had Abbie so young you forgot how tiring this stage is: kids have so much energy that no matter how hard either of you try you cannot match.

Jake groans sitting up and wrapping Ivy into his arms to get her to stop jumping on the bed. "Five more minutes then I'll get up" He whispers into her hair. You smile into your pillow at the sound of his tired voice.

"Daddy can you do my hair today?" She asks eyes wide with excitement. He cannot say no to that face, not that he would ever deny your kids anything. You'll always be bad cop out of the two of you. Ivy wiggles so much you cannot fall back asleep as she is singlehandedly rocking the entire mattress. "Of course I can." he responds smiling at her request. "How do you want it today?" she asks. "I don't know." she hesitates.

"Okay, let's go get your hair done then I'll make breakfast?" he says to her looking for clarification that she does not want food first. She nods eagerly running ahead of him to your vanity which is now covered in her hair accessories as this has become a routine. Jake helps her up onto the stool and begins braiding her hair.

Within the same millisecond she sits down, Ivy starts moving impatiently. "Can you try and hold still baby girl, I'm almost done. You're going to love it." he says quickly braiding the other side before trying them together into a pony tail. She claps in excitement at her reflection. "You look so pretty!" Jake exclaims kissing her cheek. She smiles and outstretches her arms to be picked up. "I look like a princess." she toys with the pink bow in her hair.

Jake obliges and takes her downstairs to hang out with him while he cooks breakfast.

"Breakfast!" Jake shouts from downstairs. You finally peel yourself out of bed and go to check Abbie has heard him. Her door is still locked so you knock. "Abbie, breakfast." You repeat in case she didn't hear.

You reach the kitchen and Jake instantly pounces on you wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you deeply. "Morning." He says. You're interrupted by Abbie vocalising her disgust as she enters. "Ew. You two are too old to be doing that." She says making you laugh. "Would you rather we argue all the time and get divorced?" You ask your daughter having experienced that type of household growing up. She sighs and rolls her eyes. She tries to just grab an apple and head out.

"Sit down and eat with everyone Abs." Jake instructs her and she listens to him. "I'm going to be late." She talks into the bagel Jake has already made for her. "Eat up and I'll give you a lift on my way to work." Jake says and you watch her visibly relax slightly. Is that just because she thinks she'll get to school on time or is that because she didn't want to take the bus?

They both get up to go almost as soon as they've sat down. "Wait!" you call after them, launching up towards the fridge and grabbing what you prepared yesterday. "I made you both lunch." you say handing them their respective lunch bags. "Thank you sweetheart." Jake kisses your cheek. "Ugh PDA." Abbie says. You smile at her. "Have a great day Abs, text me if you need anything." You say to her as she's already walking to the passenger side of Jake's truck.

[iam93percentstardust]

Prompt: Stony, animal transformation

I realized about halfway through writing this that you probably meant a spell or something but I wrote shifters instead and I really liked what I had so I kept going. Sorry it’s a lot crackier than you were probably expecting; you can blame @maguna-stxrk for that

As always, everything I write is also available on ao3

~

“No.”

The first time Tony met Steve Rogers, he was both delighted and irritated. Delighted because hey! Captain America is another cat shifter! And that means that Howard was wrong and Tony is, in fact, like Captain America (in some ways at least; in others, that remains to be proven).

“I won’t do it.”

And irritated because Captain America is another cat shifter.

“You can’t make me.”

Tony knows that there are cat shifters out there who are perfectly friendly and like being around other cats. He is not one of them. There are multiple reasons why he and Steve clashed on the helicarrier and only one of them is Loki’s staff. Tony’s breed is highly territorial and everything in his tower is his and he doesn’t want another cat in there rubbing up against his stuff. But there Fury is, insisting that the entire team move into the tower.

“I don’t want them there,” Tony says flatly. That’s not entirely true. He doesn’t really want any of them there but he’s willing to put up with them. The only one he really truly genuinely doesn’t want there is Steve.

It’s probably a good thing none of the rest of the team is here to hear him complaining about them. But, well, they should know better than to expect friendliness out of him. He’s not friendly. He’s majestic and aloof and not in the mood to have anyone else around to see him when he’s not being majestic and aloof.

Fury eyes him. Tony doesn’t know what kind of shifter he is—he keeps that kind of paperwork on actual paper, ew—but he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s something sneaky and devious like Fury himself (probably a snake. Tony hates snakes).

“Stark, the ways I could make you do what I want—”

“—are all against the Geneva Convention,” Tony finishes smoothly. In his reflection on the table, he realizes that the tuft of hair behind his ear isn’t lying flat. He licks the back of his hand and reaches up to smooth the hairs back down.

“Stark.”

“Fury.”

“We are running out of options—”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

“—for Clint.”

Tony shuts up. Sighs. Glances through the window of the conference room where he can see Clint leaning against the wall, stuck in partial shift since Loki and the invasion. His golden tail is tucked between his legs, his ears are drooped, and he flinches like a kicked puppy (not an inaccurate description) every time someone walks by.

“How bad is it?” he asks.

“People don’t want him on the helicarrier,” Fury says. “He makes them nervous. His pack bonds were broken when Loki took him, and with Coulson—well.”

Yeah, that. Dog shifters like Clint rely on pack bonds, even those formed between non-dogs. Tony’s always been more of a loner so he can’t really imagine what Clint is going through but judging by the way Clint looks, he can guess it isn’t easy.

“They’ve all been briefed on what it’s like living with a cat, even Rogers, and they know about your idiosyncrasies in particular.”

And that’s the crux of the matter. “I don’t want him there,” Tony says quietly.

“He’s not the same breed—”

“But he’s got the same instincts!” He sighs frustratedly and almost runs his hand through his hair before he realizes how much that’ll mess up his hairstyle. His tail lashes agitatedly behind him, instincts urging him to claw, to bite, to protect his home from the invader. “Why can’t it just be Clint?”

“Because where Clint goes, Natasha goes. Besides, Clint needs the pack bonds, which means he needs the whole team.”

Tony hisses, crosses his arms, pouts. “Fine,” he says eventually. “But I don’t like it.”

And then, before Fury can feel too smug in his victory, he keeps aggressive eye contact and knocks Fury’s water glass off the table, darting away before he can hear more than the bellow of rage.

 ~

“I don’t want you here,” Tony says, ears laced back irritably. It’s the first time he’s come across Steve in the tower so far and of course the man (well, actually he’s shifted into his cat form right now) is lying in Tony’s favorite sunbeam. The nerve of some people.

The single eye that Tony can see slits open and stares at him for a long moment. In the next moment, a ripple comes over the cat and then Steve has partially shifted back, stretching lazily as he yawns. “Okay, Tony,” he agrees.

“You’re in my sunbeam.”

“Okay, Tony.”

“I want you out of it.”

“But it’s such a nice sunbeam.”

“It’s mine.”

“We could share it.”

Tony lets out an offended yowl. They can’t share it. That would defeat the purpose of it being his. Steve stares at him for a long moment and then stretches again, muscles rippling in interesting ways that make Tony want to knead them for—no. No kneading. No accepting the interloper.

“Come on, Tony. It’s sunny and I want to nap. We can share the sunbeam,” Steve says around another yawn before flopping over onto his side, still mostly human. Tony wants to bite his tail. But… he does want a nap. And this is favorite sunbeam. And he shouldn’t have to find another one since there’s no way Steve will be leaving this one (sadly Tony has not yet figured out the right strength the armor needs to move him).

He carefully lays down, putting several inches of space between him and Steve. Almost immediately, he can feel the effects of the warm sun on him, pulling him under into a light doze. It’s not enough to fall asleep entirely, not when he can still feel Steve at his front but then Steve starts to purr and oh, that’s kind of nice. He hesitantly lets out an answering purr of his own. Steve’s rumble grows louder and almost without meaning to, Tony finds his hands kneading the ground contentedly.

~

But that won’t stand. It can’t stand. He conceded ground on the sunbeam because it and Steve were warm and that was clearly a mistake because now Steve is standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee from Tony’s favorite coffeepot out of Tony’s favorite mug as he talks to Natasha.

And this injustice cannot stand!

“Mine,” he hisses, fingers shifting into extended claws, ready to tear into Steve for daring to drink from what clearly belongs to Tony.

At his hiss, Natasha’s skin ripples until she’s scaly and blending in with the cabinets. Smart of her to stay out of his way. Few things are worse than a territorial cat and even someone as lethal as Natasha would hesitate to face him when he’s like this, even though Steve gives her an amused look and says, “Really?”

Steve takes another sip out of the mug. Tony’s hiss turns into a full-throated growl. “Tony, you have to learn to share.”

“No.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Mine.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Steve doesn’t sound very impressed. Or even particularly intimidated, damn it.

“It’s my mug, it’s my favorite mug, you have to give it back,” Tony says, eyes tracking the mug as Steve lifts it to his lips again—wow, they looked kind of pink and pretty in the morning—no, focus. “Give it.”

“Alright,” Steve says agreeably and holds the mug out. “Here you go.”

Tony’s tail lashes and he hisses again. “You know I don’t like to be handed things.”

“Oh right,” Steve says, sounding remarkably unconcerned. “Too bad then. Guess you’re not getting your mug back.” He takes another sip from the mug—Tony’s mug.

“No,” Tony whines, drawing the word out so that it has at least eight additional syllables. He flops over onto the kitchen table, rolling around mostly so that he’s treating this situation with the hysteria it deserves but also so that he can scent mark the table, which currently smells of the rest of the team and not like him.

“Tony, stop being overdramatic,” Natasha orders, apparently deciding that she doesn’t need to blend in with the background anymore. “Steve, stop being a shit and give him back his mug.”

“No,” they both say petulantly.

She pulls out one of the many, many knives she keeps on her person. Tony hurriedly rolls off the table. Steve quickly puts the mug down and pulls out another one. Immediately, Tony darts to his mug—all his, no one else’s—and cradles it to his chest.

“That’s better,” Natasha says smugly and stalks out of the kitchen.

Tony waits until she’s gone and Steve has filled his new mug. Then, as Steve busies himself with cooking his breakfast, he slowly, cautiously reaches out and bats Steve’s mug off the counter. He gleefully sprints out of the kitchen to the sound of Steve’s outraged yowls, clutching his own mug close.

~

“Clint says you’ve been working too long,” Steve says, surprising Tony so much all the fur on his tail stands straight up.

“Fuck,” he spits. “I have a heart condition, you know.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees like the asshole cat he is. “But I don’t think I’m going to give you a heart attack just by sneaking up on you. Not my fault you were in a zone.”

Tony grumbles wordlessly under his breath. It’s true that he’s been in a zone for the last couple hours or so, something that he achieves only through kneading or inventing, but that’s no reason for Clint to be concerned.

“Why do you care if Clint says I’ve been working too long?” he asks. Steve picks up one of his screwdrivers and spins it between his fingers before setting it back down. Tony immediately picks it up as well and rubs his cheek on it to cover it in his scent again. Steve shoots him a mischievous grin and promptly moves further away to do the same thing to a different screwdriver. Tony resigns himself to losing another couple of hours to scent marking everything once Steve is gone.

“I don’t,” Steve says, now rubbing up against one of the armors (and no, Tony is not thinking about how good Steve looks like that). “I thought we were doing a great job of ignoring each other. But he says it’s been more than twenty-four hours, which means it’s time for a break.”

“Says who?”

“Pepper, apparently.”

Tony winces. Okay, yeah, he can ignore pretty much everyone except for Pepper. She’s important.

“So you’re… what, here to drag me upstairs for dinner?”

Steve shakes his head and holds up a bag in his hand. “Thought I’d offer to split a bag of catnip with you.”

Huh.

“Huh,” Tony says out loud. He eyes it suspiciously. “It’s not laced with anything else, is it? You’re not going to take me to knock me out and take me to Medical.”

“Just pure catnip.” Steve opens the bag and Tony’s eyes dilate at the intoxicating scent. “Why, do you need to go to Medical?”

Tony thinks of the two cracked ribs he suffered during the battle yesterday that he’d wrapped himself. “Nope,” he says blithely. Steve’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t argue. “Are you going to judge me for straight up eating it?”

“Are you going to judge me for doing the same?”

“Fair,” he says and holds out a hand for the bag. Steve upends it and dumps half in Tony’s hand, watching without judgment as Tony stuffs half of it into his mouth.

And when Tony comes back from his catnip-induced high to finds himself fully shifted, Steve’s own shifted form wrapped so tightly around him that his short tabby fur is mingling with Tony’s longer white fur, there’s no judgment there either, just Steve purring and purring and purring.

~

“Why do you do it?” Tony quietly asks Steve one night. Some animated movie is playing on the screen but Tony doesn’t think anyone is actually paying attention to it. The rest of the team is busy sleeping together in a cuddle pile in their shifted forms, Clint’s golden retriever spooned by Thor’s panda, Bruce’s owl perched on top of Clint with his head tucked under his wing. He can’t spot Natasha’s chameleon but he can smell her so he knows she’s there somewhere. He and Steve are sitting apart from the rest of the team, studiously ignoring them. It had surprised him when Steve hadn’t gotten down there to join them—tabbies tend to be more social than other cats—and instead chosen to curl up next to him on the couch in his partial shift, but to his shock, he isn’t complaining about it.

Idly, Steve twines his tail around Tony’s twitching one and purrs, relaxing him until he’s a puddle on the couch. “Nat said it was a good way to get your attention.”

“What, picking a fight with me?”

“Tony.” Steve gives him a long look and then leans over to lick his ear. It should make Tony stiffen, run away, groom over that one spot until he no longer smells of Steve anymore. It doesn’t. It just makes his ear flick curiously. “I never wanted to fight with you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Suddenly, Tony’s brain is sifting through every interaction he and Steve have ever had, looking at them in a new light. Okay, and yeah, now that he’s thinking about it, he can see that this has all been Steve’s clumsy, well-intended attempt at courting him. And maybe he’s never really thought about Steve like that before but he’s thinking now and what he’s thinking is that when Steve isn’t stealing his things and laying in his favorite sunbeam, he actually really likes Steve.

“You’re not very good at this,” he informs Steve.

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression.”

“Natasha gave you bad advice.”

“I’m pretty sure she did it on purpose to stir up trouble.”

“She’s worse than either of us,” Tony agrees. “Now, hold still.”

“Wha—” He leans over Steve and licks at his ear, carefully grooming him. Steve purrs beneath him, eyes half-closed with pleasure. Tony’s own eyes drift shut as his heart beats a rhythm to the tune of mine, mine, mine.

~

“Hey, babe,” Tony says, coming up behind Steve. He drapes himself across Steve’s shoulders like the affectionate cat he is, giving a very sharp grin to the young socialite who has been holding onto Steve’s hand for the last minute. Doesn’t she know that that’s Tony’s? “I was wondering where you got off to.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve replies, relaxing now that Tony is here. “Got stopped by Miss—I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

Tony knows Steve well enough to know that that’s absolutely not the case. He’s just saying it to irritate her. But she doesn’t know that, especially because none of them are allowed to be in partial shift for tonight’s gala—Fury’s orders—and Steve’s shifter form is a closely guarded secret. So she doesn’t know that Steve’s just following his instincts as a cat. Tony does though, and he smothers his laugh in Steve’s shoulder.

“Whithers,” the girl says, irritation bleeding into her tone.

“Pleasure,” Tony says, making no attempt to hide the fact that he thinks it’s the opposite. He twines himself around Steve so that he can reach his lips for a quick kiss. “If you don’t mind, I have to borrow Steve here. Although, I really don’t care even if you do mind. See, he’s mine and I don’t really like it when people touch what’s mine.”

And then, before her face can do much more than register shock, he bats her champagne glass out of her hand.

[monodipita]

Security (Yandere!Satoru Gojo x Non-Sorcerer Reader

Part 2 of the Yandere Satoru Gojo Reader-Insert Series!

Word Count: 1,954

Warnings: YANDERE CONTENT. GORE WARNING.

"When will you see that what I'm doing is good for you, [Y/N]? The world isn't safe for you anymore. I've told you this many times, and yet, you won't listen to me." His voice used to be as smooth as butter, now scratchy and raw from the screaming he'd done. Yours was completely gone. It'd given out by the second day of being in this hellhole.

Still, your eyes glared at him through the cage's bars like you had plenty to say to him.

"Don't look at me like that, please. I love you too much for you to be upset with me," his brows crumpled as his expression did behind those black optics of his. He reached up to grab your hand through the bars, but you only slapped it away from him. He recoiled from the bars and glared at you silently for a few moments.

"FUCK!" His outburst was sudden. You flinched at it, just in time to miss him use one of the many powers at his arsenal to flip the couch over in his apartment. A loud clang, followed by the sound of glass breaking, however, spared you any details you might've missed. The couch had been flipped over and it destroyed the coffee table.

You gasped and pressed your back against the cold, metal bars of the cage. Any distance mattered with him. "Y-you're a monster-!!" You sputtered through the pain of your throat begging you to stop speaking. You coughed, squeezing your eyes shut from the pain. "No, n-no, no no no," Gojo stormed over to the bars again, gripping them taut in his hands and looking at you intently. "[Y/N], no, please. It's not what it looks like, please-"

"-Leave me alone," your mouth worded. Your hands went over your face.

"...you'll come around again. You'll love me again, I know you will." Gojo removed himself from the bars. "All you need is time, I know it, and we'll go back to having dates every Friday... we'll go back to holding each other under the moonlight while Law & Order plays on the TV, I know it. I-I'll be back, okay? I'll give you some time to yourself. I'll get some medicine for that nasty cough while I'm out, okay?"

There were some sounds likely concerning the flipped-over couch, followed by the sounds of footsteps and the door opening, then closing. Another day to yourself... maybe. He might just drop off the medicine and leave. You sighed with relief. You could go back to focusing on how to get out of the cage in peace.

But it was hopeless. Some hours later, you were stuck with staring at the TV that faintly played anime on it. The door opening caused you to flinch and swallow thickly. Who was it?

It was none other than him. Two bags were in his hands. One was small, while the other... smelled good, like food. Your favorite food. "...[Y/N]," he addressed you as he walked up to the cage. "I got you something to eat to take with these meds, alright? A friend of mine hooked me up with something." He reached into the small bag to produce a pill bottle for you to see. He reached into the cage and gently set it down on the blanketed ground. "...would you like to come out here and eat it with me..."

He swallowed thickly.

"W-would you like to go outside... and we eat it together..."

You glared at him through the bars. Your stomach audibly growled, but you were stalwart. Eat? With him? He was just tempting you. There was no way he was going to let you out of this cage willingly. But that food... how long could you willingly ignore him until he left the food behind?

"Please," Gojo bowed his head, "I know you can't speak right now, but I know you're ignoring me... I-I can't take it."

"No, I can't take it anymore..."

He was careful to put the food down elsewhere and out of the way. You clambered to scramble away from the middle of the cage, to the back, where you would've been safe from his arms. But no... he was doing something different around this time. You looked on in awe and horror as his hands unlocked the cage. The door slowly crept open to reveal a world that you'd been deprived of for far too long. But you stayed put. Your eyes never left Gojo's figure, even if your heart beat at the anticipation of freedom. There was no freedom with this man, he was only unlocking his cage to restrict you further.

His arms climbed into the opened cage, soon, his body followed. His arms wrapped around your frozen body and pulled it close to his. The warmth of another human being was comforting, it almost made you close your eyes and nuzzle into his form.

But this was no man that you could live comfortably around any longer.

You struggled against his grasp, your hands went to his cheeks, your fingers dug their nails into his skin and pulled down. You could feel the skin underneath tearing, enough so to draw blood. "I won't let go," Gojo hissed through clenched teeth. With your body now taut against his, he pulled you out of the cage. He felt so much stronger than you... because he was. He picked your body up like it was nothing. He grabbed onto the pill bottle he left inside the cage, he grabbed the food, and he began to carry you out of the apartment.

It was uncomfortable at first... you didn't want to be anywhere within the proximity of this man, but to be out on the street, enjoying, bathing and basking in the sunlight that touched your skin for the first time in days... weeks, maybe, it felt all too good. You were frozen by simply enjoying the outside. You ate your food like it was nothing and scarfed down every last bit of it. Your drink felt nice running down your throat. Being outside was nice. No one around but the two of you, it would've been an ideal date.

"Are you enjoying yourself, [Y/N]? Isn't this nice?" Gojo's voice threatened to shatter your grandeur illusions. You nodded quickly to dismiss him, and returned to eating your food.

Until you felt Gojo's hand violently push your body down onto the ground.

You let out a coarse scream as your body collapsed on the sidewalk. Your arms did little to absorb the blow, in fact, it just made things worse, you could feel how skinned-up they were after only a moment of being in contact with the cement. You turned your head in horror to see Gojo lifting himself off of the bench and turning to face away from you, as if you weren't even there anymore... like he didn't know you existed.

"You're pretty perceptive, aren't you? I thought slaughtering your friend was enough of a hint for you to leave me alone," he spoke. It seemed like he was speaking into the air at nothing for all you knew. Your eyes widened with bewilderment, and they watched as Gojo walked up to whatever it was, or whoever it was that he was talking to... and wrapped his hand around it. You audibly gasped when you heard something audibly choking while Gojo raised it into the air... but what was it?! Nothing was there!!

You scrambled to your feet. This might've been the chance to escape!

"Get down, [Y/N]! NOW!" Gojo roared, "don't you EVER walk away from me!" His head flung in your direction and made you freeze with those deep, impossibly blue eyes of his. You swallowed thickly and dropped back to your knees by command, grimacing in pain from the feeling. How... how were you still responding to his commands? You had every chance to be free...

...instead, you watched, your eyes glued to the scene before you. Gojo had resorted to taking his anger out on whatever it was that he held in his hands by now, you could see every little piece of gore splattering all over the place. Blood coated his fists as his punches became progressively aggressive, until he resorted to bashing. Brain matter flew where it could.

The smell of iron began to flood the air, making you feel almost nauseous. What was he doing? What was he hitting that could actually cause all of this blood to come out of it? Was that... was that brain matter?

"I'm not going to listen to them, do you understand me?" He hissed to the corpse underneath them, "I love [Y/N] with all of my heart. I won't listen to anyone... who tells me that I cannot experience love in my life, no one!" His voice broke out into a yell, making you flinch again. It was horrifying to see something like this. The blood on him was real, the brain matter on the ground was real. You hysterically sobbed; you needed to get out of here, and fast. You felt that your life was in danger.

You tried to bring yourself to stand, but your knee pain was unbearable. You hissed and sat back on your ass to examine the wound, light scratch marks mingled with blood, dirt, and loose cement like you'd fallen off a scooter. "Ugh!" You sobbed out. Keep trying, keep trying, keep—

"Did you hurt yourself? I'm so sorry for not paying attention, but something important grabbed mine,"

Gojo lifted himself from the ground. You glanced up at him through bleary eyes... no, you couldn't let him touch you, at any cost. So you did what you thought was best: and began to backwards crawl into the street behind you, to reach the other side of the sidewalk. He wouldn't dare walk into the street, would he? It was hypocritical of you to think that way of course, but you felt safer being in the street than anywhere near him.

"[Y/N], no! Please," Gojo stumbled forward, clenching the bench tightly in order to balance himself while his free hand extended for you. "Please, come back. I can't bear the idea of losing you!"

"St-stay away from me!" You screamed at him, your voice clearly scratchy. That was enough speaking for now, your voice couldn't handle anything else. You could feel your hands touch the hot bitumen under you. You were on the street now. As quickly as you could, you attempted to pass. But he was quicker.

"Don't you understand? The world doesn't want us to be together," he sounded delirious. The blood coated his face and hands, his shirt. His glasses were gone. Those blue eyes that you'd never seen before stared at you. "But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep us together, even if it means resorting to drastic measures." A wary smile spread across his lips. "I need you for my sanity, I need you for my serotonin. I can't envision a world without you, I don't want to, don't you see that?"

Your hands gave underneath you and made you fall flat. You rolled over into the fetal position and squeezed your eyes shut. You didn't have the strength to resist his arms as they wrapped around you so carefully. He lifted you off the ground and pulled you into his arms, hugging you taut to his chest as he forced you to stand. He kissed your temple sweetly as he began to drag you back into the house.

Back to the cage.

"The world doesn't want us to be together, but I won't let that stop me."

[harbouredsoulss]

Let’s Talk About Love - Part 1

Author’s note: It’s me again, writing about our lover Angel! I seriously need to put some Ez fics up but I cannot stop myself. I was listening to ‘All The Stars’ by Kendrick Lamar, and SZA when this came to me and I just knew it had to be about Angel. I was inspired more so the beginning of the song, rather than by the entire thing. Specifically, “Love, let's talk about love. Is it anything and everything you hoped for? Or do the feeling haunt you?” 

If it isn’t too much trouble please make sure to Like, Reblog or even comment! It would be greatly appreciated. I am so happy with all the love Is There Somewhere has received! I appreciate each and every one of you, who has liked & reblogged!! 💖

Part two is here!!!

Also if you want to be notified for when I post, I am more than happy to create a tag list, just let me know! 🙌🏻

Angel Reyes X [OC]

Warnings: Swearing 

Word count: 1.1k words.

Summary: The idea of love haunts Angel Reyes. He doesn’t know how to commit himself to it. So he sticks to what he knows and does what he does best and he uses  his best friend to do that. But the thing is, she’s madly in love with him and Angel being the most clueless man in the world, has no idea. 

There was always an elephant in the room and it was colossal, yet there was nothing I could do about it. All I could do was dance around the fact that I was deeply in love with a man that did not feel the same. 

I often watched him, mainly from the corner of my eye, always longing to be his; owned by him, body and soul. 

He stood before me now, distress clearly evident on his face. Both hands clasped on either side of the door frame, eyes signalling that he wanted to come in. To relieve himself of whatever it was that was eating him up inside. 

Angel always came to me like this. I was the one he could come to for relief – release. Perhaps I allowed this to go on for too long. Letting him arrive with all those insecurities, those fears, and let him dump them at my doorstep. But I knew, as well as he did that, I would never stop him. 

My heart was close to bursting at the seams with the amount of love I carried for this man. I want to continue to take this, and accept it as enough. I was desperate to. Yet I don’t think I could last realistically, for much longer. 

“Angel.” I answered the door, voice breathless. My confidence waned, resolve breaking as I glimpsed his crumpled face looking at the ground, eyes refusing to meet mine. 

Angel was selfish. He knew this, and he hated that about himself. Hated that he found himself at my doorstep every night, seeking solace the only way he knew how. 

“Can I come inside?”

All it took was a brief nod and he was in, a faint smell of gasoline, mixed with a faint musk that I knew was my favourite aftershave of his. After shutting the door, I turned to face him, finding his gaze still avoiding mine. 

“Do you want something to drink? Eat?” I offered, already knowing the answer. 

“No. Thanks. I just came here to… to talk.”

Talk? That was a surprise. It seemed these past couple months, to me, Angel didn’t know what that was. I couldn’t help but let out a bitter chuckle. Talk! Angel Reyes wanted to talk.

“Okay,” I sighed, arms crossing my chest, “go ahead.”

His gaze finally met mine, widening slightly as they took in my appearance. I was partially clothed. My panties were on, covered by a large oversized hoodie – his hoodie, that ended just above my knees. 

“I-I’m not good with this shit but I-I just wanted you to know that I see it.” An unfamiliar feeling coursed through my body. I couldn’t tell where this was going. See it? See what?  

“I see what I do to you. What this,” he gestured between the two of us, “does to you.”

“I come over, every night without fail and you let me inside, to your home – your body. But I can’t do this. I can’t hurt you like this anymore. I see it querida, I see your face when I leave. I want you, so fucking much – always but not like this.”

Confusion, shock, and frustration were some of the feelings that bubbled inside. I couldn’t understand where this was coming from. I agreed with everything he said, but I couldn’t quite help but let the anger rise. I was Angry that he was the one making this decision. That he thought he was doing it for me, when it was obvious that what I felt - how I felt, was not what this was about. 

“Angel, where is this coming from?” I couldn’t help but keep the exasperated tone out of my voice. This man was infuriating.

“Me. I have eyes; I can see you. You’re fucking miserable and it’s all because of me.”

Shaking my head, I had to bite back a laugh. What a sick and twisted joke this was. Here the love of my life stands before me, ripping me in two. When not too long ago I was considering doing the same thing. Ending us, albeit begrudgingly.

All the while he is thinking that he’s helping. Giving me whatever it is he thinks I desire. At least, that’s what he’s deluded himself into thinking. 

“Angel,” I started, frustration close to boiling point, “maybe instead of assuming, maybe having a conversation would have been productive. Work out what I am feeling. Actually asking me! Instead, you just decided you knew.” I threw my head back groaning, gripping the roots of my hair. I was seething with the audacity of this man. The man I am so desperately in love with. 

“Angel,” I started again, voice cracking as I tried my hardest not to cry. I could not cry, “I am so fucking in love with you it hurts. That’s what you see when you leave every night. You see shame. Shame of what I feel because I know you don’t feel the same. I want you just as badly, but our wants are two different things. You want my body. I want your body and soul.”

I couldn’t say any more. I had to stop. It pained me too much to continue. But I had to. I had to let it pour out.

“I just wish that maybe we could have had some kind of conversation. But you always jump onto something, whether it be a thing or a thought and you don’t think to consider anything else. If you thought you were hurting me, why did you continue? Why did you keep coming by if you knew what this was doing to me? Why not speak to me earlier?

He was so self-destructive, and I tried to lessen the hurt but I had had enough. He needed to know what his actions, and words does to people and that there are consequences.

I could tell I had shattered him; I could see it with his shaky intake of breath. The words stung. His hands were in his front jean pockets, his face impassive as he stared at me. Though he wasn’t really looking at me; his mind was at work here. I tried to reach out to him, take his hand in mine. I wanted to plead to him, and beg him to stay and to tell him I loved him. That he should forget what he said – what I said. But as soon as I reached out, he took a step to the side, knocking into the coffee table. 

“Uh you know what,” he responded, all emotion devoid from his voice, “this was obviously a mistake. I have to go.”

“Angel wait, come on, we have to talk about this.” You can’t just say this shit and leave, I wanted to scream. 

“Angel, please.”

But he ignored my pleas.

His steps did not falter as he left me standing there, staring at the front door now hanging open. I rushed towards it, watching as he backed his motorcycle out of the drive and sped off into the night, leaving my heart shattered into pieces.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Ok, so the little line about Marcus being sad that Nush didn’t wear his hoodie gave me thoughts...and thots.

This would definitely be further down the line, maybe they’ve already confessed their feelings to one another but they’re taking their relationship slow, so dates mostly consist of movie nights, dinners at casual places, etc. But one movie night, they fall asleep on Marcus’ couch and he wakes the next morning to Nush coming back from getting them pastries & coffee...in his hoodie. And boy does it do something to him. He’s never felt this way about someone wearing his clothes before; it makes him possessive and all he wants to do is see her in his hoodie and nothing else.

My brain goes two ways on this: heavy make out session where Marcus let’s her know just what seeing her in his clothes does (lots of dirty talk) OR full on dom!Marcus picking her up and putting her on his kitchen counter so he can get his mouth between her legs and telling her what seeing her in his clothes does to him. I can’t decide which I thot I like more!!

These two give me so many thoughts and thots...it might be a slight problem

Please note that this work is not suitable for those under 18. Themes of consensual sex and swearing.

Beta thanks to @yespolkadotkitty ❤️❤️❤️

You think you are possessing me but I’ve got my teeth in you.

Angela Carter 

What could be more coincidental than pouring rain greeting the pair of you as you leave the Prince Charles Cinema’s matinee of Singing in the Rain? The deluge that pours onto the street below invites a bloom of colourful umbrellas twisting and turning through the Soho streets- umbrellas that neither of you had thought to bring despite it being April in London. Enjoying the last few moments of relative warmth and dryness, your eyes flicker between a deep-in-thought Marcus, and the puddles outside those black rimmed glass doors that lie in wait for the pair of you. 

“You are thinking very loudly, Mr Pike,” you remark shaking your head as a wave of consternation washes across his face, “Don’t you dare think about where the nearest shop is to buy an umbrella. It’s barely a ten minute walk to Charing Cross from here.”

Marcus releases a small chuckle as he shuffles his feet embarrassedly, his eyes shifting sideways, “How did you know I was thinking that?”

“At work, when you are questioning people- you’re entirely closed off which you need to be in for our profession but as soon as you go into hometime Marcus, your thoughts and emotions are painted across your face as clear as words on a page.”

A shy boyish grin creeps across his face, “Ok, I am a bit of an open book but you have the ability to read me better than anyone else,” he reluctantly owns, “I kinda wish I was a better liar and could come up with something else on the spot.”

Grabbing his hand tightly, you give it a small squeeze and a tug to let him know that he never needs to lie to you- a gesture that Marcus returns with a gentle kiss upon your forehead. “Come on you, let’s go run between the raindrops and head back South of the river before anyone notices that we came without our passports.” Your eyes sparkle wickedly at him as you raise your finger to your lips pretending to drag him into the silly North/South London divide. 

“Still tickled by your version of the redneck, iced tea, Southern manners versus skyscrapers, yellow cabs and  cold winters”,” he shakes his head slightly.

“My love, there is a lot you don’t get in regards to Britishisms- you still giggle like a teenage boy whenever I mention the word knickers,” you kindly reprimand him, “You’ve not even been here two months yet, give yourself time to realise that our version of pancakes are better than yours!”

You hear a sharp gasp emanating from Marcus in mock hurt as you blaspheme over his favourite food group. Cocking your eyebrow at him, you pause for a moment as you step towards the double doors that lead into roads where the coloured lights bleed across their oily surfaces. Marcus reaches around you to open the door, “I got you. Not letting you walk into doors today.”

It seems as if the moment that the two of you step outside, the heavens truly decide to open upon you, drenching through every layer of clothing right to your bones. Running through the winding streets with your hands tightly wound together, you and Marcus dodge in and out of the sprawling crowds of tourists with their leisurely pace and humongous golf umbrellas. When you are faced with a particularly large group, you split apart with Marcus diving towards a shop but you go too close to the curb when a taxi drives through a massive puddle, sending an icy tsunami over your head. 

You stand there and gasp as the water constricts every blood vessel in your body, the shock coursing through your veins. Blinking the water from your eyelashes, you become aware of two hands bringing warmth back to your cheeks and two brown orbs gazing at you, “Hey, you ok?” Marcus scans your face, worriedly checking you over as he slides his worn leather jacket over your shoulders to try to bring some warmth back into your body.

Brimming with tears of mirth, your eyes crease into tiny crescents until the smile tugging at your lips forms the biggest grin as your whole body roars with laughter, “I don’t think there’s much point in trying to run between the raindrops anymore,” you gasp out between the giggles. 

When you notice that Marcus isn’t laughing, you pause to draw a deeper breath, searching his face for clues. Your heart beats faster and faster as you notice that his eyes are black holes, pulling you towards him until gravity and time cease to exist. Heat rises through the chill of your skin- from your stomach to your throat- as his lips call to yours. When the sensitive skin meets, there isn’t a moment of hesitation to drink each other in as the taste of Marcus silences all of your thoughts.

All of your kisses to this point had been the tentative kisses of a new relationship. The kisses of two broken hearts starting to mend and learning how to allow yourselves to love again. 

But this. This. This was different. 

Marcus withdraws his mouth slightly from you, resting his forehead against yours as his breath dances across your lips, “Wow.”

And then he’s back. Fingers tangled in your hair, lungs forgetting to breathe as without a moment’s hesitation he deepens the kiss, parting your lips and searching for the soft sweetness brought by your tongue. As the moment swiftly intensifies, your hands seek him out as the only solid thing in the swaying world around you. Your fingers seek out the warmth of his skin beneath his drenched Henley. You feel him. All of him presses against you so that you can inhale the woody scent of his aftershave, the citrus notes of his shampoo and that smell that is just so utterly Marcus. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers against your now swollen lips. His words ground you, placing a solid surface beneath your feet before he sweeps you away again. 

The kisses eventually slow, becoming infinitely more tender than the raw need that pulses between you both. You are breathless, dazed and needing so much more. Your body aches for more than the Soho streets can offer you, confident in the knowledge that Marcus feels the same as you feel his powerful body tremble like yours. All that exists in this moment is feeling, wanting and needing each other. 

A half growl, half moan comes from the back of Marcus’ throat as he finally breaks the kiss, “I have to get you home before I take you right here.”

Heart still racing, you just about manage to form words but your lust-filled brain mangles them making you feel drunk and slurred, “Whose home?”

“Mine. S’closer,” he murmurs into your mouth, “Don’t wanna be arrested for acts of indecency. Right now, everything I wanna do to you, falls into that category.”

It takes all you can muster, hearing that admission spill from his lips. All the willpower in the world, not to just find a darkened doorway and just take him there. 

His fingers find yours again, peeling your hands away from the soft skin under his t-shirt-  intertwining in undoable knots- but your bodies still press together as if you cannot bear to separate yet. You both take a moment to catch your breath, the rain still falling upon you in some heavenly benediction- mouths twitching into grins as your breathing relaxes and slows to a pace that allows for thoughts to re-enter your mind. 

Marcus is the one to break the bodily contact, turning to one side, dropping one of your hands to start walking towards the station. You catch a slightly confused look on his face, “Not sure where the station is, are you? Come on, I’ll let you take the lead when you know where you are a bit better,” you snigger with a saucy wink in his direction. 

As you go to walk away from him, he pulls you in closer and rumbles deeply in your ear, “You know I don’t have a problem with you taking the lead.”

The tone of his voice echoes through your skin, setting fireworks off through every synapse in your body and oh how it gladdens you to realise that he needs you as much as you want him. 

✪✪✪✪✪

The journey home has been one of not daring to look at or touch each other too much. Sitting next to him on the train, your thighs leaning into each other, you both desperately try to focus on messing around with your phones. Him showing you various forthcoming art exhibitions in town and you showing him silly TikToks sent by your nieces and nephews of dogs being dubbed with computerised voices, giving their thoughts on cats and other dog breeds. Anything to take your minds off what you’d actually like to do with each other.

As the train pulls into the station, you pull him up from his seat and head towards the exit. Tapping out at the ticket barrier, you turn towards Marcus, going up on tiptoes to place a small chaste kiss upon his lips, “I’m popping to Sainsburys to grab some wine as I think we finished that bottle on Wednesday, didn’t we? Do you need anything else while I’m there?”

“Sweetheart, I can’t let you do that,” Marcus tries pleading with you.

“I cannot get any wetter than I am at this moment in time,” you implore before pausing as Marcus raises his eyebrows at you, licking his lower lip, stepping closer to close the minutismal space between yourselves.

“Quit  making me stand in the rain, thinking impure thoughts,” he groans.

You push the heel of your hand into his chest, “Then go upstairs, run me a bath and find something dry for me to put on, then you can have your wicked way with me.”

Putting his hands on your hips and dipping his head to playfully nip at your neck, Marcus gives in as his lips mutter into your skin, “Ok, be quick. I’ll order some pizza and ice cream ready for you getting out of the bath.”

Your eyes roll back in your head and you release a satisfied groan at the thought of a warm bath and pizza. Especially that beauty of a bath in Marcus’ apartment where you can actually stretch out and entirely submerge yourself beneath the hot soapy water. You remove Marcus’s hands from your sides and turn towards the small store with its bright fluorescent lights blaring out at you through the plate glass storefront. As you go to step inside, you turn your head and see that Marcus has turned at the same time with that look in his eyes again. With a small wave and a grin, you step inside to find snacks and wine, not entirely sure that they would be necessary this evening.

✪✪✪✪✪

Bottles clink and packets of Haribo rustle from within your bags as you walk up to Marcus’ front door. You give the bottom section of wood a small thud from your boot, to which it opens with a significantly dryer Marcus, who takes the bags from you before ushering you in. As the warmth of his flat encircles you, you release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

“Strip,” his firm, familiar baritone commands, holding an arm out for your soaking clothes, “Your bath is run and I’ve left you some clothes on my bed. You’d left a pair of panties from the last time you stayed over- I’ve washed those so they’re in the pile too.”

Peeling back the layers of clothing that had been so utterly useless against the torrential rain and draping them over Marcus’ arms- tiny droplets dripping onto his hardwood flooring, you soon stand there completely naked. Tossing your clothes in the general direction of his washing machine, he gently guides you with his warm hand placed in the small of your back towards the bath, which true to his word, is full, bubbly and welcoming. 

As you step in, you look over towards Marcus inviting him in with your eyes. 

With a small shake of his head, Marcus turns to leave you to soak. The quietude envelops you, so much that you are barely able to hear Marcus padding softly around outside this sanctuary. You lie back allowing the water to cover your ears- a complete sensory deprivation when your eyes draw shut too. Images that swirl with the heavenly taste and scent of Marcus, his velvet touch and the sound of his voice dance behind your closed lids as you allow the water to wash away London pollution and puddle water. 

✪✪✪✪✪

Having reheated your body enough, the bath water turning tepid, you clamber out onto the deliciously soft bath mat that you know Andy picked out prior to Marcus’ arrival. Wrapping one of the towels Marcus has left out for you around your body and the other around your hair, you walk into his impeccably neat bedroom. Bed made, clothes ironed, folded and put away- the polar opposite of yours. Even the pile of clothes with your knickers on top, is neat. 

The morning after the night when Marcus had first stayed over at yours and needed an iron for his shirt, you’d barely been able to locate in your memory where you’d last seen it- pointing him in the direction of the cupboard of doom- the place where half-baked ideas and good intentions go to die.. Everything is generally haphazard and a little topsy-turvy about you but Marcus, his sense of order calms your busy brain and you are noticing it rub off on you. 

You hang your coat up on the hooks that you’d drilled in when you’d first bought your flat but never used until a month ago. You only now have one hanging chair, rather than utilising every surface available. You also attempt to only buy one bagged salad each week instead of pretending that you will eat more greens but then them definitely losing that green tone, fading into a brown slush before you remember their existence in that pathetic salad drawer. 

Pulling up your knickers and sitting, no- sinking into the glorious mattress of Marcus’ bed, you haul the t-shirt over your head and shrug your arms into the sleeves of the hoodie before zipping it up at the front. You smile at a flicker of a memory where Jasper had moaned at you for stretching out his hoodies with your woman boobs. You also find it very sweet that Marcus honestly thinks that his shorts will fit over your thighs and hips so you leave them on the bed, choosing to leave the room in just the hoodie, t-shirt and underwear- albeit just on your bottom half as your bra was utterly soaked too and was probably going through his washing machine. That poor underwire! Nevermind, perhaps it’s time for something a little less utilitarian and a little more sexy.

Softly padding out from his bedroom, you spy Marcus’ broad back twisting in the kitchen as he seeks out plates and glasses in the cupboards. Pizza boxes lie on the side, their contents sweating condensation on the table below.

“I’m finally decent,” you declare with a flourish as you bounce into the kitchen, almost bounding directly into his chest. 

Marcus spins at the sound of your voice, making sure to catch and steady you after your clumsy entrance, “No. You are very wrong there,” his breath hitching as he rumbles deeply into the shell of your ear, “No way. You could never be classified as decent, not looking like this.”

Another step and a slight twist of your body, and Marcus has your hips pinned against the cupboard. He places his hands either side of you, trapping you between the carpentry and the solid wall of him, his dark eyes flashing with lust as you feel him memorising every detail of you. 

“Talk to me, Marcus,” you ask of him, running your fingers through his dark curls, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You sure you wanna know?” he questions, stroking his fingers down the side of you, the sensation causing you to twitch under its tenderness. 

“I want you to tell me everything,” you demand unblinkingly. Desperate for Marcus to finally tell you what he wants rather than constantly looking to please and pleasure you.

“Ok,” You see Marcus nod, his bottom lip slightly trembling, “It takes a superhuman feat of strength not to call you into my office everyday and fucking rail you right there into my desk, in front of everyone.”

Holy fuck, Marcus. Let it go.

“Monday, when we were working late and you grabbed my jacket to throw over your shoulders? Seeing how the shoulders swamped yours, there was... There was just this moment when I wanted to run my hands up that skirt, rip your panties off, slide into you and bite your neck, leaving marks for everyone to know you’re mine. I just wanted to possess every part of you and all because of you wearing something that’s mine. 

“When we’re walking around galleries or sitting in cinemas together, it is all I can do to not find a cupboard to push you into or take advantage of the lowlights.I just want you to be mine all the time. I want to be surrounded by your scent- your hair, your perfume and your cunt -  they’re this drug that I can’t get enough of. When you wear my clothes, they smell of you - makes me want to possess every part of you. I need all of you to belong to me.” 

Your heart thuds in your chest as you allow Marcus’ primal growl to fill you with a searing heat that burns through the very depths of you.

“And now. Right now? Seeing you now in my hoodie and just your panties is so fucking tempting- so don’t you dare give me that comment that you are decent now.” 

His hands finally move from their position on the counter to your hips as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist unconsciously. The pizza unceremoniously gets dumped onto the floor as he settles you onto the cool work surface, pulling your hips slightly towards him. Unlocking your calves from around his waist, he pushes your thighs a little further apart, thumbs brushing upon the sensitive skin as he lowers his face so that you can feel his hot breath through the material of your knickers.

He withdraws slightly, pressing his lips in sweet kisses along the inside of your thighs whilst his teeth graze and nip at you, setting off a string of fireworks in your skin. 

“Right now, I want to inhale you. I need to have your scent filling my lungs.”

His nose nuzzles into your lightly clothed slit searching out your sweet heady scent, brushing the damp material back and forth over your sensitive clit making it throb in anticipation. The sensations brought from his nose causes your core to pool around him, the small nudges sending your pulse racing through the roof. 

Very few thoughts are able to exist in your mind other than the way you desperately want to wrap your legs back around him- this time around his head to lock him in place and keep his face glued to your pussy, stopping him from continuing this tantalising teasing. 

“Now? Now, I want to taste you. I want drink that sweet fucking nectar from right here.”

Dipping his head lower, he licks teasingly at the aperture of your cunt, stiffening his tongue slightly to press the material between your folds. Your breath catches in your throat wanting to scream at his slow pace. You hook your thumbs into the elastic of your knickers at your hips, trying to awkwardly shuffle them off. 

Abruptly, he stops. Pulling away from you, moving your hands away from trying to remove your underwear, “No,” he growls, “Leave them on.”

“Do you wanna know why I didn’t sneak those panties back to you at work or any of the other nights I’ve seen you this week?” He raises an eyebrow at you from his crouched position between your legs as you nod helplessly, your heart pounding in your throat, “I’ve been smelling them, thinking of your hot cunt as I rub my cock in the few moments we’re apart.”

Leaning forward, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your bottom and kissing you hard through your knickers, he exclaims joyously, “Ah, honey, I fucking love your smell and taste! Sometimes, I can still smell your juices on my fingers at work and it makes my cock fucking throb, knowing that you are only two steps away from me. Professionalism with you so close is impossible.”

Your pussy throbs and yearns for a consistent touch as he returns his face to between your legs. Resting his forehead against your pubic bone, he returns to burying his nose into the dampest point of the thin fabric. This time, as he drags it upwards, he pulls his tongue stiffly upwards until he reaches that sensitive nub of nerves, catching it between his teeth gently tugging it. 

You swear that every nerve in your body is on fire and nothing exists except you and Marcus. No one has made your body sing like this in its neediness. The rush of wild sensations sweeping across your body are equally thrilling and maddening you.

 Teasing the material to one side of your pussy lips, you watch a smile unfold across Marcus’ face as he gazes upon you. 

Never have you felt so wanted before. 

Then with the same joyous abandon he has shown in kissing your pussy, he throws your thighs over his shoulders before sinking his mouth onto the sweet, bare flesh. The way that his tongue flickers so gracefully across your clit leaves you gasping. That familiar knot of pleasure building deep inside your tummy as he edges ever lower, preparing to tongue fuck you. Licking deeper and deeper into your cunt, you can hear the pleasure spilling from within you onto his tongue and oh how he drinks like a man dying of thirst. 

You cry out in surprise as Marcus encircles his lips around your clit, sucking rhythmically and gently. The scruff of his beard tickling pleasingly the sensitive flesh as he works you towards your release. A guttural groan against your delicate skin is the point that sends you truly spinning over the precipice into pleasure, howling his name into the night air as your thighs tightly clasp him around his ears, his tongue still working you through that blissful high until your body drops every ounce of tension, relaxing into the afterglow. 

When he moves back into softly kissing your thighs, you tug his glistening face towards you with barely a moment of hesitation passing between the two of you. Your lips meet again with the tenderness of an artist’s brushstrokes, Marcus painting the taste of you into your mouth with exquisitely delicious kisses. 

He brings his forehead back to rest against yours again, with a total calmness drifting across his features. You shut your eyes and rest with him, safe. From his lust drenched words to the experienced motions of his tongue, you utterly resign yourself to the truth. 

You have always belonged with Marcus.

 You always will.

@yespolkadotkitty @astroboots @danniburgh @disgruntledspacedad @green-socks @zukoyonce @sirowsky @bison-writes @tardisfangurl @agirllovespancakes @leonieb @mrsparknuts @absurdthirst @pedropascalito @lunaserenade @mouthymandalorian @the-ginger-hedge-witch @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[bill-y]

INURE

Peeta Mellark x male reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part five: Click here, butters, elpacho, last meheecan.

Part six: You're here, dumb!

Part seven: Finally here!

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Peeta and I end up helping Haymitch to his compartment, the reek of vomit and alcohol wasn't exactly pleasant.  Since we couldn't set him down the bed, we ended up hauling him to the bathtub, setting the shower on him. 

Peeta gave me an odd look when I laughed awhile ago; there was no humour in the situation after all. Forming a good impression wasn't really on my agenda. "It's alright; I can take it from here," he said.

I nodded, "Okay," I nodded, putting my lips together. "Do you—need me to call those Capitol people?" I asked, stumbling over my words. My confidence seemed to have been drained at some point.

He shook his head "No, I don't want them," he responded. I nod for the last time and head to my own room, relieved that I don't have to wash putrid vomit off Haymitch's chest hair, or something. Though it would be the perfect "revenge" for the people working here, I get why he doesn't want to see them. 

I wonder, why does he want to help such a wreck? Was he simply kind like the time he gave me bread? Or was he using this to gain Haymitch's favour? A feeling of nervousness bubbled up within me, a kind Peeta Mellark was way more dangerous than an unkind one. Not everyone in the district can afford to be kind, so kind people make such a mark on me.

I looked at the packet of cookies at the table beside the fancy bed—a lump formed in my throat. Kindness would've been nice, but not in this situation. I sighed, taking my attention to the window instead. 

There stood a lonely yellow flower, a dandelion. It took me back to the schoolyard, all those years ago. My eyes had just left Peeta's bruised face when I saw that dandelion; hope rose within me that moment, I plucked it gently from the ground and hurried home. I grabbed a small, broken bucket and grabbed Nal's hand and headed to a meadow. It was filled with the same flowers.

It was the first moment where Nal smiled after our Father's death. He loved the way the flowers smelled and looked. However, he was quite upset because we had to eat them, with the rest of the bakery bread. My father loved his plants, maybe a bit too much. 

I remember countless hours we spent in the woods looking for a specific type of plant, whether for eating or for medicine. He had me memorize them by heart, which took a couple of years because I got distracted halfway through. 

The next day, we were off to school. I hung around the edge of the meadow after, contemplating whether I should jump the fence. My mother couldn't get a job, well, she didn't want to. She thought the whole District would shame her the moment she stepped out of our crumbling home. It made no sense to me; we had nothing to lose anymore.

Which is exactly why I went under the fence, retrieved the old, leather-bound daggers my father made from scraps and wood. It was pretty frail, but if you handle it carefully and throw it properly, it won't break—most of the time.

I didn't go beyond twenty yards that day; I didn't feel confident enough to go deeper, fearing I'd get lost in the forest. I took home a small rabbit that day, we hadn't had meat for months, so it honestly looked like a full course meal, like the one we were served in the tribute train.

My mother isn't the greatest cook, so she burnt a couple of bits, mainly the thighs. But it still filled us. The woods became my second home, escaping the sad atmosphere my mother gave off and the pressure the Peacekeepers would regularly make us feel. 

The hunting started slow, but each time I went under, I went deeper. I stole eggs from nests, jumped from tree to tree and managed to shoot a squirrel or two down. I struggled with the fish; my father would always throw his dagger to the fish with little to no effort. Whenever I'd throw mine, it would miss. It took me a couple of times to figure out the water distorts my vision.

The plants were no effort; I knew which one to pick, which ones were poisonous. The signs of danger used to terrify me back to the fence until I gathered enough courage to climb the tall trees, then I stuck with it, not liking the feeling of being chased. The wild dogs would always leave me alone after a while.

On July 15th, I finally signed up for the tesserae, carrying the first batch of grains and oils in the same broken bucket I used to gather those dandelions. I patched it up with some scrap bark. On the 15th of every month, I would put my name once again. I still had to hunt; grains weren't enough. We still needed soap, milk, thread and many more things we used to have. I began to trade in the hob, learning how to hold my tongue in the process. My father used to trade there as well; he used to do all the talking while I watched, stayed silent. 

And so I simply tossed the game I had to their tables. They caught on fairly quick; I'd only speak up when it came to bargaining or when I'd change what'd I'd buy. Or when I would insult wild dog soup. My father was a charismatic man, always able to persuade people to buy whatever. Not me, though, I was like a sore thumb. Painful, to talk to at least.

My mother wasn't very enthralled with the fact that I had been hunting, too much like my father, she said. That's when we argued, "Don't be stupid like your father!" she shouted. I remember my face contorting to anger, how my fists clenched as she continued to scream. 

I finally exploded, "Why don't you go out and get a job if you don't want me hunting, then? You'd rather we starve?!" I said, slamming the table. "I won't die, I won't end up like father! I won't be Capitol's pig, neither was he!" 

"But if you do die?" She argued back, tears flowing down her cheeks as she gripped both my shoulders. "I'm only thinking of you, Y/n!"

I scoffed, glaring at her, "If you're thinking of us so much, then why aren't you helping us?! If I don't die being accused of rebellion, then I'll die because of those stupid games because of you!"

"Don't blame me for this! It was your father's fault for being brash—" She reasoned, but I cut her off by pushing her off me. I stared at her as if she grew three heads. "They asked you," I whispered, "All you did was nod, you could've lied."

Her green eyes shook at my words, "Lie to the Peacekeepers? The Capitol? And get us killed as well?! I only what your father wanted," 

"They didn't have anything on father! It was your voice that gave it away! It's your fault that he's dead, now we're over here starving because you can't get over yourself—"

Then there was a sting on my cheek. She had slapped me. My eyes landed on a crying Kunal; guilt surged through me, so I ran. I ran to the woods and slept on top of a tree, humming a soft tune to the mockingjays next to me. They listened and sung back. I fell asleep to their lullaby, surprisingly, not falling off.

I found my hand on the same cheek my mother slapped that day. I was going to die the same way I said, how ironic. I won't be able to apologize or tell my mother I loved her anymore. A sigh left my lips as I continued to stare out the window. 

I clenched my fists, punching the wall as my breath hitched. I let out a groan, holding the stinging part of my hand. I glared at the wall, grumbling under my breath before I decided to fall asleep, not wanting to think of my regrets and what I could've done. As I closed my eyes, I only hoped my dreams would be pleasant. 

"Up! Up! Up! It's a big big day!"

Effie Trinket's voice awoke me from my dreamless slumber. I groaned, muttering profanities as she left my compartment. I tried to imagine what it was like in that stupid wig--- well--- head of hers, it made my head hurt.

I had fallen asleep in the green shirt, causing it to become wrinkled, the. Not that I cared, there will be some stylist stripping me anyways. I shuddered at the thought of Capitol people touching me, what a nightmare. My eyes landed on the packet of cookies on my bedside table. I decided to grab it.

I entered the dining compartment, still half-lidded and yawning. Effie Trinket brushes me with a cup of black coffee. She was muttering obscenities, probably because of Haymitch. Peeta held a roll, looking somewhat embarrassed  "Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch said.

Peeta flashed me a smile, amused by how dishevelled I look. To be fair, I wasn't a morning person, I find waking up to be a tiring task. I rubbed my eyes, the packet of cookies still in my hands as I slid down the chair.

They served an enormous platter of food. I'd hate to admit it, but I was starving. So for the first time, I decided to stab it with the fork, not sure what to do with the cookies so I pocketed them. I figured I'd eat them much. . . much later.

I chewed slowly, glare on my face as my eyes struggled to remain open. I didn't even notice the orange juice next to me because of it. Peeta nudged me, handing me a cup of brown, rich liquid. It was quite warm. "They call it hot chocolate," he said. "It's quite good,"

My green eyes moved from him to the cup, then back to him. As if asking for permission. I sniffed, muttering a "thank you," before I took the cup from him. The moment the hot chocolate touched my lips I felt awake.

Not only was it hot, but it was also amazing. I've never tasted anything like this before. Coffee was a luxury, this I cannot even fathom. After I've drained my cup, I put it down and muster a sheepish smile. "Is there more?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Effie seemed to be excited by my sudden interest. "Glad you're finally appreciating the finer things," she quipped as another cup was passed to me. "Right," I responded, gripping the cup tightly.

I stopped eating when I felt somewhat full, only asking for more hot chocolate. Peeta is still eating, breaking off bits of roll and dipping them in his hot chocolate.

Haymitch hasn’t paid much attention to his platter, but he’s knocking back a glass of red juice that he keeps thinning with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, it’s some kind of spirit. I don’t know Haymitch, but I’ve seen him often enough in the Hob, tossing handfuls of money on the counter of the woman who sells white liquor. He’ll be a mess again by the time we reach the Capitol.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," I said, taking a sip of the hot liquid. He grinned, "Here's some advice, stay alive," then he burst out laughing.

My brows furrowed, "Ha. Ha." I let out, unamused. I glanced to Peeta, surprised to see Hardness in his eyes. Usually, he looked mild. "That's very funny," he said as if adding to my remark. He suddenly lashed out at the glass in Haymitch's hands. It shattered, spilling the blood-red liquid on the floor. "Only not to us,"

Haymitch took this opportunity to punch Peeta straight in the jaw, knocking the boy out of his chair before turning around to reach for more spirits. I stopped him, driving a knife into the table, between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers.

I expected some sort of retaliation, but that didn't come. "Oh, well what is this?" he said. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Peeta rose from the floor and scoops up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. He started to raise it to the red mark on his jaw.

"No," Haymitch stopped him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you’ve mixed it up with another tribute before you’ve even made it to the arena."

"That’s against the rules," said Peeta. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren’t caught, even better," said Haymitch. He turns to me. “Can you hit anything other than the table?"

I shrugged, pulling the knife off the table. "Your head or. . ." I said, before tossing the knife in between the seams of two panels. If I was confident at one thing, it's my aim. But not so much with a bow.

"Stand over here. Both of you," ordered Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. “Well, you’re not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you’ll be attractive enough.”

Peeta and I don’t question this. The Hunger Games aren’t a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pull more sponsors. Though I do enjoy the fact that the stylists are likely going to have a hard time styling me.

"All right, I’ll make a deal with you. You don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you," said Haymitch. "But you have to do everything I say,"

Of course, there's a catch. "Fine," Peeta said while I shrugged carelessly, sipping on my hot chocolate. "In a few minutes, we’ll be pulling into the station. You’ll be put in the hands of your stylists. You’re not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don’t resist," Instructed Haymitch

Oh, well there goes my plan on being a general nuisance. Damn you, Haymitch.

He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it’s as if night has fallen again. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains into the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It is almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains made them easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

Peeta and I stood in silence. My finger raised, mouth opening but I decided it wasn't worth it and awkwardly shuffled to one of the windows. He seemed to have caught on, however. "Nice view, isn't it?" he joked.

"I guess if you're blind," I answered dryly, raising the warm cup to my lips. "Sophisticated darkness, my favourite type," I finished.

He chuckled, walking next to me, the train slowing on cue. My muscles tensed as the sunlight entered the compartment. It was blinding. After my eyes adjusted I finally saw the Capitol.

I would be lying if I said it wasn't beautiful. Rainbow hued buildings that tower to the sky, possibly beyond. Shiny cars rolling on the fancy, clean pavement streets. The cameras failed to capture its beauty. It would've been perfect if not for the fact that the oddly dressed colours, wearing blizzard wigs and painted faces exist.

They looked painfully artificial. I much prefer the natural tones of district 12. "Eugh, how do they look at themselves?" I muttered, catching the attention of Peeta, who chuckled at my comment.

Huh, I forgot that he was there.

The same disgusting people began to point at us, enthralled. I was sickened, they couldn't wait to watch us kill each other like wild wolves. I suppose that's better than ending up at soup.

I stepped back, a scowl on my face. No longer able to stand the obnoxious attires and the mocking smiles of scums. Peeta held his ground, smiling and waving at them.

He only stopped when the train stopped at the station, blocking up from their view. "Who knows?" he said. "Some of them may be rich."

My body seemed to freeze as I took one last sip of the now-luke warm hot chocolate. That's when I realized, I had misjudged him. Not that I can read people well.

Which made sense, if I could I would've known that his father visiting me, offering to help Haymitch only to challenge him and now, waving and smiling at those slugs. He had a plan in mind.

He hasn't accepted his death yet. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread was fighting hard.

And that terrified me.

word count: 2.8k

Hey guys! sorry for the long wait! Had to take a break!

tags;

@nin3s

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (1/?)

Summary: When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Do you know what’s a great way to distract yourself from writing and other responsibilities? By writing a story that you shouldn’t be writing. So, here we are, and I hope you enjoy 😂

On AO3 | Here | 

-/-

June

The ocean water runs over his toes before disappearing, heading back to its home beyond the sand. It’s a cool contrast against the heat of the sun that’s warmly beating down on his skin, but it matches the chill of the beer bottle against his palm. Who knows what time it is? From the emptiness of the beach, Killian is guessing it’s mid-morning, but seriously, who the hell knows anymore?

Likely everyone other than him.

After more water washes over his feet and up his ankles, he decides the water is too cold to stay standing this close to the shoreline, so he walks up the path to his house and closes the gate behind him. He sits down at the bench by his pool and then buries his face in his hands before moving to take a sip of the beer.

God, he hopes it’s not truly the morning because he’s one second away from tipping the bottle enough for the beer to tumble down his throat.

Killian yanks it away and tosses it to the ground. He expects the damn thing to shatter against the tile, but it doesn’t. It rolls away into the grass, spilling a little beer with every turn until it stops against the tall grass lining the gate. Killian bends down and picks up another bottle, popping it open, then pouring it out. He does the same thing over and over again until his grass is fertilized with alcohol.

At least his body isn’t.

What a thought to have (presumably) so early in the morning.

His eyes close, the sun no longer blinding his vision, and he starts picking up the bottles, chasing them around and cursing himself for even buying the damn case in the first place. He has no clue what damn day it is, but he does know that it’s too damn early for him to be drinking. And if he’s going to get wasted and waste his day, he might as well do it with rum or whiskey. He doesn’t even like beer.

Killian chucks the bottles in the bin resting against the side of the rental house and goes through the side door into the kitchen. It’s clean today, all the white countertops empty of plates and pitchers and the junk that accumulates over time. The living room is clean as well, all the pillows in the right place, the throw blankets over the correct corners of couches, and he can see vacuum lines in the rug. He’s sure if he were to walk to the mantle, it’d be empty of dust. Ariel must have sent someone in to clean yesterday while he was away from the house. He’s got to have her stop doing that. He’s thirty-five years old. He can clean the house he’s staying in. He doesn’t need her taking care of his life for him.

Though, it is literally her job, but Ariel takes things far past being his manager. He doesn’t know anyone else who does all the things she does for their client, especially when he isn’t bringing in the same amount anymore. Sponsors aren’t exactly lining up at the door for disgraced football – not the American kind as everyone here believes – players, but he still has a few hanging around and good enough investments that he’ll be alright for a long while. Bored as hell with too much time for him to wander to bars in Martha’s Vineyard before talking himself out of them and sitting in a twenty-four-hour diner all night. He’s got his favorites. One has better coffee than the others, but the booths aren’t clean. Another has clean booths but a piss excuse for coffee, and his favorite has a selection of pies that have him eating in ways he hasn’t since he was young. Still, they’re all pathetic little places for him to spend his time so he doesn’t drink more than he can tolerate.

At least no one knows him here. It’s actually why he’s here to begin with. There are obviously less famous towns and places in the world, but he wanted to be near the ocean, wanted to at least have that if he was going to be in disgraced isolation. This area has beach for miles and different nooks to disappear into, and so far, it’s nice. He’d rather be in London or New York, but he knows this is better.

He collapses onto the couch and sees a note on the coffee table in Ariel’s neat script. When was she even here? Honestly.

Killian, Eric and I are in town for the week. Please come to lunch at our house. We’d love to have you! I know you don’t have anything better to do, so don’t bother calling me with an excuse. Hope you enjoy the clean house!

-   A

He runs his hand over his face and scratches at his too-long beard before fumbling for his phone and checking the date and time. It’s half past eight. He can get two, maybe three, hours of sleep now, and he’ll only look half as pissed as he feels when he makes his way to Ariel and Eric’s house a few miles over in Tisbury.

At least he isn’t actually pissed. Always the positives, he guesses.

-/-

Ariel’s house is covered in gray shingles with white trim. The shutters are cherry red, much like her hair, and while there are obvious updates to the place, it looks just as it did in the pictures he’s seen from when Ariel was young. She was raised here, her father a local fisherman, and while she now resides outside of London, on occasion, she returns to Tisbury for a holiday. It’s why he chose to holiday here even if he’s over in Edgartown on the beach in a house too large for one person. He spent years listening to her talk about her childhood, and then visiting when she married Eric here, and he wanted that calm sense of relaxation.

Right now, however, he wants nothing more than to be back in a city. The firing squad won’t be as intrusive there where he can get lost in a crowd instead of being the center of attention.

Killian opens the unlocked front door that squeaks on its hinges, and he immediately smells garlic bread baking in the oven. She must be making her pasta, and his stomach growls for real food. As he walks through the hall at the entrance of the house, he notices that everything is the same, all the family portraits are in the same places, there are a few too many nautical decorations, but it all works. Killian looks into the kitchen, sees that it’s empty, and calls out for Ariel and Eric, no answer. He takes the liberty of checking the oven, and when he notices the bread is slightly overdone, he grabs an oven mitt and takes it out, placing the tray on the stove.

Where the hell are they?

He pushes open the kitchen door that leads to the backyard, and he sees two figures toward the side of the yard. Killian sighs and walks over to them, only stopping when he realizes it’s three people instead of two.

Ariel and Eric are talking to a gorgeous woman in a pair of small white shorts and a fitted polo. She’s got long, thick blonde hair pulled off her neck, and he can’t stop glancing down at her legs. He doesn’t usually pay much attention to people anymore, unless of course they are paying attention to him, but he cannot help but notice her. Because she’s stunning, of course, but also because he wasn’t expecting to see anyone else. He thought they would be isolated, and his gut tells him to turn around and run.

He doesn’t.

“Hello?” he starts, and they all turn to him. “I, uh, took your bread out of the oven.”

“Oh shit,” Ariel mumbles. “I forgot I’d put the bread in the oven. Is it burned?”

“No, I think I saved it just in time, love.”

Ariel’s shoulders deflate, and then she’s closing the distance between them, hugging him tightly, before Eric does the same and claps him on his back several times. He’s missed them, and it feels good to be embraced by something other than a heavy blanket. When Eric releases him, Killian can see the woman still standing in the yard, shifting on her feet.

“Hello,” he greets, nodding in her direction.

“Hi,” she nods back.

“Oh, Emma,” Ariel begins, walking over to her and grabbing her arm, “this is my friend, Killian. He’s staying on the island for awhile. Killian, this is Emma. We rent the house to her for most of the year, so we’ve invaded her home this week, I’m afraid.”

“It’s fine,” Emma says. “You guys basically give me the place for free, and I picked up some extra shifts at the club. I’d never be home anyway.”

“What do you do, love?”

“Not your love,” she corrects, and he feels the sting even if he uses the term for many a woman, “and I’m a manager at a little place by the shore, but sometimes during the summer I’ll wait tables at the local country club for extra money. The people will treat you like shit, but at least they tip well since they have no concept of real-life money.”

“What’s the restaurant?” he asks. “Maybe I could eat there.”

Her brows raise, and he gets the feeling she’s not a fan of the idea of him disturbing her at work. He gets the feeling she’s not a fan of him at all. Funny, his first impressions are usually better than this.

“The Blue Dog Tavern.” She points to the logo on her shirt. “I actually have to go there now. I just had to drop by and get my shirt since my boss is coming by today. I’ll stay out of your way when I get home tonight,” she tells Ariel and Eric. “It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“Oh, no, honey,” Ariel sighs, smiling at Emma, “we’re the ones disturbing you. I promise, it’ll be a fast week, and then everything can go back to normal.”

Emma nods with a tight smile, and he definitely gets the idea that she isn’t a fan of having Ariel and Eric here. He wouldn’t be either if he had to share his home with his landlords. She walks away into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her, and Killian makes a note of the restaurant she mentioned, not necessarily to see her but to venture somewhere that isn’t a twenty-four-hour diner.

“Is that why I couldn’t stay here?” Killian asks. “Because you already rent it out?”

“Yep. Plus, it’s not on the beach, and that was your request. This isn’t really to your taste anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, A?”

She shrugs and walks toward the kitchen. “Nothing. I’ve got to finish cooking. I was just about to put the pasta on the stove when Emma came in through the back gate, and I got distracted. Thanks for saving the bread, Jones.”

“Is she okay?” Killian asks Eric.

“Yeah, mate, she’s fine.” He claps his hand onto Killian’s shoulder. “And what she meant by that is that you’re an ex-football player who is hiding from the world and is used to a certain kind of luxury. You’d lose your mind living in this house for months. It’s smaller than a quarter of your flat back home.”

“I would not lose my mind living here. It’s charming.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “You would. I think the giant crab pillow in the living room would be what pushed you over the edge.”

“That thing is still here?”

“It’ll never leave, and I’ve offered to pay Emma to get rid of it many times. I think she throws it out, and it finds its way back inside.”

Killian snickers and settles down on the bench of the dining table they keep outside, letting Eric follow. He feels like he hasn’t talked to another human being in ages, and he’s only been here for a few weeks. “You know her pretty well then? Emma?”

“No,” Eric starts, waving his hand, “no, no, no, no. You cannot go there.”

“What the hell are you on about? I can’t go where?”

“Emma. You can’t go there. She’s not a one-night stand for you. She lives here, takes care of it since we’re gone all the time. You can’t mess that up. Ariel would murder you if you screwed this arrangement up.”

Killian flashes a smile, the ones he’s used to get whatever he wants a million times. There’s an art to being in the public eye, one he figured out only to ruin it all over again, but he still knows the old tricks. Smile, be charming, never let them see any hesitation in your actions. If a question is too invasive or the answer to telling, redirect. It’s all about the redirection. Killian was never one to lie, but he was certainly one to evade, especially toward the end when he couldn’t handle hearing what everyone had to say.

Here, he doesn’t want to admit that Eric might be right about him, but mostly, he’s tired of people controlling his life because they think he can’t make good decisions.

“What?” he laughs, shaking his head. “You think I’m not capable of simply asking about a woman?”

“I think you are, but I don’t want Ariel to have any reason to kill you.”

“Eric,” Ariel yells from the kitchen, stopping Killian before he can speak, “set the table! We can eat in fifteen.”

Saved by the bell. Or the Ariel.

He hates himself a little for rhyming in his head. If this is how he thinks sober, he’s not sure he wants to stay this way.

“And Killian,” Ariel calls, “you can make the lemonade!”

Okay, so maybe he can, if only because Ariel will kill him if he collapses into the pit again, and she won’t be the only one. He’s had a few downfalls into drowning in alcohol since coming here. Maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s sadness, who the hell knows? What he does know is that it makes the demons all disappear for the night, sometimes the morning too, but then it all comes roaring back in screaming color.

And with a hell of a screaming headache.

One or two drinks every few days, he reminds himself. That’s what he’s working with, and besides the few slips, he’s been pretty damn successful.

Killian heads inside to help Ariel, though he thinks he hinders her more than helps since he can’t find a damn thing, but eventually they get it all done and eat. Mostly, he has to listen to Ariel give him a briefing on things he has to do over the next few weeks. He has contracts to sign, video interviews and conferences to attend, and they need to happen at certain times. That’s a bit obnoxious, but he can’t complain. He’d be the biggest ass in the world if he did, and he’s certainly already in the running for that title. People still want his face and brand to represent them, and he doesn’t even kick around a ball anymore.

Fools. All of them.

Ariel asks him to stay for dessert, but he’s already eaten too much off his usual diet. Old habits die hard, and he isn’t working out like he used to. Maybe he’ll take up running again soon, but right now, the thought is exhausting. Killian excuses himself from the table, hugging the Fishers goodbye and wishing them goodnight. He’s sure he’ll see them before they return to England and go back to their regular lives. Ariel still has Will and Rob to manage, so she can’t spend all of her time on him. There are other pieces of work out there.

The streets are crowded as Killian drives back to his rental house. Tourists and native islanders alike are out to go to dinner or bars, likely a party or two, and while Killian is tempted to take a turn and go out himself, he doesn’t. He continues along the GPS guide back to his rental house until the garage door is closing behind him.

Day seventeen of being here - now that he knows the date, he’s reminded of when he arrived - is done and dusted, and he cannot wait to close his eyes and go to sleep. He’s been running on fumes all day.

Once inside, Killian quickly showers and puts on a pair of pajama bottoms, collapsing under the covers of his bed as soon as possible. So, of course, that’s when his phone rings.

“It’s bloody half past one in the morning where you are.”

“And only half past eight where you are, so why are you in bed? You look horrible.”

Killian groans and pinches his nose as he props the phone up to get a better look at the screen. “Thanks, Els.”

“No problem.” She flips her blonde braid over her shoulder, and despite the time, she looks as if she could be up and ready for work in minutes. “I was up, couldn’t sleep, and I figured I needed to check on you. I’m sorry I don’t have the girls with me.”

“Did you tell Ally and Sophia I love them?”

“I tell them every day, but I think they’d appreciate it more if they heard it from their actual uncle.”

“I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Good,” Elsa sighs. She adjusts herself on her couch, pulling her blanket up higher on her body, and the familiar pang of guilt hits Killian. It happens anytime he talks to just Elsa. The girls act as a buffer, and he feels guilty for using them like that. He feels guilt about a lot of things. “How are you?”

“Good,” he lies. “Really good. I think I’m going to take up real running again soon, maybe finally check out the gym in the basement of this house. What about you, love?”

“I’m okay. Work has kept me really busy, which I like. I have this one house with the biggest garden I’ve ever seen, and designing it has proven to be a bit of a challenge. But I miss spending time with the girls. Anna has been such a big help, though. I love having her here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that’s great.” Killian runs his hand through his hair, yanking at the strands, and sinks a little further into the bed. It’s nice that Anna is around, that she’s been around this entire time while Killian fucked off across western Europe and then eventually to America. Yet again, he’s let someone he loves down because he’s an absolute tosser. “It’s nice to have a family you can count on.”

“Hey, don’t start that again, Killian. I’m not here for self-pity. You’ve had a hard year, and you needed some time away. No one is blaming you for that.”

“I’m not the one who lost my husband, love. I wasn’t left with two little girls with no father.”

Killian tilts his head up so he doesn’t have to see Elsa as water gathers around his eyes. Today was an okay day. Started off rough, but it ended up being alright. Now he’s gone and made Elsa talk about Liam’s death instead of having a normal conversation with her.

“My grief doesn’t negate yours, darling. You lost your brother, who was your best friend, and you lost the career you spent your entire life building. We can both be sad. It’s not a competition.”

Killian blows air out his nose and blinks the forming tears away. “How’d you get so wise?”

“Well, you see, when a child with a head the size of a football comes out of your vagina, you get special emotional intelligence. It’s something to do with all the hormones and pain.”

Killian finally looks down at his phone to see Elsa laughing, and the corners of his mouth twitch. “You make me glad to be a man.”

“You should be glad. You’re at least fifteen steps ahead of every woman in the world. Now, come on, I want to hear about everything you’ve been doing. Have you made any friends?”

“What am I? A lad in reception?”

“No, because my child in reception has many friends.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “Well, I met the loveliest waitress last night. Reminded me of my Gran, and, uh, today I met the woman who lives in Ariel and Eric’s house. Don’t think she was a fan of me.”

“However could a woman resist your charms?”

He laughs, even if he doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm, and this time when he sinks a little deeper into the bed, it’s for comfort and not to hide. When Killian got the news Liam died in a Naval accident, it felt like his world was ending, that the ground was crumbling underneath his feet. He was at the club warming up to head out onto the pitch, and suddenly his sacred place wasn’t so sacred. He couldn’t understand any words leaving Elsa’s voice over the phone. Everything was ringing, and his legs collapsed from underneath him.

He’ll never forget that day. One moment everything in his world was right, and then it wasn’t. and he’ll never get over the fact that Elsa has been the one who has had to continue holding him up when she lost someone too.

“Well, if their names are Ally and Sophia Jones, they are experts at resisting my charms.”

“Unless you give them sweets.”

Killian chuckles. “Those are my good charms.” Elsa smiles and yawns on the other end of the line. “Els, I think you need to go to sleep. I promise to call the girls tomorrow.”

She nods and flips her braid over. “Don’t go breaking your promises to them.”

“Never, love. I’m a man of my word.”

Or, at least, he used to be. His word seems to falter lately, but mostly only his words to himself. Killian looks out the glass doors and windows toward the ocean, watching the water crest much like this morning, but he hopes that tomorrow morning he won’t be standing there with a bottle of beer in his hands.

Maybe he can keep that promise to himself at least.

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @qualitycoffeethings​ @marrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @elizabeethan​ @jrob64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @cowboys-likeme​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @captain-emmajones​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @capthamm​ 

(You can be added or removed at any time. I don’t know where my list went, so I’ve just taken it from my last story 😘)

[samwilsonshandsandass]

Baking

Pairing: Sam Wilson x reader

Summary: Sam comes home from a mission and needs a remedy

Warnings: None

Word count: 1232

A/N: So, a few days ago, @bibbidibobbidibucky posted this and that got my muse out of her hiding place so here’s “Baking”!

You heard the door to your apartment on one of the residential floors of the tower open and a soft thud of something being set down in the small hallway.

“I’m in the living room, love!” You called out and a second later, Sam poked his head in the door.

His brows were drawn together and even from the couch and with only the slightest part of Sam looking into the room, you could see the tenseness in his neck and shoulders. Now, you were both glad you hadn’t been called on that mission and, well guilty wasn’t the right word but it was close, because maybe if you had been there, something would have gone differently and the mission would have gone a little bit better.

“Could we bake something?” Sam asked in his normal voice, but you knew him better.

That was his code for “This was a shitty day but I need to do something but I also need to calm down but I can’t just sit somewhere.”

“Of course. We’ll have the whole kitchen to ourselves and in the morning everyone’s gonna wake up to sweets.”

Yes, it was 1 am. Yes, you had stayed up all night to wait for him. But it didn’t matter, of course, it didn’t matter. He’d do the same for you.

---

Down in the kitchen, the incredibly big kitchen with every appliance you could wish for. Sam wordlessly got out the basic ingredients. Sugar. Flour. Baking soda. Butter. Salt. Vanillin sugar. Each ingredient had its place on the left side of the kitchen island. In the middle were the blender, all kinds of spatulas and other utensils. On the right were the different cake pans.

“What do you wanna make? Any preferences?” You asked.

“No, you choose.”

“Okay.”

Turning back to the cupboards, you got almost everything out you could get your hands on. Cream cheese. Chocolate. Nuts. Peanut butter. Coffee powder.

“Coffee powder?” Sam looked at the additional things in front of the basics.

“Yeah. You trust me?”

“Always.”

You two were a well-oiled baking machine by now. Sam prepared the ingredients. Chopping up nuts, breaking chocolate into pieces to put into a double boiler with butter, folding in the different ingredients in the bowls. You did everything that involved machines and utensils. Sam spread out the different kinds of batter in the different forms.

Tonight, the cheesecake batter came first. Then batter for the cappuccino nut cake. The brownie batter was the last.

As the tins were in the ovens, you sat Sam down at the kitchen island.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Several seconds passed.

“Yes.”

Sam took a deep breath and finally looked at you.

“I couldn’t protect him. I feel like I failed.”

“You couldn’t protect who?”

“The guy we were supposed to get out there.”

“But I didn’t hear anything about someone not making it. The med bay was on standby the whole time and even now, there’s no one there being treated because of something belatedly happening” You wondered.

“I was supposed to get to him when the way was cleared and then get him out to the drop off point. On the way out, I had to start flying, because part of the structure started to collapse and just as I was taking off with him in my arms, he got shot in the leg.”

“But you got him out.”

“Y/N, he got shot on my watch. I couldn’t even protect him with my wings! Not even with the new, bigger ones!”

You took Sam’s face between your hands to force him to look at you.

“Sam. Look at my face.” He did as you asked. “Can I walk you through what I just gathered from you telling me this?”

He nodded.

“You and the others had a mission to get a guy out of where he was held and to drop him off. The others cleared the way and you were tasked with actually getting the guy. On the way out, you needed to fly out, because walking wasn’t an option anymore. You and the guy got out. You’re unharmed and he got shot in the leg. Right so far?”

Sam nodded again.

“Could you have taken off safely or at all with just one of your wings spread all the way and the other spread but more or less hanging vertically?”

“No.”

“So, you did the one thing you could to get both of you out of there safely. You said it yourself, walking wasn’t an option anymore.”

“But if I had bigger wings-“ He started.

You stopped him with a finger to his lips.

“So? What would happen then? You’d give over the mantle of The Falcon and become what? The Angel? Or what- what’s this winged horse called? Sleipnir?”

“Sleipnir has eight legs. No wings in sight. You mean the Pegasus.”

“Right. That.”

“But, bigger wings mean more protection.”

“And if something would happen then?”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen.”

“Sam. You and I both know you cannot guarantee nothing ever happening on any mission ever.”

“But-“

“Look, it’s admirable of you that you wanna help everyone and don’t wanna see anyone hurt unless there’s a bigger cause, but you have to look after yourself, too.”

“I do!”

“I mean, really look after yourself. Giving advice to veterans is awesome and so you know what advice to give. Can you try to do that for me?”

Sam looked down at the kitchen island and was silent for a long time. The timers on the ovens dinged before he looked up at you.

“Yes. I can.”

“That’s all I ask of you.”

You didn’t remember who, but someone had bullied Tony into buying one of those simple coffee machines to stand right next to the fancy one. One that just brewed the coffee and nothing more, just black coffee and now you brewed the coffee needed for one of the cakes.

You took the tins out to cool down so you could put the peanut butter cream on the brownies, the mascarpone coffee cream on the nut cake and the liquid chocolate on the cheesecake and then put everything in the fridge.

“All done. Wanna go back to bed?” You asked.

“Yeah. Thank you for this” There was Sam’s smile again.

When you laid in bed, and you were close to falling asleep, Sam turned to you.

“Did we forget something? I feel like we forgot something.”

“No, we put all the stuff in the fridge, we cleaned everything up, no flour’s coating the kitchen…”

“Remember the flour accident?”

“How could I not? Better that than some accident with eggs…” You laughed.

---

Waking up more or less early the next morning was surprisingly easy and you both ambled down to get your fill of coffee and maybe something to eat. The kitchen was filled with people. Half of them were awake and the other half just slouched against the countertops with coffee in their hands.

“Does it smell like cheesecake to anyone else? Or brownies?” Steve yawned. “And-“

“Don’t say coffee” Wanda mumbled sleepily.

You and Sam looked at each other from the corners of your eyes.

“Who is always putting the coffee grounds in the sink?” Now, Tony was fully awake.

“I told you we forgot something” Sam mumbled to you.

“Still better than exploding flour” You said dryly.

[hey-there-juliet]

Random Drabble Day (2/23)

Summary: First off, let me just say that this is more like a one-shot than a drabble because I'm a wordy bitch and I cannot control myself 😅

That said, I always had a hard time imagining Julie writing some of the Perfect Harmony's lyrics about herself, so I thought why not make this just another song that Luke and Julie wrote together? This is set somewhere between Finally Free and Edge of Great, in that week when Ray was stress-eating. This is supposed to fit back into the show at the end, so it might seem like a cliffhanger, but it's not.

Quick shout out to @jamestkirkish for betaing this for me! I love you and you are amazing! Any remaining mistakes are my own. And to the fabulous Sloan, for helping me out with Luke's handwriting! Enjoy 🧡

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms

Relationship: Juke 💜

in the great scheme of life and ghosts

No matter how many times Luke insisted that she had been snooping through his things, Julie knew for a fact that she had done no such thing. In reality, she had simply been cleaning the studio when she came across it.

For three ghosts who didn't eat and could barely even touch anything most of the time, the boys sure knew how to make a mess. Every morning Julie would walk into the studio to find the chairs or coffee table rearranged, at least one of the rugs was always askew, and the clothes... the clothes were everywhere, and the worst part was: they reeked. 

And so every morning before leaving for school Julie would shoot them a stern look and tell them to pick up after themselves. Which they did - when she got back home, things were mostly in their rightful place. Still, every weekend Julie would make sure to take a moment away from homework and rehearsal to tidy the place up to perfection, just like her mom liked it. She'd dust off the furniture, water the plants, sweep the floor, and even vacuum the whole place. One Saturday when she was home alone (her dad photographing a wedding, and Carlos at a friend's house), she even went through the trouble of washing all of the guys' old clothes. 

Somehow, and she didn't even want to think about how that worked, the clothes didn't stink when they were actually wearing them, but at any other moment when they made no contact with their skin? Yeah... not good. So she washed them all (three times, using every trick and product she had). She washed them a fourth time for good measure and, by the time she was finished, any traces of twenty-five year old mold was gone, and so was the smell.

So no, she was not snooping - no matter what Luke said - when she came across the crumpled paper ball between the couch and the low cabinet, just behind a big vase her mom had gotten from tía Victoria.

Julie sighed, making a mental note to tell Luke to put his discarded ideas in the bin (again) if he didn't want them anymore, when one scribbled and wrinkled word caught her attention: Perfect Ha-

She bit her lip, staring down at the teasing word. Perfect what? Was it lyrics? Maybe half formed ideas? Doodles? Julie knew Luke liked to doodle in the margins of his notebook whenever he got stuck trying to come up with the next best piece of lyric or melody. She also knew she should probably just leave it alone, put it with his stuff to ask him later if he wanted to keep it, or put it in the garbage. Except the more she glanced down at that damn word, the stronger she felt it pull her towards uncovering whatever else the crumpled paper ball was hiding. 

In the end, the pull was too strong. She'd just take a quick look, make sure it wasn't anything important before she threw it away. And, she reasoned with herself, trying to squish the guilt that was making itself known in the pit of her stomach: Luke had gotten rid of it, so he clearly didn't care much for whatever was in there. 

Not able to resist any longer, Julie carefully unfolded the paper, slowly making her way towards the piano and using its surface as a table to help smooth the page over.

Luke's (horrendous) handwriting covered it with the bare bones of a song, random lines were scribbled in the margins with a couple of doodles for company, and even a little note from their bassist - ‘Reggie was here ;)’.

It took her a minute before the chicken scratches became words, and then Julie's breath left her in a rush, as the guilty feeling in her stomach turned into butterflies and flew away with her imagination. 

It was a song, parts of one, anyway, and - more importantly - it was a love song.

Unprompted, her own words came back to her, "Wow, Luke! I didn't know you were such a romantic." Quickly followed by Alex's short reply, "He's not."

She knew now who Unsaid Emily was really about, but these new words were clearly about a different kind of love. The romantic kind, and Julie couldn't help letting herself believe - just for a moment - that the song might be about her.

Before she could let herself be carried away in a daydream, there was a - now familiar - shift in the air, a sound almost like static, the only thing letting her know of a ghost's appearance. Without a thought, she crumpled the page again and shoved the paper ball in her pocket for later inspection. 

"Hey, Julie!" Reggie's cheerful greeting sounded across the studio from where he had poofed in, and soon - with his "help," bless him - Julie was finished with her weekend clean up. 

As if summoned by the end of her chores, Luke poofed in, ready to rehearse. Alex soon followed; and by the time Julie retired for the night, the song had been almost forgotten where it hid inside her pocket. 

Almost.

***

After getting ready for the night, Julie settled on her bed with the wrinkled page and her dreambox. She read over the words again and again, imagining they were about her.

Step into my world, 

Bittersweet love story about a girl 

Shook me to the core 

Voice like an angel, 

I've never heard before, 

- 

You and me together, it's more than chemistry 

- 

Love me as I am 

I hold your music 

Here inside my hands 

- 

You are my brightest burning star 

- 

We create Perfect Harmony.

And unless Luke had been singing with another girl, there didn't seem to be many options on who it could be about, right?

From the beginning, Julie had felt something connecting her to him; to all of them, in different ways. But Luke had been the one to give her a little piece of his soul right after meeting her when he let her use Bright to earn back her spot in the music program. Seeing his passion reflecting back on her, the way he treated music like she used to, made her miss it more than anything for the first time in almost a year. It made her miss the way it felt to use music to connect with her mom.

After they spent a whole weekend finishing each other's songs and working on new ones, getting to know each other's inner workings - the part of them that bled out feelings into paper to create beautiful melodies, Julie knew she was a goner. Finding out he'd been the one to write the words that shaped her taste in rock certainly didn't help. Like he'd been helping her find her way to music long before they even met.

Her crush on him had been inevitable from the start, and while falling for him was probably one of the worst things she could’ve done, it was too late to stop it. She'd been free falling for a while, and hopefully she'd land in his arms soon enough. Reading over his words again gave Julie a warm fluttering in her stomach that made her think he was more than ready to catch her once she reached the ground. 

Carefully folding the piece of paper, she put it inside her dreambox, then placed the box back on the shelf.

***

The following week went by without any hiccups. Every once in a while, Julie would remember Luke's song and a familiar warmth would fill her up, leaving a soft smile on her lips and glazed eyes staring off at nothing. Just as often, Flynn would have to shake her out of her daydreams.

She didn't think much would come of it until her dad decided to throw the band a party so he could film them and post their video on YouTube. Which was fine. Amazing, even. It was most certainly great! Until Luke came to the school, staring at her with his stupid, beautiful, awed eyes, and with his soft, perfect smile, saying things that made her combust and melt, all at the same time.

"I think you make me a better writer." 

    "I think we make each other better."

Calling Nick 'Luke' was bad enough, but slipping into a complete musical sequence as she danced with him? "Goner" didn't even begin to describe her. 

Like the other times they'd written together, the lyrics flowed through her, finishing the song he'd started with the same ease as one would take a breath.

Julie knew that whatever was going on between her and Luke couldn't happen or, if it did, it couldn't last. In fact, in the great scheme of life and ghosts, she didn't know much, but what she did know was that - be it in life or in death - love was constant. 

He didn't need to have a heartbeat or to be able to touch her for her to love him. He was just as real to her as the next person, and whether it would hurt in the long run or not, it didn't matter. 

She knew Flynn was only looking out for her, but that ship had sailed, and Julie was already so lost in his ocean eyes that avoiding eye contact wasn't going to bring it back. She would entertain her though, even knowing it wouldn't work. Just like the tide, eventually he'd pull her right back in.

She could love him just as he was, for however long they had together, and especially after that.

-

End notes: I hope you guys enjoyed it! And, if you'll notice, at the beginning it kind of gives off the impression that Luke eventually finds out about the song and Julie tells him how she found it. Which may or may not lead you to believe that they're in a relationship. I guess it all depends on interpretation though ;)

Oh, also! Shout out to the chaos squad folks that guessed right! You guys are no fun :( /j lmao

[kajikxp]

Loving a king

I was just walking through a dark allay, my footsteps were not heard by a man I was calmly following. He was scared, he knew subconsciously that something was after him. Yeah, he should be terrified. But today I'm gonna make it quick. I don't have time to spare. I took out my dagger, which would pierce your skin just by touching the blade... With one swift motion I grabbed his neck hard, which would normally leave a bruise and then I silenced his cries for help with one precise cut. Blood splashed out and now his lifeless body hit the cold ground, but before that I grabbed the key, he wore on silver chain around his neck. Another well done job, now I have to go to her, but firstly, I have to change my clothes, sun is going to rise in fifteen minutes. I climbed up onto roof and silently run back to my house. Sky was clear today, but I knew it was going to rain today. This way they'd find his body maybe tomorrow afternoon when their boss would send others to look around for him. I will still have time to do that one job. That's what I thought but I didn't know that she actually left a letter inside my dark house, where now I was. I stripped from my black shirt, pants and boots then just started making myself a coffee. Thank to my scumbag of father I could withstand three days without a sleep but at least that is what killed him. He was creating me like some monster so I show him that what this monster could do. Only thing he taught me was killing so in return I turned back at him for underestimating me. After some time, I met a Momo, she was kind enough to me to give me a shelter and food and lastly a job which I could do. Still people would be conscious if I would live here and did not nothing in a daylight, so I have to find a job at closest bakery. They didn't ask questions why I was always tired and why I was sometimes late – or maybe that was because I would always tell them that I have insomnia and something along those line that they left me be. With coffee in me I put on after a shower light blue shirt with brown pant and boots and left house to the bakery. People always looked at me and I did not care anymore. My half red and half white hair really were weird and not to mention my mismatched eyes, grey and light blue. I was quite but really not so unfriendly, or that was what Deku and Kirishima always told me. I only have a rough exterior but soft inside. I never really care enough to tell them I'm not. Not after that once time when I told them I'm the assassin and they laugh it off with Kaminari and Sero. If they would believe me and sold me to the crown, they would be filthy rich and shouldn't work for their three lifetimes. Well, who am I to judge? Their mistakes are theirs and only. Today flight right around me. Deku and Kirishima making out in the storage room, Shinso half a day in the bakery sipping a coffee reading a book and looking out for Kaminari. Always the same as the day before. I was cleaning on today's duty which was mine and one last customer came in. He had glasses, was tall and talked like some kind of robot, asking for a croissant for a royalty. I didn't really care and did as ordered. When he left my only though was about me seeing him again maybe. Yeah, I was about to do a regicide and betray the kingdom, but I couldn't care less. Hope it will go fine. I told myself back at home in my black outfit only for killing even smelling faintly like it and iron.

...

Silently going through a palace like it was mine, outside only noises of a rain. Guards couldn't see me, when I was walking in the shadows and thanks to their chatting about really loud king, I was finally able to find his room from which were heard loud blasting and loud voices, actually three of them. One of them I heard today. The robot-like human. I had a feeling I would meet him again. Well, I need those two to go away. Then a plan strokes me. I made a ruckus in the hallway when a made one of the guards scream and after that I cut of his tongue. He kept screaming though. The doors open in a fast manner and some pretty girl runs outside. "Iida, run and call a medic! Fast!" She screams at him when she checks situation. Guard kept his eyes on me screaming and pointing finger at me. Before she could turn around and maybe see me, I waved at a guard and slipped into the room, closed the door and locked them. When I turned around, there was a knife on my throat.  "What the actual fuck are you doing here and what's going on?" Asks a king harshly. He had pretty, scarlet eyes, fire burning everything inside them into ash. His spiky blond hair messed into every direction. I only smiled to myself. "I'm pretty surprised you can actually see me." I grin and them with few swift motions change our positions to reverse only with little dismally to that he pulled my hood off. His eyes travelled all over my face and he whispers. "You're so pretty..." With that he kisses me. I was never ever so much surprised and frozen on a spot. He grabbed the knife and throw it away with my dagger. When I moved, I could only ask him how the fuck did he know about my dagger. "You looked like a shitty person to have one. The Shadow, the one who is the fucking living legend. Every shitty brat knows you, but nobody actually lived long enough to tell the tale how you look like." He smirks. "Who could have known that only way to stop you was a simple kiss" He licks his lips sensually. "And have a fucking good taste even though smelling like a death." He smiles at me and when he takes my face in his hand and caresses me, I don't object, until there's a pounding on the door and screams in the name of a king. "Go and return the other night, Halfie." He whispers and I cannot do otherwise, but before I jump out of the window many meters above the ground, I kiss him and when he wants to deepen it, I break the kiss. "Tomorrow, you Highness." With that I jump out and it makes me laugh, when he runs to the window and looks down, me standing on the window under his. "King who cares about his assassin's health – that's going to make a pretty good history book." I snicker and after he blow me a flirty kiss with a key, which I catch, I go back inside with a hood on and escaped a castle. The heavy rain clouds cleared and the sky only shining with many stars promising a good start of something nobody could ever imagine.

...

Today was a day I have once in a time slept all the night mostly. Once I was on my way to the work in bakery, I could hear all the people talking to each other. "Did you hear that? Someone broken to the castle!" "Did they steal something?" "I know it was a Shadow! They went to kill a king!" "They're after the crown!" "Even his most trusted guards couldn't see them!" "It's only miracle the king still lives!" "The king didn't even tell them how they looked like! Not even a gender!" "They just let him live!" "Do you think they had something with the king?" "I don't think it was a Shadow! Nobody ever lived after meeting them!" "Don't lie! It's a girl and seduced a king!" And so on and so on. I knew that today I was going to meet Momo inside of my house. At least I've got my hood with my work outfit with me. Little did I know that today I was going to meet with her last time. At work I left my things under the table and went to selling to the citizen, who came in. All day all I heard was about the king, me and assassination. Like the day before in the evening came in a royalty. But today it was a king himself. "Get your things, extra, we're going." With that said I just grabbed my things not even looking on the others, who were silenced with one look from a king, and with him we came outside into a dark allay. "Put on you other cloths, Pretty boy, today I'm going to meet the other one, with you..." He whispers into my ear. "You know, they're going to die, right? But you know that exact time, you left me alive, didn't you, Shadow?" His voice so soft and deep even more than ever. My only responds for him was a nod and taking out my black shirt and pants and one for him too. "I think, this would fit you so much better that the red one you're wearing, your Highness." He growls, but when he gets what I meant, he didn't complain anymore and just put it on without looking at me and me at him. This wasn't the time to do this and we both knew that. We're going to make this end. When I jumped at a rooftop, I held out an arm to him, but he surprises me even more, when he uses his strong arms and pull himself up too. I was fast, slim and silent and he was all bulky and strong, I wasn't even sure if in a real fight I or him would win. And that's a hard one when actually almost no one was ever a challenge for me and my assassinations. Without a word I started running from rooftop to the other in a moonlight and its shadows, which I knew too well to his Highness's liking, I was leading us to my house almost at the end of a city. I supposed the king was never here, but he was so natural at learning, that even his steps were more silent than that night at which we met inside his royal room, so I could never guess if he was there or not. My window was opened, and I came in swiftly with king right at my heels. There inside in my armchair was sitting Momo. Her dark hair up in the ponytail as always, I saw her. "So, you're finally here. Hello there, your Highness." She says ironically which was a big change from her usually well-mannered self. "You're on his side right now," she shakes her head in disbelieve. "And here I thought we could be together and rule this kingdom by each other's side. I love you, Shoto!" She declares. "I gave you everything you ever needed and now you're turning your back to me? After all that time? Didn't you love me back?" She asks desperate after I told her everything. She really did save me, but she never did bother to really asked me out, if she did, I would tell her I was gay. I would tell her that all the missions I did just because she gave me money for that, I would tell her that I never really care about a throne. "Then why him? Why? How did you...?" She asked and king answered her honestly. "I just gave him a kiss and asked him in some way out. I had a guts and not only a dream. If you want something to become a true, you have to tell that to someone and with conversation you would get, what you so much wanted, what your heart was craving for." In the end they left her there standing, watching with a broken hea

[ahockeywrites]

Is that a drawing of me?

You sighed. Your professor set you an assignment to draw something that makes you smile. His suggestions included a pet, a sport or a loved one. Naturally, the first thing that came to your head was your boyfriend, the resident pest of Calgary, Matthew Tkachuk. The only problem you had, is that drawing faces was your weakness when it came to your artwork. It wasn’t that you couldn’t draw faces, if it was a life or death situation, yes, you could draw a face. However, when compared to your nature drawings, they were second best.

“So, are we gonna get a drawing of Mr Hockey hotshot this time?” your friend Anna asked. You looked at her with a look only she could read. Realistically, the answer should have easily been yes, but your worry of making him look bad was heightening your anxiety.

“It’s an idea, but you know how I was in our portraits module. How can I do the man I love justice when I can barely draw someone with straight hair,” you said as you slumped into the chair in the small coffee shop. “His curls will be the death of me.” Taking a small sip of your coffee, you noticed a text from the devil himself.

Matty: Hey baby, just wanted to let you know I’m back from practice now! Let me know what you want to do for dinner :) x

You: Urm… I’m good for anything? Something quick bc I’ve got college work to do x

Anna could tell that you were talking to Matt, solely by the way that your face lit up whenever you two spoke. “But, who or what else would you draw?  I mean, I’m planning on doing my family by the lake back home, if that helps?” Anna offered. You knew she was just trying to help, but you had to draw Matthew. You had skirted around it before but you had decided.

“I’m gonna draw him, but hopefully not too well,” you said, “I can’t inflate his ego any more. I think Brady and Taryn would want words with me.” The two of you giggled, knowing that anything that made him look too good in his eyes would just make his head grow 20 sizes.

“Yes my love!!” Anna exclaimed, “shall we stop by the art store before art history?”

“I think I’m gonna need to,” you explained, “I need some new canvases and a lot of red pencils if he’s gonna be in Calgary gear.”

The two of you left the coffee shop for the nearby warehouse full of art supplies. It was just off campus and offered a generous student discount to almost anyone. You wandered down by the canvases, trying to figure out which size would be right for your latest piece. Too small and the picture would look cramped, too large and the image could look out of proportion. Eventually, you settled on a relatively large one and by this time had picked up some very Calgary appropriate red and black pencils. You also spotted a scrapbook that looked perfect to start filling with photos of you and Matthew.

Scrapbooking was something you had always wanted to get into, but it never came up in your studies and you always thought that you should practice line art or painting. But with your second anniversary coming up, it was something you could do in your downtime to relax but also create something beautiful. All you had to do was get a few rolls of washi tape and some photo corners. Everything else, if you had forgotten it, could easily be ordered later.

2 hours and $150 later, you exited the store with Anna and headed to your final lecture of the day. Now, just because you enjoyed both art and history did not mean that you enjoyed the combination of the two. Especially when the professor decided that it would be fun to set a 2000 word essay on the Renaissance period. “I cannot wait for this day to be over,” Anna spoke aimlessly.

“Honestly, same, hopefully Matt has got some food ready for when I’m back,” you hoped, no, prayed to someone above that he had actually made something and hadn’t burnt down your apartment. “I’m gonna head off now, but text me updates of your portrait?” you asked Anna. She nodded and you started your short walk from campus to the apartment.

15 minutes later, you arrived home and tumbled through the door. The smell of something baked filled your nostrils. “Matty baby?” you called out, hoping he would hear you and give you a hand with all the supplies you had bought.

“Y/N!” he called, coming to the hallway. “Need a hand?” he asked, but the two of you knew it was rhetorical. You let out a small giggle and gave him two of the bags you had filled to the brim with scrapbooking items. Now, you could have hidden them from him, but it was likely that he wouldn’t even know what they were so you were safe. The two of you moved in sync to the office of the apartment which very quickly had become your own personal studio with an easel and multiple chests of drawers with the most random supplies in them.

“Just pop them down anywhere, I have a drawing I want to start tonight along with an essay,” you complained.

“Don’t you worry, I have wine and lasagne,” Matthew sang. You audibly groaned at the sound of food, all you wanted was a warm meal and to relax. At least you’d be able to get one of them tonight.

You two sat down at the island that graced the kitchen of the apartment. Matthew had set the table and even put a few candles out, “I thought you could do with an hour or so of doing nothing,” he spoke as he went to grab your hand. He rubbed soft circles over your knuckles as you picked up your wine glass with your other hand.

As you took your first bite of the lasagne, you sent your boyfriend a wink. Lasagne was one of the few things he could cook and not mess up and he knew that. “I am so glad that I have a small amount of time before I start my drawing tonight,” you explained.

“What are you drawing?” Matt asked as he lifted his wine glass to his lips.

“That is something I would rather not share just now, but you’ll find out later,” you winked. You were never particularly secretive when it came to your artwork so he was slightly confused but he went along with it. Maybe, he thought, it was going to be a gift for someone and you didn’t want him to spoil the surprise.

The two of you continued to chat over dinner, talking about practice and how boring your lectures were. The boy sitting across from you never failed to make you laugh and you knew that you couldn’t draw anyone else other than him. As he was talking, you allowed yourself to take in his features and you tried to think of the best way to draw them. “If you’re done staring, I’m gonna sort the dishes out,” Matt laughed. You hadn’t even realised you were looking so intently at him. “I know I’m beautiful,” he got out before you tried to tackle him to the ground, however, your strength was nothing compared to his.

“I think this means it’s time for me to go and get started with my assignment,” you giggled from underneath him. “Come grab me if I’m still working and should be asleep, yeah?” you asked. He nodded and let you head to the office.

Once seated in the office, you pulled out your laptop and google searched Matt’s name, hoping some good images of him came up. Or at least, some that you could try to emulate. You found one of him smiling and celebrating a goal and thought that would be perfect. It also meant that the majority of his curls were underneath a helmet so wouldn’t have to worry.

Grabbing the canvas you had specifically bought for this, you placed it on the easel. You began to sketch out the rough shape of a skater in the foreground. Then, you moved onto the face. You thought if you did the face early on, you could fix any mistakes with it once the rest of the image was done. Starting with the eyes, then the nose and mouth, this wasn’t going as badly as you thought it might have gone. But then, the dreaded curls were staring at you from underneath the helmet. Sighing, you knew that if you didn’t start them now, they would never be done and a bald Matthew was something you never wanted to see.

A knock on the office door startled you, “baby, it’s almost midnight. You have an 8am lecture tomorrow and don’t want you to be late,” Matt said in a soft voice.

“Yeah, just gimme a few minutes,” you replied. By this time you had moved onto the logo on his shirt and if anyone saw, it would be incredibly obvious who you were drawing. Curly hair, Calgary Flames player, number 19, with an A on his chest. You were so engrossed in the drawing, you hadn’t noticed Matthew open the door and walk to be behind you.

“Is that a drawing of me?” he asked. You jumped out of your skin and he had to put his hand on your shoulder to stable you. You meekly nodded and looked up to him. “It’s amazing,” he said as he took in the drawing. Suddenly, he put two and two together, “this is why you wouldn’t tell me what you were doing, eh?”

“Maybe,” you said softly, trying to hide yourself in his chest. “Didn’t want to inflate your ego anymore.”

“Baby, if every drawing you do of me is this good,” he said as he pressed his forehead to yours, “my family better make an entire room back in St. Louis for my ego.” You slowly pressed your lips to his as a sign of appreciation.

“I take it you like it then?”

“Like is the wrong word, I love it. I also can’t wait to send a picture of this to the family group chat to get their thoughts,” he laughed.

“Well, as long as your mom doesn’t want me to do another one, I think I’ll be okay,” you said as you kissed him again.

[hotchley]

I'm so tired please give me soft Hotch and protective Morgan content ♥️

Aww it’s okay to be tired and take a break and if you ever want to talk, my asks are still on, and I feel like I’m getting to this really late because I was probably sleeping when this was sent?

Anyways, this is just a little image I’ve had floating around my head. I’ll cross-post it to my ao3.... later because at it’s 5:41am and I want to go to sleep.

I may have missed the mark with this?? I don’t know, we have protective Morgan showering Hotch with compliments and Hotch being himself about the whole thing so I feel like it counts.... also the ending will make sense at the end

This is set during Gabby, but that’s not that relevant because I barely remember what actually happened in that episode, just that Hotch got punched by Sue.

Warnings: canon-typical violence (Hotch gets punched but it’s not graphic, just an event, and something referenced)

fifty-two minutes

Hotch knew he was going too far as he insulted Sue's abilities to parent Gabby, but he also knew there were certain things that had to be done for cases. He needed to know. Everyone needed to know whether or not she was capable of doing the unspeakable. If she was the one responsible for Gabby's disappearance. And the only way he could do that was by pushing. By pushing until she snapped and reacted.

He had just assumed her breaking point would lead to some form of verbal retaliation. Something about the lack of wedding ring, even though there was still a tan line because on the days where he missed Haley so much it was all-consuming, he would put it on, just for a few moments to remember the version of her that had been everything to him. He assumed she would make her own biting comment about how he wasn't with his own son. There was only one reason behind the glitter on his shirt. Derek had found his horror at being informed about its existence hilarious, but that was besides the point.

He hadn't thought she would punch him, square in the jaw, with all the rage of a scorned woman. He hadn't expected it to hurt as much as it did, or that it would immobilise him as much as it did. As he stumbled back, he was vaguely aware of the guard entering, but it hurt like a bitch. It took everything in him to remember how to de-escalate the situation without causing anyone further harm, but he did it, and then him and Dave left the interrogation room, armed with new knowledge.

"So how do you know this?" Derek asked casually.

Hotch didn't quite meet his eyes, staring at his eyebrows instead. He loved the way Derek treated him like he was the most precious and valuable person on the planet, and he loved that with him, he could be Aaron- the soft man that enjoyed theatre and was willing to get glitter all over his work clothes for his son.

But there was a time and a place for that, and it wasn't here, no matter how much he wanted to feel Derek's arms around him, grounding him to the moment and convincing him everything was going to be fine.

"She... reacted to my comment about motherhood," Hotch said, acting very much like the Southern-born gentleman talking about something unsavoury that he was. As if on cue, his jaw seemed to ache once more, and he was reminded of the need to actually deal with injuries instead of hiding them.

"Reacting? Aar- Hotch, what did she do?"

Hotch loved the way Derek would say his first name, sometimes exasperated, sometimes through a fit of uncontrollable laughter,  occasionally with annoyance, but always with love and affection sprinkled in. He also loved the way Derek called him Hotch. Like there was a secret joke between them, and in some ways there were.

Dave liked to think he was the only one on the team to consistently call him Aaron, but he wasn't. Not anymore.

"She may have responded with physical violence," Aaron said, voice quieter than usual. He started shuffling the files around. Alex tapped the table, and Spencer smiled at her, leaving to go and get a coffee refill. JJ was already out with the sheriff, so there was nobody left to distract from the situation.

"Physical violence?" Derek sounded worried.

"Sue punched Hotch in the jaw," Dave filled in.

Aaron spun around to face him, looking betrayed. "Dave!"

"He was always going to find out. And your jaw is starting to bruise," Dave said, smirk on his face.

"She punched- Aaron you can't just not- Dave can you cold the fort down for a few minutes?" Derek asked, already going round the table. Aaron looked down, knowing that if he saw Derek's eyes, he would start smiling like an idiot.

"Take as long as you need," Dave said, winking.

Aaron flushed, Derek rolled his eyes but smiled, and then grabbed his boyfriend's arm and dragged him to the bathroom.

"Der- Derek what are you doing?" Aaron stuttered. He hated that he stuttered whenever he got anxious, but he didn't want people spreading rumours. Or making assumptions, because yes they were together, but that didn't mean they were sneaking away to do that.

Luckily, Derek dragged him right past the bathroom and into an empty and unused conference room, which in some ways was almost worse. He pulled out a chair and forced Aaron to sit. Not that he needed to force him to do anything. For Derek, Aaron would do anything. Apart from admit that he enjoyed wearing his shirts because they smelt like home. That would be his pretend secret.

"I'm treating the injury you tried to hide from me!" Derek said.

Aaron scoffed. "I didn't hide it! I just didn't tell you the moment I saw you that the information we got came at the price of a punch! And it's not that bad, my jaw just aches. It's nothing new- get your mind out of the gutter you know my hearing messes with my jaw!" he said, voice rising in pitch when Derek smirked.

"But honey, I didn't say anything," Derek said, grining. "And is that really your best argument? Some prosecutor." It was teasing though, and Aaron smiled, because even as he'd said it, it had sounded stupid.

Derek left, closing the door behind him, and without case files to distract him, the pain in his jaw- which was worse than he had been willing to admit- became more prominent and he decided that Derek was the best thing to ever happen to him. And then he started wondering when he'd become such a sap.

"I got the first aid kit, and some ice. I reckon that's all we can do, but just before that, can I just check that it's not dislocated?" Derek said as he returned. And Hotch accepted that he'd always been a sap, it was just amplified by Derek's love.

"She didn't punch me that hard," Aaron whispered, still wincing when Derek pressed two fingers to the spot that was bruising.

"Mhm. Whatever makes you feel better. But seriously, does anything feel wrong?"

Aaron shook his head. He closed his eyes as Derek poked and prodded him more, the touch still comforting even though there was some necessary force behind it. He had never felt better than he did in the soft and silent moments like this, when they could just exist and not feel the need to fill the silence with unncessary words, because the silence said more than sentences ever could.

He let out a yelp as the ice packet was pressed to the skin that was definitely bruising. "Derek!"

"Yes honey?"

Aaron blushed at the pet name, looking down at his boyfriend. He hadn't even realised that Derek had been kneeling by his side, staring at him with such adoration and love in his eyes that it physically hurt Aaron's chest to see just how capable of good things people were.

"Warn me next time," he said, pouting slightly.

Derek smiled. "Of course sweetie." He didn't let go of the ice pack, even though Aaron was fully capable of holding it himself. It was nice though, if a bit of a strange image. One man in a chair, looking down as his partner knelt on the floor holding the ice pack with a suprising amount of genteless. He took Aaron's hand in his own, drawing circles over the knuckles the same way Aaron would.

Aaron looked down, mesmerised by how well Derek knew him. By the fact that he got to call such a good man his everything.

"Okay, it's been a decent amount of time, the pain and swelling should go down. It's still going to bruise, so I'll take Jack to soccer practice when we get back, otherwise all the other parents are going to be drooling instead of watching and we can't have that, can we?" Derek said after both sides of the ice had gone warm.

"Derek," Aaron warned.

"Aaron," Derek mimicked. "Seriously though, they're all going to be back now."

"I know," he sighed.

Derek stood up, letting out a slight wince. Aaron couldn't help but smile. Derek was always teasing him about his back pain and the fact that he was getting older with every passing day, but the same could also be said of him.

"I love you," he whispered as Derek took his hand to help him stand up, even though he could have done it himself. The words had never come easy to him, not with Haley, not with Jack, but he was getting better. And when Derek said them, he never expected a verbal response, knowing Aaron said them in every other possible way.

"I love you too," Derek said, pressing a kiss to Aaron's hair. Aaron let his eyes flutter closed as Derek pulled him closer for one final hug. He inhaled deeply, the smell of Derek's shower gel and deodorant the most comforting thing, alongside the laundry detergent he used because Haley had.

When they re-entered the conference room they had set up base in, Alex wordlessly asked if everything was okay. Aaron nodded at her, gratefully accepting the coffee she held out to him.

"Fifty-two minutes is not a few," Dave said, but there was no malice behind them.

"What can I say? I cannot resist beautiful men," Derek said.

Aaron hit his arm, cheeks warm with embarrassment but heart warm with love.

[s1utspeare]

@staidwaters asked for Li Cu and “selcouth” (in reference to this post; send me a prompt!), and since someone ELSE requested selcouth for a character I gave you an extra word lmao. THANK U SO MUCH FOR THE PROMPT!!! I LOVE U!

Also I will put these in a whole collection on ao3 at some point lol. 

selcouth—unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderful hiraeth—a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home with maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

There’s a time, when he returns, when he realizes he doesn’t know where home is. 

Objectively, of course, he knows where he lives. He knows that there’s an apartment with his father in it and his bed and clothes and things are there, but that’s different. It never quite was a home, but it really isn’t anymore, because it’s just… it’s so small. He’s spent weeks with the stars as his ceiling, even more looking at the same four walls of his room in the Wang compound, so an apartment with beat-up furniture and storage closet that was never used for storing things isn’t that much different from any other apartment he could be in. 

He tries going to Su Wan’s first. Part of him wants to because he missed Su Wan, but it’s mostly because he didn’t know for weeks if his best friend was dead or alive, so when he wakes up in the middle of the night with a short, sharp gasp, all he has to do is listen, and he can hear Su Wan breathing next to him in the bed. Also, Su Wan will cuddle him whether Li Cu wants him to or not, so that’s nice. 

It doesn’t last, though, because every morning he has to go downstairs and say hi to Su Wan’s parents, and Su Wan’s parents tolerate him, but they don’t really like him, and they really don’t like him now, after he filled their garage with packages and dragged Su Wan off into the desert. Also, sometimes he doesn’t want to be cuddled because that’s like arms pinning him to the ground and it takes all his willpower not to punch a sleeping Su Wan in the face, but to instead lie stiff as a board until morning. 

So he packs up his stuff and moves to Hao-ge’s, which is different, but not exactly better. Hao-ge is dealing with his own grief, his own loss, and Li Cu feels in the way of all that fury and rage. He knows, logically, that Hao-ge doesn’t blame him anymore, but he can still see Hao-ge’s face, streaked with tears, his fist pulled back, his voice strangled with anger and pain. Li Cu’s leg throbs. 

He stays for three days, just to be polite. He watches their shop while Hao-ge goes out of town to visit some relatives, to figure out what they’re going to do with his grandmother’s things. He knows Hao-ge is probably going to sell the store. It’s not just because he doesn’t want to run it; he honestly can’t, financially. Hao-ge’s not ready to let it go, quite yet, so when he gets back, Li Cu lets him have the space back, to trace over and memorize the corners of his home before he has to leave, makes a mental note to bring Su Wan over to help him pack, to keep him distracted. He didn’t sleep well at Hao-ge’s anyway, especially when he was gone. It was too quiet then. 

He can’t couch surf, after that. All the rest of his friends are dead. 

He uses some of the stupid money that Wu Xie paid him at the very beginning—and it’s really not even enough, Wu Xie should be putting him through college—to rent a hotel room for a couple nights. That’s nice at first. He has his own space, a big shower, cable tv. But he doesn’t know it, his body can’t relax in an unfamiliar room with big, wide windows and only one lock. He spends two sleepless nights lying on his back, on his side, on his stomach, pacing the carpet. He gives up after night two, when everything’s hazy and dull in the back of his head, and checks out. 

He spends the afternoon wandering around the city, toeing past the restaurants and coffee shops and arcades that he used to hang out in, the soccer fields and schools and parks he passed every day. There’s the manhole cover that broke and the city’s never gotten around to fix it, so there are perpetual orange cones around it in a cult-like circle—no, no, don’t think about cults, cones can’t have cults, it’s just a circle, Li Cu, come on—and there’s the statue of a dog near the center of the park near his house and he likes dogs, even more when they’re—not attacking him, they didn’t attack him, the dust of Wu Xie’s grandfather is ground into your bloodstream—and there’s the library that he and Shen Qiong used to go to for story time when they were really young—and now she’s young forever, a bullet in her brain between her eyes she died angry with you she died alone she died at the hands of her family—and eventually he’s on the soccer field and he’s lying flat on his back in the grass but there’s too much light and he can’t see the stars. 

He can’t see the stars. 

He can’t fall asleep if he can’t see the stars. If he can’t see the stars maybe he’s underground again, maybe—

“Kid, you can’t sleep there.” 

He lifts his head, wearily. It aches, heavy on his neck. It got dark at some point, except not right now, because there’s a police officer shining his flashlight into his eyes, and he squints into it. 

“Come on,” the officer says, “Go home.” 

Li Cu laughs and flops back onto the grass. The police officer mutters something that sounds like a swear word under his breath and comes through the gate, marching over to Li Cu and hauling him, albeit gently, off of the turf. 

“You been drinking?” the officer asks. Li Cu shakes his head. “Can’t smell any on you.” The man scoffs. “Jeez, kid, no offense, but you look terrible.”

Li Cu just blinks at him. He’s really tired, actually. 

The officer sighs. “Come on, I’ll drive you home. You got an ID?” 

Li Cu remembers that his ID is in his wallet which is in the pocket of his backpack and he knows it’s there because he had to use it to pay for the hotel.

 He hands the entire thing to the officer, who sorts through it, glancing at Li Cu every so often in concern, and clicking his tongue contentedly when he finds what he’s looking for. 

“Alright,” he says, “Let’s get you home.”

Li Cu’s glad this officer knows where his home is, because Li Cu has no idea.

Never mind. Li Cu is pretty sure this isn’t his house. 

The police officer rings the doorbell, and unfamiliar chime. A loud, deep voice inside says, “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” and then the door is flying open, and a large man with wild hair is staring down at them. 

Li Cu frowns because he has no idea who this guy is. 

The guy seems to know him, though, because he rolls his eyes, turns back into the house and shouts, “TIANZHEN!” 

Li Cu winces, cause his head kind of hurts now, and that was not helpful. 

The man turns back to look at them. “What did he do?” 

“Uh,” the officer says, because he’s shorter than Li Cu, actually, so he must be feeling very intimidated by this large man, “He was sleeping on the soccer field at the high school.” 

The door man snorts. “Of course he was.” He folds his arms, leaning against the doorframe, looks Li Cu over. “Yeah, you look like a mess, Ya Li.” 

“Wha?” Li Cu says, because that’s weird, that this strange giant man with large arms is calling him Ya Li. 

“That’s what Xiao Wan called you, right?” the man asks. “Su Wan? Your best friend?” 

Li Cu gapes. “How do you know Su Wan?” He backs up a step. “Is someone stalking me again?” 

The police officer looks very alarmed at that. “Again?” 

“He’s joking,” the Person-Who-Calls-Him-Ya-Li says, “No one’s stalking him. His friends came to me for help a while back, but he wasn’t with them.” 

The police officer does not seem convinced, but at that moment, a familiar face appears in the doorway behind the Person-Who-Calls-Him-Ya-Li. 

“Wu Xie?” Li Cu asks.  

Wu Xie looks just as surprised as Li Cu is. “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” the officer says, “He was trying to sleep on the soccer field. Which is actually illegal. So I brought him home.” He frowns. “This is his home, right?” 

“I don’t know,” Li Cu says. 

“Yes,” Wu Xie says quickly. “Yes, you brought him to the right place. Sorry, he’s been a little out of it lately. Stress at school, you know. Not sleeping very well.” 

“How’d you know that?” Li Cu asks in surprise, because as far as he can remember, he hasn’t seen Wu Xie since before the Wang compound. There’s a fuzzy memory of an apology, of being carried, but after he’d been thrown out the window, he woke up on a train. 

He glares at the windows to the side of the house. He does not trust them. 

Wu Xie gathers him by the shoulders and pulls him through the doorway. “Thank you, officer. I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again.” 

“Okay…” the police officer says. “Um. Get some rest, kid.” 

“Mmm hmm,” Li Cu mumbles, even though he knows that probably won’t happen, and Wu Xie shuts the door. 

“What’s the matter with you?” he asks. “You’re supposed to be at home.” 

“I dunno where it is,” Li Cu says. He yawns, widely. How long has it been since he slept? He has no idea. 

“You don’t know where your house is?” Wu Xie says slowly, like he’s trying to figure something out. He’ll be able to do it. Wu Xie has a Big Brain. 

“My house is where my house is,” Li Cu says vaguely. “I dunno where’s home.” 

Wu Xie goes silent for a moment. “I see.” 

Li Cu blinks himself into less of a stupor, figures out where his hands went (they were on the end of his arms). “I’ll go back there, I guess. Sorry.” 

“No, no, wait,” Wu Xie says, which is funny, because Li Cu hasn’t moved. “It’s late. You’re… really tired. We have a couch.” 

“Good for you,” Li Cu congratulates him. 

Wu Xie closes his eyes for a second, gritting his teeth. “The couch is for you.” 

“You’re giving me a couch?” 

“Oh my god,” Wu Xie says. 

The Person-Who-Calls-Him-Ya-Li laughs. “You sure chose a good one, Tianzhen.” 

“Shut up, Pangzi,” Wu Xie mutters, because apparently he is this Tianzhen person. 

“Make him take a nap for an hour,” Pangzi says, wandering off down the hall. “Then dinner’ll be ready.” 

“We had dinner earlier,” Wu Xie calls after him. 

Pangzi stops, looks at Wu Xie pointedly. “Nope. Dinner. In an hour. So the kid can join us.” 

“Oh,” Wu Xie says. “Oh, right. Yeah. Dinner.” 

Li Cu might puzzle through this if he were more awake, but he’s really not. “What?” 

Wu Xie sighs at him. Li Cu should really stop making him do that. “Alright,” he says, “Come with me.” 

Li Cu dutifully follows Wu Xie down the hallway, because he’s followed Wu Xie into worse places. 

They come out into a wide-open room, full of books and random vases and boxes of papers and bits and bobs. Sure enough, there’s a couch there, and Wu Xie steers Li Cu over to it, pushing against his shoulders gently to make him sit. The couch is pretty soft, a well-worn type of feel to it, like someone has sat here every day for years and years and filled it full of memories. 

“I’m not going to ask if you need to be hom—back at your place, because I really doubt it,” Wu Xie tells him. His voice is coming from below Li Cu’s ears, so Li Cu looks down to see Wu Xie pulling off one of his boots, so Li Cu flops over his knees to pull of the other one, but his fingers get tangled in the laces, and he gives up and lets Wu Xie do it.

Wu Xie sighs at him. He takes Li Cu’s backpack and puts it next to the coffee table, where Li Cu can see it. He appreciates that. It’s good to know where things are. If you know where your things are, you can’t lose them. If you know where snakes are, they can’t bite you. If you know where Wu Xie is, you don’t have to miss him. 

“Lie down,” Wu Xie says softly, and the couch really is comfortable, so Li Cu tentatively pulls his legs up and sets his head down and gazes at the lamp next to an armchair. 

Wu Xie drags the throw blanket from the back of the couch and settles it around Li Cu’s body, which might be a little overkill, because Li Cu isn’t going to be here that long, he’s just going to rest for a moment, and then he’ll leave. Then he’ll get out of Wu Xie’s way. He’ll go back. Just a few minutes. 

Wu Xie straightens up, grunting a little bit, and Li Cu almost says, don’t go, but he bites his tongue.  He can’t ask that much of Wu Xie. Wu Xie’s already giving him a couch. 

But then, Wu Xie doesn’t leave. He goes over to the armchair, picks up the notebook lying tent-style over its arm, flips through it. Someone’s glasses are on the end table, and that someone turns out to be Wu Xie, because they go on his nose as he takes in whatever the journal says, chewing the inside of his cheek absently and tapping a pattern out on his knee. 

Li Cu blinks, slowly. Wu Xie is warm and marvelous, he thinks. He’s fading into a soft glow, backlit by a warm light that reminds Li Cu of something, something good, something he thought he lost, but maybe not. Maybe not. 

He falls asleep and dreams he’s home.

[sxvxrxssnape]

Coffee & Tea

Snapetober 2020: Day 11 - Scars

There’s more than one type of wound that needs to heal for them to move forward, but Minerva is determined to help however she can. They just have to live with the scars.

The wound pains her even though it is not hers.

Minerva watches as Severus unwraps the bandages around his neck for the final time. She has been watching Poppy unwrap blood-soiled bandages and replace them with fresh ones time and time again, not just on Severus, but on several others, as the days have ticked past. 

This time, as the wrappings come undone, there is the barest hint of rust tainting them. The wounds have finally closed. There is a small table beside him, laden with an assortment of potions and a scrap of flannel. She watches as he opens the first bottle, pours the anti inflammatory onto the flannel and attempts to pat the wound. 

“Let me help.” she breaks the silence, surprising him out of his reverie. She wonders if he was even aware of her presence. He eyes her hesitantly and she can feel the despair rolling off of him in waves, can see the brokenness in his dark brown eyes. 

He nods. 

She closes the distance between the two of them and thinks about how this is the first time in over a year that she’s stood so close to him. She takes the flannel and starts to dab at the puncture marks on his neck, wincing in sympathy when he flinches. 

“What’s next?” she asks, eyeing the line-up of colorful bottles. 

He hands her a bottle she does not recognize, but she trusts him. The thought sends her reeling as she pours a tincture that smells of eucalyptus and witch hazel onto a clean corner of the flannel and repeats the process of gently patting the wound. She trusts him. 

And, oh Merlin, does that make her ache. 

She studies Severus carefully as she puts her hand out and waits for the next potion. He looks as if he’s shrunken into himself, rumpled and sickly and pale in his grey hospital robe. Exhaustion sits so heavily on his face, she wonders if there is enough rest in the world to help him. His hands are trembling, one more than the other, and she knows it’s permanent. An unfortunate aftereffect of a prolonged Cruciatus; she doesn’t know how long ago that happened, doesn’t know how to ask. He hands her a small pot of healing cream. 

With gentle fingers, she rubs the thick paste into his skin until it disappears. He cannot stop himself from hissing in pain and she makes soft noises on a whim. She wants to say something, has wanted to say something since they first found him in the Shrieking Shack barely clinging to life. Ever since her stomach twisted and her heart skipped when Harry was facing Voldemort for the final time.

“Severus Snape was never yours.” Harry had yelled. “He was always Dumbledore’s.” She’s hesitant to admit her head has been a little fuzzy ever since. She wants to say something, but she just doesn’t have the words. 

She hated him. 

He had betrayed them all, had killed Dumbledore and stood by Voldemort’s side as they seized the castle. She hates herself a little, for never realizing the truth. How long had she and the man in front of her been friends? How many times had she depended on him to help her out, back her up, or just plain be there for her?

“I can hear you thinking.” Severus croaks out and he sounds absolutely wrecked. 

“I’m sorry.” Minerva sighs and accepts the strip of bandage dipped in Essence of Dittany. She drapes it over the snakebite and keeps it in place with a temporary sticking charm. He moves his hair back, covering the small square, and looks relieved to be able to do so. “Severus, I -”

“Please, don’t.” he whispers, and even as soft spoken as those two words are, his voice is still dry and gravelly, making him cough. There are two untouched potions left and he picks up the pain reliever, swallowing it back once he’s able to breathe.

The lines of pain fall from his face, but he still looks weak. It will be another few days of bedrest before he can stand on his own again. The venom that coursed through him nearly finished him off, but his body will heal, and so will the wounds on his neck.

Minerva wonders if their relationship is far too broken to fix, or if time will heal that too. She holds nothing against him, knows the truth now and understands. Still, she cannot look at him in the same way anymore, fears they will never be the same. 

He reaches for the final potion and Minerva recognizes the orange of the Invigoration Draught. She takes it from him and puts it out of reach. “You should rest, instead. There will be plenty of time to take this later.”

He nods and lays back down, sleep already settling in. 

–

The scars pain her, even though they are not hers. 

Minerva watches as Severus wraps a light grey scarf around his neck and tucks the ends into his buttoned up winter coat. The scars are faint, a bubble of light pink that barely sticks out against the paleness of his throat, but she knows they feel larger than life to him. 

He still dabs them with Dittany every night, but it hasn’t made a difference in months now. Still, she knows it brings him comfort so she says nothing about it. 

They walk the path to Hogsmeade together, their boots crunching over day-old snow and their breaths creating faint wisps of silver in the cold air when they exhale. December has arrived and with it, Christmas is creeping. There are boughs of holly decorating the lamp poles that light up the still-dreaming streets of the small town. 

They look at each other and share a look, thinking of how quickly the wizarding town has bounced back from the events in May. It makes something warm burst inside of her. They enter the Three Broomsticks and choose a corner table. 

It is still early, especially for a Saturday. They left the students in the care of Flitwick and Pomona, decided they could use a break for the morning. Running a school is a big responsibility, so they do it together now; headmaster and headmistress. 

“We should allow the students a Hogsmeade weekend before they go to break.” Minerva brings up, as she flips through the menu Madame Rosmerta has brought. It feels pointless, considering she always orders the same thing. 

“Stock them up on sweets and then send them home to their parents?” Severus asks, a faint smile on his lips. “Better them than us.”

Madame Rosmerta returns with mugs full of hot coffee and tea, confirms they want their usual and leaves them alone again. Minerva sips her tea and pretends not to notice when Severus sloshes a bit of coffee as he picks up his cup. His hands still tremble, despite the many nerve regeneration potions he’s taken. 

They sit in silence and it still feels a little off. They’ve finally talked about what happened, about the nightmare of the year they both experienced. They finally grieved the loss of Albus together, finally shared what they had been thinking whenever they passed each other in the halls that wretched school year.

They had gotten very drunk off of Lucius’ expensive whiskey (and that was a strange relation that had been formed after Voldemort’s end. She thinks he’s only trying to save what little reputation they have left, by throwing money and expensive gifts at every avenue they can think of. She’s tired of carrying hatred in her heart and so she accepts his gifts, accepts his request to reinstate him onto the Board of Governors, and lets Lucius Malfoy be) and she saw Severus break down in tears for the first time in years.  That alone was her proof that he trusted her still.

She just needed to trust him. 

Their friendship has been shaky, as if the foundation has been rebuilt upon uneven ground. Some days she looks at him and all she can feel is hurt, but she reminds herself that isn’t him. He didn’t come back from the brink of death feeling like before; there are scars he’s desperate to hide, but he’s done what he can and now he has to learn to carry on. 

Their friendship feels the same way.

They have to learn to carry on, for both of their sakes. Madame Rosmerta returns once more and she sets plates in front of each of them before taking her leave again. Severus pulls out a small vial of potion and she frowns as he drinks the pain reliever. 

Healing will take time, in every sense of the word. She wonders if it’s the nerve damage in his neck that’s bothering him today, or if it’s his left arm. She knows he won’t answer in such a public space, despite the near-emptiness of the room, so she doesn’t ask. 

She cuts into her poached egg, watches the yolk break and spill over crisp bacon and toasted bread. Their silence feels off, but it’s also as comfortable as it’s ever been. She watches him cut into his own breakfast, smiles faintly at his choice of pancake toppings, and wonders if the scars in their friendship are there to stay, or if they can heal a little more. 

Minerva has missed his presence in her life, is glad to have him back, sarcastic comments and sharp tongue and all. Perhaps things will never be as they were. Still, as the honey drips from his lips and he struggles to close his mouth around the comically large bite he’s just taken, something in her lifts.

She cannot help but laugh at him and he scowls at the sound, but his eyes are soft despite his furrowed brow and she knows they will be okay.

——–

A/N: After grief, I needed something…soft.

I needed to FIX things.

[jeagerism]

"I can't remember why I ever loved you." has got to be the WORST thing anyone could ever say to someone and so, being the masochist that i am, i would like to request a drabble of that prompt with jungkook :D thank u i love your works sm !!

hi lovely ! thank you sm for da request, n im sorry it took so long to get out ! i also hope you don't mind that i kinda put my own little twist on it, but ! here ya go !

jeon jungkook + "i can't remember why i ever loved you." + ghost!au

It was never this quiet before.

Every minute you spent with Jungkook was always loud, and if not because of the fact that the boy could literally never shut up, it was just simply being with him. There was silence, but it was always full.

Without him, in the aftermath of all that had happened and all that had been taken, it's quiet. It's still.

"I, um, picked up your stuff from work today. Your locker was full of stuff that you always forgot....it was pretty funny actually because on the top was that bracelet you stole from me a few summers ago that you had lost, you asshole."

You glance up, and you almost expect to see him sitting in front of you. A teasing smile on his pretty lips, waiting to spew some excuse as to how he'd had no idea. And you would've believed it, because it was Jungkook, and he'd always had a way of making you believe the silliest thing with a look.

So you expect to see him sitting in front of you, and technically he is. There's a square, grey, stone structure rising from the dirt you're kneeling next to. His name is on it, and your eyes roam over the delicate carving of his name in the front of it. He's here. Technically right here with you.

Six feet under the ground, with you.

And when you look back up, suddenly he's not "technically" with you anymore. He just is. You've seen him everywhere since what happened two weeks ago - something that no matter how hard you try, you cannot refer to as his death. He's still with you, isn't he? He's wrapped around your heart and in the smell of your bedsheets and in the way you leave the curtains open in the morning because he liked the morning sun on his skin. He's in the way you drink tea instead of coffee now, and the bottle of his soap in your shower. He's all around you, every day, so he's not gone. He's all you ever see.

But now it's different. Now you're seeing him, and it's what he'd looked like the day before what happened two weeks ago. He's got the same clothes on and everything and you think your mind is playing tricks on you - which is a giant slap in the face. And you're crying without even knowing it until the first sob rips through you, so loud you could've woken the others that reside her. Your mind is playing tricks on you, and it's some kind of personal hell.

But then he speaks.

"Please don't cry."

Falling back onto your hands, a shuttering yelp leaves you. Your fingers dig into the freshly plowed dirt beneath you, right above where he is - or where he's supposed to be. He's in front of you now, and as much as you've imagined seeing him again, you don't want it like this.

"W-What d....you're...."

"I hate it when you cry", Jungkook murmurs, a slight frown on his lips. There's a brief second where he looks confused, before he's switching right back to that sad and hopeless look.

"Jungkook...you - but you're.....you're not..." You take a breath. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and your hands are shaking, and you're nearly positive you're going insane, but you speak anyways. "How're....h-how're you here?"

He says his next words as if it's a known fact. "I've always been here." He sits - he fucking sits - in front of you and he reaches his hand towards your own, but pulls it back. "Since the day it happened I've been here. You look.....you always look so sad to me. About me. I hate that." His shoulders come up to his ears. "And I can't fix it. All I can do is watch now."

The tears that move down your cheeks are accompanied with silent cries, slightly shaking shoulders. "But you....y-you're not....you're supposed to be d....not here."

His gaze meets yours, the same brown eyes you remember. You nearly see a flicker of that boyish charm he always emitted when he says, "Well I guess it didn't stick so much." Jungkook pauses, then shrugs. "I'm sorry."

The laugh you bark out is wet. "For what? For dying?" It's the first time you've actually said the word, and maybe it's because you're in shock, or because he has the audacity to apologise for this. "For being run off the road? For what, Jungkook?"

"For making you sad." He sucks in a breath and it hurts to notice how his chest doesn't move with it. "For never holding your hand. For a lot." He looks around you, at the graves and the bleary sky and the weeds rooting from the ground. "It's scary, you know I...I just watch now. I can't talk or let anyone know I'm here. People....people walk through me everyday, and I used to think it hurt when people walked all over me when I was alive." His mouth turns up, a sarcastic curve. "Imagine it dead.

"I stand here every day and I just watch people suffer. Because of me. I watch people cry and scream and I can't do anything. I'm useless."

"You were never useless, Jungkook." Your bottom lip wobbles. "You aren't useless now."

You're stuck in silence, like how you'd first shown up. Even with him here it's not the same, even with him talking to you. A messed up part of you wonders if he needed a heart beat to fill up a room.

"I can't even remember."

"What?"

Jungkook shakes his head, jaw clenched, eyes on your hands in your lap. "It's like...sometimes I see Hoseok, or Jimin, or Yoongi, and I forget who they even are. Seokjin visited my grave the other day and I couldn't even remember his name. There was this feeling like I was supposed to know, and I was so sad, and I didn't know why. And then everything was clear and I hated myself for forgetting for even a moment." He blinks. "How is it even possible to forget, I..."

Jungkook lifts his head, and his teary gaze is on you again. "Sometimes, I look at you and I just....I can't remember why I even loved you. And it hurt. It hurts and it scares me because if I forget you guys what do I have left? I'm already dead, I'm already nothing."

Your hands inch forward, until they get to where his rest on top of his shoes. You go to grab his fingers and the symphony of your heart is interrupted as your fingers pass right through his. Your hands get cold, and your head drops, chin meeting your chest.

And you cry.

"I'm so sorry." All of you is cold in the next second, and when you open your eyes he's right next to you, and you can't feel him in the normal way, but you still feel him. He's got arms loosely around you that you can't feel the warmth of and it hurts just as bad as anything else.

"I'm so so sorry."

It's quiet again.

He's here again.

His presence doesn't feel full anymore.